I was a kid who was perfectly happy with a book. We drove to Italy once and my mother got very annoyed as despite her best prodding I wouldn't stop reading to look at the views through the alps. (Mind you, I got annoyed because all the tunnels meant it kept going dark and I couldn't read.)

I had read all my books almost before we arrived at our holiday destination. I remember resorting to reading Hard Times (Dickens) which my parents had brought. Though why they brought that as a holiday read for themselves I shall never know.