In the Palm Leaves: Habits on Holiday
Entry No. 29
Dear Faithful Companion,
There are few things more rewarding than the quiet indulgence of a swim-up suite, a Cuban sunrise, and the certainty of another day spent choosing between beach or pool. We’ve found ourselves at Iberostar Coral Esmeralda in Cayo Cruz—a secluded emerald gem tucked along Cuba’s north shore. The water here is postcard-perfect, and our two-room suite, with its private patio pool entrance, feels like a reward well-earned. Truthfully, it’s well beyond anything we expected upon arrival. We’re pampered here—living, for a week at least, the life of luxury.
I’ve grown fond of swim-up rooms. There’s a particular joy in waking early and sliding silently into the pool as the island stirs to life. Habit, it seems, follows me even to paradise. Despite the ease of resort living, I still rise around 0600–0700—not from obligation, but because those early moments grant a rare peace. A quiet lobby coffee. A bit of reading. Catching up on socials. Or simply sitting on the deck watching the sun rise and the resort slowly come to life around me.
Our days begin gently, with the morning’s greatest dilemma being “pool or beach?”—and the pool nearly always wins my vote. Jesse and I have enjoyed sharing the week with our friends, creating a rhythm of laughter, grilled seafood, and lazy afternoon swims. Jesse finds his peace along the shoreline, unhurried and sun-kissed, while I’m happiest where water meets tile and tranquility.
On this particular trip, late mornings have belonged to the gym—cardio, upper-body focus, and seventy-odd minutes of disciplined exertion. I’ve alternated between the adult-only facility and the larger gym on the family side. Four sessions down, and another day or two still in me. I remain bemused by vacationers who treat the weight room like a cocktail lounge; I did not lace up merely to linger by dumbbells as though queuing for daiquiris. I’m here to work—and relish the quiet doing of it.
Meals have been mindful. The daily beachside BBQ is a highlight—simple, fresh, and absolutely worth the early trek. The scent of charcoal, sea-salt, and garlic drifts across the sand like a signal fire for the wise. I've been managing my diabetes carefully, favouring grilled fish and mussels over sugary indulgence. Even amidst abundance, the discipline has held—anchored not by restraint, but by quiet choice.
Evenings end softly: a quiet drink at the lobby bar, live music carried on the breeze, and that liminal hush where day concedes to night. There’s a lightness to this trip that no itinerary can capture—shoulders settle, and thoughts drift like palms in the wind.
“A vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it in.”
What I love about that quote is its quiet permission to be—not idle, but intentional. This week hasn’t been an escape, but an invitation—to do less, yet live more. By choosing rest without abandoning routine, I’ve honoured both the stillness and the structure. The anchors—early rising, deliberate movement, mindful eating—remain, not as burdens, but as quiet affirmations of who I’ve become.
Verbum Ultimum
To travel without losing oneself is a gift—and a choice. Amidst palm leaves and poolside ease, I’ve stayed true to who I am: a man who rises early, lifts heavy, and still carves out time for laughter, rest, and grilled lobster. Jesse is content, our friends are relaxed, and I feel—if not transformed—recharged.
Even on foreign shores, routine becomes refuge. And discipline, when chosen freely, becomes its own kind of luxury.
Post Script: I may not return with a tan worthy of envy, but I do return with sore shoulders, a full heart, and the calm that only Cuban tides can provide.
Until next we meet, with ink as my witness and virtue as my guide.
JCB
