I was sat at the pool bar sipping my Martini like a big shot.
I’d been playing tennis every morning since arriving in St Lucia, and after two hours being beaten down by my opponent and the sun, my limbs felt like sticks rubbed together by an Apache tribe to make fire.
It was midday and I was thinking about taking a dip or going to the spa to get a rubdown. But then I saw the woman I’d met at the bar last night passing through the wicker shade to take her place poolside. I couldn’t tell if it was the fatigue from being given the runaround by my superior tennis partner that I could feel in my legs, or if it was the tingling of a romantic crush.
Popping a green olive in my mouth, I walked over to Dominique, inviting her for a walk. It felt like a miracle or a movie.
Now I’ve experienced plenty in my short years on this planet, but let me tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced bliss quite like walking on the beach in St Lucia.
The unreconstructed Caribbean coastlines, the drawing of lines in the sand, made me feel both lost in the majesty of it all and incredibly relaxed with my place on this tiny speck of carbon orbiting the sun. With sand crunching under my feet, I felt insignificant, and so did all the troubles of my past.
Gazing into someone’s eyes at sunset is how I imagine our ancestors, the tribesmen, would configure their place in the solar system. It’s a pity we only take time to consider these things in the two-week window of our calendars we call a holiday. The nearest I usually come is on a conference call, so this was certainly some kind of revelation.
I’m not as naïve as to think that St Lucians live in the kind of temporary luxury I was experiencing at my resort in St Lucia. But wouldn’t it be nice to have this all at your doorstep every day, mooring boats and catching crab for a living?
Better than, say, waking in the city, dark and dreary?
The very thought of it makes me want to leap for the stars, or at least get out of the office more.