I’m not much of a resort person. But I suppose that’s also true for most “city” people. I’d much rather be sitting and nursing a cup of tea or a glass of wine in a café, or better yet, outside on the terrace. What better way to pass a lazy hour than by watching the locals saunter past intent on their own thoughts or conversations? And more often than not, people look better in their city clothes than in bathing suits.
I think of a resort vacation of about three or four days (any longer and it becomes something other than a vacation) as enforced idleness. Oh, I know there are usually more things to do than hours in a day. But unless you have a particular passion---which I don’t, at least not of the sports variety--I can’t see any reason to leave my book behind at the shaded spot near the pool, and try to make a fool of myself on a windsurfer, or get a dash of water in my lungs by not following instructions on how to use a snorkel tube.
Moreover, I’m very fair-skinned and prone to sun-induced skin cancers. I do agree that a well-tanned body is much more attractive than the one of milky-white skin with strategically occurring red splotches that I carry around most of the year. But I’d rather be pale and well than the best-tanned patient in the hospice.
I’ve tried every brand and strength of sun block on the market. The hypo-allergenic ones, the waterproof ones, the powdery ones--and I can’t stand any of them. They leave me feeling as if I were the bird being readied for Sunday dinner.
No, the resort life is not for me. When forced to appear, I spend the first hour or two plotting my movements for the rest of the stay so that I can avoid sun, water and wet people. In its favor, though, a resort is the perfect setting to justify consuming gin and tonics starting no later than 10 a.m. -- the proverbial silver lining.
What’s your opinion of resort life? Like it? Hate it? Let us know, please.
Paula “Feet on the Asphalt” Gifford