Spring Breaking in the Devil’s Triangle

“The air breathes upon us here most sweetly….As if it had lungs, and rotten ones…Here is everything advantageous to life….True; save means to live…How lush and lusty the grass looks! How green!” Multiple characters: Act 2 Scene 1, The Tempest; William Shakespeare

Spring break in Beautiful Bermuda, and the site that will be forever etched upon our memories will be the inside of the Bermuda Emergency room.

 Why?!  The word flies in front of my eyes like a meme as my body slowly becomes aware of the crunch of pain in my knee, the stones of the wall, and the inertia that has sent me seemingly in slow motion toward the emerald green turf-grass on this divider between the road that went straight ahead and the one that turned left toward our Bermuda rental.  Images flash inside my brain of the ridiculous spectacle that the two of them made when we rented these bikes.  The original plan was for Lottie and Lee to share one bike and Kris and I the other. However, Lottie could barely hold the scooter steady at the start, and wobbled her way down a hill to drop the bike over.  Then when Lee tried to take over driving she ended up over the curb and she toppled into a decorative bush. This was the first day in the Bermuda ER, patching up Lee’s leg.  That left Kris and I as the drivers thereafter, and the L’s to ride “bitch”.  It’s not the technical passenger term in this instance, but I like it.   We were fine and dandy for a full 24 hours until… Why did I let her drive?  Oh right, because she begged, nay, beseeched and swore oaths to me.  

Why am I even here?  

If memory serves I had very little to do with the choice of Bermuda as a Spring Break destination.  If I had been wiser and more involved I might have seen that this wasn’t going to be a tropical heat fest vacation of dreams; seeing as the latitude of the Bermuda Islands run just about even with mid North Carolina and spring isn’t exactly hot, averaging in the 60s and 70s. Beautiful, chilly, beaches abound. 
I did not research any history of the place before I found myself flying through the Bermuda air on my way to an imminent meeting with its lusty flora.  So as penance I present a few tid-bits here.  Bermuda was once wild and seems to have had no indigenous people when its reefs were crashed upon by English sailors.  It is actually a series  of semi-connected smaller islands and rocks.  Tales of this lonely paradise full of birds made its way back to the homeland and it is believed to have inspired the setting for Shakespeare’s play, The Tempest.  Settlements here were first created for supplies and a way-station during the slave trade.   Bermuda, still a Brit territory, is famous for the pink sand beaches, bottling dark Caribbean Rum, and infamous for sitting on the peak of the mysterious Devil’s Triangle that eats ships, planes, and men before they can call out an SOS. 

This explains why I am here on Spring Break.  Hell isn’t a series of circles, it is 3 sided.  
No one except permanent residents can drive cars on the island, hence the scooters of death. 
I am brought back to the moment as I crash to the ground on the other side of the stone wall.  My knee is in agony.  I can hear Lottie wailing near the road.   What the actual heck.  She sounds like someone is trying to murder her.  I slowly get to my feet and lean on the thick wall to peer over at the bike and driver who tipped into the ditch next to the wall after the impact that seemed to be mostly absorbed by the right handlebar and my right knee.  Kris and Lee have pulled up next to us.  Lottie is gripping her right wrist, inconsolable, and keeps screaming she is so sorry.  Trip number 2 to the Bermuda  ER. This time in an ambulance.  No broken bones, just maxed out credit cards, bruised egos, and time ill spent. 

“Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.” Caliban, Act 3 Scene 2, The Tempest, Shakespeare

Next night we took a taxi to the famed Swizzle Inn bar, for a sophisticated evening of rum sampling.  I kid of course.  Not about the taxi, but the sophistication and the sampling.  Debauched chugging would be getting closer to accuracy.   Lottie is the most opinionated, and therefore was the planner of this trip to pink hell. She has this uncanny ability to bring people together, vacuumed up into her circle of influence.  She may also exhibit a tendency to overestimate her physical abilities and has a definitive slop factor during consumption of rum.  Lee is Lottie’s bestie and side kick.  She can be funny and fun, but crosses into aggression with little provocation and plenty of drink.  Kris is tall and athletic.  Occasionally awkward she surprises people by having all her shit together, unless rum is involved.   They are all well tweezed, accessorized, and eye-lined. I might have been an alternate for this vacation Olympic team. My swimmers short haircut, growing out awkwardly, and my only accessories of a random hair clip and a black pleather jacket. Lottie calls me the Phoebe of our “Friends” crew.  I’ll take it. 

The Swizzle Inn makes a mean Dark and Stormy. My lips have gone numb and my ruddy face is now ablaze.  Karaoke seems like a great idea, and so does making out with this random quiet blond guy in a real leather jacket.  He tastes like salty air, limes, and ginger beer.  He might have an actual motorcycle waiting outside, uncrashed.  Miraculously I remember the rental landline phone number and give it to him before we leave, but have no memory of getting back to my bed.
Rum hangovers are fantastic and are probably featured heavily in actual hell.  We collect pink sand to sneak back on the plane.  We dip our toes in the still too cold to swim ocean.  We take a boat trip around the islands, heavily Dramamined, with a splash of Advil.   

An early night back at the rental.  The phone rings.
“Penny, it’s some guy for you.”

“Holy f-ing balls!” Panic..  “Tell him I crashed my motor bike into the sea and the triangle swallowed me up!”

” We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” Prospero; Act 4 Scene 1, The Tempest; Shakespeare