It was my birthday. "So THIS is what forty-five looks like" I thought with an air of disbelief and acceptance. I had just entered the mirrored yoga studio at Retreat with its stark white walls contrasting the all black outfit I'd hoped would camouflage the weight I've amassed on this dancer's body after almost three years of retirement and eight months of island living.
After living on this private resort island for the last five months, anything other than food from the Staff Cafeteria (which we call "canteen") and my own limited repertoire in the kitchen is considered a delicacy to my taste buds. In fact, it's pure ecstasy. Food is my sex on this god-forsaken island (that I love) where the pickings are slim when it comes to men and culinary pleasure.
For the last few months I’ve been submerged in a bubble of picturesque beauty, long periods of solitude and self-reflection, and teaching Pilates to a fascinating collection of international guests who often have nothing on their to-do lists other than spa treatments, seaside sun bathing, stargazing and cocktails.
