Another Day In Paradise

Wake up and open the balcony door. It's warm and humid, not necessarily sunny until later in the day.  First up, breakfast at the buffet and sitting at the family table. This brings me joy. Delicious food and good company.  At first, I try to stick to my usual breakfast routine: Greek yogurt with crunchy toppings. I do try a croissant, but find it lacking in flakiness.  The next day I take eggs and a piece of brie. After that, I  tell myself  I am on vacation and  eat whatever I like. I am after all exercising  daily, doing aqua aerobics and the occasional hike. Most of all the food is so good, so many new Caribbean dishes to try, including Club Med signature dishes, and the delightful sorbet and ice cream station. Oops, I almost forgot about the open bar. On our last day, one of my cousins calculates that we  eat three courses at every meal. Of course, we all know this in our stomachs , but hearing it said out loud makes us burst out in hysterical laughter. We collectively anticipate food withdrawal at the end of the Club Med experience. That proves to be the case.

During my stay, I enjoy consulting the Club Med app because activities,  times, and locations are listed for each day. In the evening, the app announces the dress code for dinner: tropical or white or pink and beige, blue and white or  just plain elegant. White night feels especially enchanting as club members  look like little sparkling angels. Although dress code is not mandatory, I find it entertaining to see what my vacation wardrobe could provide, and it does surprisingly adequately provide.

The staff at Club Med tends toward friendliness and politeness with the exception of the Bureau of Beach Towels. Located in the central lobby near the pool, the Bureau of Beach Towels staffs a person to give out two towels per room number.  Without fail, each time I approach the bureau, I am told my room number is not on the list. Then a rather terse interrogation begins about the length of my stay and towel usage. I rename the Bureau, the Bureau of Bitchies because honestly this little game gets annoying fast. In fact, I decide to avoid the Bureau of Bitchies completely by promenading to the Zen area of the Club where towels  live unmonitored in spiritual harmony. 

In stark contrast,  I am treated like a queen in the dining room. One server whose food station I particularly like starts to call me "my cherie" so pleased is he by my appetite for his creations.  I expect a marriage proposal the next day.

Here are some views from the coastal hike Bill and I took. A much harder  hike than anticipated, one younger cousin's hand kept me upright during the rocky uphill climb in my Jazzercise shoes.