NIGHTFALL on the world's most densely populated island

Santa Cruz del Islote.
Three square miles. 
Nearly 1,300 people.

​Sunburned and desperate, I dumped crystallized shards of instant coffee into a half-filled plastic water bottle from the night before. I left it sloshing on the wooden dock to warm in the early morning sun. I waited an hour. Its vanilla sweetness stuck to the back of my teeth as I lifted the black liquid to my lips - spilling it down the front of my shirt as our motor boat lurched into the air with every crunching wave. Fifty miles and two hours later, we arrived at the very point we aimed to find in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. An inconspicuous dot of land - every inch covered by multicolored cinderblock structures; each one bursting with stories. We befriended two young men. Eddie - lanky, his shoulders hunched forward in a permanent state of leisure - held me steady as I stepped onto the island on which he'd spent every day of his life. Leo - tall, bald, and spritely - sprang out of the boat behind me, pulling my wide-eyed best friend along with him.

The minimal surface area on Islote - combined with a tight-knit community of lifetime residents - meant that a nimble game of Follow the Leader was in order. Eddie's wild knots of hair, wind-blown from days at sea, remained my guide as we snaked through the narrow alleyways. Some points forced us into peoples' homes to get through. A kind-hearted woman in a crimson t-shirt and multi-colored sarong laughed as she exclaimed something about my baking cakes in her outdoor galley kitchen. Her children stared and in their confusion surrounding our presence, did not return my smile. Men chanted "princesa" if we made eye contact. Eddie wasted no time in punching his brothers' biceps, smirking, rolling his eyes, and apologizing. Bold flashes of primary colors bounced off our skin as Tom and Jerry flooded the television screens in each living room. We slipped past one home after another, finally arriving in the 'town square'. 

One building served as King of Islote. It was their church. Their school. Their hospital (open on occasion). Their library. Their soccer field. The men took great pride in showing off a cock fighting ring - by far, the most elegant structure on the island. We visited the 'aquarium': nets in the ocean where fishermen kept live sea turtles, lobsters, and octopuses to sell to neighboring islands for a better price. Two children screamed with delight as they tried to catch the largest turtle. We gathered around the island's sole telephone as our walk concluded.

Through broken Spanish and English, we agreed we'd like to share a beer while night fell. We walked a few feet to an old man's home where a single large window exposed batteries, toilet paper, chips, and other necessities. Eddie retrieved four Aguilas which went down quickly as darkness overtook the island. Four pairs of bare feet slipped back into the thin boat. As we bobbed over to a nearby island where our hammocks were currently swinging to the beat of an incoming storm, Islote's lights twinkled against the ripples of the dark Caribbean waters. Suddenly, the humble horizon flickered and then went completely black. 

"Solar," Eddie muttered. And he steered us home.