Destination Saint Lucia. With snow on the path at home I packed tropical print bikinis, cool kaftans for sipping rum cocktails in and bright hues of nail varnish to raise the temperature.
Packing light and bright with bikinis and sun dresses, I left all heels and sequins at home like a shrine to transvestitism.
With a Marley soundtrack I explored smugglers coves and saw wealthy Europeans frolicking on pristine plastic beaches. The volcanic sulphur mud spas of Soufriere were sweltering and left my skin feeling silky smooth. 'Captain Typhoon' bribed with Pieton Beer to take a boat trip to Pigeon Island where we snorkelled in a sun drenched bay with 'Nemos' and turtles.
Although the coconut palm trees and poolside chat was uplifting, the real hi light for me was undoubtedly horse riding bare back in the crystal clear Caribbean waters with a young local guide of 20 named 'Alpha Maxon Signal' we galloped along the beach at pace on 'Spartacus' a dappled grey pony and 'Opal' a tall bay mare. I could not have been happier. Although he wanted to 'make me his woman' which was tempting as he offered 40 horses as part of the dowry but I politely declined in favour of a poolside rum punch and escaped with 2 beaded bracelets from his pushy sales compatriots at a bar we visited 'to rest' the horses (read rip off the tourist).
With sun blushed limbs I've soothed any bare foot riding cuts and bruises (not to be advised) with fresh Aloe gel squeezed from the plant and a pamper session in the spa. Feeling very jet setty I caught a helicopter connection to the airport absorbing the clear views of tropical paradise and dangerous history. The stray cats have been fed and befriended, the limbo has been performed and I feel thoroughly refreshed.