April 3, 2004

Sitting here at LAX, the latest of our never-ending dream vacations is about to begin.  My buddy Al, his wife Jodi, his sister Cherri and her daughter Jennifer and I are on our way to the British Virgin Islands for a week-long charter of a 50-ft catamaran, followed by a couple of days of sightseeing on St. Thomas.

            Arriving at LAX via an American Eagle turboprop flight from San Diego, we have a 2-hour layover before the next step in our journey begins, a 3,500 mile jaunt to San Juan, Puerto Rico.  Cherri has flown down earlier from her home in San Francisco, and we find her already in vacation mode, and the screams we hear when she sees us clearly indicate the 22oz beer she's holding hasn't been her first.  After catching up to her on the cocktail count, we decide to head on over to the departure gate to await our flight.  However, the bad news starts as no sooner than we've sat down, the loudspeaker crackles with the announcement. "Attention, passengers on American Airlines Flight 238 to San Juan, your flight has been delayed, stand by for an update in 20 minutes".  Checking the departure screen, our flight is listed as departing at 12:30am, instead of our scheduled 11:45pm, a 45-minute delay - OK, I can live with that, when my blood runs cold as the voice from hell announces over the loudspeaker a status check on our flight and uses the 'if' word instead of the 'when' word.

             The suspense is finally broken when, out of the blue, we get a boarding call announcement.  A collective sigh of relief seems to emanate from the walls, until the boarding call is appended by the all-too-familiar announcement that the flight is overbooked, and the airline needs two persons to volunteer to wait for the next flight (including a $400 cash payment for the inconvenience).  Everyone waiting in line warily looks over their neighbors, eagerly hoping that someone will take the bait.  Apparently the requisite two passengers willing to take the bribe to wait have been found, as the boarding line starts to move again.  Once onboard, we get a repeat of the overbooking announcement, and I'm holding my breath until I see two guys retrieving their bags and slowly walk back to the plane's exit.

             Eventually, the hatch is closed, and we're on our way.  I find myself seated next to Cherri, a woman I've had a crush on for over two decades. However, she's happily married, so my dreams of her must remain the wishful thoughts of a silly old guy.  About 2 hours into the flight, Cherri holds my hand as she falls asleep against my shoulder, and it's a bittersweet moment, as I realize this will be the closest I'll ever get to her (Steve, you're a lucky guy).  Watching the rapidly advancing sunrise as we cross 3 time zones, as well as losing another hour while daylight savings time has come upon us while in the air, we find ourselves landing at San Juan at 11:10am, and our connecting flight to Tortola in the British Virgin Islands is scheduled to leave in 20 minutes.  As we enter the terminal, I hear the final boarding call for our flight being announced.  Making our best imitations of Olympic sprinters, we dash through the terminal and get to our gate just as the door is being closed.  Jumping Into another puddle-jumper turboprop, we settle in for the quick 28-minute flight to Tortola, British Virgin Islands.  Making a loop around the largest of BVI's islands as we make ready to land, all the pictures in the travel books don't do it justice, as the view is spectacular, with azure crystal-clear waters lapping up on white sand beaches rimmed with palm trees.

Once on the ground, the adventure continues, as we make our way through the cumbersome immigration process (welcome to the reality of modern travel).  After waiting in line for what seems to be forever (actually only 10 minutes), we make our way through immigration and proceed to baggage claim, where our misadventures continue.  Apparently most of our baggage didn't make the last flight, so we endure a one-hour wait for the next flight to arrive for our bags to catch up with us.  An impromptu cheer goes up as the first of our missing bags appears through the carousel opening.  Our cheers are quickly muted as all of Al's toys come spilling out of the gaping slash in the side of his bag.  Gathering everything up, we make our way to the exit, where there is great confusion, as nobody knows how to reply to the simple question from the taxi driver, "Where to, Sir?".  After digging through all the paperwork, we finally figure out our destination is the Beef Island Guest House.  Asking the driver as to the fare for the trip, he replies 15 dollars. Looking forward to seeing a few sights on the way to the lodging, we're all surprised as the taxi turns off about 50 yards from the airport onto a dirt path, where we come to a stop no more than 100 yards from where we started, when the driver cheerfully announces "We're here!"  Laughing silently to myself as I pay for our 30-second taxi ride, we quickly get organized and check into our destination for tonight, a small bed & breakfast on Trellis Bay.  Al and I instantly share the same thought as if we were conjoined twins - there's no air conditioning!  However, the place has a quaint charm to it, as the entrance overlooks a great view of the bay, with a beachside restaurant/bar next door.  Quickly unpacking, we decide to sate our ravenous appetites there, and I get my first encounter with conch fritters - absolutely fabulous!

A well-deserved nap later, a walk down the beach to the local shopping district is in order, followed by a swim in the 85-degree water. Before you know it, dinnertime is upon us, and we have a great feast, dining on BBQ ribs and homemade potato salad to die for, washed down with lots of umbrella decorated foo-foo drinks. 

Later in the evening, we decide to sample more of the local culture, and check out the local watering hole, The Last Resort, situated on an island in the middle of the bay, accessible by their boat shuttle.  Picking up the phone at their private dock, I let them know we're waiting, and soon the shuttle boat appears, and we're on our way.  A great house band is entertaining the few patrons on a Sunday night. 

This bar is infamous for its talking donkey. There's a hole cut into a doorway where the donkey makes periodic appearances, but tonight we haven't seen him at all.  Jodi asks Jennifer to pose at the doorway for a photo.  Jennifer puts her head through the opening, and sticks her butt out. Just as Jodi is getting ready to snap the photo, Jennifer screams like a banshee, and her head comes shooting out of the opening as if shoot out of a cannon, and she lands in a heap on the floor, at least 10 feet away.  A moment later the cause of the confusion becomes evident, as the famous donkey sticks its head through the opening.  The room behind the door is dark, and when Jennifer stuck her head through the opening for the photo, the donkey came out of the darkness and gave her a slurp on her face. We laughed about this for the rest of the night, and I now affectionately call Jennifer "Donkey Girl".

Getting back to our blast-furnace rooms, we have a restless night, as even several fans can't quell the tropical heat.

DAY 2

Morning finally arrives, and I'm pleasantly surprised with the smell of fresh coffee emanating from the kitchen. There are blueberry muffins, English muffins, bagels and croissants awaiting us.  Al measures the quality of his nocturnal adventures on the amount of vomiting he has the next morning, and from the sounds coming from the bathroom, it's quite evident he had a very, very good time last night.

 Awaiting our boat to come pick us up, there's time for another swim.  Cherri asks to use my sat-phone to call her husband, and we soon learn the charter operator has been desperately trying to reach us.  Apparently there's some confusion on our pick-up spot, and we find out our boat is waiting on the other side of the island.

A 45-minute taxi trip later, with Al on the verge of blowing chow the whole way, we find ourselves at the Voyage Yacht Charter office at Pusser's Landing on the West End, where we find our hosts, Deon and Janine, patiently awaiting our arrival.  Getting the gear stored aboard the 50-foot catamaran, we find 4 staterooms aboard, each with its own bath, and a spacious living area. Getting settled in, we make a quick dash to the shops on the wharf for some souvenir shirts before casting off.

Getting under way, we make about an hour's run by motor, as the wind is too light to sail, to Norman Island, where we anchor up and go snorkeling. An interesting fact about this place is it's notoriety as the source of Robert Louis Stevenson's classic novel, Treasure Island.  Buried pirate treasure has been found here as recently as 1970.

 The tropical heat quickly drives us into the water, where the sparkling clear sea combined with 85-degree water provides the ideal environment for some spectacular snorkeling.  Not leaving the water until nearly sunset, we are pleasantly surprised with a great steak dinner prepared by Janine.

After dinner, the girls want to go to an infamous local watering hole, Willy T's bar, a converted ship, where the claim to fame is for the female patrons to climb the main mast and jump the 20-25 feet into the water naked. Any woman drunk enough to make the leap gets a free t-shirt which reads "I came, I saw, I jumped!"  I decide to stay in tonight, as I really don't want to be imitating Al in the morning (I'll regret this later).

 Deon acts as a driver/chaperone, and shuttles everyone on to Willy T's, while I look forward to some quiet time for writing.  After about an hour of pecking at the screen on the Palm, I'm getting tired, and roll over, turning my switch to off in the process.  A couple of hours later, my blissful slumber is rudely interrupted as the group returns. Apparently Jennifer talked Jodi into taking the naked plunge, and the girls won't be happy until they can show off their new t-shirts.  All three girls are also sporting boobie tattoos, and their chests are now walking advertisements for Willie T's Bar.  Jennifer's party quotient has gone up in my eyes, causing my to upgrade her nickname to "Naked Tattooed Donkey Girl".  The rigors of the evening have taken their toll, and soon everyone turns in, after Al convinces Deon to start the generator to run the air conditioning.

DAY 3

 Morning starts with Janine's successful completion of her promise of early coffee.  Rising at about 6:30, there's no need to check on anyone else, they're all dead to the world.  Enjoying more quiet time, I spend some time working on the journal, while savoring one of Janine's excellent cinnamon muffins. The first of the dead bodies to be resurrected is Jodi, as she bounds up the stairs with a really bad hair day. Other than that, she doesn't seem to have any lasting effects from last night's adventures in self-induced alcohol poisoning. Soon the rest of the victims make appearances, and we decide on an early snorkel trip to loosen up the cobwebs.  Deon runs us over to a snorkel spot a short way across the bay called the Caves, for obvious reasons.  Jumping in the water has the desired effect, and everyone comes to life. Returning to the boat, we dine on croissants and sausages, then Deon weighs anchor and we make a move to a dive spot called the Islands, where he, Cherri and I don scuba gear and investigate the underwater world of BVI.  The diving is very good, with 85-degree water with 50+ feet of visibility.  I didn't even put on a wetsuit.  There are lots of coral types I haven't seen before, but much less sea life than I'm used to.

After a chicken caesar salad for lunch, we move over to Dead Chest Island for a dive at a spot called Painted Walls.  Asking Deon about the island's name, the legend is that Blackbeard (the famous pirate), once dropped off the survivors of a failed mutiny there, where everyone promptly died of thirst.

 After another nice dive, we move over to Cooper Island, where Deon runs the empty dive tanks in to be filled at the local dive shop.  A couple of pitchers of banana-strawberry daiquiris later, Janine produces chili popper appetizers.

There are some old ruins visible on top of the island, and the gang decides to hike up there before dinner.  Janine has worked her culinary magic once again, and after a superb shrimp pasta dinner, we spend the rest of the evening chatting around the outside dining table.

 Everyone decides to make it an early night, with the only decision to make is whether or not to turn on the air conditioning.  I leave this call to Al, and he decides no, as there's a nice cooling breeze at the moment.  About 2 hours later I see Jodi waking Deon up to turn on the a/c, Al's dying in sweat, the breeze from earlier having disappeared in the night. The cooling outflow from the a/c vent soon soothes my sunburned neck, and before I know it, the early rays of dawn are invading my room, telling me to get up and have some more fun.

DAY 4

 Getting up before everyone else (as usual), I feel like I've been playing dodge ball with a Mack truck.  Every joint in my body is screaming in agony as I climb out of bed.  However, the miracle of modern chemistry comes to my rescue, as I get psychological relief immediately by downing a 500mg Naproxen.  On deck, Janine has gotten the life-restoring elixir commonly known as coffee going, and soon the world looks a bit less foreboding.

Today we're diving on the wreck of the RMS Rhone, a 310-ft steamship which went down in a hurricane in 1867.  Lying in 20-80 feet of water, just off Salt Island, the Rhone is the most popular dive site in the BVI.  And they're not kidding.  Motoring on over after breakfast, the site is filled with boats.  Finding a mooring, we anchor up and get ready to dive.  Once in the water, the scene is reminiscent of Grand Central Station, with literally hundreds of divers in the water at any given time.  It's a traffic jam; the quarters are so close that Cherri even has her mask kicked off by another diver.  Other than the crowded conditions, the dive is spectacular, with swim-throughs, lots of fish, and many coral formations I haven't seen before. Most of the underwater scenes in the 1977 movie The Deep were filmed at this spot, which was the beginning of the area's tourism boom

 Janine has whipped up homemade pizza for lunch - I ask her if there's any more like her back at home, drawing a good-natured laugh from all.  Moving on over to Ginger Island for the afternoon dive, I'm looking forward to this one, Alice in Wonderland.  My divemaster back at home, Mark, says this spot is a must, like God was on LSD when He created the spectacular coral formations here, looking like giant kaleidoscopic mushrooms.  Just before we get ready to dive, Jennifer swings out one of the ladders, when a bolt drops out, rendering it useless.  It wasn't her fault, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to expand her ever-growing nickname to "break-the-boat-naked-tattooed-donkey-girl".  Deon needs to stay behind to fix the ladder, so Cherri and I proceed with the dive.  The conditions are excellent, with 60+ feet of visibility and 85deg water temp, we descend into the depths, and my expectations are wildly exceeded.  Huge mushroom-shaped coral formations of every color imaginable dot the landscape.  In order to see it all, I'm using my compass to guide our trip through Wonderland, and on the return leg, I'm quite pleased with my underwater navigation skills, as I've brought us back to directly under the boat.

Later in the day we moved over to Spanish Town on Virgin Gorda, our stop for this evening.  Deon needs to go to the landing for supplies, and we tag along for souvenir shopping, as everyone has money burning a hole in their pockets.  A couple of t-shirts later, we're back on the boat, where Janine has prepared a beef curry dinner.  Afterwards, we mull over returning to town, however the girls break out a wedding planning book, which is good for a couple hours of intense discussions among them, eventually the ad nauseam drives Al and I to turn in, while the girls unwind with a movie.

DAY 5

 It was a rough night, as my sunburned back was screaming in agony every time I made a move in my sweat-drenched bunk.  Daylight brings the noises of Janine rustling around the galley, and the smell of brewing coffee brings me to my feet.  Soon Deon moves us to another famous spot, The Baths, where another crowd soon appears for the great snorkeling here.  Cherri has the bad luck of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and winds up earning the nickname "lovelump".

 Eventually Jennifer makes her way on deck, looking as green as the iguanas that inhabit Rancho Leonero.  Her mad dash to the stern earns an extension to ever-growing nickname, "chow-blowing-break-the-boat-naked-tattooed-donkey-girl"

 After another one of Janine's great breakfasts, we get ready to experience the Baths, on the southwest corner of Virgin Gorda.  All the guidebooks say get here early, and they were right.  By 9:00am, the all the moorings are full.  Deon points us to the main beach area, and we don our snorkel gear and approach from the water.  Today is a bit rough, but we are eager to explore after three days on the boat, we're all suffering from cabin fever. Fortunately, the sunburn I've been nursing for the last 3 days isn't bothering me today.

            We just thought there was a nice beach here, none of us realized that just off the beach, there is a series of interconnecting caves which lead to Devil's Bay, and a spectacular bathing beach there.  We find the place almost by accident.  It takes us the better part of 25 minutes to squeeze through all the passages, but eventually we get there, and the journey was definitely worth it.  We explore a bit more and jump into the crashing waves, before retracing our steps back to the entrance.  There's a restaurant/bar situated high on the hilltop overlooking the entire island, and we can't pass up a visit there for a drink before leaving.  Every one but me is barefoot (I'm wearing booties), and all are cursing the stone-ridden path up from the beach.  Once there, the view alone was worth it, but soon, after drinks and snacks, we need to get back to the boat, once again traversing the rocky trail to the beach.  Following our path from this morning, we start snorkeling back to the boat.  Getting through the shore break, the clasp on my Rolex catches on the zippered pocket of my swimsuit, ripping my watch off my wrist in an instant.  My heart sinks as I see my $2500 timepiece disappear in the depths.  A moment later something reflects off the bottom, and grabbing a mouthful of air, down I go. Lady luck is smiling on me today, as on the bottom just as my Rolex is about to be enveloped in the swirling sands, I reach down and rescue it from a watery grave.

            Back at the boat, we enjoy discussing the morning's adventure over lunch, before relocating the boat to Leverick Bay, for cocktails and a bit of shopping before moving on to our destination for the evening, Prickly Pear Island.  Arriving shortly before dark, everyone jumps into the 90-deg water for a short swim before another one of Janine's culinary classics.

            For the last couple of nights, we haven't had the a/c on, as the noise was bothering Cherri, whose cabin was next to the generator.  I've been dying at night, so we reach an agreement to use the a/c for the rest of the trip if I agree to go out on town tonight with everyone else - no problem, I'd slay dragons barehanded for nighttime air conditioning.

             Loading up the dinghy with everyone, we set off in the darkness for Saba Rock, where there's a watering hole.  Navigating there is simple, just point the boat at the most brightly lit patch of shore.  Once there, it's quite evident this is the center of social activity for miles around.  However, by our standards the action is pretty tame, so after one round of drinks we return to the boat. 

             Gleefully looking forward to a good night's sleep with a/c, I'm mortified as the generator dies after about 3 seconds, and Deon ruefully announces there's no a/c until (and unless) he can diagnose the problem and fix it.  Breaking out the repair manual as I sit quietly dripping sweat on the boat's clean deck, after what seems an eternity (about 15 minutes), Deon has determined the problem as a broken impellor in the cooling system.  Quickly replacing the faulty part, the subsequent hum of the generator is music to my ears.  Retiring to my bunk, the cool breeze from the a/c vent soon lulls me into a deep sleep.

            DAY 6

             About 5:00am the a/c rattles to an abrupt stop, waking me up instantly.  At this time of morning, there's not much left to do except pop the hatches and wait for the sounds and smells of Janine making coffee.

            My caffeine fix is ready a little before 7, and after a couple of cups, a cool dip seems in order.  Deon has replaced a broken fan belt on the now-jinxed generator, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  As is usual, the rising order is me, Jodi, Al, Cherri, and then Jennifer.  After french toast for breakfast, we move up to Marina Cay, passing through a rain squall in the process.

             Arriving about 11:30, the water here is spectacularly clear.  Deon, Cherri and I rig up for a quick dive before lunch, while the others snorkel the pristine waters.  Just after finishing cheeseburgers in paradise, smoke starts billowing from the generator compartment.  This time the alternator has frozen.  Deon places a call to his office for a replacement.  When faced with this much adversity, the best thing to do is take a nap, and I heed my own advice for a change.

            The rest of the afternoon is spent napping, punctuated by frequent dips in the 90 degree water.  At about 5, we cruise on over to a local bar, where Michael Beans, an entertainer we met on the first day, is playing.  Since today is Good Friday, there's no liquor sales permitted until 6:00pm. As the magic hour approaches, everyone starts drifting towards the bar.  In the middle of his performance, Michael abruptly stops to announce "It's six o'clock, folks!" causing a mass stampede to the bar.  There's a conch shell blowing contest as part of the show, and Jodi seems to have the best lungs among our group, so off she goes to compete for the prize, a bottle of rum.  She didn't get past the preliminaries, but it was great entertainment.  After the show, we dine at a nice beachfront restaurant, where the food was good (however not quite up to Janine's cooking), but the service was dreadfully slow.  Deon said that was typical for the Islands.

             Our anchorage is only about a mile from The Last Resort, the club we visited the first night (where Jennifer earned her "donkey-girl" moniker).  After dinner we all pile into the dinghy for a wet ride there, which proves that mankind is doomed for the inability to learn from previous mistakes.  Getting there, the girls draw the stares of all the patrons, and I can visualize everyone thinking in unison, "What are girls like that doing with those guys?"  The band is the same group from the first night, and after a few minutes it's clear they only have a 1-set repertoire.  After a few drinks, Jodi puts on a show on the dance floor, while I have to tag-and-release the land sharks circling around Jennifer (as Jimmy Buffett would say, "...fins to the left, fins to the right, and you're the only girl in town...").

             Back at the boat, Deon completes the night's entertainment, as we eagerly await the results of his ongoing generator repair project.

            DAY 7

            A stiff breeze during the night kept our cabins cool enough to sleep without the a/c.  I would have bet money everyone else would be hung-over today, and am surprised when all are up at their normal times.

            Pancakes and bacon later, we motor to Monkey Point, where we experience the most incredible snorkeling ever.  There's clear warm water, lots of coral, and huge schools of baitfish which bring in larger predators, including barracuda and tarpon.  We even saw a couple of sea turtles. 

            A well-earned nap and lunch later, we start towards today's destination, Cane Garden Bay. This spot, immortalized in the Buffett song, "Life is Just a Tire Swing" (the famous tire swing in the title is here), is on the north side of Tortola.  Arriving in mid-afternoon, everyone wants to dispose of some fun tickets ($$), so Deon drops us off at shore, where we embark on our shopping journey.  Finding this place a cultural wasteland, we're pleased to eventually find an open bar with a gift shop attached.  The shopkeepers were delighted to be willing accomplices in our quest to spend money.  Drinks and trinkets later, we return to the boat for a long-promised knee board session for Jennifer.  She's having so much fun, Jodi decides to give it a try.  After a couple of spills, Jodi gets the hang of it, and as the sun begins to disappear in the west, the waning rays of sunlight are accompanied by her squeals of delight as she goes ripping by the boat time and time again.  Her transformation into a water nymph is complete.  On the first day Jodi wouldn't try snorkeling without a flotation vest, now she's the first one in the water.  A half-hour ago she was a kneeboard virgin, now she's cutting through the water like a seasoned pro - I'd swear she's get some of Esther Williams' blood flowing in her veins.

             A roast pork dinner is the next phase of a perfect day.  The others want to return to one of the beach bars offering live music tonight, while I decide to stay to take advantage of Deon's hard work over the last couple of days and get a good night's sleep in an air conditioned cabin.

            The cooled air instantly lulls me into a coma, as I don't even hear the return of the conquering heroes, successful in their efforts to decimate the island's liquor inventory.

            DAY 8

             Happy Easter!  Deon weighs anchor early for the run over to Jost Van Dyke Island.  As Cane Garden Bay disappears behind us, I come to the horrifying realization we failed in our obligation to parrotheads everywhere, as we've paid a visit to the Mecca of Buffettdom, and never even took a photo of the symbol of our lifestyle, the famous tire swing - forgive us, Jimmy!

            Arriving at White Bay, we anchor up just off the beach, where fresh-baked cinnamon rolls emerge from Janine's galley.  The water here is postcard crystal clear, requiring a dip.  Soon the others form a shore raiding party, while I stay behind to defend against all boarders. 

             My regular cell phone has service here, so I take advantage of the clear signal to call Leonero to get the weekly fish report for the website.  Using my sat phone to update the report, my work obligations are now completed.  The raiding party soon returns, showing off their plundered booty.

            After lunch, we rent some quads and go for a tour of the island.  About halfway through the tour, we stop at a place called Sydney's for a drink.  As we enter the place, the owner is trying to beat to death with a broomstick a rat which looks about the size of a small dog.  We decide not to eat here.  Continuing on, we get some great views from the heights, eventually returning back to our anchorage at White Bay.  After cleaning up, we pay homage to the Soggy Dollar Bar, known for the lack of a dock; its patrons must swim in from the beach, thus paying for their drinks with soggy dollars.

            Tuesday is Jennifer's birthday, but the celebration is tonight, as this is our last night on the boat.  Janine has made a surprise birthday cake for Jenn, and after the traditional candle-blowing ceremony, the girls decide to mark the end of the nautical portion of this trip with yet another shore raiding party.

            I've been fighting off a sore throat for a couple of days now, and Al is just plain beat.  Wanting to be as close to 100% as possible for the next phase of our trip, two nights at St. Thomas, we decide to make tonight's venture a girl’s trip.  Waving goodbye as Deon escorts the girls to the party zone, Al and I immediately turn in and pass out.  My sleep therapy is rudely interrupted about 2am, when the drunken horde returns.  Getting up to listen to their adventures, it's apparent they did more than their share of pillaging and plundering this evening.  As they stage a raid on our own liquor locker, I decide discretion is the better part of valor, and sneak back off to my cabin.  I can't wait to survey the liver damage in the morning.

            DAY 9

             The last morning begins with 15-knot winds and bumpy seas.  This would be perfect for sailing, but is like purgatory for the hung-over.  Jennifer barely makes it to the swim step for her first up-chuck of the day.  Cherri and Jodi show few signs of last night's excesses - I don't know if that's good or bad!  We weigh anchor for the trip to St. Johns to clear US immigration.  Once leaving White Bay, the sea gets rough, causing Jennifer to make repeated trips to the stern to feed the fish.

            We get lucky at immigration, as we arrive with no waiting line. Completing the task in a couple of minutes, we're on our way back to the dinghy just as a ferry pulls in, disgorging at least 50 people that would have been in  front of us, had we arrived only a couple of minutes later.

             Onward to St. Thomas, we find out our drop off spot is halfway across the island from our hotel - thanks Al!  Deon and Janine arrange for a taxi for us, and tearful goodbyes later, we're sailing to our destination in a land yacht.

            Passing through the commercial district on the way to the hotel, there are endless shopping opportunities here, so we decide to return for lunch and shopping after getting settled in.  Our hotel is modest, but after a week in the confines of the boat, it seems like a palace.  Soon we're back at what the girls do best – spending money!  After lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe, we discover a store which I thought only existed in my dreams, a Jimmy Buffett t-shirt store with lots of inventory in my size.  After putting a big dent in their stock of extra-fat-guy shirts, we continue our adventure down the narrow streets and alleys, which reminds me of the French Quarter in New Orleans.  Jodi runs the White House-Black Market store back home, and when we pass their store here, she can't resist stopping in and chatting with the manager.  I find an internet cafe with laptop ports, and check the 4.223 emails awaiting me.

            It's back to the hotel where everyone passes out.  Later Cherri and I check out the mediocre food at the restaurant.  Afterwards, we return to Cherri and Jennifer's room for a reading of this story.  The need to stress-test their toilet arises suddenly, and I can safely say I exceeded the design limits of the device, as I plug it up solid.  Trying every way imaginable to solve the situation without the girls finding out, I even resort to sticking my arm down through the soggy mess to dislodge the offending poop, but to no avail - it's hopelessly clogged!  Cleaning up as best as possible, I advise the disbelieving girls of the problem.  My embarrassment now complete, there's nothing left to do but phone housekeeping and quickly leave, before anyone else can identify the offender.  It's back to my well air-conditioned room, where I instantly fall asleep.

            DAY 10

             As usual, I'm the first up, and enjoy the luxury of a long shower, not restricted by the water limitations on the boat.  Down to the restaurant for coffee, this is an opportune time to work on the story.  Overlooking Lindbergh Bay, the view would be breathtaking; if it were not for the even more spectacular places we've visited earlier on this trip.

             Soon the rest of the clan drift in, and over breakfast, we decide to use the last day in typical tourist pursuits.  We end up planning to visit Coral World, a marine park on the northeast side of the island, then onward to Megans Bay, reputed to be one of the world's best beaches. 

             Grabbing a taxi and negotiating a fare of $150 to take us to both places plus waiting time, we're off. Driving the narrow steep roads is best left to the locals and billy goats, and is even more precarious when you realize cars are driven on the left side of the road on most all the islands.

            Getting to Coral World, there's lots of interesting exhibits, including a number of underwater viewing areas.  There's even a dive adventure, where you don air-fed helmets and walk underwater amongst the coral heads.  It took us about an hour and a half to visit everything, then we loaded up and headed on over to Megans Bay, on the north side of the island.  The beach was nice, but crowded and not very deep.  There's a bar here, and bikini-clad cocktail waitresses would traverse the sunbathers, hustling drinks.  This place was OK, but I think the owners are the only people to claim it's one of the world's best beaches, as they've clipped us for a $3 fee each, for the privilege of visiting here.  On the way back to the hotel, we have the driver drop us off at another hotel on the other side of Lindbergh Bay, where we have drinks and lunch before walking down the beach back to our hotel.

            After changing, we plan on hanging around the pool, but we never make it past the bar, as the manager has put out free rum punches and chicken wings for happy hour, and we merrily drink and munch our way into the evening.  Turning in early for some much needed catch-up sleep, we're all in denial that tomorrow we return to reality.

            DAY 11

             Sunrise is instantly like being on the wrong end of a magnifying glass.  As the tropical heat permeates the room, I opt for a shower before the heat becomes too stifling.  Heading down for coffee, I'm surprised to find Cherri already there.  She and Jennifer want to do some last minute shopping, and I decide to tag along to hit the internet cafe.  Before you know it, they've completed their shopping and I've finished checking the 1,125 new emails awaiting me, so it's back to the hotel for some last minute sun before leaving.

             A $25.00, 400-yard taxi fare later, we get dropped off at the St. Thomas airport, for our San Juan / Dallas / San Diego venture.  With any luck, we'll be landing at San Diego about 10:30pm tonight. My fingers are crossed, as I'm catching a flight back to Cabo tomorrow morning.

             The layover in San Juan is uneventful; however, upon arriving at Dallas, we find our connecting flight to San Diego is at the other end of the terminal, and the final boarding call was just announced.  Running as if we were being chased by a swarm of killer bees, we make the gate just as the door was being closed.  Collapsing into our seats, we are collectively dreaming about getting home to sleep in our own beds tonight.  However, the gods of mirth still had one last trick to play on us, as arriving in San Diego; one of Al’s bags is missing.  After waiting for all the bags to be claimed, then filing a report with the baggage authorities, it’s well past midnight before piling everything in my rental car.  On to Al’s, where I manage about 4 hours of shut-eye before catching the morning flight home to Cabo.

Roy “Sr. Divertido” Baldwin

April 15, 2004

EPILOGUE -

            Made it back home to Rancho Leonero in one piece.  It was a great trip, filled with lots of happy memories, and as usual we got to see and experience things most people never will. I'm just hoping all the participants will still be willing to talk to me after reading this.  Al, Jodi, Cherri & Jennifer - I love you all.  Deon & Janine - I'm sure glad we crossed paths in the cosmic abyss, and really hope to see you again sometime.

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