Island Time

Awake to see this morning's spectacular Boulder sunrise, my body proved to me for the third day in a row that it is still on island time.
Gladly accompanying my grandparents on their 50th wedding anniversary in the form of a Caribbean-cruising sailboat, seven days were spent basking (read: getting charred) in the sun, consuming altogether way too many alcoholic beverages, swimming, eating and trying really hard to just relax. I did, however, come to the realization that the term "island time" applies to much more than what your watch says; it's a way of life.
There are a few things that especially flourish on island time, but above all the winner seems to be romance. The Caribbean caters to everyone's varying definitions of romance, and traveling through, it was almost comical to see the broad spectrum realized in so many forms.
On a very superficial level my younger sister, Liz, pointed out that on several of the islands, the male-female ratio was dramatically on her side (she has a thing for darker men with accents) to the tune of 2 to 1. I figured that the generous gentlemen leading our excursions just liked the rare blonde, or wanted a decent tip. Liz soaked up the attention and thought nothing more of it.
The next instance, which was perhaps more lust than love (but who am I to judge?) came when I was bobbing up and down in the waves off of Martinique (?) and happened to glance toward shore just in time to see one of the older crew members from our ship furiously, shamelessly and quite publicly locking lips with someone I assumed was from the island. As I debated whether this was a romantic meeting or an island booty-call, a wave knocked some sense into me and I concluded that there may not be too much difference.
Of course, 'hook-ups,' as my father so aptly coined them, are all very much a part of the cruising lifestyle for guests on the ship, as well. It is the wonderful mix of heat and booze that results in less clothing and more ambition. The sad aspect of these relationships is they seem to be short-lived, and after the seven days, ways are parted and people end up in their respective parts of the globe with only a memory and perhaps a new Facebook friend.
The true romance was found in the 50-and-over crowd; those that came together in celebration of many years spent in one another's company, through sickness and in health, through richer or poorer -- the romance 22-year-old women crave. I found myself sighing more than usual and wishing upon most of the stars in the perfectly black Caribbean ceiling for some of that to come my way.
The most heart-wrenchingly romantic story came from a German-Argentinian couple. The German (man) fell in love with the Argentinian woman, even though she was the secretary that handed him his pink slip. He left on a three week vacation, only to return a week early just to see her. When he arrived at her house, her mother informed him that her daughter had flown to the U.S. to marry someone else. In a spectacular show of persistence, the German acquired a visa, booked the only seat left on a U.S.-bound plane - first class, which he was no business to be flying - and made it to the U.S. in time. Needless to say, he somehow convinced her to marry him, and they have been side-by-side ever since.
And then there are my grandparents - celebrating, and rightly so, 50 years of thick and thin. Never have I heard my grandfather speak so lovingly to my grandmother, thanking her for everything that she put up with. Never have I realized how much those two have been through together - near-death experiences, children, constant moving, a war, jobs, illnesses, and on the list goes. Listening to those stories and seeing my grandparents recognize that neither of them could have made it to this point without the other, made me realize how important marriage is on levels I before did not know existed. Romance is more than making out in a tropical paradise: it's having a best friend and a life partner with which to share everyday.