Flamenco Beach: When Life Gives you Mud

Flamenco Beach, consistently ranked as one of the “Best World Beaches”, is known for its white sugar sand, aquamarine water, and lush tropical vegetation. We sail into the crystal harbor at Playa Tamarindo on the Island of Culebra—seventeen miles off the “big island” of Puerto Rico— and pick up a mooring ball. The blanched sand is clearly visible through alternating shades of deep blue. The air is tropical and balmy and the breeze is warm. The sun beats down with Caribbean intensity; and we jump off the stern, eager to greet the coolness of the sea. Back packs are assembled with water bottles, cameras and bug spray. Five large inflatable kayaks are launched off the swim step into the water. Paddling to shore we spot giant sea turtles gliding through the sea grass.

A couple of tanned, naked, leathery bodies adorn the beach. The only other humans in site. Kayaks are tied to a palm jutting above the tide line; and we proceed to a trail that crosses the island through Culebra National Reserve. Just feet from the sea, the jungle welcomes us with a thick loamy scent and a blanket of mosquitos. They descend on us with zeal. Within seconds, enormous red welts emerge on our sweat glossed skin. Indeed—this seems the antithesis of “paradise.” Frantically we dig through backpacks and fervently spray toxic, foul smelling repellant over every inch of our bodies. Dissuaded from their buffet, the predators retreat—a bit. I pray that one of the fifteen swollen bumps on my personage has not been infected with the Zika virus. This venture is my idea, and my group eyes me leerily. I assure them that the grandeur of Flamenco Beach will justify this minor affliction—and hope that I am right. I know that the path to the north side of the island is about a mile, but what I don’t know, is that we must ascend a mountain to get there. My group is good natured, and determined not to let these obstacles dampen their holiday. They embrace that this is going to be a hot, sweaty climb. So with bug spray and sun block dripping in our eyes we proceed up the craggy path. Paradise comes with a price. And we witness that price on the jungle mountain. In the Caribbean, the skies can turn from blue to black in minutes. You literally watch a cloak of darkness sweep over the sun and the sky and transform the golds and blues to grays and charcoals. You can see the rain as it falls even miles away from you, because of the intensity. And in an instant we are drenched. The torrential downpour eases the heat and chases the mosquitos. The force of the rain is so great that it is hard to see or to hike. We trek onward and our trail becomes a fast-flowing river. Shoes stick in the thick mud.

We laugh at Mother Nature’s splendor and callous humor. More than once, we lose footing and fall into the current. But on we proceed, muddied limbs and broken pride. As we descend—we glimpse it. The renowned Flamenco Beach. And even under the dreary gray that shrouds the sky, the water is an unimaginable blue. The forceful rain has driven away the usual crowds of beach-goers and we alight upon an abandoned paradisiacal set. We sink our feet into the snow soft sand. It really is too good to be true—a photo-shopped picture. Wet clothes and bags are ditched on the beach and all head to the beckoning ocean. It is the clearest water and whitest sand I have ever seen. The usually refreshing sea feels warm in contrast to the cool, relentless rain. We are characters in a movie. Our own world. Swimming in crystal blue water, surrounded by alabaster beaches and verdant jungle hillsides. We play in the water and rain like kids. We laugh. And there is nothing. But the rain, and the sea, and the blue, and our friendship. This is happy. This is life.

Eventually we pull out the dive gear and venture out to the reef. The visibility and abundant sea life is spectacular. Rays, urchins, anemone, and sea turtles. Coral reef of purple, orange and pink. A rainbow assortment of tropical fish besiege us. A realm curiously undisturbed by the storm above. The underwater sounds are eerily enchanting and hypnotic. We are floating— weightless. Time and space fade away. I am in a parallel universe—juxtaposed to the plane of emails and QuickBooks and errands and flowcharts that I usually inhabit. The rain ceases as abruptly as it began. Puzzle pieces of blue begin to emerge overhead. The people return. The food trucks unshutter their windows. Latin music blares. Colorful chickens and roosters entreat the wet earth for grubs. We lie in the downy sand and dry. I certainly would not have chosen to spend my day in Culebra, on one of the “Best World Beaches”, in a torrential downpour. Victor Frankl said, we cannot always choose what happens to us—but we can choose how we will respond. Sometimes life gives you mosquitos and mud and battering rain. And you choose to find the joy and beauty—in spite of—and maybe even because of them. Life is wise.

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