The Egg Roll Lady on Martha’s Vineyard

There’s nothing like Martha’s Vineyard in the Fall. Crowds have since dispersed after Labor Day, and the crisp fall air makes for a perfect day to visit the Saturday West Tisbury Farmer’s Market. It’s a wonderfully colorful scene of fresh flowers, tangy-sweet Limeade coolers, seasonal fruits and vegetables, homemade jams and breads. There is even an Alpaca stall where you can buy the softest scarves, hats and mittens. For a pretty penny, you can even buy an entire alpaca (or 3 for that matter as they do come in herds).

But why are we really here? My amazing friend Tonya swears they sell the best Egg Rolls!

The “Egg Roll Lady” is Thi Khen Tran, a Vietnamese immigrant who started selling lettuce and even smoked bluefish mousse in her early days at the market. Her kids loved her egg rolls so much they convinced her to start selling them. Now people return year after year just to buy her famous egg rolls, at $5 each for either hot vegetarian or Vietnamese.

I would have never believed that a fresh farmer’s market would have to-die-for egg rolls, but after one bite, I was a believer.

Now I’m thinking it would taste good with the homemade jalapeño jelly I bought there too!

West Tisbury Farmer’s Market: Saturdays, 1067 State Rd., West Tisbury, Martha’s Vineyard

Parrot Cay…No Photographs, Please!

 

Oh boy, was I in for a treat! I was returning to Parrot Cay Resort & Shambhala Retreat for the first time since my Honeymoon which was oh-so-rudely interrupted by Hurricane Francis back in 2004– but that’s another story for another time.

I threw my suitcase together with a few dresses, oversized sunglasses and bitsy bikinis and I was off! Celeb hideaway…here I come! 

Parrot Cay (pronounced parrot “key”) was originally named Pirate Cay back in the day, but tourism started booming and pirates didn’t exactly draw tourists as well as the idea of plume-filled parrots. With 1,000 acres of unspoiled land and miles of white powdery sand, just for the record, there are NO parrots on Parrot Cay.

It’s a 20 minute boat ride from Providenciales on the turquoise waters to this white sand oasis, part of the chain of 40 islands that make up Turks and Caicos (535 miles SW of Miami,) where I was to do a site inspection of the locale where Donna Karan, Bruce Willis, Christie Brinkley and the modern day pirate himself, Keith Richards, all have second (or 3rd or 4th homes.)   

Jeff, the Resort Manager, greeted me at the dock, telling me to be prepared for the ultimate VIP Parrot Cay experience. Ooh! Lucky me!

Taken by golf cart to my 3-bedroom villa with 25-ft pool right on the beach, I started to wave goodbye to my driver ”Sumantra” before he quickly informed me that he was not going anywhere and that he was going to be my Personal Butler for the next 24-hours.

Panic set in. I don’t know him! I start to feel bad. I can do things for myself…no really, you don’t need to unpack my things…no, I can find my way to the beach…no, really I’m not that hungry just yet.

(Flash forward: after 24 hours, I began to fully understand why celebrities become completely dysfunctional.)

Sumantra, by the way, happens to be Donna Karan’s private butler. He flies in from Malaysia when ”Donna” is going to be on island. Ooh la la. I’m feeling pretty special already.

I tell Sumantra that I’d like to go to the main infinity pool (after all, half the fun of Parrot Cay is the people watching.) Would I see Bill Gates, Cindy Crawford, maybe Britney?… all of whom are frequent guests of the resort.

By this time, I’m starting to draw stares all around me from my fellow “lookie-loo” guests. “Who is she? Is she an actress? Do we know her….?” The Butler is stirring their curiosity.

I’m having fun playing this all out in my head while eating a gourmet grilled fish salad pretending not to notice.  With my big Prada sunglasses (and butler in tow) my privacy is guaranteed to be respected.  No photographs, please!

(That’s me and the Parrot Cay GM at the World Travel Awards, the “Oscars” of the travel industry. A little Hollywood for the night!)

After a little sun, Sumantra has me on a pretty tight schedule. I’m headed to the uber-zen COMO Shambhala Retreat, specializing in Asian and holistic inspired therapies, to have a skin test done for the Dr. Perricone facial that I’m having at 4 PM.

I’m then whisked off to my yoga class where my fellow classmates are inside staring back at me watching Sumantra take my shoes from me and telling me he’ll be back to pick me up in an hour. I laugh to myself. This is all too much. I’m a bit apologetic as I enter the studio.

Having found my inner peace with some “remarkably taut-faced guests” Sumantra takes me back down to my villa where I find he has completely unpacked my things with borderline Obsessive Compulsive Disorder skill. 

I’m mortified! Are those really my fuzzy flannel PJ’s hanging perfectly in the closet? Why didn’t I throw in some La Perla or some Cosabella! All my makeup brushes were perfectly lined up, too!

Sumantra, can I take you home with me? I’m sure my husband won’t mind! He replies, “At your service,” with a bow.

Heaven help me…I’m becoming totally dysfunctional!

The Spa at Parrot Cay is amazing. It includes a 540 sq. ft. infinity-edge pool on the leeward side of the island, a yoga room and Pilates studio (both with specialist equipment), treatment rooms, steam, sauna and outdoor Jacuzzi garden. The smell of ginger and eucalyptus is everywhere, a distinct scent found only at COMO Resorts and Parrot Cay.

The Dr. Perricone facial is simply sublime.

I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to explain to my husband JB that I must now only use $90 Dr. Perricone eye cream if I’m going to look as “taut” as those 8-carat ladies from yoga…

The sun sets, and I have a fabulous dinner with the quietly sophisticated Crawford, the General Manager and a few other repeat guests (including the lovely Ken & Barbie couple -she was 20 yrs his junior) before retreating back to my mosquito-netted four poster for a night of slumber listening to the crashing waves.

I tell Sumantra, please don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine, but he tells me he’ll be waiting for me in the morning, but if I needed anything just call.

Okay, I do admit, this still all feels very strange to me.

Come morning, I make my way to my living room in my favorite flannel PJ’s. Sumantra is busy making me a “detoxifying blueberry smoothie“ so I head back into my room to change into my bikini to have breakfast by my pool. “At your service,” says Sumantra passing me the smoothie, bowing to me again.

I ask him all about who he is and where he’s from (getting very shy answers from him) and proceed to tell him to make himself a smoothie, too, and to please not fuss over me anymore.

He says he gets great pleasure being a Butler for guests, and that he is really quite happy and loves what he does.

I feel relieved. He really does seem peaceful and sort of “zen.”

Yes, Parrot Cay is a pure & rustic paradise, especially when you have a Butler catering to your every whim, but it’s never the same without someone you love, no matter how fabulous the place.

I returned home a few short days later  to find my darling husband welcoming be back…almost mockingly, bowing down and telling me that he was “at my service.” Now that’s the kind of VIP service money can’t buy!

No photographs please!

***Thanks so much, Sumantra. Tell Donna I said “hello,” and until we meet again…!***

Check out Condé Nast Johansens recommended hotels at: http://www.johansens.com

Titles Really Don’t Count

 

I’m headed to a very exclusive, private island hideaway: highly low key, full of interesting people, discreet service, and no matching luggage required.

I find myself sitting in a beautiful bungalow at a dock on the mainland, peacefully decorated in white-washed imported teak furniture from Bali, flourishing white orchids surrounding me, and the smell of peppermint and eucalyptus on the refreshing cold towel that I am cooling off with.

I am alone until an unassuming, cool looking gentleman enters the room, fresh off a plane, designer sunglasses still on. We wait. He is handed a cold towel by “Reki”, a beautiful Balinese woman who is there to see us off. The private boat arrives.

We are guided down the teak wood dock, where we introduce ourselves. “My name is Adam” he tells me. We get on the boat, ready to sail a half hour on the sparkling turquoise water to a white sand paradise where everyone is someone and titles don’t count. We are sitting side by side as the 85 degree sun beats down, passing chains of islands that make up our Caribbean paradise.

We pass Donna Karan’s sprawling abode, then see a sliver of Keith Richard’s island hideaway, and then Bruce Willis’ residence.

“I flew in from New York,” Adam tells me in his accent. “I used to come here back in the 80’s where I’d stay at the Third Turtle Inn on the mainland. There wasn’t much else here.”

Adam informs me that he’s returning to this paradise after several years when he used to visit the island with an old girlfriend he no longer sees.  He’s come to relax, use the spa, and eat healthy before he leaves again for London. “That’s nice,” I tell him as we stare out onto the breathtaking horizon. We talk about our love of travel as the boat slows over the tranquil waters ready to pull into the resort.

“What requires you to travel so much?” I ask Adam. “I’m a musician” he tells me. That’s interesting, I think to myself. “Are you with a group I might know?” I ask him. He humbly tells me.

Over the next 24 hrs I get to know Adam over lunch, visits by the stunning infinity pool and even taking a Pilates class with him. The truth is I really know nothing about “Adam” which I think he found to be quite a refreshing change.

Over the course of my stay he tells me about his life in a very unassuming kind of way. He recounts his childhood in Kenya, followed by boarding school in London (where he acquired the British accent rather than Irish), to public school in Dublin where he eventually met his band mates (never calling them by name,) his brief stint in a Christian rock band, openly how he got sober 10 years ago and his struggle with living a fulfilled life with all the fame and indispensable income.

Today Adams lives a more content life, enjoying what he considers the “finer” things in life (like visiting an art museum, reading and even taking Pilates or a yoga class.) Gone are the days of drugs and alcohol, endless supermodels and the excesses of an extremely high-profile person.

“Adam” I came to find is a very soulful, kind, down-to-earth person who albeit has fame, fortune and all that life has to offer, still has to live one day at a time like the rest of us. It was a fortuitous meeting for both of us in many ways, much of which I will keep private (and all very good.)

We exchanged phone numbers and email addresses, and will keep in touch when he visits Boston next in September. We parted ways and he said “I’m really glad we met, good luck on your journeys and until we meet again.”

I told him, “Don’t lose sight of your dreams, Adam. You may very well become one of the most successful Christian rock stars of all times.” He laughed with me in amusement.

Adam, by the way, did tell me which band he was with back when I asked him that first day we met on the boat. “I’m with a band called U2” he told me very modestly. 

“Oh, yes, yes, of course…” I said realizing this was Adam Clayton, U2’s bass player, trying to contain my shock and amazement, all the while trying not to fall off the back of the boat.

There’s Something Fabulous About St. Barts

Jetting off from Anguilla via St. Martin (SXM) to St. Barts (French West Indies), I can’t help playing Lady Ga Ga’s “Money Honey” on my ipod to prep myself for everything fabulous about my trip to St. Barts.

Damn, I love the jag, the jet and the mansion. (Oh yeah)
And I enjoy the gifts and the trips to the islands.(Oh yeah)
It’s good to live expensive
You know it, but my knees get weak intensive
When you give me k-kisses…

The real truth is that me and my 53 lbs of luggage (filled with work stuff and shoes) were not exactly boarding a private jet or a mega-yacht like my friend, Tonya.  Win Air’s 10-seat puddle jumper (12 minutes to be exact on www.fly-winair.com) was all I really needed to get myself to paradise.  

St. Barthélémy was formed by a crashing, volcanic explosion, to become the crown jewel of the Caribbean (sold back from Sweden to France in 1878.) It’s 25 square kilometers with 22 beautiful beaches, fabulous luxurious boutiques, and a bevy of traditional Creole houses and mega yachts for your viewing pleasure.

Aside from the fact that my pilot looked like he had just graduated from high school, landing in St. Barts is an adventure in itself. Beautiful vistas of carved out beaches calm my nerves in prep for the frightful entry where I would close my eyes tight before landing. Over a mountain, drop and land. Yes, that is the ocean in my immediate sight.

Ok, I readily admit that I glorify all things St. Barts, but when you land (and open your eyes,) it’s like you have transformed yourself into one of those fabulous people you read about. You’re in St. Barts, therefore you must be fabulous.

First stop, a beautiful seaside resort called  Hotel St. Barth Isle-de-France. http://www.isle-de-france.com/ Is it my imagination or is everybody here seriously good looking? The beach boys look like they’ve stepped off the pages of French Vogue. Relaxing on the beach, I’m having one of those moments where I say to myself…”My life does not suck right now”…Cue Mr. GQ Beach Boy…“Yes, I’d love some more Evian, si vou plait. Merci.”

I see a few famous faces in the high-season crowd, decline an invitation by Mr. GQ Beach Boy for an “island tour,” and I’m off to my next stop…the highly chic Le Sereno. The fever is setting in… 

Driving in St. Barts, by the way,  is not for the faint of heart. Small cars only (Mini Coopers or Smart Cars) and the whirrrr…whizzzz….vroom….around each bend and corner playing “chicken” with each oncoming car will make you suddenly start saying prayers to ”St. Barts” (the Saint of ‘please don’t let me die today.’)

Le Sereno Hotel www.lesereno.com is located on the Grand Cul de Sac Beach and designed by famous Parisian designer Christian Liaigre. Only 37 suites, its sleek, Caribbean cool appeal is sophisticated and stylish.

With no shortage of good looking, Euro-model types dressed in crisp white linen and steel gray tanks, the appeal of this hotel is all about minimalist beach chic with lots of privacy.

By this time, ”a kill me now” fever had set in, but nothing the French version of Tylenol didn’t fix in one night. I was back to being “fabulous” by morning and off to Le Toiny (www.letoiny.com ).

Le Toiny is on the Morne Vitet with only 15 gorgeous villas (with private plunge pools). A hideaway of sorts, this Relais & Chateaux property is all about getting away with your significant other.

With a stop at the newly renovated Carl Gustaf Hotel www.hotelcarlgustaf.com overlooking the bustling Gustavia, the main town named after King Gustaf III of Sweden where all the high end shopping is found (fortunately it was Sunday so I didn’t have to find out how many euros I couldn’t afford!)…

I headed to Eden Rock to check out the new “Villa Rockstar” being debuted later this spring. With over 6,000 sq. ft. of pure minimalist luxury, if you can drum up $15,000 a night, you too can be a “rock star.” 4 master bedrooms, 2 personal assistant rooms, private pool, movie theater seating 20 and a private recording studio…

I found myself taking an inventory in my head of my own personal credentials wondering if I had what it takes to be someone’s “personal assistant.” The answer was an astounding “yes, as long as they didn’t go all ‘Naomi Campbell’ on me!”

Last stop…Hotel Guanahani & Spa. www.leguanahani.com Beautiful cottages of bright turquoise, yellows , tropical oranges and pinks make up this gorgeous beach resort set in between two beaches. With a plethora of Prada, Louis Vuittan and Pucci cover-ups on the ladies and expensive Vilebrequin swim shorts  (the St. Barts uniform for men) in sight, I headed over to the oh-so-relaxing Clarins Spa featuring Frederik Fekkai salon for a deep tissue/relaxing massage. I’m having another one of those “my life doesn’t suck moments.”

 

So with one last buttery croissant, finishing up the actual work meetings that I promise did take place and putting the hotel inspector’s stamp of approval on Le Guanahani for 2010, this Cinderella was headed home via St. Martin with one stop in the beautiful and historic Old San Juan, Puerto Rico.

Au revoir, mon amie! Thank you, St. Barts, for bringing out “all things fabulous” in me!

 

Island Speak

There are those little sayings and phrases when traveling to the islands that you never forget. One time when speaking to a friend in Turks and Caicos who was talking about his buddy, he said “He think someone be ‘teefin’ his money.”

Now on Sunday mornings I find myself saying the very phrase “Onyx (my cat) be teefin’ my bacon” or in other apt situations describing petty theft.

Recently I was headed from Anguilla to San Juan on the 7 AM flight. I was one of the first to arrive at the airport (AXU) around 5:30 AM when I heard this booming voice coming from a very gregarious Anguillian. We’ll call him Mr. B for short (for big & boisterous.)

It didn’t matter where I went, Mr. B. could be heard (and there was something annoying yet oddly charming about how animated he was that early in the morning.)

As the airport filled, we headed to the tarmac to board the tiny American Eagle flight. (I’m smart to always pick a back seat because you board from the back and you get off first.)

Boom! Boom! I know that voice. Mr. B. is on my plane! I guess it’s not going to be a quiet flight!

With the plane ready to take off, suddenly there was a ruckus at the front.  “I ain’t puttin’ that bag overhead! The flight attendant irritably said back, “Well, you need to or we can’t take off!” The man retorted,  “Well, I ain’t doin’ it!” Tussle tussle…

Next thing we know, the flight attendant is escorting the gentleman down the aisle towards the exit. It’s Mr. B. I see… smiling, nodding hellos to some of his friends. It was apparent he was still oblivious to the seriousness of the situation.

 “See you lade-uh in San Juan!” he said in his booming voice to his friend as he headed to the exit all smiles.  

His buddy smiled back, shook his hand, and said with wry honesty: “I don’ tink you be flyin’ today Mon!”

We left for San Juan without Mr. B. that morning…

(Now when I miss a connecting flight or have a delay, I can’t help but quote to myself that man on the airplane something so short, sweet and carefree I’ll never forget… “I don’t tink you be flyin’ today Mon!”) And somehow it makes it all okay.

I wonder if Mr. B. ever did get to San Juan?!

Night at the Museum…

To say we roll as an entourage is an understatement. When not traveling and back home in Boston, I feel incredibly blessed to have such wonderful, fun, and interesting friends, all accomplished in their own rights.

Tonya & Ben Mezrich, Jasmine & Paul

They include Boston’s best dressed fashion maven and TV host, her witty best-selling author husband, a fabulous couture designer, a modelesque young Reebok gal getting her Master’s degree, a corporate girl turned yoga guru, a charming art dealer,  a PR sweetheart, a fascinating Frenchman, a Hello Kitty computer cutie, a sassy and sexy real estate gal, a hot guy (whom I call my husband) who’s the “ham” and a clever Irishman who rounds out the pack.

Saturday night was no exception as the Museum Council of the MFA Boston hosted its Summer Party Masquerade June 13, 2009. Forgive me if I show a little bias, but we were the best dressed entourage in town.

Masquerade Party

With no shortage of fun, laughter and late night partying at Minibar following the gala…it was a night to remember…not mention…the 11.5 yr anniversary of meeting my husband. I asked him to dance under the rotunda, and the rest is history!

I even made the Boston Globe’s STYLE SPY Best Dressed List showing off my couture dress by Michael De Paulo!

Tiffany & JB at the MFA Summer Arts PartyImproper Bostonian July 2009

Improper Bostonian July 2009

Fashionably Late!

Boston Herald 5/12/2009

 

Liberty Hotel Fashion Show Featuring Michael De Paulo Couture

Ok, sometimes I slow down long enough to unpack my bags and get involved in fun and stylish events  in one of the greatest American cities: Boston! My latest venture is guaranteed to be a FUN night of FASHION and STYLE at the Liberty Hotel featuring the stunning couture creations by Michael De Paulo! Thursday, May 7th!

So, just case it’s a bad hair day, or you want some extra gloss for smooching, look for our complimentary MAKEOVER STATIONS where you can be just like the stars and get your own hair and makeup! Courtesy of Mizu Salon and The Beauty Mark…And if you have time for dinner before the show, make a reservation at Clink who is featuring a special menu with some of our faves. Be sure to bring your stylish friends too…they definitely won’t want to miss this event! -Tiffany Dowd & Tonya Mezrich (co-hosts)

DRESS TO IMPRESS! RSVP: fashion@libertyhotel.com …Check out www.michaeldepaulo.com or www.libertyhotel.com

 

Fashionably Late in the Boston Globe 5/10/2009

Road Warriors Revolt!

 

Recently my Facebook Status read: Tiffany is on plane to San Juan. I really hate when people push your seat from behind, so as a result, I will be reclining right after take-off!…

“Road Warriors Revolt!” responded my friend and colleague, Dave. (I don’t have to remind you that it’s “Dog Eat Dog” when traveling!)

With the amount of time I’m spending on airplanes these days, I thought I’d share my observations and suggestions to make your travel day (and mine!) a little smoother.

Airport Security: Please be prepared people! That means laptops out, passports out, belts off, shoes off, no more than 3 oz of liquids passing until you “get to the other side.” We’re all waiting behind you so stop pretending like you didn’t “realize” all of the above included your stuff too.

Boarding: When approaching your assigned seat, it’s important to establish “territory” right out of the gate. It’s going to be a long flight.

Example: I see my seatmate has already arrived with passport, coffee, ticket stub, earphones, ipod, Blackberry and $8 scone all spread out in the center arm rest divider with no room for me.

Enter Tiffany. I immediately move first 7 items with great exaggeration forward in order to put a bottle of water down with seemingly painstaking effort, usually eliciting a “Oh I’m sorry” move by your seatmate.  Do it with the “territorial prowess” of a German Shepherd and “stake back your claim.” This includes overhead and under the seat space as well.

Lesson: Establish your space in the first few minutes, and you’re guaranteed to have a peaceful flight, little conversation required.

Etiquette: Please, when sitting in the bulk-head, do NOT take off your shoes and put your feet up on the carpeted petition wall. a.) I don’t really appreciate staring at your feet the entire flight. b.) Your legs are preventing me from getting to the bathroom and the claustrophobia is setting in. This is public space pal. You are not at home.

Carry-on Luggage: You and your bags are in seat 22A, not 2A, and wheels first. Your bag, above your seat. Not your bag above my seat, wherever we are all sitting. End of issue.

Cell Phones and Other Electronics: “Please turn off all electronic devices including cell phones.” Hey YOU! That’s means YOU! I know the likelihood of the plane going down due to your phone being left on is slim to none, but it’s that sense of entitlement that the “rules don’t apply to you” that drives me crazy.

Truth be told, the way I see it, you’re not exactly the guy I’m going to entrust making sure all passengers safely exit off the plane raft in case of emergency… if you know what I mean. Turn them off, please.

(By the way, you with the personal DVD player. You sort of irritate me, too. I’m sorry. I have no explanation why. Perhaps it’s your smugness as I’m forced to watch “Beverly Hills Chihuahua” for the 3rd time this month on the distorted overhead tv!)

Food: Yes, we all agree that paying for bad airplane food at $6-10 a pop for some trail mix, cardboard cookie and “cheez snax” is a bit outrageous, but this does not give you the right to bring a homemade tuna fish sandwich on board. The waft alone will cause anaphylaxis in passengers 15 seats behind you.  

And YOU with the Cinnabon. Don’t even try to open it unless you’re planning to share.

Drinking: Ok, I know you want us all to think you paid full-fare for First Class (but we all know you were most likely upgraded like me) and free alcoholic drinks are included, but when your 8 AM Screwdriver ends up in MY lap, expect this K-9 to show some teeth.

Happy flying, and don’t forget to bring me home some “ooh-la-la” Prada sunglasses from Sunglass Hut or perhaps a fuschia pink $10 faux Pashmina from Hudson News or maybe even some fully-marked up Ysatis de Givenchy from Duty-Free! Now that I think about it…a Cinnabon sure does sound GOOD….

See you on the next flight!

Ahhh Anguilla!

Fabulous resorts, amazing food, breathtaking locations…all part of my job. What you all don’t see is the hustle, bustle of meetings, running through airports and all the in between…so I’ll just keep up the fantasy and share only the annoyingly glamorous side of my travels working for a luxury hotel publication.

Anguilla has a population of  12,000 people and is a British Overseas Territory, 16 miles long, and 3 miles at her widest point. It boasts some 33 white sand beaches.

Its idyllic and charming way of life will make you slow for the chickens and goats in the road….literally. There must be some life metaphor in this!

I was determined this year not to spend Valentine’s Day alone in some exotic locale, at some romantic restaurant with a work colleage or on my own (last year I was at the gorgeous O’Soleil Restaurant at the Somerset on Grace Bay in Turks and Caicos on Valentine’s Day with my very fabulous boss Lesley www.thesomerset.com) This year I invited my husband, J.B.

Having taken the ferry on a choppy day from St. Martin (SXM) to Blowing Point, Anguilla, my first stop was to see the newly renovated Cap Juluca www.capjuluca.com . It’s a true gem of a place and for those of you that remember it as “getting a bit tired”– $22 million renovation will make you think otherwise. It was fabulous. Moroccan villa-style and highly romantic. Great for couples and very expensive.

To say it’s a small world at least, I ran into longtime friends that I hadn’t seen in ages right here in the lobby. Travel broadens your mind and makes your world smaller!

Spice Restaurant is the new restaurant at Cap Juluca where you sit oceanside and watch the waves lap up onto the rocks. Watching the fish and school of barracudas cluster was like the Caribbean version of Sea World. We started to think the staff rigged them outside our table. JB was starving by this point, so I convinced him that the “Pho” – a typical Vietnamese noodle soup looked good. Slurping his soup, I couldn’t help but laugh that I had obviously steered him wrong – “pho thing!” He was still hungry after dinner. 

 

Next stop, CuisinArt Resort & Spa (www.cuisinartresort.com). Just like the boxes of unopened wedding gifts of pots, pans & blenders you have received if you’re anything like me, this is the same CuisinArt (Conair.)

Private dinner on the beach with the sounds of steel drums– your typical evening in the Caribbean, right? Grilled Caribbean lobster, fabulous Caribbean menu by Chef Daniel (the new Chef at CuisinArt) and island tunes by Dumpa.

Oftentimes resorts put together press trips for magazine writers to come experience the resort and destination as a whole. We had the good fortune of having a pretty fun group together for several days, with no shortage of laughs. I’ve decided that in addition to my husband, my “desert island person” would definitely be Dave Lyon, the Director of Sales & Marketing at CuisinArt Resort & Spa. (You know… the one person you’d most like to hang out with on a desert island.)

 Having gorged ourselves on delectable Caribbean cuisine into the wee hours of the Caribbean night, we had actual “work to do” and as always, I’m ready and willing to help out.

JB & I had been asked to take a few modeling shots for the CuisinArt Spa which just debuted a $10 million expansion, tripling it’s size with 16 treatment rooms, Men’s Club, VIP Suite, fitness and relaxation rooms.

Here I am relaxing (ahem, working!) in the Aquatherapy Pool (the first of its kind in the Caribbean.) The photographer is Greg Johnston who also shot the photos for the Turks & Caicos Club (www.turksandcaicosclub.com)

You won’t believe me, but it is possible to get luxury overload.  My idea of a perfect afternoon is either on a boat relaxing on the Caribbean Sea, or at a sandy beach bar hanging out listening to great Caribbean tunes. Our trip to Prickly Pear island and a day at Gwen’s Reggae Grill were no exceptions.

I met Gwen, a laid back Anguillian woman on the ferry from St. Martin. She was bringing over bags of onions, lettuce and other items for her beach bar that were not readily available in Anguilla. Everyone knows her. She’s like the mother hen of gorgeous Shoal Bay, so much so Rod Stewart is also a know frequenter of Gwen’s Reggae Grill. Definitely a new favorite of mine.

The hardest decision you’ll have to make all day? Will it be just chicken, just ribs, or the combo (chicken and ribs?) Ah…decisions! Follow this with some chit chat with some regulars, grab a hammock and just chill…this is definitely a “my life doesn’t suck moment.”

 

No trip to Anguilla is complete without taking a cooking class at CuisinArt Resort & Spa where we made hydroponic gazpacho, local fish en papillote and pyrat rum banana fritters. I was on hydroponic tomato over-load by the end of the trip (they tasted as sweet as sugar). Now that I have experienced the “ultimate tomato,” I’m afraid my tastebuds will now only allow me to buy those $4.99/lb kind only in the grocery stores. Ouch!

The highlight of my trip was presenting CuisinArt Resort & Spa with the an award by the luxury travel guide that I inspect for (voted upon by the publication’s readers.)

Dancing at the Pump House in Sandy Ground is a MUST. www.pumphouse-anguilla.com (Ting is a grapefruit soda and makes you start saying things like: “You want some Ting. I’ll give you some Ting!”) LOL

Last but not least…Valentine’s Day. We had an amazing evening at Blanchard’s Restaurant. http://www.blanchardsrestaurant.com/ Melinda and Bob Blanchard co-wrote “A Trip to the Beach” about their starting this restaurant in idyllic Anguilla…I highly recommend it as a vacation read.  (One funny thing of note: the entrees were more expensive than my dress!)

 

Next stop…the always fabulous St. Barts! Bring on the 102 degree fever I was about to have…!

Pass Me the Portugal

Dad was spending 3 months in the Algarve region of Portugal (the gorgeous southern coast), so what better opportunity to visit. Dad is notorious for getting to know a place through the eyes of the locals, so when we decided to visit, we knew that it would be a really great time.

Portuguese lesson number one: Cataplana! Cataplana originates from Portugal and is a sauté composed of clams, chorizo and tomatoes. It is also the name of the Portuguese copper-cooking vessel that the clams are traditionally cooked in. Let’s say it all together “Cat-ta-plan-a.” Seriously good stuff. Brimming with seafood, we couldn’t get enough!

Relaxation was the name of the game. We were both working on such a fast pace, we were forced to slow down, sleep alot, eat great seafood, walk the cobblestoned streets and just truly vacation.

We stayed in an efficiency apartment called Forte de Oura in Albufeira, Portugal, and were easily the youngest people in town. It you were 60 and older, grey, overweight, smoke and prone to lobster-like sunburns (of which you are proud to show off in the mornings on your not-so-private balcony…) this was your place. With a few good laughs at other people’s expenses, we readily admit, we absolutely loved it!

One afternoon we drove the the southwestern most part of Portugal called “Sagres.” Truly stunning cliffs and ocean views–maybe a little too nice as someone fell off the cliff the week before (no joke.) We were too cheap to go into the fortress and pay the admission as the “free views” were plenty for us- with no shortage of yelling at each other to ”get back from the cliff! You’re too close!”  Every time we look at that little point on a map, we think, cool, we’ve been there (we didn’t fall off.)

We spent an afternoon in the charming town of Loule, Portugal where you visited typical Portuguese market with the country men and women selling fish, fruits and fresh vegetables. Leave it to Dad to find this place. Loule is supposedly the busiest inland town, where you can stroll around the narrow streets and visit the Medieval Castle and city wall.

You can watch craftsmen, coppersmiths, basket and harness makers show off their skills, and browse the stalls for a bargain or two…but somehow the crafts have been blurred by the all too real vision of some seriously scary fish and pork head items. I’m still having nightmares! This thing was bigger than my head! 

Check out recommended hotels in Portugal: www.johansens.com