Antigua - Part I

Ya Mon! Comin’ at ya from Antee-ga.
And all that other Caribbean talk.
It’s been an odd mixture of experiences that surprisingly leaves a delightful taste in the mouth. A lot like the chicken, curry stew that fills the road-side, flatbread wrapped rotti. (Did I really eat that? – Yikes I’m brave.)
Not that I expected my first time in the Caribbean to be distasteful. And it definitely lived up to my grand expectations for white sand, blue water, tasty food and island hospitality. I anxiously prepared for this business trip – the innocent anxiety that drenches a six year old as Christmas approaches. Admittedly I took pleasure in describing my business travel woes to those who asked. “Yeah, they’re making me travel most of next week. Where? Oh…Antigua.” Rough, huh?
The pleasure of arriving in the tropics could not have been more poignant given the dramatic change in temperature. A frigid New York winter gave way to the balmy 80 degree weather. And I was in desperate need of a tan.

I had most of that day to myself, and took to settling into the environment. After leaving the airport – disproportionately filled with Brits – and a ride in the small van turned taxi, I entered Antigua Village – nestled in the small Dickenson Bay. You couldn’t find a better setting. The condo village sits right on the ocean, a thin strip of white sand carved between the lush gardens and the sparkling water. I immediately took to the beach, and had to walk the whole length (not a great distance – but enough to work up the need to swim).

The resort sits right next to the famed Sandals resort – this the couples only site. Now don’t be fooled by the couples only – not as ‘adult’ as it sounds. A good deal of older folks, wrinkly, balding or in need of substantial support. But the resort experience does look enticing – five gourmet restaurants, personal villas, sailing, etc. etc. All this I walked by, just drinking in the views. (And no I’m not talking about the views of the ladies sunbathing European style – can’t have lines can we?)
But don’t worry, leave it to me to create problems in paradise. Stationing my sandals briefly outside of the apartment led to their disappearance in record time. And of course I lost my safety deposit key – requiring a late night visit from a woman with a replacement key and open palm (twenty bucks!!) (Special note: this is not to serve as fodder for my wife and her goal in telling me I’ve become absent minded – so keep it to yourself Amy!)

A relaxing day highlighted by moments of tropical beach ecstasy; the surf running over my feet, the warm swim, napping in the sun and watching an orange sunset. And horribly difficult to enjoy by myself. I don’t know if it’s my altruistic nature, my undying love for my wife, feelings of growing guilt – or loneliness stemming from the couples, hand-in-hand, walking by in swimtrunks and bikinis, but something felt slightly hollow in the experience. If only Amy and the girls were here. Or just Amy – I’m not picky (Note #2: Amy hun, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t picky when it came to you…I’m clearly lucky to have landed you – cue fluttering eyelashes.)

And the night was the bitter sweet evening of trying to enjoy the experience and wanting to write an instant “wish you were here” card. In classic island cliché, I barely made it under the tin, palm frond roof of the beach restaurant when the 15 minute torrential rain started. And then I sat to a delicious meal of mahi-mahi pan seared with Caribbean spices, mango sauce and steamed veggies. All ended with a breeze kissed sleep – which I unfortunately started later than I should having suffered through a horror flick. But all ready to the most interesting travel experience ever. Or at least in the Caribbean.