Passport Diaries: Where I Wish I Was

Tired Mom of two and Brooklynite Molly Guy works with Mr. & Mrs. Smith to plot the fantasy getaway of her wildest housewife dreams.

My friend Ann Marie Noell, Marketing Bigshot at Mr. & Mrs. Smith (our favorite British based travel company dedicated to curating amazing experiences for Wanderlusters everywhere), is always talking about the fabulous properties she works with and it's really annoying. She's usually talking about them when I'm doing something especially un-fabulous, like doling out Cheddar Bunnies at the Brooklyn playground to my children's schoolmates while dodging empty baggies of cocaine and old syringes. Her latest obsession?

Secret Bay, a tiny jewel box of a hotel, comprised of a cluster of bungalows off the Caribbean Sea, smack in the middle of Dominica, and edged by a soft white sand beach with a hidden cliff. Surrounded by a thousand species of flowering plants (including 74 species of orchids and 200 kinds of ferns), indigenous parrots, snakes, iguanas, and frogs, it’s basically like “The Jungle Book” meets “Blue Lagoon”.



So last night, after a particularly hellish bedtime routine in which my youngest daughter demanded I sing the “Moana” soundtrack in its entirety or else, my oldest started screaming, on repeat, “my anus itches!” and I still had four loads of laundry to do, I was all: “fuck this shit”, and made myself a stiff glass of kombucha, did a deep dive into Google and started to plan my getaway. I even packed my carry-on bag with a favorite Marguerite Duras book, Moon Juice sex dust for all the intercourse I’m not having, and, of course, a raccoon penis bone for love and luck.

See you in paradise. Just kidding. But at least a girl can dream.