BEST. CHRISTMAS. PRESENT. EVER!!!

Reunited with my phenomenal kids on Tortola!  Life is SOOOOO good!

May yours be just as joyous! 

A squillion freckles and counting...

Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.

--Miriam Beard
 
By now I thoroughly expected to be feeling more annoyed than pleased by the sun, sand, and seawater that saturate my current setting.  Figured I’d be fed up with the constant slathering on of sunscreen that has constituted my daily beauty routine for the past 10 weeks. Sick of the dried salt on my skin and in my hair.  Tired of sand underfoot everywhere all the time.  Bored with beach life and getting fidgety for more action.

On the contrary, I am still savoring every second of it all. 

I am utterly content to be so unkempt.  No eyeliner or lipstick.  My daily wardrobe consists of a bathing suit and cover-up, changing for dinner into something slightly less informal, like a t-shirt and shorts.  Am ecstatic to sit outside round the clock with nothing warmer than a light cotton shawl.  Go barefoot whenever reasonably possible and when not, am thrilled to have an extremely limited choice of footwear:

everyday shoes

dress shoes

 

And to think there are 165 pairs of closed-toe boots and high heels in storage in Zurich! 

Although my epidermis is clearly better suited to cooler climes, it has (despite the fanatic use of SPF 50+ products) taken on a shade of tawny-copper-amber and I now have the best tan – and the most freckles – of my entire life.  Fun for a change.

I am absolutely adoring having no agenda whatsoever.

Find that I can spend entire days on the beach…staring out at the horizon…mesmerized by the sunlight glinting off the sea…strolling in the waves’ edge…swimming and snorkeling…reading and dozing in the shade of a canvas umbrella…observing the breakers rolling in…and out…in…out…trying to define the various shades of blue: cerulean? azure? aqua? turquoise? teal? cobalt? cyan? 

The only decision that has to be made is which open-air food shack to lunch at while a balmy breeze rustles the palm fronds and the crashing surf accompanies reggae Christmas carols on the bar stereo.

A well-chilled rosé has its place in the world

 

When I need a change of scenery from the sunlit strands of sand, I go diving amongst the reefs and wrecks here.  A slow descent, adjusting to the sensation of suspension in the water – an amazing lightness despite the lead weights around the waist and steel tank on the back.  Underwater breathing is my meditation…inhaling…exhaling…in…out… the bubbles emitted from my regulator the only other sound, the perfection of my buoyancy the achievement of the day. 

           

In this age of constant movement, staying in one place has become a huge challenge for most of us – and a greater necessity than ever before. How shall I find this sort of contentment back home, in a landlocked country no less?  Not sure but it will behoove me to try more often to slow down and be still, and I can now give myself permission to do so with a clear conscience.

And in this season of supposed spiritual reflection, most of us are instead more likely stressed out by the crowds, chaos, and commerce of the holidays.  Of course here in the Caribbean it doesn’t feel like Christmas as we know it and it is easier to stay serene so far from the usual onslaught.  I wish for you all the chance to retreat, however briefly, from the hectic pace and pressures, and I gift you a little bit of my peace.  

Tranquility Wrapped in Blue

Anguilla, West Indies

Many would – and do – call this paradise, not least among them the Anguillian Tourism Board.  (The title of this post is also their marketing slogan.) However, I refuse to use the word, even though the beach that is my current home is indeed one classic image of what we think of when imagining a “place of extreme beauty, delight, or happiness.”  And there are 32 more! 

But I know the Caribbean well enough and have seen enough of this island to realize the reality beyond the white sand and blue surf.  The contrast between us and them is harsh: luxury 5-star hotels and palatial private homes on the coast vs. cement-block, tin-roofed shacks in the interior; some of the world’s best beaches at our doorstep vs. goats chomping on garbage piles and burning brush in the backyard; twice the national average income spent on one 2-week holiday. 

Anguilla may be just 16 miles long and 3 miles wide (26 x 5 km) but the divide between the haves and have-nots is immeasurable. 

Wasn’t it better for the natives before tourists discovered their home?  Island life back in the day may have fallen short by Western standards of living, but as long as the indigenous folks were not using our yardstick, then who’s to presume they weren’t content with their self-sufficiency?  Of course our presence here creates jobs but how happy are they really to cook and clean for us, serve us, drive us, wait on us, tend to our every wish and whim?  Do the dollars we add to the local economy truly make their lives more comfortable?  How naïve to think they don’t feel any resentment towards us. 

But, having said this, I have to admit that it appears to not be so in this case, and it must be largely because the history of this island’s citizens is divergent from other neighboring populations of African descent.  

The Europeans who attempted to establish plantations on Anguilla in the early 19^th century had no luck with the poor soil and arid climate, and eventually returned to the Continent, leaving the land in the hands of former slaves.  Those newly minted farmers had no greater success with crops and so many turned to fishing, boatbuilding, and even seasonal work in the sugar cane fields on surrounding islands.  Despite their hardships, they remained independent and evolved into a proud, determined, and hardworking society.   

This pride in ownership and success through tenacity accounts for the distinction between this island’s vibe and that of others in this part of the world.  In all honesty, the Anguillians seem sincerely welcoming and glad to share their country’s gorgeous gifts.  The continued lack of any land-based natural resources has propelled them to develop their high-end tourism industry (as well as offshore banking biz), and they are doing so to the apparent pleasure and benefit of everyone, locals and visitors alike.   

So I’ll get off my soapbox now…and head back to my little slice of heaven.  

Giving thanks

The introspection I’ve been able to indulge in over the past 4+ months has reaffirmed that my life is full to the brim with a profusion of good fortune.  I give thanks now every single day, not just once a year.  The list of entries in my new gratitude journal is too long to itemize here, but know that you, gentle reader, are among them.  

What I am most grateful for is the unstinting support and understanding and love of my three phenomenal children.  They are so very generously and graciously allowing me this journey of healing and growth even though it is often difficult for them.  They have not expressed one iota of anger, resentment, or regret. Sadness, yes, of course; nobody expected our lengthy separation to be easy, and I would be devastated if it were.  Each tear they shed is like a needle in my eye and every expression of wistfulness is a tough punch to my heart.  But they are meeting the challenges with an aplomb and impressive maturity that leave me breathless with pride. 

Sophia, Luca, and Raphael are such strong, self-assured, empathetic young adults – and fun and funny, too! – and I am truly blessed to have them in my life.  

 Happy Thanksgiving to all! 

Central America recap

Traveling is a brutality.  It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.

--Cesare Pavese

The Central American chapter of my journey is now ended.  The past six weeks in Costa Rica and Belize saw a marked slowing of pace and easing of expectations, and generally more unfamiliarity and discomfort. In my cabinas there was no Internet, only mosquito nets; no AC, only ceiling fans; a regular struggle with fragile septic systems, weak water pressure, and unstable electric provision.  It was hot, humid, sweaty, sandy, salty, sticky.  Put me off balance for sure, and yet it was invigorating.  

 
And simple: It was primarily an existence that was indeed dominated by essential elements (air, sleep, dreams, sea, sky) and my partaking of them in a daily routine that more closely followed the rhythm of a farmer: up with the sun and down with the sun.  Finished with FOMO (at least for now).

And soothing: I had finally made it to the coast and was able to gaze my fill of the watery horizon, first the Pacific and then the Caribbean.  Rough surf and dark depths to the west, easy breakers over the barrier reef to the east. Slept and woke to the constant sound of the waves coming ashore.

In CR I was delighted to make some very small contributions by planting trees, thatching roofs, releasing baby turtles.  

  








 








In Belize I was a responsible diver, taking only pictures, leaving only bubbles, and killing only time -- and jumping into water full of (very large nurse) sharks despite my lifelong fear of these creatures.  

Wildlife played a huge role in the adventures, first in the jungle:

 and then underwater: 

 

Throughout the continent, these annoying buggers were my constant companion -- that was the brutal part! 

  
There is indeed truth in Cesare’s statement above, and the past four months of travel have had their difficulties – and I still miss my kids something awful! – but I have found solace in the kindness of strangers, made many new friends, and feel that a definite lightening of the emotional baggage is discernible. On that note, let me share another of Signore Pavese’s quotes with you:

If you wish to travel far and fast, travel light.  Take off all your envies, jealousies, unforgiveness, selfishness and fears. 

Unbelizeable...

…the workaday world of Ambergris Caye in November:

The Autobahn 

Commuting

Rush hour

 Belizean e-cars

 

 My desktop 

  

Fall foliage

  Business lunch (lobster ceviche) 

 

 Job stress  

Holiday decorations

 

Coffee break 

 

 Quittin’ time 

 

Jungle Fever

Well, it’s happened: jungle fever has gotten to me. 

Help!

After three weeks in this tropical microclimate, I am starting to lose it…and am most definitely losing the battle against the constant heat and relentless humidity. 

The temperature of 28 to 32 degrees C (82 to 90 F) + relative humidity of 90% = a heat index of 40 C/ 104 F.  Am always hot and sticky and a sloth-like torpor is beginning to set in. 

Get me...

Everything is damp.  Clothes, shoes, bath towels never dry completely and have a musty smell reminiscent of my Grammy’s attic.  Even the “solar dryer” is only somewhat effective; the air is simply so saturated with moisture that there is nowhere for the dampness to go. 

 

The sheets and pillows are clammy. 

My nylon Prada bag is growing mold.

My razor blade is rusting. 

...outta...

I am entirely bug-bitten – even have itchy welts on my scalp and in my armpits and on my arse – no amount of DEET-laden repellant seems to work. 

 

There is an odd musky odor emanating from my body…all the onions they put in the food? 

My hair is impossibly frizzy and matted – even if I owned a brush, I wouldn’t be able to get it through.  

...here...

Of course I knew to expect precipitation in the rainforest but didn’t realize that the seasons here are defined by it: rainy, rainier, rainiest.  They call this current one the "green season" -- a euphemism for "the most rainfall you have ever seen"-- ever. 

 

I have had monkey poo hurled at me.   

When I asked Phil, the owner of the lodge, whether it really is safe to go barefoot everywhere on the property (which he does), he assured me it is.  “Just be careful where you step; the two most common accidents we have here are sprained ankles and snake bites.”  Great. 

...before I go...

Surrounded by black-haired, dark-skinned Ticos, I stick out like the gringa that I am. 

To make it worse, those Spanish lessons that I truly intended

to take before my departure never happened.  Although I’ve

managed the most rudimentary of phrases while here, I very

much regret not being able to converse with the locals. 

LOCA!

And the most pressing matter of all: Will my electronics

survive? 

What would I do without my iPhone?

Nature's Nirvana

Cabo Matapalo, Osa Peninsula, Costa Rica

And I thought Montana was remote!

This is by far the most exotic place I have ever been! Sitting here on my private dais 500 feet above the surf, gazing out over the Pacific Ocean, I feel I’m at the edge of a bizarre otherworld, especially when the Panama coastline disappears in the haze on the horizon.  Yellow-billed toucans perch in the trees to the left and right of me; three pairs of scarlet macaws fly past at eye level; a squirrel monkey shimmies down a vine hanging not 20 meters away; hummingbirds hover at the hibiscus blooms so near I could touch. 
 

                                       

            

But I refrain from all movement, remind myself it’s important to just BE, and simply watch, listen, and sense the 750 acres of lush private rainforest behind me, an entire three square kilometers teeming with flora and fauna of the most fascinating kinds. I mean, how awesome is a place where ginger, cilantro, and ylang ylang grow wild and abundantly?!  And where such funky animals as these can be seen: 
  

Three-toed sloth

Anteater

Poison dart frog

Armadillo

Even more than photographs, I wish I could share the sounds of the jungle with you – the squawking, howling, screeching, chirping, whistling, hooting, squealing, buzzing, tweeting, chattering, trilling, cooing, warbling, whooping, croaking – what a riot of audio overload!

Also, I’ve had some of my most extraordinary wilderness adventures while here, including rappelling down a 100-foot rushing waterfall and releasing 200 turtle hatchlings into the ocean.

In my search for a tropical Latin American experience, Costa Rica was the obvious choice: safe, stable, a pioneer in ecotourism, home to an extravaganza of biodiversity.  Further delving, however, made me think maybe it was too developed, too touristy, packaged its natural gifts too slickly – and then I discovered the Osa Peninsula.

Its remoteness and the extra effort required to get here appealed to my fundamental desire to avoid crowds and my aversion to following the pack.  Even its geography sets it apart from the rest of the country.  Its superlatives impressed: the tallest trees; the deepest bay; the last remnant of humid tropical rainforest on the Pacific coast. When I learned that of CR’s 5% of all the world's species, 50% was to be found here (including 878 kinds of birds), I was sold.  The Osa sounded like the real deal and promised a wildlife immersion that was, in fact, wild.  

So here I am, 10 days in and finding my groove in this environment: geckos scurrying up the shower wall do not faze me; I’m nonchalant about the agouti scampering across the clearing; I’m inured to having to shake out my shoes before stepping into them; the possibility of a coati rambling into my cabina only slightly freaks me out.  But I must admit that knowing we are at the top of the food chain is scant comfort on treks where jaguars, ocelots, and fer-de-lance have been sighted regularly. 

Although the beaten path at times feels perhaps a bit too far away, this rich, authentic experience is what I came for, and one I will certainly never forget.