An Islander’s Journey to the Sea 🌊

I live on an island, and when you say those four words to people who live on the vast expanse of a continent, they imagine your house next to a palm tree, with the sea right in front, but nothing could be further from the truth. I was born on this island in the middle of the Caribbean, yet I only make it to the sea during the summer months, on special, carefully planned occasions.

This journey, which I want to make you accomplices to, was to the nearest beach and believe me, it’s over 100 km away. On the northern coast of CamagΓΌey province lies Playa Santa LucΓ­a, one of the most beautiful beaches in the country, whose greatest attribute is the preservation of its marine ecosystem and the presence of one of the largest, most stunning coral reefs.

We set out early and made a brief stop along the way at the ruins of a sugar mill, Santa Isabel (if my historical memory serves me right). Cuba has a long tradition of sugar production dating back to the colonial era two centuries ago, and it’s not unusual to come across these marvelous ruins where you can still smell the molasses and sugarcane.

There’s nothing more thrilling than the imminent approach of the sea and the salty tang of the ocean air filling your lungs. The blue is mesmerizing and, at least for me, has a hypnotic effect. Near this area are vast salt flats, a perfect hideaway for flamingos that migrate here during certain times of the year.

Later, I found some flamingos in an artificial lake and was delighted when they let me stroke their uniquely colored feathers. Seeing these animals up close is a deeply rewarding sensory experience.

At the hotel where we stayed, sculptures coexisted with us, small artistic touches at every step, a reminder that art and leisure go hand in hand. It’s like walking through a gallery by the sea, where you, too, become part of the exhibition.

There’s nothing better than feeling the sea overwhelm you, realizing how insignificant we are beside it.

I don’t know how to swim, and I know you’ll laugh at me because the stereotype of an island woman is someone who swims like a fish, but that’s not the case. Still, I’m bold enough to hop on a water bike and ride along the shore. The views are breathtaking: the blue expanse, catamarans hoisting their sails to visit the reefs, our friends swimming, while the sun soaks into our skin. Of course, I wore a life jacket, don’t think I’m that brave.

A beach sunset is something unparalleled.

The beach wasn’t our only companion; every now and then, we’d visit a beautiful pool that helped ease the intensity of the Cuban summer heat. One morning, after coffee, we spotted a little black cat drinking from the pool, a snapshot we’ll keep forever.

At dawn, we’d return to the beach as workers cleared away the seaweed that had washed in with the tide overnight, and we’d go back to seek out the sea once more.

This time, we found some treasures: corals, sea urchins, all of which we later returned to their habitat.

Merging with the sea, being clothed in the waters of the Caribbean, is the dream of every islander, the reality we yearn for, the one that runs through our veins.

Every time we finish a trip like this, we return with a little less in our hearts, having left a piece of ourselves in those blue horizons where happiness also rests.

Perhaps that’s the magic of islands: we carry the sea within us even when we’re far from its shores. Back home, I still wake up some mornings half-expecting to hear waves crashing outside my window, only to find the quiet hum of city life instead but the salt lingers in my memories, and the horizon keeps calling. One day, I’ll return to those turquoise waters, not as a visitor but as someone coming home. Until then, I collect these moments like seashells, each one a fragile, perfect reminder of where I truly belong.

🌊

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✨ π‘»π’‰π’‚π’π’Œπ’” 𝒇𝒐𝒓 π’“π’†π’‚π’…π’Šπ’π’ˆ! ✨
𝑰𝒇 π’šπ’π’– 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 π’Œπ’π’π’˜ π’Žπ’† π’šπ’†π’•, π‘°β€™π’Ž 𝒂 π‘ͺ𝒖𝒃𝒂𝒏 π’π’†π’–π’“π’π’π’π’ˆπ’Šπ’”π’• 𝒂𝒏𝒅 π’˜π’“π’Šπ’•π’†π’“, 𝒂 π’Žπ’π’•π’‰π’†π’“, 𝒂 π’˜π’π’Žπ’‚π’, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 π’…π’“π’†π’‚π’Žπ’†π’“ π’˜π’‰π’β€™π’” 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 π’Šπ’ π‘―π’Šπ’—π’† 𝒂 π’ƒπ’†π’‚π’–π’•π’Šπ’‡π’–π’ 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒓.
𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 π’Šπ’Žπ’‚π’ˆπ’†π’” 𝒂𝒓𝒆 π’Žπ’š π’π’“π’Šπ’ˆπ’Šπ’π’‚π’ π’„π’“π’†π’‚π’•π’Šπ’π’π’”, 100% π’‰π’–π’Žπ’‚π’-π’Žπ’‚π’…π’† (𝒏𝒐 𝑨𝑰).
𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 π’…π’†π’”π’Šπ’ˆπ’π’†π’… π’ƒπ’š π‘³π’–π’Žπ’Šπ’Š.
𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 π’•π’‰π’Šπ’” 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕? 𝑼𝒑𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒆, π’„π’π’Žπ’Žπ’†π’π’•, 𝒐𝒓 π’“π’†π’ƒπ’π’π’ˆ 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 π’˜π’Šπ’π’ˆπ’” 𝒐𝒇 π’„π’“π’†π’‚π’•π’Šπ’—π’Šπ’•π’š! πŸ’›



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9 comments
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Based on the photos and your descriptions, I can see how beautiful and important the beach and its preserved habitat are. Your narrative style is so captivating that it truly feels as if I am right there with you, experiencing the journey firsthand. The images are a perfect testament to the beauty and significance of Playa Santa LucΓ­a and its surroundings, and I deeply admire your ability to share this with such vivid detail.

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Santa LucΓ­a is a magical beach that has been criticized for not removing the amount of seaweed it has, making it less clean. However, doing so could harm the ecosystem and cause the sand to erode... Sometimes, it's hard to find a balance between maintaining a healthy environment and promoting recreation and tourism development.

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Well, I obviously stand for the defense of the ecosystem and natural life over tourism-related interests. Anthropocentrism too often brings more harm than good to the world we live in. Even though we are the only living beings with consciousness, instead of using it as a strength to protect life and ecological balance, we seem to be teetering on the edge of collapse. It's astonishing that our so-called intelligence often manifests as selfishness and a disregard for common senseβ€”which, as proven, is the least common of all senses. Still, may this comment serve as our drop of water in the ocean. It may not be much, but the world is better with every drop of common sense we contribute. I wish you a truly wonderful weekend.

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I live on an Island, and I also don't know how to swim. My island is Australia, though - so it is a certain irony that it is both a continent and an Island.

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Well, yes, your situation is a double paradox, but you can't deny that even for that there are stereotypes: you say you're from an island, and they picture you next to a coconut tree, in light clothes, ready to swim ☺️☺️☺️... But none of thatβ€”I see the ocean once a year, and I'm afraid of water ...lolll.

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