There is something about taking a tropical vacation that just oozes relaxation. The sounds of waves gently crashing against the shore, white sand, fruity drinks are just a few of the staples that make a Caribbean getaway the time to let loose and have fun.

And the best thing? You only need a few things for a beach holiday: Sunblock, shorts and most important, at least for us women, a bathing suit.

It’s not about any off the rack bathing suit. It takes patience, determination and a lot of self-love to find the perfect bathing suit for the season. It’s an art form, this quest, a commitment with a stretchy piece of fabric, trusting it will hide the flabby bits that should never be seen and lifting up anything that needs…. support.  It could take days, possibly weeks to find the right bathing suit. Any woman knows this. Well, any woman that isn’t a size zero.

I on the other hand, did the complete opposite, waiting two hours before catching my boat to shop for my bikini. Maybe subconsciously I was dreading the terrifying dressing room with the unflattering  fluorescent light or maybe the challenge of searching and purchasing in less than thirty minutes was too tempting to pass up. But for one short minute before entering the store I was sure I was going to find the perfect bikini for my weekend in the British Virgin Islands and get to the marina on time.

How hard could it be? I thought to myself, ignoring all the traumatic experience I’ve had in the past in these same circumstances. I just needed to know what styles flattered my figure and search accordingly. No thin straps, nothing without underwire, no small triangle shaped tops, only bottoms with soft elastic or adjustable ties on the sides. 

After a fast raid I found one that seemed to meet all my requirements- a black top with thick straps and a lovely turquoise bottom with ties on the side. Perfect! In my hurry, I only tried the top part on since it’s the one that will determine if I’ll look like a hot tamale or an old lady. Everything seemed to fit fine so in exactly 25 minutes, I had everything I needed and was ready to start my weekend of sun and piña coladas.

Disaster struck the next day in the afternoon after making safely to Tortola, the biggest and main island of the BVIs. Two minutes before everybody decided to head for the beach, I went into my room to change. Sunblock. Check. Hat. Check. Top of the bathing suit. Check. Bottom. No. No check.

 As I began putting it on, I felt a great resistance from the fabric, like it might be a size too small. No problem I thought. I’ll just tie it a little loser. But the ties I was counting on were sewed on as  decoration. There was no way to adjust it and the result was love handles. As I looked at myself in the mirror, hoping it didn’t look as tight as it felt, I saw a very unflattering, less than desirable reflection. The hot tamale I was hoping to be was more like an overstuffed sausage in its casing. Needless to say, my self-esteem plummeted. 

            The rest of the day was spent with moments of mini panic attacks, mood swings and completely dry on the deck of the boat. 

            But I wasn’t going to let an impulse purchase ruin my weekend. The next day, I went straight to the overpriced surf shop at the marina in search of a bottom that wasn’t tighter on me than my own skin. 

            The options were few since most of the bathing suits weren’t any bigger than a handkerchief. But now I needed to face the dreadful dressing room with the few choices I had and pray to God at least one of them would fit. The problem is nothing looks right with an already bruised ego and fluorescent lights that might as well be a magnifying glass on all of your flaws and bumps. Instead of finding something, you end up staring in the mirror thinking “Is that what I really look like? I was so delusional!”

            Three tries. No purchase. I was about to walk out the store, my shoulders dropped, thinking I really had messed up my vacation. If only I had planned better, taken an extra bathing suit as a plan B, then I wouldn’t have to be dealing with image issues or contemplating swimming in my underwear.

            And then, I remembered how I had worked out, starved and looked forward to sunbathing and swimming in the ocean. I had thought about it for weeks. It had kept me going through work and diet and I wasn’t about to minimize my fun because of a judgemental dressing room.

            I went back to the rack of bathing suits, going through each one carefully and thoughtfully. I wasn’t going to dismiss anything just on how it looked on a hanger. Halfway through, I saw an itsy bitsy teeny weeny pink polka dot bikini and a little voice in my head said “That’s the one!” Earlier, I had just brushed by it. It was pink –not my favourite color- and it was more like a hipster shape than an actual bikini. 

            Try it on, the little voice said. What do you have to lose?

            My dignity?

            You’re way pass that, it said. Try it on!

            I went back to that hateful dressing room (which by the way, had a four by four wooden door; everybody could see my legs and whatever I took off) and with closed eyes and berated breath, I put the bottom on. And to my delight, it wasn’t too tight at all. In fact, it was quite slimming! 

            Suddenly I felt my confidence building up as I twirled around to inspect every angle. This was it! I was so relieved to have found it, I did a little victory dance in the privacy of my dressing room. I’m sure everyone saw my feet doing little hops and circles but I didn’t care.

            It cost me forty five dollars to restore my self-esteem and salvage the weekend. But it was completely worth it. Think of it was holiday insurance. Even though I learned my lesson of preparing beforehand and having a plan B, I found out what you really need to enjoy whatever vacation you’re about to go on is a positive attitude. Don’t let any bump on the road ruin the rest. After all, it’s the mistakes we make that tell the greatest stories.

Tortola Isolation

This was meant to be posted a long long, LONG, time ago. That's why there is references to holy week and summery weather. Please ignore this procrastination error on my part. It's still a good read. Enjoy!

            There is only one tiny problem with traveling on Holy Week and being catholic. Full on catholic guilt.  You do your best to ignore it, try desperately to convince yourself that God would probably want you to enjoy yourself and relax. But you can’t keep the guilt away for too long. She’s sneaky and determined and will constantly remind you you shouldn’t be here. You should be at home praying, going to church and eating fish for the next three days.

Instead what are you doing? You’re on the beach, getting a tan, drinking refreshing frozen beverages and sinking your teeth on smoked barbecued meat. Oh yeah. You’re guilt is on full throttle by now. 

However, there are ways to balance the pure bliss that’s feeding your guilt with some sacrifices that will subside it. So on Holy Friday, the most sober and saddest day of Holy week, the crew decided not to sail to any of the neighbour Islands and stay put in Nanny Cay, the marina slash hotel we were staying at every night.

It wasn’t a stretch of a sacrifice –pool, lovely beach and little shops to visit included- but guilt would just have to settle down and accept it.

We quickly found out most things were closed –because it’s Holy Friday- and the bar wasn’t serving alcohol. At first, it was a bummer. All the things you look forward in vacation were off limits for a whole day. It kind of feels like someone fast forward a whole day of your precious vacation time. Damn that guilt! 

But as it turns out, doing nothing for a whole day became a blessing for me. With no busy agenda to fill with fun visits or loud music, I was able to just be for myself which I realized I hadn’t done for a long time. As I sat down on a wooden bench placed in the middle of a secluded patio adorned with almond trees, the feeling of loneliness started creeping to the surface. 

Immediately I was alarmed. We are told loneliness is an ugly feeling, a gateway to sadness or a hole inside of us we need to fill and that is exactly how my body reacted. As soon as it detected the loneliness, I felt a strong need to get up and do something, busy myself with any trivial task, scream if necessary to cut through that invasion of silence.

As strong as the instinct was to burst out into action, I didn’t. I decided to still on that bench, my fingers curling tightly around the wooden edge, and let the loneliness simmer inside me. After the initial panic to dissolved, it was easy to see the loneliness was no threat to me. It didn’t mean I was empty or my life was lacking great meaning. It was just a call from inside to myself. “Hey remember me? We haven’t spent much time alone for a while. How about that?”

The message was so clear under this bright sun and quiet green surroundings, I laughed softly to myself. I had been so busy for the past few weeks planning my future and constantly figuring out my plans, I had forgotten to just stop for a minute and spend time with myself. Without the noise and the automatic need to something, I was now able to talk to myself. 

I spent the rest of the day doing just that as I walked a few laps around the quaint marina. I strolled around the brightly painted paintings that seemed to have taking tips from the color blocking trend that was happening at the moment. I sat down on the soft grass of a small rustic garden where I could hear the faint crash of waves and the birds chirping from the trees. I must have looked insane. Heck, even the chickens that roamed the area were a bit confused by my presence. But I didn’t care. I sat down and wrote in my notebook, thoughts, ideas, any feeling I had been ignoring recently. I let myself relax so everything that had been tied down could float to the surface. It’s funny. We are so afraid of what’s going inside us, we postpone looking into it in case we don’t like what we see, in case we have left it too long and don’t like how deteriorated it’s become. But once you do, you realize it’s not as bad as you think and there is a certain freedom that comes from sorting it all out.

When the sun became too much to bear, I continued to walk along the docks, admiring all the boats, the different shapes and names that were given to them. The Revenge. Lucy. Couples Therapy. Let it be. Some were small and run downed, like they have had long term relationship with the sea and were still going strong. Some were shiny and gigantic, bigger and more expensive than any house ever could be. Yet everyone came here with different budgets and countries, to find that quiet time we all need. 

The more I spent time alone, the more I cherished it and realized it’s just as important as catching up with your family or friends. By sunset, I was so into it I didn’t want to be interrupted with anything.

 I had a not so small ice cream cone –erm, two really- as I sat on the docks swinging my legs like a child would. The row of boats led your eyes to the Tortolan green mountains freckled with colorful houses that made you truly contemplate starting a life here, opening up a smoothie shop and just live the life of a permanent vacationer. Taking another unladlylike spoonful of mango sherbet and risking a brain freeze, I made a mental note to do this more often. Just be by myself.

Maybe if guilt hadn’t been loud and obnoxious, I wouldn’t have gotten this precious time. Maybe I would have been too busy looking for ways to be busy. But this time, I was grateful guilt had its way (just this time). And as I was grateful for small dosis of guilt, I was grateful for everything else- the incredibly hot day, the sweet and tangy ice cream that counterbalanced the heat, the postcard perfect surroundings, the salty air and the calming ocean. But more than anything, I was grateful I was able to stop in my tracks and really look at it. 

I had a sudden urge to go running to the boat and find my camera to capture this moment forever, to be able to see it again and again in a frozen picture. But the ice cream was too good to ruin with rushing, and so was the view.

Leaping into Vacation

I happen to live in a vacation spot. People come here from all over the world to visit our beautiful beaches and get into the relaxing island vibe that says “I am on holiday.” But as lovely as it is, us islanders need to take a vacation from our vacation land every now and then.

            So what do we do? We take a weekend trip to our neighbors at sea: The Virgin Islands. Only 100 miles and a 90 dollar plane ticket away from where I live, these islands are the perfect escape when life gets a bit overwhelming.

            Yet, as budget friendly and tempting it is to spend the weekend on white sanded beaches with a tropical drink in hand, I can’t seem to just say yes without first coming up with a string of excuses.

            I don’t have time off from work. I am saving money for other things. My body is so not ready for swim suit season, much less bikini season. I have no one to leave my dogs with. I need to visit relatives. The list can be endless.

            It’s almost as if I need to feel bad first by listing all the responsibilities I have before I can indulge in a stress free weekend. Maybe it’s because I haven't paid enough dues that call for a needed holiday like most people do and I’m afraid they’ll say “She’s going on vacation? What for?” Maybe it’s because I just waste too much of my time worrying about what people think, but I can’t seem to commit to my holiday unless someone else convinces me I deserve it.

            Why is that? Why must we feel like we need to work incredibly hard so we can earn a proper time out from everything we deal with? Why is thinking only about you for a few days an immediate guilt trip?

            As the list of excuses reached the 20th item, I knew I had to just shake myself and say “What are you doing? Stop making yourself feel bad for doing what you want!” And really, when a friend says they want you to come on a four day boat trip with them to the colorful British Islands… you just say yes.

            And I crushed my excuse list into a ball, threw it out and headed for the Islands.