Dec 3 Written By Lance Parcell
Flying into Bermuda for the first time was surreal. I had never flown over the ocean before, so I stared out the window the entire flight. When the turquoise water came into view, it didn’t seem real. Up until then, I had only seen color like that in magazines.
The airport was connected to the U.S. Naval Air Station at the time, so our transport from runway to barracks was short. It was May of 1987 — warm but not unbearable. After growing up in Arizona, I still had desert heat in my bones.
The first thing that hit me was the salt in the air, that sharp ocean scent you only get on small islands. Driving from the airfield to the base, I caught my first glimpse of the island’s pink sand beaches and felt something shift. I was a young Marine, barely out of training, but suddenly the world felt a lot bigger.
Bermuda moves at its own pace. I learned about island time there — things happened when they happened, and no one seemed to mind. The people were friendly, warm, and welcoming.
There was one man I’ll never forget, even if his name has faded with time. He was the barber on base, a Bermudian who had been cutting Marines’ hair for decades. Always smiling, always ready with a joke, and always quick with advice about what to see or where to go. He was part of the heartbeat of the place. Everyone I met there carried that same easy kindness.
Looking back, I wish I had explored even more. But that’s part of the reason I’m heading back — next March, some of the Marines I served with there and I are taking a cruise to Bermuda. Full circle after all these years.
Duty always came first, of course. Our schedule was steady — training, standing watch, and taking care of business. But when we had downtime, we had the beaches.
Clearwater Beach was our hangout, the unofficial Marine retreat. I spent countless hours there, diving into clear waters and decompressing from long shifts. It was also where I learned to scuba dive, exploring the shipwrecks around the island — including one from the movie The Deep.
Then came September 1987, and with it, Hurricane Emily. She hit hard — Category 1 but fierce enough to rip through the island. We called her “the bitch who came to breakfast.” When the storm passed, the base mobilized instantly. We joined the Bermuda Regiment and locals in cleanup efforts. Everyone worked side by side to put the island back together.
It was one of those moments where you realize that service isn’t just about defending — it’s about helping.
Bermuda was my first real taste of another culture — and my first lesson that people around the world share far more than they differ. I was young, curious, and, like most Marines, ready for anything.
I remember the laughter, the rum (especially Black Seal by Gosling’s), and the radio jingle from Club Med that seemed to play constantly. To this day, that tune gets stuck in my head, and honestly, it brings a smile every time.
I grew up there — not just as a Marine, but as a person. Bermuda taught me to slow down, to appreciate new places, and to see life beyond the lens of duty. When I think back on it now, it feels like the start of everything — the first time the world opened up to me.
