Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Flaming Good Time Down Under


"Hi Chris. I'm just double checking the address you gave me before shipping out all this shampoo and stuff." Trevor from operations was on the other end of the line. "The resort contact name you sent in your last email is 'Axl Rose'. Didn't we decide her name was ' Axelle Roles'?"

I had messed her name up again.

I couldn't wait to see if the front desk manager at Pepper's Bale Resort was a burned-out, tie-dye wearing love child or a prim daughter made to suffer through her parents choices. 

From her emails, she kind of fit the hippie part.  She was congenial, bordering on surfer laissez-faire. This could have been from excessive drug use and high-decibel concerts, I conjectured. Then, about a week before the event, she turned on an analytical side I hadn't expected. I started to lean towards the daughter theory.

"I notice that your meal counts and guest list are in conflict. You have 24 guests in rooms and 32 listed for meals." She saved me a few hundred, if not thousands of dollars here.

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I came to Port Douglas last April in search of a hotel for an incentive group of about 50. This little town is known for two things: honeymoons and as a launching point for the Great Barrier Reef.

I stayed one night at the Sheraton Mirage. Online the Sheraton looked scintillating; in person it flopped. Lovely gardens and salt lagoons, but the interior is all scummy Gold's Gym.

In a panic, two hours before my flight,  I walk down the highway with Sonja, an Australian event expert from Arinex, in search of a hotel I would dare sleep in without packing Tinactin

At Bale, drenched in sweat. "We're event planners. We don't have an appointment, but could we see a few rooms and any meeting space?" 

"Love to. Let me just answer this call. . ." We think Carol must be Irish from her accent. She appears to be the only employee at the resort. After the call, she locks the office and grabs a set of keys for a golf cart. 

Sonja giggles when we enter the first Sanctuary. I feel a tingling in back of my neck.

The resort is organized into about 30 "Sanctuaries," consisting of 2-3 self-contained bed/bath combos, each with a common living space, kitchen, patio, BBQ and plunge pool. Sure its expensive, but guests will never need to leave their sanctuary. This is a kind of place to call home about.

I decide to employ the dump money into accommodations and skimp everywhere else philosophy.

Carol turns out to be from Ohio.

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November 11-14 2010:

Thursday evening we drink passion-fruit mocktails and walk down the street to the Beach Shack for dinner. Friday, we join 200 new friends on a Quicksilver group excursion to the Reef. Saturday we hold a few meetings, and close the event by joining a non-exclusive dining experience at "Flames".  Dinner is served under up-lit rain forest.

After every meal and activity, we hurry back to our Sanctuaries. It is the best incentive the group has ever been on. 

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After meeting her, I decide Axelle is from Harley-riding parents in Sweden: "Axelle, where are you from originally? Your name. . ."

"I'm French." She has heard this one before. "I met and married an Australian with the last name of 'Roles'. We've lived in Queensland for about 10 years."

Funny. I never even considered that 'Roles' could be her married name. I guess I'd been wrong about the whole thing.


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