MAY’S holiday

Resort is apparently a very ugly word. Because everyone I meet here tumbles over themselves with excuses. That they are actually not resort types at all. Normally. Resort apparently equals: not adventurous, not mingling with the locals, very much not where the wind takes us, but incredibly seeking your own comfortable world but then in the sun. Resort also stands for serially sipping beer with a wristband on. Usually from a glass, but occasionally from a belly button.

All the people who are horrified by that are here. In Hillside Beach Club in Fethiye, Turkey. A resort so successful that Harvard has conducted a study on the extremely high return rate. The ‘recidivism’ of the guests is nowhere in the world as high as here, so they are forgiven. Visiting Hillside Beach is apparently just like eating cashews; it has been scientifically proven that it is impossible to stop at just one. I certainly won’t succeed either.

I stumble over the Never Full bags from Louis Vuitton and the Goyards are always within a five-meter radius. The path to the buffet (but then a really good buffet) is my Turkish version of the catwalk. I see the best-dressed women swaying by, with their kaftans, kimonos, woven leather bags, and especially their overly stylish sunglasses.

Our room has the best bed, a terrace overlooking the bay, a scrub so divine that it’s definitely coming home in my suitcase (I’ll just say it and the green tea body lotion too), my favorite rosé the Whispering Angel is on the menu, there are even hair ties and bobby pins in the bathroom and there’s a kids club where I even dare to leave my special daughter alone. And did I already mention that you really have good wifi everywhere? I’m typing this from my beach bed.

I see well-dressed, cheerful, backgammon-playing people around me. Making new friends and I’ve found my long-lost childhood friend here. Now that I write it down, I don’t think I will belong to the people who return to Hillside Beach next year. I’m just staying.