The man stood at the side of the car gesturing wildly and frantically speaking the local patois. It was only as we got closer to the taxi, our bags waiting at the back of the van, that I could see the man yelling at a sweet-faced little girl on the inside. She had locked the doors – locking herself in and us out. I grinned with glee. It was a perfect way to end a trip that was truly one of a kind.
With the wind and waves comes trash. Tom and I thought we would use our time on the kayak as a floating recycling bin, tooling around the bay scooping up bottles, styrofoam and the odd spray can. We could see our house from the bay, and better yet, our friends could see us. But they were barely interested, enjoying the afternoon by the pool, or so we assumed. After collecting a full boat of trash, we began paddling towards our house. We learned later that one of our party said, “Well, that’s ill-advised.”
I once took a long walk off of a short pier as a toddler. The story I’m told is that in the split second my parents put me down on the ground my diaper-swaddled self raced toward the green Gulf waters. I’ve been doing that ever since, minus the diapers.