This was his response when I said I was not 52. For some reason, the chap seated beside me at the hotel bar asked my age??!! Can't remember what led to this bizarre query, but, yes, I'll take 51! When I told him my real age, he was a tad incredulous, as was I when he told me he was 49; looked 38. The beautiful lobby bar is where many of us repaired after dinner to watch hockey and this guy had just flown in on his private Lear Jet for a meeting and leaving the next morning.
Must be nice. The airport was filled with private jets. Note to potential tourists: Don't visit Bermuda if you're looking for a deal. They don't exist. And thank G-d for that, otherwise the place would be swarming with boors.
"Don't really follow hockey," he said when I asked if he were rooting for Boston. "You know, of the original six, four were American," I reminded him. Which is weirdly true. But there were many diehard American hockey fans staying at the hotel and we all bonded because of it. Personally, I never watch hockey until the finals, when it actually gets interesting and when the players finally begin to step up and earn their money.
One evening, as we were having dinner, I spotted a lost three-year-old girl wandering around. "Where is my mummy?" she wailed. "Where is my mummy?" I went over just as the mother finally appeared looking for her (sort of). "I would not be losing sight of my toddler grandson, or he would be out the door," I said as I handed the baby over. A Bermudian native she replied, "Well, I know where you come from you would be scared, but this is Bermuda. Nothing will happen." Nicely thanking me for my concern, she presumed I was American, but even in Canada I would not let a toddler roam and drift around a lobby or restaurant. I didn't say it, but thought, "The problem is this lobby bar is filled with non-Bermudians." Jon Benet Ramsay comes to mind. But I was proud of myself for not retorting.
Sometimes I hold my tongue, but not too often.
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