Memory #13 -- Living like Royalty

 

Just east of the British Virgin Islands in the calm warm waters of the Caribbean, there is a little known island of Anguila, Spanish for eel. Eels are not my favorite sea creature. In fact they may be among my least favorite. They're slimy, ugly and have sharp tiny teeth. They look like piranha without fins.

But Anguila may be my favorite destination in that part of the world. Far nicer than Cancun, Cozumel and now the overcrowded and dangerous town of Tulum on the Mexican Riviera.

At the urging of my friend Dave Tochterman, I booked Deb and I a room at the amazing Cap Jaluca Hotel. One of the Top 5 Resort Hotels in the world, at least according to the resort reviewer who no doubt travels on the company dime and is handsomely rewarded by grateful hotel owners who know where their croissants are buttered.

The 10 days we spent there cost me an arm and a leg and the potential for some serious liver damage. But it was 1994, we were at the the tail end of our honeymoon stage and my career had finally started gaining momentum. Plus, just look at that damn turquoise water!

Let me add that it was completely worth every dime and scheckel. 

Every morning a jovial older woman would arrive at our second story bungalow, greet us with a thick local accent and bring us a full breakfast of local delicacies, laid out beautifully on a dark mahogany tray. She would swing open the shutter doors to our Oceanview patio and set us up for a meal, and because we had ordered fruity rum wake-me-up drinks, breakfast lasted close to two hours.

It should be noted that from our balcony perch, we spotted Michael Bolton (not the one from Office Space) and Nicolette Sheridan strolling along the beach. They were staying four bungalows to the right of us. Consequently, the paparazzi left us all alone.

After breakfast, we would stroll a good 25 feet to our specially reserved chaise lounges, where a young staffer would prop up our equally specially reserved umbrella and attend to our every need. Each lounge chair had a tiny red flag hinged to the back, not unlike a red flag you'd find on some old timey mailbox. When you flipped the red flag up it let our server, Raul, or Peter, or Danny, know that we were in need of ice water, or sunscreen, or more fancy rum drinks. 

Mostly rum drinks.

The room, the beach, the place were so luxurious, we rarely ventured off the property. But after 7 or 8 days, there's only so much gushing impressed Californians can exchange. So we asked the concierge to get us a taxi and send us to a local bar with great regular food and live reggae music. I'd be lying if I told you the name of the ramshackle bar, right on the water. 

Everything in Anguila seems right on the water.

But I will tell you that after a bellyful of ribs, calamari and some high octane local rum, the music started making my ankles twitch. And not long after that Deb and I were on the dance floor -- something I never do -- and grooving to Rufus and the Three Tones. Again, that might not be the band's name.

I wish Steve Jobs had developed the iPhone a dozen years earlier, so that I would have the sloppy selfies to document the time we had there. While swaying and laughing and generally having the best time of our young married life, we happened to stumble into another young couple who were celebrating their honeymoon. 

Also, in very unlikely but well-lubricated fashion, we invited them to sit at our table. Where we discovered they were from Northern New Jersey. People from Suffern, NY (my hometown) and people from Northern NJ always find a way of bonding. 

We closed the place down. And after a fruitless attempt to score some local ganja, found ourselves back at our hotel, on the beach, with a case of Heineken beer, a bottle of rum and one of those golden inhibition-free moments in life where nothing mattered but the present.

We laughed. We swam in the moon-lit water. We danced loudly on the sand, probably to the annoyance of Michael Bolton and Nicollete Sheridan. And we laughed some more, until the sun came up.

As Deb would often say when we found ourselves away from the house, away from the kids, away from the responsibilities, and in the company of people of enjoying life, "We are out among them."

My great regret and source of immeasurable pain is that because of my stupid misanthropy and my social inertia, we never spent enough time "out among them."