Aaron Moss--Workshop #7--Travel Writing

It's not a Brochure Day in Turks and Caicos

Sun-beat and in need of beer, I maneuver among broken bottles and wind-swept bags that line the main road of Providencials—the largest Island of Turks and Caicos—a British overseas territory in the West Indies. I have left behind the confines of Beaches, the island’s largest all-inclusive corporately owned resort, amid numerous warnings that outside the walls tourists like me are not safe from robbery and worse. I am alert to my surroundings as cars race past, driving on the left side of the road but manufactured for the right—a fitting metaphor for colonial rule in the twenty-first century—which has twisted and crippled the islands economic infrastructure in waves of political corruption more devastating than Hurricane Ike. The 2008 storm that destroyed eighty percent of Provo’s buildings and set back the people’s fight for sovereignty that has been going on since the late 1970’s. From where I stand the resorts 45,000 square-foot, state-of-the-art Water Park and three magnificent villages “boasting the architecture and ambiance of Italy, France and the Caribbean” begin to look a lot like some pastel colored castle, rising from the coral ashes of the slums that surround it.

Throwing caution to the Caribbean wind, I ignore the resort’s warnings and hail down a local man who introduces himself as Robby. Inquiring as to where I can find the nearest locally owned bar he gestures off into the distance where a cluster of shacks stand among overgrown tropical shrubbery, beaconing me to follow him down into the heart of the slums. We walk along white sand streets where chickens walk and men sit in clusters, stopping to stare as I go by. Signs stand out-front the grey sadness of cinder-block homes, reading “Governor No Job, Go Home” and “End British Tyranny;” however, I do not feel fear, only a vague thankfulness to be paying for a beer to someone who truly needs the money. Inside the small establishment I am the only customer—spare Robby—and the women behind the bar meet my gaze with surprise, speaking amongst themselves in the traditional Turks and Caicos dialect while smoking cigarettes and watch Spanish soap-operas. Robby orders up a round of Guinness—on me of course—and there we sit worlds apart, drinking a beer from a place neither of us has ever seen.

Too often in traveling we lose sight of where we actually are and Beaches does everything in its power to necessitate this blindness. Most that enter the all-inclusive paradise never leave its walls, occupying their time with resort activities and all the food and booze they can handle. I too enjoyed such perks—in particular the free scuba diving—which took up the majority of my vacation, sailing to different sites along the coast. Turks and Caicos is ranked by the Professional Association of Diving Instructors (PADI) as the seventh best dive destination in the world. However, I quickly became accustomed to hearing the phrase “today is not a brochure day” as we plunged into the depths of coral graveyards equally devastated by Hurricane Ike. The aquatic life was sparse compared to dives off Cozumel’s coast, and the coral less colorful than that of Dominica. On a clear day the famed crystal waters of the Caribbean held true—offering fifty to eighty feet of visibility—yet this only made it more apparent that the delicate ecosystem had been irrevocably damaged by the 2008 storm season.

With no economy other than tourism, it would be shortsighted of me to condemn an already impoverished island to further poverty by saying that the diving wasn’t worth the ticket. Despite Ike I saw a wide variety of aquatic life: lion fish, reef sharks, stingrays, sea turtles and even dolphin (a first in my career as a diver). Back on land, the luxurious resorts luxurious atmosphere was easy enough to enjoy, drowning my western guilt ridden conscious in rum and some of the freshest seafood I had ever tasted. As an American, I sympathize with those on the islands of Turks and Caicos. Not so long ago we too sought our independence from British colonial rule, and even more recently struggled against politically corrupt governments. The same hurricanes that batter their coast broke our levies around New Orleans; and as it would seem the spirit of Turks and Caicos is strangely kindred to that of our own nation. Perhaps this was what I felt as Robby and I shared drinks in that small dive bar on the outskirts of town. The silence between us not from animosity or fear but from a comfortable unspoken understanding that although we live worlds apart, what affects our lives is not so different. All things run into each other and tell a bigger story, I thought as we toasted another glass. Robby said laughing, “God save the queen” ironically referring to the island’s national anthem. God save the islander, I thought, before ordering up another round on me.