Page 9 of Here for a Good Time
“It was great!” I beam, now self-conscious about my eye bags with every new person I meet. I’d thought of getting my sunglasses out on the boat but didn’t want to risk them flying off of my face. I make a mental note to book that spa the second we’re checked in.
“Antonio took good care of us,” Zwe says. Upon hearing his name, Antonio grins and holds out a fist, which Zwe bumps.
“Antonio,” Sandra says through a weary sigh, but he interrupts her first.
“It’s chill, they’re not the snobby kind,” he says, still with that grin, the kind that could melt a Popsicle in the dead of winter. “We’ve had some real snobby ones,” he explains.
“Okay, that’s enough, Antonio,” Sandra says, sounding like a mom politely ushering her moderately behaved child to his bedroom. “Why don’t you go ahead and send those suitcases to the villa while I give Mr. Zwe and Ms. Poe their tour?”
Antonio makes a small saluting motion. “Come on, dude,” he says to the other man, but then stops in his tracks.
“Oh, where are my manners? Mr. Zwe, Ms. Poe, this is my boy Eka.” I suppress a giggle at Antonio calling Eka his “boy” when the latter is clearly several years older than him and closer in age to me and Zwe.
Eka, who is less animated than Antonio, smiles and bows his head slightly. “Pleasure to meet you. I will be your assigned porter during your stay.”
“Nice to meet you, Eka,” I say.
As the two men walk away, Sandra gestures at the young woman standing next to her. “This is Leila. She will be your personal villa host while you stay with us.”
“Hello, Ms. Poe, Mr. Zwe.” Stepping forward, Leila offers us the silver tray she’s been holding.
The constant “Ms.” and “Mr.” is already making me squirm, and I make a note to brainstorm with Zwe as to how we can politely ask everyone to stop.
“Would you like to try our welcome drinks? We mixed them according to the online questionnaires you emailed us,” she says, referencing the “flavor questionnaire” we’d been sent a few days after I made our booking.
“Mr. Zwe, for you, we’ve mixed honey syrup, fresh lime juice, mango purée, and a splash of ginger beer.
Ms. Poe, yours has lychee, lime juice, club soda, and some honey-ginger syrup.
All of the fruits are grown on our very own organic farm, and the honey is sourced from a local aviary on the mainland. Please, enjoy.”
Zwe and I take sips from each of our glasses at the same time, and let out matching mmmm s, also at the same time.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever drank,” Zwe says. “And not just today. I mean, in my life.”
“I’m so happy to hear that,” Leila says with a light laugh.
“The recipe cards for both are in your minibar, and we would be happy to provide the ingredients as well if you’d like to do some in-room bartending.
Of course, we’re also happy to mix it ourselves at our own bar whenever you’d like a glass. ”
“Shall we walk while you enjoy your drinks?” Sandra offers. She squints up at the sun. “I don’t think heatstroke on your first day would be an ideal start to your holiday.”
“No, it would not,” I reply, and we walk in pairs, me and Sandra in front, and Zwe and Leila behind.
“If you’re not too tired,” Leila says, “I’d like to take you for a quick buggy tour around the resort. But please don’t feel pressured to say yes. If you’d rather go to your villa immediately and relax for a bit, we can schedule the tour for another time. Whatever suits your needs.”
I’ve never been anywhere that was close to this level of fancy, and although I know this is part of their service, to be honest, this much attention to solely our needs feels uncomfortable.
Then again, I read all the reviews and intentionally booked this resort because everyone had said that the steep price was worth it given the highly personalized experience you get.
“A tour sounds fun. I just got a second wind,” I say, looking back at Zwe. “You?”
Zwe holds up his glass, which is already half-empty. “As long as I can have another one of these waiting for me at the end of the tour.”
Leila grins. “Deal,” she says, already taking out her phone and typing a discreet text.
We make our way across the sand and onto the paved walkway that divides the resort from the beach.
Two white four-seat buggies are already parked.
While Leila puts the silver tray and our glasses into a small basket that’s secured on the back of one of them, Sandra reaches into her pocket for her wallet.
“This is my number,” she says, handing us each a business card.
“If for whatever reason you run into a problem, please don’t hesitate to reach out.
You can also inform any staff member that you’d like to speak to me, and they’ll find a way to put me in touch with you.
We’re so thrilled to have you with us, and I do hope you’ll have a beautiful and nourishing stay here. ”
“Oh… my god… that is… so nice of you. Thank you so much,” I say, increasingly stunned at the level of customer service here.
After saying our goodbyes, Sandra hops into the other buggy and drives off.
With Leila behind the wheel, Zwe and I get into the back seat, jolting a bit when the vehicle starts.
“You two okay back there?” Leila asks as she steers the vehicle up the curved ascending pathway toward the actual resort.
“Couldn’t be better,” I reply half-distractedly.
I had been stunned by the photos when I was perusing the website, but I am gobsmacked seeing it in person.
In contrast to the sticky air that awaited us when we stepped out of the airport, this seems like the kind of place where the sun, moon, and clouds work in tandem to ensure that the temperature is consistently perfect, and that if there is ever, say, a thunderstorm, it a) only happens late at night when everyone is already indoors, and b) is the kind of picturesque thunderstorm—strong, but not terrifying—that movie studios employ CGI to re-create.
Basically, it feels like an island you’d see in a Disney movie.
With short pauses in front of each stop so that Leila can talk us through the facilities, we see the organic garden where Antonio happens to be chatting with his grandfather (they both wave), the open-air reception area with the glamorous marble fountain in the middle, the cliffside bar and adjacent pool, the beachfront barbecue “shack,” the main all-day restaurant, the main infinity pool framed by towering palm trees that is separate from the “lap pool,” and their Vero Spa, whose multiple certified masseuses and aestheticians exclusively use organic, high-quality ingredients across their carefully curated treatment menu.
“I apologize for the mess, but I promise you won’t hear any of it from your room.
They’re also ordered to wrap up by four P.M .
,” Leila says as we pass by a section of the resort that’s currently under construction.
Nothing’s been built yet, but there are several tractors digging up the land while men in hard hats direct them from the ground.
“We’re working on expanding the resort.”
“You’re going to make it even bigger than this?” I open my arms to gesture at the sprawling land around us.
“Believe it or not, yes,” Leila laughs.
“What are you building? What more could this resort possibly need? An aquarium?”
“A museum? Indoor go-karting track?” Zwe muses.
“Last I heard, they’re still trying to decide on what exactly it’ll be.” She tosses a nod over her shoulder at Zwe. “But that indoor go-karting has my vote.”
I can’t tell if she’s flirting or simply continuing to be welcoming. By the way Zwe is smiling, though, I can tell which one he hopes it is.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says once we’ve left the site behind, “but I haven’t clocked any other guests here. Are they off doing activities around the island or…?”
Over her shoulder, Leila widens her eyes at us in a secretive You didn’t hear this from me way.
“We had a glitch with our booking system that no one was aware of,” she explains.
“We only realized recently that the rates had been displaying online at four times the actual price. Because of our location and exclusivity, it’s rare for us to ever be at full capacity, or even close.
” Read: we’re too expensive for the majority of people .
“We just assumed we hadn’t been getting the normal number of bookings due to a mixture of bad weather on the mainland and the fact that this is the region’s annual low season.
It wasn’t until a routine technical check that someone noticed the glitch. ”
“Oh, that explains the email,” I say, snapping my fingers.
“Email?” Zwe asks.
“I got an email the other day apologizing for some pricing discrepancy and a notice they’d be refunding a chunk of the payment,” I explain.
“That would be why,” Leila confirms. “As soon as we found out, management temporarily closed our bookings while they fixed the system to ensure that something like that doesn’t happen again. Everything’s running as normal now, and I promise we do typically have guests.”
“Eh, I think it’s kind of cool—” Zwe shrugs. “I’ve always wondered how it’d feel to be a millionaire with my own private island.”
“Well, lucky you,” Leila says. “Here we are.” She slows down and parks in front of a bungalow with a thatched roof and bamboo exterior.
We get out and follow her to the door. “This—” A tap of a card on the unassuming black box by the door, a flash of green light, a beep.
“—is your home for the next two weeks,” she says, pushing open the door.