charlotte harris

“Are you really on vacation or did you bring your laptop?”  The front desk clerk wanted to know if we needed instructions for the wireless Internet.

“Nope!  We are unplugged!”  We grabbed our room keys and two rubber beer cozies and headed off to the beach.  We’d planned it well.  Stopped at a Publix off the Island and stocked up on beer, limes, crackers, cheese, veggies and hummus.  Bottled water and dixie cups.  We pretty much stocked up “on happy hour.”

The first stop was our second-story balcony where we kicked off our travelin’ shoes and clinked a couple cold sweaty longnecks together with a toast to the start of our vacation.  For the next several days, we’d alternate between splashing around in the Gulf, snoozing under a beach umbrella, reading in the shade, pedaling into town, playing in the saltwater pool, and sipping beers at sunset. 

Instead of RSS feeds, we had a National Geographic Magazine and a Barbara Kingsolver book.  In lieu of cable, we watched the sky for pelicans and egrets and scanned the water for dolphins and manatees.  If we missed our gym memberships, we jumped in the saltwater pool or pedaled around on borrowed bicycles with baskets on the handlebars… or simply rolled over in bed when the clock struck six.   We left the iPods at home and zoned out to the unfamiliar calls of Island wildlife, the crunch of seashells under foot, the rustle of palm leaves in the breeze and the wind flapping at the fabric of our umbrella.  Cell phones buried in our bags, we used them only on to call out on Mothers Day. 

There was no fast food, but there were plenty of fresh local Gulf shrimp from a marina oasis called Gramma Dot’s, a couple breakfasts on the patio at the Island Cow, one lunch at Schnapper’s hot dog stand, and two fresh margaritas we intended to sip while listening to some island music but instead found ourselves out at Trader’s during the blue-hair-dinner-hour. 

We filled the moments in between with chit-chat and flirting, one or two petty personality clashes, and even more moments of relaxing silence.   No making friends down by the pool, no chatting up the locals down at the Lighthouse Cafe, and no wondering about the folks back home. 

We fell asleep to a movie around 9pm on two nights, but otherwise no TV.  Even the newspaper we bought on Sunday turned out to be Friday’s news.  The ceiling fan and A/C were indispensable, but no alarm clocks, no hair dryers, and just one emergency pit stop for number 45 sunscreen and after-sun lotion from Jerry’s Supermarket.  

So when we flew that last leg back into Dulles last night, it hurt me.  The sensory overload.  It hurt my ears to listen to Dora the Explorer on some kid’s portable DVD player throughout the whole flight, it hurt my skin to emerge from the airport into a 48-degree rainy night, it hurt my lips to kiss my man goodbye and go to sleep alone, and it hurt my eyes to power up my laptop and read through 5 days of email. 

This morning, I woke up on beach time, which happens to be my normal time anyway, and decided to ease my way back into real life.  I covered my tanned legs and arms with stiff blue jeans and a light sweater but didn’t do my hair or makeup.  I stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast and ate margarita-flavored potato chips for lunch.  I wrote this blog about my trip instead of culling through my work emails.