Does the English language possess a more beautiful compound noun than "beach bar"? I think not. Say it with me slowly: "beach...bar." Each word an idyll, together a paradise. And so utterly Caribbean. I like to imagine the birth of the beach bar happening long ago when an Arawak, perhaps named Mellow, brewed up an especially fine batch of cassava beer and took it down to the shore. In the shade of his favorite tree, Mellow drank his beer and gazed at the placid blue water. Soon others from the village showed up, and Mellow shared his beer, view and companionship. These were indeed happy hours. Everyone stayed to toast the sunset, and half claimed to see the green flash. It went so well that Mellow proclaimed he'd bring his beer to the same spot every day and dedicate his life to inventing something called a blender. There was much rejoicing, and the village's heaviest drinkers stripped off their T-shirts and hung them in Mellow's tree.
Classic Caribbean beach bars differ little from my daydream. Several of our favorites – Foxy's, Sunshine's, Bomba's – began just like that, with an industriously mellow fellow dragging a cooler and a few rum bottles to the beach and setting up shop. Eventually, some benches appeared, then a thatche
d cabana, a slab bar, a grill, a flat spot for a reggae band to play. A real beach bar need not evolve much beyond that, and shouldn't. The best ones are not meet markets, they're not about Jell-O shots or wet T-shirt contests, and they don't crank Euro disco or serve sushi. They're not "hot spots" in the sense of being backdrops for action. A real beach bar is a bastion of inaction. Ideally, it sits on a lee shore or along a tranquil bay to prevent so much as a crashing wave from breaking the reverie. Calm seas also make it easier to wade in and cool off, striking the Lazy Lady Liberty – that modified statue pose where you raise one arm just enough to keep your beer out of the water. Send me your thirsty, your uptight, your overtsressed masses yearning to chill out...
The best beach bars are designed for true island travelers, those with sandy feet and salty, sun-touched skin who can synchronize with the swaying-hammock pace. They're for those who understand that to have "just a quick drink" at one of these nectarian nirvanas would be an affront to the very essence of a Caribbean vacation. For those of us who practice the fine art of relaxation, these simple, sand-floored structures of sticks and thatch are our conservatories.
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I had only been on the new Disney Fantasy for an hour when the “Sailing Away” party featuring Mickey, Minnie, dancers, streamers, and a DJ started. My head was spinning, but my son, 8, was already riding the AquaDuck, the signature water coaster, that dips, loops, and swirls around the entire ship and out across the water. This would pretty much set the pace for my Fantasy inaugural voyage: as much action as the Mouse can cram in for four days. Relaxing? Not really. But lots of fun? Definitely yes.
Is eating an activity? On a day rip to an Anguillian outpost, you bet it is.
