Central America's Chocolate Coated Shell

Once, when I was living in the O.C., a friend’s dad offered me this golden nugget: Each day, do something that scares you. This way, by the time you die, you will have nothing left to fear.

And so last week, one day after final exams, the Engineer and I found ourselves climbing the gangway toward a people-packed Carnival cruise ship in the steamy port of Miami. Surrounded by nearly 3,000 of our closest friends, we planned to celebrate my Mom’s birthday with the "fam" en route to Central America.
Being a geographer is a colossal hazard on the road to contentment. Everyday choices, whether it’s what to eat or what to buy, are colored by a crisp green lens that shapes your view of the world. In Rosie’s Diner, the ship’s cafeteria, I cringe each time I pass a plate filled with perfectly good protein, abandoned by its gluttonous owner.

We learn that the largely Indonesian crew works long hours and spends 8 months away from home at a time. Teri macase, I say over and over again to Sri, our room steward. Thank you. Sri has just shown us how to make towel animals. He has not seen his wife or child in seven months but they speak via phone every night. A man with identical four leaf clover calf tattoos stumbles past us looking for his cabin. He is the age of my students back home in Colorado. Sri looks me in the eye and smiles. I wonder if he has seen Borneo in his lifetime.

Just let go, the Engineer says. Let’s just revel in it. I have married a good man. He understands the serenity prayer. Courage to change those I can and wisdom to know the difference.

In Grand Cayman, I photograph my family swimming among the sting rays. My Mom clutches Casey’s hand as the ray rubs up against her leg. One of the tour guides is a New Zealander stationed on the island for a year. We discuss the merits of meat pies and Lord of the Rings until we feel a deep ache for that emerald, unpretentious country down under.

Just revel in it. And so deliberately, we fall in love with the simple beauty of Honduras. We swim and laugh in the sapphire waters of sleepy Roatan and remember that these are the salad days. In the limestone caves of Belize, and on the sandy beaches of Mexico, we scratch the surface of Central America, shaving off tiny bits of the region's tasty chocolate covered shell, knowing we'll come back on our own terms with a backpack and a tent.

Back on board, the buffet line snakes its way along the Lido deck. I tell myself I need a different job.