When we last left off, I was sitting on the tram in the Atlanta airport furiously typing a blog post from my phone, not because I’m such a dedicated blogger (my absence last week totally discounts that theory) but because it was the only thing distracting me from going off the ledge at the thought of missing the plane to St. Lucia.
As soon as I hit “send”, we arrived at our terminal and started moving very, very quickly toward the gate and I instantly rued my decision to go for cute with the blingy cork wedges that don’t really work well for sprinting down the corridor. We made it to the gate with five minutes to spare which wasn’t enough time to run back to the central part of the concourse and buy lunch, a decision we would later regret to the tune of $20 for three bites of cheese, seven grapes, and a cold roast beef sandwich courtesy of Delta Airlines.
But we were on the plane.
Please disregard the circles under my eyes. At this point, I had slept all of two and a half hours because I didn’t quite get around to packing everything in a timely fashion the day before and then woke up in the middle of the night questioning whether I should take a green purse or a gray purse and WHY I SPENT TWO HOURS TURNING THIS DECISION OVER IN MY MIND WHEN I WOULD END UP LEAVING THE PURSE IN MY ROOM ALL WEEKEND ANYWAY exceedingly vexed me.
We had an uneventful four-hour flight to the island and arrived around 3 and landed our baby plane next to this ginormous 747 (is that a redundant phrase?) that brought half of England to our resort. You can see almost the entirety of our plane under the belly of the beast.
We walked down the ramp and in the open air to the customs building, stopping abruptly here and there along the way to avoid getting hit by the baggage carts and had our bags claimed and checked by the authorities in about ten minutes. Then it was off to find our tour company representative in the sea of folks who wanted to grab our luggage and take us in their own cabs.
I spent the first fifteen minutes in the van suppressing the urge to scream because they drive on the opposite side of the two-lane road there and it took a while for my brain to stop thinking I was about to die any second.
I felt more harrowed than this picture would suggest. Trust me.
There’s only one main highway that circles the island and we and 100,000 of our closest friends hit it en route to our final destination. We were anxious to get there before sunset but were also hot and tired from our flight so we took a few minutes to stop on the side of the road near Dennery Bay to stretch our legs and grab something to drink before continuing on to the resort.
And when I say “side of the road”, I literally mean it.
The vendor had the usual assortment of beverages you’d expect at a roadside stand but we were all particularly interested in the jars of what appeared to be twigs and bugs. The proprietor told us they were health tonics that the locals drank for particular ills and problems ranging from lack of energy to lack of love life. Of course, we had to try them.
Because that’s what
dumb people smart tourists do.
And they were about as foul as you can imagine.
We also sampled the local grilled bread and after having eaten nothing all day except for the aforementioned sandwich that I’d split with Craig, it was about near the best thing I’ve put in my mouth and it sent me on a three-day quest to eat as much of it as I could before leaving.
From there we continued the two-hour journey to the BodyHoliday while our guide pointed out the local sights such as George Foreman’s vacation home and the Food of 7 vegan restaurant whose slogan boldly proclaimed they were the only place “where you will never taste death”.
We pulled into our hotel as the sun started kissing the water and were greeted with champagne and the most delightful gatekeeper who bowed deeply and not only gave a very heartfelt speech of welcome to our carload but also many, many deep and sincere thanks to the driver for bringing us to him for safekeeping.
And after dodging goats, trucks, and swerving into oncoming traffic to avoid the places where the highway was washed out and down to one lane, I echoed those thanks.
We just had time to drop our bags and head down to the water’s edge for the first night’s activity – listening to the steel drum band playing Unchained Melody while we feasted al fresco on grilled fish, lamb kabobs with prunes, and pork skewers with a fiery chutney. It was exotic and delicious and a great way to end our twelve-hour journey toward the equator and start our weekend of relaxation on the island.
And I went to bed at 8:00 because I was slap wore out.
Have a nice day.