The Better Bermuda Triangle

Hey, is this thing on?  It seems more time went by than I had realized since my last post.

That’s what happens when you get stuck in The Bermuda Triangle.

“The Bermuda Triangle, also known as the Devil’s Triangle, is a region in the western part of the North Atlantic Ocean where a number of aircraft and surface vessels allegedly disappeared under mysterious circumstances.” {source: Wikipedia}

That’s the traditional, widely-accepted definition.  Or you can use this one:

“The Bermuda Triangle, also known as Getaway Paradise, is a region in the western part of the North Atlantic Ocean where sleep-deprived adults vacationing without their children disappear somewhere between three distinct points:  Drinks, Spa and Reading.” {source:  Fordeville}

Regrettably, I’ve returned.  Re-entry to reality was tough.

Where is my drink on the beach that shows up from a mere wave of the hand?

Where is my daily massage?

And, why, for the love of all that is holy, does my room key not work as a form of payment in the real world?  I’ve tried.  Nobody will take it.  This sucks.

But I’m happy to report that My Bermuda Triangle was downright dreamy.  Truly.  For starters, I totally dodged the falling satellite debris.  Add in my husband, great friends, gorgeous weather and you really can’t go wrong.  It’s amazing what you can do in a day with no agenda.  Sleep in.  Eat room service for breakfast, with an ocean view.  Run on a treadmill without a child hanging off your leg.  Get pampered at the spa.  Read magazines to your heart’s content.  Have drinks delivered on the beach.  Repeat.

Now.  Since there has been much trepidation and fear about The Bermuda Triangle over the years, I’m here to tell you that my version — The Better Bermuda Triangle — is worth demystifying.  Here’s a quick look at each point.

Drinks:  This may have been the most stressful decision I had to make over the course of the trip.  Repeatedly, of course.  Because, sometimes, it takes a while to get your tropical palate back.  For me?  It was a combination of wine, pina coladas, and, by night, the ever-fabulous espresso martini. Because a potently smooth cocktail + delicious caffeine boost = my personal version of heaven.  Which may not surprise you.  And this cocktail is an ongoing tradition in Fordeville, particularly with our friends who joined us on this trip.  Try it one day — any season — you’ll thank me.

Spa:  I think I can sum it up by quoting my massage therapist:  “Uh.  You need a lot of work.  What are you carrying around all the time?”  Sort of a loaded question, I thought — but I assumed she didn’t want me to turn this into a psych session.  Two massages later with Let — who was a 95 lb, Asian female version of Chuck Norris in terms of ass-kicking — and my back feels like a million bucks.  Which is almost what it cost me to procure her services.  And with my spine newly intact, I was able to take on arduous tasks like sitting upright for a sunset cruise.

Reading:  I’m happy to report that my vacation allowed me to get fully up to speed on important global issues.  Like the Kardashian wedding.  And the top picks for the fall TV line-up.  Once my mind was sufficiently challenged by these pressing matters, I made the questionable decision to tackle my backlog of home/life/parenting magazines.  Feeling a false sense of DIY confidence that was surely fueled by my twelfth-teenth pina colada, I dog-eared the ridiculous:

• How to make realistic Halloween bats to hang from my front porch (screw you, Martha).
• How to organize that junk drawer “once and for all” (further underscoring my ongoing love/hate relationship withReal Simple).
• And, of course, how to stop those toddler temper tantrums before they start (Parenting).
• Not to mention the countless overly-ambitious recipes that I’ll never really cook, despite their promises to make my life easier.

Because, under the harsh and sober light of New Jersey, without the reflection of the Atlantic Ocean bouncing off the pages, I can see that I’ve probably set myself up for failure.  That’s OK.  I’ve been looking to increase my recycling contributions — so perhaps we’ll just forget all about those magazine-driven ambitions and literally kick them to the curb.

That said, everything wasn’t all palm trees and sunshine.  I did have to contend with some mishaps.  There was, after all, a total wi-fi failure at the resort.  As in, I had no connectivity for 24 hours.  You may think that’s the very definition of vacation.  Not me.  I get all twitchy if I have to completely unplug.  And how the hell was I supposed to track the falling satellite debris without an Internet connection?  How was I to tweet enviable photos of my beach views?

So there was that.  And also this.

In a rare moment of connectivity, I pulled up my Starbucks app.  You know, just out of curiosity.  And this crazy message appeared that I’ve never seen before.  What do you mean, no stores were found in my area?  You’re Starbucks.  I’m on Earth.  How is this possible?

Thankfully, this crisis was fixed by the swift delivery of an espresso martini.  You use what coping skills you have, right?  Now I know what it’s like to be on Survivor.

Those were the only tragedies of the trip.  So I’d say we fared well, on the whole.  And nobody threw up — setting a new Fordeville record.

* * *

I hope you can now see that The Bermuda Triangle doesn’t have to be a scary place.  I’m glad I was able to take this trip as a public service — so that millions of prospective travelers know not to fear this much-maligned region.

Take it from me.  You’ll be fine.  Just be careful re-assimilating to reality — take baby steps.

Now I’m off to see if I can use my room key at the pub down the street.