A Simple Vacation

The idea was to surprise Bernadette with a vacation in order to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. This was to be a private vacation: without friends, in-laws, or even our sons. I’d envisioned this as a vacation that would allow Bernadette and me to simply relax after years of scrambling with new jobs, moving, college searches, and adjustments to all kinds of new circumstances in our lives. Above all, this vacation was to be one of simplicity. There would be no side junkets for scuba diving, no complicated arrangements for site seeing – just a simple time away with nothing to do but read, sleep, relax, and a little quiet conversation alone with my wife. There would be no distractions, interruptions or phone calls.

This simplicity would be underscored by how we packed. Once Bernadette received news of our vacation plans at Christmas, we pledged to one another that we would bring only the essentials for a simple vacation. That meant that I would bring no snorkeling gear or the video camera, nor any clothing that violated our pledge of simplicity. In fact, to insure the simplicity of the trip, we decided to bring only one carry-on bag per person. There would be no suitcases. We decided that all we really needed for our weeklong stay in the Bahamas was a toothbrush, a couple of shorts, tee shirts, and a bathing suit or two. Easy. I can do this. I can do this. Really. I can do this.

I put off packing until the night before our flight to the AbacoIslands in the Bahamas. I figured that might help me to keep things as simple as possible. “If I don’t allow much time for packing, I won’t over pack. Right? I first lay out some underwear, socks, handkerchiefs, and belts, and discover that my carry on bag is nearly full already, and so I start to put things back one item at a time. I suppose I can get by without socks. After all, it’s supposed to be warm in the Bahamas. What about the ride to the airport, though? Well, I suppose, I can just wear one pair. That will be good enough. Underwear… You gotta’ have underwear. Good Lord, seven days away – seven pair of thirty-eight inch waist boxer shorts. Man, they take a lot of space. I never thought I would be one of those old guys who wears thirty eight inch waist boxer shorts. When did that happen? Maybe I can get by with only five. After all I’ll be in a bathing suit most days, right? Five pair still takes up a lot of room in this bag, and thinking ahead, I KNOW I need to bring that new Hawaiian shirt I finally broke down and bought at Nordstroms. Come to think of it, I really want to bring all three of my Hawaiian shirts. And they’ll take up a fair amount of room. Holy cow, these boxers are huge! Maybe I can get by with three pair…. Oh Lord, this “packing simply” thing is making me crazy. O.K. three pair -- underwear solved; socks solved; forget the handkerchiefs, I’m just gonna’ be healthy. Next: the Hawaiian shirts. O.K., the three shirts fit. Next two pair of walk shorts. All right. They fit.

Hey, you know somehow the carry-on bag that Bernadette is packing is larger than this one. She doesn’t need all that extra space. She’s only 5’2”, and her clothes are a lot less bulky than mine. I’ll switch bags, and that will buy me a little extra space. That’s better. Now shoes… Oh no, shoes. I have those cool rubber shoes that are great for when you’re swimming in rocky areas around coral reefs. If I don’t use them for a trip like this, then why did I buy them? I have to bring them. It’s at times like this that I wish I wasn’t a size 12 shoe.  And I can wear another pair down, of course. Yes, I’ll wear those Sperry Top Siders. They’re good, practical, all-purpose shoes. But I also have to bring those Cole Haan leather sandals. I mean, if we go out to dinner… whaddya’ mean IF we go out to dinner. It’s our anniversary – we’re definitely going out to dinner, and I’m not wearing Top Siders to dinner. Darn! These sandals just will not fit in this bag. And what about pants? How can anyone go the Caribbean and not bring white linen pants? Oh no, I haven’t even started to think about which books to pack!”

Panicked, frustrated, and confused, I leave the bedroom to gather my thoughts and to get re-centered. I go into my office, sit at my computer and go on-line once more to re-visit the website for the Bahamas – to remind myself of the need for simplicity. “Ah, there it is: powder sand beaches, beach chairs, sailboats. Hey, here’s a link I hadn’t noticed before. It tells you what the current weather conditions are in the Bahamas. This will help. Let’s see”… click, click…. “Oh no. Oh please tell me this is wrong. 61 degrees was the high today! The lows may be in the 40s! In the Bahamas! It can’t be. I’ll have to bring socks, sweaters, and polar fleece. Do you know how much space polar fleece takes?”

I return to the bedroom, where Bernadette has already begun to read her first book, and has finished packing over an hour ago. I reveal what I’ve learned regarding the weather, and she simply says, “No problem. I’ll wear a sweater down on the plane.” In my mind, I silently scream, “IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE, BERNADETTE! Do you have any idea how much space polar fleece takes up?” I return to the task. By one o’clock in the morning, our two carry on bags are accompanied by a portable CD player and our largest suitcase containing my white linen trousers, my natural color linen trousers, two cotton sweaters, two polar fleece pullovers, plenty of accessories, shaving gear, four of the books I’ve been meaning to read for months, a dive mask, AND my Cole Haan leather sandals. You just never know. Better safe than sorry. It’s best to be prepared. What if the weather stays cool? You just never know. 

By the time we arrive in the Bahamas, we’ve made three connecting flights. My suitcase has made one. We are in MarshHarbor. My suitcase is somewhere in The United States of America. US Air isn’t revealing any hints as to where exactly. They’re pretty sure the bag had made it as far as WashingtonDC, but from Washington there are a variety of fascinating possibilities. When will they know? They can’t say for sure. But they will do their best to get it to our resort as soon as they can.  Of course, the bag has to clear customs before it can be delivered to me, and so I have to leave them the combination to the locks on the suitcase.

The boat rental place with whom I had courageously arranged to rent a boat for the week in order to take my wife around to all those deserted little sandy beaches – alone – without a guide or a tour group - won’t let us take the boat. There are four-foot seas and small craft warnings. The eight-mile journey from MarshHarbor to the resort will have to be traversed by ferryboat. The dock for the ferryboat is not staffed. “How will my suitcase make it:

1.     out of America into the Bahamas
2.     through customs
3.     from the airport to the unmanned ferry dock
4.     onto the ferry
5.     to the correct resort on one of many remote islands and
6.     to our room?

Can it be that God is involved in the details of our lives, and that this is God’s way of being funny?” That’s what Bernadette is suggesting as she finishes her first book, and rummages through her carry-on bag looking for a change of clothes for our first evening in the Bahamas. At dinner, we notice the other guests are all wearing polar fleece. My annoyance deepens as I see one guest with a polar fleece shirt just like the one in my lost suitcase. The weather is not cool in the Bahamas. It is freezing! Another guest tells us that we’d better rent wet suits if we plan on any swimming.

The next morning, Bernadette puts on her third outfit, as I dress in my travel clothes. After a late breakfast we wander down the beach, braving the wind and cold to a beach bar, where there are dozens of other tourists, all bundled up in polar fleece and hats. We join them in several rum punches, until we finally muster the nerve to ask someone, “Is it always this cold here in January?” The bartenders are quick to answer, “No. This is really unusual. It’s been freezing here for a couple of weeks now, and they’re forecasting more of the same for the rest of this week.” Our hearts sink. By mid afternoon, we have our travel agent on the phone, begging her to get us someplace warm. By 4:00 a fax arrives to our resort, giving us the details of the next leg of our journey. We are to leave the following morning, take the ferry back to Marsh Harbor; take a flight to Miami, and then on to Montego Bay, Jamaica, and finally a two hour cab ride to a resort in Negril. Our hosts in the Bahamas are very gracious and allow us out of our commitment due to the unusual weather, and the next morning we’re off, each with our one carry-on bag -- me in the same clothes I’ve been wearing for three days. Of course, I’m wondering… If my suitcase is found today – how, in the name of all that is holy, will my suitcase and me ever be reunited? How will it find me in the outer edges of Jamaica, brought there by a different airline than lost my luggage in the first place? Of course I won’t say anything about my worries to Bernadette – mostly because she hasn’t once ridiculed me for over-packing. It’s just so unsettling to be in an unfamiliar place, without some of my own STUFF, to remind me that I’m still me. “Dear Father in heaven, just get me my white linen pants and my Cole Haan sandals. Then everything will be all right.” It’s not the daily office, but it will have to do, as we make our way into the ferryboat.

As the ferry pulls up to the dock, and we step off onto the landing, I can’t believe my eyes. There is my suitcase in all its glory: that old yellowish leather box case, with the brass corners, glowing in the morning sunlight like a golden calf. I begin to tear up. I can’t help it. It’s here. It made it. I AM WHOLE AGAIN!  Thank you Jesus!  My faith is restored! I want to sing God’s praises out loud. I want to dance. I give Bernadette a hug as I break into open weeping. It’s just sitting there all by itself; it must have sat there all night - alone. I run to embrace my suitcase and in my exuberance, I slip on the dock, whack my shin on one of those pilings and fall to the deck in very real pain, nearly rolling off into the harbor. Bernadette is laughing hysterically – which is her normal response to people injuring themselves: especially me. But I don’t care. I have my STUFF! I have my STUFF! I have my STUFF!