Monthly Archives: April 2016

friendly but possibly fake

IMG_8582I moved to Aruba to learn about other cultures, so it’s odd to me that I’ve learned more about my own culture since leaving it all behind. I often find myself identifying in a strange and unexpected way with my American status. Where are you from is the first question people typically ask here. Telling people I am American is a weird thing to have to explain all the time because it’s not really anything I ever said much before. Most of the time I just introduce myself as Texan.

I’ve discovered that there are very few Americans actually living in Aruba. There are, however, plenty of American tourists who flock here, week after week. I see them all over the place. They disembark from a huge bus in a giant mob on these crazy kukoo kunuku tours that go all over the island. They randomly stop to go have a drink during happy hour at a local bar or feed the donkeys for 15 minutes at the Donkey Sanctuary. Then they zoom off to the next location. It’s a bit of jolt when they arrive because they basically travel in an inebriated mass, and you are forced to confront your own culture as a drunk crowd that could easily fill one side of a small stadium, making every stereotype about Americans seem overly exaggerated. Inevitably, my friends and I always laugh and strike up conversations about how others view Americans when we see the bus. Here are a few things I have learned about what others think of Americans, not only from these conversations but also living as an alien in another culture and country.

1. Americans are loud mouths– I had read before moving overseas about the obnoxious American tourist, but nothing prepares you for routine encounters with this particular breed through the lens of living life in another country. Whether it is waiting in line for 3 hours through customs at the airport or pushing my cart down the grocery store aisle, there is no denying the fact that Americans are extremely loud. For the longest time, I would just put my head in my hands, completely mortified while dining out with friends as we listened to Americans destroy the ambiance with their boisterous conversation a few tables over. Nowadays, after going months without any kind of live connection to my land and people, I find myself wanting to talk to these tourists when I see them. I think to myself: there are my people and wouldn’t it be nice to say helloThen I realize after sitting next to them for a while—why bother? I’ve already heard amplified answers to anything I may have wanted to know as they hoot, howl, and holler clear across the room, broadcasting every detail of their life story to everyone around them.

2. We are friendly, but also possibly fake – This is the one I hear the most. It’s a difficult one for me to understand. I am an animated version of this stereotype since I hail from the friendly state of Texas. I am told again and again that Americans are overly polite and welcoming. We are complimented often by people from all over for this trait. Mostly, it is a good thing, but people also explain to me that there is a specific American cadence in our tone and an overuse of positive adjectives that leave other cultures suspicious of our motives. I’m told people from other countries detect an upward inflection at the end of our words and sentences. That and the actual English words we choose to use are also somewhat suspect, words like great and awesome. Is everything really that great and awesome? Aren’t some things just good or maybe only alright? People, mostly Europeans, describe this, especially with first encounters. It is seen as being a bit superficial as if we aren’t really honest about what is happening inside, maybe kind of like we are always smiling for the camera. Like is another word we overuse. I’ve used it twice in the last several sentences.

3. We are poorly traveled – I can trace my family history back to every major epoch in American history.  The Lewis name is derived from Welsh ancestors who arrived in the mid 17th century. My father’s great-grandfather married a woman whose family can be traced back to some of the first settlers at Jamestown. My great great great grandfather was orphaned after losing his Cherokee parents on the Trail of Tears. Then there were the French Huguenots on my mother’s side who fled Normandy and moved to North Carolina at the turn of the 18th century. My maternal grandmother’s Czech ancestors came with the late 19th-century wave of Eastern European immigrants; they arrived penniless and built a fortune in ironworks. These are compelling, epic stories of brave men and women leaving everything they knew behind to take the journey of a lifetime, some voluntarily and others with no other choice.

But it seems that our ancestors were the first and last adventure seekers and trailblazers; their descendants are far too comfortable living out sedentary lives within America’s borders, or even only in one American state. Maybe it is the cost of travel, or, perhaps, it’s the sheer size of the nation and expanse of the land from sea to sea. Maybe Americans simply think the best places to visit are all in the United States. Who knows? If we lived in a smaller country, maybe we would be more likely to cross international boundaries. Whatever the reason, most people believe Americans do not travel enough. They believe Americans do not really know or want to learn about the rest of the world.

4. English is our only language – This one is obvious once you leave the United States. Everyone I meet in Aruba speaks several languages. I routinely receive language instruction from the gas station attendant where I fill up the tank in my Hyundai. Every week I throw out a new word and he can give me the translation in Spanish, Papiamento, and Dutch. I meet people like him all around this place. I’m waiting in line at the grocery store to check out and the cashier speaks to the family in front of me in Dutch, then she greets me in English, and I listen while bagging my groceries as she talks to the couple behind me in Papiamento.

As Americans, we aren’t really forced to learn another language because so many people speak English. There is something rather sad and limiting about only experiencing the world through one language. There is so much joy to be felt when discovering a new word for something you have no translation for in your native tongue. Words work a little bit like magic that way. I may never master French, which was the first language I ever studied. But at least I know I can buy a train ticket in Italy and talk my way through a mordida when driving across the country of Mexico.

One important thing I can do abroad is to continue to study and practice using another language every day, mostly because It is a way of building connections and showing love and respect for other cultures.

5. We sleep with a gun under our pillow – Here is another stereotype I have to contend with all the times as a Texan. I’ve never owned a gun, nor do I ever want to own a gun. Actually, I’ve never felt safer than I have these last 9 months living in Aruba even though there is a makeshift outdoor bar around the corner from my front porch where men from all over the neighborhood start drinking every day at 2pm. They’ve furnished the place with a couple of chairs, a sofa, a pull-a-part car, and a wrecked boat, littering the ground all around are countless bottles of beer and rum. During the evenings my neighbor across the way routinely gesticulates up at the night sky and screams at the canopy of stars above. Do I feel my life is in danger? Should I worry about my safety?

No, not at all, I sleep easier at night knowing my chances of getting shot tomorrow have significantly decreased since leaving my country. Close friends at home have been held up at gunpoint. My family members have been shot while walking to their car after dinner out on the town. They were all lucky to make it out alive. As far as I am concerned, the gun violence at home is rampant and evident even from where I sit perched on this rock far away. Recently, I was the only American in a jam-packed room waiting to pay my electric bill at Elmar while CNN covered another mass shooting in the United States. I looked around the room at all the Aruban faces watching the screen and thought to myself: People around the world must think we are nuts.

6. Americans have lost their minds – Actually, people around the world do think we are nuts. How else could a xenophobic, misogynist become a serious contender for the White House? I remember a friend’s comment before I left last summer. “Aren’t you so relieved to be leaving the country before this circus gets started?” They were just setting up the tents at that point. I thought I could bury my head in the sand and by the time I had cable TV (a 3 month waiting period in Aruba) America would come to its senses. When cable was finally connected in January, he was still there on the screen pointing his finger and shouting out loud about his penis size across my living room during a debate. I thought to myself – Eek, what did he just say? How is this happening? What did we do to deserve this? My friend was spot on with her remark. Yes, I was happy to escape the circus, but that circus has now turned into a terrifying carnival, the kind with distorted mirrors and scary clowns and creepy music, the kind where freak shows are still permissible. People around the world are either pointing and laughing or recoiling in terror at the freak show. Mostly, they are just asking – What are they thinking? 

7. Everything is big – I hear this one all the time, about as often as I hear overly-friendly.  There is an impression that everything in America is bigger. The size of the country is big. American patriotism is super-sized. Not only do they love their country, Americans also really love themselves because I often hear about big American egos. The stores they shop in are colossal warehouses filled with an endless supply of tons of stuff to buy in bulk. They are voracious consumers; their appetite can never be satisfied. We consume things constantly, especially food and beverages in supersize quantities. They like to eat big burgers and steaks and pizzas and hot dogs and wash it all down with extra large sodas. They drive big trucks, especially big white Dodge Ram pickup trucks. Americans are physically big in size and stature and carry around extra pounds of fat. The list goes on. Some big descriptions are positive. Americans are big tippers and give their money generously to charity. But then they can’t understand why we would give away our money.

8. Fend for yourself – There is this glorified American wild west myth of horses and cowboys that still exists to this day. Our American landscape is romanticized by the rest of the world. I remember hearing that one back in 1989 during my first trip to Paris. “Do you ride horses?” I was asked again and again. We were just kids at the time, on tour with our French class, so we answered, “Sure, we ride horses to school every day and wear cowboy boots most days as well.” It was easier to play along. This wild west story lends itself well to the idealism of American ruggedness and individualism. There is this notion that the untamed landscape shaped the American identity. We are seen by others as fiercely independent. You fend for yourself in America. Enter at your own risk and be sure to take some risks along the way, or you may never get ahead. Hopefully, it all works out for you because if it doesn’t, well—it’s the wild west and you’re on your own. Saddle your own damn horse. 

Is any of this true? Who knows? Maybe some of it is true of some but not everyone. Maybe some of it is true in some places but not everywhere. Maybe Americans just need to travel more so others can see how diverse we are as people. People from other countries need to visit America and see how diverse the land is as well. I’m doing my best living on this multicultural island to tell others what a great place The United States is to visit. I make suggestions all the time. I usually throw out something from this list:

Drive up the Pacific Coast Highway. Spend a week in San Francisco. Camp in the Redwoods. Drive the sand dunes in Oregon. Visit Fisherman’s Wharf in Seattle. Go to Mesa Verde and climb inside ruins built by ancient Puebloan people. Hike Moab. Ski Taos. Say a prayer for someone you love inside the cathedral at Chimayo. Spelunk Carlsbad Caverns. Drive the River Road from Presidio to Lajitas. See the mystery lights in Marfa.  Swim Hamilton Pool outside of Austin. Eat tacos and then eat more tacos. Eat some enchiladas too. Smother them in chile. Snowshoe Minnesota. Go to a juke joint in St. Louis. Visit Chicago. Eat beignets in New Orleans. Drive east across the south to the Carolinas and sample comfort food, Southern style. Spend an entire day inside a museum in Washington D.C. Stay a summer in Brooklyn and go get lost in Manhattan every day.

I tell them this is the America I want to share with you. These are only some of my favorite places. Go see for yourself. It truly is a great country. The people really are very warm and welcoming. It’s authentic. It’s real. You will make many new friends. And a road trip is the best way to travel.


bedridden on koningsdag

I’m lying flat back on my bed with ice under my lower back. This isn’t one of those soft and pliable ice packs that could double as a pillow. It is a ziplock bag filled with actual ice, small chunky blocks of ice with jagged edges that relentlessly jab me for about an hour before melting away into a small puddle of water, seeping into sheets past the mattress pad. It’s not a perfect system, but it’s all I’ve got, and the ice is much colder and works better than the bag of broccoli I pulled from the freezer on Monday when all of this began.

Monday started like any other day of the week. The alarm went off at 5:15 AM. I pushed snooze once and then staggered into the kitchen to make coffee. I drank 2, maybe 3 cups, and started to get ready for work. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, dusted my chin and cheeks with powder, swiped each eyelash with a wand of mascara, and made my way into the guest bedroom that doubles as my closet. Still half asleep, I contemplated what I would wear to work. I decided on a navy blue shift dress since it would be a long day of classes. I began to get dressed for the day by placing one leg inside said dress, an innocuous movement that I routinely repeat day after day. On this day, however, in the midst of dressing myself, something just sort of shifted ever so slightly in my spine, and that was the end of a normal range in human movement for me, at least for the rest of the week.

I’m not sure what the hell happened exactly. All I knew at that moment was that I could not move, and I also quickly realized that it was going to really hurt whenever I finally had to move. I needed to be as still as possible to avoid agony. Slowly, I sloped downward towards the bed and tried calming myself by focusing on my breathing, yoga style. A million thoughts raced through my mind. What do I do now? Can I move? What will happen when I try to stand up? I need to call work. Kids will be in my room by 7:30 AM. I need to cover my classes. How do I get help? I’m in another country. Do I go to the hospital? That seems so extreme and dramatic. How much will that cost? Didn’t this country assign me a doctor? How do I find this doctor? Why am I living in this house all alone? I think the last question is the toughest one to grapple with, not just when you are suddenly unable to walk or stand as an alien resident in a foreign country, but just living out your life in general.

I pay for minutes and data on my iphone by buying these stupid Setar scratch-off cards at the gas station. I inevitably run out of minutes when I need them most. This was the case for me on Monday. I had no minutes left, leaving me with no way to call anyone for help. Thankfully, I had WiFi at home, so I sent many messages via WhatsApp to anyone I thought should know that I was flat on my back and unable to stand. The whole morning is a blur, but I was also somehow able to send an email to work that I wouldn’t be going.

Next, I called my dad on my laptop to ask for advice. He does that well, and he knows a good deal about back problems, after undergoing several back surgeries over the years. I guess mysteries that afflict the lumbar region run in the family. “Just lie on ice for two hours and take ibuprofen,” he calmly suggested. So that is what I did. I walked into the kitchen, hobbling and hunched over like a large ape. I grabbed doorknobs and furniture along the way for support. I opened up the freezer to find a bag of broccoli and somehow made it into my bedroom. Who knew frozen broccoli would ever provide that kind of pain relief?

Everyone I know at home has some form of prescription pain medication; it’s just part of everyday life in the United States. Life at home moves at a frenetic pace and is perpetually demanding. There is never time to slow down for an injury, so everyone has a magic little bottle of something for aches and pains that flare up, or just to take the edge off after a stressful day. It seems to be how people keep going and going in the States. Pharmaceutical drugs are a part of life for professional people. If I were home, someone would bring me something to get me out of this raw, hard pain I am in right now. That was my first realization. Who knows how long I will be in this state without painkillers?  That was my second.

These are the times living abroad when you think there is a reason many people do not move to other parts of the planet. There are plenty of people who live to avoid moments like this. They are rational, reasoning humans who are successfully able to avoid making their lives even more complicated. I so envied these people that morning. Being immobilized was far worse than the giant centipede that crawled past my feet while doing laundry a few months earlier.

I thought I could handle all the creepy crawlies on the island: snakes, lizards, spiders, and even scorpions. I am a 5th generation Texan; these things do not scare me. That was until I met the Amazonian giant centipede. That hideous creature did something to me psychologically. It was vile enough to make me doubt my status as an independent, adventurous woman. Being flat out on my back was similar, it plagued me with fear and doubt. What am I doing? How did I get here? How do I get out of here?  

Eventually, I made it out of the house into my friend’s jerky stick shift with no air conditioning. I was still in excruciating pain, but this is a good friend, and I felt comfortable enough around him to scream out curse words if need be or just contort my face in anguish. The hardest part was standing up. Standing up clearly delivered a jolt of pain, unlike anything I had ever felt before. I could manage walking as long as I pressed both my thumbs into my lower back. These physical sensations were the things I assessed on the way out the door as we drove to find my doctor. Of course, the only indication of a doctor we ever found was a house with a sign outside the door, Keito Medical Center. The door was open wide, but the place was empty inside, except for 12 patio chairs configured in a U shape. “Hello, is anyone here?” Our voices echoed all around. We gave up and left the building after no one answered.

We stopped at the Valero Gas Station on the way back to my house so that I could buy the pay as you go phone card. Once I was back home, I called my doctor several times but never did get an answer, just a voicemail in Dutch. Finally, I decided to call AZV, the Aruban healthcare organization that runs the socialized system of medicine here. They transferred each of my calls over and over to a never-ending ring. By the third or fourth transfer, someone finally answered on the other end to tell me that my doctor wasn’t in Aruba; therefore, I would need to call my stand-in doctor, Dr. Van Ool. Dr. Van Ool never answered either. All I ever got on the other end was another harsh voice mail in Dutch. I listened to the entire recording even though I didn’t understand a word of it, and, in the end, I finally heard a few words of English—message box is full. I called AZV again, but they had all already left work for the day, 45 minutes before closing.

I’d had enough of the missing Dutch doctors and Aruban healthcare system altogether and decided to just pay money out of my own pocket with a trip to Urgent Care Aruba, the only private healthcare service on the island. When we arrived at the 24/7 emergency care center, the parking lot was empty and all the lights were out. The place was closed and no one was there. This was urgent care Aruba style. The sun hadn’t even completely set yet. There was still a little bit of daylight left in the sky. Besides that, the place clearly advertised 24/7. I pressed a button next to the front door and cringed as I heard yet another phone ring again and again. Only this time someone miraculously answered over a loudspeaker outside the building. An angel with an amplified voice told me she could be there to help me in 20 minutes for the starting price of $150 Florin.

The young doctor eventually sped up in her white Volkswagen. She was personable and funny. She asked for a recap of the events that morning, along with a few more diagnostic type questions. “I don’t even need to examine you. I already know what’s wrong with you. But jump up on the table anyway, so I can say we did this.”  She rambled off a long string of medical terms as my diagnosis. Back spasm was the plain English version for whatever she described. I’d hiked along the coast from Alto Vista to the Lighthouse the day before, so most likely that is what triggered it according to this expert. I have never felt such a sense of relief as I did when I watched her scrawl out a signature for two much-needed prescriptions for painkillers and muscle relaxers. “Don’t forget to stretch and hydrate when you hike,” she reminded me on my way out the door.

Today is King’s Day or Koningsdag, and I am feeling better. King’s Day is this national Dutch holiday where they celebrate the King’s birthday. The Dutch have an interesting way of throwing a birthday party. They wear and drink/eat a lot of orange things. Some wear orange wigs and others may wear orange sneakers. They eat orange sprinkles on baked goods and drink orange alcoholic beverages. They also drag out the junk they don’t want from inside their home and sell it on the street. Kids play musical instruments and everyone plays odd traditional games like Spijkerpoepen. This is a game where they tie a nail to a string on the back of their pants and then squat while the nail dangles over an empty beer or wine bottle. The first one to get the nail in the bottle wins. I’m assuming you probably need to drink the bottle of booze first before you begin playing this game. I’ve also seen video of children hurling eggs at faces perched atop caricatures painted on wooden slabs. My friend tells me the potato sack race was a Dutch invention. I believe her and will never ever even Google to fact check. Only the Dutch could invent potato sack racing; they are an original bunch and my new favorite culture. I secretly wish I could be at least part Dutch.

For as long as I can remember, my grandmother always had a quote taped to her refrigerator door. “Inside every older person is a younger person wondering: What the hell happened?” I have no idea who the genius is behind these words. All I know is that it sums up exactly how I am feeling this week. I also have no idea how King’s Day plays out on the island of Aruba. I’m just thankful it is a holiday and I have one more day to recover before going back to work tomorrow. My curiosity about King’s Day may propel me into an upright walking position and outside my door to see what this holiday is all about.

It’s just too bad my back spasm will put me on the sidelines when it is time for a game of Spijkerpoepen.

the island beauty secret


Two plumbers showed up on my porch recently to fix a problem with the shower. I was cleaning house when they unexpectedly knocked on the door, so while I tackled my to-do list, they went to work inside the tiny space that is my bathroom, clanking away.

All of a sudden, I heard a loud crash and my heart sunk, knowing immediately what it must be. I raced over and peeked inside to find hundreds of dollars in skin care products shattered to smithereens. Miracle serums and overnight salves peppered with tiny shards of glass from the jars they were once contained in were all over the tile floor amid the men’s clunky work boots. Eye cream had fallen into the trashcan, double lash mascara and hazelnut lipliner were nestled against the base of the toilet, and a bomb of beauty products had simply exploded and the remnants were lodged into cracks and crevices all over the place.

Neither of the men spoke English very well and I have not yet mastered Papiamento (the native island tongue, derived from African and Portuguese with influences from Native American, English, French, and Dutch), so we were all left to communicate how this disaster came about in broken Spanish. I never did get a straight answer. “Muchas cosas todas partes,” they scornfully repeated to me over and over while emphatically waving their hands up at the now bare glass shelves my prized potions had been sitting on just moments before.

Yes, guys, there were “many things everywhere”. Sigh. Was this somehow my fault for being a woman who buys and stores cosmetics in excess? Since they made no effort to stop working and were already crushing palettes of eyeshadow beneath their boots, I went for the broom and started sweeping up all of the broken pieces, stoically fighting back the tears. The calamity of this scene can only be understood by women, and especially so by those who live on rocks. As island women, we can’t easily replace this stuff, and we most likely spent a good deal of money, time, and effort just getting all of it to our island home from stores far away in a distant land.

I have finally accepted the unfortunate loss that occurred that day and am trying to learn the graces the island has to teach me about my primping standards. These thoughts come to me mostly while I am hanging clothes on the line because this is the one chore that has the power to make me keenly aware of just how much things have changed in my life since I moved to my rock. It’s during this time that I realize how much time and money I once spent on beauty and fashion. I cringe at the dollar amount spent at the salon on hair color alone. Whisked from station to station and slumped back under hoses and hair dryers for hours at a time, I secretly longed for more time to be outdoors in nature or to just pursue a new hobby. Hadn’t I been told somewhere along the way that true beauty grows from these kinds of things?

Although I certainly do not long for many aspects of that life again, my girlfriends and I recently lamented to one another over drinks that shopping for clothes is what we miss the most. Aruba has shopping, of course, but it is at luxury stores like Gucci – places a teacher like me can’t afford on a teacher’s salary. Every other store is stocked for tourists: flip-flops, tank tops, and overpriced, synthetic summer wear and transparent caftans. And a whole lot of t-shirts that say “Aruba” on them.

It’s not just shopping for clothes we miss, it’s also shopping for seasons, which can cause us to wistfully remember a time before our entire wardrobe was made up of sandals and sundresses. Don’t get me wrong though – as much as I miss jeans, jackets, and boots, I am fully aware that nothing compares to a new life where you can designate an entire drawer of your dresser exclusively to beachwear. Sarongs, cover-ups, bikinis, floppy hats, and sunglasses all mix and mingle together in the happiest drawer ever – it’s one big beach party inside there! Thankfully, it is easy to shop in Aruba for all of this kind of stuff.

Thinking back to July when I was packing a wardrobe to live and work in a tropical climate, I remember setting aside a few pairs of pants and a couple of cardigans. Maybe it will cool down a bit at night in December, I thought to myself. Meanwhile, I’ve only worn pants twice since I arrived. I put on a long sleeve wrap for the first time last Wednesday when we went to the movie theatre because it’s the only place on the island that will give you an actual chill. The truth is, I don’t need most of what I brought – including the expensive eye cream. Something about that is very liberating.

There is beauty in the simplicity of one season style. And who really needs a lot of beauty products when you spend most of your time in the Caribbean sea? All you truly need is sunscreen. The sea and sand have a way of working some kind of magic over you that can never be found inside a jar.


climbing mountains


I’m a bit stressed at the moment thinking about the weeks ahead because I am planning and preparing for a trip to Peru in June. We are hiking the Salkantay Trail, which I have read is one of the toughest treks to Machu Picchu. It starts outside of Cuzco like all the others, but climbs higher and goes farther than the rest, as in 12,500 feet high and 36 miles far. My Dutch friend chose it because her friend who lives in Buenos Aires just climbed it in February. She had nothing but great things to say and gave it a 5-star recommendation. Going into this whole thing somewhat blindly after spontaneously buying the ticket, we decided it was probably best to sign up with the same company her friend told us about. She assured us the trail wasn’t that hard, although I later found out she vertically climbs rocks, so her idea of hard may be slightly different than most.

The logistics to planning it from this speckle island in the middle of the sea are quite challenging. How do you even go about training for it here? Gym memberships are too expensive, so that is out of the question. I’m slowly finding yoga studios that are a good fit and still looking for Pilates classes. There is one mountain/ hill in the middle of the island, the Hooiberg. You can climb the 600 steps to the top. But does climbing this stump of a mountain at sea level really prepare someone for the most formidable range in the Western Hemisphere? I finally found a track at Paradera Park nearby my house. I have no idea what the distance is around this track—maybe a half mileBut at least I can build up speed on a paved surface without having to worry about dogs attacking me. And I love walking at this park on weekday evenings when all the kids are flying over hills and ramps on BMX bikes and skateboards or playing basketball and soccer.

What Aruba does have that helps prepare is a large nature preserve, Arikok National Park. We started a Sunday routine hiking around 5 hours over this terrain. I’m not sure how well hiking in the sweltering heat can really prepare you for hiking the Andes during the winter. I guess I will soon find out.

Then there is the whole conundrum of finding the gear you need for a trip to the mountains in the winter when you live on an island where it is always summer. I desperately need fleece layers for cold weather. Good luck finding any winter clothing on a tropical island. I also need shoes with tread for hiking. All I have here are New Balance for running and an old pair of Converse. If you look online to find stores to buy stuff you need for hiking while living in Aruba, you will find an endless collection of hiking gear designed and named after the island; the irony is that you will most likely never find any of this stuff for sale on the actual island of Aruba. There are the Keen Woman’s Alamos Hiking Shoes in Aruba Blue. Columbia makes Women’s PFG Aruba Convertible Pants, which just happen to be great for hiking. Looking online will only drive you mad, especially when you once drove past an REI twice a day on your commute back and forth to work.

Shipping to an island is super expensive, so I can’t just order something on Amazon and have it delivered. I took a huge salary cut moving here, so my discretionary income is almost non-existent since landing; otherwise, I might consider paying five hundred dollars to get the stuff I need to Aruba.  Most people think I am crazy to complain about any of these inconveniences since I am living in paradise. It’s hard for others to understand what it feels like to see a plane take off while thinking to yourself—there is the way to Columbia Aruba Convertible Pants. I envy the ease in which everyone back home can purchase anything in the world they want and get it delivered to their doorstep within 24 hours. If I am lucky, I may find someone who knows someone coming soon to visit the island from the U.S. Then I can have Amazon deliver whatever I need to that someone’s address in Georgia or California, and then that someone can bring it to the island when they visit. That is how we do it around here.

There are other very specific things that you can’t order on Amazon and you only realize that you need them after moving to an island. You look through everything you brought, thinking surely I remembered to bring that one thing I will eventually really need after leaving the United States and moving to a rock in the middle of nowhere. Take, for example, a pamphlet my orthopedic doctor gave me a few years back on exercises to strengthen my ankle joints, after diagnosing me with ligamentous hyperlaxity resulting in chronic lateral ankle instability and perineal tendon insufficiency. What the hell does that even mean? He went on to explain that I was born with the joint flexibility of a circus performer and had essentially overstretched my ligaments in too many years of dance classes. Now they had lost their elasticity, much like a rubber band I suppose, and I would have to do a nightly routine in ankle exercises to keep them strong. Who has time for that? Apparently, I never did, or I would remember the whole routine. I’ve searched YouTube and can’t find anything that seems familiar to me, except for the draw out the alphabet with your big toe series. I would give anything for that piece of paper, but it is deep in a box somewhere in storage in Dallas, Texas.

What I am learning from the people I meet is that you have to seize any opportunity you can to travel. You can find a way to do it if you really want it. So I can’t let any of these obstacles get in the way. There aren’t any excuses for choosing not to turn the page on your next journey. There is so much to be gained from doing so, and you can always get there, even on a budget. You just have to do it. So I will move forward with my hypermobile joints and find a way to get what I need without the convenience of clicking here and there on Amazon. However, since I know so many talented and amazing people reading these posts, feel free to send me anything you’ve got: ideas for how to get stuff here, words of inspiration, ankle strengthening exercises, a Camelbak hydration pack, wool socks, etc..