Beautiful Bay

Christopher Columbus sailed saw it and proclaimed it “Porto Bello,” …beautiful bay.

And it is.

Rain forests tumble down a mountain into the calm Caribbean Sea. The town is littered with three forts built by the Spanish to protect Central American Silver shipping for Europe. Sir Francis Drake, the pirate, is buried in a lead coffin in the waters. Sailboats from around the world are moored in the Bay content to stay a while. Cantinas are more plentiful than churches.

Jimmy Buffett is singing in my head.

There’s a cowboy in the jungle and he looks so out of place

With his shrimp skin boots and his cheap cheroots and his skin as white as paste

Heading south to Paraguay where the Gauchos sing and shout

Now he’s stuck in Porto Bello since the money all ran out

I like Porto Bello and tell Sarah that I wouldn’t mind staying. Later I learn that it rains eight months out of the year in Panama and the thought loses its luster though the dream doesn’t. I’ve got an expatriate’s heart and the soul is definitely Caribbean. At 56 I still dream of cashing it all in and finding that one particular harbor.

Of course, in my case though, the money ran out a long time ago.

And I live on an island that most would die to call home.

I am happy on Tybee Island with the smell of the marsh, choirs of mussels, egrets and pods of Dolphins. The seafood on the island is better than any I’ve found anywhere else in the world. Sunrises erupt from the sea and sunsets linger over the marsh.

Still, my wandering toes are always itching. I’ve made it to Central America twice now in the past year and I can’t wait to come back. St. Martin is forever calling. The little latitudes are the best ones.

Some may say I look a gift horse in the mouth but I don’t.

I have this incredible gift of life to make with what I will and I’m doing my damn best to squeeze as many of the things I want in to it as possible before I die. Besides, I’ve been criticized enough in life to not worry about it much anymore.

Besides, next week the Carnival of Friends are gathering in St. Augustine, another Spanish town littered with a fort, to celebrate the birth of one of its own. There’s just too much to do and so little time left.

I may as well get busy!