The first island I ever fell in love with was Gilligan's Island. The pristine beaches, the tropical fruits, the tight-knit community of people who eventually had to decide to get along because there's no space to yourself when you live on a tiny island....everything sounded perfect. And, of course, to a kid at least, the slapstick humor was very successful at inducing giggles.
Sure, Gilligan's Island is a goofy sitcom from the 1960s. Getting shipwrecked for real on a deserted island is probably significantly less humorous and less glamorous. Nevertheless, when I think of my home, I think I've found my own Gilligan's Island.
Here, the beaches aren't so pristine. And the traffic jams demonstrate quite clearly how non-deserted the island is. But it's my island.
I think I fell in love with it just a little more on our beach outing last weekend. So, the boats we rode in to get to the beach didn't provide life jackets, and a little part of me wondered what kind of a test ocean waters would prove to be if I had to put my swimming skills into action. And yes, my siblings and friends found a whole bunch of random shellfish-type creatures in the ocean and decided to grill them and eat them right on the beach; and I thought about the likelihood of food poisoning.
But besides those few random, unnaturally grown-up-ish thoughts, it was a grand adventure. We bounced from one wave to the next in the super-fast speedboats. I strolled in the Indian Ocean (I'm not the biggest fan of swimming). We explored and found a lagoon which bore a distinct resemblance to the ever-present Gilligan's Island lagoon. We stared at the threatening clouds and wondered if we'd be caught in a rainstorm. We spent hours grilling satay and chicken wings and marshmallows, and climbed giant rocks in the meantime.