My firsts are clenched. My nose is itching, but I dare not scratch it. One wiggle of a finger and I fear Ely or Lily might misinterpret the gesture and move in for a kiss and I’m in no mood for romantic overtures, especially from a couple of 300-pound bottlenose dolphins. Even though I’m wearing a wet suit on this balmy day, I’m cold. And scared. And wondering what the hell I am doing in the Atlantic Ocean treading water with two frisky mammals.
I consider bolting for dry land but instead, I mutter some not-so-nice things to my best friend Penny, who is beside me, loving every minute—it was her idea to sign up for the Dolphin Quest experience during our stay in Bermuda. Penny and I had first visited the island when I was 18 — not old enough to sip a rum swizzle—and Penny was 24. We’d become best friends when I dated her brother.
He didn’t last. Penny did.
Since then, our friendship has endured three marriages, one divorce, a spouse’s death, 10 dogs, one face lift and trips together or separately to 52 countries over 42 years. Hopefully it will survive the next 45 minutes.
Even though we’re in a walled-in, protected lagoon, to this persnickety city girl, it feels like the middle of the deep. Logic tells me that this is a safe adventure and that dolphins never bite people (right?) but in spite of the facts, I stick like Velcro to Lottie, the energetic 20-something dolphin trainer. Her slightest hand movement or toot on a whistle results in these playful creatures coming close–very close–to show off their skills.
Two toots and Ely (pronounced el-lee) pops out of the water, mouth agape so we can touch her sharp teeth (no, thank you). Another toot and Ely is in my face anticipating a peck on her elongated nose. I’ve kissed many frogs in search of a prince, but a dolphin? I pass. Penny puckers up and gives Ely a big smooch.
By all accounts, Penny and I are the odd couple of girlfriends. Pampering at a bucolic spa is my idea of bliss. Deluxe accommodations, room service and chocolates (preferably dark) left on my pillow are musts. Penny is happy roughing it through India. A professional dog trainer with five dogs of her own, she loves to get up close and personal with nature. I don’t even own a plant. I am a neatnik. Her place is a mess.
The one thing we share is a passion for Bermuda. After our initial visit we’ve returned many times with our spouses or other friends but never together. We’d talked about this reunion for more than 40 years but distance and careers worked against us — Penny lives in New Jersey and I live in Maryland. Prior to this trip, we hadn’t seen each other in six years. As 2010 neared, we vowed not to begin another decade without a jaunt to nirvana.
Recognizing that successful gal pal trips are all about compromises, we each agree to try a new activity of the other’s choosing. Penny gives the green light to a spa visit (she’s never had a massage or facial!) and I consent to swim with the dolphins.
For old time’s sake, we stay at the same hotel we enjoyed decades ago, the Fairmont Hamilton Princess, Bermuda’s only Grande Dame. But this time, instead of pinching pennies in the cheapest room and stuffing ourselves at breakfast (pocketing banana bread and apples for later in the day) so we could save on the cost of eating lunch, we splurge on a room with a harbor view. We then take the next leap and upgrade to Fairmont Gold, the hotel’s club floor, where a hearty breakfast, elegant afternoon tea and evening hors d’oeuvres are served in a chandelier-bedecked lounge.
Ever since The Pink Palace, as it is lovingly called by locals, opened its doors in 1885 it has welcomed luminaries. This is where the rich and famous stay, from the hotel’s namesake, the fourth daughter of Queen Victoria, to current VIPs.
Over the years it has had several owners and updates including a recent $50 million refurbishment. Our room has all the expected bells and whistles — marble entry, flat-screen TV and sumptuous linens — but it’s the rain-style shower that gets our attention. Large smooth stones imbedded in the floor channel the ambiance of a fancy spa and provide a mini foot massage with every scrub.
While secluded, upscale hotels abound on this picture-postcard island, the Fairmont’s setting within walking distance to Hamilton’s shops, restaurants, ferries and buses makes more sense for us. When we were young we buzzed around the island–it’s actually seven islands joined by bridges and causeways–on hired motor scooters, a pleasure now too risky for our aging bones.
Penny and I may be night and day, but Bermuda has a lock on both of our hearts. Surrounded by the dazzling blue-green hues of the Atlantic, pink-tinted powdery sand beaches frame dramatic limestone formations. From palatial hillside retreats to the smallest cottages, every home or hotel dotted about 21 perfect square miles is painted a pretty pastel storybook color.
The whole place has an air of contentment. Who could possibly feel unhappy living in a neighborhood of powder blue, flamingo pink or goldenrod yellow homes?
Since it has one of the highest per-capita incomes in the world, there is virtually no poverty. And because Bermuda limits the number of visiting cruise ships, the island never gets overwhelmed by hordes of tourists in tacky shirts and running shoes. Thanks to the Gulf Stream, the average temperature is like Baby Bear’s porridge — not too hot and not too cold. It is just right all year long.
Above all, Bermuda is civilized. A sense of elegance pervades. Manners still matter and afternoon tea is a tradition not to be messed with. No wonder the locals call this British gem ‘paradise.’ No wonder we keep returning.
Even Mark Twain, that critic of everything, swooned over Bermuda and was a frequent visitor at the Pink Palace. “What Bermuda can do for a person in three short days, in the way of soothing his spirit and setting him up physically, and giving his life a new value by temporarily banishing the weariness and the sordidness out of it, is wonderful…,” he once wrote.
While Penny can’t fathom my fears of the dolphins, she squirms as we enter the steam room of the posh Willow Spa at the Southampton Princess, our hotel’s sister beachfront property on the other side of the island. I think of a steam room as a contemplative space for spiritual renewal, a refuge from the craziness of daily life. For Penny, it’s a gas chamber. Her eyelids blink doll-like. “Get me out of here,” they plead.
Cocooned in thick white robes, we quickly retreat to the cozy waiting area and sip spring water flavored with orange slices before our “stress reducing” massages. Other more exotic and lengthy treatments are on the spa menu but since it’s Penny’s first time, we opt for the basics.
Thomas calls her name. Thomas? A male masseur? Fortunately Penny learns that Thomas is a “dog person.” They get along famously, and she gives the experience two thumbs up.
Over the next few days we wander aimlessly about. A half-day driving tour of the island takes us past the home of Catherine Zeta Jones and Michael Douglas (his mother is a Bermudian) and other opulent estates. “That one is quietly on the market for $27 million,” says our guide, as he points to yet another stunning hillside villa.
Of course, we shop. Housed in a 250-year-old building, Bluck’s has been selling fine china and stemware for 160 years. Service is their mantra — the “newest” employee has worked here for 22 years. I suppose Cire Trudon candles priced at $75 each at The Linen Shop on Front Street are a bargain when you consider that each one burns for 60 to 70 hours. Scent names and descriptions add to their value — Pondichery: an exotic Indian flower market aroma; Manon: a whiff of fresh laundry; Odalisque: an intoxicating blend of Moroccan orange blossoms.
Evenings we savor local rockfish prepared simply with capers, onions and lemon, or Bermuda Fish Chowder laced with sherry at the Lobster Pot or the Hog Penny, two of Bermuda’s downtown dining classics. After dinner we sit on our balcony, reminiscing.
Over the years, Penny has talked me into a harrowing trip up a mountain on a hairpin road to Delphi; a fascinating Indian Sikh ceremony; an overnight run on a dingy Greek fishing boat packed with locals; and, in London in the 60s, a big splurge on a very avant garde (weird?) haircut by Vidal Sassoon when he was as famous as Elvis. Each time, Penny led the way for me to travel out of my comfort zone, the most rewarding journey of all.
I think of that now as Lottie gently pats the top of the water. Ely reacts to this tiny gesture by flapping her flippers together in front of me like a child clapping to get my attention. I take a deep breath and reach out to touch her belly, soft and smooth as velvet. Despite her substantial size, she is gentle. She swims away then returns, this time wearing a big red plastic ring on her nose. Her expression says, “Come on, let’s play. Don’t be afraid.” I cautiously take the ring off her nose and toss it. She retrieves it and returns. I toss it again. And again. And again. And again.
Stay
Fairmont Hamilton Princess
Off-season rates for rooms without a balcony in the main building begin at $199 and go up to $3,500 a night for the Harbor or Presidential Suites.
(866) 540-4447
fairmont.com/hamilton/
Play
Dolphin Quest
The Encounter (described in this story) is a 45 minute in-water experience plus 15 minutes getting acquainted with the mammals. Open to adults and children, minimum age of 8 years. Reservations required.
dolphinquest.com
Eat
The Lobster Pot
Indoor and outdoor seating is available at this casual Hamilton gathering place, a magnet for locals as well as out of towners. Don’t leave the island without experiencing Conch Fritters or Fish Chowder laced with Black Rum and Sherry Peppers. www.bermuda.com/hosted/lobsterpot/
Hog Penny Restaurant & Pub
Said to be the inspiration for Cheers, Bermuda’s oldest downtown dining establishment serves hearty pub fare — Bangers and Mash, Fish and Chips, Shepherd’s Pie — as well as the local catch of the day.
hogpennypub.com
For more information:
www.bermuda.com
www.bermudatourism.com
www.blucksbermuda.com
Photos: Fairmont Hamilton Princess and Bermuda Tourism
