A Hot Place

Grand Anse Beach

I spent last week in the Caribbean, walking under a quasi-equatorial sun, cavorting in clear blue waters, and breathing air so saturated with fragrant aromas that I could taste it. It’s a place I love: Grenada — the spice isle. Both of my parents were born there, I spent my childhood summers there, and now, as an adult, I return every year to visit my aging grandmothers.

It is a hot place. The sun is close and potent — shining brighter and stronger than any other sun I’ve known. As a black woman, it is the only place I’ve ever gotten sunburned. Even the locals try to avoid being outside between the hours of ten in the morning and three in the afternoon. Going there is travelling towards the sun. Stepping into the ocean for what locals call “a sea bath” is like entering a temperate tub. At the right time of day, cold-water faucets run warm. And unless you spend the night on the beach, it is almost impossible to be cold.

Grenada is where I learned how to live with heat. As a young child visiting my grandparents for thirty-day spans at a time, I quickly figured out how to cope with the Caribbean clime. I learned that wearing jeans for the flight there is a mistake — even if I planned to change in the airport bathroom. (Have you ever tried to change out of your jeans in a recently mopped public bathroom while you sweat profusely?) Stepping off the plane means confronting heat immediately — a heat…