Last Updated on April 2, 2023 by PowersToTravel
I feel almost foolish writing about swimming at Playa Azul, in Luquillo, Puerto Rico. Foolish because, after all, hasn’t everyone who grew up within a few hours of the sea enjoyed a swim?
I grew up in Westfield, New Jersey, just a couple of hours from the great Jersey Shore.
My neighbor Linda would go with her family every summer for a week at the shore. Where would we go? We would go camping for three weeks in national parks out west – camping at Arches, Zion, Grand Canyon, Grand Teton, the list goes on. (Note to parents: This is not a complaint.)
Even at a young age, I wore glasses, and one did not wear glasses when swimming. Imagine being at the mercy of the powerful sea and not being able to see a foot in front of your eyes, not being able to see a wave approaching, or even a shark?
I have one memory of my parents taking the family to Cape Hatteras, North Carolina when I was only about six years old. It was a strong sea, and I clung to my father’s hand as we bounced in the waves. Unfortunately, I was the youngest and shortest in the family, and positioned as we were in the waves, as we bobbed, my feet never did touch sand. I could feel the pull of the waves trying to suck me out to sea. Even then I knew the word “undertow.” I could only see my father. I was frightened.
My mother took us once to the Jersey shore. After a couple of hours driving, we arrived at the beach. The big signs announced “SHARKS – NO SWIMMING”. We had lunch and went home.
I grew up knowing that my grandfather drowned while fishing in the sea. My grandmother died of melanoma at an early age, long before the residents of Miami knew to protect their skin. My parents did not instill in me a culture of sun and fun frolic-ing. We hiked and Dad photographed.
So, I struck out on my own as an adult, and never found any level of comfortability (as my friend Garrett would say!) with the sea. I learned to love to walk the beaches in Scotland, secure in my knowledge that no one expected me to actually swim in the cold water.
With this heavy life baggage Greg and I arrived at Luquillo Beach in Puerto Rico. The weather was very warm. We had hiked El Yunque National Park in the morning, picnic’d for lunch, and decided to go to the beach. December was actually a little off-season for Luquillo, and we had no problems finding a parking spot right next to the beach. We spread a blanket under a palm tree; I put my insulin pump in a waterproof/sandproof bag, hid it in our towels, checked my sugar level, and we ran off to the water.
The water was sooooooooo lovely. It was nothing like the cold water of New England or Scotland. It was warm yet refreshing. The surf was a little strong, but the Playa Azul is a shallow beach, so we were able to go out fairly far and feel quite safe. We reached the point where the water was up to my shoulders, and we bobbed.
This time I was fifty-three years old, hanging onto my husband’s hand and wearing disposible contact lenses. I could see the waves as they approached. I could see the stunningly blue water, and blue sky, the white clouds and white froth on the waves. I had no trouble seeing my husband’s blue shirt and red Dr. Pepper bathing trunks.
We bounced and bounced and even when the waves would knock me around, I felt completely safe; I even struck out on my own a bit. Greg had a waterproof camera that we used generously.
It was a moment to hold forever.
