You should know this about me: I have never, ever been that ready-to-get-married-girl. You know those types: the one who has had her wedding planned from age eleven and a half, she knows everything except for the groom staring back at her. Not me. I am not that girl.
I’ve recently been the girl who has her dream kitchen planned a solid three years before it’s a possibility. I want an elegant, fully functioning, double-oven masterpiece that would make Martha Stewart jealous – complete with the expensive, colored pans from Williams-Sonoma.
Anyway, today I became the girl who took a step toward planning her dream wedding: I mapped out my dream honeymoon. The resort of choice?
This place is perfect – I cannot describe to you a single thing wrong with it. And, as a picky person (as many will quickly agree about me), that’s a high rating.
Everything. Was. Perfect.
From the beautifully kept grounds to the homy feel of the Spanish-inspired three-story villas, to the view from your private jacuzzi and pool from the terrace, to the excellent food. It was all top-notch, even if that last sentence was not top notch or grammatically correct.
It means a lot, I’ve noted, when the hotel manager takes the time to at least introduce himself upon our arrival. But this manager, Ross, went above and beyond – he actually gave us the tour of the property, and he spoke to every guest, calling most of them by name. This is a man who clearly loves his job, which means he’s going to take great care of any and all guests sent his way.
We had lunch at the restaurant here, and it was honestly one of the best meals I’ve ever had. Perfect pumpkin soup with plantain chips, garlic-buttered shrimp that were excellent, and a trio of desserts: a dark chocolate ganache, layered chocolate ice cream, and creme brulée. Heavenly, like the resort itself.
While I’m gushing about Cap Maison, it was not where my day began.
My day began this morning, when I began to unravel.
Let me rephrase this, my pants began to unravel. They’re capris, and I simply pulled a little string at the knee during a conversation with Frances. By the time we reached The Landings, they had unraveled to the point where the cuff was flipping over – making one side noticeably longer than the other. I walked into the store at The Landings, where the guy working the cash register heard me mention needing a safety pin – he gave me two, so nice! The story does not end here, but let me show and tell you about the Landings:
The property is very condominium-like: just the right combination of homy comfort and Caribbean flare. Rooms at this property can be bought and rented and it’s just a gorgeous place to vacation.
Next, we head to Cotton Bay. By the time we reach Cotton Bay, my pants were unravelling even worse. This is so awkward. Every two minutes I’m nearly tripping over myself by pulling at the hem of my pants. While we’re waiting for our tour, I ask the woman behind the desk if she has any scissors to cut the excess strings. She doesn’t just one-up me, she knocks me off of my feet with her generosity. She comes out from behind the counter with a sewing kit and kneels down to sew the hem of my capris. I’m astounded, that was the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for me. I was so humbled by it.
Michael takes a picture, of course, proclaiming, “Here is high-maintenance Lindsey getting her pants fixed!”
We’ve been talking the past few days about Ramona’s middle name being “Custom” and Michael’s being “Considerate,” so I tell them that I have always gone by “Princess.”
After this we head to Cap Maison, but since you already know that part… skip ahead to after lunch, when we decide to go check out another all inclusive property. Now, we know ahead of time that this property (which will not be named because I like to keep things fair) is not our recommendation – it’s supposedly a cheaper version of Sandals.
Until we arrived, we had no idea exactly how much cheaper it was than Sandals.
As Michael put it, “The bellybutton ring ratio here is much higher”.
The worst part of this? Their website looks SO nice, but in reality, it’s an armpit of a resort. I could not capture in pictures the dilapidation or the clientele, mainly because we got the heck out of that place in record time. This is the reason you need a travel agent – the internet can, and does, LIE.
Once we hit the pool deck, our little group looked like fish out of water – I mean, this was the Phenix City of St. Lucia. Lots of tats and piercings, lots of booty dancing, lots of people in bikinis that should never be in bikinis for the sake of those who have eyes.
We literally walked around the pool deck, and walked right back to our van. Luckily, the people at this resort were irresponsible and not expecting us, so they told us to go take a look for ourselves, as the receptionist couldn’t have cared less what we were there for. I’m assuming there’s a similar attitude delivered with their service, as well.
I would be embarrassed to send someone there.
Finally, we were supposed to stop by a tour operator, but there was a problem in the schedule and the operator was closed on Sunday… you know what that means? That means we get to head back early to our hotel, where we spent 3 hours at the pool.
I love business trips!
At the pool, I jokingly tell everyone that I’d like to have the butler draw up a rose-petal bath right now. They encourage it, because, well, why the heck not! It’s free! So I head back to the room to call my butler and, lo and behold, there is ALREADY a rose-petal bath drawn. Not only are they friendly and helpful, they are psychic, too!
It is odd, though, because they do know it’s two women here on a business trip. Oh well.
I am so relaxed right now that I feel like a bowl of melted ice cream.