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| Let’s Go to the (Island) Hop!!
Saturday,
June 16th 6:14 p.m.
I got interrupted by Yvonne ... our bed and breakfast host at the Hummingbird House yesterday. Not that I minded. We ended up flying from San Juan to Beef Island ... just a bridge off Tortola ... in a Cessna 402 C. This was great fun!! The small aircraft held ten people (there were nine on this flight) and was so tiny the pilot CLIMBED IN THE WINDOW to get to his seat!!! I was not nervous really. I actually thought to myself, “Hey ... if we go down ... what a great way to go (Despite whatever controversy the contents of my dresser’s bottom drawer might cause.) I could see all the islands as we passed over them. It’s amazing how much bigger the world can appear when you get small. The cabbie that picked us up at the airport brought us to the wrong place ... meandered a bit in the hills and finally got us here. I’m grateful he wasn’t our Cessna pilot.
We had a nice meal in Road Town and spent the evening walking around a bit and drinking Tanqueray and tonics while watching goofy TV in our room. Getting someplace can wear you down so it’s nice to recharge your batteries mellowing out to Animal Planet.
At the moment we are waiting out a downpour on Jost Van Dyke. We’re staying at the Sandcastle Hotel right by the Soggy Dollar Bar. There are a number of rich white people hanging around. Interestingly enough ... while we were eating lunch at the bar before the heavens parted ... we sat close to some college boys trying to hook what appeared to be a steel O ring hanging from a tree branch by a string on a C hook screwed into the tree trunk. Amazing ... people will do the most inanely repetitious things when they drink. I decided to bring books by women authors along on the trip. Erica Jong’s memoirs titled “Seducing the Demon”: as well as feminist philosopher/activist Jennifer Baumgardner’s “Look Both Ways: Bisexual Politics”. I don’t usually read two books at once but these pair together incredibly well. In many respects it’s as if I an am reading the same book written by two different yet intriguingly similar authors. While Jong is more visceral, Ms. Baumgaardner’s commentary on bisexuality is earthy, and in tandem both books make for a thought provoking yet lustful experience. I can think of nothing more fitting for the beach ... the sun ... and the grittiness of sand between your toes ... and on the floor ... and between the sheets.Yvonne is reading Julia Child’s memoirs, “My Life in France” ... which is a terrific book. I read it last summer and thoroughly enjoyed it. Ms. Child was a strong, independent feminist woman in her own right. Time for another painkiller.
Ran into our
new friends we met on the ferry over here form Tortola again this
afternoon at the Soggy Dollar ... Buddy and Karen. In fact they’re
still at the bar talking football with the other Karen we’ve
met from Baton Rouge. Today has been just relaxing in the sunshine,
reading, and an attempt at snorkeling that ended up being a stop
at the lounge for yet another painkiller. “Mmmmmm ... Vacation sex is the best.” Homer Simpson.
Hung out at the beach and Soggy Dollar mostly yesterday. But we did try a little snorkeling. Found nothing however. Big disappointment. Drowned our sorrows with painkillers. Also took a cab into Great Harbor. This is the closest thing to a metropolis on the island. Which means there are about 12 shanties lining the beach ... some restaurants ... some boutiques ... some bars ... some combination thereof. What I really enjoy about the BVI is mingling with the belongers. Everyone is casual and kind ... relaxing and festive. Ate an early dinner at Corsair’s of fish tacos. Had a nightcap at the Dollar of Sogginess and met some beautiful people from San Francisco, Mary and Phil. Mary grew up in Columbus ... about 3 miles from our house. Small world indeed.
The food here has improved immensely since our first visit in 1994. Here at Sandcastle they have a single setting at their small but delightful restaurant. We had the tuna first evening and tonight it’s salmon. On the menu for dessert was ice cream described as “Napoleon”. Our waitress Vicki ... in response to my question “Is that chocolate, strawberry and vanilla together?” replied “yes, it is.” I smiled and told her that would be Neapolitan ice cream and that I envisioned a very short dessert otherwise. And while she understood my Bonaparte reference she told the next table of the availability of “Napoleon” ice cream. With that sort of charming naiveté it’s no wonder we were told when we checked in that our key was held at the office ... in case we locked ourselves out of our bungalow. So we again attempted to snorkel at the opposite end of the beach today. With all the dogs around (there’s Dollar ... who calls the Sandcastle home ... and Skippy and Chi Chi ... who seem to be lovable vagabonds.) I recalled snorkeling with a local pooch on our first visit here. But these three hounds are too intent on food and belly rubs. And the snorkeling was not great. Relaxing yes ... fish and coral ... no. The highlight might be the mixture of sweat, salt water and sunscreen #45 that dripped into my eyes.
I did what any self-respecting beach bum would do under the circumstances. I returned to our vacation pad and opened a not quite cold enough beer. Red Stripe to be exact. Our little fridge is a Westinghouse I believe. The “A Little Better than Room Temperature” model. But that reminds me of Uncle Gene’s half finished Carling Black Label. Maybe you remember how beer used to smell as a kid ... imagining if that whiff translated into something tasty. The exotic yet working class aroma of liquid that had yet to pass my lips, at times permeated Aunt Rose and Uncle Gene’s home. They were my favorite aunt and uncle. And they would have loved the Soggy Dollar. Since we’re at a new place it’s got to be ...
Sometime Wednesday, Cooper Island Beach Club, BVI 4 p.m. After a wonderful dinner at the Sand Castle last night (They really do take good care of the guests. And there are only 6 units so the treatment is special.) We bid ado to Jost Van Dyke this morning. Making our way via ferry and Patrick's cab to the docks at Road Town, Tortola. Yvonne from the Hummingbird connected us with Patrick ... who always seemed to have a smile on his face ... who took us just about everywhere There we hitched a ride on the Cooper Island Beach Club supply boat. And a supply boat it is. Sitting on long benches with the luxury of a inch and a half foam cushion ... feet propped on boxes of Bounty Paper Towels, cases of canned coconut milk, et al ... I felt about half way into it that the rough slamming of the hull on waves and wakes might make me regurgitate the peanut butter pretzels I had consumed earlier in the trek. (Don’t ocean fish ever tire of salted food?) But we made it and here Yvonne and I are lounging on our veranda overlooking Sir Francis Drake Channel on a somewhat overcast and humid day. (All this sweating on the laptop keyboard can’t be doing it any good!!) The place has expanded a tad since we were last here in 94. But that only means there are 12 suites for two vacationers each ... a small but excellent restaurant ... and a four-stool bar. Which is now being hogged by the “Boat Boys” with trophy wives in tow. (Would that make them “dinghy bats? I believe so.) The off beach snorkeling has proved better here already. And we’re thinking of taking a half-day trip out to a shipwreck. I continue on with Erica Jong’s memoirs (She is a bad girl and I love it) as well as Jennifer Baumgardener’s “Look Both Ways”. The parallels are almost scary. One – feminist theory applied. The other – a life lived within that empowerment.
I know what time and day it is ... and where I am because Yvonne and I signed release forms for a snorkeling trip tomorrow morning. In the agreement it stated ... in the case of a massive heart attack and/or drowning my body would be given a 21-beer salute by the remaining divers and snorkelers, then put out to sea draped in a Red Stripe flag. Seems fair to me. Had a nice dinner after the little misunderstanding with the restaurant staff was resolved. (Read: after they saw us wandering in the desert) Afterwards we imbibed a nightcap at the bar where we met the siblings of a family of boat people. A young woman seated next to me asked me where we were from, followed by where do you work. After I told her Ohio State University she shrieked with joy and proclaimed, “I just graduated for Arizona State University!!!” As if one had something to do with the other. In the meantime her younger sister ... who looked a little young to be drinking (but hey ... I’m on vacation! I’m not a COP on vacation.) ... was trying to order something for her even younger brother from a closed restaurant. All they could provide was a big piece of chocolate cake, which the three of them devoured immediately. I asked the oldest what her degree was in and what her plans were. She rattled off ... as if she had just snorted ten lines of cocaine ... ”I have a degree in psychology and I’m only 22 years old and I can do whatever comes along and if nothing I like comes along my mom and dad said as long as I was still getting educated it was okay with them.” So there you have it. Then her younger sister ... seemingly possessing much more horse sense ... told us the boy next to her was her brother. “I can see the resemblance” I replied. “You both have chocolate on your mouths.” And as these offspring of boat people scrambled to make their faces worthy of their entitlement, Troy (our barkeep) almost fell into the ocean laughing. We rented some fins today. Snorkel evolution. Faster! Faster Catfish! Kelp! Kelp!!
We had dogs at the Sandcastle. Here we have a cat. (While I’m on the subject). I gave her a bowl of milk this morning so she’s ours until we leave. I call her Calamari ... although it’s too good here to feed a cat. I finished Erica Jong’s memoirs today. And I’m almost finished with “Look Both Ways”. That’s two books in less than a week!!! It usually takes me 4 months to finish an entire book!! And while I’ve enjoyed reading both ... absorbing the parallels between bisexuality and Ms. Jong’s “learn as you go” sexuality ... it strikes me that both she and Jennifer Baumgardner ... arguably both bisexual woman ... practice serial monogamy. That’s fine. But why not at least discuss expanding the parameters of being simply “sexual” without labels without the “monogamous” label? Of course Ms. Jung’s third marriage was open. And she proclaims it bullshit. But if the guy wasn’t good enough for open marriage then how could he have possibly been considered for monogamy? At least Erica explored the option. Just a thought. Saturday, June 23rd, 2007. 3:27 p.m. Hummingbird House, Tortola, BVI My laptop’s battery ran down Thursday so I couldn’t write any more until the generators were turned on and I could recharge it. By then it was late Thursday night. Late that afternoon we made plans to go along on a dive boat so we could snorkel while the divers checked out the Rhone ship wreck. We were told on a sunny day snoreklers could see part of the wreck. I had my doubts about this but figured what the hell. We’ll see some cool fish and coral anyway. So Friday morning we sauntered up to the dive dock where two young women named Andra and Megan told the group ... 8 total with Yvonne being the only other woman besides the guides ... how it was going to happen. Andra first off told us the name of the boat ... which I forget ... something stereotypically tropical like “The Calypso”. And when I heard her say it was “26 feet long” I thought, “We’re going out on the ocean in a TWENTY SIX FOOT BOAT??" But I ease my mild concern by reminding myself the Sir Francis Drake Channel is the easiest sailing in the WORLD!!! The calmest waters ANYWHERE!!! Besides ... my father was in the U.S. Navy. Still ... I flashed back to my almost seasick snorkel trip with buddy Dan on Key Largo in the Florida Keys a couple years back. Then there was a much bigger group ... maybe 30 or more ... consequently we had a much larger vessel. Not to mention the protection from “Underwater Jesus” (see Travel in issue 30 ) and the young Cuban women in incredibly small bikinis that helped take my mind off my stomach. I again invoked the name of Sir Francis Drake for solace. It took only about ten minutes to reach our mooring. And as Megan described the map of their dive I became acutely aware of the rolling waves ... the bobbing of our “Calypso”. My tummy began to dance. “Not to worry!!” I assured myself. All would be fine once I had my mask on and my face in the water. Yvonne and I opted for wearing life jackets. Unfortunately, our fearless leaders had forgotten the snorkel vests that are effective and tidy. So we hung the big orange horseshoe pillows around our necks, took our instructions and slid off the edge of the “Calypso”. We both began swimming in the direction of the Rhone ... or at least where we hoped it might be. The water was more than choppy. The depth was deep. I could see divers making their ways up and down their respective guidelines but no ship. I surfaced and yelled over to Yvonne ... asking her if she saw anything. I immediately got smacked in the face with what seemed to be a three-foot tsunami ... a liquid salt lick slapping me across my face. I coughed ... and gagged a little. “Are you okay?” Yvonne asked. “I do not feel too well out here.” I replied. “Then let’s try over closer to shore. By the rocks. It will be calmer over there” She sounded so reassuring and I felt like I could ... at the very least ... make it through 40 or 45 minutes of snorkeling and then just relax in the boat for the remainder of the morning. And here there was no “Underwater Jesus” to save me. (I mean ... who is going to hurl in the presence of the Lord?) So we made our way towards the shoreline with the promise of calmer seas still ringing in my ears. It was about this time I realized my life jacket was behaving more like a “nerf noose” than anything having to do with the preservation of my being. My mind raced Shakespearean. “What fate dost thou choose? The gentle closing of thy throat sir? Or the allure the sea sirens? Mermaids with the promise of impossibility?” Obviously I was having oxygen flow issues. I realized we were still many yards from shallower water when I turned to address Yvonne, got a mouth full of salt water, and before my brain could process “Here it comes!” ... about halfway through the word “Here” really ... MWOWW! Underwater Jesus ... meet Underwater Ralph. At the age of 55 it’s not everyday one has an experience they have never had before. Today was my day. Underwater upchucking!! I had no IDEA I was an “Underwater Upchucker Virgin”!!! Soon enough I was coughing and then ... BWWOOOOWW!!!!!! But from now on I was determined to vomit in the air ... you know ... so the folks on the boats around me could enjoy the spectacle!! Then I noticed the look on poor Yvonne’s face. That look that says, “My God! I have NEVER seen THAT before!!! And I really do not want to witness it a- ...” BBWWOOOWWW!! My head felt like a chum bucket with a turbo projection option. I don’t know how many times I spewed. A person is so taken aback by the aquatic dimensions of barfing underwater, in the water, above the water ... that I lost count. I’m guessing 8 ... in the water and it’s vicinity. BBWWWOOOWWW!!! There are maybe 7 boats surrounding me while I gave this Chicken of the Sea performance. I managed to get back to the Calypso ... mostly through the help of tugboat Yvonne (It’s times like these when I am dead certain this woman loves me.) I climbed onboard and realize one of the divers had given up the ghost already ... before me!! A morale victory I suppose. But he wasn’t sick. He was enjoying chatting with Andra. I would have too had I not had to use everything in my strength to try to keep my secret (I hoped ) Underwater, Above Water, In the Water Upchucking reputation in the past. But no ... it was not to be. As soon as ALL the divers were onboard ... there I was hanging helplessly over the side of 26 foot Calypso dry heaving like there was no tomorrow. “I’m feeding the fish” I joked as soon as I realized everyone was aware. “Someone has to!!” Megan added for levity. And Andra asked me if I wanted to go back. There was an hour wait before the divers were allowed to go back into the water. And she could take me back. Did I want to go back to terra firma? Did I ever.
After a light lunch and a painkiller Yvonne and I went snorkeling off the beach yesterday. Fall off a horse. Get back on a horse. Underwater upchuck. Underwater suck it up. Everything was fine by then. We had dinner with Jim (a guy we met on the now infamous dive trip) and his wife Maureen Friday night. They’re from Seattle and Jim has been diving since he was 12 years old. I forgot to ask him if he’d ever seen anyone puke underwater ... in the water ... above the water before. You see ... I have no documentation short of Yvonne’s eyewitness account.
Saturday it was back over to the Hummingbird. The host, Yvonne, (Another first ... being around two Yvonnes simultaneously) provides a charming bed and breakfast on Tortola. We shopped in Road Town most of the early afternoon and are now hanging out at the pool. Life is still good.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007, 2 pm, Columbus Ohio Again the flight in our Cessna 402 C was a delight! This time we had a short 5 minute hop over to Virgin Gorda where we changed planes. Here the runway is dirt ... adding to the adventure. And from Virgin Gorda back toSan Juan we again had our original pilot, a guy who said his name was Moe. According to his name tag his official name was something likeMoeczjxkv&*?BIIkzc. I assumed he is Greek. And after this super airplane ride we ended up flying to Charlotte and getting stranded. I won’t elaborate because ... frankly ... I don’t want to relive the situation. After such a relaxing vacation where I actually finished two entire books and got 90 pages into another ... ate, drank and was merry ... had a major snorkeling encounter ... reconnected with my partner ... was awakened at dawn by the braying of goats, et al ... I see no need to describe the foibles of the civilized world. The simplicity of visiting the British Virgin Islands has its ups and downs for sure. But being basic ... living simply ... is a valued lesson relearned. That ... and I now know it’s really not necessary to take 6 pairs of socks with me to the Caribbean.
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