Flying over the sapphire-colored waters surrounding this island, you are captivated by the lush growth and palm trees that line the shore, only yards from the white-sand beaches. As the plane descends and skims across the water, it gently and slowly comes to a stop a hundred yards or so from those beaches. You exit the plane and walk, in waist-deep water, first to the beach and then to your bungalow waiting at the edge of the tree line. Your bag is slung over your shoulder and carries every essential you could want for your stay here. Your toiletries, a few shirts, a few pair of shorts, your flip-flops....which might get 'blown out' along the way. There are a total of six bungalows on this particular beach with a central, seventh hut that serves as the purveyor of fine alcoholic refreshment. After settling into your bungalow, tossing your bag on the bed, and placing necessary toiletries in the bath, you realize there are no doors. the front of the place is open to the 'porch' - several boards lined horizontally that are wide enough to hold a rocking chair where you can sit and listen to the waves gently lapping at the edge of the beach every hour of every day. There are no cell towers here. Your cell phone and Blackberry have been 'searching' for a signal for over an hour. Kick off your flip-flops, open your shirt (ladies, too, if you feel so inclined), and walk down the two front steps of your porch to feel the fine-particled sand under your feet as it slips gently between your toes with the pressure of each step. That's it - head toward the bar and that frozen concoction you've been craving since leaving the states.
As you pass the edge of your hut, look left. Do you see it? Your very own oversized hammock strung between two large palm trees begging you to lie down, drink in hand, and rest for a few hours. As you reach the bar, the dark-skinned bartender greets you with a smile and extends his hand that has your long-anticipated margarita resting in it. The warm breezes graze your skin and you can almost feel the tension being released from within. The drink is cold and has the perfect amount of alcohol and sweetness blended into a frozen, slushy drink. You take a long draw on the straw and....brain freeze! it passes quickly, though as you walk back toward your hammock. Climb in and feel it cradle you as the breeze continues to blow, the palms gently swaying to the music you didn't even realize was playing on the bar's hidden speakers. This is paradise.
When you wake a few hours later, you are still lying in the hammock with half your frozen drink splattered across your chest and shirt. Slob. No worries, though - there's no one around to judge you. Take the shirt off as you climb out of that netting and toss it over the railing of your porch as you walk to the water. The temperature is warm, slightly below that of a warm bath. You look down into the crystal blue waters splashing at your knees and see your toes wiggling in the sand as the water is so clear. Knowing you have a few more days of this pleasure, you head back to the bungalow and your bag. I forgot to mention, in mine at least, I have a nice bottle of Captain Morgan's Dark Spiced Rum waiting to be emptied. The captain and I take a stroll back to the water's edge where we drop to the sand and sit watching out over the ocean. A few lights of passing ships are beginning to flicker in the distance and I take another drink. This is how I could live...at least until the hangover sets in. Nasty. Now I remember why it's a bad idea. Yeah, slipping away to here every now and again...especially after a horrendous week....is a definite necessity. Go ahead....try it. You know you've been there, too.....
Until next time.....
Nice! Sounds like a place in Belize I am dying to go visit one day! Good job Dave!
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