Seven weeks ago, a free, faraway feeling ruled the day.  Back home, not so much. Life has resumed the habit-busy ways that pass for normal these days.  Every family member has gone through permutations of the “be-backs,” from boredom to flu to winter angst.  But spring is winning the war over winter.  And the trip spark still has a faint glow. 

One views life, I think, with a more critical eye after a BreakAway from the routine into the extraordinary.  That’s a good thing, or so says Socrates, who reminds us that:  “The unexamined life is not worth living.”  That may be true, but there are risks—such as wondering,

Is that all there is?

That’s particularly true when “all there is” is less than all there was.

Investments:  way down.

Home equity:  shrunken.

Business:   sluggish.

Public morale:  low.

Moreover, a fun-filled Sabbatical can spoil a guy—whereas the kind of spoilage presently happening in the world economy just stinks.

Sabbaticals Happen, Like it or Not

For better or worse, lots of people—including many I know—are confronting the Involuntary Sabbatical:  Getting fired.  Others are taking paycuts, losing clients, or seeing sales dive.  It’s odd:  Freedom feels less free-ing when it arrives uninvited.  But lest we all get lost in anxiety and gloom, most of us have plenty we could do with that time.

On the upside, many new, improved messages—that can help folks facilitate a real BreakAway someday—are emerging from this downturn:  Live with less; build your savings; nurture the earth; hug family and friends (not just your job); try the bike and ditch the Hummer; time is the new money.

Amen to that.  Money is numbers on paper—which typically gets SPENT on stuff.  Time is…whatever you choose to DO with it.

You Gotta Go Home

Following any chosen, gratifying time of  pleasure, you gotta go home.  After 69 days on fantasy islands, I’ve done the same.  Now it’s up to me to keep the insights relevant, the boredom at bay, and the relaxation vibes alive.

Peeking at the photographs helps, despite the risk of nostalgia.  The images still look fresh—if rather surreal.  (I was there and saw that?)  These five represent some favorite moments—and shall linger vividly in my mind’s eye.

• Awe, Shucks  (pic of hands)

This detail, of “Christ of the Deep” in Grenada, tells many tales:  1)  Blue-sky days bring beauty.  2)  We all need to open up and beg for mercy now and then.  3)  Awe, hope, and reverence are desirable pursuits.  4)  And “Dear God, please tell me what to do?”

• Aquamarine Tranquillity

In meditation and biofeedback, teachers may tell you to visualize some peaceful thing or color:  a mountain (strength), the sky (openness), a pool (calm), the color yellow (I have no idea why—Corona commercials?).  My preference?  Caribbean blue.  It can provide wave after wave of serenity.  And I can stare, and stare, and stare…

(I think it’s why Johnny Depp took that role.)

• Inside the Pod

This image, from a botanical garden on St. Vincent, reminds me of the kind and wise West Indians, and suggests that marvels can hide underneath an exterior.  Just peel off the skin; gently dig in.  St. Vincent itself was like that; the visit was due to travel logistics, not travel gurus.  But once we were there exploring, that isle surprised us with her splendor and allure.

• Self-reflection in Doorway

Why this?  It’s not a great picture.  But it’s me.  And since I take 99.9% of the photos in this family, I’m not in 99.9% of them; this is rare proof that I WAS there!  Moreover, this happened on the last morning, during a solo sunrise walk.  It was a reflective stroll, and the door connotes the changes and mysteries that lie ahead after the return to Reality.

“Being able to disconnect has become the status symbol that high-tech connection formerly was.”

 

“An Internet publicist of good reputation…recently confessed to me that her fondest ambition was to get offline and write a novel…set pen to paper.”

 

“Of course, everyone knows driving while chatting is dangerous.”

 

“I like to do arithmetic in my head so I don’t forget how.”

 

“I worry a bit that those things that are most important to me—spending time with my family, writing my novels, doing my martial arts practice—are slowly under assault by the very gadgets that I bought to make my life easier, smoother, better.”

Had we really done this thing?  How could 69 days fly by so fast?  And why didn’t we stay until, say, May? 

On Day 69—the last day—as we prepare to fly away from Temporary Retirement and Approximate Paradise, some stories stand out. Some days still glow. Some moments feel like sprouting soul-seeds rather than mere memories. Like that Sunday on Grenada…with the sailing races…           

YOU KIN NOT DO DAT!  DAT MY BOAT!  YOU PAY ME MONEY NOW!  I SAY STOP!  PAY!” 

Visit the Caribbean.  Get lost on lost-in-time islands.  Bring the whole family.  See different cultures.  Play in the sea.  Leave everything behind.  Ditch winter.  Eat funny fish and drink new beers.” 

Puerto Rico is a legendary island of Latino culture and independence—surrounded by a sea of Caribbeanism. With 4 million residents, it’s one of the most populated—and crowded—isles anywhere. Yet you can find a rain forest, nature preserves, private beaches, a thriving old town, and swanky night life. 

                

“It’s For the Kids”

So went the logic of selecting this boffo extravagance—with its brand-spanking-new waterpark (within inches of the sea).  Who doesn’t love to indulge their kids?  Spoiling them, however, essentially meant spoiling this vagabond’s only chance to salsa the into night.  We were an hour away from most action, and sequestered into gated fabulousness. 

All was not lost, though, as it was a luxury getting lost on the resort’s private island, where ecstasy (the legal kind) is for sale.  So long afternoons featured snorkeling, kayaking, Heineken, plus relentless requisite ruminating about this 69-day Sabbatical.  And about the most disturbing distraction imaginable:  Going home. 

(more…)

I’m sitting on my balcony in Puerto Rico, watching water, ferries, and some odd birds—probably boobies and frigates.  Soon I’ll be home, where the waves are frozen solid, the birds are smart enough to still be down south, and output pays.  Thus, I should stop staring and capture some lessons of this 69-day BreakAway.

• It’s all about the buck.  In general, West Indians are less greedy than your average American—and most live a third-world existence.  But make no mistake: When money is concerned, there is no free lunch, ride, or drinks.  Smiley, spirited folks could turn all Donald Trump when it was time to settle the tab.
• So get beyond the buck already.  By settling terms and tabs early, money can become a secondary issue.  Once I’d negotiated to buy five little coral carvings from a beach vendor, he went from being an assertive seller to a charming, grateful artist.
• WWW:  Watch out.  Sure, the internet is a great travel research tool.  But it can also be full of the kind of BS that makes a run-down resort look like paradise—touting offers that no staff onsite  have heard of, menus that bear no resemblance to the meals actually served, and pictures that have been cropped and photoshopped to skew reality.  Moreover, advice sites can be invaded by shills and shams.  Does it make trip planning easier than ever?  Heavens, yes!  Is it foolproof?  Hell, no.
• Sometimes, there is only one degree of separation.  When a Grenada resort manager happened to go to the same small Midwest university that we did—at the same time—that was a “small world” experience.  When a Bequia sailboat we boarded for a daytrip had an ex-relative on its crew, that was both creepy and cool.  But I had to run for mercy when a distinguished gentleman in a Bequia bar struck up a conversation about the “green flash.” Within moments, we discovered that not only had he been on the Minnesota lake I live on, he used to waterski with a neighbor of mine.
• Watch where you’re going.  The temptation exists, when vacating routine and responsibility, to get TOO relaxed, buzzed, carefree.  Exercise caution, and keep one eye on your kids.  Water hazards, walking stumblers, and lost stuff can ruin your day—or worse.
• Ask many questions.  People like to be the expert, and there’s much to learn, like where’s a raw, secluded beach or a joint where the locals have lunch.  What’s more, it may be the only way to find out that the wine the waiter recommends costs $155.
• Leave the well-worn path.  Here’s a classic example:  If you only see the part of the island that the cruise ship dumps you in, you’ve probably seen the worst that island has to offer.  But when you get to the far side where the cruisers never visit, it’s a completely different planet—in a real, good way.
• It’s smart to fit in.  It can be tempting to assert one’s uniqueness and American-ness and just not worry about it.  But then you may be treated like an outsider. When the Grenadians ALL dressed in their flag colors during their independence week, we did too.  Suddenly, our different skin color mattered less then our matching clothes colors.
• We must be fearless.  When not, fake it—especially to keep your kids calm.  Whistle a happy tune, if need be.  Seems like callous security types, derelicts, and dangerous drivers were the most likely to strike fear on this trip.  Acting bored and bold usually makes the temporary threat pass fast enough.
• Learn people’s names.  Even if they forget yours.  Calling the beach attendant Mr. Cedric or knowing your housecleaner is Bernadette will win them over.  And frankly, some of these folks work their butts off for low pay, no benefits, and little job security.  The least we can do is give them what we all need most:  Respect. Of course, a nice tip is also a good idea; tip early and they’ll take care of you the whole time you’re around.
• Be slow to judge.  That aggressive vendor may have beautiful beads.  A surly bartender could warm up if you make a joke.  That crazy cabbie may set you up with fresh tuna—if you keep your mind open.
• Wait your turn.  Avoid being the impatient vacationer.  Americans have been trained to hurry, but island people rarely do.  When buying a t-shirt one day, AllBoy and I had to wait for a father and daughter who sized up dozens before deciding.  The salesman had all day for them, and they were excited to be buying a treat.  AllBoy got edgy and Partner was rushing us.  But relaxing and enjoying their encounter was a better way to go.
• What Time Is It?  It’s Island Time!  In the Caribbean, clocks are rare, and usually don’t work; they hang askance on the occasional wall stuck on 5:55 or 12:15 as if to ask, “Does anybody really know what time it is; does anybody really care?”  Most watches are sequestered in the cruise ports—for sale to gawking and gullible tourists who will not grasp the lessons of the West Indies:  glitz is silly; time is relative; a clockless day is a happy day.

These were simple lessons, but gleaned gradually by assimilating into a different, more mellow culture.  But now it’s time to speed up.

So we go back to our demanding, self-absorbed lives—scheduling this and that, running from nothing to nothing.  A sense of ongoing urgency will overtake most moments.  Be Here Now will morph into Get Somewhere Fast. Instead of watching the waves break or the kids play, one eye will be on the clock.

That clock will work.  So will we, like all good Americans.  But with any luck, a little island serenity and spice will sprinkle itself into the occasional scene.

We combed and climbed much of Grenada, and fell in love with its people and pride. Nonetheless, after 28 days, it’s time to pack up and go. One last stop remains:  The most pedigreed sleep, a “Waldorf Astoria” resort on Puerto Rico. With a water park. And a private island. That’s exciting, but I still don’t want to go. Y’know?

Once again, we fly on the dreaded Liat Airlines, so you pack carefully.  They have more restrictions than a hazardous waste dump.  So if your luggage is overweight and your Liat liaison has her undies in a bunch, you’ll be on the floor re-arranging your undies til they approve.  Happens all the time.  So do confrontations and tantrums.  It’s not pretty.

• But First, Grenada’s Revenge

We’ve been so healthy, so sick-free during this trip, that of course the last day is when someone finally has to succumb to something.  AllBoy this time, along with another boy from a family we’ve been hanging out with.  Now, when two kids from two fams get Grenada’s Revenge, panic can hit: Might we all run into this bug?  Dare we fly manana?

I repeated a handy BreakAway Five-Word Mantra:  I knew this might happen.  I knew this might happen.  I knew this might happen.  (What we gonna do now?!)

AllBoy went through the ringer for 24+ hours, only pausing to pass out in between.  It would have carried on longer. But as the cab pulled up at 5:55 to take us to the airport, one unfortunate incident inspired me, his dad, to serve a heavy dose of Imodium.

Sorry, but Liat and island airports and a 12-hour travel day is not the time for a half-assed approach.  Needless to say the pills did their trick and we got through the day without incident.  But in the hours and days ahead, AB’s stomach grumblings ramped into to vocal protests as the Imodium worked way too well for way too long.

• Grenada’s Revenge #2:  Customs Complications

Liat took an hour to approve us and our baggage, and then had trouble printing our boarding passes.  But the real trouble came when Customs blew a gasket over our papers.  Held us another hour.  Held up the plane!  By the time we got on that rusty winged beast, we were getting stinkeye from everybody.  Controllers, pilots, customers, gas pumpers.

The nature of this airline is that they hop around islands all day long, and guests must make connections to eventually find their desired destination.  Thus, and for a million other reasons, delays are de rigueur.  Today was our turn to disrupt that fragile schedule.

See, we had never declared ourselves or cleared customs in Grenada.  Not a good idea, and I knew it all along.  But we came by boat, and every single person I asked would just laugh and laugh.  

I’ve been here five years and I’ve never cleared!”  

I don’t think there IS a customs on this island, ha-ha!”

I asked the Attorney General for you; he says, ‘No problem!’”  

(For real.)

So we floated around the island illegally for a month.  Ha ha ha!  But the oh-so official in the gold-striped uni who held the rubberstamp when it was (past) time to board the airplane seemed to see matters differently.  She was not impressed. Not at all.

And by the way, she also knows the Attorney General!

Long (long!) story short, some yelled and waved hands.  One made vague threats.  A few more uniformed agents (one with a particularly sassy smirk) came out of nowhere to join the brouhaha.  One participant fought tears.  One bent over and held his belly.  One laid down on the floor.  Me?  I mostly just stood there and played along.

I knew this might happen.  I knew this might happen.  I knew this might happen…

There are many things to love about the Caribbean.  But one of them is NOT an occasional propensity to, when issues hit the fan, gather a committee and turn on the Patois and make a big, noisy scene.  That said, they did their work, gave us much guff, kept the plane waiting, and found a way to let us legally enter the country, then immediately exit it, without making a pit stop in jail, Jah bless.

After that, the day was dull, if tedious as we island-hopped our way to P.R.  Oh sure, there was another airport waiting room (they would not let you out of) with a broken TV and no water or AC.  We had our bags searched aggressively over and over as if in NYC the day after 9-11. And feeding the ever-hungry children was a Top Chef Quickfire Challenge.

• Bienvenido a Puerto Rico!

With practice, anything can become easy.  That includes long travel days—even with illness, border patrol problems, and the ever-present gamble of “Will our luggage make it?  In one piece?”  We did.  It did.  And we were poolside—if dumbstruck—by sundown.

After faraway isles, Puerto Rico came on like a Spanish-speaking Mack truck.  A high-tech, mega-airport!  High-rises! Fast food!  Billboards! Big buses!  Fast freeways!  4 million people—all driving or going somewhere or working at once!

Welcome to…America?