It was 2020 something..

"It was December 1980-something and..."

Nah..not going there. 

Not paying homage to the tagline of  rapidly declining "The Goldbergs" with all it's unfunny stereotypes.

If I wanted to read about unfunny stereotypes, I'd read my blog.

Let's try again.

The era is correct 'though, back in those  harsh winters of the 70's and 80's, the  Club Med franchise  had the most inviting advertising come-on in existence:

"A Club Med Vacation..the antidote..for civilization."

There is a paradox here, because yes, of course, we GM's (also known as "Genteel Members”or guests..the staff is known as G.O.'s..or "Genteel Organizers") know those feeling of being away from civilization..sometimes, we know it too well.

Like in the early days of Club Med, when the rooms had no doors and the guests had no morals, where it was all about bar beads and exploring new sexual positions with the nameless chef who just prepared your pasta primavera earlier that night.

(So claimed my friends who were regulars, convincing me that I'd love the “summer camp" vibe here, but I don't know what kind of summer camp they went to. Mine didn't involve Vodka and the Kama Sutra. )

Not that I know of, anyway.

That was the early days of Club Med, the early days of this particular trip defined an escape from civilization  quite differently.

It meant airport delays, and showering with a stream of water the width of a strand of dental floss.  It meant wobbly tables and darkened pathways covered with toxic spray and small amphibians as you attempted to find your accomodation.  It meant non-working TVs and noisy A/C and treacherous waves and seaweed. It meant tumbling champagne towers and torrential downpours and spotty Wi-fi.  I certainly felt detached from "civilization" by eating pureed Gerber food or frozen brussel sprouts that  multiple  generations of flies seemed to love.

But you know what?

That was then..this is now.

I'm ending on  a high note, as I should.  As every vacationer should.

Even all the bad stuff tuned into blogging comedic gold.

But the good stuff was a-plenty, especially when nobody was relying on us to babysit a chapeau for hours, so we could spend hours in the gorgeous waves. 

We’d enjoy beautiful sunsets that Jim captured with his camera and posted on Facebook, knowing each generic photo would get 86 "like" clicks, opposed to the few charity ones the blog earns. 🙂

It was  about Jim hooking up with me before lunch, as I sunned under a double-sized lounge chair with a canopy and a sci-fi book(usually not my genre but this one is good so far) grinning from ear to ear, relaying all the details of his spectacular snorkeling trip.

It's about hokey night entertainment that relies heavily on Jerry Lewis-inspired slapstick, a language understood by  and enjoyed by  the 160 or so guests who flew here from Paris and about a dozen or so imbeciles who were on our Miami flight.

It's about the professionally decorated  Christmas trees set in a tropical paradise, something I've never seen before.

It's about hilarious moments, when I meet up with Jim at our less-wobbly table, carrying my ninetieth slice of white chocolate bread, and saying, "I just felt a huge shove on my back, and when I turned around, this adorable Island kid(I think his auntie works here as a hostess) who was about seven or eight, grinned at me and said, "I just needed to push something."

It's about the reconnect and the rejuvenation, and that gratitude that I went for my first full leg waxing before the trip so I didn't have to worry about shaving.

It's about meeting the pious and the heathens and the fabulous company who are ten years your senior but look and act twenty years younger than you.

It's  about laughter..camaraderie...crazy signs around the pool.  

I don't mean that as in "omens" for those who've never been..

"Crazy Signs" are dances done daily, by coordinated people with bodies one can't stop staring at.  The male and female dancers are living, breathing, works of art.

It's about snarling at the French smokers and high-fiving those who hate it as much as you do.

It's  about realizing how fortunate you are to have married up.

It's about bonding with disgruntled airline passengers on the first day, who regale you with their facinating backgrounds and their aging "Taboo" boxed game that's dated and missing major parts, but then you realize, "I am too...I am dated and missing parts" and you play anyway, and you laugh 'til you can't breathe.

(We were a group of eight yesterday, men vs. women, and one of the most important jobs of the game is watching the sands pour through the hourglass--more like a sixty-or-so-second glass, and sadistically yelling "time!" when the sands run out.)

How funny was this when someone had to describe the word on their card without using any of the five "taboo" words and said in a panic, as only miliseconds remained, "The insurrectionists of January 6th will all eventually be doing.."

"Time!" Jim yells out, even 'though it wasn't his team's turn to answer but he was watching the  sands fade away in the plastic timer.

It was perfect..er.."timing"..to deliver the perfect punchline.

Jim is talking in all the sights from our second floor balcony, sipping his coffee peacefully.

I am packing up some last minute stuff, thinking of a good way to end this last vacation blog that  best describes a trip that had more ups and downs than an escalator.

How about a simple, "thanks for bearing with the length of these posts and for keeping me motivated to keep on writing."

Au revoir, mon amis!

Oh.

One more thing.

In case you were smoking too much WEED(s) and you don’t care ABOUT LAST NIGHT and you are obviously living in the stone age like Wilma Flintstone,  if you're still missing the BIG clues, the answer is:

Elizabeth Perkins.

Pam's niece is Betsy Perkins, the wonderful actress who made me hate her as Rebecca Pearson's cruel mother in "This is US"..which makes me love her even more as the beautiful, gifted actress she is.