The Impromptu Island

When the bitter chill of winter swallows up New York, the annual family vacation ensues. You know the one, Christmas in a Caribbean paradise. It wasn’t out of the question for this family in particular to spend a relaxing and rejuvenating week in Belize or the Bahamas just to write it off as a one-time visit and move on to another B named island the following year. It is said, “We travel not to escape life, but so life doesn’t escape us.” Indeed, in light of experience, we travel in a continuous game of catch-up with life. We’re always hopping on the connecting flight even when it’s the third of the day or enduring the extra bus tour to Versailles, which, even in its beauty, becomes familiar by the second visit. All of this for the sole purpose of adding the experience to our repertoire of stories which we will draw out at the first inkling of a travel conversation.
 
The traditional Caribbean getaway begins: a flight to Florida, from there to Puerto Rico, then a plane, only big enough to hold the six members of the family and a pilot, jumps across the water and arrives in the British Virgin Islands. Virgin Gorda is a rolling span of soft mountains, representing its name to perfection. The clear aqua water makes the muddy, polluted Atlantic found in New York only a distant memory for these travelers. As they stare adoringly at the sea, the family disembarks and proceeds to the conventional one-room “airport” awaiting them. Customs and security are quick and soon two parents and four siblings are huddled in a rented van. First stop, as with any trip, is the island’s grocery store. This one is situated on the marina where huge, busy cruise ships and simple white sailboats alike are docked, waiting for their vacationers and owners to climb back on and set out again as a speck on the open sea.
 
It is an odd feeling, to stand in the beaming sun on a day that you know to be winter back home. The heat seems warmer on a bare shoulder than usual and the sky is bluer in comparison. The interesting aspect of a vacation is that the vacationer is so far removed from the reality they have grown accustomed to. This makes the new location appear idyllic, even heavenly, in the simple fact that it is detached from all things common. The blissful atmosphere does not extend itself to the grocery store. Upon entering, the overwhelming smell of fish clings to each person as they wade through its invisible permeation to get to the milk and bread, family staples. All items are double the price as compared to America, which should be expected due to the seclusion of the island from any food supplier. The family gathers their items, the three sons holding bulky bags containing a week’s worth of food, the parents directing and lugging bags as well, and the daughter walking along with no bags to burden her, forever the princess of the family.
 
As they load the van, imagining the days ahead of luxurious relaxation and great food, the family tiredly decides to head to the welcoming beach where their charming rental house is located. Forgetting that they are in British territory the law is to drive on the left side of the road, the father proceeds to cause a traffic jam in the parking lot. Not only is another van involved, but also an island “taxi”: an open-backed pickup truck with cushy benches for seats and a carnival tent for a roof. Luckily for the foreigners, all of the drivers involved laugh casually at the situation and carefully maneuver their cars into their respective sides of the road once again. This entire scene, however, proved to be futile.
 
The music starts softly, faintly, almost imperceptible to those in the vicinity. The family believes it to be wafting into their van through an open window of a close by car. As far as they can see ahead, all of the cars in the parking lot are back up at the entrance, which opens out to the main road of the island, a dirt road. The street itself is bare save for a few natives who seemed to hold some sort of superiority in that they were allowed to be there. Typical chatter arises in the family van, as it would while waiting in traffic any other time, but ceases instantly as a small child in a Santa Clause hat stomps down the road, the music increasing in volume, drums beating more heavily with every step he takes. And he dances down the road, a sole performer with no apparent stage freight, while the music blares. Traditional Christmas favorites recognized by all but with a reggae twist, the tunes are unexpected but likeable. Two more little Santa-clad children followed the first, then four, then too many to count, too many to consider that this isn’t something significant. All of a sudden, the crowd of irritated drivers stuck in the parking lot transforms into a crowd of appreciative spectators to the sporadic island show. Any natives around instinctively join in with their celebrating neighbors and the island becomes alive with dancing, singing and Christmas festivities. Timidly, the family inches towards the sound of the cheering audience that engulfs the performance. As they reach the threshold of the music the daughter’s hand is clutched by a tiny one and she is pulled into the sea of natives. Her pallid skin makes clear her presence in the collection of exotic, dark faces. The young girl stands for a moment, suspended in the overpowering aura of the parade; she is a part of this strange festivity now and it would remain a part of her.
 
Without a tangible transition, the entire family surrounds her, dancing and clapping and singing with the wrong beats to the holiday music that seems to be emanating from the island itself. The brothers emulate children half their size in the Caribbean dances and in the exhilaration of the instant all were one. Life is captured as the family members lock eyes in loving enjoyment. Indivisible are travelers from residents when the street becomes a vessel of fusion for those fortunate enough to happen upon it. 



Interview with the author:
Q: What was your inspiration for this travel story?
A: I pieced together a family vacation I had as a teenager while keeping in mind certain conventions about family travel. My family and I visited Virgin Gorda twice during Christmas and the second time we were there, we experienced this impromptu parade of native children on Christmas Eve. Not only was the celebration unexpected and welcomed by my family, but we also walked several blocks with the natives in the parade and joined in on the dancing. I traveled a lot with my family growing up but never had I had such an authentic experience as this. Even in the same trip to the British Virgin Islands, we went to see the tourist attractions such as the ruins and certain beaches or restaurants but somehow this event stood out as more genuine. I felt like I had stumbled upon a secret ritual and was lucky enough not to be excluded even though I was very clearly a foreigner. The welcoming nature of the island and the innocence of the happy children who sang and danced through the streets made my visit extremely unique.
 
Q: You mention a quote at the start of the piece: “We travel not to escape life, but so life doesn’t escape us.” How does this apply to the entirety of your story?
A: Travel is critical for a full understanding of the world, life and what you want to get out of it. Therefore, we travel to gain experiences and gain knowledge of new places and to refuse to let life pass us by. There exists the idea that when people travel, they are running away from something or someone in their life at home. Although this may be true in some cases, traveling with good intentions means opening oneself to new culture and ideas and this leads to a more satisfied and rewarding life. The idea of escape is evident in many travel novels, such as Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises and Guo Xiaolu’s A Concise Chinese-American Dictionary for Lovers. Both of these, being two of my favorite books that I have read recently, expose the idea that a character is attempting to get away in order to create a new lifestyle. In my piece, I chose to write about the opposite: finding oneself in the experience of a new place.
 
Q: Why did you choose to write in the present tense?
A: I felt that by relaying the story in this way, the reader could feel more immersed in the moment. I wanted the reader to feel as though they themselves happened upon an island parade. It was difficult to stop myself from writing in the past tense because it is more natural but the present tense makes the story seem more current and less of a remembered occurrence. Also, I refrained from using names as to make the family seem universal. I chose to allow the family to remain nameless in order for the reader to have the ability to superimpose themselves into the characters’ places.
 



(My own picture above)