Notes From A Smaller Island #1
About Grand Cayman (but really it's about expectations)
On our way from dinner to the hotel, during our last night on Grand Cayman, right where the pedestrian walkway meets the main road, two Birds were lying next to each other on the pavement in front of us, pitched over on their sides like a pair of tipped cows. They were ripe for the taking. “It’s a sign”, I said to Sarah. “Let’s grab ‘em.”
So we pulled out our phones, activated the Birds, and rode off into the Grand Caymanian night.
By now surely you realize I’m talking about those electric scooters and not, you know, actual birds. What you might not realize, however, is that by “rode off into the night” I meant that I rode off into the night, propelled by the buzz of the electric motor, wind whipping through my hair, smiling like a child without a care in the world, while Sarah propelled the other device down the strip toward our hotel, a mile or so in the distance, with her own two feet. Her Bird was bricked, reduced to a Flintstone-vintage scooter with the added benefit of being much, much heavier because of the electric motor. Her Bird was dead and I was well on my way to being a dead man, too.
This, of course, was all my fault, which is actually true in this case because I traded the listless device to Sarah, thinking that I was using it wrong. It also was unexpected — according to the app it had a full charge! — which would become a theme during our time in the Cayman Islands. It is a place that can sneak up on you and surprise you in unexpected ways, most of them pleasant. The Caymans can shatter your expectations about a place and help you reset them to reasonable levels. These kinds of lessons from travel abound and are the best kind of souvenirs to take home with you, in my experience.
Flying over Grand Cayman from Cayman Brac, a few days after the traumatic Bird affair, you get the impression that this place is just a spit of land in a vast sea, all of it hardly above the water. No joke, the highest point on Grand Cayman, besides standing on top of one of the myriad hotels lining Seven Mile Beach, appears to be the landfill. It is amazing that this place exists at all, that it ever rose above the water, high enough to bury our trash, and yet it is a bustling place full of life.
Seeing it from the sky reminded me of that Ken Jennings quote, something about how borders divide us but they’re also the places where we are closest together. Pretty sure he was talking about political, or man-made, borders, and people. I thought of this in terms of the border between us, people, and life in the sea. There is so much life here, vibrant life, hugged tightly to the shore on both sides of that thin and delicate border. Life thrives at the border.
For now, that is, but perhaps not forever. The water, bright blue and crystal clear here, made for wonderful snorkeling. There are too many fish to count, sea turtles, starfish, and friendly sting rays too. But how much better was it here before most of the coral was bleached? And what happens to life on our side of the border if the other side goes? This place, built on tourism due to its easy access to the sea and its seemingly endless abundance, would be most affected by the loss in an immediate sense. Other, faraway landlocked places later, but affected nonetheless. It would be a tremendous loss for all. I remain hopeful that we can figure all that out, and in time.
This trip was a case study on expectations. I had none coming into it. If anything, my expectations were rock bottom low. And I had the most wonderful time. Everything in the Cayman Islands was a pleasant surprise. It was comfortable and leisurely and felt safe wherever we went. The crowds were tolerable, the food outstanding, and the service well above board. It is certainly an expensive place, but it is an island after all, so even that at least met expectations.
They say that happiness equals reality minus expectations. This trip proved the math. I found myself calmer and more satisfied with life than ever, even in environments as foreign and strange to me, a land lover, as the open sea. It is, in retrospect, a strange thing to admit but wonderful, nonetheless, that I enjoyed — nay, loved! — being in the water so much.
And perhaps the best thing of all about being in the water? There are no electric scooters.
FOOD & DRINK
STAY
Note: This is part one of a two-part series about a trip to the Cayman Islands. The title of this series is in reference to the book Notes from a Small Island by the irreverent Bill Bryson, which I am reading at present. If the writing style of these posts seems a little different, it is because I am easily influenced. Blame Bill if it’s not your cup of tea!