Regret and Longing

In the evening the port became beautiful for perhaps five minutes. The laterite roads that were so ugly and clay heavy by day became a delicate flower-like pink. It was the hour of content. Men who had left the port for ever would sometimes remember on a grew wet London evening the bloom and glow that faded as soon as it was seen: they would wonder why they had hated the coast and for a space of a drink they would long to return (1).

Every day is almost perfect during carême, but one recent Saturday the skies were particularly clear, and from the national road the ocean sparkled like a million diamonds. I could even see the individual houses on les Saintes islands facing Guadeloupe, the islands themselves made up of pleasing green and brown slopes surrounded by blue. And this scene framed by the lush vegetation of volcanic Basse Terre.

I am not blind to the beauty of Guadeloupe. But, having been somewhat obliged to move here, I have been somewhat resistant to the island's charms. During my first few days, I would look bitterly out the balcony towards the ocean, and considered the view unequal compensation for family and friends left behind.

But, if limestone cliffs can be worn down by the Atlantic over time, so too can a heart momentarily hardened by sacrifice. How could I ignore the charms of island paradise forever? There are even moments now, when my family and friends absent themselves from my thoughts, that I feel lucky to live in Guadeloupe. What an opportunity it is to live here.

It makes me wonder how I will feel if I ever leave Guadeloupe and make my life elsewhere. Will I regret the beautiful island days and long to return?



(1)
Greene, Graham. The Heart of the Matter. New York: Penguin Books, 2004.