adults only

"Isn’t this a bit pricey?", I ask my boyfriend before booking. He reminds me that we don’t have to support a child, on vacation or otherwise.

My boyfriend and I are scrolling through five-star hotels on a popular German travel site. "Should we?" I ask, hovering over the Adults-Only checkbox.

We exchange looks, imagining how relaxing a child-free vacation could be. No kids pushing in front of you at the buffet, no screaming by the pool, no late-night games outside your door. Memories of noisy summer holidays from my own childhood flood my mind – back when I was the one disturbing others without realizing it.

The decision is easy. Yes, we want an Adults-Only hotel.

When I mention our plans to my mother, she's skeptical. "Kids don’t bother anyone," she says critically. As someone who's never stayed at an Adults-Only hotel, I can’t say if she’s right, or if the higher price for a more expensive, design hotel will be worth it in the end. Will I truly be more relaxed without children around? And what does it say about us, choosing to avoid a demographic that's supposed to be our future?

A month later, we check into a design-centric offshoot of a famous hotel chain. Everything is greige. I love the lobby couch so much I want it for my living room. The reception area reminds me of The White Lotus, with staff trained to be attentive yet invisible – quiet luxury at its finest. Nobody tries to pressure you into making a purchase. The design identity runs through the entire site, from the tennis court to the restaurant at the beach. Greige, greige, greige with a touch of wood, concrete, cotton and marble.

The absence of children is noticeable right away. Everything here is very adult. No slides, just a hotel DJ playing house music by the pool. He looks like he lives in Ibiza. The vibe is chill – no unnecessary frills, no gaudy plastic signs about pool hours.

No kids' activities, no garish 90s vacation tunes, no playground. Evening entertainment? A €20 cocktail or a movie under the stars. But let’s be honest, most guests probably head back to their rooms for fucking anyways.

Looking around, I see plenty of happy couples lounging together, reading, playing cards, chatting. Some kiss in the water, but never in a way that feels too pda. This place has class, and no one wants to be remembered as "that creepy guest” who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. The crowd is mostly 20 to 40-somethings, with a few Boomers scattered in. Some women wear Lululemon leggings to breakfast while their husbands show up in polo shirts. Most people stick to neutral colors and classic cuts. Apart from us, no one else got tattoos.

This hotel is clearly designed for people like us: young, hot, and childfree.

Even those other Germans don’t get on my nerves, because no one’s yelling, "LEON, LEAVE YOUR SISTER ALONE!" It’s remarkable how well people can get along when family drama isn’t involved.

None of the people around us seem to be missing anything. Of course, I don’t know their reasons for being childfree – some might not have chosen it. But since no one is talking to each other, I’ll never know. This place isn’t just free of children; it’s also a place where couples keep to themselves, not wasting any of those precious moments asking others about their work lives. And I appreciate that. We didn’t make any friends, nor did we intend to. In a way, you could say we’re not only childfree by choice, but also a bit asocial.

* * *

Family resorts

I recall the vacations I took with my parents at family resorts. As a kid, I saw things differently, of course. For me, it was paradise – I didn’t care about my parents’ needs. We shared a room, I was always hungry, and I demanded constant entertainment. Luckily, some resorts had kids’ clubs where my parents could drop me off for a few hours to read a book in peace.

A situation like that, on my vacation? Unthinkable. It would have meant a holiday without intimacy, without peace, and certainly without tranquility. Fifteen years later, I’m now in a position to decide how I want to spend my vacation money. I’m at the beach with my double-income-no-kids partner, thrilled that I could afford exactly the hotel I wanted – no compromises.

"Isn’t this a bit pricey?", I asked my boyfriend before booking. He reminded me that we don’t have to support a child, on vacation or otherwise. So, why not splurge?

* * *

If I don’t want kids, am I obligated to tolerate them during my hard-earned vacation? Or is it simply more logical to choose an Adults-Only hotel?

Let’s be honest, this is a bit of a parallel world. In everyday life, it’s nearly impossible to avoid children.

At least, that’s what I thought until I realized that I already live a mostly childfree life in my hometown, Berlin. Apart from visiting friends who have kids, my life revolves around co-working spaces, cafés, and clubs where children aren’t welcome.

Is this Adults-Only hotel a magnifying glass that shows me how much I enjoy living this way?

The days fly by. I swim out to the buoys, put on my goggles, write a little, rarely check in with friends. I’m here, fully content with my own life.

So why should I feel guilty about booking an Adults-Only hotel when it perfectly suits my needs? Is it just society’s quiet background noise labeling these hotels as somehow strange or unfriendly? Because children are supposed to be part of the good life?

No offense, but I personally don’t think they are.

In my mind, I can still see the irritated friends of my parents on vacations, the father of a school friend downing his fourth beer because family life grates on him, because maybe he’d rather be anywhere else, but he can’t.

Neither my boyfriend nor I feel the need to drown our sorrows.
There’s just no reason to escape anything – not ourselves, not each other, not our relationship. No one’s hiding out in the hotel pub to avoid the rest of the family.

I can’t help but wonder how many people are really cut out for traditional "family life” or “family holidays”. Sure, it works for some. But I bet at least a quarter, if not half, of all "family people" would love to be here if they were completely honest with themselves. They would love to be here without their kids, without the burdens that come with them. More responsibilities, which can impossibly feel like a vacation, even on vacation.

Choosing a childfree life means being able to take expensive vacations whenever you want. No worrying about school holidays, other parents, or budgeting for sports gear.

It’s a privileged life.
And we designed it exactly the way we wanted to.

In case you’re still asking: I can now say with confidence that the higher price for a childfree, more luxurious design hotel was worth it.
Every day, every hour, every minute of this week.