An Island Adventure

There are are several things to remember when traveling to what are generally considered less civilized parts of the world.

One of those things is how difficult it can be to get to somewhere uncivilized. Take the family vacation that we booked several months ago when COVID was in full retreat and we naively assumed people couldn’t possible be so selfish and stupid as to not get a simple shot to further contain the pandemic.

So the five of us took a two-hour car ride to get to the airport, where we waited for another two hours because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you fly. After a three-hour flight, we took a short taxi ride to the ferry dock, where we waited for another three hours (this time in a bar) to board the ferry, which then sat for another 45 minutes before departing for a one-hour trip to finally allow us to disembark to the end of a very long line to have swabs stuck up our noses despite having had that done three days before and then waiting in another lengthy line for a surly customs officer to stamp our passports so we could catch another taxi to another port on the island to catch a water taxi to our final destination.

All this took 16 hours, so when we arrived at our tiny island paradise, it was past 9 at night and the restaurants were all closed. Except one, which graciously agreed to feed five hungry travelers no matter how late it was. (Many thanks, Ali Baba.)

By this time we knew we had passed the boundaries of civilization because, after all, what businesslike establishment in, say, America would do this?

Another thing to remember is that island people are different. They move at a different pace, a different rhythm: the famed island time. They’re not in a hurry, so you need to adjust your pace and slow way down. The people are friendly and appreciative. They’ll stop and chat. When they say to have a nice day, somehow you know they really mean it.

And it took a while, but we finally figured out that when the few other cars on the island blew their horns they didn’t mean “get the #$*& out of my way!” they meant “hello!”

And the food. Not a fast-food restaurant in sight. No frozen stuff, either. If you wanted fish in the restaurants, you might have to wait while they cleaned and filleted them. If you wanted local lobster, you had to order it earlier in the day so they could go catch one. Plenty of places didn’t even require shoes, so you sat there with your toes in the sand. And unlike most of the beaches I’ve been to, they actually had bars and restaurants right on the beach, and they didn’t care if you walked around on the beach drinking local libations.

That kind of thing is just not done on more sophisticated beaches such as those in North Carolina where you’re not even supposed to have a beer in a cooler and are supposed to drink, I don’t know, iced tea or something while you watch your skin turn red and wonder why you didn’t bring anything more to eat like a sandwich or something.

We even had a guy come by every morning in a boat, pull it up on the beach in front of our house, and sell us freshly made empanadas. Who does that? (They were quite tasty, by the way.)

Naturally, the island had very few of the amenities that we have and take for granted. No huge stores so you can buy stuff you don’t really want and definitely don’t need. No storage units to rent for all the extra stuff you bought last year.

There also is no hustle, no bustle. And very few clocks were in evidence.

They do, however, have one thing in common with us: bureaucracy. It is slow, unreasonable, absurd, and irrational, just like ours. Thus, after an unforgettable week of fun and relaxation, it took us another 16 hours to get back home.

Back home, we had to remind ourselves, to civilization.