7 arguments every couple has had on vacation, according to psychology

Vacations promise bliss.

Sunglasses, fresh fruit, and finally having time for each other.

And yet… two days in, you’re whisper-arguing about where to eat while a street musician saws away at “Despacito.” Been there.

I’ve noticed over years of travel (and, yes, a few bumpy getaways of my own) that most couples’ spats on trips fall into a handful of patterns.

The good news?

Once you see the pattern, you can break it.

Here are seven classic fights—and the psychology behind them—plus what to do instead.

1. What are we doing today?

Ever cram a day with “just a quick hike,” a museum, a three-hour lunch, two beach stops, and a sunset cruise—then end up snapping at each other by mid-afternoon?

That’s the planning fallacy messing with you.

We humans chronically underestimate how long things take and how many hiccups will pop up (ticket lines, transit delays, sunscreen hunts).

On vacation, this shows up as resentment: one of you pushes to “do it all,” the other begs to slow down and actually taste the gelato.

Neither is wrong.

You just made a plan that ignored reality.

Try this: build a “must/like/bonus” list. One must-do per day. One “would be nice.”

Everything else is a bonus.

Add time buffers like you’d add salt to a recipe—more than you think you need.

And if you’re the spreadsheet person (I used to analyze budgets for a living, so I see you), treat the itinerary like a budget with a contingency line.

Then stop “spending” when you hit it.

2. How much are we spending on this?

Money fights on a trip are rarely about the number.

They’re about meaning. One partner sees the tasting menu as a “once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

The other sees the same bill as “three weeks of groceries.”

Couples also bring different “scripts” about spending on travel.

Some of us were taught to bargain-hunt and save the splurge for a special event.

Others were taught to squeeze every drop of joy from a rare break, wallet be damned.

Mix those expectations with real-time price shocks (“$18 smoothies?!”) and you’ve got a fight brewing.

My go-to fix borrows from budgeting 101: pre-decide a daily “fun fund” and a couple of flex splurges.

Agree on non-negotiables (“we will spend on a great plant-based dinner” or “we won’t spend on hotel laundry”).

Then create a “no-judgment zone” for purchases under an agreed number.

If you both get $X per day to spend as you wish, you remove half the arguments before they start.

3. Where should we eat?

Tell me if this sounds familiar: you’re both starving, scrolling reviews, vetoing options for 20 minutes, then snapping, “Just pick something!”

That’s choice overload.

More options can make us less satisfied, not more.

And when you’re vegan or plant-forward in an unfamiliar city, the stakes feel higher because options are fewer.

Two simple moves help. First, set three filters in advance (e.g., “<10-minute walk, open now, clearly labeled plant-based mains”) and choose the first spot that fits.

Second, alternate picks. One person chooses lunch, the other chooses dinner.

No hedging, no “are you sure?”, just trust.

If you want a safety valve, keep a standing back-up (the cozy noodle bar near your hotel) for nights when you’re out of decision fuel.

One more thing: eat before you’re hangry. (I carry nuts or dried fruit in my daypack like I’m a tiny trail runner in a city—because on some days, I am.)

4. Why are you on your phone?

You want to be present. Your partner wants to capture the moment.

Or check a map.

Or message the dog-sitter.

Ten minutes later you’re snapping about “screen time,” which isn’t really about screens at all—it’s about mismatched expectations for attention.

Before the trip, set “phone windows.” Example: morning planning check (maps, tickets), then pockets away until lunch.

A quick photo burst at a view, then cameras down.

A 20-minute upload/text window at day’s end.

If one of you loves documenting, nominate them as “trip archivist” and agree that their job is to take the photo, then rejoin the moment.

And if work creeps in?

Decide in advance what’s allowed. If you truly must check email, set a timer and make it visible.

Boundaries beat vague promises every time.

5. You missed the turn!

Nothing torches the mood faster than a wrong bus or a missed exit followed by, “I told you to turn!”

This is where the fundamental attribution error likes to play. When our partner makes a mistake, we blame their character (“you’re careless”).

When we make the same mistake, we blame the situation (“the sign was hidden!”).

Solve it like a team sport. Assign roles before you’re in motion: one drives, one navigates.

The navigator calls turns early (“Right in 400 meters, then immediate left”), the driver repeats back.

If you’re both stubborn, trade roles daily. And bake in “oops time.”

Missed turns become a scenic detour when you’ve planned for them.

A small ritual helps, too.

After a navigation blip, I touch my partner’s arm and say, “Same team.” It’s silly.

It also stops escalation cold.

6. Can we please slow down? I’m exhausted.

Vacations often mean new beds, time zone shifts, and early alarms for “the thing.”

Throw in heat and long lines and it’s no wonder we’re edgy. Sleep, in particular, changes how we fight.

As UC Berkeley researchers put it, “Couples who fight more are less happy and less healthy,” and even one bad night’s sleep makes conflict more frequent and severe the next day.

That’s not character—it’s biology raising the temperature of your arguments. 

Try the HALT check before you dive into a debate: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired.

If any box is checked, treat that first. Snack, nap, or take 20 quiet minutes apart with a book or a walk.

On really packed days, schedule a “siesta hour” just like you’d schedule a tour.

You’ll enjoy the evening way more, and you’ll like each other again.

7. Weren’t we supposed to be more romantic?

This one’s tender. You pictured sunset kisses and hotel-sheet shenanigans.

Instead, you’re sharing a wall with a bachelorette party and someone sunburned their shoulders.

The pressure to feel spontaneous on a schedule can tank desire.

A quick reframe helps: intimacy is easier when you feel connected, unhurried, and safe—not when you’ve been sprinting across a city.

Shift from “we must be romantic tonight” to “let’s lay the tracks for closeness all day.”

That might mean a slow morning, a shared playlist on the train, or a lingering plant-based dessert you feed each other with spoons (10/10 recommend).

And if sex isn’t in the cards one night, let physical affection stand on its own. Holding each other while you laugh about the day is intimacy, too.

Final thoughts

If you’re thinking, “We’ve had every one of these arguments,” same.

Most couples have.

The trick isn’t to never fight on vacation; it’s to fight well enough to get back to enjoying the mango smoothies and colorful markets.

Two final moves have saved me more than once:

Name the pattern, not the person. “We did the thing where we overpacked the day,” lands better than “You always overbook us.”

Repair early and often. A repair is a peace offering—humor, a softened voice, a hand squeeze—that says, “We’re on the same side.”

As the Gottman Institute notes, couples who can make and receive repair attempts weather conflict; when repairs consistently fail, it’s a red flag for long-term satisfaction.

A repair can be clumsy and still work if your partner can hear it. Make lots of small ones. 

Before your next trip, try a two-minute pre-game:

• “What are your top two must-dos? What can be a bonus?”

• “What’s our daily budget and our ‘no-judgment’ amount?”

• “How will we handle phones?”

• “What does a great day feel like for you—busy or spacious?”

• “What’s our repair signal if tension rises?”

And then, when you inevitably find yourselves two blocks past the turn arguing about falafel vs. noodles, pause.

Check HALT. Make a repair. Pick a place. Eat. Laugh.

The story you’ll tell later won’t be about the perfect plan—it’ll be about how you treated each other when the plan met real life.