House punch.

One would assume vacationing with your father in a tropical paradise and meeting a boy you really like are a sign of 'life can't get any better.' Especially since one would assume that being quite aloof and the perfect holiday version of yourself with the guy, will only work to your advantage on the short and long run.
I realized only today that life is not that simple and one needs a lot of Punch a la Maison aka rum punch to survive such endeavour.
The overall problem might be quite simple – you are not quite yet in love but very much in lust and sharing a room with Dad is just not all that exciting. On top of it all your luggage being lost for an hour at 6am local time, being 4am your time, doesn't help to improve the mood. The cute man in charge of finding the luggage only helps improving the mood when he actually, finally does indeed find your luggage. You enjoy the drive to the hotel all of a sudden, knowing that the shower awaiting can indeed be followed and enjoyed by a change of clothing.

A nap, a dip in the pool, renting a car is followed by the search for food. Difficult in a French department where apparently hair salons are more important on a Sunday noon than lunch. Thinking of Thekla and Adam I call the crappy lentils we have with rice for lunch, Dahl, and everything feels good with the world again.

The drive to Hell Bourg, a little Creole mountain village, is simply majestic, mystic, and mind boggling. We are swallowed by lush and wet green mountains, dips of rain, cascading waterfalls. If it wasn't for the narrowest roads and the craziest drivers, I would have asked my Dad to stop every 100m to take yet another picture.

When we arrive there is more rain. Sprinkling. The air feels thick and moist with or despite the rain. There is fog, clouds, and more lush green all around. Amongst all of this a little crappy garden gate with a nest of light pink orchids. I cannot recall ever seeing orchids in the wild.

Coming back to a room that smells like water (some people call it mildew, I call it ocean and I love it), I channel my friend Julia's poetic text messages. Or so I think. The reply seems a bit demure. Though I guess someone calling me 'baby' mustn't hate me. More rum punch helps my case. The mountains have disappeared in rain and darkness. I will now disappear in sleepy darkness and knowing that one maybe can have it all, yet having it all is always easier with punch.

Flowers after 2 glasses of punch.

My Hell Bourg "office".