Life is a beach

‘You guys realize that there’s an empty row in the front, but we are all so connected that we would rather be squished together in the back than spread out…’

Dan flashes her pearly whites and flips back around to put her head back out the window as we all laugh at her observation.  None of us knew that our simple ‘trip to the beach’ would end in having our own personal trotro driver.

Let me rewind a bit. After waking up around noon we all gathered in the kitchen to master the art of Brunch for 13. After crepes failed, we tried pancakes. After pancakes failed, we tried potato pancakes. I’ll spare you the rest of the details and just say we ended up eating small servings of cold eggs and reheated mashed potatoes. Whatever.

Then we rallied. After a flurry of bathing suits, sunscreen, and maps we found ourselves in the front yard discussing our travel plans. Our initial plan was to take a trotro to circle, and then a cab from there. Luckily the first trotro that came was able to fit all 11 of us (shout out to Catherine, Courtney, Blaine and Bjorn who were sick/being a good friend/working and couldn’t make it) and we piled in and set on our way.

After letting the other passengers out at circle our driver asked where we were headed and, handing him a brochure of the beach we were going to, he offered to drive us there- much to our surprise. Privately rented trotros are something we had never heard of before, but we haggled over a price and then set on our way.

As we drove out along the sunny high-way, past the rain clouds and smoggy air, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something could go terribly wrong. None of us knew if we were heading in the right direction. None of us knew the man who was driving us. None of us even really knew what the name of the beach was or what it looked like.

We turned off the highway onto a dirt road. My stomach dropped. No ocean in sight. I try to remain calm and listen to music with Joe, who also has a growing knot in his stomach. Someone makes a joke about human trafficking, forcing me to close my eyes and take a deep breath. ‘It’s gonna be ok, it’s gonna be ok, it’s gonna be ok. We’re still driving on the dirt road. Where is the ocean? Ugh.’ I begin to formulate my escape plan. If I lean far enough out the window I can open the door for everyone and we can roll out of the car. Perfect.

I finally open my eyes and to my surprise we’re on a hill, staring at the ocean. Huge, glittering, and magnificent I laugh to myself. I instantly forget my mini panic attack and hop out of the human sweat box with everyone else.

We ended up having a great day filled with sun, sand and beer. As some people played in the waves, others treated themselves to greasy fries and pepperoni pizzas. When the lifeguard gave his closing whistle our faces simultaneously fell- we knew it was time to go home. As we walked to our towels, I took a deep breath of salty air and commended myself for keeping faith that everything would work out. The bundle of nerves I felt earlier that day seemed insignificant now.

So, here’s to those adventures- the ones that, by the end of the day, leave you exhausted in a cab home, covered in sand, glowing red with sun, smiling and laughing about the past 24 hours.