Yes, we just returned from a "real" vacation -- fleeing the NYC January tundra, we spent five nights on the Caribbean. Sun, sand, and surf; the luxury of opening a door to the outside and feeling enveloped by warmth. 84 happy degrees Farenheit. Sky and sea; a miracle of turquoise.
I was grateful to be visiting a place on our earth where the intensity of the sun and enormity of the ocean and seemingly infinite blue sky coexisted in harmonious balance. But, even in our tropical idyll, my mind wandered to the "what if" scenario. We were in the same general region as Haiti, and on an island that was itself devastated by Hurricane Ivan not many years ago; powerful reminders of the undeniable vulnerability of what seems like endless paradise.
I wondered about local agriculture. Tap water, mango, homemade conch fritters, red snapper and coconut milk straight from a freshly fallen coconut (procured by Lisa and Ryan, our new beach buddies) were our locally gleaned edibles. Everything else, it seemed, was boated or flown in from Florida (or further). Hmmm. I indulged in pineapple slices and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Mmmm.
And, in between naps and walks on the beach, like everyone else at the hotel, I read. Books. (FYI: a number of Kindles were spotted both ocean and poolside.) And one book, in particular, garnered my attention -- "The End of Nature" by Bill McKibben. An unsettling essay on the consequences of global warming he wrote originally in 1989. An odd choice perhaps for vacation reading but amazingly appropriate to my current state of mind. A lucid reminder that in this place of seemingly infinite beauty, I'm not just a tourist, but also a caretaker.
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