Walter & May - March/April, 2016
Our eighth trip to Hedo 2 is history. We
are left with bruises, bites, stings, strains, and pains. The most
painful body parts are our faces which are sore from smiling so much,
followed by our stomachs from laughing so much. Our pelvises are sore
too (figure it out).
We were assigned an old tired room that had a couple of plumbing issues which were fixed up in good order, no problem. The old drawers are almost comically bad, but what the hell. Just a quirk of Hedo. The bed was good and sturdy. We tested it thoroughly (again, figure it out).
I suffered my first injury of the vacation within the first hour. This is not a record for me. I once injured myself within five minutes of arrival. Anyway, I was in a hot tub. I attempted to exit the hot tub. My foot went one way, the rest of me went another way, my thigh impacted the submerged seat and ended up looking like it had lost a fight with a belt sander, and much consternation ensued. No big deal.
May didn't suffer her first injury until a few days later when, in an effort to outdo her opponent in the after-dinner contest on stage on Jamaica night, she does the splits. She knew right away that she had done some damage, but wasn't aware of how much until the bruise appeared a few days later. A real beauty! Oh! And she won the contest.
May also won the school girl contest one evening. She and another girl made the finals and were each asked to put on a little dance. Well, May goes first. Unbeknownst to everyone but me, she has concealed behind her oversized lollipop four pieces of cutlery. As the music starts for her she skips forwards, drops the cutlery "by accident" and then makes a rather titillating show of bending over in her mini-skirt (sans undies of course) and picking up each piece. After seeing this display her poor opponent was reduced to fingering herself for the audience, which, while titillating in its own way, just did not capture the spirit of the moment the way May did. All good fun!
The main buffet/dining room was excellent, and all of the upgrades are great. It's good to see the continued commitment to modernizing the whole resort, one piece at a time. We saw surveyors on property scoping out the next set of upgrades which we think will be to the nude pool/bar complex.
We really enjoyed the new Flame restaurant. I think we ate there five or six times over our stay. Service, food, atmosphere, all excellent! We highly recommend it to everyone. Monique, Orlando, and all the rest of the crew were welcoming, attentive, and fun.
Pastafari hasn't changed one bit. We ate there three times, so no complaints. The food there is still prepared and served with love.
We ate at Harrysan only once. It didn't go well. The food was excellent, when we finally got fed. Eight of us gather at one of the tables and within ten seconds the next table over starts shouting some sort of ritualistic chant at the tops of their lungs. It was fucking deafening! But ok, It's Hedo. People are having fun. No problem.
Well no problem until they do it again, seventeen seconds after the first time. We all look at each other as if to say "What the fuck?!" Actually, I shout "What the fuck?!" out loud, but no one could hear me, and anyone who knows anything at all about me knows that I can out shout a fog horn, so yes, they were very loud.
Twenty-three seconds later and they do it again. Two people from our table get up and leave. The rest of us stay because there is no way in hell that any group of people at Hedo can be so inconsiderate of others as to continue this shouted chanting and so disrupt everyone else's meal, can they?
Well, yes. Yes they can. They all do it a fourth time. This time the remaining six of us get up to leave. The tiny little Maître D' races over to see what's wrong. We tell her. So she goes over to the other table to try and get them to shut the hell up. Politely I'm sure. Who were these people? Well, they were part of one of the groups at the resort that week. They were a very fuzzy group. No, that's not right. They were more fluffy than fuzzy. And they were a little bit crazy. Nope, that's not right either. I guess that they were more nutty than crazy. So let's just call them the Fluffy Nutties. Mostly they were fine I guess, if we disregard the reports of questionable conduct on the beach during their group games, which I did not personally witness, but they were completely non-respectful of others at Harrysan.
Anyway, after reassurances from the Maître D' we all sit down again and wait for dinner to start.
And wait.
And wait some more.
We didn't get fed for an hour and a half from the time that we all sat down again. I guess that they sort of forgot about us. When we were finally served it was excellent as usual, but they only put a chef in front of us when we all threatened to leave again due to starvation at the hour and fifteen mark.
Well, that's Hedo. I'm sure that this was an isolated incident, and I think that you can feel confident that you will experience a nice meal if you choose to go there. The couple that had left went back another night and everything went fine.
One afternoon May and I are down at the nude pool and we spot a couple sitting alone in the shallow pool by the grotto. So we go over and introduce ourselves and sit down and start to get acquainted. They are both hot and very very nice and our conversation is going nicely as we feel each other out. ("out", not "up", you perverts! At least not yet). Just as the conversation starts to get really interesting, a shadow falls over us and we look up and there stands our friend S1 (names changed to protect the guilty).
S1 can shout almost as loudly as me, and he starts with "Hi guys! Who are your new friends?! Introduce us why don't you?!" So, clueless.
Then he shouts to his wife across the pool "Hey! S2! Come meet Walter and May's new friends!" And so S2 joins the group.
By the time S1 is done shouting to people and inviting them to meet our new friends, J, K, S3, L, and several others have all joined the party and our quiet time with our new friends ends as they slide to the outskirts of the group and then slip quietly away...
Later that evening when S1, S2, J, K, and May and I are at dinner together S1 says "Wow! They were a hot couple. You and May should get to know them and see what happens!"
I pause for effect and then reply, "We Were trying to get to know them. Why do you think the four of us were sitting together and talking quietly?"
Pregnant pause...
And then S1 says "Oh."
Another pause, and then S1 says "OH! Oh fuck! Oh did I interrupt something? OH FUCK I'M AN IDIOT!"
No one argues with him and as he continues to castigate himself I interject with "For a moment it was almost comical and I was about to give you the message to move along, but then you invited everyone else at the nude pool to join us, which they all did, and that was the end of that." I look around the table, and everyone else suddenly gets the message too, and then there is much consternation and apologizing and self flagellation.
After that incident, every time S1 saw May and I talking to another couple, he would studiously avoid the area, even to the extent of patrolling the perimeter to head off any would-be well-wishers.
The next morning I am feeling the need for some quiet time and I eat a piece of brownie. An hour and a half later and I am completely relaxed, reclining in my lounger, eyes closed, trying to listen to the music and to the sounds of the waves and the laughter of the happy naked people.
But what I actually hear is "Hey! HEY! Look at how stoned this guy is! I mean, he's really really stoned!"
"Wow! Is he ever! Did he take too much?"
"Is he comfortable like that? How can he sleep with his head tottering around on top of his neck like that?!"
"May! Hey MAY! Walter is really really stoned! Did you know that?!"
"Yes, yes I did! You're right! He is really stoned!"
And so a crowd gathers around my lounger to discuss, loudly, how fucking stoned I am on the beach. And the conversation went on for two hours! So much for quiet time. So much for my wife looking out for me and shooing everyone away so I can enjoy my altered state of mind in peace. Thanks Dear.
And I mean really, if someone was drunk on the beach would everyone stand around him yelling about how drunk he is?
If someone was masturbating on the beach would everyone stand around him yelling about how hard he is masturbating?
If someone is reading on the beach would everyone stand around him yelling about how well he is absorbing the vital plot points of the book?
NO! They would just leave those people the fuck alone!
But not Walter. I was mere moments away from achieving enlightenment and I could feel myself actually begin to levitate above my lounger, until the endless stream of stoner spotters began their running commentary.
It was the least rewarding buzz ever, but people did start addressing me as the Canadian Dalai Lama after that, due to, I presume, my extreme calmness, deference to others, and dedication to my principles in the face of oppression.
May and I danced almost every night, and people seem to like the way that we are able to move around the dance floor, navigating our way amongst the other couples instead of just turning around in circles in one spot. Yes, well, the reason that we move about is that my digestion can get a little out of sorts at Hedo and I end up with more flatulence than usual, to the extent that our moving about the dance floor becomes an exercise in escape and evasion as I drop gas bombs amongst the other dancers. May can often tell by my facial expression what has happened (either an evil grin, or a concerned one, depending on the level of confidence I have in my lump discriminator at any given moment). "Dance me away from there!" she exclaims in a whisper to me and I whirl her about in another direction leaving some other poor bastard to take the blame. You wonder why we laugh and smile so much on the dance floor? Now you know!
Another day J and I went to get a sailing lesson on one of the Hobie Cats. We signed the paperwork, put on our life jackets, and met with the instructor at the waters edge.
"Ya mon! This is a Hobie Cat. This is the sail. This is the rope for the sail (It's called a sheet. I knew that part already.), and this is the tiller. Try not to get hit by the boom when the sail shifts. Ok. Get on!"
We get on, he gives us a push, and that is the end of the lesson. He waves to us and walks away. J and I look at each other as if to say "What the fuck?" And then I actually say "What the fuck?"
So, we tool about for the better part of an hour and then we manage to get the boat back to shore where our "instructor" greets us with "Ya mon! You brought it back! You passed the test! Now you can take it out any time you like!"
"What the fuck? We were being tested?"
"Ya mon! You did great!"
Well, that's Hedo.
Here's an odd thing. I like to wear kilts, both at home for parties or special events, and also at Hedo. I think I look rather sharp in them, and the boys swing free and easy and the bag sweat drips down my legs and usually evaporates before it reaches my socks. Hmmm, maybe that's TMI? Anyway, I totally understand why a woman would like to know what I am wearing under my kilt. But here's the question; why do men want to know what I'm wearing under my kilt? If I was wearing pants, would a man say "Hey! What are you wearing under your slacks?" or jeans, or cargo shorts, or whatever? No! He would not! Not unless he is either habitually happy (which ok, I understand) or hates the look of his nose and wants a free adjustment. So why then do I continually get men asking me "What are you wearing under there?"
I used to try and bluster my way through, but now I just look at them and reply "Why do you want to know?" That usually sets them back a pace.
Guys, stop asking! It's just fucking weird, unless you are habitually happy. For the record, if it helps any, I always go Regimental. Always.
Winston and the EC team were their usual awesome selves, and the shows were a lot of fun. Friday nights are the Rock 'n' Roll theme and the show is rock music which is always a good time. On our last night at Hedo we are on the dance floor rocking out to Winston, Miguel, and the band, when they break into Hotel California. Now, I've heard that song on the radio so much over the years that I'm pretty much sick of it, but because May wants to dance I stay on the floor and suffer through it. The band does a really nice job of it (unlike their dedicated but futile efforts with Stairway to Heaven, but I digress) but I'm just tired of that song. The solo guitar section of the song is approaching and the Rasta on lead guitar steps forward a little bit, kicks his effects board, and then calmly rips a new arsehole into the space-time continuum.
The diners at their tables are blown completely backwards off their chairs as the Rasta's guitar explodes and catches fire. Winston wisely steps into the shadows as flames shoot out of the guitar player's fingertips. People on the dance floor spontaneously combust. Staff all around the dining hall strip off their uniforms as the energy exploding from the stage finally overwhelms their heat tolerance. People are screaming so hard for the solo that blood is spitting from their mouths. People are clapping so maniacally that their hands are reduced to bloody stumps and amputated fingers litter the dance floor. Cats are having sex with dogs. Three little birds form a living halo above the Rasta as all of the bottles behind the bar explode and a torrent of liquor threatens to inundate the dance floor. The pool outside is boiling and clouds of steam obscure the vision of everyone within two miles of that guitar.
Once the solo is complete, the Rasta gives the tiniest of smiles, retreats back to his usual spot beside the keyboards, and everyone completely looses their shit in a frenzy of adulation.
I've been to an Eagles concert and witnessed them playing Hotel California live. They have never, ever, come close to this performance, and if they ever saw this performance for themselves, they would retire the song from their live repertoire, it was that good.
Best guitar solo ever. And I am not one for embellishment or exaggeration.
May discovered "shotgunning" this trip. She has trouble inhaling so J showed her how to shotgun and everything was fine. However, after several blasts over the course of an evening J was heard to say "May, you're not coming to me for the smoke any more, are you?" Gales of laughter!
Eventually we had to go home. We pass through the hell that is Sangster International Airport, and board our plane. You know how the cabin crew warn you after landing that the contents of the overhead compartments may have shifted during flight, and to be careful when opening the compartments? Yes, well, what they really mean is that the contents may have shifted during landing, not flight, when the pilot comes in hot, turns the plane off ten feet above the runway, lets it drop like a sack of dead kittens, bottoms out the suspension, and then hammers the living fuck out of the thrust reversers for an extended period in an effort not to park the plane in the parking lot of the Chinese grocery store at the end of the runway. (Reminder to self; pick up some dim sum for Sunday brunch.)
The pilot was so embarrassed that he didn't even stand by the cockpit door to thank us for flying with them like pilots usually do. Instead, he remained in his seat while the co-pilot patted him on the shoulder and the cabin crew gave us frighteningly large smiles and overly cheerful goodbyes.
Did the items in the overhead compartments shift? Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!
There's probably a lot more stuff I could talk about, but maybe I ought to leave it right there.