“Huh,” Ruby says. “I guess I thought it was a gay island resort, too. Though now that I think about it, when I looked it up on the website, there were women pictured.”
Alka and I nod as we follow the group down the path. It’s as the woman said—wooden planks, like a dock or a pathway built over marshland. We follow the crowd, which mostly turns to the gay beach. There’s a cute road marker at the fork that reminds me of some pirate cliché. Broken boards roughly shaped in the directions they’re indicating.
Eggplant this way. Taco this way. Salad that way. Ruby laughs as we pass. “I wish I could take a picture of that,” he says.
“Make sure you take a look at the picture studio before you leave,” I tell him. “Scanning your bracelet will bring up all the images the island photographers have taken of you, but you also have access to the general island photos.”
“They’re pretty cool,” Alka says. “They take the same pictures from the same spot but on every single day so you can look up any date to see what pictures were taken. It’s a way of individualizing your trip without the ability to take pictures yourself.”
“They also take unique pictures if they come across something cool,” I add.
“I bet that’s fun,” Ruby says. “Going around the islands to take pictures all day. You’re in paradise, too. Surrounded by gorgeous guys, no homophobia or hate, island time, no pressure, and all you’re doing is taking pictures.”
“I agree. It sounds like a great job,” I say.
“I think there’s an entire army of photographers too,” Alka says. “They’re everywhere, making sure that they capture your memories even when you can’t.” He points to a shirtless, shoeless Speedo-clad man with a camera, who’s looking our way. He grins, holds up the camera, and snaps a photo. “They’reidentified as employees by the red band around their biceps. If they don’t have that, report them.”
“Andyou get to walk around half naked all day,” Ruby says, smiling at the man as we pass. “Yep, the perfect job.”
“It is,” the man agrees. “I also have great benefits and free food and drink when I’m hungry.” He shrugs.
“I’m sold,” Ruby says as we pass. He’s momentarily sidetracked, stopping in his tracks, as we get to another fork in the path. This isn’t the path that leads to salad beach. Down the heavily tree-lined path, the island curves uphill. From our position, you can barely see the walls of the fortifications.
“Is that a castle?” Ruby asks incredulously.
Alka laughs. “Yep. Back when kings built castles to live in and use as fortifications, this was a popular island chain within the Pacific Ocean for defense or offense, depending on the side you were on.”
“Damn,” he says. “Is it a place we can visit?”
“Yes,” I answer. “They have tons of activities, tours, authentic dinners, and you can even book a room to live like a king for a day.”
“You want to stop in?” Alka asks. “We’re not in a hurry, and we don’t have any set schedule.”
Ruby shakes his head, but I don’t think he’s actually convinced he doesn’t want to. “Another time,” he says. “But definitely on my list.”
I nod. It’s been on ours as well.
“There’s a lot to do on these islands,” Ruby says. “I think the catalog lists over 180 individual excursions, but they can be modified and customized in so many ways that there’s nearly 500 different things you can do. You’ve been coming here for years, right?”
Alka nods. I anticipate where this is going.
“Have you done a lot of them?”
“No,” Alka says, laughing. “We do very few, actually.”
Ruby’s surprised. “Why?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” Alka looks at me and shrugs. “I think we lead such busy lives for nine months of the year, always adhering to schedules and expectations, that by the time we get here, all we want to do is relax.”
I nod in agreement. “We do book things sometimes, but usually it’s things that will grab us last minute. Like if we’re walking by and something piques our interest. Otherwise, it’s nice to simply relax without having to be somewhere.”
“I get that,” Ruby says. “I suppose there’s a fine line between relaxation and running around on so many excursions that you entirely forget to relax.”
“Exactly,” I say.
“Then is that all you do? You just hang around the bungalow?”
“You’ve done some things with us that we usually do. Sometimes we hang out with the handful of friends we met on Kala over the last seven years who also come down during the summer. We’ve told you about them and you met Jake and Henry.”
