Lauren windsurfing after an 8 year hiatus
We woke up at 7am again, but this time we laid in bed a while before getting up. Eventually we did get out of bed and Ruben showered. We contemplated taking the car to town to get more cash, but then I realized that we had rented the car at the ungodly hour of 7:45am two days before and had to return it to avoid late charges. It turns out that we didn’t get charged even though we were late…
After we dropped off the car, we had some croissants and Orangina in the little strip mall near the hotels. Ruben finally got to drink a cold Coke, which really does taste different outside of the US. I like it better when they use the sugar syrup instead of the corn syrup used here.
After breakfast we stopped at the travel agent in the hotel next door to ours. She made arrangements to fly to St. Barts at 4:45pm. Everything was hand written, the tickets, the invoice, everything… It took me back about 5-10 years. It took quite a while to get everything sorted out. The flights cost 945 Fr, which works out to be around $175 US.
After we got the tickets we went back to the hotel and changed into beach clothes. Once on the beach (and after I had run back to the room for money), I rented a windsurfer for an hour (for 60 Fr). The board had to be a transition board (10’6" vs a 12’ beginner board) because it really wasn’t that stable. I borrowed a 4.7 sail, which was already rigged using some nice new equipment. Boom technology has really advanced in the 8 years since I bought my board.
Lauren windsurfing after an 8 year hiatus
I started out by going only part way out – just enough to get a bit of wind and pull my front foot around to the back end of the board behind the mast. I was a little nervous at first, but I was amazed at how easily I picked it back up. The only thing that didn’t cooperate was my muscles. I tried to tack (to turn back), but I was too unsteady, especially with the wave. I fell off a couple of times, and finally managed to get up and sail back in. The little kids taking boating lessons were teasing me (I think) and doing a little sing-song. Betty (from St. Barts, when I told her this story), said they were probably trying to encourage me with their song.
I took a little break when I got back to shore, then I turned around and went back out. I was feeling pretty cocky at this point, and wanted to go out where the wind was blowing a little steady. Silly me, I neglected to remember that the stronger the wind, the wilder the waves. I did get going really fast that time, but turning around was really problematic. I fell off, got back up, fell off, … repeat that at least a dozen times and you’ll understand why I started to get tired and nauseous. Finally, a little frustrated, I started to swim the board back in. It wasn’t too deep, and I could almost touch, but it was a little weird touching the seaweed underneath the water. Ruben borrowed a canoe and started out to get me. Finally I got up and going again, a little sea sick, but none the worse for wear.
After I returned to shore, I got Ruben to try the board. I first taught him how to stand. He had a bit of trouble from the soreness in his legs (from the hike the previous day). He couldn’t quite keep his center of gravity low enough on the board to stay upright. The waves and the fact that it was a transition board weren’t helping either. After a while he started to get the hang of it, got the sail up out of the water, and was almost able to sheet in. Finally, tired, he went back to the canoe. I went out and back one more time, just enough to give Ruben a chance to take a few pictures. This time I stayed just inside the cove area, I was able to tack, then I came in and returned the board. Then I borrowed a canoe for a bit, but realized I was too tired, and sat down on the beach chair for some water and some rest.
We ordered lunch at noon from the Veranda café. Ruben finally had his "Cheeseburger in Paradise" as a way to tease our friend Mary Kaye who loves Jimmy Buffet. Although I had ordered a margarita, I wound up with what I think is a Planteur punch – and boy does that pack a punch.
A cheeseburger in paradise
After lunch we went back to the room, bathed, snoozed and packed up. At 3:45 Ruben arranged for a taxi and we left for the airport at 4pm. The driver spoke English with a thick accent, but it was nice to be able to understand. He took us on the back roads to the airport to avoid the rush hour traffic. It was a little more expensive, but it was worth it to see parts of the town we normally would not, and to see the old airport (which is TINY, and is now used for charter flights during the peak tourist season). We really hit a bad traffic jam on the road to the departures, so he dropped us off on the arrivals level (which was ok by us). Apparently a 747 was leaving to Paris. Even with the bigger airport, there are still a lot of traffic jams (I can only imagine what it’s like during the peak season).
We walked up one flight of stairs and eventually figured out that that level was where people buy tickets. We went up one more flight of stairs and found the passenger check in. This seems like a good policy – separate ticket buying from check in. After a bit of searching we found Air Cairib, but the sign only showed the flight to St. Marteen. (The airport uses the video screens to demark the different airline check-in counters, like they do in Vancouver BC. I think I like this better than the way they do it at places like Seattle/Tacoma). We went through the baggage check, and mistakenly got in the line to have our passports checked (as though we were going to Paris). Eventually we caught a clue and went into the small waiting area for the little puddle jumpers.
The flight was on a tiny airplane – a Dornier 228. I think it sat 20 people, at the most. We sat close to the front and were able to watch the pilot and co-pilot fly the plane. It freaked me out that we were sitting right next to the propellers (I could only imagine what would happen if the propeller fell off and came into the plane). It freaked Ruben out when "smoke" (really condensation) started pouring in through the front windows and vents when we hit the cloud level.
The landing was AMAZING. The runway is extremely short and planes come in right over the road. The plane practically lands on top of the cars. The pilots have to stop the plane in a very short time, otherwise they hit the beach at other end of the runway and run into the water. There are usually people hanging out on the beach at the end of the runway – not a smart move if the plane doesn’t stop in time. After the plane lands, the pilot has to turn around, head back on the same runway to the terminal building. In our case, we could see the plane that had taken off from Point a Pitre just after us on their approach as we were heading back towards the terminal building through the windshield of the cockpit. That was pretty nerve wracking.
As we pulled up to the terminal building, it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen Wally in over twenty years. I didn’t know if he would recognize me, and I had no idea how to recognize him. There were a couple of guys standing at the window when we pulled up, but I had no real idea what he looked like. We exited the plane last, and I saw a couple of the men move towards where the passengers were arriving. One guy was looking back towards us and we both realized that we were looking for each other. In the mean while, Wally was surprised when another passenger (a man) said hello. He hadn’t expected to know two people on the plane. (It turned out that Wally had to pick up an American Airlines sign from another flight at 5pm, so it was perfect for him to pick us up at 5:30).
Wally drove us the long way home to show us some of the sites. It was really quite lovely to have our own private English speaking tour guide. We arrived at their home, which is in Vitet about halfway up the hill overlooking the Grand Cul de Sac and Petit Cul de Sac beaches.
Betty and Wally's house
Wally cracked open some champagne to celebrate our recent wedding and we drank outside on their deck overlooking the water. When Betty got back from her meeting, one of the first things out of her mouth was how much I looked like my mother. We changed into our swimsuits, opened another (low-alcohol) bottle, moved over to the pool.
The view from the deck
We had a terrific evening of food, wine and interesting stories about my mother when she was young (Betty apparently knew my mother from the time they were 8 years old). We ate Wahoo for dinner – a local game fish. Wally told us a new toast (instead of our usual "salud, amor, dinero y tiemp para gastarlo". The new on is in French: "santee’l por cent ans" meaning "health for a hundred years". For desert we ate a fruit from their tree called sapadilla, or chicle, manikara zapota. It had the texture of a pear, but tasted like a cinamon apple.
