Camilleon

Growing up, vacation began with an eight-hour bus ride from Choluteca to La Ceiba with my sister and mother. My mother, a proud Ceibeña, carried the warmth of the coast in her spirit. She had a carefree, live-life-to-the-fullest personality that we all adored. We would stay at my grandpa Alfonso’s house for weeks. Although my grandmother had passed away at just 40 years old, her garden of ferns and cacti remained vibrant, thriving with time.

To a young girl with a vivid imagination, his home felt like a mysterious paradise. I spent hours outside, wandering through the greenery, pretending I was Jack Sparrow sailing through an undiscovered jungle. Inside, my grandfather kept a collection of 1950s Coke glasses and antique cups. I wasn’t allowed to touch them, but I often stood there staring, mesmerized. He worked as a pathologist during the day, and every afternoon I waited eagerly for his return. I would lie beside him and ask for a story. He would tell me tales like Little Ice Riding Hood and Little Rainbow Riding Hood. I always wondered why no one else seemed to know them. Eventually, I discovered he had created them just for me.

On certain evenings, my grandpa would treat us to a special night out at the Applebee’s inside the mall, styled like an old Irish pub. I have no memories of the food itself, but I felt like I was in a sophisticated place, with its dim lighting and mosaic lamps. I would enthusiastically leave with a balloon and a kids’ cup, feeling like I’d had the best time.

What made my grandpa’s house in La Ceiba my happiest place was knowing that in this beautiful beach city in northern Honduras, there was always a room reserved just for us. He awaited our arrival every summer and Christmas break, just a bus ride away. His house held so many memories: countless stories of my uncle’s and mother’s teenage days, and memories of my grandma Miriam woven into the greenery. It was my sister’s first home, where she grew up while my parents completed their college degrees. It was also the place where my love for film blossomed. After a long day, we would pick a movie from his DVD collection to watch and rewatch together. There was even a collection of romantic comedies that my uncle Tato set aside just for us to enjoy during our visits.

I still dream about my grandpa’s house, exactly as I left it. The memory is so vivid. I wonder if the new family that lives there cherishes it as much as I did. I still wonder what made it so special to me. Maybe it was the unfiltered ability to dive into the moment and enjoy it fully. Maybe it was fully immersing in the joy of being loved and loving my friends and family in La Ceiba.

Now, when I think of my current “happy places,” they are the places where my family gathers: the camper at Bald Eagle State Park for summer holidays, vacations in Williamsburg, visiting each other’s homes for birthdays. I have the pleasure of having married into a tight-knit family with the same pure love I grew up with.

Happy places have never been about the place itself but about togetherness, the quality of our time. It’s about disconnecting from everyday distractions, going on a walk, choosing to be present, and loving purely and fully. Whether it’s a long eight-hour bus ride or a five-minute drive to see your loved ones, the magic is in the moments shared. I feel fortunate for the time I had with my grandfather and my mother, and even more fortunate for the time I have now with my family.

Copyright © 2025 Camille Claudel Bond. All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or otherwise used without the prior written permission of the author.

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Thank you for taking the time to read this essay on my favorite place on earth growing up.

Feel free to share in the comments what some of your happy places were growing up. I’d love to read your comments!