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.
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.
Jeff, the Resort Manager, greeted me at the dock, telling me to be prepared for the ultimate VIP Parrot Cay experience. Ooh! Lucky me!
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’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.
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…
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!
Check out Condé Nast Johansens recommended hotels at: http://www.johansens.com