(Mis)adventures in Luxury: #1 Checking In

Nick Stevens was a life-long backpacker until he joined Luxury Escapes and began experiencing the joys and quirks of five-star travel. Be entertained by the tales of a first-time luxe escaper in his humorous new series: (Mis)adventures in Luxury. 

Nick Stevens, Staff Writer

A person generally isn’t at their best after a long flight: bloodshot eyes, soaked in sweat and unable to string a cohesive sentence together. No matter what state you’re in though, for the reception staff at a luxury resort, you are never too repulsive. It is just one of the little joys of travelling that you never think about until it’s happening…

As you stroll into the cavernous welcome area in the middle of paradise you are greeted by a nice young lady who cheerfully gestures towards a pair of armchairs.

“Please, sit down!” she beams.

“Thank you,” you and your partner say in unison because you forgot to rehearse. You sit down on your passport, wallet, pair of folded up boarding passes and several small packets of cashews all stuffed into your back pocket. You don’t want to cause a scene so you resign yourself to the discomfort; it’s a real Princess and the Pea situation and by god you are going to prove that you’re royalty.

After a few moments of silence you panic a little. Have they discovered you don’t belong at fancy places? That you don’t know the protocol?

You should say something.

“We’re on holiday and we’re staying here. I have an email that says it’s ok. My wife printed it.”

“It’s printed double-sided!” says your wife, and you nod because it’s true.

“It’s true,” you say.

“I can see that,” the lady beams. “Thank you so much! I will just look you up in our system.”

“Wonderful,” you and your wife try to say in unison, except you actually started to say “excellent” and changed it to “wonderful” halfway through as a show of solidarity. The lady puts your printed email in a drawer full of what looks like printed emails and starts typing at her computer.

So far so good! Just because you don’t go to five-star resorts often doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. You’re as worthy of some pampering as any of these people!

Sweat drips into your eyeball. It burns from mixing with sunscreen. Even though you are crying you are still worthy.

“We will have you sorted in just a moment,” the nice lady beams.

A man appears out of nowhere and hands you some damp fabric. You try to read his face for a clue as to its purpose but your vision is blurred, so you just nod your head at him solemnly.

“Ah yes. Thank you. My favourite.”

While the lady taps away at her keyboard you hold your little piece of cloth casually in one hand and wait for its meaning to come to you. Maybe that’s what it’s for, just holding? A ceremonial thing? Like fire walking, but less intense.

The man reappears with a drink. It has a mysterious piece of fruit bobbing sadly on the surface and smells much the same as the cloth. A bit florally, sort of like grandma’s bathroom. You down it in a few gulps.

You’re not sure what it is, but it’s free, so it’s the best.

Your wife elegantly monsters her drink and dabs the back of her neck with the cloth. Aha! Mystery solved.

Not wanting to be rude, you go to town with your cloth, smearing filth from one cheek to another. It feels amazing, and you groan involuntarily.

The lady looks up briefly from her typing and nods at you again with her nice little smile. “Well done!” the nod seems to say. “You’re doing great!”

Except what her nod and her mouth are actually saying is “Are you ok sir?” as she stares at your eye, which is closed, red, on fire, and gushing tears that now have a floral smell.

“Absolutely grand!” you scream quietly.

“Then we are all ready to go!” says the nice lady. “You are in Villa 16. Florian will take you there now. Please enjoy your stay!”

Florian bursts into existence by your side, summoned from the abyss by the need to serve. He takes the handles of your bags.

“No, no, please,” you say, winking at your wife with your remaining eye, because you are also a glorious man capable of handling your own luggage. “Allow me, Florian.”

As you attempt to stand, you find your leg has fallen asleep from sitting on cashews and various documentation. You stumble head-first into the reception desk, and then slump to the floor. Your wife screams.

The nice lady smiles down at you.

“If you’ll follow me,” says Florian.

Stay tuned for (Mis)adventures in Luxury: #2 Your Villa, coming soon

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