how sweet it is...

Do you remember that day that stands out ‘cause it’s just a little sweeter? Like the day on Anegada. That begins with a leisurely two hour sail from Virgin Gorda. The flatness of the island making it visible only when we are practically on top of it. And when we step onto the dock there are tanks brimming with spiny lobster. Close by stands a large wooden chopping block and a local man disjoining heads. A grill sits on the beach, shaded by palapas, and boasts several large specimens, dripping butter and filling the air with the scent of grilled lobster.

We get a lift in the back of a pickup truck that has been converted to an open-air taxi and make our way to a beach on the northwest side of the island. Cow Wreck Beach—a rather unfortunate name for an unbelievably beautiful spot. The sand is white and fine. Soft powdered coral—a gift from the sea. The Caribbean is the color of blue raspberry sorbet. A cartoonish hue that convinces you a piña colada is in order. The bar is a rustic wooden structure, painted canary yellow, with no walls and a sand floor. The walkway is lined with giant conch shells—their soft, pink curves exposed to the blazing sun. We order a round of drinks from the waitress, Belle. Her dark skin, fuchsia dress and bright smile feel like sunshine. I am melted by her sing-songy voice and the endearing way she says “here yo go darlin” when she delivers my coconut slurpee with rum and nutmeg.

We sit in candy colored Adirondack chairs in the sugar soft sand and sip our cup of deliciousness. Lulling reggae tones hum from the bar. Someone points to the sky and hollers “look at the flamingoes!” I laugh, because flamingoes seem like a punchline. But when I glance up—they are there. A flock of pink flamingoes. Flapping against the backdrop of blue sky and sea. Cotton candy pink on bubble gum blue. Is this even real life? We swim and dive the coral reef—abundant with lavender fan-coral, sea turtles and rainbow colored tropical fish. We sunbathe and walk the shoreline—collecting sea shells and delicate fragments of coral. We nap in the warmth of the Caribbean sun. By late afternoon we are starving and the aroma of the restaurant grill lures us back. We feast on conch fritters and lobster. Maybe it’s the melted butter. Maybe it’s the soft, sweet flesh of these epicurean delights, but whatever it is; I begin fantasizing about selling my home, my business, and all of my possessions. Certain that I will be happy living out the rest of my days on this heavenly shore.

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