I wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking.
Oil and eggs and toast and pork.
I feel instantly anxious - I have a thing about food, you see. I hate to eat other people's food.
I wander out to say my hellos and catch up with some people I haven't seen in a year. It will take some time to soften the mild strangeness, but we have plenty of that.
Both time, and strangeness.
We set off on a walk down the beach path. It's lovely, winding along with the ocean on one side, and luxury resort after grand beach house on the other. We watch be-hatted women with their small wild children and bored husbands. We snigger like a junior high clique at overstuffed beachgoers in questionable attire. I walk arm-in arm with my good buddy we'll call Ducky. She is a few years younger than me; smarter and funnier and possessed of a greater depth of character. She is the source of a primal silliness in my life. She pokes, prods, licks and otherwise explores strange objects, fruit and social customs that might otherwise go unnoticed. Today, she wants to know what a palm nut tastes like. For your information, you can probably let raw palm nuts go as per Ducky's opinion, they taste absolutely horrible.
We wander past elaborate swimming pools with sandy bottoms and deluxe beach bars.
A 10$ smoothie tastes the same as a 4$ smoothie, so you know.
Ducky and I gleefully play the giant "Connect Four" game at one stop. She wins. This is how is has always been with us: near-constant play. We play at life. Most of the time, we both win.
We turn around at the end when the beach path becomes sandy, and walk another hour back to our hotel.
My other two friends are a man we'll call Dr. Pops and his stunning wife. He calls her "Dear", somewhat sarcastically so I'll do the same here.
Dear is a witty woman. Blonde and fit and relaxed, she enjoys traveling with her sarcastic and sometimes codgerly husband. Dr. Pops tries to be grumpy, but is in reality deeply compassionate and sensitive. He enjoys a comfortable retirement from a very stressful life cutting bones apart and knitting them back together in the operating room. They are great fun and have been so gracious to invite Ducky and I to stay with them in a condo on the beach that I could never afford.
We make a brief jaunt into town to rent snorkeling equipment. I comment on the volleyball-sized avocado the man behind the counter is eating, and he hands me a slightly smaller one to take home. The gift avocado proves an excellent sales tactic, as Ducky and I end up booking the next day's adventure and purchasing two dorky straw hats to keep the sun off our faces. Rent-The-Things Man makes the usual jokes, flirts with us harmlessly, and assumes incorrectly that we are Dr. Pops' daughters. Ducky teases him mercilessly while he grumbles all the way back to the condo.
At 5:15, we all hurry to pack everything up so that we are on time for the day's Board Meeting. Dr. Pops calls the meeting to order, and we all toast the flamingo pink sunset from our beach chairs in front of the condo. No-one has any new business for the agenda other than where we are eating dinner tomorrow. We hastily adjourn the meeting so that we can continue to enjoy our double gin-and-tonics without the burden of decision-making. Everyone giggles at the last rays of the day.
Dinner at the MonkeyPod cafe down the street is delicious. My fish tacos go down well with the lovely Chardonnay. Dr. Pops regales us with a story about the time he scored some weed from one of the waiters there. He passes me his little vape pen under the table and I take a puff. I never figured him for the type, but I suppose everyone is these days.
My last thought as I fall asleep is that I am so glad I am here.
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