Where The Boys Are
Summer 2006 Girlfriend Getaways> Subscribe Now
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It's not too much of a loss, however. Debbie and I are meeting so many men--while waiting for coffee, standing in line for lift tickets, trying on ski boots--that we're beginning to feel like Lucy and Ethel in that I Love Lucy episode at the chocolate factory. We are rushing conversations just to keep up with the never-ending assembly line of guys.
By Sunday, our last full day in Jackson Hole, Debbie actually chooses to spend her time skiing while I sit at an outdoor fire pit at the Four Seasons Resort, drinking champagne, eating elk-meat hot dogs, and seeing what happens if I just remain still. I'm a third of the way through my Veuve Clicquot when a trio of snowboarders takes a nearby table. "Where are you from?" asks Jim Stehli, a handsome, 40-year-old Manhattan banker. Over nachos and more champagne with him and his two (unavailable) friends, we talked. He said he didn't understand why more women don't come to Jackson, instead of going to spas. "Yeah, and then we all come back complaining we can't find any men," I answer with a laugh.
Still, I wouldn't mind a little Canyon Ranch action. My neck muscles whine in agony. They're sore from skiing, of course, but also, I suspect, from a touch of whiplash after repeated check-him-out double takes. I'm numb with man-meeting fatigue.
As we head to the airport Monday morning, our pockets overflowing with scribbled-on cocktail napkins, we are elated--and exhausted. The men of Jackson are a pleasure to look at and a whole lot of fun, but I never did meet that future husband. And it makes sense: Back in the real world, I'm a stiletto-sporting Angeleno who won't even bother to hike two blocks to my favorite café. What would I have in common, long-term, with one of these mountain climbers, who are far more interested in L.L. Bean? My brief stint as nature babe was fun while it lasted.
"Hey ladies!" At security, doe-eyed Dan Sutherland, our first friend, smiles and waves. I can almost see his arm muscles rippling beneath his Patagonia parka. "We're going to Switzerland next year. Are you guys coming?"
Debbie and I look at each other. Probably not. Then again, let's wait and see how the summer pans out before we decide once and for all.
Three More Spots With Great Odds
Witch's Rock Surf Camp, Playa Tamarindo, Costa Rica
Surfers are just as sexy as skiers--without all the extra clothes. This camp was created by surfers and caters to all levels and both sexes. Weeklong beginner packages start at $768, for groups of four. 888/318-7873, witchsrocksurfcamp.com
The Arctic Open golf tournament, Akureyri, Iceland
Every June, the world's northernmost 18-hole golf course, a four-and-a-half-hour drive from Reykjavík, is the site of a weekend of hard-core golf and late-night partying under the glow of the midnight sun. arcticopen.is
Middlemarch Singles Dance, Middlemarch, New Zealand
A small town on the South Island hosts a dance every spring for lonely farmers in the area. Women from all over the world come to meet them. The transportation of choice is the "Love Train"--a.k.a. the Taieri Gorge Railway--which starts in Dunedin and stops an hour later at the veritable make-out Mardi Gras. middlemarch.co.nz/singles_dance
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