Dancing in the rain

Waking up late, I again have a breakdown about my splotches and spots. I look like a Dalmatian and start sobbing like a baby. Poor Prince once again has to calm me and I feel so bad for being so insecure. What will happen in the future? Will I face my problems with grace or will I turn into a beauty-addicted freak, that spends more time with her Plastic-Doctor, than with her husband?

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

And me, who hates plastic!

But scars, spots and blotches know no grace and Prince promises, once again, that there will be hope and in January, when we will go and meet a professional.

Nothing to loose, I guess. One more to try.

But the antibiotics and the creams from the Greek dermatologist seem to be surely not the solution. (but, no new breakouts since I use them)

And all my healthy daily dosages, from barley grass to Zinc and seeds, seem to be just as useless.

But I will stay faithful to them, after all, mother earth can not be bad! And maybe the secret is TIME...

And Patience!

Prince leaves for his morning dive (I can not join, as I never got my padi, when going down the first time in Bali...when I almost drowned a couple of years later I developed a fear to take off my goggles underwater, a big MUST to get certified again...one day, I know, I will face my fears and do it again, after all, the watery underworld is a magic kingdom, and if I was not so busy on earth being Cinderella, I would much rather be a mermaid...)

I am left alone with myself and me and myself, yes...just us again.

Time to write or I will drive myself mad again, facing every default in that brightly lid magnifying mirror.

Calling room service I ask for my carrot-ginger fix, but no carrots today.

Pineapple must do.

By midday Prince is back, beaming with joy about all the fishies he encountered. Damn, I must fight that fear fast!

We went a few times diving together, without anyone watching and it is just great to share such pleasures as a couple. It brings you closer to each other. And now, that I am so inspired by that engraved stone - taken down to the bottom of the sea-story, I got an even bigger push to say No to fear.

Prince takes a dip in our pool and I make a wreath from the floating blossoms, to wear for the BBQ tonight. Yes, tonight is the big night, BBQ, show and Disco. Let's see what this is all about.
I leave my frangipani wreath (what a divine smell - a fragrant cocktail of honey, marzipan and summer rain )     swimming in our pool, just to stay fresh and bright.

The Oberoi, so we learn from Shawn, has only has 2 'loud' nights, the 28. and the 31. of December, something we absolutely agree on. It is much nicer to listen to the waves, while stargazing with a Mango mojito and the husky voice of the Jazz singer gently following the piano man.

Since I am not too keen to just bake again, we get a taxi to take us to Grand Baie, a shopping area recommended by the hotel. 
The drive is lovely.

Clean, green and happy, it is the picture perfect dream island.

Asking about the cleanliness of the place, we learn that the Mauritiun government has steep fines on anyone polluting. We watch with delight the islands cleaning team, sweep and collect everywhere we pass. Switzerland watch out!

They even have a garbage police circling the island looking out for any offenders.

Now, I am really impressed.

People may be poor here, but they respect the law, and most likely the beauty of their home.

I remember a heated discussion, once vacationing on a pretty Greek island, where beaches looked like the coloring books of children's eyes.

They were so vibrant in all shades of the rainbow, from the trash left behind by 'us' - humans (?).

It was a painful sight, such beauty drowned in filth. Meeting a refined man in a bar later on, I strike the subject with full Germanic force. The gentleman, and his plastic-perfect wife, who just came of their super yacht tells me, that it is god's will, to have Greece a 'bit' dirty. Because the gods made Greece so extremely gorgeous, that it needs the dirt to balance such divine beauty. Dumbfounded by such statement, I stared at my glass, wondering if I am drunk, or missing something. I did not reply, I think I was too shocked to answer. I actually contemplated if this man knows some celestial truth, which my simple German mind could not grasp. After all, the Greeks came from the gods, not the Germans. That's when the wife pulled me conspiringly next to her, telling me, that her friends, who have an even bigger yacht, always leave their trash on virgin beaches, thinking it is some fun to see, if anybody would find out...

???

Am I tripping?

Obviously my opinion of the refined and elegant couple changed in a matter of nanoseconds.

Prince and I went down to the beach the next morning, sporting bright yellow rubber gloves and a fat roll of xxxxxl garbage bags. Time to fight the will of the gods...hope they will not punish us later? I do want my share in heaven...

Cleaning by the way has very meditative powers. I fall into some kind of trance and my mind seems to understand the bigger meaning of it all. That's when the revelation hits me, that the man was wrong, not me.

Because, if the gods really wanted a balance of beauty and trash in the land of Greece, they would have trash growing from trees and flowers naturally.

If I ever meet this man again, I am ready for an answer!

Luckily Mauritius needs no balance, just beauty, and I am very happy for that.

Grand Baie is admiringly beautiful.

We could be in New port beach, in Hawai or anywhere else, considered perfect.

Impressive, impressive.

Poor country?

Okay, it is may a bit too done, lacking the real feel of a place. But then, if booking a 6 star resort, does anyone want the real feel?

The crowd is a colorful mix of all skin tones, Dalmatian-me in a category of her own.

It is around 2 and we discover signs on most doors - OUT TO LUNCH.

So why not follow the island rhythm and do the same.

The "La Plage" restaurant seems the perfect place for some fresh seafood.

We join the bustling atmosphere at the wooden porch with killer views of azure waters, sailing boats and lots of skin in sugary sands.

The waiter, a wired looking gay guy, serves us fast and furious. I bet he is on coke or speed.

But if that keeps him serving so fast, no problem

The plates arrive and I am not kidding, when I tell you, that the word HUGE is too small of a description. Even Americans have yet to discover such monster plates, which could easily feed a family of 6. Tiger prawns for Prince and squid for me, the food is filling, if somewhat too saucy for our simple taste. Hard to beat the Portuguese sea food cuisine! The bottle of house white, called Chaptalin is highly unrecommendable!!!

Costing us over a 100 euros, this is by no means a cheap meal. Now we know, how the garbage police keeps on getting paid.

Strolling along the shops, the likes of Vilebrequin(my favorite for boys and dad's, wished they would do a husband and wife line), Abercrombie (is it real?) , Italian cashmere (too hot, sorry) and lots of Indian and Indonesian stuff, we find a pair of cute summer dresses and a Hawaiian look alike skirt and top, with Hibiscus prints. I love it!!!

There is a tiny fish-market, selling fishes of such stunning beauty, that it brakes my heart to see them dead. They may taste good, but they are just soooo beautiful. One species is of such brilliant turquoise, just like some fabled creature of fairyland. Maybe the mermaid idea is not so good after all. I would not like to end up on this fishy stinky table, stared at from all angles.

Time to return to the hotel, taking a skinny dip with the sunset. The sky is a lavish medley of pinks and reds tonight, the first since we are here.

Around 8 we get dressed to join the big dash. Wearing my flower wreath I feel and smell like a Princess. The manager greets us with proud Igor, presenting the splendid buffet. The waiters, by now we know each of them personally, usher us to a rather unromantic table, but it has the best view for the show they whisper. 
( I must mention, that the hotel is filling up steadily by the minute... looks pretty full tonight)
Perfect. Let's hit the buffet. Oysters, Caviar (not BELUGA), anybody? Luxury pure and there they are again, the copper food warmers, I already fell in love with in Bangalor's Oberoi. I must remind myself to inquire about them later. They make any table a star.

The food is truly delicious and full of surprises, if I only could fill in more, after those La Plage portions.

There are 6 waiters around us, charming and polite, holding our plates, pouring our wines. Gossshhhh, tonight Cinderella really is a Princess again... Oberoi, Mister Oberoi, chapeau! Service here is top notch. I would love to take a couple of those warm eyed boys back to Sintra, to help with my every day chores... Honest, hard working, humble, witty and kind, we are very much blown by the Mauritians.

Asking our headwaiter if he likes to come with us, he politely declines our generous offer. He did his share of outside world and work - at a resort in the Seychelles (have never been - must do soon), a place of beauty beyond even Mauritius he admits. Great life... Seychelles, Mauritius...

He smirks, that he is now in prime time to find his love.

Ohhhh well, no cute Mauritian for me then.

The African group arrives and the chanted sounds, followed by wild drumming and sensual dancers puts us into another world. Africa, another place that has been calling me for a lonnnnnnng time. I did my tiny tasting of South Africa, but what is tickling my fancy is the bush. The real Africa. The wilderness. The rawness. The Jungle. Safari style-meets Ralph Lauren-dressed me and Sean Connery (ahhhhh)

scribbling in leather-bound (LV) diaries in his candle lid tent and than some English patient style bonfire under the brightest starry sky, where I read some sensual bedtime stories to Prince...Wake up Princess!!! You are daydreaming...

Bonfire? Looks like someone was with me in my dream. DREAMCATCHERS?

They just started one on the beach. Only the music is far from inspiring now, the Africans gone the DJ took over with some ugly boooom booom and vroooooommmmmm vrooooom booooommmm.

Our headwaiter gets the message and passes it on, so when we arrive (we are the only guests on the beach ) by the bonfire Bob Marley is wailing for us and like kids we start jumping around. It feels good to dance again, it must have been forever. Prince, by the way, is an amazing dancer, a cross between John Travolta in 'Saturday Nightfever' and the one&only Fred Astaire.

The DJ has mercy on us and keeps the music very danceable, Prince swirling me around the sand, which by the way is quite a difficult task, but a great workout!

Some time later we fall into the sand, laughing with joy and holding our hurting bellies. Life is beautiful and then...
The clouds open up, joining our laughs with wet pleasures.

And the rain starts. Big fat elephant drops, first one by one and than the skies open all the way and it pours.

The ever-smiling waiter arrives under his umbrella with my mango mojito (my new drink of choice) and another couple follows, joining our mad rain-dance.

Thinking, this must be the usual 2-minute drizzle, we watch the DJ pack up his gear. Music over!?

Oh no. And it is raining. No kidding. But we got company under our sun-umbrella and some more drinks.

The fun couple owns a restaurant in Zurich and this is their 1. Holiday in 12 years!!! 12 years, slaving the kitchen... I must reconsider my restaurant owning dream too!

They are telling us, that they find the hotel rather boring, no action, no youngsters.

Ooops, I guess, they do not know the Oberoi philosophy well enough yet. Not much action, just ommmmm with fine food and service class A+++

Club Med would be recommendable for fun.

I do understand them though. Imagine your 1.ever holiday away from the steaming ovens. Maybe some fun and entertainment would be a good idea. I guess when you are that starved for a holiday and time off, you just don't know what to do with all that time off.

I recommend love making, which they agree is keeping them busy at night.

The rain is not stopping and we must say good night at last. Prince is totally soaked and I am half and half, trying to keep my favorite flower-power silk dress as dry as possible. I got this vague feeling, that rain and silk do not like each other. But there is no way around it - unless I start stripping now - I must run back through the waterfalls, to get home. (Strangely, all the charming waiters have disappeared, so no umbrella)
I start the sprint, leaving Prince (sorry) behind, making landing under our hatched roof. It seems forever before I hear Prince's voice calling my name. I wonder why he does not come in, when he shouts that I am in the wrong villa. Ohoh...

Is it the Mojito or the rain?

Following Prince we stand on our door searching for the key. No key!

Where did we leave it? On the table at dinner? At the beach? In the sand?

Prince volunteers to go key hunting and I plant myself - naked now - under our daytime pavilion, meditating on vanity, insecurity and the joy of rain. Prince returns -with key- and joins my chanting. We must have made a pretty odd picture, naked in Lotus positions, in the wildest tropical rainstorm.

Wonderful!

No chance of love tonight, as Prince is dead tired, so GOOD NIGHT

xxxxxx

*Dancing is a telegraph to mother earth, asking for abolishment of gravity. (Fred Astaire)

Skype on holiday...not a good idea!

Prince is much better this morning and goes for his dive.
I write and wait for his return.
He is very happy and tells me all about the fish he fed under-water.
Lucky Prince...I miss it too!
Time to bake (30SPF, hat and umbrella) and beach, once again, doing what is done best on vacation.
NOTHING.
We are very happy and the service, even on the beach, is impeccable.
Oberoi, we can only praise you.

Or let's say - almost, because things look a bit different when sunset hour is gone, (again with a golden sky and a pretty ugly tanker sitting very ugly right in front of it!) and we return home, where Prince has a skype business call and the connection keeps breaking.
OH-OH... I can smell trouble. First, up goes the AC to minus something, and then the outbursts of anger...
Luckily I am no working here!
So it is the poor IT guy, who has to come to our room till late at night, trying to fix the unfixable.
The problem appears to be on half of the island. Of course - it has to be our half.
By 10.30 Prince gives up and we go for a late dinner. No problem, we still get served, just us and the Banyan tree (I now know its name) bird house, which has no less than 2000 (about) birds, and 6 species as its guest.
COOL TREE!!!

Magical tree?

• In Hinduism, the banyan tree is considered sacred and is called "Ashwath Vriksha." God Shiva asDakshinamurthy is nearly always depicted sitting in silence under the banyan with rishis at His feet. It is thought of as perfectly symbolizing eternal life due to its seemingly unending expansion.
• Also in Hindu culture, the banyan tree is also called kalpavrikshameaning 'wish fulfilling divine tree'. In modern parlance in the Hindilanguage, it is known as Bargad, Vatavriksh, and Barh.
• Buddha is believed to have achieved enlightenment inBodhgaya in India while meditating under a banyan tree of the species Sacred Fig. The tree is known as Bodhi Tree
• In Buddhism's Pali canon, the banyan (Pali: nigrodha)^[8] is referenced numerous times.^[9]Typical metaphors allude to the banyan's epiphytic nature, likening the banyan's supplanting of a host tree as comparable to the way sensual desire (kāma) overcomes humans.^[10]
• The Lam Tsuen Wishing Trees (林村許願樹) are banyan, and are a popular shrine in Hong Kong. They are located near the Tin Hau Temple in Lam Tsuen.
• In many stories of Philippine Mythology, the banyan, (locally known as balite) is said to be home to a variety of spirits and demon-like creatures (among the Visayans, specifically, dili ingon nato,meaning "things not like us"). Maligno (Mystical creatures) associated with it include thekapre (a giant), dwende (dwarves), and especially the tikbalang (a creature whose top half is a horse and whose bottom half is a human).^[11]
• In Guam, 'Chamorro people believe in tales of taotaomona, duendesand other spirits. Taotaomona are spirits of the ancient Chamorro that act as guardians to banyan trees.^[12]

I think one of those days I will visit the Banyan and maybe try the divine-wish powers for a happy-healthy 2010. (and maybe less spots and blotches and less bad things happening...would that be too much to ask?)




Nighty night

Stomach bugs and cooking curry

Good morning Mauritius...
Prince is not very well, stomachache BIG time.
Spending most morning in the toilet he cancels his dive and feels pretty much Shitty.
I meanwhile want to join the cooking lesson at noon and arrive excitedly at the kitchen. The 2 Russians are the only other guests and wearing our chef's hats and aprons, we follow our chef (not Igor) into the hot kitchen. Curry lessons. Am I interested? I like to always learn something new, but I for some reason loose interest and I am a bit concerned about poor Prince. I leave the Russians to do the curry and steam back to find him sunbathing. So much for worries. I join him, forget curry, it is easy anyhow...
Later on, I find the 2 cooking fans from Russia on the beach and learn that they also have some trouble with their stomachs. Must be the ice? The sushi? The???
Well, something, but who knows...
Best to relax and drink plenty of water and chill. So that's what we do.
Late afternoon Prince feels hungry and we get him a simple pasta with olive oil only. That should be safe.
Staying on the beach to watch the sunset, a gold glistening sky, we head 'home' with a mountain of DVD's for he cuddle night ahead. Prince prefers to stay in and not eat and I order some room-service.
T-bone steak and salad. The steak arrives way too uncooked and we return it, after trying (without success!!!) to cook it on the toaster that came with the dinner - to heat up the bread.
I do like my meat pretty rare and red, but this one is pretty much still alive!
The waiter collects it and returns it - done to perfection. I think I never had a steak re-heated without being overdone after that. There is always a first.


Watching "The painted veil" a lovely movie about the beautiful difficulty called LOVE...
It makes me wonder, why we have to go through pain or through loss, only to realize, that we LOVE?
I will make sure TO ALWAYS remember how much I love my Prince!!! To tell him, show him, to hug him, to whisper it to him...
I LOOOOOVVVVVVVVVVE YOUUUUUUUUUU
 We spoon up and drift into a peaceful sleep...
xxxx

Smoked scallops heaven

The phone shrills into my ear and a drowsy look at the clock confirms the very early hour… 6.30am?

Am I dreaming?

Some voice is mumbling something and I am lost till I wake enough to follow the odd, one-way conversation.

What??? Cat poo? No worries, I did it myself...no I am ok, please, I need to sleep...
Service,... but timing?

The bad cat

Besides that phone call, it is another day in Paradise...
Wake up late... breakfast late... Beach
My hungry purring friend is back at the villa, miauing for food. More milk, but please no more vomit little one! Not much else happens today, I am waiting for Santa to arrive by sea, but somehow I miss him.
Next year another chance.

 The good cat

Reading and doing sweet nothing, this is the perfect holiday day.
Dinner is again delicious and we meet charming chef Igor, of Italian blood. Living around the world, Mauritius is his latest place in a long path of kitchens. His food is divine, especially considering, that we are on an island, in a hotel. I am crazy about the smoked scallops, served with tumeric foam in the scallop shell. I could eat them by the dozen and have already collected a fair share of their shells to take back home. The meringue, shock frozen or better- molecular something- is very eatable, when one not looks at the ugly appearance. The steaming cold fog, when it is served, reminds of a magic trick, and it is, because when the meringue appears it looks less delicious, than a piece of moon-rock. That something as ugly can taste so divine comes to a surprise(and is magic!) and must remind me once again, that not all that sparkles is gold. And not all that looks dull is bad.
Sipping some MEERLUST ( literally in German meaning the lust for the sea... fitting, don't you think?) red, which leaves us unimpressed (but for the name) and off we had for our four-post...


Merry xmas...

Merry Xmas from the OBEROI Mauritius

I am dreaming...I am running...I am laughing and then a bright light hits me with full force. Am I being hit by a car? I awake with a jolt, to realize, that the wind has picked up outside, and the curtain is wobbling around our open door.
WHERE am I???
Oh... on vacation...

Smart girl for letting the doors open. But how would I know, it gets so windy here?

I take a look at Prince.

OUT.

I steal myself to the door and close it gently.

7am, better get some more sleeeeeep...

At 10.30 we both awake, sweaty and happy. (AC WAS OFF, of course... I am anti-AC)

Let's go for breakfast!

The scenery is just as enchanting today, as it was when we arrived. It is paradise. And there is NOBODY!

Empty white beach, empty blue sea and empty beach chairs. Oh, how I love the peace. No screaming babies...No rushing to secure a beach front mattress...Just a lovely ommmmmm..

Breakfast is served next to the bird-opera, but it seems the winged stars are out for the day.

Fresh fruit and freshly pressed juices are the morning riser here and I could not be happier.

Apple-ginger-carrot, what a way to start the day.

After that, time to beach again, but not before I make Prince buy me a bigger hat, to hide my face. 3 hours in the sun, and already the brown blotches are arriving in force.

Oh dear, where ever did that perfect smooth brown tan go?

Age and sun abuse, stupid dumb me...

PLEASE EVERYONE OUT THERE- SUN-SCREEN!!! ALWAYS! BIG HAT! BIG GLASSES!






Just like that song of Baz Luhrmann... listen:



Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be
it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable
than my own meandering
experience…I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you
imagine.
Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing
bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm
on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing everyday that scares you
Sing
Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours.
Floss
Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes
you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with
yourself.
Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you
succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch
Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your
life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they
wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year
olds I know still don’t.
Get plenty of calcium.
Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.
Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe
you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky
chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people
think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever
own..
Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.
Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.
Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.
Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for
good.
Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the
people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you
knew when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live
in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will
philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize
that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were
noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.
Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund,
maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one
might run out.
Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will
look 85.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who
supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it for more than
it’s worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen…


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQlJ3vOp6nI




I am paying now with my insecurities. I wished Baz would have sang that song, when I was frying myself without any protection. (I believed sunscreen was dangerous, just nobody knew it yet... Teenage brain...)

Oh, did I mention it is CHRISTMAS?

It does not feel like it...Let's go under that umbrella...

I bury my nose into Jonathan's book-" Ancient paths to spirituality..."

Prince goes for a 2h massage and returns with Hover-feet, floating above the Indian ocean beach. So he feels at least, he says, but it does look a bit different...

Around 6.30, just after a golden (no pink at all?) sparkling sunset, we return to get dressed for the Christmas carols.

We are the first listeners, and watch the arrival of 12 honey and chocolate colored Santa Clausines, in little red silk dresses, Santa hats and white peep toes.

Very sexy!

The other guests arrive, we are now about 6 people, when the girls start swinging into Xmas eve. Old -fashioned songs are prepped up into a swinging blues, gospel, jazz something's...

More guests arrive, also the Russians, dressed very revealingly (Prince, I am here!), especially the Liza Minnelli look alike, in 10 inch stilettos, a mini-mini something and an evening clutch - a look, that would fit the Oscars without a blink.

Oh, did I mention, that I am wearing my Rudolph horns (...sexy me) and Prince his Santa hat?

He could easily join the Santalines band, if it wasn't for that hairy face.

We are now at almost full capacity of hotel guests, about 18 (had some new arrivals) and after a few songs, most of them just get up and head for the dinner.

Talking about manners, please.

The poor girls have practiced weeks, maybe months even and are now singing for such a tiny crowd, and than people just get up, without saying MERCI, sorry-jet-leg...nothing.

RUDE!!!

Where did the times of social etiquette go?

I follow the girls gaze, watching the disappearing acts with a little hurt.

Time for Prince to make a show to keep them happy.

He knows how to make people - women preferably - feel special.

A gift, or a well trained weapon?

Mhhhhh...

After a few bubbles and a lot of swinging music the girlies say good night and we join one of the 3 remaining couples for another drink. Prince has met this gentleman at the massage parlor, whatever that means? Apparently, so the English man goes, they also know each other naked now. That is more information than needed on Xmas, but hey, he is English.

The couple points out, how rude our fellow guests are and we agree passionately.

They are a rather interesting pair, surprise, surprise. Not the typical English, on a honeymoon remake.

Childhood lovers, they married young and lived in the Uk some years, till they got fed up with the boring everyday life and the island attitude, that can be choking to freedom loving individuals.So they started moving. Germany (they loved it and they know all about the special Christmas wooden toys from the Erzgebirge, like the candle lid pyramids or the smoking men) Korea, Italy, China and now it is India.

Delhi for that matter. I can only say- chapeau!


 Smokey man ( Raeuchermann, filled with incense cones, he starts smoking away)

Christmas Pyramid, the heat makes it turn and the bells toll

I love India, but have not yet made it to Delhi, which must be much more 'challenging', than even Mumbai. Impressed I chatter on, how much I love India and how I would - could live there in a heartbeat. The lady seems not as excited and tells me, that the dreamlike tourist taste and the actual real life there are of a big difference. I guess, she has a point, but my crush for India is still unruffled.

They are married 25 years and just came from a late honeymoon (there we go) in Bali, where they had dived into the depths of the sea with a giant rock, engraved with their names and the date of marriage.

OHHHHHHHHHH...

I am so touched and google at Prince.

I just love romance. Where is our stone? All we ever threw into the sea was our wedding bouquet.

Prince gives me THAT look and I keep my mouth sealed, for now that is.

Inspired we excuse ourselves and head for dinner. Great news - in his sleepy excitement at arrival, Prince has ordered a big fish, baked in salt for dinner. And that on Christmas eve...

Giving me his teddy bear look, I just forget my German desire for some game on Christmas, and anyhow- fish is good for us.

The fish, a sort of a Dorade, is huge and we can not finish it, so I ask Shawn to pack it up, to take it back to the room.

No, not for us, of course not. It is for that little cat, that has paid us a visit this morning, schlecking away all our milk.

Arriving back in the villa there is a huge stink and a family of slimy plops scattered around the floor. Damn, the cat is still inside. OOOOPPPSSS, poor thing, must have had an overdose of milk  ( she had about 1 liter ) and locked up, where else to go but everywhere. I call for house keeping, but looks like, they are all gone.

MERRY XMAS!

The receptionist sends me some guy from the security department, but when he looks at the stinky mess, he declines to help. He advises us to call first thing in the morning!

Now, that is what I call service of a 6 star, no?

I end up scrubbing the floors, just like home, once again...

Cinderella at her best.

Good night

AND MERRY XMAS EVERYBODY