Welcome to my office for the week.
Sometimes I'm terribly unlucky, e.g. the whole cancer thing. Often though, I'm incredibly, stupendously, ridiculously lucky. Like right now. I knew this trip would be to die for, but we didn't realize the extent of it until we arrived at the airport.
Our first Four Seasons staffer greeted us after immigration and retrieved our bag for us. We'd booked a shuttle.
"Miss Green, you have been upgraded to a private car."
I nudged Lay. Another staffer showed up and they assisted us through customs. The banana in Lay's bag was kosher; the Oberto Beef Jerky they treated like a vial of Antrhax. Mad cow in a bag? I have no clue.
Outside our driver met us and drove us about 45 minutes to the resort. Peninsula Papagayo is a private development, with a gate and the whole nine. The Four Seasons leases their property from the developer. It's the most lush and verdant landscape I've seen since Hawaii. Upon our arrival at the hotel, we were greeted by the entire staff from the activities director to the general manager.
"Miss Green, we have upgraded you to one of our private residences since we are not so busy right now."
We'd booked a notch above a standard room. After schmoozing a little--while practically peeing our pants with anticipation--a staffer drove us in a golf cart to our residence.
I doubt a Four Seasons' staffer has ever heard so many "Oh. My. God.(s)" uttered in a single minute. Because our residence is a seven-room, two-bedroom, three-bath, 2,000-square-foot space. To die. I was literally skipping around the apartment. I've got my own master bed, the girls have their own and the den has a pullout bed as well. Full kitchen. Open-air deck and grill area where I'm sitting now. Covered terraces, dining room, fully equipped office with--get this--three separate fax cover sheets with each of our names on them. Oh, and perhaps the best post-flying gifts: a cosmopolitan making set with vodka, martini shaker and all the fixings and a plate of exquisite pastries.
"Steph, we love you! Thank you so much!"
"What the hell did I do to deserve this? Oh. My. God!"
"You had cancer, remember?"
"Oh yeah, that's right, I do deserve this I had cancer. Fuck man, I think the cancer coulda been worth it for this."
Now it's raining beautifully and I'm listening to the sound of the Pacific. Did I mention the ocean and jungle views? I awoke to the rain and tropical birds chirping.
Why the VIP treatment? Writing writing writing. This is, after all, my big, fat, fabulous post-cancer trip to be turned into a heartwrenching essay about a girl with cancer and a dream. Kidding, but you know, something like that. With Manolos thrown in.
Last night we had private complimentary salsa lessons which saw me giving up halfway through because my instructor was getting nowhere with me. I have absofuckinglutely no rhythm.
Today we have pilates at 9 a.m. Ziplining at noon. A sunset hike to see the monkeys and then some beach time--assuming the rains stop. If not, the spa is perfectly lovely as a second home.
What can I say? I'm in heaven. Heaven. And we're doing a trip like this every year. So all you girls who elected not to come this year, two things: Hahahahahaha. And start saving time and deniro for next year.
You can see all the photos on my Facebook.
