Aside from wind and waves, the one constant noise seems to be the crunchy hum of a golf cart motor, hundreds of them dotting the island, touristas with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around a Corona. Jeff and I joined the masses and rented a cart for the day (just 550 pesos for 24 hours!). There's something about getting behind the wheel of a "car" and exploring an unknown place - It feels all your own, all its corners at easy reach.
And it's amazing how much can happen on one little 7-kilometer island on any given day.
Rising up out of the Caribbean, its north end (Playa Norte) is all soft white sand and calm, turquoise water. The south end (Camino Punta Sur) is a violent sea, churning and deep blue, waves crashing against enormous jags of salt-battered rock. Downtown, the north, feels like a Latin Old Montreal while the south feels like Scotland or Nova Scotia or something more celtic. The weather, too, is unpredictable and wide-ranging. From blazing sun to fluffy clouds to misty soup, icy cold water raining down for a few minutes here and there. So much packed into 1100 square kilometeres.
Between stops at the roadside bar (for drinks to-go, how crazy!) we zig-zagged across Isla's 650 meter width, peeping the locals and taking in the incredible eastern views toward Cuba. We had lunch and (more) drinks at Zama (a beautiful beach club) and were back downtown in time for dinner.
Tomorrow we leave beautiful Isla, nearly as classy as we found her, and prepare to withstand the last few weeks of winter with grace and dignity. I hope these memories bolster that seemingly insurmountable task.
(Oh, and if you're wondering: No, we were not the gayest people on the island, despite our fruity beachwear.)