One benefit of cruising to Bermuda is having three full days on the island. Another benefit is the nature of the island itself. Unlike most Bahamas and Caribbean destinations, Bermuda is extremely safe and maintains a civilized air (which comes across a tad pompous at times). Whereas the culture has an air of sophistication exceeding its reality, the people do not. They are down to Earth, among the friendliest of any tourist destination that I’ve been to.
We boarded one of the many innocent looking pink buses, unaware that public transit in Bermuda is akin to an amusement park ride. Bermuda’s roads are extremely narrow, without breakdown lanes or sidewalks. Most residential side streets in New England are wider than Bermuda’s main roads. Buildings raise within an arm’s length of traffic. The bus continually brushed trees and other foliage as we passed within a foot or two of stone walls. Hands and arms inside the bus at all times, indeed.
Half an hour later we arrived at Horseshoe Bay, Bermuda’s aptly named and most well known beach.
Horseshoe Bay is an amazing place. And that statement is not written by a beach lover. I’ve never walked on softer sand and its pink tint is quite a sight. The bright clear blue water is brilliant and inviting. But Horseshoe Bay’s most striking features are the sandstone formations bookending the beach.
These sandstone formations rise straight out of the water, merging with the beach to create a dramatic and picturesque landscape. My sense of scale was thrown off as the stone features seemed to tower over the beach. But they can be ascended within a minute or two and offer stunning views of the shoreline. Pictures do no justice. My sense of wonder was no less than viewing the white capped peaks of the northeast.
The ocean was refreshingly cool but not cold, warmer than New England water in late Summer. It was a nearly perfect juxtaposition against the hot air. I submerged myself under the water and surfaced with a feeling of calm, as if the water cleansed some deep harm.
I once wondered if I was running away from my problems on this vacation. I came to the conclusion that it mattered not either way because there was a cure here, no matter how temporary, for everything that had been troubling me. That’s when I turned to Sharon and said “This is better than a powder day” and meant it.
I’ve slipped into a working professional’s ironic hell: I need to work a job that destroys my spirit so I can afford to take a vacation to get away from said job and recover. I had worked that job for ten years using it as a means to an end, trading my brilliance for the ability to live where I want and to have the money to go on adventures. I never needed a vacation for anything other than having fun and exploring the world. I never took time off to recuperate and feel human again. I never knew what not feeling human felt like.
But at some point, my job asked for too much. I lost touch with the ends that motivated me to the means. My passion was gone and even skiing was going through the motions more often than not. It is a terrible feeling and being free of it for only a week was worth every penny invested into the trip.
We alternated between swimming, relaxing on the beach, and snacking at the nearby food stand. Sharon had since acquired my cold leaving her without much energy, but damn it she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She used up her last effort as we climbed the sandstone cliffs and was rewarded for the effort with incredible views and an awesome vantage point.
Despite our double application of sunscreen, we both felt the onset of sunburn. Out of necessity for tomorrow’s return trip, we called it a day before either of us actually wanted to leave. Another crazy bus ride back to the Dockyard and we were back on the Dawn, planning out a more extensive trip for the next day.
