• Don’t take it (returning to reality) too seriously. 
• Expect some big piles, bad days, and unwelcome ennui. 
• Don’t expect everyone (anyone?) to give a rip about my trip.
• The money is gone; let it go.
• Notice the blessings and beauty of home. 
• Re-engage in what’s good; avoid what’s not. 
• Reverse the not-so-good habits of the Sabbatical. 
• Send thanks and hellos to friends made along the way. 
• E-mail pictures, as promised. 
• Revisit the life plan, milieu, work, expectations.
• Rewrite that stuff, literally, if appropriate. 
• Plan some smaller BreakAways; make vacations matter. 
• Understand the absurdity and hugeness of what just happened.
• Simplify and throw out some stuff that wasn’t needed for all this time. 
• Find inspiration in the LifeHackers that are out there, everywhere. 
• Get back to work, but gradually; stay unplugged when possible. 
• Help the kids keep the memories now and for the long run. 
• Find ways to relive the experience.

• For a short while—all of 69 days—our eyes rarely stared blankly at screens and instead we went outside, made things, and looked around with wonder at nature, new faces, and each other. 
• The kids played together MUCH more instead of withdrawing into their own digitalia—and watched only about one hour of TV per week. 
• The fact our cellphones didn’t work in the majority of islands we visited turned out to be a blessing.  An initial sense of discomfort quickly shifted into a profound sense of freedom–and a realization of what unnecessary, intrusive beasts they can be. 
• The inept internet reception (despite false promises from proprietors) at most BreakAway abodes helped force, or rather invigorate, a web-rehab Sabbatical and the opportunity to Be Here Now instead of Blog Here Now.
• When I asked them a question, my family looked at me and said, “Huh?” instead of staring at a screen and giving no reply at all. 
• Wasted precious little precious time searching for lost digitalia.
• Rarely had to worry about dead batteries or missing chargers. 
• OMG!  Sometimes ROMBFAOTFLOL wasn’t inspired by a screen message!
• No news is good news.  Saw virtually no US TV, web, radio, or newspaper updates.  If downturn-worry is contagious and malignant, it was easier to avoid that dis-ease. 
• Family DVD movie night, all three of them, were special and memorable events.  (Recommended:  “August Rush,” “Island in the Sun,” and “Wall E.”) 
• In one place, the TV was broken.  Nobody complained.  In another the TV had a pink picture with bad sound; we enjoyed a great Superbowl game (and Bruce!) anyway. 

 

• Vibes.  The energy, passion, and riddims on an island can be intoxicating—in a good way.  You hear the music all over, see the color (natural and human) everywhere, and feel it in the smiles (and stinkeye).  It can warm the soul like the sun.
• Chillaxin.  It took weeks to achieve a deep groove.  But at some point, staring out to sea became a legitimate pastime.  And relaxin’ became as natural as breathing.  Hours might float by with (at most) some reading, waterplay, and sandcastle-building to show for themselves.  For a change, such lack of productivity brought glee, not guilt. 
• All Friends No Enemies.  The Caribbean can be an in-your-face place.  It’s slow and polite, yet one must learn to bark a bit to settle something or just get attention (or privacy).  Dat’s awright; don’t make nobody no enemy.  After most confrontations, there was a soul-bump, a smile, and a better respect and understanding. 
• Blessed.  Spoiling one’s self and fam with 69 days of fun, sun, and exploring makes a guy feel truly blessed.  But the feeling also comes from the flip side of that:  Leaving friends, belongings, and creature comforts behind and learning that it takes precious little to feel well-off.  Folks in these third-world nations often act more blessed than suburban mall rats. 
• Vision. What’s vision?  Who knows?  Yet we know when we “see” it.  Vision comes from above and within.  Vision (moreso than money or guts) made this Sabbatical materialize.  Vision can make most things happen—and will make the next BreakAway happen, God willing. 

• Grenada is an isle of spice. Nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, of course. But “spice” also implies the zest, zeal, and color that Grenadians sprinkle into everything they do.

• Grenada is an isle of independence. With a population of only 100,000, they are one of the smallest nations in the western hemisphere. They take their autonomy seriously—supplying their own food, nurturing their culture, and taking care of their treasures.

• Grenada is an isle of beauty. Some of us just love sea, sand, and surf. But Grenada also offers mountains, rivers, waterfalls, cliffs, forests, plantations, farms, wildlife, grasslands, a volcano, and a rainforest. And that’s just the natural stuff!

• Grenada is an isle of compassion. In much of this world, entitlement and indifference fester. Here, not so much. People remain gentle, generous, and polite. Nothing is rushed, while moments are savored. It’s no wonder they’ve thrived through natural and political hurricanes. Grenadians openly talk about—and show—“love in their hearts.”

• Grenada is an isle of passion. How do you describe passion? Maybe you don’t, since it’s more of a visceral phenomenon—what you see, hear, taste, smell, and feel. I’ll really miss Grenada. But the extraordinary, exhilarating sense of life with passion: That’s what I’ll miss the most.

• “How the hell do you do it?”

It’s simple, really:  Just Do It.  But to provide the financial wherewithal that can fuel that bravado, I strive to live by 11 Commandments of fiscal fitness, the first of which is “Live within your means, no matter what that means.”  At some point, if these commandments work, money need not be an ongoing stressor.  And life is too short to let money completely dictate your dreams. 

 

Living within your means can sometimes mean avoiding things like expensive cars and debt (except a modest mortgage).  Such steps usually will ensure that savings happen.  So when some savings align with a good time to BreakAway, poof!  It’s time to disappear, and let some money buy free time and thought—since you’ve “earned” this reward. 

• Money flows and money goes.

Everyone loves money.  Yet money seems to be bringing everybody down these days, from Grenada to China to across the Americas.  I’ve stubbornly avoided news and market updates; they’re depressing and one goal of this BreakAway is to Be Here Now and nurture long-term wisdom.  But you can’t escape the bad news. 

 

Even on isolated islands, taxis say they’re half as busy as usual.  Resorts are throwing in free meals, happy hours, upgrades, and everything but the towel to get some cold bodies to warm their beach chairs.  Beach vendors are cutting deals on carvings, spices, and lobster.  It’s the middle of a harsh winter—and eerily quiet in vacationland.  Even in the popular eateries and attractions, you could hear a coin drop. 

 

Suddenly, the old adage is true:  Everything is negotiable when times are tough.  It feels suspiciously like deflation.  Debt detonation.  Depression. 

• And yet, work/life hackers are everywhere

So it’s good to get away.  But the best reasons are not escape and avoidance, but rather the people.  I swear:  Both residents and travelers on an island like this have pretty much written their own rule books. Nobody’s “normal.”  Status quo is for seekers who quit.  And while few folks harbor that aggressive American trait of wanting to tell you their life’s story, the stories amaze. 

• Franny and Isaac come from completely different places, and now live on his family’s Grenada farmland where they raise cabbages, make art, and live simply. 
• Native Grenadian Joan walks the beach selling her handmade dolls and colorful shirts.  She’s no pest:  She’s one of their genial “licensed vendors.”  If you like a pattern but she has no shirt in your size, she’ll make you one overnight—for US$20. 
• A Danish couple works hard running two movie theaters, but pulls their kids out of school to show them the world when the spirit moves them. 
• Andy and Rebecca live simply (as in, off the electrical grid) the warm season in Maine, where she’s an organic gardener and he’s a fisherman.  With kids now in college, they save enough to spend winters on their favorite island, where she sells her watercolors. 
• Two Swedes and their three kids manage school and careers, but think nothing of taking 22 days to sail across the Atlantic and to spend some months in the islands before they figure out how to store their boat here and return home. 

They’re everywhere—once you wander.  They’re my inspiration.  And I’ll miss being surrounded by them. 

• It’s so NOT about the money. 

These folks don’t share much in common.  But there is one little thing:  They’re not rich.  Nor are they tied to their credit cards, or the emotions of economics.  So although cabbage growers and cinema owners may feel the slowdown, they won’t let it ruin their day, year, or overall outlook on life. 

 

Frankly, this has been a good time to BreakAway.  The crowds are smaller.  The service is better.  The locals have more time and seem less harried than might occur when too many tourists invade. 

 

Grenadians are mysteriously optimistic people.  When talking shop with dozens, I’ve not heard one complain about “hard times” or “feeling the pain.”  If anything, they’ll use it as a chance to preach a lesson:  

 

When watching my son get a 45-minute, oh-so-careful haircut (for $2.80) in a local village here, I paged through some old papers.  In one, dated October-something, the Grenada government was running an ad that says it all: 

 

“Manage Your Money.  Live Your Dreams.  October is National Financial Literacy Month.”

 

Grenada is a third-world nation with some obvious poverty.  But the people eat well, take care of one another, and show few signs of greed. 

 

Perhaps one day the USA will sponsor a National Financial Literacy Month. 

 

Until then, debt be not proud.  And keep saving your dreams. 

If you’re planning to BreakAway with your family, don’t leave home without these time-test travel essentials–sure to come in handy, alleviate boredom and ensure some fun.      

• Frisbee.  Extraordinarily useful. Playing catch is uplifting and teaches about breezes.  Perfect as a plate; keeps food on-board for passing and is easy to clean.  Butt protector on wet sand.  Dice catcher for simple games.  Playspace for Polly Pockets.  Hip factor:  Symbolizes a cooler era, before digitalia sent us inward; is noncompetitive. 

 

• Swiss Army Knife.  Blades stay sharp and cut the cheese and anything edible.  Carves wood.  Mini-tools can fix things. Easy to cart and clean. Even has a plastic toothpick.  Hip factor:  Features bottle-cap opener and corkscrew.  (When a guest at a home that was missing its corkscrew, the Swiss became an international hero.) 

• Felt art board.  Found this little gem online before the trip, and what a Godsend it’s been.  It’s light, mobile, and creative as can be—even for parents.  Hip factor:  It’s handmade, which is way cool.  And it makes colorful art easy. 

 

• Sticks.  Yes, sticks:  My kids insist.  They find sticks—driftwood, seedpods, chop-sticks—and use them for drumming riddims, drawing in the sand, making things, or beating each other up.  Hip factor:  Drumming rocks. 

• Backpack.  Carries whatever you may need, like Frisbee, Swiss, water, paper, pen, sunscreen, meds, snacks, (sun)glasses, koozie, toys, cash, mini-poncho, and plastic bags (vital around rains and seas).  Good for packing camera without showing.  Can be secured to something to assist thief-proofing.  Hip factor:  You look like a savvy traveler.

• Local papers.  Buy them all; read them often.  Show stuff to the kids to help them understand we’re not in Kansas any more. Get a sense for what’s up with the locals; learn island politics and issues.  For example, Grenada and Cuba remain BFFs; taking pictures in St. Vincent is now legal; and St. John solves way less than 10% of their serious crimes every year.  Hip factor:  Conversations with locals can elevate immeasurably. 

• Snacks.  Kids these days.  Their appetites are less predictable than Minnesota weather.  They’ll turn up their nose at delicacies at mealtime, then insist on a PBJ later.  Often, a kitchen is not handy—nor a fridge.  So this backpacker prevents whining with a few small but filling things like apples, bananas, peanuts, crackers, cookies, and snack bars.  It’s a matter of survival.  Hip factor:  Your kids like you.

• iPod.  This trip has been decidedly under-mediated by design.  But the little iPod (and its big cousin, the portable speaker dock) has been a treat.  Sesame Street songs in headphones can save a 5-year-old when delayed in transit.  Speakers blasting Jimmy Cliff can bring the happy back into a sun-fried family’s pre-dinner hour.  Music bonds families, and radio is undependable at best on islands.  Hip factor:  May be the hippest thing, like, ever? 

• A deck of cards.  Can work miracles in tricky situations, to say nothing of providing just plain fun.  CurlyGirl can do sorting, number, and memory lessons.  AllBoy can learn strategic games.  The family can play.  Best adaptation:  Math-fact flash cards; just pick 2 cards, and do the math (multiply, add, subtract, or divide with fractions).  Hip factor:  Cards are cool—always have been, always will be. 

• Pass the Pigs.  A compact little game of chance, rather like dice, but better.  The game is fun and quick and easy.  The pigs make cute little toys for youngsters with imagination.  Hip factor:  Udderly original, and sure to attract any nearby Iowa tourists. 

 

• Pen and paper.  Instant amusement for children.  Essential for swapping vitals with new acquaintances.  Priceless for capturing fleeting ideas and keeping lists.  Hip factor:  You’re set when someone asks, “Got a pen?” 

 

 

• Shining Light
• No Hard Feelings
• Yes Jah
• Live On
• Always Decent
• Live Simply
• Vision
• No Stress
• Faithfull
• Vibes
• Stamina
• Sweet Heart
• 100% Grenadian
• Life Nice
• Unity
• Conscious
• Good People
• Just Simple
• Blessings
• Love is the Answer
• New Beginning
• Higher Level
• Next Level
• Jus Level
• Chilaxin
• Bless Up

 

And on the back window, many owners create customized communiqués for all to see…

 

• The sky is wide enough for a million stars.
• Who feels it knows it. 
• Rise to action.
• Positive feeling.
• Follow righteousness.
• God is Love.
• All Friends, No Enemies.
• All Right!
• You will never fail until you stop trying.
• Jah have a blessing for you.

 

AND THE WINNER IS…STAG! 

 

HERE ARE THE FINAL RESULTS… based on ratings in 10 categories worth 10 points each—possible 100 points.

• 1^st Place:  STAG  (pronounced:  STOG!)

Name:  8.  A bit tacky, but easy to say after you’ve had a few.  Unique.  Macho. 

Story:  7.  Supposedly from Trinidad, a place that makes most people agog and afraid. 

Marketing:  10.  Virtually none—a dark horse.  How cool is that?  Like a private club. 

Smell Test:  8.  Smells pretty okay, for a beer. 

Taste:  10.  Once drinkers discover it, they stick with it. 

Availability:  7.  Pretty common in the southern islands, but nowhere north.  Exclusivity brings bonding? 

Tepidity:  9.  Stands up to the sun, if necessary.  Your best bet when cold can’t be found. 

Size Matters:  7.  Usually in large bottles.  But occasionally a bar fools you with smalls. 

Price:  9.  More than Carib, but much less than Heinie.   

Bonus:  10.  What’s not to love? 

• 2^nd Place: HEINEKEN  (pronounced:  I-nuh-KEN!)

Name:  8.  Comfortable, familiar, ever-cool.  It’s the International Budweiser.  

Story:  8.  Comes from Holland, or whatever they’re called now.  They need attention. 

Marketing:  9.  Always classy and calming  Love that little red star. 

Smell Test:  4.  Smells skunky, if in a good way.  An acquired scent. 

Taste:  9.  Bottled all over, yet eternally consistent.  Effervescent, welcome mouthfeel. 

Availability:  10.  If any Caribbean joint has only 2 beers, one will be Heinie. 

Tepidity:  6.  Not good warm, but it disappears fast, so… 

Size Matters:  6.  Bad:  usually comes in mini-bottles (250 ml).  Good:  cute little cans. 

Price:  5.  Costs more for less liquid.  Ish! 

Bonus:  8.  Like and old friend.  Plus you look Euro and suave, if you wish. 

 

• 3^rd Place:  HAIROUN (pronounced:  I-ROON!)

Name:  7.  Fun to say.  You sound local once you get it right.  Odd spelling, though. 

Story:  10. What St. Vincent used to be called, so big ups for nostalgia and stubbornness.

Marketing:  9.  Vincies love their homegrown.  “Our Island, Our Beer.”  Whoa! 

Smell Test:  5.  Could be worse. 

Taste:  7.  Goes down easy.  No problem, mon. 

Availability:  3.  Unheard of after you leave the SV Grenadines.  Withdrawal risk. 

Tepidity:  5.  No loitering.  Great ice-cold, but the warmer it gets, the more it sucks. 

Size Matters:  9.  Only seen it in 12 ounce bottles.  But never on tap loses a point. 

Price:  7.  Cheaper than Heineken, but not cheap enough.  

Bonus:  7.  Didn’t get tired of it for several weeks.  Great memories. 

• 4^th Place:  CARIB  (pronounced:  CA-RIB)

Name:  9.  Almost Caribbean.  Named after fearless, feral Indian settlers. 

Story:  5.  Not much “there” there.  Brewed in many ports, with many ? waters. 

Marketing:  5.  Little to see beyond omnipresent personal endorsements. 

Smell Test:  3.  Smells so bad it’s often served with a lime. 

Taste:  3.  Kinda Corona-like, maybe worse.  Watery, wimpy colon-cleanser.   

Availability:  6.  Mostly avails S of the N/S Grenadian meridian; occasionally N. 

Tepidity:  1.  Not good cold, worse warm.  Must be ice-cold and pounded carelessly.   

Size Matters:  6.  Good: only comes in large units.  Bad:  only comes in large units. 

Price:  10.  Cheapcheap.  + sold where people party by renegades at miniscule markups.   

Bonus:  7.  Good: often served w/ lime; can be on tap.  Bad:  On tap can be flat & insipid.