The last place a single woman thinks about going when planning a weekend escape on her own is to a romantic island. After all, why would you pay to remind yourself of your solitude? It’s enough you don’t have someone to whisk you away for the weekend, right? Maybe you’re wrong. There’s something to be said for intimate destinations – they are quiet, they are peaceful, they often have a great spa attached and depending on where you stay, you can treat yourself to a little luxury in the comforts of your guest room.
Having come off almost four weeks of not sleeping due to pending deadlines that continue to pile up, I was eager to get away and crash for a weekend. Being at home isn’t often ‘relaxing’ for me – there’s always a dish to clean, laundry to do, piles of mail to organize … you get the point. While I can’t advocate that you dismiss all your responsibilities at home and take off for a weekend away because you want one, I can suggest that you reward yourself with something serene after finalizing a huge project, or when you’re just so worn down you can’t recall what happened earlier in the day.
Enter: Bermuda. The picturesque island with pink sand located just a few hours from most East Coast airports. Romantic? Yes, but it is equally private and secluded, which made vacationing alone on this island the perfect prescription for my worn out mind, body and soul.
Day 1: I hopped on my flight and was stunned when the captain said our flying time was one hour and 48 minutes. I had forgotten about the time zone difference (Bermuda is one hour ahead of Boston), which made this flight even more enjoyable. I arrived Bermuda’s Hamilton airport at 11:40 a.m. and made my way to winding customs line. After about 30 minutes of waiting I was finally ushered to my 30-something-year-old agent who smiled at me from behind the glass as he took my passport and asked. “Are you here alone?” Awesome. It’s already starting.
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“Business or pleasure?” he inquired. “Pleasure,” I said. “I just need a little break,” offering more than was required.
He looked up from his glasses, smiled at me, stamped my passport and said, “You’ve come to the right place. Go on girl…” And off I went.I met my driver outside of customs and was taken to Tucker’s Point, one of the island’s most exclusive resorts. The hotel and golf club offers residences as well as hotel rooms, a private golf course, a world-class spa, a four different restaurants and endless hidden coves, lounge areas, and hideaways – perfect for a solo traveler needing some solitude.
Tucker’s Point is known for its exclusivity, which is one reason celebrities (and people who think they are celebrities) stay here. The man who arrived shortly after I did was one of those people. None of us knew who he was, but he certainly did. Wearing all white linen from head to toe and hiding behind his Ray-Bans, this fine gentleman was clearly demanding of a little attention, and that’s exactly what he got. Despite the fact that the hotel didn’t know who he was, they treated him like royalty – the same way they treat all their guests.
I was shown to my room and left to myself. The majority of the rooms have private balconies, and all the rooms offer full bathrooms, king-sized beds, walk-in closets and plenty of Bermuda-style amenities, like butterfly catchers and Dark-n-Stormy mixes. By the time I unpacked and was settled, it was cocktail hour.
The bar at Tucker’s Point is dark and old-fashioned. The wood bar is flanked by red leather chairs and photos of Bermuda from the early 1900′s through today. A dinner jacket and box hat hang on the wall – a perfect reminder of the gentlemen who used to frequent the Bermuda bars back in the day.
After a glass of wine and dinner, I made my way back to my room, crawled into my big bed and fell asleep for the first time in over a week.
Day 2: The downside of Tucker’s Point – no in-room coffee machine. I woke up refreshed, but in desperate need of caffeine. Today I was learning how to golf and I needed all the brain power I could muster.
I called to room service who graciously sent up a $15 carafe of hot coffee and while I grumbled over the price, I have to admit it was one of the best pots of coffee I’ve ever tasted. Armed with caffeine and ready for some golf, I made my way to the course, only to be stopped by the adorable displays of golf wear in the Pro Shop. One skirt, two polo shirts and a hat later, NOW I was ready for some golf.
I made the golf lesson for two reasons: 1) I actually have a story to write on golfing for a publication and 2) because the thought of whacking a little ball with a steel stick seemed very therapeutic. I was right. It was. My teacher, golf director Jason Epstein, provided my motivation the entire way. He taught me the correct stance, swing and focus, and also complimented me and encouraged me to “see it through” — he meant my swing; I meant whacking the ball. (More to come on Jason and the golf experience soon).
I ended the day at the spa (a perfect way to wind down after a day of swinging clubs at innocent balls). The honey scrub lifted all the dead skin cells from my tired body and the 16-head shower was, in a word, remarkable. The therapist programs the shower settings based on your preferences: temperature, pressure, “mood”, etc. The next 6-8 minutes is indescribable, but I’ll do my best: Imagine standing in a blue-tiled octagon-shaped shower. On each of the walls are faucets that when programmed, shoot water in different temperatures and pressures. The variations change during the course of the ‘shower’ and you’re left not only feeling extremely clean, but magically refreshed. You could fit 10 of your closest friends in this shower, but trust me: you want this all to yourself. A 60-minute massage followed and I was, quite simply, done.
I made my way back to room; my legs like Jell-O and my head bobbing side-to-side because for the first time in months, it wasn’t being forced upright by tension and knots in my neck. I stumbled into my room, pulled on my pjs, and made my way to my balcony for the night.
The sun was starting to set on this beautiful Bermudian day. The turquoise blue water was fading into the pink sky, which slowly turned shades of purple and red as the sun fell lower beneath the horizon. Soon it was night, and the pink sky was replaced by a midnight blue blanket covered in stars. With a Dark-n-Stormy next to me, I stared at the constellations and picked out my favorite stars (a little game of mine since I was a child).
I fell asleep that night in the lounge chair on my balcony; the laughter of families coming home late from parties and the sounds of lovers just beginning their evening rendezvous whispered around me. The waves of the ocean drowned them out, but every now and again I’d hear a faint conversation happening in the distance. I wondered what brought them here and if they would return – I wondered if maybe, for a moment, they saw the same Bermuda I did. I didn’t know who these people were and it didn’t matter. I remained wrapped in my blanket under the stars – cocooned in my own land of make-believe on a balcony in Bermuda.
Disclaimer: Tucker’s Point paid for my room, golf and spa treatment. All other costs including flights, meals and amenities were paid for by me. The opinions expressed in this post are strictly my own.