Budget Vacations Are a Lie: Memories Per Dollar (The Travel Metric That Matters More Than Price)

There’s no honor in financial martyrdom

I recently took a four-day trip over spring break. I’m a woman of a certain age, with two small children — so, no, this wasn’t a gap year redo or some Eat-Pray-Love sabbatical. But I wanted to travel lean, spend wisely, and get something real out of the time.

And yet, if you Google “how to get your money’s worth on vacation,” you’ll be rewarded with a buffet of budget tips for 20-somethings living on instant ramen and idealism. Sleep on trains. Book a 3-stop layover. Eat grocery store tuna in the hostel lobby.

No shade to the tinned tuna crowd — many of us did it once. But now? You’ve got doctor money. You’ve also got herniated discs and finite PTO.

That means your vacation calculus has changed. It’s no longer about how cheaply you can go somewhere. It’s about how deeply you can enjoy it.

The real question isn’t: How do I spend less?

It’s: How do I spend smarter?

How do I squeeze every last drop of joy, rest, awe, reconnection, or memory out of the dollars I do spend?

Let me introduce a new metric: MPD — Memories Per Dollar. Or, if you prefer, EPD — Enjoyment Per Dollar.

Because “budget” is about what you don’t spend. MPD is about what you do get.

When Frugality is Too Expensive

I didn’t plan to spend nearly $2,700 on a domestic road trip to Chicago. But four days, two giggling kids, and one truly exceptional slime wall later, I realized we hadn’t overspent — we’d just used a different metric than usual: Memories Per Dollar.

We didn’t call it that at the time. But in hindsight, that’s exactly what we were chasing.

It was spur-of-the-moment, which is basically a felony for my husband, a logical-to-a-fault engineer.

We drove the six hours from home (I did most of the driving). He grumbled that we should have flown, but I wanted road trip memories. Years from now, those will mean far more than TSA lines and zone-boarding arguments. Somehow, in-car bickering is more nostalgia-laced and charming than public airport meltdowns.

My husband wanted to do a layover along the way, lobbying for a 1.5-hour detour to see a small-town regional oddity.

It was a unilateral veto from me.

In flat, emphatic tones, I told him I wasn’t trading three hours of world-class city time for a giant twine ball – unless it was a UNESCO-worthy monument.

Because even if that twine ball was free, our vacation was not about chasing all things cheap.

Instead, I paid more for a centrally located hotel that delivered serious MPD: within walking distance of everything, indoor pool, historic lobby with twenty elevators (my kids’ dream ride), oversized chess board, and a restaurant hostess who taught my daughter how to play.

We skipped the CityPASS. We picked our own museums. We didn’t shop the Magnificent Mile or chase down Michelin stars. We did what felt good.

The best bits? My daughter’s belly laughs at the Color Factory (one of only three in the country). My son clutching a dinosaur stuffie from the Museum of Science and Industry, and me buying a Christmas ornament that’ll make me cry every year while decorating the tree.

Was it extravagant? Not really.

But every dollar felt like it bought something real. That’s MPD in action.

$2,700 Was a Steal

That $2,700 price tag sounds extravagant — until you break it down.

We stayed four nights at a historic Hilton I’d booked at one-third of its usual rate, ate fast food and coffee shop breakfasts, and paid standard museum admission — no VIP upgrades, no “experience” add-ons.

Our only splurge was parking near the attractions and not losing our minds navigating city traffic, and spending $50 in souvenirs we’ll actually use and enjoy, at least once a year.

De-Glorifying Budget Travel

There’s a big difference between traveling cheaply and traveling well. Frugality has its place, but your 4-day road trip or your once-in-a-lifetime vacation might not be it.

Most grown-ups reading this aren’t trying to stretch a $1,600 travel fund across five countries. You’re trying to make intentional decisions with grown-up money and grown-up limitations. You want value, not deprivation.

Budget travel is often glorified as savvy or resourceful, but let’s be honest: It can also be performative. We conflate hardship with virtue. That’s class hangover.

Sleeping in a $27 bunk bed becomes “real” and “authentic,” while staying somewhere quiet with clean sheets is “privileged” and “elitist.”

Why is it noble to suffer through vacation if you can afford not to? Who is that performance for? Vacations are meant for relaxation, or at the very least, enjoyment.

That’s not going to happen if you’re:

• Walking five miles in 90-degree heat to save $14 on a taxi.
• Sleeping in a musty motel where the Wi-Fi and air conditioning both cut out by 9 p.m.
• Skipping the once-in-a-lifetime kayaking tour because it’s “not included.”
• Balking at a $33 entrance fee for a museum you’ll never again visit with your kids — when they’re kids.

Sure, you spent less. But at what cost?

This is the insidious budget trap that snags high earners: trying to maximize savings on something that should be delivering joy.

My husband, kids, and I could have packed a cooler of bologna sandwiches, stayed at a Motel 6 on the city outskirts, and sought out second-tier attractions with cheaper or free entrance fees.

But I didn’t want to pay that added cost just to save a few hundred dollars.

Why go to Chicago to not visit the Shedd Aquarium and the Museum of Science and Industry? And why park on the city outskirts, fighting construction, traffic jams, and bickering children in the car for hours each day?

Slashing travel costs with a hacksaw brings too many unknowns, leaving angry spouses, screaming children, and other collateral damage in its wake.

Had I been traveling solo, more adaptable to unpleasant variables, I could have gone leaner. But traveling with others changes that dynamic, and we wanted to focus on enjoying the trip and not fighting over what a “dump” the cheap Airbnb was.

You’re not irresponsible for booking a terrace room and enjoying breakfast with a view — if that’s what matters to you and will optimize your vacation’s enjoyment, so nix the financial martyrdom.

Maxing Out Memories Per Dollar

Memories per Dollar, or MPD, is where we stop asking “How cheap can I make this trip?” and start asking “What am I paying for, and is it worth it?”

Memories Per Dollar (MPD) is your vacation’s real ROI. It’s a way to measure the emotional return on your spending — how many memorable, story-worthy, joy-soaked moments you’re buying per dollar shelled out.

Think of it like this:

• A $17 airport cocktail during a hellish layover = Low MPD
• A $190 sunset cruise you still talk about decades later = High MPD
• A $40-a-night hostel that smells like sadness = Negative MPD
• A $350 room with a killer view and blackout curtains that gave you the best sleep you’ve had in three years = High MPD

This isn’t about spending more. It’s about spending better.

How to Find Your MPD Sweet Spot

Ask yourself the following about any vacation expense:

• “Would I happily pay for this again to relive it?”
• “Will I remember this in 5 years? 10 years? My whole life?”

If the answer’s yes, it’s probably high-MPD.

If the answer’s “maybe,” “ugh,” or “only because it was cheap,” then no amount of savings makes it worth your time.

Here’s a quick test-drive of the MPD lens using other common travel decisions that demand a bit more consideration than my quick-turn Chicago trip:

High MPD is about choosing what to splurge on, not just if you should splurge at all.

You don’t have to do the fanciest version of everything, but don’t kneecap your vacation joy just to “budget travel” and meet your FIRE goals.

Also read: Are You Stuck Being Cheaper Than You Have To Be?

Spend Where It Counts

This is where FIRE brains get stuck. You can max out your Roth, live on a 47% savings rate, and still feel paralyzed when a $64 museum admission fee appears. You’ve trained yourself to see paid pleasure as a threat to freedom.

But at some point, frugality becomes sanctified self-denial. Do you want to be the tall, lanky dude who retired at 45 but still refuses to upgrade to economy plus with legroom?

Spending on high-MPD travel doesn’t mean throwing money at everything. You don’t need a first-class seat to feel rested, but maybe you do need to not change planes in Newark at midnight just to save $110, along with at least one vacation meal that doesn’t come wrapped in wax paper.

High-MPD travel is highly specific, based on your priorities and sensibilities, but here are some examples of where you might be willing to shell out a little more money for a high return on MPD:

• Upgrading your lodging from “adequate” to “peaceful, clean, and quiet.”
• Booking a tour or a local guide that adds depth to what would otherwise be a surface-level experience.
• Paying for convenience (direct flights, early check-ins, fast-track customs, etc.) removes friction from the trip.
• Springing for one “anchor experience” that’ll live in your memory for years.

Meanwhile, here’s what you can probably cheap out on without regret:

• Branded souvenir mugs.
• Mediocre tourist traps.
• Matching vacation T-shirts.
• Any “included” group activity that sounds like a snooze.
• Meals that feel like chores instead of a celebration.

You’re not trying to impress your accountant. You’re trying to live a life, escape the daily grind, and take a vacation you don’t regret.

Don’t Be Wallet-Rich and Life-Poor

You already optimize everything else. Patient outcomes. Your HSA. Your asset allocation. Don’t let a few hundred bucks derail the one thing that’s supposed to feel amazing: your vacation.

Most of us aren’t stingy because we’re cheap. We’re stingy because we’re scared. We’ve been taught that spending on ourselves is frivolous, selfish, or irresponsible — especially when the spreadsheet says it could be invested instead.

But joy has compound interest, too. And regret costs more than any vacation ever will. It’s okay to want your trip to feel good. To feel restful freedom and have a real memory in the making.

Perhaps you don’t need a week at a Venetian villa. But you do deserve a trip that delivers more than “meh.” Whether it’s a national park, a big-city museum blitz, or four days with slime kits and oversized chess pieces, spend where it counts and get your MPD up.

And whatever you do, don’t be wallet-rich and life-poor.

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