The Millennium Sail
Well, we've been back for a bit over a week. The laundry is done
and folded and put away. The marketing is done and the cupboards
are full again. We're back to our old habits that were left behind
sometime in November. January is settling in……….
I should start by, first, saying that I started planning this trip two
years ago when I realized that the year 2000 was approaching. Our
best friends, Steve and Pat, live in Boca Raton, Florida and we had long
talked about spending this New Year's together. While they lived
up here, they bought a beautiful bottle of port to enjoy after the champagne
was gone on New Year's Eve. Every year Pat would remind me that the
bottle sat in the rack, aging. Frankly, I never thought 2000 would
get here!
We really had no idea where we would spend the holiday but as time passed,
occasionally someone would mention 2000 and finally I decided I had better
do something about it.
I first called The Moorings, the sailboat charter company we had used
four times in the past to bareboat.
Before you ask about naked sailing, it isn't. You rent a sailboat,
provision it and sail it yourself. The four of us started bareboating
the year after Steve's and my first wedding anniversary. He and I
had spent an idyllic week in the British Virgin Islands at a private island
resort. Each afternoon we watched as sailboats would come into our
bay and moor and the crews would come ashore for dinner or have their raucous
parties afloat. At that point I KNEW I would find some way to do
the same. But when we returned from our trip I told Pat about wanting
to bareboat and she exclaimed, "But Helen! You’ll burn!" I explained
to her that one DID wear clothes (though, since then, we have seen some
boaters really BAREboat).
In 1990, 6 of us got together and chartered a boat in the BVI through
The Moorings, the most professional charter company in the Caribbean.
We had a 43' sloop and, for a week, had all the fun that Steve and I had
observed the year before. Everyday it was sailing, with a new anchorage
every night. It was a BALL! The following year the four of
us did two weeks in the BVI in a smaller 38' boat and then, later, did
two sailing trips in the Abacos, Bahamas in a brand new, magnificent 40'
named Sabbatical. We loved the freedom and the exhilaration of the
air in the sails.
ANYWAY! Two years ago I called The Moorings to arrange for another
charter. This would be the fifth charter that I had planned and I
would be given a Commodore's burgee along with a 10% discount on all future
charters. I was soooo pleased I was planning ahead!
SURPRIZE! They were completely booked. The Moorings in the
BVI has several hundred boats. I was dumb founded -- how could so
many people have had the same idea as we? Oh well, nice dream but
that's all it would be. Pat and I started to check out other options.
But we were very disappointed.
Later, in 1998, I was bemoaning our situation with an online friend
and found that she had just become the North American representative of
BareCat Charters, handling strictly catamarans. Well, we had never
considered cats. They certainly have more space but the guys wouldn't
have the joy of pushing the heeling of the boat and make me crazy (honestly,
I have never figured out how these single hulls don't tip over! But
Benateaus don't. At one point in a severe heel, they just lose momentum.)
Ginny Noyes, my friend, and I decided this was a deal and she held the
boat for us. The four of us agreed on the dates and then had
to wait to make our flight plans with American in late January when they
would accept reservations.
First thing that Sunday morning, 333 days prior to our sail, I called
American and requested our flights. By God, they were only making
a list of names and promised to let us know if we would have flights by
October. HUH??? I was furious! Here we had promised more
thousands of dollars than we could believe for the boat and then didn't
even know if we would actually be able to GET to the boat! Pat's
husband, Steve and I spent several long evenings playing our options on
the phone and finally resorted to using Ginny's travel company. They
got my Steve and me as far as St. Thomas and Pat and Steve, all the way
through to Tortola. We were paying a pretty penny but we were GOING!
In April/May when Steve and I were down in the BVI for our annual two-week
visit to the perfect beach cottage on the perfect sandy beach on Cooper
Island, we stopped by BareCat Charters to check out our boat. Mike,
the manager, was happy to allow us on board so I could take photos of the
interior. Krazy Kat, our boat, was virtually new. This would
be FUN! And I could visualize a week of party on her.
We returned to Cooper that afternoon and decided to have dinner at the
beach club up the island. I sat at the outside bar and waited to
order my rum punch. A tanned fellow to my left was reading off an
extensive list and then told the bartender to bill his boat -- WildCat.
I turned to him and asked him if that was Ginny Noyes' Wildcat. He
said, "well, yes" and he was Bill Noyes; he told me that Ginny was right
behind me. I turned around and, I swear, it was just like the movies.
All I could see was a petite, tanned, blond woman in an animated conversation.
All around her was misty. She heard her name and approached me.
I held out my hand and introduced myself.
We shrieked! The restaurant stopped. Everyone looked at
us as we hugged and laughed and jumped. Ginny and I had been online
friends for years and had never met. This was a complete surprise!
Steve and I joined their group for dinner and we never stopped talking.
I think that she was as happy as we were to have Krazy Kat for the Millennium
Sail, as it became to be called.
Pat and I planned all the food on the telephone a week prior to the
trip. Christmas seemed to get in the way. On previous sailing
trips she and I had spent Saturdays weighing potatoes and imagining sauces.
They would bring all our meat and I had various other goodies we couldn't
live without.
Two days after Christmas Steve and I awoke at 3:45am for our 6:45 flight
from LaGuardia to Miami. I had succeeded in upgrading us to 1st Class
with Steve's electronic upgrades (finally I was benefiting from all his
trips away from me this year!) We carried all our bags on the plane
and curled, cozily, into our leather seats. And at 6:30 I ordered
a Bloody Mary. THIS was traveling in style class! I could get
used to it.
We easily changed plans in Miami to our flight to St Thomas. I
had made reservations to Tortola on a 4:30 ferry from the ship dock in
St. Thomas. The crossing would take 45 minutes and then we would
arrive in Roadtown shortly thereafter. Or so we thought.........
When we left the Charlotte Amalie harbor there were 4 cruise ships in
port. We thanked God we weren't going to be THERE! We
were headed for paradise! And it was less than an hour away.
Steve and Pat would have arrived earlier that afternoon and, having done
the marketing and stowed the food, would have the rum chilled for punches
and not doubt would be sitting back in the cockpit, relaxing. Steve
and I sat back and adjusted to island time. Sigh..............
When we docked in West End, the closest port of entry, we all debarked
and to go through immigration and customs. But they didn't unload
our bags. After nearly an hour, a handful of us reboarded and left
for Road Harbor, just up Drake's Channel, about 30 minutes away.
It was 6:00 and we had been up for 15 hours; enroute for 12.
By the time we arrived at the dock, we were exhausted. I called
for Steve and Pat to relieve us of our burdens and Steve appeared in shorts
and a T-shirt. We went aboard. We all hugged and kissed and,
before I could change my clothes, Pat and Steve explained to us that by
the time they had arrived at 2:30 the market was about to close.
It was the holiday for Boxing Day! They did a quick run-through the
store and picked up anything we would need for that night and the next
morning. First thing Tuesday we would do the rest of the food.
The four of us knew we wouldn't get out of the bay until noon.
We had dinner at a nearby eatery filled with dancing children and later
collapsed about 10pm after we consumed the first bottle of champagne for
the week.
The boat was wonderful. For four people used to the close quarters
of a single hulled boat, this was like a limousine! The cockpit was
huge! Enough space to dance. The main saloon was right inside
the door with incredible storage for all our water and cans of sodas and
beer under the cushions. To the port and starboard were the staterooms,
forward and the heads, aft. The chart table and MORE storage were
by our stateroom and the galley was on Steve and Pat's side.
The staterooms had full sized bunks and two hatches above to cool us.
The overall headroom was well over 6' so no one would have to stoop while
being below. And we had a REAL fridge -- not the icebox usually found
on other boats. We would stow ice in the chest in the cockpit.
But everything else would be kept COLD! in the fridge. We were sailing
in STYLE!
The next morning (Tuesday) while my Steve slept, Steve and Pat and I
went marketing. The little store held everything and more than we
needed including precious treats from Britain. We had our menu and
list in hand and made very short work of it. $300 later, we were
finding cubbyholes on the boat for all the food.
Mike, the Base Manager showed up for the Boat Show and Chart Briefing
(the time that the Base Manager and the Crew meet and discuss sailing plans
and have the workings of the boats explained). Mike’s wife, Sydney,
arrived during this, with 2 large bags of ice. We had already bought
2 bags so Pat and I spent several hurried minutes finding space for them
and loading beers and diet sodas into the chest. It wasn't as hot
as we had experienced previously but the sun would be drawing moisture
out of our bodies and we would need to replenish it as fast as we could.
By 1pm we were escorted out of the anchorage and we headed east and
around Beef Island to, hopefully, a mooring at Marina Cay. Mike had
specified several places where we were forbidden to anchor. Especially
this week all the anchorages would be PACKED with boats -- a pulled anchor
and drifting boat would cause a lot of damage to others. When we
arrived at Marina Cay there was "no room at the inn". So, we motored
across to Trellis Bay and found a large number of available mooring balls.
Once tied up, we had formalities to deal with.
Each time we sail we always have a new burgee. Even when we don't
sail, we collect them. These little flags personalize the boat and
also make it easier to find the boat in a pack harbor. The classic burgee
that I designed years ago has a large blue cross in the center and with
each of our initials in red in each quadrant. This year I had designed
a play on our classic --each of our initials in the same position surrounding
a large blue Y2K. (Had we sailed with The Moorings, the Commodore
burgee would have been towards the top I suspect.) I had also gone
ahead and had T-shirts designed and made with the logo on the back.
The four of us would be well outfitted.
Once the rum punches were poured (Pat's Steve had created and made Y2K
swizzle sticks for our sail based on the design), we raised the flags:
on top the Y2K, followed by the Classic and then America True (the 1999/2000
America's Cup boat captained by Dawn Riley), the Cousteau flag, the America
3 (the woman's boat in the previous America's Cup trials), the Conch Republic
flag (from Key West), and then the rec.boats burgee. We had
developed quite a collection. Each meant something special to us.
They all were US!
Dinner was grilled chicken and couscous and salad. Pat had made
foccacio that afternoon and we would enjoy a fresh loaf of bread, thanks
to her, every day of our sail. YUM! As we always say,
"We suffer sooooo unjustly!"
Wednesday we headed over to Cooper Island VERY early. It was the
first of several early mornings. We knew we had to get into Manchioneel
Bay before noon to get a mooring ball. Anchoring there was out of
the question. There was just too much eelgrass there to guarantee
a good holding for the anchor. The many times that Steve and I have
stayed there we have seen more boats that we could count lose their holding.
And while it leads to humorous stories, if it happened to you, it certainly
is scary.
Krazy Kat layed peacefully on her mooring ball while we went ashore
to have lunch. I was looking forward to seeing old friends.
In the few months since Steve and I were last there, Cooper Island Beach
Club had had a serious fire. But it was not obvious. The Beach
Club just looked newer. Kurt remembered my name and asked about my
friend, Crisy, who had stayed there in September. Simon only remembered
me when I backtalked him. I can have a sharp tongue and we always
a had a good repartee. He laughed when he recalled that we had said,
“ we will return.”
Lunch was yummy. Steve and Pat had soft-shelled crab sandwiches,
my Steve had his standard Chicken Roti and I, my Manchioneel Sandwich --
a BLT with cheese. We forgot to buy their famous brownies for dinner
later. Oh well, Steve and I will just have to do doubles when we
return this April for two more weeks on Cooper.
When we returned to our boat, I grabbed an iced tea and headed for the
forward netted bow with my collection of Colette that Steve had given me
for Christmas, Steve disappeared below to doze and read and Steve and Pat
remained in the cockpit. Later, with my Steve asleep in the saloon,
Steve and Pat and I went for a dip in the cool (not cold) water.
Happy Hour hit. One never knows when the sun goes over the yardarm
and I wasn't watching but nothing stopped us. Dinner was Chicken a la Queen
Pat. It was extra chicken from the night before in a light cream
sauce on her toasted foccacio along with a salad. This was so reminiscent
from our weekends together in New York. Another one of her wonderful
creations!
Pat and I stayed up late talking in the cockpit and then we finally
retired about 10. Another long day was to greet us soon.
The next morning, after returning to our base at Fat Hog’s Bay to replenish
the water, fuel and ice, Krazy Kat and her merry crew headed of to Peter
Island and Norman Island to chose our anchorage for New Year's Eve.
We knew that all the popular spots would be packed with hundreds of boats
-- Mike had told us that the entire charter fleet in the BVI would be on
the water. We just wanted to be alone. After all, that's why
the four of us decided not to celebrate in New York City.
Our first choice was a small bay on the northeast side of Norman Island
called Benure’s Bay. Mike had raved about the snorkeling there and
said that it probably wouldn't be crowded if we got there early enough.
When we arrived there were already three boats anchored. The bay
is small and intimate. The water was crystal clear and shallow near
the shore but deepened almost immediately. Steve chose a spot and
Pat and my Steve went forward to drop the hook. After several attempts
Steve decided he just wasn't comfortable with the location and we all agreed
we should motor across to Key Bay on the southeast side of Peter.
What a pretty place! On the opposite side of the island from us
was Peter Island Resort. A very posh, expensive all-inclusive respite.
Guests don't number more than 40 at any one time. But on our side
I could well imagine what the entire chain of these islands were like hundreds
of years ago when pirates hid out and planned their attacks on unsuspecting
trading vessels. There are many coves and hidden bays to shelter
ships. Suddenly, "Treasure Island" came to mind and I wished I had
read it. There was a shallow cut between Peter and Key Cay.
Beyond we could see White Bay and the mountain above and on the VERY top
was a beautiful home. The entire time we were there, we wondered
who was lucky enough to be calling it home for the holiday. It must
have had the most incredible view.
Anchoring there was a piece of cake. After dropping a second anchor,
we sat back and relaxed. Unfortunately, I occasionally experience
motion sickness. The bay had a moderate current that cut through
it and we rocked just enough for me to turn green. I went below into
our cabin and opened the hatches and stayed there, reading, for the rest
of the day and evening. Everyone enjoyed pasta salad (and MORE fresh
bread!) that night while I sipped iced tea and had crackers. It never
occurred to me that perhaps I had had one too many rum punches the night
before..........I took some Dramamine.
The next day was New Year's Eve. I was feeling better but the
weather started to go downhill. There was now one other boat in the
bay. They were sitting to our port, several hundred feet away.
A quiet couple. The four of us stayed aboard. Between rain
showers we traded dry seats in the cockpit. My Steve stayed below
reading. I was hoping we hadn't forgotten how to party. This
didn't bode well.
About 4pm Pat and Steve and I decided to "shower". This is probably
my favorite part of sailing. We only had 85 gallons of fresh water
aboard and knew what is was like to run out of water. The Moorings
had failed to check our tanks (yes! I do realize it was ultimately OUR
responsibility) prior to one trip in the Bahamas and one evening, when
we couldn't have been further from fresh water, we ran out. That's
when we learned about sea soap and salt-water baths.
Unfortunately, we weren't the only ones in this anchorage so we had
to bathe in our suits. But we were going to have clean hair for the
New Year! My Steve, of course, slept through all of this.
At 6:00 we turned on the news to see how the Y2K bug was progressing
around the world. Amazingly enough the news was good. Calm.
No chaos. I pulled out my bag of noisemakers and toys. I had
a cowbell that I hung from the boom with some metallic gold boa.
We all took turns taking pictures of each other with the disposable Polaroids
I had bought. Dressed in our clean Y2K T-shirts with clean hair (!)
we started dinner. I think it was that day that Pat made a loaf of
bread with "Y2K" carved into the crust. The steaks went on the grill
and the potatoes were in the oven. We set up dinner inside
that night because rain continued to threaten us. But the champagne
flowed.
After dinner the rains stopped so the festivities could continue in
the cockpit. More pictures and then Pat presented her surprise to
me! A Black Bun! The traditional dessert served on Hogmanay
in Scotland. What a beauty! And HEAVY! They had prepared
this at home in Boca Raton and had carried it all the way to the BVI in
a spring form pan within an old Omaha Steaks box.
The crust was a golden pastry and inside was very much like minced pie
but much denser. Each of us had small slices and our taste buds danced.
She explained the process of shopping and making this masterpiece.
We were very impressed. And sated.
We were all getting sleepy! God, we couldn't sleep through New
Year’s! So we started playing twenty questions. It got pretty
silly but it kept us awake.
Midnight approached. Steve pulled out his GPS for the countdown.
When midnight came we yelled, rang bells, rattled our noise makers and
when we were done, the bay was silent except for the distant sounds of
fireworks and halos of light over Peter Island from the skyrockets on Tortola
and in the distance from St. Thomas. It was very strange. We
knew that in the next hour 2000 would reach the East Coast with much fanfare.
We had more champagne and then continued on to the port.
I don't need to tell you that New Year's Day was VERY quiet. We
all slept until late into the morning. I felt like hell. It
wasn't the boat anymore. It WAS the rum punches! The day was
pretty still.
About lunchtime Ginny's WildCat, which was being chartered, showed up.
We hadn't seen her since the morning we left Fat Hog's Bay. Her skipper
had sat in on our chart briefing back at the base. His name was,
of course, Steve. We knew this qualified him as a good guy.
WildCat was anchored behind us by several hundred feet.
About 2:00 I saw a frantic person waving from the rocky shoreline.
With each swelling wave their dinghy was being beaten on the rocks and
swamped. I got Steve's attention and he and Pat agreed that she was
in distress. WildCat Steve and his kids were cruising the bay and
we pointed out the panicked person and a rescue was organized. Both
of our Steves jumped into our dinghy to give any necessary support.
They located the owner of the sailboat whose dinghy and crew were in distress
and he jumped into WildCat's dinghy (was his name Steve, too? We
never knew). Later, everyone returned and deposited the rescued crew
on their boat along with a swamp dinghy and all the Steve's went/came home.
We were experiencing our own crisis. We were running out of ice!
Dinner was a southern tradition for New Year's Day promoting luck in
the new year. Pat had marinated two beautiful pork tenderloins and
we had purchased Black Eyed Peas and Callaloo (we couldn't find Collard
Greens). After another feast we just collapsed. We would sail
over to Norman Island the next morning. Our trip was rapidly coming
to an end. We had to pack in the partying.
Sunday morning right after WildCat pulled up her anchor, we waved and
followed them out but headed for the Bight on Norman Island. Norman
Island is the home of the "Treasure Island" caves from Robert Louis Stevenson
classic children's tale. It is a very popular sight in the BVI and
is always crowded. In the Bight are two favorite watering holes.
One is the William Thornton known affectionately as the "Willie T", a replica
of a 93’ top sail schooner that has been converted into a bar and restaurant,
and the other a newer restaurant named “Billy Bones". Both
sites were rocking early in the day. There were over a hundred
boats in the bay. We watched humorously as boats would race each
other to disappearing moorings. At one point there were two
boats circling one ball like sharks.
The four of us lunched on leftovers -- steak and pork sandwiches.
Shortly after that Steve and Pat left in the dinghy to explore the caves.
Steve and I stayed aboard to read and watch the busy water. I was
amused by the crazies at Willie T's jumping or being pushed (were they
walking the plank?) off the top of the boat. Music blared.
Many very full dinghies headed to and from there.
Where was our Deliverance??
Deliverance is a small supply boat that daily visits several island
anchorages selling everything from fresh veggies to wine and most importantly
ICE! They were running late and didn't expect to be to us until 6.
Until then we would have our drinks the traditional English way -- without
ice.
Steve and Pat had more energy than us. Once returned from the
caves, they showered and then decided to explore Billy Bones. I kept
a watch out for Deliverance. Later when they returned, Steve called
them on the radio and found that we weren't the only ones needing ice.
That little floating market was taking orders! Someone had the nerve
to reserve 6 bags! We just needed 2.
6pm came and went along with the light. Shortly we were in dark.
The binoculars went from person to person trying to spy the moving red
light (the port side) of the boat. Finally we found it and Steve
leapt into the dinghy and took off in the direction we pointed. Then
it started to rain!
The rain in the islands is wonderful. It is their life's blood
-- without rain many of the islands would be uninhabitable. Our little
cottage on Cooper Island only survives on the rain that falls. There
is a cistern below the house and the water is pumped up to a holding tank
that feeds the faucets. Waste is frowned on. Some summers when
we've been there, we jealously watched the rain fall on Tortola, completely
missing us. A rare summer downpour is greeted with open arms.
But the winter months have daily rain showers and frequent night showers
of which the call of "RAIN!" brings barely dressed people out of their
bunks to close every port that is open. Tonight's rain, though,
was tremendous.
Steve appeared back shortly at the boat empty handed. He had gotten
caught in the torrent, unable to see through his glasses and had completely
lost sight of Deliverance. While he waited, the rain stopped and
we respotted the little boat and he was off!
VICTORY! Steve and our precious commodity returned! We collected
dry towels and a shot of rum for him. He was drenched and cold. I
made rum punches all around -- with ICE! -- and we started to make dinner
as Steve warmed and dried. Hamburgers!
While the meat was on the grill I heard voices ahead of us. "I
don't want to go UNDER their boat!" I walked forward and sensed in
the darkness a small dinghy clutching our mooring ball. These two
people were looking for their boat, completely lost. I called for
Steve and he queried them on their confusion. Their motor had died
and they couldn't get it restarted and had begun to drift. All this
time our hamburgers were cooking!
As they drifted past our stern Steve got, once again, into our dinghy
and went off to rescue them. Pat got on the radio and made an open
call to find their boat. "Sundown, Sundown, Sundown, we have your
dinghy in tow. Please flash your cabin lights to we can locate you."
(The name of the boat has been changed to protect the stupid) She
repeated this call several times. The very funny thing about this
was that every boat within the Bight (and beyond) could hear this funny
message. The occupants in the dinghy admitted that their crew probably
didn't have the radio on and if they had, probably wouldn't have known
how to operate it.
Through some well done detective work Steve figured out which boat was
theirs. And returned them. Our hamburgers were STILL on the
grill. So much for rare!
After dinner the guys finished off the port. And we fought a losing
battle with closing eyes and retired about 11.
Monday! Sad. This was our last day. We were heading
back to our base to clear out with Mike and prepare to leave early Tuesday.
We dropped the ball at 10:45 and left.
It was going to be a day of sailing. The wind was coming directly
from the east so we would have 3 or 4 hours of tacking. The winds
were strong and we reefed (shortened) the mainsail and started out.
I estimated 5 tacks. Steve said more. The water was heavy,
about 6 to 9 ft swells with white tops. I had taken my Dramamine!
The wind was clocked at 28 kts at one point and we were flying! 10.5
kts. The sun felt good and the air was strong. We finished
in 9 tacks.
At 2:30 Steve radioed the BareCat base that we were coming into Fat
Hog’s Bay and Mike came out to bring us in. This was the worst part.
Time to pack and clean out the boat. I went to the store and bought
some bread and made peanut butter and jam sandwiches for everyone.
I dumped all our garbage for the past seven days, Pat cleaned out the galley,
my Steve started packing us up and Pat's Steve cleaned up the decks.
At 4pm Mike came around to check us out. All was returned well.
No damage. Just a great time.
For dinner we decided to go into Roadtown. There was a very popular
spot called C&F. Our taxi driver took us there and agreed to
return at 8:00. When we got there we were only the fourth table but
by the time we left they place was packed with a line out the door and
down the street. RIBS! God! They were good. More
food than we could ever eat and we decided to bring the leftovers back
to have for lunch the next day when we were on route home.
Our taxi driver took us back over Ridge Road for a spectacular night
view. It was difficult to distinguish between the stars and distant
lights. At one point he stopped the car and pointed to the northern
horizon -- Anegada. This island was 14 miles away and little more
than a reef but a sought after sailing destination. Mike had given
us permission to sail up there and Steve was ecstatic. But after
studying the charts and wind direction realized we would have to postpone
the trip for another year. He was really disappointed. That
Monday night we sat on Ridge Road and saw the faintly twinkling lights
on the island. Maybe next time.........
The four of us were simply wasted. When we got back to the boat
it was all we could do to share one last bottle of champagne. Tomorrow
would come VERY early. And we had a long day ahead of us.
At 7am we were up and made our last pot of coffee. We didn't
really have much food left for breakfast. I took spoonfuls of what
was left of the peanut butter. Someone found some cereal. It
was quiet. Everyone packed and cleaned and off loaded the duffels
onto the dock. Our taxi driver, Ritzel, would arrive about 8:30.
We had a 10:30 ferry from West End. Our flight from St. Thomas wasn't
until 3:30. Steve and Pat would return directly to Miami and we would
connect to our New York flight there. It would be another long day.
We bid goodbye to Mike and Sydney. They were everything we had
heard them to be. Both happy, helpful people going about their daily
duties -- caring for their cats and clients. We would certainly never
hesitate to recommend them in the future. WildCat Steve and his family
had left for their flight at 7am.
Ritzel arrived as promised. He and Mike loaded all our bags into
the back and we took off.
Pat wanted to take Ridge Road, again, down the island and so up we started.
It was another crystal blue day. All the islands could be seen
for miles around. The roads reminded all of us of Scotland -- single-track
roads but with the most treacherous switchbacks. Ritzel knew every
pothole and speed bump. I asked him how often he replaced his brakes
and he said every month. It was true. Cars on this island take
a beating and only the bravest tourists drive.
In the daylight we saw all the lush green islands surrounding Tortola
and Virgin Gorda. Guana, Camaneo, the Dogs - to the east, and Ginger,
Cooper, Peter, Norman - the south. The white flurry of sailboats
dotted the aqua water like snowflakes. Ritzel stopped the van each
time we came to a particularly good view and Pat and I crawled all over
each other to get that perfect picture. Steve had given her a new
camera for Christmas and she was having a ball with it.
Down we came eventually on the west side on the island. Brewer's
Bay, Cane Garden Bay -- packed with boats. Down further onto the
southwest side. Now we saw Carrot Bay, Apple Bay, and eventually
Long Bay. We made a couple of stops and then headed over to West
End. The whole trip had taken an hour and we were in time for the
boat.
After getting our tickets, we and a hundred other people, waited to
board the ferry. First, the bags were stowed and at 10:40 everyone
crowded around the one open door to board. Once on board it was clear
that there were far more people than the boat could hold. Several
agitated folks started to raise their voices. They were going to
miss their flights if we waited much longer. It was clear to us that
we weren't leaving anytime soon. Finally, they off loaded us and,
after much confusion, another larger ferry was brought around and all the
bags were transferred and again we boarded and found seats and we pushed
off at noon. I was pretty embarrassed by the angry Americans
who spouted off their insults and impatience. They swore they would
NEVER return to Tortola! GREAT! I was happy to know I would
never see THEM again!
The boat traced back the route Steve and I had taken just a week earlier.
We were sunnier though and more relaxed but certainly more dirty!
Pat and I took pictures of each other and laughed and pointed to the obscene
hotels clutching the cliffs of St. Thomas and I wondered what these folks
would have done without hair driers or color TVs on Krazy Kat.
We scooted through customs and immigration and grabbed another car and
headed off for the airport. We were starved, having forgotten the
ribs in the fridge on the boat (someone had a GREAT lunch!). For the record,
2 tablespoons of peanut butter for breakfast don't go very far. Surely
there was a MacDonald’s in the terminal.
$7.50 for a cheeseburger at the airport’s only cafe! They must
have been kidding! I picked up some trail mix and Steve and I shared
it while Steve and Pat had lunch with William F. Buckley and his wife,
Pat. Ok, so they didn't have lunch DIRECTLY with them but they shared
air space.
Right on time at 3:30 we were on the plane. I was stopped at the
gate and my black duffle was taken from me for being too large. Of
course Steve had gotten through with his. I just hoped they had taken
the one with the dive gear and not the other with all our worldly goods.
I have bad experiences with American Airlines. My bags always seem
to end up where I'm not. One year just our dirty clothes came home
with us from Scotland. Another occasion, we landed in London
and our bags landed in St. Martin. On another separate trip, it took
the airline 3 days to get my bags back to me.
We settled in our seats and soon we were cruising away from the islands.
I looked out the window and down on the Turks and Cacaos and asked Pat
if these looked like likely destinations for the next Millennium -- after
all we all know that New Year’s 2000 is the REAL Millennium! Another
reason to party!
Shortly after 5 we landed in Miami and the four of us hugged and kissed
goodbye. Steve and Pat went home to their kitties and we went off
in search of our gate for the flight to New York. Once there, we
relaxed with a found New York Times and more trail mix. When I went
to discover which duffle we had with us I found it WAS the dive bag but
luckily I had packed a change of clothes in a smaller bag and I changed
out of my shorts and t-shirt into my jeans and red fleece in preparation
for the Northeast cold. At 7:00 our flight was called and we boarded.
Our seats were bulkhead seats next to an emergency exit so we had lots
of legroom. We sat on the plane for 30 minutes when the captain came
on the intercom and announced that our flight would be delayed due to traffic
in the New York area. Not only would we be delayed but they were
allowing anyone who wanted to get off the plane to do so. Steve and
I sat tight knowing we had comfortable seats. Out the books came.
We didn't have the cushy 1st Class seats we had enjoyed on our trip south
but we weren't pinned in like so many others on board.
At 8:25 we all were ready to go! The plane pulled away from the gate
and headed for the runway. But again we were motionless and then
the engines stopped. The patient captain spoke with us and told us
we were under another hold due to NY traffic. We sat on the side
approach.
I was tired. We had had a long full day I just wanted to go home
and crawl into my bed. My stomach started to hurt. REALLY hurt.
I was also hungry and that wasn't helping. But of course my pain
pills were in the other duffle. STUPID ME! When the airline
personnel took my bag I should have pulled out the toiletry bag.
But I didn't and now it was getting really bad. I started to cry.
Embarrassed! I simply had to relax but I couldn't.
The attendant who sat right in from of us in the jump seat asked if
there was anything she could get me and I explained that what I needed
were my codeine pills and they were in the plane's hold. Which upset
me even further. She suggested a drink to calm me and I said yes.
She went into 1st Class and brought me back a rum and tonic. The
three of us a had a friendly conversation and then Steve and I started
to play twenty questions. Gradually, I felt some relief.
Finally at 9:15 the pilot told us we had a go for takeoff and everyone
got ready to take off. And we DID! The trip north was unremarkable
and at 11:55 we landed -- almost two hours after we were due into New York.
I was exhausted but could sense my pillows. They were calling to
me.
By the time we unlocked our apartment door it was WELL after midnight
(I think, 1am). We had been in transit for over 15 hours.
Steve and I shared a shower and fell into bed.
Wednesday morning Steve went into work late and I started to comprehend
getting back to my schedule at school and volunteering at the Horticultural
Society. Yes, January was settling in.
In hindsight, I think about the whole experience of the trip.
It was the most stunning I have shared with friends -- that while most
of you were watching CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS and FOX broadcast the arrival January
1, 2000, we were searching for news of the new year and never really found
it. The very first I saw of all the celebration was when my TIME
magazine appeared in my mailbox a week after our return with photos of
the spectacular events from Samoa to Beijing to Egypt to Paris to London
to New York to San Francisco to Hawaii. This news junky missed it
all. But we were in a spectacular wilderness with our best friends
- friends who have witnessed some of the most thrilling moments of Steve’s
and my relationship and some of our disappointments as well. They
have shared their thoughts, dreams and souls with us at quiet meaningful
times. Pat’s Steve and I would arise for coffee before our spouses
and share simple views with each other; my Steve and Pat would spend careful
minutes during the anchoring process observing diving birds and sailing
fish while catching mooring balls or dropping the anchor. These,
while being solitary times, were reuniting for friends who seeming knew
each other all their lives and would continue to do so; through thick and
thin. Through distances in space but in their hearts as well.
A new Millennium has begun.
