This is how untimely I am. This post is from last April ’12. Late is an understatement. And I think I still have one more post from that holiday.
When I asked the women at the reception hut why we had to move, they smiled stiffly and said
“Well so you can see both kind of rooms.”
I translated this correctly: The second room wasn’t going to be as nice.
The room was still pretty and quaint but it was distinctly smaller and slightly darker because it was on the ground set among a swathe of luxurious foliage and trees.
As expected, the ex was most displeased.
I tried to soften the blow by cheerfully praising the room, as one would with a sulky child.
Raise your voice and use lots of exclamations.
“Oh look it’s cute! I like it! What a lovely bed!”
“I don’t like it. I don’t want to stay here.”
“Come on it’s not that small. Look we get a patio!”
“I refuse to stay in this hole!!”
“It’s not a hole! It’s cute!”
“It’s tiny and dark and I hate it!!”
“If they had given us this room first you wouldn’t have known better and you would have liked it.”
“No I wouldn’t! And it was THEIR mistake! They shouldn’t have put us in a nice room first and then in a shit hole!”
(Regrettable. Agreed. It was a bad tactical move on the hotel’s part.)
My cheerful veneer worn thin by now, I resort to hard reality.
“Look, there are no other rooms. We have to stay here.”
“I don’t HAVE to do anything!”
“Well all the hotels are fully booked. You were with me when I booked this one. So you can’t leave.”
“Oh yeah? Oh yeah?? Just watch me! I’m leaving!!”
That was perhaps also a tactical error on my part. The Ex needs the softly-softly gently-gently approach as a general rule.
Now the tantrum began in earnest. None of my pleadings worked. Once the Ex begins a huff there is no backing down.
“Baby please don’t leave! Where are you going to go? Most hotels are full!”
“I don’t CARE! I’m LEAVING!”
Huffing and puffing and dragging a large suitcase, the Ex stormed off.
Or would have stormed off if the suitcase hadn’t kept toppling over on the uneven pavement, thus ruining the momentum of the dramatic exit.
I cried, because that’s just what I do in these times of crisis.
But then I called the reception again and begged in my most melancholy, hushed tones to get another room.
Then I told them the ex was upset and wanted to leave.
There was an awkward pause on the line.
I imagine the reception also saw the ex speeding off like a hell-born brat in the hired car which probably helped prompt them to kick out a guest in another hotel room.
She was the niece of the owner, (and staying for free, hence no trouble) so we got her room. Yay!
I felt and still feel a tad guilty partly because of the other lady and partly because this sets such a bad moral precedent.
The Ex now thinks this validates the tantrum throwing. I’m afraid on the face of it, it rather does. I would have just shrugged and taken the smaller room and that would have been it, but a well acted out hissy-fit and we got a lovely room.
Tsk tsk. Well there goes the moral.
Shall I describe the hotel?
(If you’d rather not read the description, skip ahead to the photos. If you’d rather not do that either, I can’t believe you even made it this far down the post at all.)
Fond Doux was a 2000 acre working plantation. Set high up on the hillside and nestled among many Bougainvillea, coconuts and ginger lilies were the tree houses, on the ground were a few plantation style cottages. Maybe 10 huts in total.
The plantation grew mostly cocoa and some banana and had originally been part of a much bigger, slave-run estate. The next owner was eventually a freed slave once the oppressors were sent packing. Then the plantation got sold and this was the only part left. I forget the rest of the history. That’s pretty much the gist of it.
They grew a variety of other things: Coffee (or ‘Jungle MnMs’ as the tour guide lady smugly told us. A tourist winner, that phrase.), clove, cinnamon, various other spices. The planting was natural, with winding paths through the groves, the cottages mostly hidden. Fairly homely, family run, quiet place. The owner would be in the bar chilling most evenings. He was like a kindly uncle hosting some kids at his place. I liked him a lot but his accent took some getting used to.
I think I have an excellent knack of picking a good holiday place (Mostly). Patting myself on back right now.
Being somewhat competitive about my new-found talent, I started to actively check out the various hotels as we drove past them or visited their restaurant. On the whole (pat pat), I’m pleased to say, in my opinion, I think ours was by far the nicest.
That is, to phrase it more eloquently, I think I fucking nailed it.
Click on a photo to view large.