Greetings from Saba

I’m not even to Saba yet, and she wakes me from a snooze. “Would you like a massage? I’ll do a free demo.”

“No, thank you,” I manage, still groggy from sun and sand and sky.

“I’m not voting in our next election,” she announces, committed to her hustle.

I sit up. Shield my eyes from the technicolor marriage of water and cloud. “Why not?” I query, always on the lookout for a decent story.

And she tells me. It doesn’t matter whether she votes in the next election. The people running are only in it for power and money. They make all kinds of promises to get votes and forget their constituents as soon as they win. Poverty lurks just beyond the string of multi-million dollar yachts . People are starving. Nobody cares.

“Sounds like America,” I say.

I’ll spare readers her opinion on America these days. We’re not popular wherever I go. Especially right now.

My dad told me Saba would be dangerous. Because my brother went to the Dominican Republic for work and says it is scary. I’ve visited over 30 countries. But I’m a girl. What do I know about travel?

I told Dad I’m likely safer on Saba than at home.

I didn’t know Saba existed until my friend Anne told me she vacationed here. Part of the Dutch Netherlands, Saba is a dormant volcano in the eastern Caribbean between St. Maarten and St. Eustace.

Its airport boasts the world’s shortest runway. Take a look at video of a plane landing and taking off. I couldn’t enjoy my 12-minute flight from St. Maarten, because I was beside myself over this landing.

The pilot nailed it.

Anne took me on a hike around the island today. The food boat came for the first time in two weeks. Everything on the island must be imported. The landscape is too rugged to grow enough food to reliably feed a population of 1,400. I bought precious greens and will feel guilty if I don’t eat them.

I met several locals today. Their families go back almost 400 years on this island. But they have the same struggles: the wealthy buying up real estate; locals priced out of the market; a remote government with other interests.

Water is everywhere. Falling from the sky. Lapping at volcanic edges. Dripping from the tip of my nose.

An inspiring two weeks of writing, dear reader. I’m grateful to be here.