The Cayman Islands

We had a wonderful year and a half in Cayman. We couldn't believe we lived right on the beach after Canada: an apartment with a swimming pool, a swim-up bar, and turquoise Caribbean water 30 seconds away. Snorkeling after work was an absolute dream.

We even had a two-bedroom apartment, so we rented out one of the rooms, the one with its own bathroom, on Airbnb. It covered our rent, and we met a lot of wonderful people. I guess I was practicing hospitality on the side, too.

Later, as they say, the Cayman curse caught up with us: most couples who go there together break up. It happened to us as well, but we stayed very good friends.

Then I met T., a lady from the Philippines who worked with me at the Ritz. We started dating and moved in together. Quite a change.

Life in the Cayman Islands was quite an experience. You feel you don't have to prove yourself to anyone. All year round it was just a T-shirt and shorts, and it was real freedom. It also gets boring, and many people there become professional drinkers.

It took me six years, but I finally went scuba diving too, and it opened up yet another world. After six years you also get island fever, which is why we kept escaping. Miami and New York were the typical getaways, and I also went to Cuba a couple of times, with my mom and with a couple of coworkers.

Cuba: rum, cigars and a trip back in time.

Cuba was something else, and absolutely amazing. It's a different world, really like going back in time, and I loved it so much that I went back about three times. I'm very happy my mom joined me on one of those trips, and we made some great memories.

In Havana we took a rickshaw ride, and the driver was delighted that we agreed. But the two of us together were a lot for one poor rickshaw driver to pedal, and the chain broke. They had to call another guy to fix it. We were unbelievably embarrassed.

And I always noticed a surprising number of single guys who were very interested in the Cuban culture and the architecture of Havana... wink, wink.

Not everything went smoothly, though. On my very first night, a girl offered me a beer, and I got drugged. The last thing I remember is two girls at our apartment trying to come in, and the landlady shouting "no, no, no chicas!" Next thing I knew, I woke up and saw that I had thrown up all over the wall. I have never been so embarrassed. They explained that they had put some medicine in my drink, and they were actually very nice about it: for $10 the whole problem was fixed. They cleaned the wall and even ironed my shirt. In the end nothing happened, and it became one of my favorite funny stories.