I noticed the first mosquito bite on my wrist, then another on my foot. Great. Please, universe, don’t gift me dengue fever or Zika—I’m just trying to enjoy myself for a minute.
This was the view from the bed this morning, and damn, I still can’t believe I’m here. The plan was to meet at the dining room at 0700, but of course, Ava was lagging—what else is new? For some reason, the time difference didn’t hit me as hard, but maybe that’s because I was practically in hibernation on the plane.
Side note: I’m eternally grateful for my ABCC11 gene because, damn, body odor is real. I know everyone showered yesterday, but some folks were marinating overnight, and it showed.
Breakfast was scrambled eggs with veggies, chicken sausage, and hash browns. Trying to keep the gluten intake low in the mornings so I don’t start the day feeling like a sloth.
Second plate? Mangosteen, chia pudding, and pineapple—something light and refreshing.
And, of course, another cappuccino. I swear, it comes out perfect every time, which makes me think there’s a machine doing all the work.
After breakfast, we tried pulling out cash at the lobby, but apparently, they didn’t have any on hand until later in the afternoon.
Then came the sticker shock at the shop. A tiny tube of Banana Boat sunscreen for $50. Aloe vera? $75. Absolutely not. I begrudgingly bought the SPF since I was already crisping, but I wasn’t about to drop that kind of cash on sus-quality aloe.
We booked a private reef snorkeling trip for tomorrow—$50 a head for the seven of us.
Then, we decided to check out the other side of the island and see how their beach bar compared to yesterday’s.
A long bridge stood between us and the other side, so we took a buggy over.
And let me tell you, the Paloma Beach Bar? Next level. The cabanas were in the actual infinity pool, and they had a swim-up bar. If I wasn’t floating around, deep in conversation with my friends, I was at the bar drinking with a group of Aussies from Perth.
Side observation: It seemed like we were the only Americans here. The island was packed with Koreans, Australians, and Brits, and people kept asking us how long the flight was because they knew it was a trek.
After hours of drinking, swimming, and lounging, the familiar sting of sunburn kicked in. I looked at my friends—yep, all of us were toasted again. Despite multiple reapplications of the overpriced Banana Boat, it was useless. Fantastic. Now I had two separate burn lines from different bathing suits.
I brought three bathing suits. And of course, Five Star brought five bathing suits. Of course, she did.
I eventually retreated into a cabana, wrapping myself in towels, hat pulled low, sunglasses on. That’s when I noticed the bruises all over my legs. Jesus. It looked like I’d been in a brawl. It was probably from the deep tissue massage?
When hunger struck, we crossed over to a different dining hall, only to find out it wasn’t buffet-style—we had to order from a menu. Our package included a starter and main, or main and dessert, or starter and dessert.
Screw it. Bandito nachos, please.
They brought out complimentary bread with some poi-looking spread and butter. And then I caved—gluten be damned.
Three-cheese grilled sandwich and fries. I didn’t even need dessert. I’m more of a savory girly anyway.
Over lunch, we debated our next moves and decided to swap kayaking for a dolphin excursion instead. We’d already gotten our fill of sun, and no one was in the mood for the glass-bottom kayak. I also had to be strategic with my remaining Dramamines—I thought eight would be enough for the trip, but I was burning through them fast. The island shop didn’t sell any meds, and they told me I could see the doctor if needed. Hard pass unless absolutely necessary. Time to ration the Drammy.
We took a buggy back to the villa to rest before dinner at The Falhumaa. A quick 20-minute night swim in the ocean, then I showered, reorganized my suitcase, and got dressed. The dress code was “smart casual,” which meant the men had to wear long trousers.
When it was time to go, we met up and hopped on the buggy that had been called earlier.
As we arrived, we walked the 230-meter-long jetty above the reef, and honestly? It was so breathtaking I nearly teared up. Was this on White Lotus?
Because we had a reputation for being good tippers, one of my friends pointed out that we were definitely getting better service and prime seating. Sure enough, the same server from lunch greeted us and told us he saw our hotel number on the reservation and made sure we got the best seats. Outside, right on the edge of the ocean. Absolute perfection.
The meal started with a ritual: dipping our hands into a big bowl as they poured rose water over them. The scent was heavenly.
The amuse-bouche was a mushroom tart that I could have eaten by the dozen.
Then came the brie de Meaux and pear soup with bay leaf butter brioche croutons, and let me tell you—it was divine. I wanted to lick the bowl clean.
A sorbet palate cleanser followed, but I was already getting dangerously full. Everything was so rich and decadent.
For my main, I got the paccheri cylinders with ratatouille and Bleu d’Auvergne. As delicious as it was, I couldn’t even finish it. No room for dessert—I was stuffed like a foie gras duck.
At one point during dinner, my friend’s boyfriend turned to me and asked, “Do you ever get mad? You’ve been super chill.”
Compared to his girlfriend—who is high-strung and type A—I’m practically a zen monk. I don’t like drama (even though I’m Korean) and I enjoy being low-key. I could feel his eyes on me every so often, so I made conversation to make it less awkward. We talked about tech, AI, his life as an influencer, different social media platforms, and how to monetize them.
By the time we left, I was beyond full and completely exhausted. We took the buggy back to the villa, and as soon as I got inside, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and passed the fuck out.
Leave a Reply