The Grateful Alive

Barbara: I’m just back from my wonderful holiday and asked Deb if it would be okay if I just wrapped things up before we continue to our planned posts for this week (we have a new 3-way coming up, yay!! And some great pics and stories from Deb’s own adventure). Deb said she is more than happy to accommodate me, so this will be my last “solo”. 

First of all, I want to thank all of you for sharing my vacation with me, with special thanks for all the comments and well-wishes. I just loved reading them all when I got home. And an extra-grateful thanks to Erica and Christy over at erica and christy for their recent award to us. Thanks, ladies!!

Now here are some answers to your questions last week: yes, Hollye, it was a Sandals resort (Grande Ocho Rios). Our first ever Sandals—and we chose it because of the 65% off deal (apparently the best off-season rates are the last weeks before the Christmas rush, ie, November, first week of December). Not only did they throw in the substantial spa credit, but all the diving and snorkeling tours are included. Phil is an avid diver and dove every morning and afternoon while I snorkeled or read (remember, I tried diving long ago and am sadly too poultry-esque). So that was another huge savings.

At first we were disappointed with the smallish beach and, of course, the fact that half the resort is on the other side of a busy road (which is why we upgraded to the ocean side—for a relative pittance, again because of the low season). Then half the beach was under renovation in anticipation of the busy season, making the beach options even smaller. This also ruled out any chance of our skinny-dipping, Tannis … unless we’d chosen to do it in full view of the dining patrons. (I’ll let you all in on a little secret: not nearly that adventurous!) But any misgivings we had soon faded in the light of … well, the light. We saw it. And it was good.

We can't say enough good things about the service and people and cleanliness and attention to detail. They spoiled us, but they also "spoiled" us. We’ll probably start whining now for butler service and heated towels and hourly massage-applied suntan lotion the next time we travel. Phil already grumbled this morning when he opened our fridge door that “the buffet here isn’t very good”. This is how the monster is created, people!

On the last day of our vacation, I discovered something interesting about the Jamaican people. I found myself among a large group of resort workers who were gathered on the pier. We started chatting and they told me that Sandals was taking the housekeeping staff on a catamaran party to thank them for all their hard work. It was a well-deserved trip of Gratitude. And they appreciated the gesture.

I asked them if they would also be going snorkeling or swimming out on the reefs. They looked at me askance—it turns out that 95% of the Jamaican people DO NOT SWIM. I was gobsmacked. I asked them how they could live in that paradise surrounded by that healing, soothing water and not swim. They said they had no desire at all to go into the ocean, never mind learn to swim. The very thought appalled them. Apparently the Jamaican mothers in all their protective glory (and they seem an incredibly maternal people) refuse to allow their children to go into the water for fear of drowning. This fear stays with them their whole lives. I raved to them about the curative powers of salt water, how it makes you float, how there are several shallow, protected areas ideal for cautious first steps. They kept balking, but then seemed intrigued by the thought that maybe the water would be good for them. I admit I pushed a bit—like it was my mission to convert this little group to the ways of the ocean. And maybe out of polite courtesy, maybe out of piqued interest, or maybe out of desperation to get this mad white woman off their backs, they started to express interest in trying it one day. I could feel my latent missionary rise up stronger within me as I began to preach and advocate. I found myself wishing I could stay longer and physically coax this gang of hardworking women down to the shores and into the sea, just to its turquoise shallows, and encouraging them to just lie back, just suspend themselves in the viscous water, and release their tensions and worries into the warm salt water like I did mine. I can’t help hoping they will find the courage to actually do it one day.

One last rumination that ties our vacation with the “compliments” discussion from last week: I can truly say that my gratitude at being so looked after at the resort just made my heart full to bursting, which in turn unleashed an unprecedented barrage of compliments. Even though I knew that people were getting paid to pamper us (ie, it’s their job), it still affected me greatly that they were doing it and doing it so well. I know the difference between a service rendered with indifference and one infused with warmth and dignity and pride and goodwill. The people who worked at the resort had all these qualities and more. And I praised them profusely. I thanked; I raved; I patted backs. And you know what? They didn’t compliment me back and they didn’t tell me it’s simply their job, but they did smile and say thank you. And you know what else? I felt even more heartwarming gratitude.

Gratitude is an amazing feeling. It is wholesome and cozy and uplifting. As good as a resort getaway. Please, please, don’t take it away from me!

So let me finish by saying: you guys are utterly awesome and super-beautiful!! Take that and a bag of chips.


Deb: If I was an enterprising Jamaican––and some of you may know some (word in their ear)––I would start a swimming school: “Own the Ocean!” and make a bundle turning it around, teaching people of all ages to swim and love it. Change a fear into joy! I have been to Jamaica three times and have never realized this fact. Wow.

Irie, mon, and float!

Postcard from Jamaica, Part Deux

Barbara: Well, here I am, on the eve of our last day, getting ready to post my second postcard to all you guys. I’m happy to tell you that it’s been just perfect in every way.

And PS, these are still my crappy iphone photos (no camera cord, remember?). Phil hates himself here, but I think he looks adorable.

 Here are a few benefits to traveling in the “off season”:

The not even half-full resort means that you can partake of any activity at any given time because there’s always space (like on the gratis snorkeling excursions––where you might find yourself memorizing every underwater phenomenon in case you never see its like again).

You can always find a primo beach spot (Phil and I favour a gazebo that is perched over the ocean on a boardwalk––actually you can see it behind our heads in the photo. Normally, we’re all about the sand, but here the sun and shade are available in equal measure under the gazebo, whereas the beach often loses sun or broils under it—not so good for my pale skin.). It feels like we have our own hoity cabana.

Not only does the resort lure you to it through cheapo half-price sales, but it even throws in spa credits (yes, you heard me: spa credits!! Imagine if you will a couple’s massage on that same gazebo perched over the sea as the sun sets.).

You always get a table overlooking the ocean (if you want one).

And there aren’t nearly as many drunken partiers overestimating their ability to ingest the all-you-can-drink offerings.

The downside? My empathetic nature inclines me to worry for the poor half-full resort and its staff: how will they survive without legions of revelers as fewer and fewer people seem to have the time or money for this kind of indulgence? Anyway, just wanted to point out that my husband and I are doing our part in the all-important save-the-resorts campaign. We are selfless people.

So, it truly is lovely and relaxing and beautiful. And I am grateful beyond words for all of it. Not only that I’ve been able to come here for my own indulgence, but grateful that the world even has such bounty to offer. I never take for granted my home landscape, but there is something powerful about meeting a foreign landscape for the first time. I am always moved by how the world feels both majestically hardy and heartbreakingly fragile.

And maybe a vacation between a husband and wife offers the same magnifying glass to the hardiness and fragility of relationships. I have seen couples here bring all the petty grievances and tribulations of home to this paradise, and couples who sit side by side in complete and utter silence, maybe for lack of common ground or maybe in communal comfort, and couples who seem to see and hear each other with fresh (windswept) eyes and ears.

 Phil and I haven’t had many issues with honesty and communication over the years, but there’s nothing like throwing off the shackles of responsibility to give us a burst of refreshed and renewed romance. Luxuriating on our loungers between naps and reading, or bent over candlelight and under evening stars, we’ve been talking a lot about our joys and hopes and ideas and, of course, our daughters. We talk about them a LOT. Some things you don’t want to leave behind.

I’ve told Phil a few times already how grateful I am that he is as good a listener as he is a talker. It seems I need both.

But my favourite moment with my husband so far? The other night at the resort show, they were having a “Newlywed” type game where couples on stage were asked about their relationships while their significant others were sequestered. Phil and I played along privately in the audience, telling each other the answers we would have given had we been up there. The men were asked what was their beloved’s most annoying habit. Phil––who never misses a chance to tease me mercilessly (it’s his “thing”)––was stumped. I mean truly stumped. I couldn’t believe it (especially since I could name half-a-dozen habits I thought annoyed him). He insisted he couldn’t think of one. And then something came to him: apparently I gasp. Surprise, delight, fear, shock, empathy: all of it makes me gasp. And me gasping scares the bejeezuz out of him. I'm proud to say I took that one on the chin like a man (and kissed him for it like a woman ;) ).

Not bad for a comfortable old couple with miles of experience, huh? It’s good work when you can get it.

See you back at home!!

My Week Away, Part One

Barbara: Deb and I decided that this week, I’d go ahead and give you a little howdy-do from warm Jamaica today and Friday, and Deb would post something on Wednesday. As I’m busy doing nothing, Deb has kindly stepped in to field any comments you leave so we can keep our cozy conversation going this week.

Sorry the photo is of so-so quality. The one thing I did forget to pack is the cord that lets you download the photos from the camera. At least you can get a little idea. 

Room with a view

So, now, here is the official post de Monday:

We arrived last night just as the sun was setting—pink streaks threaded the sky and the light was so warm and soft, it saturated the colours on every colourful thing. The foliage is wild and lush and the landscape is rubinesque, full of rolling hills that plunge down to the sea. The hills are dense with bamboo, mangrove, almond, coconut, cherry—apparently every tree in Jamaica bears edible fruit.

We’re on the north side of the island, so the sun drops behind the hills turning day into dusk at about 5:30. By 6:15, it’s pitch black. And oh, when it’s black, the night sky comes alive with the stars.

We tour the property and it’s heaven. The only hitch is that our room is set up in the hills, far away from the water. All of our usual frugality goes out the window as we decide to upgrade to an ocean view. Right now it’s just paper money. Or play money.

In fact, every action feels like it doesn’t have any of the usual repercussions. Like drinking alcohol. My husband and I are normally light-weight drinkers—I mean, maybe a couple of glasses a wine A WEEK. Phil is always happy to be the DD. Club soda is his drink of choice at the local bar. And food? We eat reasonably, both in quality and in quantity. But put us in a bathing suit and stick us in a resort and suddenly it’s coco-limes and rum and cokes and brandy snifters, as well as those couple of glasses of wine A NIGHT, all to wash down the nachos and jerk and chips and dainties. First drink of the first full day? 11:30am. (…it was a coco-lime, okay) … (one part fresh lime juice, 2 parts coconut rum … mmmmm)

And let’s not forget the sun. Oh, how we worshipped it today. And who can blame us when we just left behind its Canadian face: in November it is just a distant memory of a life-giving star. It is vapid and cold, hardly worthy of its name. And on months when we get its hot self, I hide under sunscreen and hats and sunglasses. But here the sun is a tonic and a slave. Salvation. Healer. It’s easy to forget that it can turn on you on a dime and burn you to a crisp. But we languished today, just so you know. We languished in its warm embrace and succumbed to our Jamaican haze.

I thought of all of you, I swear I did. And I sent you some vicarious warmth and sand and relaxation. I kissed the sun for you.

What is your favourite way to “get away from it”?