Category Archives: Caribbean

Carousel

American University of the Caribbean, Caribbean, Expats, Expats and TCKs, International Travel, Saint Martin/ Sint Maarten, Spouses Organization, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Some of the best places in the world are the little tucked-away gems that you’d never expect to find. Carousel is like that. This gelato shop in Simpson Bay, Sint Maarten is not your average ice cream stop. 

  
My friend Stacey suggested a spontaneous trip to Carousel this afternoon. I’d never been, and I was more than happy to make an ice cream run on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
  
 The theme of the shop is, of course, carousels. The building is round, and so it the counter. We entered through the revolving glass door and viewed our options.

  
 We bypassed the cotton candy bar– tempting as it was– for the ice cream. There were so many flavors! I’m slightly lactose intolerant, so I was happy to see a dozen sorbet flavors. I chose kiwi. Yum.
  
Stacey showed me around– inside are monochromatic murals of carousels, and outside are famous historic photos of people eating ice cream– everyone from U.S presidents to British actors to iraqi school children. Iced treats are a universal delight!

  
The best part of all was the giant, real-life carousel in the back, just waiting to be ridden by children!

  
Even the gift shop was adorable. Stacey said that when she has a daughter, she’ll give her a ballerina music box like the ones in the shop. I liked the porceline carousels best.

  
 We took our ice cream outside and watched the boats in the lagoon. I can’t think of a better way to spend a warm, slow Sunday afternoon in the tropics.

  

Yo Hablo un Poco Español

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Yo hablo un poco Español. Imagine me saying that in a very bad Mexican/American accent, and you will hear the best of my Spanish. Actually, I’m not sure if the grammar is even correct (perhaps someone can enlighten me in the comments). Sometimes I try “Yo hablo poquito Español,” but either way I am met with chuckles and amused smiles. Not sure if it’s the white girl accent or if I’m just saying everything wrong.

You’d think that I would have learned Spanish just by living near the Arizona-Mexico border, working with Spanish-speaking people, and going to Mexico a dozen times. Nope. Living in Phoenix taught me enough Spanish to pronounce “gila,” “agua,” and “cholla” correctly and navigate my way through Food City.  Unfortunately, the people I asked to help me learn mostly liked to teach me insults and laugh when I asked someone to “give me the hooker” when I wanted lettuce. Thanks, guys.  Muchas Gracias.

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Me in 2007 with my dad and friends in Mexico, not knowing Spanish

 

 

Fortunately, my Spanish has been steadily improving since I moved to the island. On the plane ride here, I set next to a Puerto Rican lady for a few hours. I used all the power of my jet-lagged brain to recall the words I learned in Spanish 101. Her English was even worse than my Spanish, and we got along just fine. Through Spanglish plus hand gestures, we had a conversation about how to avoid pickpockets in San Juan. I understood enough to be glad I was catching a connection to Sint Maarten!

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San Juan

 

Since I’ve been here, I’ve been practicing on the Duo Lingo app and watching lots of Spanish movies. There are a few Spanish-speaking kids in the group I tutor, so while I teach them English, they teach me Spanish. They learn a lot faster than I do. Some of them learned conversational English in a month, and I’m just over here struggling with Spanish adverbs. I told them they must just be smarter than me. They laugh. And then they correct my Mexican accent.

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Teaching as a Learner

There comes a moment in language learning when you realize that you’ve made a major breakthrough. Those moments are some of the best moments of life. It’s kind of like the moment you find out you’re hired or that you won the scholarship. That moment came for me a few days before Christmas when Ben turned the radio to a Christian Spanish station. We were tired, and we just listen to it in silence as we drove. Suddenly it hit me: I could totally understand everything the speaker was saying. I almost jumped right out of my seat, I was so excited. I could understand!

Don’t ever, ever, ever give up on the things that you want to do. Even if they don’t come easily to you.

I’m still struggling with adverbs, and I still don’t know whether I should pronounce “ll” the Mexican way or the Caribbean way. I still can’t speak or hear it as well as I read it. But I’m making progress, and it’s encouraging. Trilingualism, here I come!

Coconut Retrievers

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This island is absolutely covered with free-running cats and dogs! They call island mutts Creoles on the French side of the island and coconut retrievers on the Dutch side. Some are not so nice– like the scroungy mutt who nips at the heels of runners– and some are generally loved and just hang around. There’s a yellow dog who lives on the sidewalk of the small shopping district of Maho. He is just a regular fixture, and nobody minds him.

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Many of the students at American University of the Caribbean have adopted a stray or shelter animal. Our neighbor had a cat for a while– she was the sweetest. She used to sit on the window sill and wait for me to walk by and scratch her head through the cracked window. My friend Stacey has two cats from a shelter here. Several students foster animals. I know of at least one who takes puppies home every trip back to the States and finds families for them. Other expats and locals take care of the strays, too. The little league team I help out with adopted a dog who wandered on the field one day. She lives with their coaches, who have two other rescues.

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I had been begging Ben for a puppy all last semester, but as far as I could tell, he wasn’t too interested in that idea. I had pretty much given up on the idea by the time Christmas break rolled around.

Two days before Christmas, while my family was visiting us, Ben slipped off to “run some errands” and didn’t get back until dinner time. He came back with something in a bag. I opened it, and there was a sweet little puppy face looking back at me! We named her Kito, which means “precious gem” in Swahili.

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Kito has been busy keeping us up at night, peeing on the floor, and eating rocks. We’re a little more tired and a little less tidy than usual, but she’s more than worth it. There’s something nice about having something warm and fuzzy to cuddle with. As Lucy Van Pelt would say, “Happiness is a warm puppy.” I’m glad that God made puppies; they certainly are nice to have around.

The Girl with a Purple Suitcase

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I still remember my first suitcase. I got it for Christmas when I was five years old. It was purple and turquoise, and it had wheels and a telescoping handle. It even had my name on the front in dark purple vinyl letters. I remember unwrapping the giant box and pulling out my new suitcase. It was so tiny, but it looked enormous to my small five-year-old mind. I took it with me to San Diego.

I still have a purple suitcase. A purple suitcase, a blue suitcase, and a little carry-on with weird hand-painted chili peppers that I found at Goodwill.

Today I read a blog called “A Girl With a Suitcase.” The author wrote about a little girl she knows who asked for a suitcase for Christmas. It seemed poetic, she said.

There really is something poetic about suitcases and people who crave them. Suitcases are either full of adventures or full of memories. I wish we still had the old hard-case suitcases with the virtually irremovable airline stickers. I think those are a lovely way to collect memories of where we’ve been.

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The suitcase I got when I was five took me to San Diego and Phoenix. What big adventures for a little girl! The suitcase I have now has taken me to Africa, the Bahamas, Michigan, Oregon and St. Maarten.

Where has your suitcase taken you?

The places I’ve been have shaped who I am. Many of my biggest moments have happened while living out of a suitcase. I got engaged while living out of a suitcase. I met a forever friend at camp while living out of a suitcase. I found my purpose in life while living out of a suitcase.

I suppose I owe my wanderlust to my parents. Five years old is a special age. It’s an age when we begin to learn who we are. They could have given me anything for Christmas, but they gave me a suitcase. And they gave me a new purple suitcase when the wheels broke and the letters of my name peeled off the first one. They took me on plane trips almost every year and road trips at least biannually. They taught me to discover, to learn, to experience.

This year for Christmas, they got on a plane and came to my home so many miles away from theirs. They gave me Lucky Charms, makeup, clothes….

….And a suitcase.

 

Christmas in the Caribbean

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We had a white Christmas this year… A white sand beach Christmas, that is.


While most of our med school compadres went back to the States or Canada for Christmas, Ben and I opted to stay on the island. My parents and my sister flew in to spend a week on the island with us, and we had a blast! Going home to see family is awesome, but it was even better to have them come see us this time.


Being in a new place calls for new traditions, but it also shows you how important the old ones are. Sometimes you just need the smell of homemade cinnamon rolls for it to really feel like Christmas.

We ditched some of the traditional Christmassy things– no lights outside, a small paper tree rather than a real evergreen, no Christmas cookies.


We kept some of our traditions– my great grandma’s Christmas cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning, reading Luke 2 from the Bible before opening presents, observing advent, Christmas carols on Christmas Eve, putting our gifts in hilariously ridiculous prank gift boxes.


We did some things we’ve never done before– “wine” (sparkling cider) and cheese for lunch, a trip to the beach.


On Christmas morning, we woke up to the sound of a restless puppy wanting to go outside. Ben took her on a short walk, and I made cinnamon rolls for breakfast. My parents and sister, Kaylee, came over after their morning run and we read the Christmas story in the Bible and opened gifts. When the cinnamon rolls were ready, we had breakfast.

 After this, we drove across the island to Wilderness for a hike. Before long, we could see a storm rising from the sea near St. Barth’s, so we ran back down the hill and jumped in the car just in time! We drove home and had sparkling cider, cheese, and crackers for lunch  (we’re practically on a French diet).

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My mom and I finished making the rest of the cinnamon rolls and we all headed down to Mullet Bay Beach. I grew up in Arizona and Ben grew up in subsaharan Africa, so neither of us have had many white Christmases. The lack of snow here on our tropical island was nothing new for us, but going to the beach was. It’s a welcome change!

  
At the end of the day, tired but happy, we had dinner of smoked chicken, mashed potatoes and rolls. We took a stroll to the casino to see the Christmas village in the parking lot. Then we set up the laptop and enjoyed our family favorite Christmas movie– Christmas Do-Over– while our worn-out little puppy snoozed at our feet.

The best Christmas traditions, to me, are not the ones that have to do with red and green garland, music, or food. The best tradition to have at Christmas is simply to be with family. Whether the family around you is your parents and siblings, spouse and children or your closest friends, let’s be thankful for the loved ones that God has given us.

Into the Wild

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 Out into the wild we go, past the sea, and up the hill, and into the long, tall grass.

   

 We go where the breezes blow the butterflies as delicate as glass. 

Up and up, up we go. We go where the breezes blow and ripple the sea of grass.

  

Up the trail the burros know, up and up and up we go to reach the top at last.

  
Wilderness is the northernmost tip of the island of Saint Martin. The treacherous reef hiding beneath the breakers tempts only the most daring surfers, and the grassy hills call to those disenchanted by the crowded streets of the cities. Wilderness is a poetic place– it inspires the pens of writers and the brushes of painters. For a day free of the bustle of life, come to the northern hills and listen to the song of the sea.