Living in America, coconut water was a luxury so difficult to procure that it was often better left for tropical vacations and visits home to India. He bought us each a coconut to drink and we all watched in anticipation as the man used a huge machete and violently thrashed the tops off the coconuts to release the sweet water. We lounged at the little beach café and feasted on conch fritters, conch curry, and sipped on the perfect coconut water until we were satisfied. My sisters and I ventured to the beach as our parents rested in the shade of the restaurant.
The water was unlike anything I had seen in my life, so vivid and picturesque it seemed as though it had been ripped from the pages of picture books and magazines. Up close, the water was crystal clear. From afar, it appeared to be turquoise blue freckled with diamonds. The golden sand felt remarkably soft between my eager toes. I grabbed some and it melted in my fingers awaiting my release. The inviting water called to me, and I waded in without hesitation. It was warm without being muggy and refreshing without being too cold.
Finally I dived headfirst underwater and tasted the saltiness of the sea as it stung my eyes. I floated on my back as the calm waves overtook me, ears engulfed, listening to the rhythm of the water. I looked over at my sisters on the beach. Clad in sunglasses and bikinis, they were spread out on the sand and experiencing their own bit of bliss. I couldn’t imagine getting back on a boat after such an amazing day. At least our exploration of the Caribbean had only started and many islands lay ahead. There would be more beaches with crystal blue water and more plates filled with conch fritters on a new island the very next day. Until then, I finished the day lying in bed thinking of fruity pancakes at Hemingway’s, and sips of sweet coconut water while seated on the warm sands of Turner’s Beach.
