Tropic Cool

So this is it, the end of the road. To those of you at home, receiving phone calls at random docking times, reading these blog posts religiously, and sobbing into your pillows because you miss us so much, you probably can’t wait for our planes to land. Let me tell you - we can. It’s not that I don’t want to go home. It’s that I don’t want to leave here. I mean, who would? It’s paradise.
Today we woke up to a beautiful sunrise (well, only two of us, everyone else slept through it), made pancakes (again, just the two of us), and promptly ate said pancakes (everyone this time). After deep cleaning the boat (it was disgusting, I’m traumatized from the space under the stairs and the storage beneath the couch cushions), we loaded into the 50 million dinghies that Sailside left with us and took off for the beach. It’s a tiny sandy island with two palm trees and cute little waves - something you would see in a stranded-on-an-island type movie. As if that couldn’t be idyllic enough, we had a giggle-filled flipping competition straight out of a coming-of-age story. One dinghy return and sparkling sail across the ocean later, we arrived back in West End, where we’ll leave from tomorrow.
We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot with our fellow ActionQuest boats, but boy have we turned that around. Apparently, Tropicool is a very popular bunch. I like to think we’re pretty awesome. To say that the barbecue was bustling would be an understatement. I don’t think I’ve socialized that much in my entire life. Apparently, I’m regaining my social interaction muscles post-COVID in a trial by fire. That being said, that might’ve been the most fun I’ve had in a year and a half.
Y’all, I’m going to sound like a broken record here. I am nowhere near ready to go home. I love these people, I love this place, and I love every single thing we’ve done here. Part of me wishes I could stay here forever (and the other half can’t wait for a hot shower and a kiss from my dog). I can’t imagine going home and not waking up on the living room floor next to three grumpy and sleep-deprived teenage boys. I’m going to stand in the kitchen and make just enough food for myself, and listen to music that isn’t heavy British rap, and eat my lunch as slowly as I want to, and I’ll spend every second of it missing this. Again, who wouldn’t?
I can’t wait to see everyone when I get home, truly. But goodness gracious, it’s going to hurt when I wake up and don’t have the moment of realization that I wrote about 13 days ago because I’m not going to be in the Caribbean. It breaks my heart a little, just thinking about it. So back to y’all at home, we love you, we really do. We can’t wait to see you tomorrow. But I can’t honestly tell you that we’ll come back the same people we left as. This place grabs a little piece of you and hides it between the couch cushions with all the other knickknacks. And I actually think we’re the better for it.