"Facial schmayshul"

Said my mentor and friend of over 10 years in response to my text yesterday which happened to mention in passing that I had just had a facial. When in a follow-up text I also happened to (innocently) remark that it was my second one this week, she hastily replied, "Second schmeckend". (At this point I have the urge to point out that she is a very accomplished book and magazine editor, sub-editor and proofreader. I assure you though, her vocabulary is very rich and not every second word she utters begins with 'schm'.)

I suppose I would have expressed similar sentiments had I been at work on a cold CT Friday afternoon chasing after the ever elusive magazine deadline. And given that magazines generally have three-month lead periods, my guess is she was scurrily putting to bed the November issue while simultaneously getting the December (or December/January) issue off the ground. Ahhh, the summer issue - packed with sea, sand and sun; lots of glorious fun.

Which is exactly what my days (and nights) have been packed with this past week. Not even my skin misbehaving can put a damper on my merriment. The skin repair facials and the humidity are making my face glow, LB assures me. I just wish the breakouts on my chin didn't demand centre stage in all my photos! (I wonder if the big packet of duty-free chocolate I've been taking to bed and the rich creamy cheeses I relish daily have anything to do with my skin not clearing.)

After my facial (and LB's third massage this week), we headed back to Bliss for sundowners in their open-air upstairs area with daybeds overlooking the ocean. We were open to a repeat of the surprise five-course delectable dinner. It started to drizzle as we parked Nadia (she's an i10, by the way, not a Getz) outside the restaurant, so went into the hotel section to check it out. We chatted up some guests while working our way to the private beach, where we splashed and watched the sun set before going back to the restaurant for drinks.

We ended up at the Boat House restaurant for a traditional creole buffet dinner. The scrumptious salads included cold green beans; thinly sliced mango with spring onion (who would have thought?); pasta; avocado with some citrusy something or other; sweet potato; and strips of mango with spring onion, green and yellow peppers and cucumber. The breadfruit (grows everywhere on the island, the outside resembles a hard, raw avocado while the inside is yellow) fried chips were crunchy and tasty (similar taste to sweet potato chips).

Neither LB nor I were brave enough to sample the 'fruit bird', which we were told eats fruit only, and is therefore very clean. No amount of cleanliness or personal grooming on the bird's part was enough to convince us to taste it. The chicken and fish braais were in all sincerity the most mouthwatering I have ever tasted. As stuffed as I was after round one, I just had to go back a second helping of the braai (another two pieces of each), which I ate very slowly and very deliberately until all that was left on my plate were chicken bones and skin. It's nothing short of a miracle that LB was not required to roll me out of there.

The guitarist serenading the patrons while they dined didn't seem to know the lyrics to some of the songs. He strummed, mumbled and thumb-sucked his way through Miriam Makeba and Harry Belafonte's 'Mailaka', and Sonny and Cher's 'Groovy Kind of Love'. There was no doubting that he was very well versed in the choruses, which he belted out with much gusto and aplomb (not that his confidence waned much during the mumbling and made-up bits of songs).

About the second rendition of the surprise five-course dinner; that's a rather sad story featuring table settings, a long, hungry, hopeful wait, and the kebab that couldn't be.

Seychelles schmeychelles is what a peeved LB had to say about that.