Great news. We’ve given up hope on Hopetown, that warm village (with the cold swimming water) on Elbow Cay, Bahamas. There’s liberation in moving on, even if we know not where to.
Dominica, with its unfinished lovely house, has also come and gone, like so many Sundays. There’s something intimidating about a BreakAway where the most inviting villages are a 90-minute ride on bad roads from the main town. I’m like, maybe it’s not okay if it’s that hard to get an occasional New York Times or rub shoulders with a crowd of strangers. It just wasn’t coming together. Wasn’t meant to be.
So what about Grenada? How did that show up? The way that many of life’s mysteries get solved: Mere happenstance.
Picture this. I’m purging some files from a crowded drawer—to make room for new piles and files. One marked “Travel” gets rudely tossed in the garbage. I’m trying to hurry, but a little hunch says, “Open that up.”
So I do. I thumb through it. From way back in 1996, there’s an article I clipped from a local Sunday paper about Grenada. The picture under the headline all but transported me there.
That’s a feeling I’ve been waiting for.
Since, some quick research has brought forth a wide array of seductive options. The words “friendly, proud, warm” have described the people over and over. Some quick air connection probing has found connections surprisingly “easy” and inexpensive.
Maybe you were right, Ronnie. It’s time to invade Grenada! The obstacle course between here and there keeps growing and jolting. But at least there’s a distant destination to run toward. Now if we can only navigate the turbulent waters and get there in one piece…