Transformed by Travel

I had submitted this article for our local newspaper "Transformed by Travel" series - and they printed it! 
I was reluctant to journal about this, but some others in the group mentioned that they were afraid to travel alone.
Just do it. I did and it worked for me.
 

26 Jul 2011
The Gazette

In the Caribbean sun, a rebirth of joy
 


HAPPY COUPLES were everywhere, while I was mourning the death of my husband. But the trip made me want to live again
It
WENDY WILLOW “Each day I would awaken before dawn, anticipating the glow of a golden Caribbean sun as it woke up the Earth:” sunrise from Wendy Willow’s balcony overlooking Great Bay, St. Maarten.
 
 
It was early March. Eight months had gone by since the death of my husband and I could not shake the bitter loneliness, the overwhelming anguish of grief. My life had been torn into shreds and it just did not make much sense any more.
Somebody suggested I takea vacation. Really? As if I could “get away” from myself? Did I have enough money to pay for something as frivolous as a vacation? Did I have the strength to pick up and go?
Somehow I found the energy to call a travel agent. I let her pick the location and do the booking.
She suggested St. Maarten, an island in the Caribbean.
Intrigued, I agreed, and off I went, choosing a resort on the Dutch side of the island. I’d never been there before and would have chosen Florida, a familiar and comfy spot. Maybe it was good to get out of my comfort zone … then again, maybe not.
The flight was scheduled to leave at 7 a.m., which meant I had to be at the airport at 4 a.m. Oh joy. Why had I booked such an early flight? Well, never mind, it was a charter flight and I had booked at the last minute. OK, I can do this.
That first evening in St. Maarten, I sat out on my private balcony alone.
Cruise ships were settled into the port for the night, their bobbing lights illuminating the surrounding darkness. Shops and restaurants on the shore were lit up too, creating a stunning picture against the velvety black backdrop of the mountains.
Enjoying the extraordinary view but feeling a little melancholy on the first night in this strange place, I surrendered to sadness and let the tears flow. I had been holding back for obvious reasons; I did not want people to see me openly crying on vacation. But in the privacy of my room, alone on the deck, I let my heart weep into the darkness.
Who were those people enjoying a cruise? Lovers? Couples? Families?


There were couples at the airport, couples on the plane, couples checking in at the resort, couples lying on the beach. Chairs were placed under umbrellas in twos. How was I going to get through this week?
Soon enough, though, I discovered I had fallen into a routine. Each day I would awaken before dawn, anticipating the glow of a golden Caribbean sun as it woke up the Earth.
I would listen to the timeless rhythm of ocean waves and relax into the softness of sweet ocean air as it caressed my skin, its tenderness a balm for my raw nerves.
And as the sun rose in the sky and the softness of first light transformed into more intense heat, I would relax into that heat, the warmth spreading throughout my body and awakening a faint stirring of joy – a feeling I thought had been buried in my unrelenting sorrow.
Stretching out on a beach chair early one morning, I closed my eyes to rest a little before breakfast. “Braid your hair, miss?” I blinked and sat up in my chair. Where had this woman come from? Wasn’t it rather early to be working the beach? I looked around. There were people everywhere. I had fallen asleep! I looked at my watch. But my watch had stopped working at the beginning of my vacation, and had stayed that way throughout.
The brightly clad, plumpish woman looked at me curiously. She was waiting for my answer.
“No thanks,”I started to say, sinking back into my beach chair. But then I changed my mind and sat back up.
“Yes,” I said. “I’d like my hair braided. Let’s do it!”
“Welcome to St. Maarten!” she sang with a friendly smile and a swish of her skirts. She plunked herself down on the empty chair beside me, reached into her bag and brought out a handful of vividly coloured beads for me to choose.
I chose pink and white and blue.
I chose to open up and breathe. My husband was gone. I could not bring him back.

I chose to go with the flow. I chose life.


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