Hotel Alarms at Dawn, Donut Debates, Private Pool for Three, and Shells, Shells, and More Shells

At exactly 7:44am the hotel siren began to sound at full blast. The whooping of the siren was followed by high decibel bleats and then the humorless voice of a woman announcing that “An alarm has been detected in your area, please stay tuned for further instructions.” This siren/announcement played on a loop for a full 15 minutes before it stopped. As if that were not sufficient punishment, after finally falling back asleep the telephone began ringing at 8:30am, and why you ask was the woman on the phone calling at this early hour, “Good Mahrning Mrs. Bahrenst-eye-in, this is Charlotte cawlin’ to ah-pollo-chize for dee ah-larm dis mahrnin’. I wuz makin’ waffles in the Club kitchen fahr brek-fahst and burned dem which set ahff dee ah-larm. Everyting is figh-en and der is not’in’ to worry bout. I’ll luke fahrward to seein’ you and de children up here at de Club lah-yet-er dis mahrnin fahr brek-fahst.” Brilliant.

After this second wake up, I figured it was probably best to get up rather than fall back asleep and surely be awoken again, probably to be informed that there would be pancakes for breakfast. The kids enjoyed taste testing the mini donuts at breakfast, comparing the vanilla and chocolate was a serious business for these two aficionados. The vanilla were deemed the superior flavor after much vigorous debate. Justin also shared with us his "cool look" which you can appreciate in the breakfast pic above, it is a look only to be used to display natural coolness in front of the camera and not to be attempted by amateurs or imposters.

We decided to spend the day at the pool reserved for Cove guests only, which is on a much quieter part of the beach and as we discovered quite a bit swankier. Me likey! Carefully selected pool attendants and servers are plentiful here, and the billowy soft lounge chair cushions are divine as are the bright canary yellow towels which play magically off the turquoise color of the Caribbean.

We spent hours hunting for shells on the beach. The beach is littered with thousand of perfect miniature conch, nautilus and every other type of shell imaginable, and the kids marveled at how many beautiful shells they gathered. At lunchtime I queued up in the line that was forming at the poolside grill to order our food but a kind server named Estella, lead me to an empty table where we sat comfortably in the shade as she took our food order. Justin, Livvy and I spent hours on the lazy river and revisited our favorite slides as well, but mostly we enjoyed our serene, cordoned off slice of the resort.

Feeling adventurous, we had dinner off the resort at a delicious restaurant called Café Matisse, and closed out the day with an impromptu photo shoot in the romantically lit foyer of the hotel.

Trainer For A Day, Tolerating Bobby Jo, Fish Breath Kiss, Dolphin Transportation Assistance

We awoke to another sunny day on Paradise Island and headed over to the Dolphin Cay at 10am to check in for our “Trainer For A Day” program. Our trainer introduced herself as “T” which is short for Tazia, and she had a gentle manner with the kids as well as a snappy sense of humor, which came in handy throughout the day. We were grouped with 4 other guests, a 10-year old boy named Juan, two 13-year old best friends from Virginia Beach named Zoe and Lexi, and a pure caricature of a woman from Mississippi named Bobby Jo with a deep drawl and an infinite desire to speak incessantly and at inappropriately high volume. In short, Bobby Jo is the reason Jamie Oliver has begun a revolution.

We learned more about Bobby Jo during our 6 hour trainer program than anyone could reasonably want to imagine. For example the story of how she acquired her name, which incidentally was offered without anyone actually asking about it, “Da-yew-Dee’s nay-em is Raw-Bert, Momma’s JoDene, and Da-yew-Dee always wahn-ned a boyee, so they done called me Bob-eh Jo). I got the low down on the various buffets offered aboard Bobby Jo’s Disney Cruise as well which dessert items she feels are truly world class, or as Bobby Jo puts it, “speck-tack-alar like, gawed’s honest truth I tell ya’”.

While Bobby Jo’s incessant questions, piercing loud voice, excruciating donkey like laughter, nauseating soliloquies, persistent threats of fainting when in the fish prep room and sea lion encounter, as well as her spine chilling squeals of terror, had been more than enough to turn the kids viciously against her, it was only while she was receiving a complimentary dolphin foot push across the pool courtesy of Elijah (the incredibly strong dolphin who managed to propel Bobby Jo’s oversized body mass some 75 feet before falling away, exhausted into the water), that I began resenting the duty I had endured all day, namely zipping and unzipping her enormous wet suit over her back folds. I momentarily fantasized about the dolphins attacking her, a la Sea World Orlando but quickly reminded myself after some cleansing breaths that anyone who speaks that loudly and that much, must lead a life wherein she feels she is not listened to, and the least I could do was tolerate her with a modicum of grace. Namaste.

As we walked back to our hotel after the Trainer Day had ended, the kids insisted I repeatedly impersonate Bobby Jo, especially her cackle, until our cheeks all hurt from laughing and Justin got the hiccups. What a great day!
Dinner tonight was very much enjoyed at Nobu (thank you Tiffany) where the Rock Shrimp were pure perfection and the kids professed their miso soup to be every bit as good as our local Japanese fave in historic downtown Los Gatos. The line for Ben&Jerry’s in the Marina Village was epic and so the kids opted for some vanilla bean frappacinos at Starbucks instead accompanied by Justin’s recommendation of going halfsies on the Classic Coffee Cake and Plain Glazed Crueler. The taste test unanimously revealed that the Crueler was the superior dessert pastry product, in case you ever need to choose.

Club Cleavage, Shark Tank Slide, AquaCycle for Two, Tiffany the Great and Mannequin Redux

Livvy shared my king sized bed and snored powerfully all night, but I awoke somehow rested at 9am to the sounds of the Easter Egg Hunt Coordinator’s broadcast of the opening of the egg hunt on the beach just 21 floors below our room. The shrill yet joyful cry of dozens of chocolate seeking children was unmistakable. We donned our swimsuits and shorts, and made our way up to the Club on the 22nd floor for breakfast.

The first thing that struck me as I entered the sunny Club Dining Room was the abundance of beautiful 40 something women in plunging beaded cover-ups, Tory Burch flip flops, D&G sunglasses, fully make upped, and sporting copious amounts of plumping lip gloss. It took me a moment to notice the second similarity, namely the identical cleavage each was exposing between their grain silo shaped breasts. I had stepped off the elevator and landed in an episode of the Real Housewives of New York/New Jersey. While several of the men had obvious hair plugs gone very very wrong and an assortment of Tommy Bahama palm tree print shirts, the women were really far more of a sight to behold. They seemed to be exchanging knowing glances as they passed one another at the fruit buffet, daintily decorating their plates with a strawberry or lonely slice of cantaloupe. “Yes,” their eyes said, “we are soul sisters, carry on.”

I was not entreated to any such glances. Perhaps it was my Lacoste polo or tan Bermuda shorts, my suntan lotioned but unadorned face, my Oakley sport sunglasses, my lack of exposed cleavage or cleavage at all for that matter, but whatever the reason, it was clear that I and my pitifully unenhanced breast tissue were not welcome. I munched on my whole wheat toast with peanut butter and laughed hysterically with the kids as they attempted to re-enact scenes from our long airport wait, featuring a hyperactive girl from Indianapolis. I may not be a glamazon, but boy do I have awesome kids.

We found some beach chairs on the white sand Cove Beach, applied sunscreen in both lotion and toxic spray formats, and spent the next 7 hours on the shark tank water slide, the crazy lazy river, as well as the beach and the predator reef. Justin and Livvy tried out an AquaCycle, which looks like an oversized clown tricycle that floats on the water.

At one point midday, I went to visit the Concierge in order to book restaurant reservations for our stay. The lovely Tiffany assisted me and was genuinely sorry to inform me that both Nobu and Mesa Grill were booked solid for the entire week of our stay. Appealing to her sensitive nature, which was obvious from the length of her French manicured gel nails, I told her how disappointing that was, thanked her for trying and asked if there might by chance be someone to whom she could appeal for some help. “I just don’t trust myself at buffets," I confessed, "I just tend to eat so much more than I should,” to which she responded with a friendly giggle and supportive nod of understanding.

Sure enough, Tiffany told me with a twinkle in her eye that she had a few tricks up her sleeve if I didn’t mind waiting. I assured her that I would stand by her until we had succeeded at finding some kind of full service dining solution to “our” dilemma. Solidarity established I sat back and watched Tiffany work her magic, dialing two phones at the same time in an effort to reach the Director of Restaurant Services, a woman named Hope, which I thought promising. Tiffany’s dexterity with the phones was impressive, as was her tenacity. After approximately 24 dialed but unanswered calls to Hope, a young woman appeared from the back office and made some subtle inquiries of the 3 Concierges on duty, finally approaching Tiffany. They engaged in a quick chat in some type of island patois I could not comprehend, but Tiffany was clearly working it. She gestured toward me and I did my best to both avert my eyes, never make direct eye contact with a lioness I remembered from our recent Botswanian safari, and still look terribly sweet at the same time. I don’t know if it was Tiffany’s perseverance, my subservient posture, or divine intervention, but minutes later Tiffany handed me a sealed envelope with 7:15pm reservations each night to the top restaurants at the resort, including both Nobu and Mesa Grill. Oh yes, my friends, she did it.

After dinner that evening, Livvy spent a good 45 minutes redesigning the accessories on the window mannequins at the Sundry Shop, and displayed a genuine dressing talent, see pics. She transformed the erstwhile bald mannequins into chapeau doffed lovelies with exactly the right choice of eyewear to boot. I can only imagine this to be the beginning of a budding prepubescent career as a junior stylist.

Flight to the Bahamas, Imposter Check-in, Iced Tea by the Admiral, and an upgraded apology in paradise

Promptly at 10am our driver appeared at the front door ready to load the sedan and take Livvy, Justin and me to SFO for our flight to the Bahamas. Livvy opened the door and was distraught at the stranger manhandling her carefully packed rolling Victronox ballistic blue duffel. “Mom, where is Jay? Why isn’t he taking us? Who is this guy anyway?,” she demanded. I explained that Jay was probably spending the morning with his family and had sent this nice driver in his place. Livvy was not impressed but seemed willing to let it slide, “Okay Mom, but you’re sitting up front with him, he could be a freak.” Fair enough.

We checked in at the American Airlines First Class kiosk thanks to my OneWorld Gold Status. You see dear reader, I am sad to inform you that some two months prior in a fit of determination to make more of an effort to not spoil the kids, I had decided we should all travel coach on this flight. I’m sure I had somehow rationalized this away by convincing myself that it is only a five hour flight to Miami and that the touch of the well worn upholstered seat in front of me upon my knees would be worth the imprinting done on the kids. I suspect now that David had only encouraged this, knowing he would not be joining the three of us on this particular getaway.

In any event, we checked in at the First Class kiosk, feeling a bit like gatecrashers at an upscale party, and had to endure further embarrassment by resorting to flashing my One World card to be permitted access into the well guarded Priority Boarding queue. As if that were not enough, once at the gate, soggy airport purchased burrito in hand, I was faced with the Priority Boarding debacle. Does my status allow me to board with First Class or do the magic powers end at check-in and security? It had been a while since I needed to pose the question and was eager to avoid the walk of shame if denied early entry to the aircraft in front of the swarming masses of carry-on clutching passengers lining the sides of the Priority line like paparazzi along side the red carpet. I paused to remove my One World member card again and stepped tentatively toward the gate agent at the turn style.

As I approached, I recognized the gate agent, he was the same fellow who so kindly took care of Justin when I dropped him off as an unaccompanied minor for his flight in February to meet my mother in Ecuador. “Hi,” I said exuberantly, “so nice to see you again. Remember me? How’s it going today, just as crazy as when you took care of Justin after the big east coast snow storm?” I said gesturing wildly toward my son. He scanned my face, then Justin’s and then mercifully, he smiled back with clear recognition.

“How are you guys? Great to see you, thanks for saying hi.” I could have kissed his bespectacled face. I handed over our Zone 3 Boarding passes along with my One World member card. He pushed the card back at me, “You don’t need that,” he said smiling. He scanned our boarding passes and still smiling as he handed them back to me said, “If you ever need anything while you’re flying out of here in future, just let me know what I can do.” Bless his polyester clad heart.

And with that we boarded with the privileged few, heads held high until finding our seats in Row 30. At least I had an aisle and the two Chinese toddlers in front of me ceased their kicking/screaming game after a mere two hours.

We landed on schedule in Miami and made our way to the Admirals Club. There was a short queue and an attendant was shepherding people into one of two lines, Line 1 for “members” and line 2 for “American Express Platinum Card holders” a.k.a. freeloaders. When asked whether I was a member, I proudly replied, “Yes,” and was shown to the obviously more important line. The gentleman who helped me, a Mr. Jorge Ramirez was about as pleasant as could be, with his endearing “espanish ackee-scen”. Once upstairs in the lounge, Livvy and Justin enjoyed cocoa and cookies while I appreciated the complimentary freshly brewed, unsweetened iced tea. I looked but could not find a carafe of lemonade, suddenly thirsting for an Arnold Palmer, but drank my tea in good humor just the same.

Our flight was delayed by 90 minutes due to a late arriving crew, which completely baffled Justin, who at 13 is already fit to run international operations for a major conglomerate. “What do you mean the crew is late? Don’t they have a back up crew, I mean this must happen like all the time. That is so lame. What a bogus airline.” While I know I should have been teaching him a lesson in patience and the unpredictability of travel, I could not bring myself to do so and instead agreed with him wholeheartedly and even suggested he write an email to the CEO of American Airlines on the subject.

We decided to find a snack and found a take out stand attached to a Cuban restaurant that promised all variety of hot sandwiches and had a fingerprint-smudged display case filled with a strange looking assortment of baked and fried pastries. Two Indian women behind me mused over whether the fried dough pastries were filled with sweet or savory and decided against the risk, a wise choice in my lay opinion. Ordering the grilled chicken sandwich for Livvy was rather more difficult than I had anticipated, apparently in Miami my English is somewhat hard to understand for the indigenous people. In the end the manager helped translate my order into local English for the lovely Rosaria to punch into the computer. Note to travelers, when in Miami the word lettuce should not be pronounced at "let us" but rather as "let oooos", and be sure to say "sin" instead of "no" when trying to avoid certain foods appearing on your plate.

Finally after what amounted to a 1 hour and 45 minute delay, we boarded our plane to Nassau. Upon arrival at just past midnight local time, the airport was more or less deserted. We waited for a late shift attendant to unlock to doors leading from the gate to immigration and baggage claim. Our bags were there but our driver was not. I called the hotel and the night manager apologized profusely and suggested we grab a cab and let the hotel sort it all out once we arrive. A kind cab driver with a charming smile that revealed his missing front left tooth, named Philip, informed me that the private transfers tend to disappear when flights arrive after midnight and that he would be delighted to drive us to the Cove Hotel at Atlantis. Having no choice, I graciously accepted.

Once again Justin fumed at the incompetence he was being subjected to and this time I explained that when traveling to new, exotic locations, things don’t always go as planned so one needs patience and a willingness to go with the flow. Justin wasn’t buying it. The hotel was beautiful and the long outdoor arrival walk was lined with glowing red lanterns that lent the night a dreamy air. We checked in and were upgraded to a suite on the 21st floor with Club access and a magnificent view, a very suitable apology for the driver mishap in Justin’s view, and one I accepted gratefully. Livvy did some modeling in front of the water fall in the lobby and then we unpacked, washed up and by 2am were all fast asleep in our island dream hotel.

Tomorrow we hit the famed shark tank water slide….