Tag: Indian Ocean

Healing and hungover at Heathrow

In early October 2018, Mr W and I were newlyweds and heading on our Honeymoon. After a morning swim at our hotel Mr W was feeling slightly refreshed after a tiring day at our wedding 24 hours previously. I sat on a sun lounger with my feet up watching my new husband in disbelief. My feet had started to swell from being in heels all day and I had some nasty sores on the back of my heels. My airport outfit as a newlywed was cute without trying too hard. Jeans and a sparkly, striped jumper with espadrille type shoes. Cosy with a hint of glamour. The plan was to relax for a few hours before heading to the airport in a taxi. At the airport we would grab a drink and toast our marriage. 

Having eaten twice at the hotel, a delectable buffet breakfast and a shared dinner, we weren’t looking to eat at the airport so settled on a drink. Having slept on and off for maybe four hours the night before, my ears pounding with the music from the DJ and my brain running wild with images of love and laughter, sleep hadn’t come easy. The adrenaline flowed and flowed. As it was now past 6pm and a full 27 hours since we had said ‘I do’, we were both looking to sleep as much as possible on the 10 hour flight to Colombo before our short flight to Male. Quickly after leaving our hotel, the feeling of tiredness came over us and arriving at a bar we both toasted our marriage with tea. The glam life was slipping away!

As I shuffled through the airport I felt the tiredness take control of my emotions and became extremely upset about the pain in my feet. Trying to ignore it wasn’t working. Mr W led me to an Accessorize where we bought some thin socks to act as a barrier between my feet and shoes. As I sat on a bench seat seeing to my shoes, I remember thinking that things were not going to plan. This wasn’t how I wanted our honeymoon to start. With my new husband and healing limbs we slowly made our way to the departure gate. 

The gate was simply stunning. Used to the gates of Easyjet flights that are en masses in one big hall with seats in rows and gates cut into the large glass wall of windows, this was something else entirely. 

There was a little doorway that we were ushered into, like a giant arch with people checking you in beforehand and then bliss beyond. The room was purely for the use of this flight. Along one side of the room, a huge expanse of ferns and other lush greens were planted vertically on a living wall. Occasionally misting wands directed their waters at the plants. It covered the entirety of the wall. From side to side and top to the bench below. Surprisingly not many couples were present and I reasoned it was because we were flying into Colombo first. Families with young children were paying visit to relatives and men in business suits filled the room. 

Unsure of when our seat row would be called out, we settled in to be called forward. As you do in a crowd of people, I began people watching. Our seats were perpendicular to the living wall and with Mr W on my left, I had to bend forward and look past him to gaze upon it. It was fascinating how the plants were living so happily in a totally man made environment. No natural light in sight. As my roving eye continued I noticed a suited man on the bench connected to the plant paradise. He had earphones in and was gesticulating wildly. I had found my person to watch and wonder about. Not long after I noticed him, did he take his shoes off. Not in some dramatic fashion but casually slipped them off, as if he had just arrived home and was getting comfy. Then he swung his legs up, body around and lay down on the bench. By this point, I wasn’t the only one watching him. Nudging Mr W, soon saw him watching and looking round the room, I found that this strange man had quite the captive audience. There was no question of what flight he was going to be on. This was one gate for the one flight. 

I remember thinking, oh please don’t let him on. Quite obviously drunk, he was a complication my sleep addled brain did not need on this flight. All of a sudden the man reached up his hand and tugged on one of the plants in the display. Shreds of leaves and soil fell down on him as people around him slid away. Mouths around the room fell open. And still he lay there completely oblivious. 

Meanwhile the ticket desk had opened and rows were being called out. It dawned on me that with only 30 or so people left in the room it was quite possible that this man would be sitting near us. With the room less crowded, flight staff in high-vis jackets had noticed his behaviour and had approached him. He sat up, swaying on his seated spot and smiling at their questions. I felt for sure that he would not be allowed on the flight while he was that intoxicated. At one point, one of the attendants, raised their hand and held up three fingers. They were asking him to count their fingers! Now I really had seen everything. They did this several times. 

Our row was finally called and we sped forward. We were the last of maybe 10 people left in the departure lounge, including the inebriated man. And oh my god, they were letting him on the flight.  As we boarded, Mr W, ever the gentleman, let me have the window seat. We buckled up as it became very clear that the man was going to be seated in front of us. 

Bracing for a difficult flight, we tuned into the inflight entertainment, folded our bodies into origami arrangements and tried to sleep. 10 hours later, having been fed and watered with beautiful food from Sri Lankan Airlines and feeling more human than expected, we landed in Colombo. The flight was superb, at over 6 foot tall Mr W always struggles for room on flights and when the exceptionally taller man in front of him reclined his seat as soon as stepping on board, the lovely flight attendant asked him to kindly refrain from doing so and monitored the situation for the duration. The same flight attendant also soothed and rocked a baby who was crying throughout the night by shhh’ing and swaying her around the galley. Spectacular. To make things even better, the drunk man… slept the entire flight. He woke up for breakfast, had two orange juices and was very quiet indeed. I did not envy him his hangover. Flights are bad enough to dehydrate the body at the best of times, but when drunk? No thank you!

Anxious about our connecting flight, we burst from the plane and looked around quickly for signs. And there they were. A team of people, in a line, ushering us onto the small aircraft to Male. Our 30 minute connection time was completed in less than 5 minutes. Just fantastic. 

A short while later, we took off from the Sri Lankan capital and crossed the Laccadive sea.  From nowhere coral reefs and atolls sprung from the blue seascape and our honeymoon began. The hectic moments were behind us. Paradise was ahead.  

The day the sun came out

Naked side of the Maldives

Things we gained in the fire

Naked side of the Maldives

Even though I never expected to marry I was quite sure that if I ever did I wanted to go to the Maldives on my honeymoon. 

I have discussed in past blogs how I’d never thought of marriage growing up. Whether it was a disinterest, lack of faith in the dating scene or even not seeing my worth in a relationship with another person, it never was something I’d considered. 

And then there was Mr W. 

He knew how important the Maldives were to me. My dad had shared photos with me of a trip he had taken there when I was very young (and impressionable) and I yearned for those turquoise waters and pure white sands. 

As our wedding loomed and Mr W and I played the wedding planner game, the honeymoon seemed to always float around at the back of our minds. My mum took care of the car to the airport hotel, the hotel had been booked well in advance and being all inclusive all we needed to do was pack. That in itself was a strange experience. We packed two days before our wedding and the bags were picked up by the car without any involvement from us. 

With all the plans, paperwork and payments to be made in relation to the wedding the honeymoon quite literally took a backseat. In the lead up to our wedding life had been hectic but with six weeks to go there wasn’t too much left to do and I looked into the island resort we’d call home for 10 days. Adaaran hudhuranfushi looked idyllic. Sweeping vistas of the shallow lagoon. Tree lined sandy pathways. And a spa!

Not being one that likes the thought of being naked and then touched by a complete stranger, I had always run away from the idea of visiting a spa with Mr W before. Knowing this was the time for complete indulgence, I asked Mr W if he would like a couples massage. He was worried I was going to hate it, but reassuring him, we booked a facial, foot scrub and full body massage. What could possibly go wrong?

The day of our wedding came and everything went as planned. The military planning had paid off. After an interesting experience at Heathrow we landed into Male and jumped on our speedboat across the Indian ocean to our bliss. On arrival we met the tail end of a tropical storm and the heavens opened in a dramatic way. Unexpectedly we heard someone calling my maiden name and we were whisked off on a golf cart to our private water villa. Arriving in darkness had its merits. We would wake up the next morning and see the island wake up right in front of us. 

Having booked our honeymoon for October meant we would have hot weather with occasional showers of rain. As neither of us are sun worshippers and we planned to spend a lot of time in the water we reasoned that we couldn’t get any wetter. We awoke to blue skies with the strong winds of the season pushing clouds towards the horizon. 

Breakfast was held in a restaurant at the start of the private pier and still tired from the wedding and flight, we sat in silence taking it all in, the views and the food! Nervous about the massage afterwards I had a simple breakfast of eggs, beans and toast. And then we took a slow walk to the spa centre. 

The spa itself was absolutely stunning. It was placed in a large round wooden building with a conical pitched roof and I had to pinch myself yet again. There were pools of water which trinkled with drips and flowings of water. Having previously booked, a lady came to say hello and say we would be led through soon. I took the opportunity to ask her to tell the masseur about the sores I had on the back of my ankles. I had worn my wedding heels for 9 hours before giving up the ghost and begging for some of the flip flops we had bought for guests. The balls of my feet had had enough and the spongy-ness of the flat shoes felt like heaven. I was able to dance on for another 45 minutes without any issue. But 2 days later, the real damage had been revealed. The straps of my shoes had cut into my heel and left open sores. I needed this area to be treated really carefully. 

Ironically, this worry about my ankles had made me forget about being naked in front of others. We were led into a private room with two beds. The room was absolutely beautiful and as it followed the circular shape of the building the walls led out from the door at a diagonal angle to nothing. The fourth wall was gone and all we could see was plants and sand. The inside was being invited in and it was so calming. Beautiful. 

Covering ourselves in towels and climbing onto the bed we were soon joined by two women. They were both absolutely beautiful and I felt my nerves reach new heights. They asked us to sit at the head of the beds, while they kneeled on the ground before us with big bowls of warm water and swirling oils whose scents rose up to meet our noses. Petals floated around our feet as they were guided one by one into the water. After spending over 12 hours on the plane and an additional 2 hours travelling upon disembarking our feet were most definitely needing a vacation of their own. 

Trying to relax, I keep glancing at the view. It still did not feel real. Looking down I saw the ladies hand full of glimmering crystals of which I thought I looked quite rough. BEfore my brain decided to catch up with my eyes, her hand cupped the rock salt and took it to the back of my ankle. Between the pressure of her hand and my ankle the rock salt exfoliated the already sore skin. Throwing my head back and muffling a scream, I awaited the moment it would stop. Prepared for the onslaught on the next foot, I gripped the edge of the bed and gritted my teeth. Did I really think my feet would thank me for this? 

Afterwards, we were asked to lay on the beds under our towels. Having kept my knickers on I didn’t feel too bad but having such a bad relationship with my body image over the years made me really anxious. Laying them face down allowed me to pretend I was somewhere else and I actually started enjoying the pressure of the massage. The muscles that had been tense since the flight started to ease. Very nice indeed. My calves were loose. My back was free of its stiffness. And I was unsure if my now very relaxed neck and shoulders would be able to hold my head up. 

Soon we were asked to turn over and our faces were treated to moisturiser and their own mini rubdowns. I wonder now whether I had started to smile at how wonderful it felt. If I did, fingers and thumbs soon pushed it out of shape. A wet folded washcloth was placed over my eyes and then the lady continued to massage the front of my body. 

A very strange sensation started to flood over my chest. From under my makeshift eye mask I could not see what was happening. I started to wonder if my chest was bare to the elements and the ladies’ gaze. I could not tell. To this day I do not know. I started to feel tense and anxious again, but only in my mind, my body felt loose-limbed and flexible and finally felt ready to leave the wedding behind and start our honeymoon. 

Upon dressing and saying goodbye, we walked out into the blinding sunshine and wandered afresh along the paths and explored the island. Pausing only to study the plants of the vast kitchen garden the island had planted, we walked hand in hand, relaxed and happy as man and wife. 

Things we gained in the fire

When I was small my parents divorced. To this day I do not know why. I don’t care to know either. I love them both fiercely. They are both my parents and friends. I believed wholeheartedly early on that I would never marry. It wasn’t the divorce that made me think so, I didn’t understand until recently why. I was the chubby kid. The spotty kid. The bookworm. The quiet one. Easily bullied. I suppose in a way I let marriage go from my thoughts early to protect myself from disappointment in the future. Why want something that I would never have? Easy to rationalise when you’re older. But then, I just didn’t want to get married. 

Dating life started late for me. My first kiss was at 15 and quite frankly it was disgusting. It was all tongue (his) and it was cold and slimy. It would be years before I kissed someone I genuinely had an interest in. And even then, no relationship, no looking to the future. In a way I probably looked like a free spirit. Forever on a plane or planning the next trip. The only time I spent money was on nights out drinking or travelling. And it suited me fine. I wanted to laugh and dance or explore the world. 

At 19 I went to university and my anxiety skyrocketed. I spent more time out with friends than in class. It was a different world. Four hours maybe three times a week was spent on campus and the rest of the time was mine. I only realise now how very unhappy I was. I wanted a degree under my belt for sure, I knew that but a part of me was so stunned I got into university in the first place that I felt compelled to go. Otherwise, I felt the opportunity would be lost. There were so many big characters in my classes, so many people who knew what they wanted to do, that I often felt isolated in my fear of the future. The future wasn’t where I lived. I lived for the now. Partying. Dancing. Having fun. But I did the work. All the while wanting it to end. I wasn’t at university for the experience. I didn’t live in dorms and I had only a few friends. My life was very much at home, seeing school friends and working on weekends. University was almost a side hobby. 

Love hit me hard in my third year and when it ended four months before graduation my mental health took the brunt force of my devastation. I plunged myself deep into the solitude of my dissertation and didn’t emerge from my despair until the summer. Why do we love when pain goes hand in hand? 

I met Mr W later that year. We kept it incredibly casual. A movie or dinner every couple of weeks. The first time he held his hand out to me, I returned his smile with a dumbfounded expression, he said “I’m asking you to hold my hand.” What a revelation that was. Slightly older and with a difficult past of his own, he made life light again. I took a full time position in the bank I was working in on weekends and became a rat of the daily race. It paid for my travels, paid for the partying and it got me out of my head. 

I got into a routine and soon found myself working for a private agency. I loved the staff dearly, we are still friends now, but through the longing to travel further and for longer and clashing with a particularly meddlesome new manager, enough was enough. My mum and I decided to head to Australia. 

I gave myself a year to pay for the trip with a regular wage and then quit. For the first time in 9 years I was jobless. And I have never regretted it. Australia was amazing. The job opportunity I had upon my return was life changing and as the saying goes ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder.’

On my return, Mr W and I made a go of it. A year later we moved in together, started saving and got engaged. Four months later we bought our first home and two short years later we were married. Me! Married! The girl who didn’t believe in it. She didn’t believe it was happening when she looked in the mirror the day she found her wedding dress. Didn’t believe it at her hen party. Not when the invites went out. Or when she walked down the aisle. 

It wasn’t to be married. It was to be his. And he mine. Even on our getaway to the Maldives, with flowers spelling out ‘Happy Honeymoon’ on a huge bed or a cake with an iced ‘Congratulations’ I didn’t feel married. I felt happy. Like my life had come full circle.

Having decided to go away the day after our wedding meant we wouldn’t have the best weather in paradise. In fact, the annual weather report said it would most likely be raining most of the time, and upon arrival we caught the tail end of a tropical storm. As we planned to snorkel everyday, and both were prone to reddening under the sun’s glare, the forecast didn’t bother us. We spent the first week, as planned, swimming, sleeping and relaxing. Watching the world go by and relishing the very windy and refreshing bursts of rain. It was still very warm and truth be told the rain felt wonderful. Organising everything yourselves for your own wedding has its merits but it takes over your life! This was our reward. We rented a private ocean villa and had every possible luxury included. It was an indulgence we had never experienced before. A butler, a sunken bathtub, a secluded restaurant, a private staircase from the villa to the ocean, a separate overwater breakfast room, it was visually stunning. 

On the eighth day of our trip, the sun came out. The very same day that we planned to go on a boat trip to see spinner dolphins. The sky was as clear as the sea. Stunning. We had breakfast outside on the private decking and watched the waters teem with life. If the first week was perfect this was something else entirely. This was ‘plus quam perfectum’. Returning from the boat trip full of vigour and awe, we strolled through the sandy island to be greeted with the most amazing spectacle of a sunset I had ever seen. A rainbow of colours, each awaiting their turn on the horizon, danced around the setting sun. From reds and oranges, to pinks, purples and blues. The day was never to be forgotten. 

How very true that would turn out to be.

That night, longing to bask in the afterglow of the best day, I stayed up late and fell asleep at just after 1am. Not even an hour later a very loud and frantic banging on the door woke us both. Mr W was the first to the door and I heard racing mumblings between him and someone else (I wear earplugs, Mr W snores) and turning towards him heard, ‘We’re being evacuated, there’s a fire.’ 

Our ocean villa sat on a wooden pier that stretched from the island out to sea. The waters surrounding us were dark, full of sea urchins and the occasional barracuda and reef shark. The coral was jagged and the emergency electrics had failed. We were out to sea with the fire blocking our way to safety. We were told to grab our money and passports and head outside. Mr W grabbed his backpack and our essentials whilst I tried to scramble around for the nearest article of clothing. 

Bursting into the inky black night, the glow from the fire nearby was blinding. The first villa on the pier was completely alight. Luckily no-one was housed there, it was the private breakfast room we had been in not too many hours before. It was immersed in angry flames. The  wind out here was violent and had swept the flames onto the neighbouring villa. Its roof had caught and the way off the pier was through the wall of fire. I stood shivering in underwear (oops) and a thin dressing gown. What on earth would we do now? There were perhaps 10/15 other guests all emerging from their rooms. Some with luggage. I turned to Mr W and questioned whether we should go back for our belongings. It was everything we had. He agreed and we gave ourselves 10 minutes to gather everything. We darted around the villa with only our phone torches for guidance. Emerging back onto the pier, staff members told us boats would come. It soon became clear that the stairs at the very end of the pier were not going to reach the boats. The tide was still too low. Risking the jump in the pitch black was too dangerous. We were to go through one of the villas, down their staircase and slide through its bannisters onto the waiting boat. 

When I think about it now, it’s like I’m remembering a movie I once watched. It does not feel real. I remember the staff telling us to leave our luggage. That they would come back for it. People first. Yes, great. The time came for me to get on the boat. My dignity was in tatters. In just underwear and a flapping nightgown I had to maneuver onto the boat, it jerked with the ocean’s waves and my hand was crushed between the boat’s roof and the handrail of the stairs. The pain made me realise this wasn’t a vivid dream. I plonked myself on the backseat as Mr W followed me. It was pitch black and there was no way to tell how many people were on the boat. 

After several more people jumped on, I felt the water spill into the boat behind me, I screamed that we couldn’t take anymore people on and the boat moved into the dark waters. We glided parallel with the pier and found ourselves stuck on a reef. The man driving pushed the boat’s propeller to its limit, it ground up the coral and it carried on to shore. For one moment I felt a deep sadness at the lost coral, but the sight before me obliterated the worry from my mind. The pier was completely engulfed in flame and smoke. Burning timber fell from the pier into the waters below. It was an astonishing sight. If this was a cheesy, action movie, this would have been the point they did a close up on the bridal embroidery on my clothing. For dramatic effect. 

We were hauled out of the boat by more staff at the shoreline and it went back for the other people. We were taken to the reception by golf cart and given warm towels and drinks. The next few hours were a blur. Changing islands. Getting our luggage. Having to find clothes to gain a little dignity as the sun started rising. 

And my husband, while talking to the staff at the transfer boats that morning, for the first time in 9 days called me his wife. At that moment it felt real. We were married. And on the pier watching that fire creep closer, I knew why he was the one. While I stood shaking from the cold, the shock and a heap of adrenaline, he held me against him and promised me I’d be okay. And I believed him. Wholeheartedly. I was with him and I felt safe. My heart felt safe. 

He was the reason I believed in marriage. He’s the reason I feel I deserve to be loved. He sees me for who I am. He tells me that I am enough. The bookworm. The creative one. The once bullied kid. The quiet one. The chubby one. Anxiety riddled from PCOS. The little kid who didn’t believe in marriage is silenced. There are no more questions. No more rationalities. I’m still quiet, because I watch the world. I take it in. And he doesn’t question it. 

Our relationship was born before the fire, but through it we gained a new bond, an experience that saw us flee into the darkness and come out of it all the stronger.