The British Virgin Islands

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March 14th, 2014 at 7:51:56 PM permalink
Face
Member since: Oct 24, 2012
Threads: 61
Posts: 3941
“Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.” - Leonardo DaVinci.

Spoken like a man who has never known the TSA.

Day 1.

It was almost over before it began. As per procedure, I packed about an hour before I was supposed to be in bed. One carry-on each and one suitcase for both of our clothes, and even then, it was more than needed. I think I wore only two outfits the entire 10 days, both of which I could've fit in my pockets. Ash took a benadryl and went to bed around 10p. I couldn't sleep and didn't doze off until around 2a. Time we needed to be out the door - 4:00a. And lo! Neither of us bothered to set an alarm.

I got shaken awake at 4:10a, having no idea where I was or why I was on the floor. Ash fortunately shot awake on her own, saving us from a total disaster. The bags were easily thrown in the truck and it wasn't but a few minutes until we were on our way. As I came awake, I began mathing out the delay and where it'd put us as far as time went. It was then I realized that the 4a wake up was already at bare minimum; basically, it was enough time to get to the airport and walk onto the plane, say nothing for parking, tickets, baggage, security.... ooops.

We got to the airport with 20 minutes until boarding. And long story short, I found a parking spot immediately, the shuttle was already there waiting, we got our tickets without delay, threw our bags to the counterperson, hustled through security, and walked right onto the plane. Total time in airport - about 12 minutes. That is how a man does things ;)

Our first stop was JFK, where we met with Mr and Mrs Fed. Again, it was a "40 minutes between landing and departure" situation, so we plowed our way through the horde like that old OJ Simpson Hertz commercial, hopping barriers and giving forearm shivers to shuffling old ladies. We got to the gate just in time to hug the Fed and again hop right onto the plane.

I started reading a book on the flight, "Hearts In Atlantis" by Stephen King. Suddenly, before I knew it, poof! We were landing in St. Thomas.



The airport was the first clue I was in another world. It was completely open air. In the pic above, if the shadows were lit, you'd see the areas to get your tickets and check your luggage. It's outside! No doors, walls, or windows. And, standing there in 3 layers of thermal clothes in March, it was apparent why. It was hot. I overheard people saying it was a "bad day" as there was clouds and wind, but it was 75* easy.

We hailed a cab to take us to the fast ferry harbor, and there came clue two. Sure, the UK style of driving on the left was odd, but it was the manner of driving that shook me to attention. Those MF'ers are CRAZY, and this coming from a former grade A squid. I'm pretty sure the rule is basically "might is right". If you have a bus or a big ol van, you just go, no matter what. I did not see one single car over 2 years old that didn't have body panels either missing or pushed in. It must be a fender bender haven.

We arrived with time to kill, so we hit the bar and grille located in the port. Here, we could put our feet up and relax for awhile, as it had been total rat race up into this point. It was here it finally began to sink in; We Had Arrived. After some 7 odd months of planning, it was happening. I just kept looking around at the clear blue water, the palm trees, the small dinghies buzzing the harbor and giant pleasure yachts bobbing in their wake. I'm a homebody and a country boy, and I ain't never seen nothing like it.

Of course, we were ripped in short order. The Fed was describing the day's activities and what to expect when he suddenly spun and looked over the mountains. There, a twin engine float plane buzzed behind the peak behind us and he told me to get my camera and get ready. I wondered for what, as the harbor in front of me was a non stop beehive of activity. "Wait for it, wait for it...", and then right from above our heads there was a sudden "BRRRROOOAAAAaaaaaammmmmm!" and that guy just flung the thing in there. I mean, you could practically feel the wind for as close as he came to the roof of our patio seats, and before I knew it, he was splashing to a halt and turning to come back towards us. He made three take off and landings in the 2 hours we were there. Like I said - beehive.



We watched the fast ferries come and go with growing amazement. I mean, these things are quite large, and they just whip those things into port. I could not do the same with my 17' fishing boat that I'm very familiar with. Every landing looked like a crash, but not a bump was taken. Eventually it was our ferry which arrived, so after a somewhat hectic boarding procedure (no real line or order, locals budging to the front) we were seated in the upper deck and heading toward Road Town in Tortola.

I have little memory and no pictures of the ride. I was already pretty drunk, hammering down Caribs and Red Stripe as fast as I could, lest they get warm in the tropical sun. I remember it was pretty, and I was amazed both at the speed of such a large vessel, as well as the islands I was surrounded by. I'm used to the coast being flat. Hell, Florida seems like you could fire a missile that flies at 60' feet off the ground and cross the entire state without ever hitting a thing. Here, the land shot out of the water at impossible angles, rising in mountains that reminded me of Wyoming in their steepness, if not their height.

We landed in Road Town to the most bumbling border customs I'd ever been in. Of course, I have never actually been through a customs before, but it was pretty stupid. It was a good thing I was drunk and it was on a dock, as it gave me a bunch of fishies to watch, because otherwise I'd have been pissed. Now, I'm not a traveler, and as such, resisted getting a passport. I live within eyesight of Canada, I was told by The Fed and the all knowing internet that an enhanced license was good enough for the BVI, so that's what I went and got. I handed it to the customs lady and while I couldn't understand the pidgin she was speaking, it was obvious she wanted something else. She kept saying gibberish and I picked up "passport", and I just kept pointing to my license. Sure, I had my birth certificate and social security card as well, but she didn't ask for that. She eventually tells me to get out of line and lets every single other person go through as I just stood there. Upon getting turned back, Ash left the building to immediately go cry outside believing that I was headed to a holding cell.

Long story short, they weren't going to let me in. All this way and stymied on the dock. I could see our boat from where we stood, and if they didn't think my drunk ass was gonna jump and swim for it, they had another thing coming. In a last ditch effort I display all my particulars, and she got pissed a me, saying she asked for all that stuff in the beginning. I might be drunk, but I'm not an asshole. She didn't ask, and she didn't even need it, but whatever. After two scoops of bullshit I was allowed into the UK.

The cab ride was short and just as terrifying, and in minutes we were unloading and heading to our boat at Conch Charters. It was a 47' sail boat with three berths, three heads, dining area and kitchen, reasonable seating area above deck, and stocked with a tank of diesel, 200gal of fresh water, and about the same in booze ;)



I don't know jack about boats, so I was obviously floored. The Fed kept warning me about cramped quarters and blah-blah-blah, but I felt like royalty. This thing was posh. I caught a glimpse of her name, "Wandering Eye", and giggled. Just perfect ;)

We finished the night quickly unpacking and heading to The Pub, a little local joint right off the dock. There, we continued the drinksy and dove into some local grub, Jamaican Jerk Chicken for me (OMG yum), before heading back to the boat to turn in for our first night on the water. With only 2 hours of sleep and a good six hours of drinking behind me, our 9pm bed time was good enough for me. As I tucked into a bed plenty big enough for Ash and I, I felt asleep to the bobbing of the boat in my head and the clanks of the rigging in my ears.
Be bold and risk defeat, or be cautious and encourage it.
March 15th, 2014 at 10:06:44 AM permalink
AZDuffman
Member since: Oct 24, 2012
Threads: 135
Posts: 18136
Quote: Fleastiff
They want you to look like you would fit in. Those resorts, even the small ones, make great money, but some things are critical. A Husband and Wife team can usually get hired there if they got married on a boat or something. Anything that fits in with the lifestyle. One woman went to the Bahamas with her law school diploma in one hand and her bikini in the other. The Bahamian power brokers all knew they had to keep the waters pure and the scuba diving perfect so when they found out this bikini clad lawyer was also a scuba diver, she became the Environmental Adviser to the Minister of Tourism and Development. She was hired at a cocktail party less than two weeks after her arrival there.


It wasn't for a resort but I had a woman working for me who claimed she "knew the area" and said it was sort of as you said, they wanted a young, hip sort of look. The branch manager would 95% of the time be unseen and not even involved in any kind of resort, but what they wanted they wanted. I would have applied if by then I didn't hate the industry so much I almost didn't want to wake up some mornings. Other issue is if you quit and want to move back you almost need to abandon everything you own instead of paying to move it back.

I saw the ads before I understood about poker and gaming. Later I saw an ad where they were looking for an analyst of I forget what flag-of--convenience island to monitor for player collusion. Once I also saw an ad with the island name hidden to be a manager of a mortgage sales team. Those I would have been packing if I was 30 again.
The President is a fink.
March 15th, 2014 at 10:56:32 AM permalink
Fleastiff
Member since: Oct 27, 2012
Threads: 62
Posts: 7831
Quote: AZDuffman
Other issue is if you quit and want to move back you almost need to abandon everything you own instead of paying to move it back.
Not really, though the lifestyle is not for the acquisitive types. What you do is find a few friends who want to import repair parts for their yachts but don't enjoy paying import duties and a bar owner who doesn't mind selling cheap beer on which import taxes have not been paid. Then a yacht arrives carrying the beer and spare parts and it quietly departs carrying all your belongings back to the states for you.
March 17th, 2014 at 7:32:57 AM permalink
Fleastiff
Member since: Oct 27, 2012
Threads: 62
Posts: 7831
So where are the photos of you scuba diving and fishing and eating lobster and beer all day long?
March 17th, 2014 at 8:00:03 AM permalink
Face
Member since: Oct 24, 2012
Threads: 61
Posts: 3941
Quote: Fleastiff
So where are the photos of you scuba diving and fishing and eating lobster and beer all day long?


Still waiting for The Fed to get me pics, still waiting for PC to process video and edits. I need the pics not only to show in the thread, but also to help me remember the day to day events. Right now it's just a wad of warmth and booze jumbled in my head ;)
Be bold and risk defeat, or be cautious and encourage it.
March 17th, 2014 at 8:17:11 AM permalink
Fleastiff
Member since: Oct 27, 2012
Threads: 62
Posts: 7831
Quote: Face
Right now it's just a wad of warmth and booze jumbled in my head ;)
Yeah, that's the way it is before they show you the photographs taken of you wearing a lampshade. Sounds like it was a successful vacation.
March 31st, 2014 at 8:15:43 AM permalink
Face
Member since: Oct 24, 2012
Threads: 61
Posts: 3941
"Life is either a great adventure or nothing." - Hellen Keller

Day 2.

I woke in good spirits and good health. I took note of the gentle rocking and made it a point to remind myself to not get very drunk very late. The Fed and The Mrs were already up, of course, cooking an epic breakfast feast. The smell of salt, humid air, the sea, fried eggs, bacon, coffee... the sweetness of that aroma is still will me, causing flashbacks even in cold and grey NY these many weeks later every time I cook my own boring breakfast.

I climbed out of bed and went above deck, still wearing just shorts and nothing else. Even at 7:30a with a gentle breeze, it was perfectly cozy. I watched as rain clouds moved in for a morning sprinkle and I just let them come. It rained a little, but I never cared to move. It was just so very, very nice out, and when the sun peeked over the mountain a few minutes later, I felt refreshed and renewed. The bathing requirements for the day were complete.



I sat and reflected on what I had seen so far. I recalled the seeming chaos of life around here. Traffic laws were mostly nonexistent. Regular gas was coming in at $4.78 a gallon. On the ride in, we saw areas covered in what looked like small shipping crates...those were cemeteries, and the crates were above ground coffins. I took note of the contrast and tried to make sense of it all. We were in a third world country, but we weren't. This was America, this was the UK,...but it wasn't. Here, you have opulence, you have wealth, and just down the street or sometimes right next door, you have abject poverty. You could see the most beautiful building complete with crisp landscaping, tended property, and well made buildings, and not 10' away a ditch filled with a thousand discarded plastic jugs, parts of a boat motor leaking oil into a slick, bags of garbage tossed haphazardly into the mess, and a general miasma that sort of pervaded the immediate area. I stood in a small port containing several millions of dollars of ships, and just next door, a shack that would more at home in a scene from "Breaking Bad". It was quite an interesting place.

But now, it was time to go. It was time to begin. It was time to leave land for the last time for ten days, and I was all too eager to shove off and get started. The Fed snaked our way out of the dock and into the channel, and as my head swiveled this way and that taking in all the things that I found immediately and supremely interesting, our adventure began.

Before even leaving the bay, The Fed was pulling out gear and getting lures into the water. "Alright!", I thought. We haven't even started, and it's already starting. Minutes into the vacation, and the 2014 fishing season has begun. I pulled my own gear out and got my own line wet, ready to give him a run for his money and take home the vacation fishing trophy. We headed almost dead south, down to a group of rock outcroppings call "The Indians", where we planned to have the first dive of the day.

I noticed something almost immediately; my sense of direction which I bragged to OG about in the Wyoming thread was completely lost at sea. It was so weird, and I noticed before we were even half way across Sir Francis Drake Channel. It was gone. I had everything I technically needed; I had the sun, I had no shortage of differently shaped islands and landmarks, I had more here than I have on land. But not 30 minutes into the sail, and I was stripped naked. For the first time in possibly my life, I was completely and utterly lost. I had no idea where I was, where I was going, or how to get back. It was an odd feeling, one which I wasn't all that upset at feeling. I felt naked, there's no other way to describe it, but it was a welcome feeling. It felt like I threw everything away and left it back in my "real" life. Now...I was on vacation.



We arrived to The Indians to find all the mooring balls taken, leaving us nowhere to tie up to. The Fed decided to take us to nearby Pelican Island, where there were plenty of reefs and caves to dive into.

We moored up relatively close, The Fed and his brother in law Paul showing me the procedure. Grab the hook, direct him to the ball. Get close and hook the "painter", a rope connected to the ball. Yank it in and tie some sailor's knot to the port side cleat, the get a rope and do the same for the starboard cleat. In minutes, I had the whole procedure down and we were tied up and ready to go. Upon showing them that I had it down, I was "promoted" to Dinghy Captain, a title I saw through immediately. Much like calling myself a "petroleum distribution engineer" when I was really just a gas pumper, it was a title made in jest to give pride to a job that lacks all pride. I have this same position in my own boat, but I keep it real. I call it what it is. I was just promoted to "Anchor Bitch" ;)

All tied up and secure, we 6 grabbed our gear and hopped in our dinghy, motoring in close and tying off to a dinghy moor. It wasn't even 10a, and now the shit was getting real. Because, well, I abhor swimming. Even when it's warm, I'm cold. I can swim just fine, but I sink like a rock. It takes me much effort to stay afloat and it's just more effort than it's worth. Plus, it's the ocean, and I watch too much Attenborough. But it was adventure time, and this is what we were here for. I have to get in, I have to give it a shot. The salt water will hopefully aid my buoyancy. The temp I'll get used to; after all, it's over 80*F already. And as long as I don't get close to nothing, I don't have to worry about catching an urchin to the back or an anemone to the face. Just get in and see what you see.

Well, all 5 of them were already in the water and meters away as I still sat, feet dangling off the dinghy. I just felt all out of sorts. My flippers felt weird, my mask felt weird, the camera on my head felt weird. The water was so salty, and it didn't exactly feel warm despite the fact that it was...whatever excuse I could make I made, even though I knew I was getting in. So... might as well get in.

I jumped in. It was freezing. But it wasn't; not even a minute passed and I was totally comfortable. I couldn't swim, I had forgotten how. But I didn't. I was just fine, and going completely limp still found me bobbing on the surface. My mask was jacked and my snorkel didn't work, but of course, it totally did. And after taking a look to see where to head, I put my head under for the first time, and everything vanished.

I've never seen anything like this. It was like swimming in a gigantic aquarium. All the stuff I've seen in the local aquarium, all the stuff I've seen in the Attenborough specials, it was right here, right in front of me, right at my fingertips. I saw coral reefs with tropical fish in numbers beyond count. I saw anemones, I saw urchins. I saw little wrasses picking at the cracks of the reefs, large parrot fish chewing off chunks of coral. Bar jacks cruised the drop offs to the deep water, squirrelfish looked on with their giant, red eyes. Sergeant major's by the hundreds flashed this way and that. I was lost in wonder.



At the end of this clip, you can see Ash sitting on the reef. Well, she ended up with many welts on her back, butt, and legs, which I noticed later in the dive. I worried that she had gotten stung by something, but I think it was just irritation from getting smashed into the rocks by the wave action. The wounds faded by the end of the night and never came back. She also had problems with her gear later in the dive, and her being her, refused to ask for help. I eventually caught up with her and saw her struggling, so I slowed her down and ran her through it. I held her afloat, letting her get comfy so she could see what I was telling her. It clicked for her immediately, and she never had another problem for the rest of the trip =)



The dive complete, we headed to Bight Bay in Norman Island. You have to get the big boat wherever you plan to be early, otherwise all the mooring balls get taken. I was surprised how busy it was; every port seemed to be packed at all hours of the day, leaving you with only one or two free balls if you were lucky. But we got to Bight Bay relatively early and had our pick of balls, taking one deep into the bay and out of the wind and waves.

All there was to do now was absolutely nothing. Kill the day however you wanted. I of course grabbed some beer and my fishing pole, setting about casting into the clear, blue water. I took notice of our neighbors, all of whom were naked. About 20 minutes had passed when The Fed took notice of my fishing and asked why I kept casting to the same place. I just nodded in that direction and he, too, became aware of the 20somethings going about their day in the nude. He exclaimed something as to why the hell I hadn't said something, and I just kept fishing. I guess I didn't want to ruin the moment ;)

And that's how we killed the day. I fished off the boat. Ash and Mrs Fed went for another long swim. The Fed, Paul, and I eventually left the Wandering Eye and took the dinghy to shore to try our luck there. We caught nothing and went off to the dock. There, I saw a large crab walking along it. I tried to catch it, but Christ Almighty, it was as fast as lightning. I didn't know they could be so quick! We saw a metric ton of fish, but we were using large lures for barracuda and didn't hook up on anything. We returned to the boat empty handed and ready for dinner.

After a hearty meal of steak, potatoes and pineapple cooked on a charcoal grill, we headed to the Willy T to tie on a hard one. The Willy T is an ancient sailboat, permanently moored in Bight Bay. It is the sight of all manners of debauchery. It might not have exactly mirrored Sodom and Gomorrah, but it's probably the closest there is in the modern age. Just complete insanity. It ended up being packed to the point that getting a drink was too tough, so we left for Pirate's Bight, a little beach side bar that had burned down and was recently rebuilt. Here, only two groups were present, resulting in the bartenders giving us their undivided attention. I asked for a beer and a whiskey. I got a beer and a cup of whiskey. I mean a friggin' cup. Like, a tumbler full, without ice. Good lord. Ash was getting local concoctions, mostly Bushwackers which were a sort of alcoholic coconut milkshake. Between helping her and finishing my own, the beach became as tilty and rolling as any of our time spent on the water.

I took one last picture before leaving the beach for the dinghy, here in the pitch black. Every single dot is the mast light of an individual boat. It was like a temporary, ever changing city.



If something happened after the beach, it was lost to alcohol. The next thing I remember was waking up in the morning.
Be bold and risk defeat, or be cautious and encourage it.
March 31st, 2014 at 1:56:12 PM permalink
Evenbob
Member since: Oct 24, 2012
Threads: 146
Posts: 25010
Where are the babes and the hotel and
the food. What vacay's are all about.
If you take a risk, you may lose. If you never take a risk, you will always lose.
March 31st, 2014 at 4:24:18 PM permalink
Face
Member since: Oct 24, 2012
Threads: 61
Posts: 3941
Quote: Evenbob
Where are the babes and the hotel and
the food. What vacay's are all about.


1. Swimming right next to me.
2. We're on a boat and not on land.
3. We had steak and potatoes.

What more do you want? lol
Be bold and risk defeat, or be cautious and encourage it.
March 31st, 2014 at 4:26:35 PM permalink
Evenbob
Member since: Oct 24, 2012
Threads: 146
Posts: 25010
Quote: Face
1. Swimming right next to me.
2. We're on a boat and not on land.
3. We had steak and potatoes.

What more do you want? lol


Babes, hotel pool babes, beach babes,
and babes eating dinner.
If you take a risk, you may lose. If you never take a risk, you will always lose.
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