“From the Vatican to Machu Picchu, the world’s most sought-after experiences all share one thing in common: you’re not the only one seeking them.”
The concierge at our resort in Mayakoba spoke with that calm, polished confidence unique to luxury resorts, where every sentence sounds softly rehearsed, and just slightly expensive. I call it “Forbes-speak.”
“We’ve never been to Tulum,” I told him. “But we’ve heard about the ruins and the caves, and we’d love a private tour.”
The kind gentleman, eager to please, handed me a thick, glossy brochure. Its professional photos and vibrant colors, all perfectly composed, displayed a mysterious cenote with a ray of sunshine illuminating pristine waters in a Mayan jungle oasis; a green turtle gliding through the crystal-clear water of a secluded lagoon; and the ancient Mayan ruins perched on the coast of the Caribbean Sea. Each image captured exactly what I longed for: a spiritually transformative experience, the chance to connect with my surroundings in quiet isolation.
The concierge smiled and said, “We can offer a semi-private experience, only ten guests.”
Now, I don’t mean to sound cynical, but there is no such thing as semi-private. That’s like being half-pregnant. You’re either alone or you’re not. Still, I convinced myself that maybe this would be different. Maybe these were fellow seekers of quiet reflection and spiritual connection.
The next morning, Victoria and I climbed aboard a comfortable tour van with eight other tourists armed with water bottles and selfie sticks. Off we went in search of spiritual enlightenment.
The ruins at Tulum were stunning. They were also absolutely packed, apparently with half of North America.
Hundreds upon hundreds of tourists shuffled through the site beneath the brutal Caribbean sun. Everywhere I looked: phones in the air, influencers posing dramatically, while exhausted parents negotiated with their overheated children.
And there we were, too. Just as guilty. iPhones raised, desperately trying to recreate the brochure photos while carefully angling our shots to avoid the 114 other tourists standing four feet away doing the exact same thing.
The modern travel photo has become a strange exercise in deception. Crop out the crowds, manufacture stillness, and let’s pretend we had the place to ourselves. No, you didn’t. Neither did I. And that realization stayed with me longer than the ruins themselves.
Truth is, you don’t need to be a shaman, yogi, monk, or spiritual guru to feel a deep connection with nature, history, or the sea. But you do need privacy. You need enough silence to hear your own thoughts.
The older I get, the more I realize that true luxury has almost nothing to do with extravagance. It’s not about thread counts and marble bathrooms. True luxury is the absence of interruption. No tickets, no wrist bands, no lines, crowds, or schedules. Just space.
It’s why people spend absurd amounts of money for private villas, remote fishing lodges, safari camps, and yes, sailing yachts. Not to escape humanity, but to briefly escape noise.
And maybe that’s why sailing still feels so magical to me.
When Riviera heels gently under sail, and the engine shuts down, something changes in people. You can actually watch it happen. Conversations slow down. Phones disappear. People stop performing and start noticing the skyline, the wind, their partner, their children, themselves.
I often say we’re not in the business of selling sailing tours. We are in the business of selling temporary freedom from the modern world. A few quiet hours where nobody wants anything from you.
And these days, that feels pretty damn luxurious.
Fair Winds and Following Seas,
Paul & Victoria