After a sad farewell to the geological wonder that is the island of Moorea, we boarded our over-priced-yet-better-than-the-6-1/2-hour-vomit-inducing-alternative, choosing air over sea, en route to the final and most anticipated destination of our French Polynesian adventure: Bora Bora.

While seemingly just a tiny speck of coral in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Bora Bora found fame during a very unlikely time for leisure-based travel: World War II. Strategically located between the Panama Canal and Australia (checks map, confirms), Bora Bora was carefully chosen as the temporary residence for over 7,000 of the luckiest soldiers in the history of man-made conflict. Soldiers who saw not a glimpse of “action,” and instead, spent four conflict-free / paradise-heavy years on one of the most scenic places on Earth. On a related note, Battle of the Bulge participants would like to officially release the following statement: "WTF"

Now, what truly sets Bora Bora apart from the hundreds of thousands of “water-surrounded landmasses” around the world (aside from the fun-to-say name), is its unique 3-layered composition (think German Chocolate Cake – But more geologically/volcanically-inspired. Also much more French. And in actuality, not really cake-like whatsoever. So all-in-all, an absolutely horrible analogy with which I refuse to part ways at this phase of the editing process):

• Motus (Outer Layer / “Frosting aka The Best Part”) – Technically defined as a “tiny ass strip of land,” the dozens of motus which surround Bora Bora protect the “mainland” from the wrath that is the untamed Pacific Ocean. The motus also happen to encompass dozens of luxury 5-star resorts, hundreds of overwater bungalows, and of course, a plethora of 1%ers living up that 1%er life. #ummmyoudonthaveoatmilk?

 

• The Lagoon (Middle Layer / “The Kinda Dry Part That Kids Never Eat Unless There Is Frosting Still Attached”) – Residing within the protective borders of the motus is a ChatGPT-estimated 200 billion gallons of water. Encompassing every shade of blue known to man (i.e. light blue --> dark blue), the lagoon also is home to hundreds of underwater species, most notably, the infamous “debarbed sting ray” – A Steve-Irwin-inspired creation (too soon?), that involves the manual removal of the rays “life ceaser” when said ray happens to find itself in a location frequented by tourists. Not a joke. And instead, much more, this. 

 

• Mount Otemanu (Bottom...? Layer / “The Really Dry Partially-Burnt Part”) – Finally, in the middle of it all (again, I told you the cake analogy was not my finest), dominating the skyline as it reaches 2,400 feet into the picturesque heavens above, is Mount Otemanu -- The official backdrop for every travel brochure, pamphlet and of course, influencers profile photo. And also, the reason why some rooms cost $500/night (i.e. no view of mountain), and others $5,000 (i.e. yes view of mountain).

Now, while I would love to continue down this sarcastically-toned Wikipedia-esque synopsis of all things Bora Bora, it seems appropriate to segue into our own personal experience visiting this renowned tourist destination. A place so stunning, so astonishing, so remote, it could only lead to one natural inevitability. One forgone eventuality, that not only keeps this island, if I dare utilize the rarely-but-often-appreciated “dad pun” – Afloat -- But also sets it in a class all on its own.  

Money.

Moolah.

Deeeeen-err-oh (the non-Robert kind).

And not just “I got my year-end bonus” money. No, Bora Bora is Jerry Maguire Money. And with that, its own financially-motivated segment of the tourism industry that has no bounds, limits, and especially, no receipts.

With that being said, I dutifully present to you, oh patient reader:
 
The Not Another Damn Travel Blog Guide to Fancy Ass Pants Travel – The Bora Bora Edition:
 
(WARNING: The below events and depictions in no way reflect what sort of people we personify. We still partake in coupon cutting, public transportation and of course, everyone's favorite, the "borrowing" of our parents cable TV login details. Cause come on, I'm not paying for that sh*t)
 
The Travel Stuff:

• Puddle Jumpers (i.e. small airplanes) – Ten times the cost of the alternative. Ten times faster. And most importantly, ten times less motion-induced vomiting. Fancy Pants Rating (FPR) = 7/10

 

• Private Airport Transfer – Sure there are absolutely no alternatives to transporting oneself off the tiny motu on which Bora Bora’s airport is (in)conveniently located (unless you love capitalism, in which case, it’s the best!). BUT, for a mere $75… per person... per ride, you get a 20-minute speedboat directly to your resort. AND, in the event you were worried this wasn’t a reasonable transaction of business, a “complimentary” floral Lei should help to quell any further financial concerns. Bargain city, here we come! FPR = 9/10

 
The Resort Stuff:

• Overwater Bungalow – The primary impetus for our visit to this spot on the globe (unless you are a member of the Flat Earth Society, in which case, this spot on the… floating… ummmm… table top? Pancake? Honestly, what the hell do you guys call it?), the non-land-based accommodation in Bora Bora is what makes Bora Bora, so, well, Bora Bora. Sure they make no sense from an architectural standpoint, as relentless wind + exposure to salt water requires a near rebuild every 4-5 years. But they do make one hell of a backdrop for your local travel agents poster. Maybe not as good as this one, but pretty damn close. Anyhow, can’t wait to move back to La Quinta’s in the spring! FPR = 10/10

 

• The “Cheers Effect” – Just like the bar, but in this case, every staff member at the resort not only knows your name, but your hopes, dreams & most importantly, flipper size. From the worker at the front desk, feigning patience while you ask, for the 3rd day in a row, for an “upgrade” to the “already-upgraded” overwater bungalow. To the host at the restaurant, inquiring with impeccable pronunciation -- "Will you be joining your wife this morning Mr Sauce-Coal-Knee.” To the gift shop worker, informing you, before you even have a chance to ask, of the unfortunate unavailability of all 12” inseam cargo shorts. I don’t know how they did it, but it was incredible. FPR = 11/10

 

• Personal Butler – Your very own Andrea Sachs. But in this case, ours was less Anne Hathaway-esque, and more of the 7’2” Parisian male variety (with a fashion sense that leaned toward “hotel-oriented-dress-code”). Known only as Julien, our personal butler was our designated contact for, well, anything. Need to schedule an island excursion? Ask Julien. Want to make a last minute dinner reservation? Ask Julien. Book a seat on Elon Musk's initial expedition to Mars? You know the answer. Ask the man, the myth, the neck-strain-inducing legend, Julien. FPR = 12/10

 

• “The Number 9” – If Julien does not happen to be within earshot, then your hopes & dreams can still be fulfilled, this time by dialing 9 on your bungalows land line (ironically a thing, when staying over the water, and not, ya know, land). No matter what the time, what the need, “just dial 9.” (yes, this is an actual saying there). An extra pillow? Some snacks or maybe a cold local beer? Hell, what about a bottle of aloe for which you will be passively-aggressively reminded of the complimentary bottle of sunscreen? All you need to do, is dial 9. 867-530…9. FPR = 9/10 (only because the time lady used to be a thing)

 

• Resort Transportation – Don’t feel like making the ½ mile trek from your bungalow to the resort pool? Want to keep those feet un-disturbed/un-calloused? Then, feel free to utilize the complimentary bicycles provided with your accommodation. Not a fan of bikes? Or maybe don't want to succumb your legs to any semblance of physical movement? Well then, consider one of the many golf carts zipping around the motu. Does sitting even seem like too much effort for your lazy pretentious ass? I mean, this is paradise. Not to worry, rumor has it, Julien is a huge fan of giving piggy back rides. Just don't forget to tip! FPR = 9/10.

 

• Lagoonarium – Why bother traveling 5-10 minutes by boat to the “regular” ocean, when you can merely stroll over to the resort’s very own, private lagoon. Stocked with thousands of well-fed fish, turtles and even a handful of life-preserver-sporting snorkelers, all regretting the fact they never learned to swim in childhood. FPR = 9/10

 
The Other Stuff:

• Meals – While the culinary options are limitless, the actual options are, well, limited:

 
Option #1 (Primary) = Eat at one of the 4 over-priced resort-run restaurants
Option #2 (Alternative) = Do not eat
Option #3 (Dumb) = Pay $300 in round-trip water taxi fees to eat at one of the “main land” restaurants -- Where entrees cost a mere $50-75 per person.  
 
On a related note, we would personally like to take this opportunity to highly recommend partaking in a once-in-a-lifetime tasting menu at “The Lagoon Restaurant.” Run by the renowned French chef, Nathan Barone, visitors are able to experience just a sampling of the bold culinary decisions that has brought Chef Barone fame and recognition worldwide. From the delectable "amuse-bouche of the sea" starter course, to a garden interlude of vibrant & locally-sourced produce, the true “piece de resistance” is the Chef's signature entree: An overcooked piece of chicken (uniquely described as “local farm-raised poultry”). Mon Dieu! Que Magnifique! FPR = Walmart Frozen Food Aisle/10

• Activities – While we opted for the budget-friendly ½ day shared-with-other-peasants lagoon tour (~$160/person), other more FPR options included: Jet Ski Tour ($330/person), 1-Hour Photoshoot ($750), Private Wine Tasting ($1,000), Private Helicopter Flight to Remote Island ($2,950) ,and least but definitely not least, Private Yacht Excursion to Nearby Island ($6,210). We’ll take two of each please! FPR = All the Points / 10  

 
And finally, before we commence, I want you to close your eyes, as I attempt to recreate our favorite moment in Bora Bora (NOTE: opening of eyes may be required to continue with below exercise):

Imagine yourself in paradise. Laying on a cloud of feathered pillows, wind whistling through your hair, as the waves of the ocean crash beneath your feet. Your partner (we are a woke blog), such a caring and selfless partner, attempts to close the louvered doors to your bedroom, as a way of letting you rest, just a bit longer. In peaceful paradise. So kind. So caring. So generous. Their loves knows no bounds, and thus, are willing to completely dislodge the doors from their channeled grooves, in order for you to sleep. Just a bit longer. Even if said dislodging, causes just the slightest hint of a faint noise, you are at peace, here in paradise. So kind. So thoughtful. So giving.
 
Onto the pics:

After 36 hours of exploring the “ugly step-sister” of French Polynesia, we departed the island of Tahiti, destined for our next water-surrounded landmass: Moorea (or Moʼorea if you prefer the haphazard mid-name apostrophe)

A mere 30-minute ferry ride away, the island of Moorea is as if the volcanic gods decided to apply their lessons learned from Tahiti, and utilize the following, appropriately-named tactic. Everything, and I do mean, everything was, well, "more." The peaks of the mountains, reaching almost a mile into the sky (i.e. more high). The drops of said mountains, falling spectacularly toward the ocean floor below (i.e. more low). The color of the water, encompassing shades of blue of which even Crayola has yet to dream (i.e. more marketing required). And of course, everything, literally everything, covered in lush, green, well… life. So yeah, more. In Moorea. See what I did there? (apply self-pat of back for semi-successful use of literary device).

While only 10 miles in diameter, every square inch of Moorea was majestic. Stunning. Stupefying (at least, in the non-Harry Potter sense).  A place that is indescribable, unless utilizing the ever-so-useful means of Microsoft Word's built-in Thesaurus. In which case, see the previous 1,015 words. A destination, that if the newest generation chose to visit (i.e. if you ignore that whole can't find a job / can't afford a house dilemma), it would definitely be described as "totally un-sus" (that's gotta be something they say, right?).

OK, I think I overdid that a tad. In summary, Moorea = Very, very nice. 

Onto the highlights:
 
Geology Porn – Lush landscapes, towering mountains, crystal-clear lagoons, pristine beaches. Thanks ChatGPT, your optimistic descriptors are a welcome reprieve from my typical cynical outlook. Also, thanks for always being such a good listener. You're the best!
 
Hiking – When surrounded by mountains, you climb. Or maybe a bit more appropriate, when surrounded by mountains AND your wife is not a huge "beach/water/pool enthusiast," then, in this case, you climb. Yes, that version felt much better. 

• Magic Mountain – While I was secretly hoping we would be welcomed at the 650-foot peak of Magic Mountain by this person, instead, our hike to the summit ended in very touristic, un-illusion-y fashion – Beautiful views, peaceful surrounds, and some ass-hat with a drone ruining it for everyone.

• Three Coconuts Pass – The longer, and more drone-free of our two hikes was that of Three Coconuts Pass. A 3-1/2 hour, 4-mile journey through muddy mountain-side forests, ending with a view, strikingly similar to that at the trailhead (i.e. from 3-1/2 hours ago). But hey, at least we got to experience what hiking in 300% humidity feels like with absolutely no semblance of a breeze! #swampassforthewin

 
Refresher Scuba Dive – With almost 4 years having passed since my last exploration into the depths of the ocean, a “refresher” course was needed to help me recall, well, how exactly not to die. And thus, I contacted a local outfitter, in hopes of having a relaxing re-entry into the world of scuba. An aspiration I held, until quickly realizing, relaxing was not on the docket for that day. For example:

• Goal = Calm & peaceful dive
• Dive Shop Promise = Yup, that. In the shallow & protected lagoon
• Actual = JK, we gonna go past the protective reef barrier, and check out the open ocean. On a windy ass day. Like gale force windy day. Also let's try a depth of 60-80 feet. That feels "refresher-esque."

• Goal = Skills refresher (e.g. how to use that whole breathing device thingy)
• Dive Shop Promise = Yup, also that. We will do an in-depth review of all the skills needed to keep you safe while diving underwater. And if we have some extra time, we can do some “exploring”
• Actual = JK, you seem fine. Let’s just skip straight to exploring, and hope for the best! And maybe we can talk about the safety stuff afterwards. But probably not. That actually seems like a lot of effort. 

• Goal = See a turtle
• Dive Shop Promise = You shall see turtles
• Actual = Turtles were seen. I. Love. Turtles. Not as much as this kid. But close. Very very close.

 
Snorkeling – My 2nd attempt at exploring the oceanic realms, kept me more at a surface level. Visiting the famous Temae Beach, where “the reef meets the beach… at the beach.” Literally 10 feet off shore were fields of coral, colorful fish and a bunch of pale French snorkelers all pretending they were not inadvertently swallowing copious amounts of salt water. Isn't snorkeling the best?!
 
Airbnb – Pool. Mountain view. Outdoor shower. The only appropriate reaction. Also, with the average restaurant entrée costing anywhere from $35 - $40, I think we can opt for a couple home-cooked meals.
 
Food – Speaking of which, without diving into the various seafood-inspired culinary options of Moorea (i.e. over-priced restaurants, over-priced groceries), instead, I'd rather just rank our most memorable meals:

• Best Meal = Snack Manaha – Local “food truck” offering a delectable sampling of the French Polynesian specialty: “Poisson Cru” (i.e. raw fish with a side of deliciousness). Also, doesn’t hurt when you get your own private “cabana” next to the ocean at which to enjoy aforementioned dish.
• Worst Meal = Everything else. Which, while still tasty, was no Snack Manaha. And yes, that includes you, store-bought, imported pasta. And you too, store-bought, imported pasta sauce. And I can’t leave out, everyone’s favorite -- Store-bought, imported, parmesan cheese. Cause, come on. We fancy like that.
• Most Salmonella-y Meal = The single egg, from the dozen purchased at the grocery store, whose yolk, despite being cooked/fried, was a whitish, slimy, goo? Hard pass please

 
And now, onto the single lowlight:
 
The Expats – It is relatively unsurprising that an island destination such as Moorea, has convinced many a traveler to reconsider where to call home. It is also unsurprising, that the majority of recently-mentioned travelers formerly resided in a country who decided to declare ownership (and of course, naming rights) over this very region (i.e. France). But, what is truly the most unsurprising element of all, is the laid-back-totally-not-up-their-own-ass Parisian attitude, which refused to cease whatsoever upon relocation to Moorea. And maybe was even accentuated a tad. Thus creating an environment where the "I am better than you because I live here" attitude is relentless, pervasive and on display from every bathing-suit-clad moped driver speeding around the island.

One fun example of this involved a middle-aged Francophone, who happened to be seated with us at our private cabana at Snack Manaha. Yet only chose to communicate with our waitress, despite sitting directly across the table from, well, us. After several meaningful attempts on our end to elicit in conversation (e.g. "hi," "howz it going?" "enjoying this whole vow of silence thing?"), we sat quietly for about 12 minutes, until our "hostess" relocated us to the cabana "next door." 

No merci, s'il vous plait. 

Onto the pics:

As the largest island of the 100+ that comprise French Polynesia (apparently the powers that be are unable to agree on the exact definition of what comprises a piece of land surrounded by water), Tahiti is the introductory destination for those looking to explore this Pacific slice of paradise. Playing host to the only international airport in a radius spanning over 700 miles, foreign visitors are left with limited options when selecting their arrival airstrip of choice.

Now, in any other part of the world, being “forced” to fly into an airport, which happens to reside on a remote island paradise, would seem like a non-issue. Or even, if I dare be so bold, a very pleasant pleasantry. However, in French Polynesia, where the term “paradise” spans a multitude of varying degrees, the one encompassed by Tahiti appears to have earned the lowest rung on the ladder. So much so, our initial destination, and subject matter for this blog post, is viewed by many (i.e. “the internet peoples”), as a place to “fly in, and then fly the f*ck out.”

Challenge accepted.

Now, whether attempting to prove the naysayers mistaken, or more realistically, catch-up on some much-needed, child-free sleep (did we mention the kids did not accompany us?), our 36 hours in Tahiti were devoted to exploring this lush, green and hopefully-dormant-for-at-least-another-week, volcano. Attempting to find beauty and wonder, where others have only seen lost potential and disappointment (i.e. ala my junior varsity tennis career).

Which brings me to the heart of this post, and the question that demands an adequate answer: Why is a place, which is more awe-inspiring than 99% of the world, considered so unappealing to all which travel within its borders? Why is a destination, so secluded from the world, considered nothing more than a locale in which to spend a glorified layover? Well, dear readers, the answer of course, is the Henry Cavill Effect.

I present you -- Exhibit 1: Henry Cavill & Brothers – An image depicting the infamous jawline of Henry Cavill, alongside his equally-but-really-not-even-close-to-as-chiseled 4 older brothers. Brothers, who on their own, would each be considered a “fine & acceptable human specimen.” However, when compared to their Superman-playing counterpart, are essentially, this guy. Apparently, 5th times the charm!

And that, oh loyal blog followers, is Tahiti. Henry Cavill’s brother. Maybe not the one on the far right, but definitely one of the two on either side of him. I will defer to you, the reader, for which seems most Tahiti-esque.

Now, despite suffering from a failed transference of geological DNA, we still felt it prudent to try prove the internet wrong, and spend 1 day / 2 nights exploring this remote destination, in hopes of finding a hidden pearl within the appropriately analogous, unsightly oyster (shout out Thesaurus for helping to provide assistance on over 95% of this paragraph -- you are the unsung hero of these blog posts!)

Onto the highlights:

Papeete Market – As the largest “place of commerce” in the French Polynesian chain of islands, the Papeete Market was a unique view into the economic impact of a destination that requires the import of, well, just about everything. With the notable exception of pearls, home-made ukuleles, floral-designed fabrics galore, and of course, local fruits & vegetables (tiny bananas for the win!), the majority of what comprises Tahiti has to come from, well, literally anywhere else. And anywhere else is far as sh*t away. Like, really really far as sh*t away. Thus, creating a mark-up % on goods that fluctuates between whatever-we-want and yup-still-whatever-we-want. Hello 1%ers. Goodbye backpackers.
 
Driving Tour – When making our decision to ignore the wise wisdom of the trusty internet, and have a go at staying on Tahiti for longer than "til-the-next-flight-out," we decided the best way to explore the highlights would be by traversing the 114km long coastal road, stopping along the way to visit a variety of “must see sights.” Sights, that in retrospect, only existed due to the lack of any suitable alternative. For example:  

• Marae Arahurahu ("Famous" Historic Sight) – A single Tiki statue, situated adjacent to an open-air temple --a square-shaped stack of volcanic rocks, approximately 8-9 feet high. Awe-inspiring Rating = 2/10. Internet Peoples 1, Skones 0.

 

• Grottes de Mara’a ("Famous" Cave) – An unexplorable cave, that can only be viewed from a distance, due to the presence of rock falls. So, essentially, a hole in a wall that you can look at. Awe-inspiring Rate = 0/10. Internet Peoples 2. Skones 0. (But on a positive note, there was plenty of parking!).

 

• Taharuu Beach ("Famous" Black Sand Beach) - I would call the sand more of a light ashy charcoal, to be perfectly honest. Awe-inspiring Rating = 5/10 (i.e. pretty scenic, but French Polynesian scenic? I think not good sir!). Internet Peoples 3. Skones 0. 

 

• Fa’aruma’i Waterfall ("Famous" Falling Bit of Water) – An impressive 262-foot waterfall, cascading down a lush green mountainscape. It’s nearby “sister” falls, unfortunately closed, due to what is now becoming the theme of our day: Rock falls. Awe-inspiring Rating = 8/10. Internet Peoples 3. Skones 1 (you did it Tahiti, you did it!)

 

• Arahoho ("Famous" Blowhole) – Only our imaginations could assist us in visualizing this "famous" site, as, akin to everyting else on this island, the blowhole was... (can you guess?)... closed due to rock falls. But at least we were able to hear an ever-so-faint “whoosh” every 20-30 seconds. Which I guess is kinda cool? Awe-inspiring Rating = 1/10 (primarily due to imaginative abilities). Internet Peoples 4. Skones 1. Ugh.

 
The Foodie Scene – The one area from which Tahiti has survived the scathing of the internet’s wrath, was that of cuisine. Local, delectable, fresh-as-the-prince-of-Bel-Air, cuisine. From food truck Poke, to Michelin-level restaurants with names such as L'O à La Bouche (translation = fancy ass fanciness), the cuisine of Tahiti did not disappoint. Nor did the final bills – Which, when you consider that both taxes & tips are entirely non-existent. Well, that just re-queues this song right back up  

As I sit here, reflecting on our short-but-probably-long-enough time spent in Tahiti, I have a few final thoughts to share:

1. Internet, I apologize. I shall never doubt thee again. At least on all things non-culinary.
2. Actually, I take back my recent apology. We are not flying all the way to Tahiti and then simply leaving. We are explorers. The 21st century Magellans if you will. Sure we travel with slightly more privilege than the plague and rat-infested ships of the 15th century. But nevertheless, we are here to see. Even if there isn’t much to be, well, seen.
3. For those of you still focused on Henry Cavill’s chiseled jawline, I get it. It’s impressive.

Onto the pics:

Next Stop: Moorea

Approximately 21 years ago, nearly to this exact day, I bid a tearful farewell to a lifetime spent "learning" (aka frantic knowledge absorption followed by rapid de-memorization), and officially hopped on board the lowest rung of the Corporate America ladder. Joining the semi-prestigious ranks of Deloitte & Touche as a... (dusts off unused box of 500 business cards)... Business Analyst, my initial foray into "working for the man" was quite the eye-opener. Wide-eyed and rapidly losing my bushy hair, I was wholly unprepared for the infamous "9-5 grind." Long hours & late nights, early wake-ups & arduous deadlines, and of course, the ever-present expectation that subject matter expertise on previously-unknown subject matters, could quite literally be obtained, overnight.

Biology, Comparative Literature & Calculus. Economics, Psychology & Computer Engineering. None of these courses prepared me whatsoever, for, well, any of this. I mean, when did I get to use all that Sine / Cosine / Tangent knowledge I accrued over the years? How was my knowledge of mitochondria & cellular mitosis supposed to assist me in designing a staffing schedule for Anesthesiologists? Knowing how to build a computer did absolutely nothing to help me excel at actually using one. It was malarky, if I do say so. Complete malarky! (but also, thanks Mom/Dad! Totally loved it!)

I digress.

With "learning on the job" officially representing my new form of "post-grad" education, another aspect of "The Consulting Lifestyle” for which I was fairly ill-equipped, was the travel. The endless, unrelenting, unceasing, unbearably exhausting, travel. Monday through Thursday. Sometimes even Friday. The occasional Sunday. Every week. Every month. All year. Every year. Til death do us part. Or at least, until a strongly-encouraged resignation found its way into my inbox. Same same, but different. Right?

I digress. Again. Seems to be a trend with these blogs.

Back to the travel. Yes, sleeping in one’s own bed for less than 14 nights a year did not provide much semblance of a home life. Nor an existence. Or even a non-work-related purpose. And sure that was not ideal for a young whipper-snapper such as myself. BUUUUUUT... on the positive side, there were the perks. Oh boy oh boy, the perks. (Travel perks that is -- Let's be real, a 21-year-old kid in oversized/outdated Men's Warehouse suits wasn't getting any "other" perks if you catch my less-than-subtle drift). 

I became a literal whore to any business who offered me, well, anything. Airlines miles, hotel points, credit card points, car rental rewards, airport parking structure points, Subway Eat Fresh punch cards. If they offered it, I was gonna be their goddamn golden retriever (i.e. loyal -- We were going for loyal in this particular verbal scenario). All in exchange for the tens of thousands of dollars my employer was willing to spend on jet-setting me to and from any and every hospital across the country. To, ya know, "consult." 

Oh and I consulted. Consulted better than anyone has ever consulted (FACT CHECK REQUIRED). Until of course, I no longer consulted (see "forced resignation" reference above). It happens to the best of us. Or at least to those who send a few too many internal emails which start with the completely innocuous phrase -- “Per my last email.” (Insert shrug emoji)

Fast forward to the present day, and while the plethora of airline miles obtained during my 3+ years of re-iterating to companies what they already knew about themselves in the first place (aka "consulting"), has unfortunately been depleted into relative nothingness (shakes fist at loving-yet-definitely-not-appreciative-enough family), my hotel points are alive and well. So much so, they have only accrued from the very first day I checked into that dark & musky Residence Inn in Champagne, Illinois, way back in 2004. The first of what would be over 500 nights spent in various Marriott-owned properties, with not a single point being "redeemed" since that day. 

Why you may ask? Why hoard a humble-brag worthy million hotel points? You are aware of "devaluation" right? Ya know, like reverse inflation? As in, those points in 2025 are worth a fraction of what they were in 2007.

And yeah, sure, passive aggressive reader, I get it. BUT, at the time, only one hotel redemption reward stood out as the be-all-end-all. A place on which I could blow my proverbial load... of points. Everyone's favorite epizeusix-iated destination: Bora Bora -- A small group of islands in the sovereign state of French Polynesia. Home to the infamously awe-inspiring, completely-unnecessary-but-you-can-still-GFY, Overwater Bungalow. A place worth blowing, one's load. Proverbial load, of course.

But, this load blowing came with a problem. Two problems to be exact. Notably for someone struggling to earn those "non-travel perks":

1. That's a weird ass travel goal to have, especially for a “young professional” without the slightest inclination of luxury, a palette of an 8-year-old, who still considered “well whiskey” a more-than-adequate adult beverage of choice

2. Ideally, to make this travel ambition slightly less unusual, one would assume such a trip would involve a romantic partner of some sort (and no, “friends-with-benefits-but-only-after-2AM-every-3rd-fiscal-quarter” do not count)

So I had to wait. And wait. And wait. Long enough that the "value" of my hotel points began to drop. And drop. And drop. 

Until Julie. My muse. My savior. (Hi Babe. Welcome! We have been waiting for you! "We", as in the blog. Not "We" as in what a crazy person in movies says before some sort of murder-type-escapade takes place.)

Yes, Julie. The one person who was willing to spend time with me more than once a quarter, and continue to do so, despite all the various “eccentricities” which arguably have stuck around ever since our 1st semi-awkward-but-apparently-successful date back in 2011:
​

• A fashion sense permanently stuck in 1994 (i.e. cargo shorts, graphic t-shirts, flip flops)
• An ability to speak in non-sarcastic tones (a touchy subject come wedding vow time)
• A slight obsession with all Michigan/Detroit-related sports (SPORTS!)
• The inability to not comment whenever any given word or phrase is slightly mis-spoken (it’s gotta be some sort of tick or something?)
• There must be more… Julie? I know you have a list. Every wife has a list. 

Regardless, Julie. Dearest dearie dear. Snookums. Other nicknames which nobody besides the internet will read. I made you a promise on March 1st 2014. Marry me for who I am, and your "bride price" comes in the form of travel rewards.

11-1/2 years later, and it’s finally time to redeem.

Next Stop - Tahiti: The Upper Middle Class Entry Point to Paradise