What’s it like to live on an island? And I don’t mean a touristy island with cute little shops and restaurants. I mean an island with no roads where the houses are accessible only by boat.
Picture this:
You cross the channel in your 23ft panga in three to four foot waves. It’s raining. The rain stings your face. You are drenched to the bone. As you near the island, the shallow water is so clear that, even in the rain, you can see the starfish and coral on the bottom. You pull up at the dilapidated dock and tie off, trying to allow for changing tides and making sure the bilge pump is working so the boat doesn’t fill with water and sink. Then you grab your grocery bags and dodge through the trees to the golf cart which is locked with a stainless steel cable to a tree. You unlock the cable, throw your stuff in the basket on the back of the golf cart, pull up the seat, use a wrench to spark the engine to life and try not to burn yourself in the process, put the seat back down, jump on, grab the wire between your feet that bypasses the accelerator that doesn’t work, and practically throw yourself out of the seat as you give it too much gas. Then you pull even harder on the accelerator wire to give the cart enough oomph to get up the stony path to your house. As you come around that last curve, you bounce on your seat frantically to try to get the wheels to get enough traction in the slick, red mud so you don’t end up spinning your tires and getting stuck in a precarious predicament.
You thankfully reach the crest of the hill and glide effortlessly down onto your manicured lawn. Then you park the golf cart with both of its front tires against heavy rocks since there is no parking-brake and you really don’t want to chase it down the hill.
You can hear the dogs barking inside.
You fumble for your keys in the rain, trying not to get your clothes too dirty with the red clay you now have on your hands. As you turn the key in the lock, both dogs come shooting out past you and then stop in their tracks like they forgot who they were so excited to see. They realize their error, turn around, and jump all over you.
You walk into the high-ceilinged living room that smells like wood and has a cool breeze blowing through the glassless-screen-in only windows and you throw your heavy load on the tile counter-top in the kitchen. Then you strip down to nothing and go find some dry clothes. Ah… Relief.
The rain is pounding on the roof. The dogs are settled back in their favorite spots, and you sit on the wicker couch, put up your feet, and turn on the TV that blabbers on at you in comforting Spanish that you barely understand. Fifteen minutes go by while you catch your breath.
Then you drag yourself into the kitchen where you look out over the jungle and into the backyard. A flooded stream rushes by. You can hear the parrots squawking in the trees. The rain must be almost over.
You pull salmon, mangoes, and blue cheese out of the grocery bags along with a fresh jar of coconut oil and a few green onions. You boil some rice and gently cook the salmon in coconut oil and onions. Then you peel a mango, heat it in the yummy stuff in the bottom of the fish-pan, pour it out onto the fish, and top the whole thing with blue cheese.
After licking your fingers when you’ve finished your meal, you wash the dishes by hand, careful with the water even though you know the tanks must be full from the day’s rain. The down-pour slows to a pitter-patter as the sun sets out over the water and you light incense and put it in all the corners of the room as the bugs begin to squash themselves through the screens. You turn on one low light and try to read a book for a bit, but the beetles that are attracted by the light buzz your head like fighter jets. So, you shut off the light and retire early. A big, lazy fan creates a cool breeze in your room as you slip under a light cotton blanket and you drift off the sleep listening to the crickets and the drip of left-over rain.
It’s all about the mix isn’t it? The struggle and the work and the peace and the beauty. The knowing that if you forgot something at the store it will have to wait days until you are ready to brave the waves again and the clean smell of rain-watered grass and warm sun in the morning. The beauty lies in the contrast.