SilverFoxWise

Derrick Coyle

The Air Canada jet touched down smoothly at Grand Cayman airport. As with most flight landings, there was a perceptible release of tension when rubber reunited with pavement and the aircraft morphed into a ground vehicle for the final and less perilous taxi to its tarmac resting spot. He thought about how such occasions once evoked spontaneous applause from passengers – clearly grateful for a safe arrival via a form of transit that still seems to defy a layperson’s grasp of physics. He wondered how many private pledges to higher powers had been made over the years in exchange for safe landings. He wondered how many had been kept.

     The silence of 100 introspective passengers in flight descent was quickly replaced with the buzz of excited conversation, sounding muffled and distant through temporarily pressurized ear canals. Squinting into the Saturday afternoon sunshine from her window seat, she exclaimed: “I can feel the heat through the window!”

     The vacation is off to a good start. Ground crews have already began transferring bags from the aircraft’s luggage hold, to trolleys directly below her window. “There’s my bag!” she cried, jubilantly. And 10 seconds later, “But, I don’t see yours”.

     “Ha! Maybe mine didn’t make it,” he chirped.

     “Don’t even think that!”

An hour later, he was standing at the Cayman Island Airways baggage counter awaiting his turn to complete a lost luggage form, while his six travel companions waited, luggage in hand.

*************************

Grand Cayman Island is an outstanding vacation spot. The popular Seven Mile Beach provides a beautiful expanse of white sand and warm, blue waters of incredible hues. The smooth sands and open surf for the length of the shoreline is interrupted with an occasional patch of flat rock which adds a dimension of texture and visual variety as waves crash against and swirl between attractive rock formations. While there was a couple days of overcast skies and a bit of rain in this particular week, even in early January, temperatures hovered in the low 80’s and the sea waters were more than comfortable for swimming.

A highlight of the week was a private catamaran tour for the better part of a day. The knowledgeable and friendly crew of two kept our party of seven entertained and enlightened while traveling across gorgeous waters and installing ourselves as guests, in a world of oceanic wonder. Snorkeling atop coral reefs was a feast for the eyes as we mingled with its colourful and varied inhabitants.

We spent an hour swimming with stingrays in their natural habitat. Thirty-five years ago, I remember a friend and I flailing frantically to propel ourselves to shore after sighting a large stingray while snorkeling off the shores of Freeport, Bahamas. Says Dexter, our guide for this day, “Stingrays don’t hurt people, people hurt themselves when they thrash about.” They are truly magnificent and gentle creatures, gliding their silky finish against legs and across torsos. We were soon feeding them squid, suspending them at chest level over two outstretched arms, and enjoying the massaging affect as they coasted between us and fluttered smoothly against our skin.

*************************

The beach house rental was an excellent accommodation for the occasion. A two-storey building with four bedrooms, each with balcony access. It worked nicely for our group of seven. It was well furnished and equipped with a barbeque, small freshwater pool, and laundry facilities.

It was surprising to me – a former insurance guy – how close the structure was to the sea. Five paces from foundation to seawall, against which higher than normal seas provided a continuous pounding. If there was a downside to the proximity, the ocean sounded more like heavy storm winds than a soothing surf. It took a couple of nights to adjust to the continuous din and occasional shake of the building when the bigger waves struck.

The manager of this property lives a couple hundred yards inland and told of the terror of Hurricane Ivan which left the flattish island virtually under water in September 2004. The storm – with winds as high as 270 km/hr and the slayer of 123 people – delivered a hard hit to Grand Cayman. Leif, the amicable property manager, born in Sweden but living largely in the United States, piloted for five years in the Vietnam war. He said, in adding a sense of scale to the storm: “the hurricane was the most frightened I’ve been in my life.” When power was finally restored to the area and to his home by a team of Canadian workers, 10 weeks after the storm struck, “I just broke down and wept,” he said.

*************************

It doesn’t take too long to acclimatize to a new environment. The first time we encountered an Iguana on the patio, it came as a bit of a surprise and prompted an abrupt directional adjustment. A couple days later, our prehistoric-looking neighbours were no more startling than would be a passing cat. Though admittedly, the one cat spotted in the area appeared to have no particular interest in getting within range of these reptilian herbivores.

The Grand Cayman dining experience is unlike any other island I’ve been to. A notable difference is that this island offers very few “all-inclusive” packages. It caters more to the needs of vacation property owners and renters of houses and condominiums who do a fair share of dining out. Running parallel and within a short walk of the beach and the string of beachfront vacation properties, the main road is packed with eateries of all description. Some very North American, some European, and some more typical of the tropics. Even fast-food joints, like Subway, are readily accessible. There are also a number of dining establishments with outdoor patios oceanside, several of which we were able to enjoy. One of the most highly acclaimed fish vendors in the area – which we can now attest to – was found in a shack called Heritage Kitchen, just steps from our beach house.

*************************

One of the most spectacular sights during the week was the Grand Cayman sunset. We were treated to a variety of sunset photo ops, some filtered through light clouds and some that allowed the sun to sink, unobstructed, through the firey tropical skies to the ocean horizon. It took until the last night for the right timing, but my favourite shot catches a departing cruise ship in near perfect alignment with the setting sun.

It was a fitting end to a very nice vacation.

*************************

They scurried in tandem behind a burly, uniformed man who snatched the baggage claim form and was now moving his sweaty bulk quickly towards a locked entrance in the “Arrivals” section of the airport. “Wait here,” he barked, as he hastily keyed a combination code and disappeared behind the heavy security door.

     “He’s been gone 15 minutes … That form is our only connection to my missing luggage … He may have just tossed it in the trash on the other side of that door and went about his business!” There was a helpless feeling setting in. That anxiousness when something has slipped away and you’re powerless to recover it. Like having the big one firmly hooked and reeled to the side of the boat when the line snaps, and all you can do is watch it disappear into the murky depths. She calmly gave him a glance that suggested it may be a little premature to promote the abandonment theory. “Don’t forget we’re on island time,” she said. After another five minutes of pacing and muttering, the door finally opened. The uniformed man exited its framework, with the missing burgundy bag rattling behind him.

    On that hot, sunny Saturday – one week after arriving in Grand Cayman – he was finally reunited with his lost luggage. Delayed for the full length of the holiday by extreme weather and airport closures. Relieved to have it back in hand, he did a quick inventory and pulled from the burgundy bag, a John Irving novel – specially selected for holiday consumption – now planned for the flight home. They made their way 100 yards from the “Arrivals” section to join the remainder of their travel party in the baggage check line, at “Departures”. 

     “Well,” he said in consolation as he reflected on the wardrobe and personal effect improvisations of the week that was, “I was the first one packed and I’ll have the least laundry to do when we get home.”  

*************************