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Faith, Give Thanks, Destiny

Posted on: Tuesday, February 24th, 2009
Posted in: Travelog, 5th Stop: Puerto Rico, Latest Trip | Leave a comment

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 Can’t Do That!

As we were leaving three-mile-long Grande Anse beach, a young, brawny man yelled angrily from a distance, “You not allowed to take pick-sha of da boass!” I ignored him. So he approached me, madder and louder.

I met his eyes, grinned, and responded, “Oh? Sorry. Too late.” (Smart ass? You betcha. But give me a break, rude boy.) Now his voice boomed,

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

I walked away, resolutely snubbing him—with nary so much as a rising heartbeat. Perhaps I’ve gotten used to people who believe they are right and mean no harm, but mistakenly insist, “You can’t do that!”

Hmmm. But maybe I can? Hey, I just did! And I’ll do it again—take that picture, ride that bus, drink in that bar, haggle for that fish, laze under that waterfall, kayak in those dodgy swells, home-school my children, and run away from the routine on another BreakAway adventure.

Getting the Picture(s)

When I snapped that photo, the third in about 55 seconds, nothing could stop me. Not even the gnarly, noisy group of teen boys who had been partying (rather than participating) all day in the shade of a sprawling seagrape tree.

What were those photos? Three homemade boats that came into my path, rather like three beached angels, as we were leaving the seashore. All boats get names in the Caribbean, and the three that lined up at that moment were: Faith. Give Thanks. Destiny.

(Perfect.)

On this dazzling day on Grenada’s longest and most illustrious beach, the annual sailing festival of “workboats” (homemade, from plywood, bamboo, and sailcloth) had been racing for hours. 1,000 Grenadians of all ages were competing, boating, dancing, swimming, splashing, partying, feasting, and celebrating island tradition and bliss. Lucky ducks.

When dreaming and scheming a Sabbatical, visions of days like this—exactly like this—keep me striving to achieve the eventual goal of freedom, however fleeting. Freedom of time. Freedom from worry. Freedom from stuff. Freedom to wander. Freedom of thought.

It is a free world, right? So we’re told. Yet to my constant amazement, folks forget that. As do I.

We are, after all, only human, an often-fussy species. So instead of freedom, we feel the fear.

Rather than celebrate our riches, we go deeper into debt. Born with authenticity, we choose to conform. When we could be thankful, we become resentful. When we could take a leap, we stay put. When blessed with enough, we get greedy.

Good Greed!

Well, I’m greedy too. But on my better days, my desires lean toward time (not money). Autonomy (not conventionality). Experiences (not possessions). And possibility (not entitlement).

So that antagonistic young Grenadian who came at me obviously didn’t know me, what I stand for, or why I took that picture. He’s right: There are times in life you need to ask permission, as I would have before aiming the camera at him.

But more often, the person you need to ask permission is: Yourself. Can I do this? Who’s going to stop me—if not me? What am I afraid of? Do I harbor enough…

FAITH

The first boat that made me stop and snap a picture, Faith, is the one to climb aboard in order to set your course toward a Sabbatical. If you hold the hope that—someday—you can launch yourself into a bona-fide BreakAway, the wind is at your back.

Without faith, though, you’ll get stuck in the sand. Doubt can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. But so can luck. Throughout this trip, when people asked, “How do you do it?” my quick reply was to shrug, “I’m just lucky.” Many would grin like a wise friend and suggest, “Maybe you’ve learned how to make your own luck?”

Maybe that’s what faith is?

GIVE THANKS

The list of things to be thankful for—on this trip alone—would fill pages. But here are my favorite five:

The kindheartedness of strangers.
The beauty of all these islands. (Words fail to do justice; I hope some photos do.)
Time to—really!—rest and relax. In unprecedented quantity and quality. “Just what the doctor ordered.” Such peace of mind doesn’t last; jobs and kids and gridlock will see to that. But at least unfettered serenity is attainable now and then.
The friends, family, clients, acquaintances, and others who helped make this BreakAway possible.
Time with my children, which deserves its own, final travelog post. But for now, may I mention that a great reason to escape with your children is this: They won’t be children for long—no matter what else may become of their…

DESTINY

Destiny, like a destination, is what you steer toward. Fate, on the other hand, is more what happens to you—both “smooth sailing” and “man overboard.” Destiny suggests providence. Fate connotes predetermination.

Life seems to offer both—but destiny keeps us aware of where the breezes can blow us. Fate fosters acquiescence. I was destined to take these pictures; that angry tween boy must accept that fate!

Rude boys and naysayers may be able to take away my camera. And they can bark all they want about “You owe me this” and “You can’t do that.”

But no one can take away my experience of that joyous festival, or make me forget that idyllic memory, or steal my right to drift toward the destiny of my choosing.

Dang, I hated to leave that sailing festival. Hate to end this BreakAway. Hate to stop this travelog. But alas, what a nasty word, hate; mixed emotions are racing like sailboats on a blustery day. But my heart (an overused word I try not to use) is unusually calm. Warm. And in awe.

It’s full of faith, gratitude, and alignment. Hey, if that’s my destiny—if only for a few hours on some of these 69 days—taking Sabbaticals is worth all the risk and hassle. Just ask that inner voice that sometimes whispers brilliant things.

Said voice suggested this destiny—and destination:

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.”

You know, I should really listen to that voice more often…

But enough of this. Time’s up. Anyway, I rarely enjoy reading psycho-spiritual, navel-gazing babble. My eyes tend to roll back in my head. The countless writers that exploit lingo like “heart,” “authenticity,” and “aligned” have gotten little attention from me.

Guess that’s why I’ve got to write my own. I hope you are too. And that your eyes are still in your sockets.

Thanks, dear reader(s), for listening. And traveling with me. May we both ignore the folks who say, “You can’t do that!” and seek out some sublime destinies.

Until then…

Keep the faith. And happy sails.

A Hazy, Crazy Ending in Puerto Rico

Posted on: Monday, February 23rd, 2009
Posted in: Travelog, 5th Stop: Puerto Rico, Latest Trip | One comment

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.

Not that I would know. I experienced precious little of that. Oh sure, I’d researched aplenty and was pumped about my must-see list. But alas, we chose the mixed blessing of staying at the fabulous El Conquistador resort. So it goes when the recession plunges occupancy rates down to 20%: Four-star establishments get marked down to two-star prices (plus perks). You practically own the place.

“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…)

Lessons Learned on Sabbatical

Posted on: Monday, February 23rd, 2009
Posted in: Sabbatical Shuffle, Blog | One comment

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.

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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.

Ways to Survive “The Go-Homes”

Posted on: Monday, February 23rd, 2009
Posted in: Sabbatical Shuffle, Blog | Leave a comment

This Sabbatical ends soon, too soon. So I’m sitting in the sun one last time staring at the sea. The temptation calls to get all maudlin, and indeed, emotions do run amuck in these final days. But mostly, I’m ready. Not to go home, of course, but to accept the big pic and embrace the lessons of the last moments—and a successful 69-day Breakaway:

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.

Unwrap the artifacts.

Make a slide show.

Tell the stories.

Eat the foods and play the music.

Downshift to “island time” sometimes.

Find a way to bring the Caribbean into this life.

Close the eyes and visualize…

And perhaps most essential, start planning the next big BreakAway.

Top 11 Benefits to (Almost) Unplugging

Posted on: Sunday, February 22nd, 2009
Posted in: Unplugging, Blog | Leave a comment

When planning this Sabbatical, I initially proposed that we go somewhere remote and take a tech break—no TV, computers, or pods/games. That idea proved to be unrealistic, what with work, communication, and building this website. But we DID live unplugged most of the time. It was easy, worthwhile, and offered many benefits, including these 11…

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.

Away We Go…To Puerto Rico

Posted on: Saturday, February 21st, 2009
Posted in: Travelog, In Transit | Leave a comment

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.

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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!

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Welcome to…America?

What’s in a Name? Inspiration?

Posted on: Friday, February 20th, 2009
Posted in: SoulTrain, Blog | Leave a comment

When your BreakAway takes you far from your native habitat, some remarkable things happen: Your senses re-awaken. You notice things. And you find grinspiration in the strangest of places.

Having worked as a namesmith, I love that Caribbeans name just about everything—boats, cars, bars, buses—with clever and empowering monikers. Here are my fave five…

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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.

G’Bye Grenada, Isle of Passion

Posted on: Friday, February 20th, 2009
Posted in: Travelog, 4th Stop: Grenada, Latest Trip | 5 comments

Why Grenada? Nobody we know has gone there. Research sources barely mention it. And except for that invasion in 1983, most Americans hardly know of it. Yet it rose through the sea of possibilities and became this Sabbatical’s primary destination. Destiny proved right. I love Grenada, isle of spice. Let me count five ways…

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.

G’Bye, sweet Grenada. God willing, we’ll meet again.

How the hell do you do it?

Posted on: Friday, February 20th, 2009
Posted in: Spendology, Blog | One comment

It’s countdown time for this 69-day BreakAway in the Caribbean—a bittersweet time that brings a high tide of introspection. “Why” I do this (Sabbaticals) is clear as Caribbean waters to me (and frequently babbled about on this website). But now I ponder a question sure to await when we get back home…

“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:

I tink it maybe be a good ting…People needs to slow down and jus’ enjoy what dey got and stop going into so much debt…”

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.

BreakAway Stuff Essentials

Posted on: Thursday, February 19th, 2009
Posted in: Sabbatical Shuffle, Blog | Leave a comment

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.

Frizz

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.

Fish Felt

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?

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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.

Travel Diversions

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?”