Big yachts are very nice
Put it down to my undisputed maturity, advanced age, wisdom, sagacity or call it whatever you will, but I’m convinced we are never too old for unexpected revelations.
Like this gem that hit me yesterday – “Don’t knock life’s extravagant luxuries if you haven’t tried them.” – after Judy and I experienced, and thoroughly enjoyed, perhaps the most extravagant luxury of all.
An exquisite lunch at sea aboard a giant privately-owned ocean-going yacht.
Now we don’t normally mingle in such elevated circles or on such big vessels, far from it, but trust Judy to wangle an invitation on this one. Which has been parked – or nautically speaking, anchored – within hailing distance of our Caribbean home for the past week or so.
Causing us to hear champagne glasses clinking at all hours of the day and night and silver cutlery dissecting luscious grilled lobster tails on finest porcelain. And laughter and soft music as the owners cavorted semi-naked around their floating palace without a care in the world. Or at least that’s how I imagined it.
To keep the story short. Judy was sunning on our deck when a nice lady of about the same age approached and said she’d lost her little dog. It seems “Gigi” (the dog of course, a bichon frise) who needs regular morning walks on land had gone missing in the brush.
As you’ve already guessed, Judy found the dog later that day and called the lady, who came ashore immediately and invited us for lunch. “Let’s say Sunday, around eleven. Just wave and I’ll have someone pick you up.”
It was quite a special feeling when the semi-famous owner (who must remain anonymous) asked Judy to tell his captain where she’d like to sail. “Around the island? I’m afraid that would take too long but we can go out far enough to lose sight of it.”
“That’s fine too,” Judy quickly approved.
There was champagne, caviar, lobster of course, a fine assortment of cheeses and freshly-baked French bread – heaven only knows where they got that. And a desert trolley that would blend perfectly in Buckingham Palace.
But the master bedroom was the ultimate extravagant luxury. When we saw it on the grand tour Judy and I silently agreed.
If fluffy “Gigi” comes ashore and gets lost a second time, we’ll demand a night in here alone or they’ll never see their little bichon frise again.
