Janice Horton - The Backpacking Housewife - The Next Adventure

‘Do you want to go back to Geluk Island for a while, Lori?’

I nod and offer a little smile and place my hand on his and give it a little squeeze.

Last January, we’d spent a blissful six weeks together on the island paradise called Geluk.

The name, pronounced Gluck, means ‘place of happiness’ and indeed we were very happy there. Ethan, or rather his foundation, the GGF, has an oceanic research centre on the Caribbean island. We’d spent our mornings working and diving on the coral reef and our afternoons upstairs in our private quarters making love. In the early evenings, we’d meet up with locals and friends at a beach bar at sundown, to enjoy rum cocktails and grilled seafood and spectacular sunsets. Then, hand in hand and under a sky full of stars, we’d stroll lazily back up the beach to our simple loft room under the swaying palm trees with its bamboo furniture and wooden shuttered windows. It was a perfect way of life. Idyllic, in fact.

The island, like Ethan, had quickly claimed my heart.

It was easy for me to imagine that we might have stayed on Geluk Island forever. Ethan had said that he’d once felt the same way about it. The island is situated in a sheltered bay between the Cayman Islands and the coast of Honduras. It’s often described by those who know of it as a well-kept secret – and they’d liken it to a Key West of the 1930’s era; a laid back and sleepy little gem of an island in the eastern Caribbean Sea.

Until of course that secret got out and the tiny tropical paradise became invaded by tourists.

On most days, it looked exactly how you might imagine a Caribbean island before any commercial tourism arrived. With just one main street and locally owned shops and businesses and quiet bars and restaurants. A commercial boat came in twice a week with imported supplies and the islanders principally trade in fish and shellfish and are self-sufficient in tropical fruits and coconuts. There are no cars there and there’s no pollution. People get about on bicycles or they simply walked everywhere as nowhere is too far away from anything else on Geluk.

There’s a real and very special sense of community amongst the population.

But, being so conveniently close to the Cayman Islands and now part of the new and popular cruise routes, means that half the time there are hordes of people on the island spoiling the ideal and the idyllic. Plus, Ethan is a kind of celebrity. Lots of people know of him and his work. Especially those in the diving community. He’s often recognised in the street and approached by strangers in bars and while simply trying to have a quiet drink and minding his own business.

He hates all the fuss. Especially if he’s being asked for his autograph.

So, I guess we’ll just have to move on and find our paradise home somewhere else now.

Or not. I mean, now that his dream of living on a private island in the BVIs has been taken away from him, I must once again wonder if he will ever want to settle down anywhere else?

And, is it even in Ethan’s nature to live in one place?

He’s an activist. A man of the world. And what about me?

I must question whether or not I am truly a woman of the world?

I can’t help but to doubt myself. Yes, I want to travel. Yes, I want to be with Ethan.

I’m still being torn in two by my wanderlust and my desire for stability.

But all those ‘wants’ feel so selfish when to claim them for myself means I have to treat my family like they no longer exist. I met a Buddhist monk in a golden temple in Thailand once, and he told me that Buddha says that you should remove the ‘I’ from ‘I want something’ because it is your ego, and you should remove the ‘want’ also because it is your greed. Then you’ll be left with your ‘something.’

And, as much as I try to reason with myself and apply all that I’ve learned over this past year into my decision making, that angel and devil of good and bad and positive and negative, sit on my shoulders to this very day to constantly whisper into my ears and taunt me.

And, of the two, I’m never sure which one of them is being entirely truthful.

I can’t help but to agonise over what it is that I must compromise on?

Today, with Waterfall Cay, it really seemed like I’d found the answer.

It seemed, in a moment of hope and glory, that I’d found my compromise.

But now that option has disappeared as fast as it came and I’m back to the same question.

How can I possibly choose to love a man over my own family?

How can I ever allow myself to really trust anyone ever again?

How can I trust another person when I can’t seem to trust my own instincts anymore?

When having it all is impossible and so means having to choose?

Ethan dragged his eyes away from staring at the bottom of his empty bourbon glass to look at me. I really don’t think I’ve ever seen him so dismayed. Not even when together we’d nursed a turtle, who’d been hit by the rudder of a longtail boat in Thailand, and its carapace was cracked open and its right flipper gone and a chunk missing from the edge of its shell.

‘Oh Lori, I lost something else today too —’ he confessed miserably. ‘I lost your ring.’

I didn’t know what to say. It was a beautiful ring. I just hoped it was insured.

‘I must have dropped it in the sand. I expect the chances of finding it again will be remote.’

I looked deeply into his soulful eyes. Those very beautiful but now incredibly sad pools of light and love and emotion. I couldn’t help myself. A great surge of love came crashing over my own fiery feelings and doused them out in a wave of both passion and compassion for him.

‘Ethan, losing a ring doesn’t mean you’ve lost my love. I love you. I want to be with you. But, despite what you call the cruise ship invasion, I still think that Geluk Island would be our next best choice as a perfect place for us to build a home together. Then we can have something that resembles a home life between our work projects. I need that stability. I want a door to close when I need to shut out the problems of the world. I want somewhere to rest when I’m feeling tired. I want walls on which to hang my favourite photographs. I’m afraid, I just can’t carry on like this —as a homeless nomad.’

Ethan shrugged and sighed and sulked and he didn’t look either convinced or happy.

‘I suppose I’ve always thought that one day, I’d settle down in the BVIs.’ He confessed. ‘I really wanted that island to be our home, Lori. I really felt we belonged there. Strangely, I’ve never felt that way about anywhere, not even Scotland. But, you’re right. I’ll just have to accept it’s not going to happen and move on. Just give me some time and I promise I’ll find us somewhere else to call home.’ He looked so incredibly sad and disappointed.

For someone who always seemed ready and prepared and who knew exactly how and when it was time to move on, I’ve never known Ethan to drag his heels, or to be so reluctant before.

‘Look —’ I tried to reason with him. ‘If this island is really that important to you, why don’t we go and talk to your brother about it? If he only knew how you feel – how very special this island is to you – then he might be prepared to back off and give it back to us?’

Ethan vehemently shook his head. ‘No way. Lori, you simply don’t understand who you are dealing with here. Damion will not give up the island. Especially, if he knew how special it was to me. There’s nothing that you or I can do about it. It’s gone.’

‘I simply can’t believe that to be true. You are brothers. Surely this can be worked out?’

Ethan shrugged again but it was more like an acknowledgement of defeat than of acquiesce.