The plane trip was a little different than usual. I sat in my usual window seat, luckily no one in the middle, and John Howie in the aisle seat. I didn't know it was him at first. Oh, he is a famous chef in the northwest and owns a couple of restaurants in the greater Seattle area. Of course this was a non-stop flight to Miami, and the Superbowl was in three days. I was surprised how many were going to the big game. Even the captain jokingly said he would trade anyone a round-trip ticket anywhere Alaska Airlines flies for a Superbowl ticket. Then again, maybe he wasn't kidding. Throughout the six hour marathon, random passengers kept walking up to the guy next to me, talking with him about how much they loved the food and blah, blah, blah. I was beginning to get curious. Did this guy somehow know everyone on here? Whatever. I picked up the in-flight magazine and flipped through the pages. I had already slept for two hours and for some reason my body would not shut off anymore. Hey, look at that. The photo in that magazine looks mysteriously like the guy sitting next to me. Hmmm... looking at my neighbor... looking at magazine... sure enough, it is him. How funny is that! An advertisement for his newest steak restaurant in the Alaska Airlines magazine. I didn't say anything. I hate talking to people on planes. I'm already half deaf, and I don't want to be one of "those" people. You know, the kind that just have to talk to a famous person. So, instead I focused my attention on the lovely cream colored tray table sitting in its upright position in front of me. Much better.
By the time we landed in Miami, half the flight was drunk. I scooted along the terminal, dodging middle aged women practically falling down in a drunken stupor. The Miami International Airport was anything but welcoming. I can't remember another US airport in such disarray. I was glad to escape with both my bags in hand to the Marriott. By the time I dropped my luggage and my exhausted body fell to the bed, it was 11 pm. Tomorrow would not be easy. The 7:45 flight sure wouldn't help. Five happy hours of sleep began a new day. I took the 6 am airport shuttle and was greeted by a nice surprise. An upgrade to first class was only $90. After about 10 seconds of intense thought, my credit card was sliding through the kiosk. I mean, why not? My first checked bag would be $20, then another $15 for breakfast and a drink. So really I was only paying $55 for a great seat, a wonderful breakfast, and amazing service. Three hours of luxury at 35,000 feet. From Puerto Rico it was an up and down hop on a twin turbo-prop to St. Thomas. Each stop was warmer, the weather better, and my smile getting bigger. Once after using the bathroom, I started laughing for no apparent reason. I couldn't get the smirk off my face so I stayed in the bathroom. I'm not sure how people would react if I walked out of the bathroom with some mysterious grin, but I'm sure they wouldn't be thinking the nicest of things. So after a few moments, I gathered myself long enough to make it back to my seat without that cheesy grin.
There are no bridges to board and debark from aircraft at St. Thomas. Just the open air steps down to the tarmac. A short walk around the outside of the terminal brings you to an overhang. This is where I knew things would be different over the next seven days. It wasn't the brilliant sunshine. Not the 85 degree heat. Walking under the overhang, I was greeted by locals serving shots of rum. Free rum. This should definitely be mandatory for the continental US! After all the pain and hassle of flying, airport security, and crappy airport food, free shots of rum would help anyone traveling by plane.
I was getting tired of my 50 pound bag. It was heavy and even though I absolutely loved the heat, I wasn't used to it yet. During the mid-day traffic, the taxi ride took 40 minutes to Red Hook, the ferry station. I was amazed at how mountainous the island was. We took the back roads which lead straight over the top of the peaks, creating awe inspiring views of the oceanfront below. The ferry was smaller than I expected and definitely not as updated as something you would see over here. I really didn't care. I was almost home. I sat on the top deck along the edge, my sunglasses on, camera in hand, getting sprayed by sea mist with each lurch the boat made while cutting through the wakes. And there it was... St. John... it all its beauty. Rockefeller purchased almost half the island about 50 years ago, and donated most of it back for use as a national park. Today, St. John is two-thirds national state park, making it easy to find your own private beach for the day. I lugged my baggage a few blocks to the rental car office. The city was bustling and it was a lot to take in. I had to concentrate and focus because in a few minutes everything I learned about driving would change. As they say in St. John, "drink right and drive left". It was a challenge at first, especially going through the five-point round-a-bout. But I was up to the challenge and made it to Cinnamon Bay Campground in no time.
By now I had learned that while visiting the US Virgin Islands, you never start a conversation with business. Always begin with a greeting, some small talk, and then on to the point. Using the custom greeting, the receptionist set me up for bare-site #61. Looking at the campground map, I was dreading the walk. I had my backpack stuffed in a large duffle bag to protect it while traveling, so it was not easy to carry. I would say it was close to half a mile to my site. I couldn't see the beach, but my tent sight was far from the main campground, solitude, the waves crashing down just beyond the hill. I set up camp and decided to take a walk on the beach. Beautiful. White sandy beaches, crystal blue water. A small island within swimming distance of shore. A few large sailboats and yachts anchored nearby. Lush tropical forest reaching up the mountains. It reminded me a lot of Singkawang beach, but mixed with Caribbean sand and water. Fabulous! In the morning I would snorkel around the island and see how my new gear worked out. For now, I needed a shower and then some food.
The campground has plenty of bathroom facilities, but only offers cold showers. No hot water. I didn't care much. I was hot and sweaty and the cool water felt refreshing. I applied a liberal layer of mosquito repellent before donning my clothes and heading to the Cinnamon Bay Restaurant. When you walk in, people wait in line to order from the three choices for dinner, pay, and take their numbered sign to any empty table in the open air pavilion. The place was packed and I sat down at the last table available. The couple who ordered before me had picked the table next to the one I sat down at. They asked me to join them and I happily obliged. This was their second night here after staying in the main town (Cruz Bay) for two nights. They enjoyed the beach and on a whim decided to try their luck with a cabin. Amazingly, they were able to get one of the best cabins for all three nights. The campground only offers four cabins directly on the beach with unobstructed views. You step out the front door, walk 20 feet and the sand glides beneath your toes. We talked for hours, drinking Heineken after finishing dinner. He was half filipino (I couldn't tell) and had been on two Teen Missions trips to Europe as a teenager. What a small world it is! Teen Missions is who I spent a summer with before 9th grade while traveling to Ukraine. She was turning 50 tomorrow and they invited me to their cabin for dinner to celebrate.
By now it was late. I was exhausted. Four beers exhausted to be exact. Time for my first night in paradise. I crawled into my sleeping bag, gazed through the mesh at a beaming moon staring back at me, and listened to the rhythmic waves roll onto the cool sand. What a life. Six more days of this. I was fairly confident in my abilities to handle such a hard life. The temperature was 71 degrees and my mind shut down, blissfully wandering into a state of emptiness.
Taken from the ferry while leaving St. Thomas, USVI.
Part of the trail leading up to my camp site.
Campsite #61
The overhead tarp was provided. Complete with picnic table and 10'x10' tent pad area.
A better look at the built-up tent area.
