Sweaty Holidays

Growing up, family vacations were like walking on thin ice. We always made adventures of them, whether it was going to Yellowstone or Glacier, or driving to Alaska. But so much time spent with family can often be a fragile set of explosives, and any nudge or jab can blow everything up. I’m still grateful for those trips, and grateful to my parents for using their vacation time to help us grow up and learn about the world. Today, we seek out each other’s company rather than reserve it for holidays like many families do. And we hardly argue anymore, mostly because we’ve already argued and fought about anything and everything there was to disagree on. So it was saddening to not have the whole family in Bogota for Christmas. But, though we weren’t going to let missing a third of our party from trying to have a good time. So, after Christmas, I dragged the family out to the Caribbean.

Prior to arrival, my parents had expressed an interest in going someplace warm after Christmas since Bogota is pretty balmy sweater weather. I first thought of Colombia’s north coast along the southern Caribbean Sea. Cities like Cartagena and Santa Marta had been recommended to me by locals as prime beach destinations, so I started looking there. I soon discovered that the cost to fly to the northern coast was actually the same as it was to fly to San Andres, a Colombian island off the coast of Nicaragua. It didn’t take much convincing before tickets were purchased, and the day after Christmas we left Bogota in search for some Caribbean heat, mon.

Technically closest to Nicaragua.

The homestead + family

Our first day on the island was spent finding our lodging. That didn’t take too long, since the island is only eight miles long and ten square miles in total. Planning where to stay wasn’t easy, as holiday season amps up pricing while availability quickly plummets. We took a chance on a house I found on Airbnb that was located on the southern tip of the island, far away from all the hotels and tourist beaches of the northern end. We didn’t know what to expect, but wow, did we luck out. It was a great two-story house tucked in the jungle just inland from the waves crashing upon the coral beaches that contrast with the sandy ones further north. Not only was location great, but the renter’s sister, Cristina, lived next door, and her and her husband took us on a tour of the island and got us a good deal on renting a souped-up golf cart. They also took us to their two-hour Baptist service on Sunday, which included tons of jazzy, Jesus tunes and cloud parting, complete with “I said, CAN I GET AN AMEN??!?!” It was entertaining to say the least, and we stoic German Catholics could probably learn something about shaking things up for mass.

The next two days were spent speeding around in our cart, getting as much sun as we could in the few days we had. We took a day trip out to some islets just off the coast, where the water is shallower, snorkeling is more popular, and the water is a kaleidoscope of blues. Treading the line between tanning and burning, as we are all too often wont to do, we enjoyed cruising around like the pirates of old.

Juice maker, Reggae singer, organic farmer,
Job Saas.

Our other notable visit was to the homestead turned organic farm of a local islander, Job Saas. He inherited almost two acres – quite a chunk for an island so small – and instead of selling it to realtors to turn into hotels, he turned it into an organic farm and gives tours to those willing to donate to further the cause. He also has his own reggae band on the island, and has toured in South America and Europe. Not only that, but he makes some killer juices from the fruits on his farm.

I’m of the opinion that anyone who feels like retiring to live on the ocean beach has never spent time on the ocean beach. Yes, looking out to endless waters while the warm wind blows your hair back is a feeling worth experiencing. But when you turn around, you see buildings whose fragile foundations that have seen years of hurricane damage and cars rusted out from the salt blowing in from the sea. And that soft sand you like to dig your toes into? It doesn’t stay on the beach. It gets everywhere. Last year around this time, I was canoeing in the Everglades and Gulf of Mexico, and after two weeks of sand grinding into everything I owned, I was convinced that ocean life wasn’t something I could handle in the long run. But don’t let my complaining make you think I didn’t enjoy my time. Less than a week was the perfect amount of time spent with some of the family. But once more onto the ocean shore simply made me realize how important my Minnesota lakes and rivers are to me.

J.

Spanish word of the day: Despite the English meaning of stadium, arena is Spanish actually means sand. So when I say arena gets everywhere when you’re near the ocean, I don’t mean that the island of San Andres is just a big sporting complex.

Song in my head lately: We ended up getting a few CDs from our trip. Two were from Cristina’s husband, Luis, who writes and performs Calypso music as well as producing television shows on the island. One we got from Job Saas after our tour, and since I lean more towards the latter on the Calypso-Reggae spectrum here’s one of the English songs they sang, appropriately called Beautiful San Andres.