St Lucia

On Christmas eve the rain that for the most part of the day was no more than a drizzle turned into a fully-fledged thunderstorm with thunder and lighting. At the island airport an empty luggage container broke loose, wheeled onto the flooded runway and was smashed into pieces when a collosal Virgin Atlantic Airbus coming from England landed right on top of it. The debris scraped the belly of the plane and frightened its passengers. Later, when they arrived at our hotel, I encountered these neurotics but they expressed no reaction to my hello. The hair must have still standing on their heads.

That night me and my new buddy sat in the hot tub because in the falling rain the hot tub was the only reasonable place of refuge. Suddenly the rain started falling exceptionally hard. It turned into a real hurricane. Bolts of lighting pierced the sky every five seconds and the palm trees bowed their heads and my buddy said:

“I’ve never had a Christmas like this!”

At those words we both sank ever deeper into the hot tub but the water in it was getting way too cold. Cursing we got out and ran to our rooms. As I was passing through the main lobby I saw a few newcomers standing there. It was then that I called out to them:


In response I heard only a nervous laughter. These were the people from the Virgin Atlantic.

Throughout the evening my towel was soaking wet but it was the only means of getting from building to building. After dinner a bunch of lazy English were playing Bingo at the tables beside the entertainment stage. Most of them were bored to death. A rather drunk woman, most definitely a mom, had asked me to make them start dancing. She was blonde and cute, so I couldn’t say no.

“Lady, you’re in for a show!” I said in her ear and, being quite drunk myself, stumbled towards the stage.

I walked towards Dr Dre who stood on the stage reading out bingo numbers.

“Some of us,” I said, “Have proposed we turn on some music for DANCIIING!!!”

Dead silence from the crowd was my only response. Dr Dre and I then began arguing and I lost when he finally said to the crowd:

“We can dance… Or we can play Bingo!”

“Yeeee!!!” yelled the crowd.

Defeated I limped to the bar to get another drink. I spotted a hot girl sitting there. She was 18 and drunk and talked a lot and after 5 minutes I felt a strong urge to get away from her. A sad thought crossed my mind then that killing time here flirting with teenagers was the only thing left to do.

And then time stopped. When I saw HER I couldn’t believe my eyes. Sounds, music and people’s laughter faded away or maybe I just stopped hearing them. She was impossibly beautiful. When she walked she didn’t just walk, she glided with the grace of a cat. I’ve never seen a woman move like that before. She was dressed like she just came off a magazine, Zara or Channel or something. Her hair fell on her face, not because it was messy as if she has just gotten out of bed, but because her beauty allowed it to be that way. And her butt…

Some girls are beautiful, yes, but as soon as you ruffle their hair, make them chew on something or hear them burp, the illusion is no more. Many girls look great on photographs, when they pose, pretending to be models, or maybe they are, but when you behold them in real life so few of them turn out to be Kelly Brooks and even fewer are actually smart. Some, however, aren’t affected by a random gust of wind or a rainstorm drenching their clothes and spreading Shiseido makeup across their face like peanut butter on a toast. Still they stand there or continue to glide by as if nothing is wrong, as if they rather like it that way.

These fiery women aren’t princesses. They are queens. They are dignified and fearless. Their feet are rooted to the ground binding them to the earth like trees. Like trees they sway and when they speak it isn’t a chaotic orchestra of instruments trying to blend together like the clatter of a thousand birds, it is a solo, a nightingale singing in the early summer morning. Their presence is authority itself and in their presence they are humble so you never feel unworthy of their company unless they decree otherwise. They will listen to you if they choose to, they will agree with you if they choose to. And to be chosen by them is not just a privilege. It is an honour.

All those thoughts rushed through my mind in less than a second when I saw her. At that point it was clear to me that she was taken. The possibility that she was not taken was so tiny I considered it almost an impossibility that her boyfriend was not around the corner.

Long story short, we hooked up… I extend my special thanks to the rain that flooded half the island and my soaking wet towel which we shared as we ran back to our suites that Christmas eve…

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