The sail to Martinique is more exciting than I thought, though we are reefed. They say the big rollng waves come all the way from Africa.
Vern will not let me touch the boat. Not a line, not a winch, not a thing. I find out later that Vern has let others help him sail. Linda thinks it is because I am female, with no other male crew on the boat. I think it is because I'm female and A CON ARTIST.
I offered to hold the sail tie-downs. Just as you would expect from a Mr. Crankypants, he rasped, "Don't touch anything."
I also find out that he was an engineering professor and probably has Aspergers, which is hard to tell from an old guy who only bark orders in a whispy yet stern monotone.
Don't make me tell you about how I scuttle out of the cockpit right after we eat, when Vern massages Linda's feet in his... lap... and groans. Don't make me tell you.
Anyway, we finally get to Martinique. Anchoring. Anchoring involves us motoring for 20 minutes around and around the anchorage with the two of them SHOUTING THE ENTIRE TIME!!! He is a FUCKING IDIOT RETARD! Doesn't SHE HAVE EARS! WHERE IS HER BRAIN! VERN THERE'S A SWIMMER IN FRONT OF US! LINDA I SAID TO GO RIGHT! VERN THERE'S A SWIMMER IN THE WAY! GO RIGHT! GO RIGHT! BACK UP BACK UP DO YOU NOT SEE THE SWIMMER!?
People who have been lazily reading or sunning on deck sit up and gape. Every single boat in the anchorage sees these J Friends who are not jolly and not friends.
Anchoring takes four or five tries, always. We're slipping. We're too close. The bottom's not right. There's a better spot over there. We raise anchor. We start from scratch.
Martinique looks so... French. Shabby Chic French. The boats around us are all French.
Vern flies the Martinique flag and the yellow flag. Yellow: No one can visit us, and we can visit no one. We cannot leave the boat. We are not checked into the country. We are quarantined.
But Linda and I simply jump in the water and swim to shore.
Silly, silly rules.
I'm a wetback in Martinique!
We look awful. We are in ratty wet sandy clothes among all the chic French tourists. We yearn for a drink or a snack. All businesses are closed between 2 pm and 6 pm -- some until 10 pm. The American and the Canadian; what a joke we are.
If we're caught... will it still be a joke?
Women sell peanuts rolled up in paper cones, but I can't figure out a way to get them back to the boat.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
A more intriguing screwup
There are no border crossings on the water. So, you may ask, how does one get checked from one country to the next if one is traveling on a boatÉ
Good question, You!
Itès different in every country. But there is some form of first, as a crew member, getting formally as part of a crew of a boat, done by the captain. Then the captain, and sometimes you, too must go to an immigration station somewhere near an anchorage and check out of the country, then you have a certain time to leave the waters of the country. Of course it gets confusing. You are not allowed to land again. What if you check out and a storm comes upÉ You go to land; you are there illegally.
Anyway.
We are, apparently, to go to Martinique tomorrow.
Sailing flat and slow.
We are planning to anchor, but not go on land, so we can bypass immigration.
On to Dominica. We will arrrive Sunday. No immigration office open. Monday 5 am or so, I need to get to the airport.
How does one check OUT of a country at the airport, when one has never checked INTO the country.
Vern says *they re casual* in Dominica. But let s say they re not. Sorry for the weird punctuation; it s mostly gone to French characters.
That could mean I will be in the Dominica airport, but not actually be legally in the country. What if they won t let me out, if I m not really iné
In the meantime, J Friends is on the other side of the island, out of contact. They have floated away.
Will I have to stay forever in Dominica, until my money runs out. I will have to learn some native tricks.
Isn t this an intriguing screwup
Good question, You!
Itès different in every country. But there is some form of first, as a crew member, getting formally as part of a crew of a boat, done by the captain. Then the captain, and sometimes you, too must go to an immigration station somewhere near an anchorage and check out of the country, then you have a certain time to leave the waters of the country. Of course it gets confusing. You are not allowed to land again. What if you check out and a storm comes upÉ You go to land; you are there illegally.
Anyway.
We are, apparently, to go to Martinique tomorrow.
Sailing flat and slow.
We are planning to anchor, but not go on land, so we can bypass immigration.
On to Dominica. We will arrrive Sunday. No immigration office open. Monday 5 am or so, I need to get to the airport.
How does one check OUT of a country at the airport, when one has never checked INTO the country.
Vern says *they re casual* in Dominica. But let s say they re not. Sorry for the weird punctuation; it s mostly gone to French characters.
That could mean I will be in the Dominica airport, but not actually be legally in the country. What if they won t let me out, if I m not really iné
In the meantime, J Friends is on the other side of the island, out of contact. They have floated away.
Will I have to stay forever in Dominica, until my money runs out. I will have to learn some native tricks.
Isn t this an intriguing screwup
I get away from it all
I get Linda to drop me off on shore. I walk through a small town. The houses are patched wood and metal sheeting, painted a bit colorfully, as you would imagine. About 15 ft by 15 ft big. The people at least act friendly. They don't in general bug you to buy things. However, if you need something, they will try every trick to get more money. It's part of the game, and ok because you both know it. They don't have change. No, truly. Nothing. Well, then, you don't need the item. Now they have change. But only partial. No, truly. You walk away. Oh! They have just found change in their pocket.
It is their favorite game. We both get it.
I walk down the beach through two Sandals resorts. There are mostly Germans, some Americans. Lots of Canadians, I'm told. There are big expensive beach toys, plastic pods floating in the water. Horses to ride romantically down the beach. Many smiling servers of brightly colored drinks. I know Ièm allowed to walk through only because Ièm white.
Past them I get to a National Park. Cool. It is on an island that's no longer an island because they built a causeway. I pay $5 US to get in. There are trails with signs. There are old buildings and cannons. And a fort, way up high. I go to the Carib caves which really are nothing, then in my usual way, boulder myself straight up the side of the mountain to the fort. It is dangerousÉ Of course. Boulders slip down the mountain, crashing below. But this is how I do these things. ONce I get back to the trail, There are many, many signs showing drawings of British soldiers from the late 1700's early 1800s. It's all about commerce I think, but they make it sound more prosaic. Prosaic? I think that's the wrong word. Heroic? Inevitable. Noble. At least in one sign they make fun of the fact that the British soldiers continued to wear their British clothing. In the tropics. You know, Going Native was the worst one could do.
They have an impressive interpretive center.
For a few hours, I am out of the scope of Whats-Their-Names. They who shall not be named. I walk and walk and climb and climb. Ièm supposed to be able to see Martinique from the top of the mountain but itès raining in that direction, OOOps, IÈve lost my apostrophy, and have been given some French letter. Ièm not sure how to stop this.
I leave the park happier than I have been the whole time in the Caribbean. Despite the fort and the guns and the boys with their toys emphasis of the park.
I leave the park and see three people on the beach next to a dinghy. I chat. They are of all things, anchored two miles away, right next to Jolly F. So they bring me back.
They are normal! Why canèt I be crewing with themÉ
It is their favorite game. We both get it.
I walk down the beach through two Sandals resorts. There are mostly Germans, some Americans. Lots of Canadians, I'm told. There are big expensive beach toys, plastic pods floating in the water. Horses to ride romantically down the beach. Many smiling servers of brightly colored drinks. I know Ièm allowed to walk through only because Ièm white.
Past them I get to a National Park. Cool. It is on an island that's no longer an island because they built a causeway. I pay $5 US to get in. There are trails with signs. There are old buildings and cannons. And a fort, way up high. I go to the Carib caves which really are nothing, then in my usual way, boulder myself straight up the side of the mountain to the fort. It is dangerousÉ Of course. Boulders slip down the mountain, crashing below. But this is how I do these things. ONce I get back to the trail, There are many, many signs showing drawings of British soldiers from the late 1700's early 1800s. It's all about commerce I think, but they make it sound more prosaic. Prosaic? I think that's the wrong word. Heroic? Inevitable. Noble. At least in one sign they make fun of the fact that the British soldiers continued to wear their British clothing. In the tropics. You know, Going Native was the worst one could do.
They have an impressive interpretive center.
For a few hours, I am out of the scope of Whats-Their-Names. They who shall not be named. I walk and walk and climb and climb. Ièm supposed to be able to see Martinique from the top of the mountain but itès raining in that direction, OOOps, IÈve lost my apostrophy, and have been given some French letter. Ièm not sure how to stop this.
I leave the park happier than I have been the whole time in the Caribbean. Despite the fort and the guns and the boys with their toys emphasis of the park.
I leave the park and see three people on the beach next to a dinghy. I chat. They are of all things, anchored two miles away, right next to Jolly F. So they bring me back.
They are normal! Why canèt I be crewing with themÉ
Martinique?
Because we have been waiting for DAN the man to show up, our schedule is a mess. That, and Vern will not sail unless the wind is slow and steady. He shortens the sail, so that we cannot sail fast.
He doesnt' like to heel.
What? He doesn't like to heel?
Linda tells me this.
A sailboat is supposed to heel. That's part of what sailing is about. But it scares Vern. So.
We sail,
flat,
from one place to the next.
Now there's a glitch in my getting back. It took me 28 hours of travel to get from SF to the boat. It will take me about 40 to get back.
IF we get to Dominica, which is the island north of Martinique.
I will have to find someone on this little island who has a car and is willing to drive me an hour around the island to the little airport for a 7 am flight. I think the plane will carry about 20 people. I will fly to Barbados, which is south a few islands. Have a three hour layover. Fly back north to St. Lucia. The international airport is on the other side of the island. Must find a taxi to bring me. Must stay overnight in order to catch the flight the next day. Flight has a couple of stops with long long layovers.
BUt all this is not what the worry is about.
What if we get to Martinique and the weather is not perfect? Vern will not sail. I will have to get from Martinique to St. Lucia.
Am I boring you yet? I would be bored if it was not such a costly boredom.
He doesnt' like to heel.
What? He doesn't like to heel?
Linda tells me this.
A sailboat is supposed to heel. That's part of what sailing is about. But it scares Vern. So.
We sail,
flat,
from one place to the next.
Now there's a glitch in my getting back. It took me 28 hours of travel to get from SF to the boat. It will take me about 40 to get back.
IF we get to Dominica, which is the island north of Martinique.
I will have to find someone on this little island who has a car and is willing to drive me an hour around the island to the little airport for a 7 am flight. I think the plane will carry about 20 people. I will fly to Barbados, which is south a few islands. Have a three hour layover. Fly back north to St. Lucia. The international airport is on the other side of the island. Must find a taxi to bring me. Must stay overnight in order to catch the flight the next day. Flight has a couple of stops with long long layovers.
BUt all this is not what the worry is about.
What if we get to Martinique and the weather is not perfect? Vern will not sail. I will have to get from Martinique to St. Lucia.
Am I boring you yet? I would be bored if it was not such a costly boredom.
Grocery store
One of the funnest things about visiting another country is to go their grocery store. You learn so much. You can stroll and look, pick up foreign items, figure out what they are.
The grocery stores here could be lifted part and parcel from anywhere in the US. These are not stores in tourist areas. These are in small towns. Only locals are shopping there.
If something is not worth commenting about, is it worth commenting about?
The grocery stores here could be lifted part and parcel from anywhere in the US. These are not stores in tourist areas. These are in small towns. Only locals are shopping there.
If something is not worth commenting about, is it worth commenting about?
Bat Cave
We snorkel, Linda and I. We snorkel to the bat cave.
You can hear them squeaking.
The cave is about 25 feet deep. You have to swim in. Bat shit showers down on you. It looks like yellow leaves. There are hundreds of bats. They are not quiet and still. They move constantly, changing places. The walls of the cave are covered with crabs.
How cool is this?
You can hear them squeaking.
The cave is about 25 feet deep. You have to swim in. Bat shit showers down on you. It looks like yellow leaves. There are hundreds of bats. They are not quiet and still. They move constantly, changing places. The walls of the cave are covered with crabs.
How cool is this?
A room of one's own
Through the trip, hanging over everything, is DAN. DAN is the man. DAN is also coming to the boat. DAN keeps changing his mind. DAN is in the midst of a multi-billion dollar deal in Chile. Aftet the deal, DAN will come on the boat. DAN is a friend of Verns. DAN will get the cabin.
The cabin is small,but it has a door. I can get away. I will be banished into the midst of everything. YOu can't sleep outside here in the cockpit, the way I like to. It rains, in five minute segments, about 6 or 8 times a night. So I will have to sleep in the salon, on a bench that is too short, with no privacy or abiity to get out of the fray.
We finally get an email from DAN. He can't find flights to come last minute as he needs to.
I can only hope it stays this way.
The cabin is small,but it has a door. I can get away. I will be banished into the midst of everything. YOu can't sleep outside here in the cockpit, the way I like to. It rains, in five minute segments, about 6 or 8 times a night. So I will have to sleep in the salon, on a bench that is too short, with no privacy or abiity to get out of the fray.
We finally get an email from DAN. He can't find flights to come last minute as he needs to.
I can only hope it stays this way.
I am an artist of the wrong type
We get back from snorkling. I am almost, can I say, happy?
Vern begins to talk to me. Whoa! He has never made the atttempt. He rasps out in his monotone.
He. Loves Linda. He will protect her.
Alright, I think...?
"She always... gets pulled. in. by con artists. I won't. let it happen. again," he says. "I invited you. on the boat. and now. you're conning her. "
Stunned.
"She says you... want to leave. the boat because. you don't like us, but. the airlines will charge you. too much, so now. she. wants to give. you money. Con artists. like you. will always get. money... out of nice people like Linda. "
Of course, Linda gets into the fray. No, Vern, you misunderstood me. I never told her I would give her money. She didn't ask for any.
Vern is unconvinced.
I can ignore Vern. So... for the rest of this trip, I will be considered to be an ARTIST.
Good for me!
Vern begins to talk to me. Whoa! He has never made the atttempt. He rasps out in his monotone.
He. Loves Linda. He will protect her.
Alright, I think...?
"She always... gets pulled. in. by con artists. I won't. let it happen. again," he says. "I invited you. on the boat. and now. you're conning her. "
Stunned.
"She says you... want to leave. the boat because. you don't like us, but. the airlines will charge you. too much, so now. she. wants to give. you money. Con artists. like you. will always get. money... out of nice people like Linda. "
Of course, Linda gets into the fray. No, Vern, you misunderstood me. I never told her I would give her money. She didn't ask for any.
Vern is unconvinced.
I can ignore Vern. So... for the rest of this trip, I will be considered to be an ARTIST.
Good for me!
Barracuda
I have seen photos of barracuda, and this seems to be one. He has crafty, piercing eyes, a huge mouth full of teeth.
He seems to be following me. Sometimes he seems to swim ahead, put himself in my way, and wait. What to do? Should I stop and swim elsewhere? Best not to look scared. Best to keep going, but at a slight angle. I mean, is it even a barracuda to begin with?
Could this be? Probably not. Linda has not said anything about anything that I should worry about.
We swim for perhaps two hours. I take photos with my camera in a waterproof case. But I don't know how to post them now, so they will have to be later.
We get back to land. She is good with conversing with the local boys. She understands their... what is is... patois? Is that the word? Anyway, they seem to like to talk to her.
We get back. I feel a different woman. If things stay like this, I can stay on the boat. I am rejuvenated.
I look up a book on Caribbean fish. Yes, there are barracuda. They like to follow a single swimmer. They are usually not dangerous. Usually.
He seems to be following me. Sometimes he seems to swim ahead, put himself in my way, and wait. What to do? Should I stop and swim elsewhere? Best not to look scared. Best to keep going, but at a slight angle. I mean, is it even a barracuda to begin with?
Could this be? Probably not. Linda has not said anything about anything that I should worry about.
We swim for perhaps two hours. I take photos with my camera in a waterproof case. But I don't know how to post them now, so they will have to be later.
We get back to land. She is good with conversing with the local boys. She understands their... what is is... patois? Is that the word? Anyway, they seem to like to talk to her.
We get back. I feel a different woman. If things stay like this, I can stay on the boat. I am rejuvenated.
I look up a book on Caribbean fish. Yes, there are barracuda. They like to follow a single swimmer. They are usually not dangerous. Usually.
A bit of heaven
The oppressive sadness and anger lifts a bit. Linda really does stop bitching about Vern. She really does stop insulting him and dredging up the past. She rarely screams at him.
Vern, I can just ignore. It's not like you're expected to chat with the man. He can't hear anything other than a full shout. I realize now I will not be sailing. I mean, I will not be actively taking part in sailing the boat. I will just sit below for an hour until he calls me on deck to hold a part of a line for five minutes while he ties a bowline.
We go snorkeling, Linda and I.
AT.
LAST.
At last I am really in St. Lucia. I am snorkling past things I have never seen. I am next to the famous Piton mountains. They are monumental. They are skinny triangles that slice straight down into the sea.
Under the water are canyons. I have never seen this underwater before. There are worlds. There are occasional colorful fish, sea urchins, coral, bright sponges. We snorkel a long, long way; pehaps a couple of miles, around rocks and islands. Linda is a bit overweight, slow on her feet, but in the water she is a strong swimmer and has no fear, so I have no fear.
I come back cleansed.
Vern, I can just ignore. It's not like you're expected to chat with the man. He can't hear anything other than a full shout. I realize now I will not be sailing. I mean, I will not be actively taking part in sailing the boat. I will just sit below for an hour until he calls me on deck to hold a part of a line for five minutes while he ties a bowline.
We go snorkeling, Linda and I.
AT.
LAST.
At last I am really in St. Lucia. I am snorkling past things I have never seen. I am next to the famous Piton mountains. They are monumental. They are skinny triangles that slice straight down into the sea.
Under the water are canyons. I have never seen this underwater before. There are worlds. There are occasional colorful fish, sea urchins, coral, bright sponges. We snorkel a long, long way; pehaps a couple of miles, around rocks and islands. Linda is a bit overweight, slow on her feet, but in the water she is a strong swimmer and has no fear, so I have no fear.
I come back cleansed.
I must run away
I have been on the boat, what, two days? I cannot stay. This is misery. This is a very expensive learning experience. Why can I never find just the normal people on a normal boat acting normal ways, when I crew? I see them all around me. They sit in their cockpits and laugh. They greet each other with smiles. They visit each other. No one will visit J Friends. They roll their eyes and rush away when J Friends dinghys into the marina, just to not have to hear them bicker.
I have a hard time finding normalcy.
I decide I must leave. What will I do? The island is very expensive. I can't afford to change my tickets. AA wants hundreds. But I can't afford a hotel for two weeks. I'm in a bit of a pickle.
I decide I will get Vern and Linda to drop me off at the marina. I will tell everyone who comes past why I am a crew Orphan. Someone will take me in. Or someone will have a suggestion.
Something will happen.
I tell Linda I must leave. We have moved now to an anchorage in a national park. There is no dock or marina here. There is no place for me to sit as an orphan. I will have to stay for two days until we return to the original marina.
Linda feels bad. I try to suggest, gently, that her life would be happier if she could find a way not to yell at Vern all the time, and not to talk to
ME about HIM every minute when she is NOT yelling at HIM.
She says she will give this a try. She says if I have to leave she'll feel really bad because she knows it's an angry, sad boat. She knows this is getting very expensive for me.
And Maybe they should warn incoming crew, she says, about the atmosphere on the boat. I try to sound only mildly enthusiastic when I agree.
She is really not so bad. When she's not yelling at Vern, she has good stories. She's actually pretty funny and interesting.
In the meantime, we will spend a couple of days at this park, and then return to the original marina. Decisions will be made then.
I have a hard time finding normalcy.
I decide I must leave. What will I do? The island is very expensive. I can't afford to change my tickets. AA wants hundreds. But I can't afford a hotel for two weeks. I'm in a bit of a pickle.
I decide I will get Vern and Linda to drop me off at the marina. I will tell everyone who comes past why I am a crew Orphan. Someone will take me in. Or someone will have a suggestion.
Something will happen.
I tell Linda I must leave. We have moved now to an anchorage in a national park. There is no dock or marina here. There is no place for me to sit as an orphan. I will have to stay for two days until we return to the original marina.
Linda feels bad. I try to suggest, gently, that her life would be happier if she could find a way not to yell at Vern all the time, and not to talk to
ME about HIM every minute when she is NOT yelling at HIM.
She says she will give this a try. She says if I have to leave she'll feel really bad because she knows it's an angry, sad boat. She knows this is getting very expensive for me.
And Maybe they should warn incoming crew, she says, about the atmosphere on the boat. I try to sound only mildly enthusiastic when I agree.
She is really not so bad. When she's not yelling at Vern, she has good stories. She's actually pretty funny and interesting.
In the meantime, we will spend a couple of days at this park, and then return to the original marina. Decisions will be made then.
TMI
Oh for fuck's sake.
Linda now has decided to tell me every little detail about her and Vern's romantic relationship. It has been going on for two days, this explanation. Each time she goes into it I gaze off in the distance, in a way, that for most people, indicates, "My mind is elsewhere. Let it go."
She does not let it go.
"It's really not so bad. He doesn't smell like an old man." We are on deck and I gaze at the anchor chain, as if it is the most fascinating thing I've ever seen. "I just don't like when he makes that mean face."
Vern's face is a wrinkled prune, eyes asquint, face covered in flaking white sunscreen. His face never changes. What does she mean; A Mean Face? He's bent over; what you see is the top of his bald and spotted head.
"I just hate him. I hate him. But then, I love him. He treats me so well. He never looks at any other women, ever."
The preposterousnous of that statement, if that word exists (preposterousity?) is beyond my ability to comment.
"He never sticks his tongue down my throat." TMI! TMI, I'm thinking. I gaze past the anchor chain to the other boats in the anchorage.
"And I'm not invaded. He can't really have sex. " TMI, TMI TMI! I would pay her cash to stop talking. I gaze farther, to the shore. "Look," I say, "look at that funny boat from the UK. Do you think they made that dinghy?" She ignores. "He's consistent. He always says the same words while he rubs up against me."
OH good god TMI TMI TMI. I gaze past the shore to the horizon. Beyond the horizon.
"And when I really get mad at him he gets on his knees and pants and licks me and says he'll be my doggie."
Oh for the love of God, mea culpa, mea culpa, Sweet Jesus in heaven please deliver me from this. I look off to the next universe.
Linda now has decided to tell me every little detail about her and Vern's romantic relationship. It has been going on for two days, this explanation. Each time she goes into it I gaze off in the distance, in a way, that for most people, indicates, "My mind is elsewhere. Let it go."
She does not let it go.
"It's really not so bad. He doesn't smell like an old man." We are on deck and I gaze at the anchor chain, as if it is the most fascinating thing I've ever seen. "I just don't like when he makes that mean face."
Vern's face is a wrinkled prune, eyes asquint, face covered in flaking white sunscreen. His face never changes. What does she mean; A Mean Face? He's bent over; what you see is the top of his bald and spotted head.
"I just hate him. I hate him. But then, I love him. He treats me so well. He never looks at any other women, ever."
The preposterousnous of that statement, if that word exists (preposterousity?) is beyond my ability to comment.
"He never sticks his tongue down my throat." TMI! TMI, I'm thinking. I gaze past the anchor chain to the other boats in the anchorage.
"And I'm not invaded. He can't really have sex. " TMI, TMI TMI! I would pay her cash to stop talking. I gaze farther, to the shore. "Look," I say, "look at that funny boat from the UK. Do you think they made that dinghy?" She ignores. "He's consistent. He always says the same words while he rubs up against me."
OH good god TMI TMI TMI. I gaze past the shore to the horizon. Beyond the horizon.
"And when I really get mad at him he gets on his knees and pants and licks me and says he'll be my doggie."
Oh for the love of God, mea culpa, mea culpa, Sweet Jesus in heaven please deliver me from this. I look off to the next universe.
Forty cents
They are in an argument over forty cents. A dollar EC, which is Eastern Caribbean Dollars. Somehow they each paid a Buoy boy the dollar. In my mind, I beg them to stop. I will give them the one EC to stop. I will give them 100 ec to stop.
We are moving to another anchorage. It should take 20 minutes to batten down and leave. It takes 2 and a half hours. Vern must do everything himself. A line dangles down. He grabs for it. It moves. It swings back. Misses again. This last for ten minutes. I am known to exaggerate, but I am not. Ten minutes. Dangle miss dangle miss. I sit next to him. I could snatch it in a second. I'm not allowed. Vern is captain and he will yell in his monotone way to let him do it his way.
We are moving to another anchorage. It should take 20 minutes to batten down and leave. It takes 2 and a half hours. Vern must do everything himself. A line dangles down. He grabs for it. It moves. It swings back. Misses again. This last for ten minutes. I am known to exaggerate, but I am not. Ten minutes. Dangle miss dangle miss. I sit next to him. I could snatch it in a second. I'm not allowed. Vern is captain and he will yell in his monotone way to let him do it his way.
Not at all Jolly
The reason it is J Friends is because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings or have this blog found by the boat couple. But the J is for Jolly. That is the name of their boat. J Friends. Jolly F.
They are, of course, anything but.
But, you ask, Sharlene, what about St. Lucia? What about the sea and the sky and the waves and the water and the views and the people and the snorkeling?
I can't notice anything. A boat is a very small world. Very small is one part of the equation. World is the other part. You cannot get away from the world.
I am squished between this toxic couple. Vern is a wrinkled, deaf man. Linda, I will call her, must shout everything to him, as if he is her doddering old great-grandfather. They hurl insults. They dredge up every mistake and wrong ever done to each other over the last six years. It never stops. They call each other idiots. They both yell. Vern doesn't exactly yell. He has the Old Man Monotone. He hasn't the lungs to yell. But it is yellish.
Somewhere, vaguely in the background, is sea and sky and the beaches of St. Lucia.
They are, of course, anything but.
But, you ask, Sharlene, what about St. Lucia? What about the sea and the sky and the waves and the water and the views and the people and the snorkeling?
I can't notice anything. A boat is a very small world. Very small is one part of the equation. World is the other part. You cannot get away from the world.
I am squished between this toxic couple. Vern is a wrinkled, deaf man. Linda, I will call her, must shout everything to him, as if he is her doddering old great-grandfather. They hurl insults. They dredge up every mistake and wrong ever done to each other over the last six years. It never stops. They call each other idiots. They both yell. Vern doesn't exactly yell. He has the Old Man Monotone. He hasn't the lungs to yell. But it is yellish.
Somewhere, vaguely in the background, is sea and sky and the beaches of St. Lucia.
Friday, February 4, 2011
GEEZER
Hello all, Off St. Lucia. I would like to be able to enjoy the views and the experience, but I am much too distracted (as usual on my tripss) by the personalities on the boat. The captain, who I was told is over 70 is 80 friggin 4 years old. 84! It
takes
him
this
long
to
tie a
knot and
move
5 feet
down the
deck AND HE IS DEAF! SO HIS GIRLFRIEND (MY AGE) YELLS AT HIM ALL THE TIME! But they're a couple. So it's weird all over. And she's really mean to him, in the way in which in pubic I must roll my eyes toward all the people who are staring at them.
I think I'm needed to do something. We perhaps move today. Otherwise have been anchored.
takes
him
this
long
to
tie a
knot and
move
5 feet
down the
deck AND HE IS DEAF! SO HIS GIRLFRIEND (MY AGE) YELLS AT HIM ALL THE TIME! But they're a couple. So it's weird all over. And she's really mean to him, in the way in which in pubic I must roll my eyes toward all the people who are staring at them.
I think I'm needed to do something. We perhaps move today. Otherwise have been anchored.
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