It’s 3 am in the Dubai airport. The girls and I are staring down the barrel of six more hours here in duty-free hell. In the middle of the night. We have taken refuge at the Shake Shack in the hopes of waiting this out. At least we are well fed, for now. Save yourselves!

Two days earlier…

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Today we were up early for a little morning sail. The resort has a big wooden boat that they line with bean bag chairs to sail guests around every morning and in the evenings at sunset. We boarded the boat and headed straight to the front. The sail was pretty boring. I almost fell back asleep. But it was nice to get out on the water for an hour. Let the record show that we made a solid attempt to do something other than lounge around on our rafts and read books while blasting country music into the Indian Ocean. It’s just not for us.

Morning sail in the Maldives

Bean bag boating

This morning’s breakfast buffet featured the best food selection yet. It really made me wonder how I’ve managed to get through thirty two years without breakfast falafel. Couple update: the honeymooners seemed to be in good spirits today. There was no sign of resting bitch face, which no doubt lightened the buffet mood. Nothing notable to report from breakfast other than the usual over-eating and smuggling out contraband sandwiches for lunch.

We decided to mix things up and hit the main resort pool today. It’s a pretty rad infinity pool on the beach that looks like it spills out into the ocean. Or at least it would be rad if it wasn’t infested with the scourge of the earth that makes up a majority of our pool companions. On our boat cruise this morning we spent the better part of the hour trying to avoid and ignore an obnoxious Asian family, however they seem to have taken a liking to us and have followed us to the pool. You know the family I’m talking about – every resort has them – the woman screams commands at her family at the top of her lungs as if she owns the fucking place while the husband runs around with a DSLR snapping four thousand pictures of his motley crew from every possible angle, paying no attention to who he steps on in the process, all the while their child wreaks havoc on the vacation of every adult within a mile radius by being an ill-mannered little shit head. At one point this little inbred ass clown of a child dumped an entire bucket of pool water on Jorgie’s head while she was floating in the pool. Did his parents whip his ass? Or at the very least scold him? Fuck no. Mom and Dad were too busy screaming their buck teeth at each other from across the pool, no doubt arguing about the lighting requirements for Mom’s next headshot.

Main pool

Resort view

Three Amigos at the pool

As we were lounging in a corner of the pool on our rafts trying to stay as far away from the Joy Luck Club as possible, a European couple comes over to Steph and tell hers that they want her spot in the pool. The other 95% of the pool is completely empty, yet for some reason they must go out of their way to demand the specific three square feet of the pool that Steph is currently occupying. She was obviously bemused and so she floated a few feet away in earnest anticipation of discovering the reasoning for this odd behavior. The boyfriend then proceeds to take pictures of his girlfriend deep-throating the straw of her frozen margarita in that exact spot. I guess you can’t give a seductive duck-face from just anywhere in the pool. Has no one taught any of these people proper communal pool etiquette? When I was a kid I would have gotten my ass kicked for splashing in the general direction of an adult. I’d like to say I was shocked by the lack of respect for the personal space of others, but this shit seems to be the new normal these days. Looks like I need to add a pool and beach etiquette seminar to my “How not to be a moron” curriculum. After a few hours we had our fill of fraternizing with the common folk and so we headed back the safety of our over water compound. If today proved one thing, it’s that our money was very well spent on the bungalow with a private pool. Resort pools are for peasants.

The afternoon passed much like the days prior. Reading, floating, lounging. We hit the gym in the late afternoon and then showered and cracked a bottle of wine while we watched Kardashian re-runs on E! before dinner. Tonight we headed back to the Teppanyaki restaurant, mainly because we have cycled through all the restaurants on the island and we thought it would be awkward to have the resort set up a romantic beach dinner for two…for three. We walked on to the Teppanyaki bungalow and immediately notice the Joy Fuck Club at one of the cooking stations. Their little rugrat was already banging his utensils on the table screaming for fried rice like a fucking lost boy. We made a hard left turn for the other station and settled in across from an attractive Indian couple who ate their lobster in quiet. The girl looked like she was about sixteen, but at least her parents taught her some manners before they sold her off to a rich guy. And he takes her the Maldives – so shit, can someone arrange one of those marriages for me, please?

Our Teppanyaki chef

The chef made me take a pic of the fried rice heart

After dinner the resort set up a movie on the beach under the stars, with bean bag chairs set in the sand around a giant projector screen. Steph and I had both recently seen the movie they played, so we only stayed long enough for me to kill a few bowls of popcorn and enjoy the general ambiance. A few couples were waiting for spots to sit so gave up our seats and headed back to our room for bed. They look like they need the entertainment more than us anyway.

The girls at movie night

Cute setup

Monday, September 25, 2017

Today is our last day in the Maldives. It’s the usual – early wake-up time and hit the gym, followed by our last buffet breakfast. I think ten in a row is more all-you-can-eat before 10 am than anyone needs. We enjoyed our last few hours in of private pool time before we had to check out and have all our shit moved to one of the day use rooms until our boat back to the airport later tonight. We had no choice but to brave the shared resort pool,once again.

We threw down our beach bags on some pool chairs and looked up to see none other than Resting Bitch Face herself glaring at us from beneath her oversized designer sunglasses. Someone please order this girl one of those frozen margaritas with an extra wide straw so she chills the fuck out a little. Apparently she hates pools as much as she hates breakfast, sunshine, happiness, and her husband. Where is that annoying little Asian kid with his bucket of water when you need him to splash the bitchy scowl off someone’s face?

Steph and I immediately hopped in the pool on our rafts, kindles in hand, ready to put a dent in some reading material. Just as we had gotten comfortable a resort employee comes over to inform us that there are no rafts allowed in the pool. The pool that we spent hours on our rafts in yesterday. When I inquired as to why, he claimed it was because they take up too much space and the pool is not big enough. I gestured around the pool with my head to draw attention to the fact that we were the only fucking people in the giant pool. The employee reutted by informing us that only children can have small floats in the pool. Another day at the communal pool, another bewildering encounter. Not in the mood to fight on my last day of vacation, I took my raft and headed out the ocean where I was swept half way to a neighboring island in the current and almost run over by novices kayakers who didn’t know their oars from their ass holes before having to swim back to shore, raft in tow. All the while, the pool remained relatively empty. So just to recap: Obnoxious children throwing water on people – allowed, harassing fellow resort patrons to move – allowed, subjecting everyone at the pool to your resting bitch face – allowed, grown women minding their own business reading a book on raft – NOT allowed. And the universe makes sense once again.

Our plan for the late afternoon was to do the free snorkel tour. However we walked down the dock only to be informed that the snorkel tour is not actually a boating adventure, but is instead just guided snorkeling from the reef right off the beach of our resort. The one we snorkeled in ourselves the other day. Furthermore, the Joy Luck Club was also signed up for the snorkeling excursion. We promptly returned our snorkel gear to the dive center and called it a day. I don’t want to be anywhere near that annoying little Asian boy if he drowns because this blog alone would be enough to prove motive.

We went to an early dinner and then watched the Kardashians 10th anniversary special in our loaner room before it was time to leave for the airport. I know it sounds like we watch a lot of Kardashians, but E! is pretty much the only American channel we get here and they play Kardashian reruns around the clock. On second thought, fuck it, I don’t need to justify my love of awful reality tv to you people. I watch those sluts on the regular, even when I’m home, and I like it.

Our return transfer yacht back to the airport was huge and beautiful and I wanted to stay on it and sail around the Maldives for another week, but sadly the real world was calling. Listen to the fresh hell that we must endure to get home: three hour flight from Male to Dubai, seven hour layover in the Dubai airport from 2 am to 9 am, sixteen hour flight from Dubai to LAX. Our seven hour layover was originally two hours, but Emirates canceled their second daily flight between Dubai and LA when all Trump’s travel bans went into effect earlier this year. Since no one can get into our country, they don’t have the demand to fill two flights a day, resulting in our original flight home being cancelled. I realize that in the grand scheme of Trump atrocities this is very small potatoes, but if you can’t bitch about a layover in your own blog while you are cranky at 5 am in an airport, what is the point of writing one?

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

I’m writing to most of you from the future. It’s now 5 am in the Dubai Airport. The call to prayer has woken up all the napping tourists. I am happy because now everyone is awake and miserable just like me. Miserly loves company. Four more hours until our sixteen hour flight home. I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like. If you don’t hear from me, send a search party to the booze section of the duty free shop in Emirates Terminal A.

Friday, September 22, 2017

I was up bright and early once again around sunrise. A 9:30 pm bed time will do that to you. I headed over to the gym and had a little one-on-one time with my homegirl Jillian Michaels to start my day. We aren’t sure if it was the workouts, the massages or the yoga, but everyone is awkwardly sore today and moving slow. We headed breakfast with our beach bags in hand so that we could smuggle out food for lunch. We opted out of the all-inclusive package for our stay because (a) the Jew in me would be determined to get my money’s worth, resulting in five days of me being completely shit faced, (b) the exorbitant price led me to believe that I’m probably the only one of us even capable of drinking enough to make the plan cost effective, and (c) I think we can all agree five days of all-you-can-eat food is highly unnecessary for a girl who needs an aggressive lesbian to yell at her through an iPad to facilitate a decent workout. Yesterday we saw some couples making sandwiches from the breakfast veggie and cold-cut bar and sneaking them out. We already steal free water bottles from the gym in the morning, so I’m definitely not above putting a sandwich in my purse to save a buck.

Breakfast was surprisingly entertaining, thanks to all the couples that are visibly sick of each other. In addition to staring at their phones for a respite from speaking to their significant other, I noticed that they also utilize stuffing large quantities of food into their faces as a means of avoiding conversation. Eye contact is also virtually non existent here. One couple in particular was seated directly in front of me and I couldn’t help but notice how utterly miserably they looked. This bitch has a diamond ring the size of a marshmallow while she eats chocolate croissants at buffet breakfast in the fucking Maldives, probably on a honeymoon after blowing her parent’s 401(k) on a lavish wedding, and she has the nerve to look miserable? This wasn’t just a serious case of resting bitch face either. This brat was visibly in the throws of a grown woman temper tantrum. Her husband was a too engrossed in his instagram to give a shit. Probably sending dick pics via DM to his wife’s bridesmaids in the hopes of bolstering his manhood given the castrating glare his bride was sending his way. I snuck pictures of the happy couple for your enjoyment. #relationshipgoals

What’s her problem?

The silent breakfast

After breakfast we headed down to one of the beaches and snagged some beach chairs with a premium view that I had eyed the other day. The on-site photographer apparently agrees with my location scouting because she brought all the couples to this beach for their romantic photo shoot. Everyone that stays at the resort gets a free half hour shoot with the resident photographer. The only thing better than a beach view in the Maldives is awkward couples fake running down the beach for your entertainment. My favorite duo of the day were the ones who did the Dirty Dancing running leap into a lift. Just substitute in two middle aged white people and cut the vertical in about half and you can probably picture it. I couldn’t get my phone out in time to snap an pic, but trust me when I tell you it was awesome. Second place goes to the picture of the woman blowing a kiss at her husband while he pretended to be “blown away” by it. Get it? I’m trying to talk the girls into doing our own photo shoot. I’m thinking three woman pyramid on the sand, but I’m open to suggestions.

We had about ten minutes of rain in the late morning, which was pretty much the most exciting part of the day. It’s technically rainy season in the Maldives at the moment so we lucked out that this intermittent cloud burst was the worst of it. After beach time we headed back to our over water bungalow and floated in our private plunge pool while reading our kindles. Once our skin hit the vitamin D max we showered and got drunk on the bottles of wine in our mini bar before heading to dinner. We did our own little photo shoot on our deck – which reminded me of our “headshots du jour” from our France trip a few years ago. My online dating profile is looking rather worldly. I’m like the fucking Carmen SanDiego of tinder. If you don’t know who that is, you’re too young to be reading this blog. Spinster bed time was at about 9 pm again tonight.

Saturday, September 23, 2017

I think I figured out why the couples at breakfast were so miserable yesterday. They must have been on the island for a solid week and were losing their fucking minds with cabin fever. Today’s crop of couples at breakfast seemed far less bitter. They looked like island newbies, with fresh smiles on their faces. They even exhibited normal couple behavior such as talking, touching and looking in each other’s general direction. Not to fear, honeymooners, there is hope. At this point I’ve planned so many honeymoons for my friends and been on so many friendmoons that I feel like an expert. Perhaps I should start a consulting business that will (a) plan your honeymoon and (b) tell you how to have some fucking fun while on your honeymoon. You know what they say – those who can’t do, teach. The millionaire matchmaker can’t find a man for herself to save her life, yet people still pay her to set them up. So why not let a perpetually single girl be in charge of some couples retreats? Someone needs to help these people factor the pigment of their skin into their honeymoon destination choice, because they obviously aren’t doing it for themselves.  Once again, this blog just bleeds with entrepreneurial spirit.  My “how not to be a moron” class never really got off the ground, but I think Spinster Travel, LLC has some real promise.  I obviously need help on name ideas

After breakfast we were determined to use the snorkel gear that we picked up in the dive shop yesterday. We geared up in our masks and fins and set out off the back of our bungalow into the ocean. Every time I go on vacation I watch the other tourists spend hours snorkeling and I think to myself, I must be missing something. So I try it again. Can we all just be honest and admit that snorkeling is fun for all of about five minutes? I can’t be the only person who gets bored swimming around looking at fish and coral while my eyes start to sting from salty sea water leaking through my mask and my feet cramp up from fins cutting off my circulation. We certainly gave it the old college try as we snorkeled around the island to the main beach. I included some pics for you just in case you actually give a shit about random fish. We walked back down the beach to the safety of our bungalow and got back to doing what we do best – floating and reading.

A little shark

Ready to snorkel!

Check out the flippers on that girl!

Fish n shit

Under the sea selfie

More fish

Successful snorkeling trip!

At one point in the day I got adventurous and took my raft down to the beach where I tried something new and different…floating and reading in the ocean. I was really thinking outside the box. We lazed away the afternoon, alternating between floating, laying out and napping. It’s amazing how time flies when you aren’t doing shit. Before we knew it, it was time for sunset yoga with our favorite Namaste Nazi. The group was bigger this time, and only a few of the woman managed to drag their significant others with them. I settled into a spot in the back row behind a guy with great arms.  My sun salutation was more of a bow to his biceps. The sunset wasn’t the only nice view I had during that yoga session. Yeah yeah, I know he’s taken, but l’m only window shopping. His appeal went downhill significantly once he turned around anyway. Luckily the front of him is his girlfriend’s problem, not mine. Also joining us at yoga today was Resting Bitch Face from breakfast yesterday! She was your typical skinny bitch with a big diamond who is great a yoga. Other than that, nothing too notable. We just performed the “normal inhalations and exhalations” as Namaste Nazi suggested. At one point I swear he laughed at me attempting to do a post. My flexibility is so pathetically hilarious that not even Namaste Nazi can resist a chuckle.

We had a few glasses of wine back at the room and then headed out to dinner at “Sand” restaurant, which is, you guessed it, on the sand. The entire resort is technically on sand, but this restaurant is out on the beach with tables under little huts. The chefs cook outdoors in an open air hut as well, which is pretty cool. We ordered some fancy dinner and bottle of wine while we creeped on an adorable older couple having a “romantic dinner” out on the beach under the stars surrounded by lanterns and lights.

Our romantic meal for three

The bar area

The kitchen at Sand

Saturday night is “DJ Night” at the main bar. We actually walked over to take a look at the scene, not because we wanted to join, but because we thought there might be some decent people watching. Much to our dismay but not to our surprise, Resting Bitch Face was not out on the dance floor dropping her scrawny ass like its hot. Nor was the chubby couple re-enacting their dirty dancing floor routine. Just a bunch of couples sitting around whispering to each over loud music with a disco ball overhead and lights flashing. Having fun at this “party” would require more alcohol than I’m willing to pay for and more calories than I’m willing to work off. We headed back to the room and left the couples to have their fun.

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Dubai has been fun, but it’s time to blow this gold jewelry stand and head to part deux of our friendmoon in the Maldives! We were in no state to pack last night, thanks to our little booze cruise around Dubai, so alarms went off at 6am. I had been staring at the ceiling since 3 am, probably more out of excitement than travel insomnia, so I was more than ready to get moving. We quickly packed and headed down for our final breakfast at the Mina a Salam. I’m really gonna miss those damn latkes – have I mentioned the brekky latkes? They legit taste like someone’s Bubbie is in the back shredding potatoes. We hopped in a cab to the airport and showed up way too early – but you never know what an international airport is going to be like, and there is no way in hell I’m missing a flight to the fucking Maldives.

The Emirates departure terminal looks just like the baggage claim, with rows of giant white columns and tons of open space. We power-walked our way to check-in where we were “helped” by a woman who woke up on the wrong side of her camel this morning. She moved slower than dirt and glared at us the entire time. When Steph asked for a luggage tag you would have thought we demanded her firstborn child. Perhaps she was just hungover from “ladies night” and we took it personally. Nah, she’s just a bitch.

We had some time, so we decided to peruse the Dubai airport and get some ideas of how to stay busy during our seven hour layover on the way home. I’ll explain how that happened in a later bog (cough::Trump travel bans::cough). Turns out – there isn’t shit to do in the Dubai airport for seven hours. Or any other airport for that matter. We walked through the Duty Free shops for a good thirty minutes before we even reach a terminal. How is it possible that all these people didn’t reach their shopping quota in the bottomless abyss of retail carnage known as the Dubai Mall? What on earth could you possibly have left to buy? I will never understand the fascination with shopping on vacation. Or shopping at home, for that matter. My second post-mega millions entourage position is personal shopper. No wait, driver. Pool boy, then driver, then personal shopper. Priorities.

The flight was uneventful. After our sixteen hour haul to Dubai, this four hour flight felt like a quick joyride over the Indian Ocean. Jorgie spilled her wine all over the floor. Steph’s two seat mates decided to snuggle with her at one end of her row instead of moving down to the empty isle seat on the other end. And apparently there was some seat-reclining drama a few rows behind me. But I was watching Westworld and drinking free Pinot Grigio so I didn’t notice a thing.

We arrived in Male, the capital and main island of the Maldives, and whizzed through customs and baggage claim. We quickly found our resort representative who informed us that we were just waiting on two couples who were on our same flight. No problem – we’ll just people watch while we wait. For the most part, the arrivals hall looked like the Olympic trials for the three legged race – lots of awkward couples attached at the hip. To be expected, given our destination. One thing that did shock me, however, was how pale many of these tourists were. Do these people not know the importance of getting a base tan before you leave for a sunny vacation destination? Especially one this close to the equator. Enjoy your vacation in the burn unit, morons. I also noticed quite a few people covered from head to toe in clothing to avoid the sun. I got the impression that their plan for the entire trip is to somehow avoid the sun coming into direct contact with skin. In the Maldives. Now, I’m not saying you have to be tan to visit the Maldives, but, wait yes, that is exactly what I’m saying. The other two couples showed up at a painfully leisurely pace and we walked out of the airport and on to our resort’s boat.

The girls and I quickly jumped on the boat first and headed up to the small upper deck to get a good view. Snooze ya lose when it comes to seating positions on a boat, am I right people? Apparently our resort mates didn’t get the boat etiquette memo and so they decided to all come up to the top deck and squish in with us. The first couple sat on either side of the girls and I. I found it odd they didn’t want to sit next to each other until I realized it was so that the guy could take a photo shoot of his girlfriend from across the deck. Hopefully he can photoshop my resting bitch face out of her “I;m on a boat” pictures. The other couple was painfully awkward and looked like brother and sister. Once we were all cozy, we headed off to our resort.

Upon arrival, the island looked similar to the pictures, save for one little problem. It’s very close proximity to Male, the main island. Why is this a problem? Because Male is a shit hole. I knew it was only a boat ride away instead of a flight, but was not aware (a) how ugly Male is and (b) just how close it was. Being able to see buildings in the distance kind of takes away from the deserted island experience. I had emailed ahead of time and asked for a room on the side of the island that doesn’t face Male (out of sight, out of mind), but as soon as they walked us to our over water bungalow it was painfully obvious that my request was not granted. I kept my cool and didn’t lose my shit on anyone. Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf in the Maldives. We kindly requested that we be moved to a room on the other side without another island in our skyline. They promised to look into it and let us know. A few hours later they called and told us we could move to the other side tomorrow at noon. Apparently being patient and agreeable does work…sometimes.

View from the bathroom

Room comes with life jackets

The view from our room

One of our beaches

By the time we checked in and got settled it was about 5 pm in the Maldives. We caught the sunset at the “Chill bar” on our island, which serves weak and over priced cocktails. The Maldives is a dry country, which means that booze is illegal, except at the resorts which have special license to sell to tourists. This means no BYO duty free booze for happy hour in your room. Which in turn means that you either pay out the ass for booze or stay sober. Given the fact that nightlife here consists of a cover band at an island bar full of couples, we’ll probably be opting for the sober route. I could use a week to dry out anyway, lets be honest. The Hermosa Beach summer season has not been kind to the old liver.

I had made dinner reservations for each night ahead of time, to avoid restaurants being booked and having to eat in the over priced buffet at the resort. Tonight was teppanyaki night. We walked along the sand lined paths through the resort to the restaurant on the other side of the island. It’s basically a mini Benihana’s on an open aired over water bungalow. A nice Sri Lankan chef gave us a little cooking show after which we stuffed our faces and went to bed.

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Pay attention to the general itinerary of today, as it’ll probably repeat quite a bit over the next few days. My general plan for the day is to not do a fucking thing and enjoy my first full day in the Maldives. Today I was up in time to catch the sunrise around 6am, after which I hit the gym. We then hit up the breakfast buffet. It’s no Middle East Disneyland buffet, but as our only free meal of the day, we’re gonna make it work. We were surprised to find a few other group of friends at breakfast today – all girls, of course. A blind person could tell which tables are friends because they are the only ones actually talking. Most of the tables of couples just sit there together silently chewing and avoiding eye contact. Some of the men play on their phones while their wives or girlfriends glare at them. It’s almost painful to watch. That’s a lie, it’s funny as hell. I wonder how long these people have been here if they have ran out of things to talk about? Isn’t the plan to eat breakfast together for the rest of your lives? Yikes.  The girls and I may ignore eachother for hours while we read on the beach, but we at least have the decency to communicate while we break bread. We aren’t savages.

After breakfast we headed back to the room and blew up our rafts. We never go on vacation without rafts. The only way you last more than an hour in this heat is if you are partially submerged on your raft at all times. Around noon we took a break from floating in our private plunge pool to change rooms, at which point we started floating in our new private plunge pool. At 3 pm we headed over to the resort spa for our 90 minute deep tissue massages. The spa menu says that deep tissue is recommended for men. Leave it to us to book the man massage. Senor Boston strikes again. Not only did I get the man massage, I gave my masseuse specific instructions to do her absolute worst. If you aren’t sore the next day what is the point? The spa is absolutely beautiful. It’s set in over water bungalows, with each treatment room it’s own little bungalow complete with a view of the crystal blue water and the sound of the little waves serenading you throughout the massage. It was heaven. There is a big whirlpool overlooking the ocean in the main spa area that you can relax in after your treatment. We walked up to find a very unattractive couple making out in it. But hey, at least these two spoke to each other. I cleared my throat and they took the hint.

Walk to the spa!

Spa pool

We chilled in the spa for a bit until it was time for sunset yoga on the beach. The setting was beautiful. Yoga mats set up on a powder white sand beach overlooking the sea and a group of bungalows. We were joined by three couples – the men obviously did not want to be there and didn’t have a fucking clue what they were doing. The yoga instructor was kind of awesome. He was definitely the soup Nazi of yoga – every move had to be done just to his specifications. No taking liberties with poses or going half assed. He constantly yelled at us to “continue the normal inhalation and exhalations”. Steph does a great impression. The poor men were grunting in frustration and stumbling around like baby deer. Yoga Nazi fucking hated them. He corrected their every move with daggers in his eyes. One couple strolled in ten minutes late and then spent the entire class giggling and falling in the back. Yoga Nazi was visibly pissed at their lack of respect for his art. You could tell he spent the entire hour questioning what wrong turn in his life led him this point – the yoga instructor for a bunch of spoiled pricks who can’t touch their fingers to their toes. The girls and I looked like fucking yoga goddesses in comparison to the rest of these people. And we suck at yoga, so that’s really saying something.

Sunset yoga set up

Getting my zen on

Sunset

After yoga the girls headed back to the room to shower for dinner while I went to the front desk to sign us up for any activity on the schedule with the word “complementary” in front of it. There were two activities that looked good tomorrow, but I was soon informed that they were already booked up. I know you’re all thinking that this probably pissed me off, and it did, but let me explain why. Before we left I emailed the resort to make our dinner and spa reservations and I specifically asked if it was necessary to book activities in advance if they are likely to book up. I was told no. So instead of the free snorkeling trip tomorrow, they informed me that they could schedule us on the earlier snorkeling trip – the one that costs $70 per person. Instead of telling the resort worker who apparently fancies himself a salesman to go fuck himself, I just kindly informed him that we are here five days and will wait for the next free trip in a few days. Luckily for them I was very relaxed after my fabulous day of sun, spa and yoga. We had dinner at the Etesian restaurant at the resort. It’s pricey, but the food was fucking awesome. I even took a picture of it for you. Bed time tonight was at about 9:30 pm. We are getting crazy in the Maldives.