But the real problem is he’s very good at relaxing, and I am not, and I like to win. During the summer, he held what we called “hammock training sessions,” when he forced me to lie with him silently—without even a magazine!—in a gently rocking hammock, just watching the birds go by. Honestly, have you ever?
“I’m going to win this relaxing,” I tell him, while secretly packing our schedule with zip lining, horseback riding, scuba diving and hiking. The most strenuous activity I’ve ever witnessed him undertake is adjusting the iPod and ⁄ or lifting a cigarette to his pretty-boy lips.
“Baby, it’s not a competition,” he says sagely. Yeah, OK, whatever. Eat my dust.
After a winding taxi ride across the island, its French colonial past in charming evidence thanks to the verandas and gingerbread trim on the brightly painted houses, and the streets and villages with French names (the French and British fought over this particularly plush spot of the Caribbean for over 150 years), we arrive at Jade Mountain. Built two years ago by owner Nick Troubetzkoy, a Russian- Canadian architect, it’s an exclusive boutique resort up the hill from its sister resort, Anse Chastanet. Each of the 24 Sanctuary “rooms”—and one uses that word lightly, as Troubetzkoy’s vision for Jade was to banish dreary ideas of indoor versus outdoor space—includes a private freshwater infinity pool and, oh yes, absolutely no fourth wall. Profi led by Condé Nast Traveler for its breathtaking views, each of the hotel’s 29 rooms (including five jacuzzi suites) faces out over the water, giving guests a dazzling tableau of the Caribbean and the island’s major landmark (and World Heritage site), the Piton mountains. It’s like camping, but with a four-poster bed, a personal butler and a whirlpool tub. Little birds have the room-service menu memorized—Continental, s’il vous plait—and after the nightly turndown service, mosquito netting is draped prettily around the bed. “One couple stayed in their room for five days,” executive assistant manager Peter Jean Paul tells us conspiratorially. “We don’t ask them what they’re doing. They didn’t look too bad when they came out.” He then tells us all about the many tempting places where you can get hitched at Jade Mountain, including a spot by a waterfall or at the top of a cliff, all the while shooting meaningful looks at Jason. “It’s a great place to get married,” he says, grinning. “No pressure!” And we quickly discover that while St. Lucians may not be about pressure—“No pressure, no problem!” is a phrase we hear often, along with, of course, “Irie!”—they certainly are about love. An ever-increasing number of upscale resorts and hotels—five new ones are slated to open by 2010, including a Ritz- Carlton and a Westin—cater to couples, honeymooners and weddings, and every St. Lucian we meet, from waiters to the horse-riding guide, seems determined to marry us off immediately. “It would be fun,” Jason muses, looking through the wedding packages. “Mostly because it would annoy your sister.”
But alas, no proposal. Instead, I settle for a Couples Massage in our room. While we are initially hoping for The Alchemy of Two, “a romantic spa ritual for couples to celebrate the gift of being together,” which includes being forced to put rose petals in each other’s bath, feed each other chocolate and read love poems aloud—all presumably with two massage therapists watching—a rubdown while the sun sets behind our heads will do, I suppose. Love is hard.
“I’m ready for a nap,” I say, unable to face the prospect of putting on a dress and heading down for dinner (i.e., leaving the room).
“You’ve never been ready for a nap your whole life,” he snorts.
Oh, he’s going to be sorry.
Or so I think.
My plan to beat him at the activity portion of our vacation starts to look tattered when I wake up at 3 a.m. to hear him splashing around happily in the pool.
“What are you doing, baby?” I mutter sleepily.
“Aquacise!” he says.
First published in FASHION Magazine February 2009
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