Saturday: 2400 Miles Away

At O'Hare, Beth went to a magazine shop while I waited in the lounge at the gate. A large family sat down on either side of, and across from, me, so I took the opportunity to move close to a man who was having an intelligent conversation with a younger woman about world politics. I asked where they were bound -- St. John. He asked where I would be staying. It so happened that they were going to Maho Bay Camp, too, for the first time. Because I'd been there before, they asked me questions about Maho. Soon the man's wife joined us, and then Beth returned. They were John, Carol, and Ellen. John and Carol live in Michigan. Ellen is a social worker in Chicago. They were friendly, and it was nice to have new friends before even reaching Maho.

After an hour delay waiting for a crew to taxi the plane to the gate, we finally boarded. Beth and I were a bit surprised to find that our threesome seat mate (Beth was in the middle) turned out to be a French Canadian from Montreal who had spoken to us earlier in the waiting lounge. He was bound for San Juan and a cruise ship. He apologized for his bad English. We learned in the course of his non-stop talking that, for a back injury, he had a prescription for 100 Percocets a month, which may have had something to do with his motor mouth.

He kept plying Beth with questions about Chicago -- "Do you have pretzels in Chicago?" -- even after she repeated that she was not from Chicago. (Beth filled in pretty well as a substitute Chicagoan.) After each Chicago question, we got the details on the situation in Montreal -- be it pretzels or whatever. Beth was a good sport about the marathon conversation, but a woman in front of our Quebecois friend finally turned around and said to him, "Will you please be quiet! You're giving me a headache." After that, he got up for a spell and talked to his wife in another row, a friend a few rows ahead, the flight attendant, and someone else's child.

Approaching St. Thomas, I thought I saw funnel clouds descending from the dark mass above.

The plane landed. We descended the stairs to the tarmac in the open air and marched around the outside of the building to baggage claim. We met Liz. She needed something to eat and got some chicken in the airport cafe.

We were ushered to a taxi van and packed in with other tourists. Liz and two other passengers in the taxi confirmed that there were funnel clouds on the approach to the airport. One of them saw a funnel that had touched down on the ocean and become a water spout.

We requested the Charlotte Amalie dock. The driver stopped there right at the time the last ferry was due to depart, but we were too late and so continued with the other passengers to Red Hook.

As the taxi wound up and down steep hillsides, beautiful vistas opened up, mixed with gritty scenes of dilapidated buildings and rusty junkyards.

When I was paying the taxi driver, a Red Hook porter swooped in behind my back and swept up my two large bags, Beth's large bag -- and each of our small, carry-on bags. I was angry because I knew they would charge for every bag the porters handled, even the little ones that we could easily carry ourselves, so I intercepted the baggage cart, told the lady we needed some of our bags, and took back all but our two biggest pieces.

It grew dark as we ferried to St. John. At Cruz Bay, St. John, we took turns watching our heap of baggage outside of Wharfside Village, while I scouted information on a pharmacy, and we took turns using the washroom at the High Tide Bar, and Beth and I got Indian food to go from Mojo.

Finally, we got on Frett's Maho Shuttle for a roller coaster ride in the dark to Maho Bay Camp. To prepare Beth for a wild taxi ride, I joked, "I'm going to give you a rope and I want you to tie yourself to the railing" (on the taxi). Liz joked, "He's trying to condition you to getting used to being tied up!"

We arrived minutes before 8:00, when Registration normally closed, and got our tent cottage assignment, B-16, the closest tent to the bath house just below Registration, a very convenient location. But we were told we would have to move to another tent on Tuesday.

We got settled. Beth and I took a walk down the stairs to the beach. The lights of St. Thomas glittered over the water, and the stars glittered in the sky.

I took my first cold shower of the week.

Sunday: Cruz Bay and Salomon Bay

After breakfast in the pavilion, we taxied to Cruz Bay and walked through town to the pharmacy at Starfish Market. The pharmacy was on the upper level of the shopping center, where bright sunlight poured in through the atrium and open balconies onto wrought iron, tile, and potted plants. While Liz and Beth shopped, I walked around the balconies, looking for a view of the sea, but, if there was one, it must have been behind locked office doors. All I saw was parking lots and greenery.

Returning to the plaza, we had lunch outside at the Texas Coast Cafe. We tossed food to the chickens that scurried around, trying to get some good photos, until the waitress pointed out the sign that said "Please don't feed the chickens." As soon as we paid our bill and got up from the table, a bird -- and it wasn't a chicken -- flew onto my plate for his lunch special.

		Beth's picture of a donkey on the road as we drove past

We walked to the National Park center to ask about the trail to Salomon Bay and where to rent snorkeling gear. Hurricane Alley in Mongoose Junction was out of rental gear, so we hiked around the corner and up the hill to Cruz Bay Watersports for masks, snorkels, and fins for the three of us and a life vest for Beth. Back to the National Park center, and we hit the Lind Point Trail to Salomon.

It was a 35 or 40-minute hike up the sometimes rocky trail and down to the beach. For a stretch along the trail, a mass of green, snaky cactus vines smothered all other vegetation beside the trail. It looked like snake pit, knee-deep with snakes, like some divine vengeance out of ancient Greek mythology. Liz and I took turns playing the victim for the camera.

We snorkeled along the rocks on the north side of the beach. Liz tried it briefly. Beth had some difficulty breathing with the snorkel, but persisted. I saw many fish swimming among the coral and plants. A current swept toward the rocks and I had to work to keep a safe distance. It wasn't the calm, sheltered water that we expected from the beach review we'd read, but it was fun.

Salomon Bay

Cruz Bay

Wharfside Village, Cruz Bay

We hiked back, returned the gear and made reservations at Cruz Bay Watersports for a charter sail to Virgin Gorda: $130 plus the $25 customs fee.

Our first dinner at Maho -- Spanakopita for Liz and Beth, Basque seafood stew for me, some of which I shared with the cats, a black one and a cute white and grey tabby, who hung around the pavilion and begged politely.

An orientation slide show in the pavilion followed dinner. We talked to John, Carol, and Ellen. (On one taxi ride, Liz and John, who is retired, discovered they were in the same line of work.)

Liz and Beth had some gratis rum punch. Then, cold showers, and afterwards, Liz told me she ran into Isabel in the bath house. We met Isabel and Frank on our first trip to Maho two years ago. They had not been back until now, of all times, the week we returned. A happy coincidence.

Monday: Trunk Bay

In the pavilion before breakfast, I met Kevin, an anesthesiologist attending a conference on the island this week, and his 10-year-old son, Jack. Very nice man, Kevin. And a great kid, Jack, very grown up for his age. Jack had a cast on his arm, but fortunately, was not prohibited from going in the water.

When he heard we planned to go to Virgin Gorda, Kevin offered to drive us to the ferry on his way to the conference.

Liz, Beth, and I debated canceling our $130 reservations with Cruz Bay Watersports and, instead, taking the ferry to Virgin Gorda for $60, which includes the $25 customs fee.

Beth and I rented snorkel gear from the beach shop at Maho. Then, Liz, Beth, and I taxied to Trunk Bay. We paid our entrance fee and took the path past the washrooms, the showers, the store, and the snack bar, and through the palm trees to the beach. It was rather crowded, but we found a stretch of sand with some shade.

Beth and I made an attempt to snorkel the underwater trail that leads around the cay. My mask kept leaking. I made it to the fourth underwater sign, not far. Beth was still not comfortable with her snorkel.

The three of us took a walk along the famous beach. We reached a wall of rock at the west end, paused for some pictures there, and walked back to our spot.

Trunk Bay

Liz left for Cruz Bay to shop. Soon after, Beth and I hitch-hiked back to Maho. We were picked up by a Unitarian Universalist minister from Davis, California, Beth, and her husband, Rick, who were staying at Concordia on the other end of the island and driving to Maho Camp. Beth (the minister) has visited my congregation's Frank Lloyd Wright meeting house in Madison. Small world.

The showers, during daylight, were slightly less cold than they were the last couple of nights. Maybe.

Beth and I went to dinner in the pavilion. Later, Liz joined us. Then Frank and Isabel joined us. Frank told us he spent a couple months on a scientific expedition aboard a ship off Antarctica.

Beth and I looked around the camp store.

Inner Vision, a reggae band, played in the pavilion. Liz, Isabel, and Frank danced on the crowded floor. Eventually, Beth and I got up and danced, too. Afterwards, Beth went to watch the glassblowing demonstration.

Tuesday: Maho Bay

After breakfast in the pavilion, we packed up our belongings, brought the linens up to the laundry, and swept out the tent cottage. I moved my luggage up to the holding shelves in front of Registration. Then a staff person came to our tent and told us we didn't have to move after all, because the party that would have been moving into B-16 canceled. At least the tent got cleaned up. So, we unpacked.

Before our 24-hour rental period was up at noon, Beth and I used our snorkel gear on Little Maho beach out to the rocky point between Little and Big Maho. It was the lushest sealife we were to see all week. Lots of coral and fish. I tried to make it all the way around the point to Big Maho Beach, but I was daunted by large rocks -- I didn't want to end up in a dead end in some maze of rocks, so I returned to Little Maho. Then we went back in the water for another try. Water in my mask and in my snorkel got into my windpipe and made me choke on both of our two ventures.

Meanwhile, Liz washed our laundry.

Baby palm trees

Liz, Beth, and I bought sandwiches at the Snack Shack (by the dive shop) and took the goat trail to Big Maho Beach. Beth and I swam most of the length of the beach.

Later, the three of us took a walk to the west end of the beach and back. We saw several young palms sprouting from coconuts in the sand. Two rust-colored chickens on the beach skittered away from us. "Chicken of the Sea," Beth announced. We waded in the water over some pebbly sand, around the vegetation growing out to the waterline near the west end.

We had some laughs when Beth went up on the rocky beach there, with bare feet, to struggle with a large palm frond and Liz went after a hand-shaped rock that turned out to be too large to lug. Liz and Beth were "Lucy and Ethel," we decided. Or Thelma and Louise? I suggested. (Later, Kevin made the exact same comparison about them -- "Thelma and Louise.")

Back at our spot in the sand, we watched the pelican who owned this beach dive for fish. A mean woman who was a mere guest there shooed him away.

What is she doing with that palm frond? The hand-shaped rock is visible to the left of the tree trunk at left.

The vegetarian choice at dinner was Lo Mein. As we stood in line, Isabel passed by and warned us that the Lo Mein was "drowned" in soy sauce. So Beth really had no good choice tonight. She had a salad and offerings from Liz's and my plates.

We had more laughs at dinner.

Beth, Isabel, Frank, and I watched a photographer's slide show in the pavilion after dark. Most of the photos were taken in Hawaii. Only Beth stayed for the end and saw some slides of St. John.

Big Maho Bay

Wednesday: Waterlemon Cay

Croaking frogs and the slow roar of the surf were our lullaby at night. The cooing of doves calling to each other in the hillside around our tent was our wake-up call each morning.

Liz went to St. Thomas to find a special battery for her camera, one that was missing when she bought it.

Beth and I hiked to Waterlemon Cay with our snorkel gear, beach paraphernalia, and nutty bread for lunch. We took the road and cut behind the big hump of Mary Point to the shoreline of tranquil Mary Creek, a long, narrow, sheltered bay.

By the time we got to the beginning of the Leinster Bay trail, I felt weak from hunger and had to stop and eat some bread. We spent a few minutes on the rocky shore where Mary Creek opened up into Leinster Bay, looking at the rocks and watching the waves roll in.

The trail was shaded by trees along the shoreline. It followed the shoreline and eventually veered onto the edge of the rocky shore itself. A pelican preened and snoozed on his own flat-topped, boat-sized rock just offshore.

The small stretch of sand beach at Waterlemon was busy with people. We continued on the trail behind the beach, but missed a turnoff and started climbing up the high Johnny Horn trail that turned away from the shoreline and climbed up and up. The trail here was sunny and hot.

After it was obvious we were headed the wrong way, we went back down and found the turnoff -- at the big rock in the middle of the trail -- that led to the water's edge. We picked our way along the large rocks that formed the shoreline of the point closest to the cay, where we planned to snorkel.

I chose a big rock that offered some shade and perches for sitting. We put on our fins, masks, and snorkels and waded out between the scattered rocks and coral. We swam out toward the sandbar that projects off the cay. The water was clear and becoming deep.

I spotted a turtle nibbling on seaweed at the bottom, turned to Beth, swimming near me, and pointed to the turtle. We watched for a moment, then continued snorkeling out to the sandbar, over what may have been some of the deepest water I've ever swum in. The sense of (imagined) danger was exciting.

We reached the sandbar and rested. Other snorkelers were taking a break there, too. The wind was chilly on our wet skin. Clouds took turns covering the sun. We looked at the small rocks and bits of washed up coral. Beth's mask was leaking, and I was cold. After paddling around in the water a little bit on the far side of the sandbar, we headed back to shore.

Wading in to shore between the rocks and coral, Beth got stung on the shin by something in the water, although she bravely kept it to herself until later.

On shore, we dried off, had a snack, and looked at the debris of sealife on the rocks: dark, dried, ropey lengths of some kind of plant, dried bits of delicate sea fans. Beth made me a necklace by threading a small shell with a length of dry, stringy vine.

Waterlemon Cay

The long hike (about 2 miles) back to camp was tiring. The climb up the steep driveway of Maho Bay Campground was the clincher. (But it went without saying that we loved the day's exertions.) I returned our equipment to the dive shop and slogged back up the stairs. Liz met us at the top of the stairs by Registration. She had just arrived back in the taxi. She got a battery for her camera: a generous shopkeeper found the right kind in his back room and gave it to her for free.

At dinner, we got the last table on the far side of the pavilion, overlooking the sea. Our complimentary dinners were the best of the week. The raspberry orange passionfruit cheesecake was heavenly.

After dinner and after dark, we marched with a group of people down to the beach for a "star walk" led by the "star lady", an amateur astronomer and professional astrologer. She talked about the different view of the heavens in the tropics, compared to what we Northerners normally see. She pointed out Mars -- currently very close to Earth -- and stars and constellations with her laser pointer. The bright moon overhead made the zenith harder to see. After 20 or 30 minutes, clouds drifted in, and she had to wrap it up. We all enjoyed it.

The message board and the "Help Yourself" (free exchange) cabinets

To the pavilion for dinner

Wednesday dinner menu

Clockwise from top: pork loin, tiramisu, raspberry orange passionfruit cheesecake, grouper, eggplant rollatini

Thursday: Virgin Gorda

We declined Kevin's offer of a ride because we would have had to wake up an hour earlier and spend a lot of time waiting at the ferry dock.

We got coffee and breakfast to go and finished eating in the taxi. Mr. Frett twice had to hit the brakes to avoid a collision. At one point, he had to inch past another taxi on a curve to avoid scraping it. The ferry to Virgin Gorda was due to depart at 8:30. Mr. Frett got us to the ferry dock at 8:30:00.

We filed through the line for tickets. When my turn came, I handed the lady my passport and $60. She took it and made a note in her log. Then she said to me, "That will be $60." I had to remind her that I'd already given her the $60. It gave me a bit of a start.

We boarded, and the ship chugged out into the harbor without delay for the hour and a half trip to Virgin Gorda, British Virgin Islands. After guzzling the coffee earlier, I really needed to go, and there had been no time to do so on shore. A door below had an out-of-order sign on it, and I assumed it was the head (ship's washroom). Out of order or not, I told a woman who was with the ferry company that I really had to use the washroom. She disappeared towards the pilot's deck for a moment, then returned and said we would return to the dock so I could use the washroom there.

I was taken by surprise. "Will you wait for me?" I asked her.

Liz said maybe all the other passengers would think we were returning to dock for urgent government business, or something -- rather than my urgent personal business. I marched off the ship and around the back of the ticket office. At least they couldn't see what door I was going into back there.

The water in the Sir Francis Drake Channel was dark and deep. We motored past the endless coastline of Tortola for the better part of an hour. Past Road Town and two giant cruise ships harbored there. Beyond Tortola, I thought we were finally approaching Virgin Gorda, the "fat virgin." I even saw a very pregnant woman's form in the profile of the island. But it must have been Beef Island, where the airplanes descended for landing, because we continued past it to the next island.

Once on shore, the captain shepherded us to Customs, where an iron gate closed behind us, and we lined up with our bags and passports. Then, outside to Speedy's Taxi for a ten minute ride through town to The Baths National Park.

Beth and Liz strolling on the beach. The Devil's Bay trail led through the rocks in the background.

We paid our $3 entrance fees and followed the path that threaded between giant boulders -- billiard balls of an ancient volcano -- down to the beach, which was crowded with tourists. After a quick look, we went back up the path and onto the deck of the Top of The Baths Restaurant, with its small outdoor pool next to the tables, and scenic overlook of the palm tree tops and the sea. Beth had tofu, Liz had a Mahi sandwich, and I had delicious garlic potatoes and lentils with vegetables.

Then we went back down to the beach, which was less crowded now, and crammed all our bags into one locker. Beth was daunted by the Devil's Bay trail, with the sign that said "Be prepared to crawl, climb ladders, and wade through water." Or, if she pictured us leaping like mountain goats from boulder to boulder, maybe she was afraid that she wouldn't keep up. So, Liz and I reluctantly left her at the beach and squeezed ourselves between the two giant rocks at the entrance.

The trail led over, under, and around a maze of crazy boulders. The wading part was only ankle-deep, and I never actually had to crawl, just crouch. A dusting of loose sand on the boulders made them slippery at times. At one point, we had to grab a heavy rope to help ourselves up a slanting rock surface. Occasionally, we had to guess which way to go, until a footprint-trampled sandy path made it obvious.

Along the way, Liz and I detoured to a sort of natural outdoor auditorium of boulders for some photos of me on the rocks. If we'd had more time, I could have climbed over some of the rocks to pose on a higher shelf, but we had a taxi and a ferry to catch.

Finally, we made it out to the sea, where more big rocks were strewn about, creating channels and pools of seawater. I took some photos of Liz there, then headed back, while Liz took her time and shot some more pictures.

I found Beth sitting on a rock near the water's edge, sunning. She told me she'd seen a black snake on the sand earlier. We went into the water, which pulsed between the rocks with each rush of the surf. We bounced on the waves. I was amazed at how easily I could float, with my head and neck and toes out of the water. It seemed saltier than normal seawater. Liz returned and came into the water with us.

We had about 20 minutes before it was time to gather our stuff, dry off and dress, and climb the trail up to the parking lot. The taxi took us back to the dock. Here and there, a garage-sized boulder might decorate someone's backyard or the roadside. We boarded the ferry for the hour and a half cruise back to St. John.

Liz sat up top most of the trip, until it became overcast with rain clouds. Beth and I sat in the large passenger cabin aft.

The ride was like a movie. We sat and watched the green humps of the islands glide past, with the roar of the engine (earplugs helped) and the swish of the water, and the salt breeze and slight mist from the open gangway next to our seat.

After returning to Cruz Bay, we had some time before the Maho taxi left, so we window-shopped at Wharfside Village. On the ride back to Maho, Mr. Frett stopped for a couple minutes at the scenic overlooks at Trunk Bay and at Maho Bay. We made it back to Maho for dinner.

Friday: Cinnamon Bay

We had breakfast, and then Frank and Isabel sat at our table and we talked a while -- about their trip to Europe, work, Bush and oil, global warming and the crazy weather this year.

We found Ellen sitting on a bench between Registration and the laundry. She was doing laundry while her parents were away for the day. She told us she was locked out of her tent cottage -- without a key until her parents returned. Liz offered her a swim suit so she could at least go for a dip, but she declined.

I asked Beth if she wanted to snorkel today. "Yes! Let's snorkel!" Beth had discovered her mermaid self.

Beth, Liz, and I hiked to Cinnamon Bay. We took the goat trail to Big Maho, then followed the road uphill and around curves and downhill to Cinnamon Bay campground. Before continuing to the beach there, we stopped for lunch at the cafe.

While waiting for our food, we took pictures of the huge old tree near the pavilion. Various other species of bushy plants were growing out of crotches up in the tree.

I fed tidbits to the resident cats around our table as we ate our lunch.

Beth and I walked to the east end of the beach and put on our snorkel gear. A swell was up and the surf was crashing on the beach. We took careful steps into the water, bracing against the forceful surf. And we stood there, in the shallow water, trying to decide if it was too rough to snorkel or not. Finally, we gave up, got out, took off our gear, and body surfed instead. I kept my corrective lens diving mask on, so I could see without losing my glasses in the surf.

Cinnamon Bay

The speck on the left is Beth, the speck on the right is me.

We went and got Liz, and the three of us body surfed, waiting in the rhythm of waves for a big one that would break near us, then throwing ourselves into the curl and rolling and tumbling in the churning water and sand. Liz cut herself from lip to nose on a rock while being tossed about "like a rag doll" in a wave. I plunged through a wave and crashed head-first into Beth's leg. I heard my neck vertebrae crunch, and Beth got scraped and bruised. But we had a blast.

Liz and Beth had appointments for readings with the star lady, so we had to hurry back to camp. We asked about a taxi but balked at the cost and decided to hitch-hike. It became more fast hiking than hitching. Liz and Beth got ahead of me, at a bend in the road. A car came up behind us and we stuck our thumbs out. Two oncoming cars swung around the bend and hit their brakes to avoid hitting Liz and Beth. It was a scary moment.

No one stopped to pick us up, though. Liz started to jog ahead. Then Beth and I got a ride from a guy with an Australian accent in a two-door Jeep. Beth sat in front and I squeezed myself and my gear through the back window onto the driver's cargo crammed in the back, with one of my legs hanging out the window. We passed Liz as she jogged down the road, I waved to her, and she waved back.

We climbed out at the far end of Big Maho Beach and took the goat trail to camp, which was quicker than driving all the way around on the roads. Liz arrived very soon after Beth and I. We took showers, and they went off to get their astrological readings.

"Liberty Bell" and "Jack Sparrow" and friend

By the time we got dinner, after 6:00, the pavilion was packed. I sat down with my dinner at the table by the glass shop, where the star lady was just clearing off her laptop. Beth and Liz joined me. We ate quietly. Beth and Liz had both cried at their readings. The message was more "this is who you are" than "this is what will happen."

After dark, we ran into John, Carol, and Ellen outside the bath house. We stood on the boardwalk outside our tent and spent some time talking. They invited us to visit them in Michigan. Ellen will be leaving tomorrow; John and Carol will be staying a few more days.

Saturday: Charlotte Amalie

We quickly packed up and cleaned out the tent. Had a good, full breakfast in the pavilion: French toast, coffee, and shared eggs and orange juice. Checked out and caught the 8:30 taxi to Cruz Bay. We got to the dock in plenty of time to catch the 9:15 ferry to Charlotte Amalie. In fact, we had to wait in line until 9:00 (actually, a little after, when the second-shift ticket vendor arrived -- the first one left on the Red Hook ferry) to buy ferry tickets to Charlotte Amalie. The line wasn't too bad that early in the morning, considering it was Saturday, the big tourist travel day.

The ferry took us away.

Before long, we landed in Charlotte Amalie. For $12, including the $6 fare to the airport, we checked our big bags with a taxi service so that we wouldn't have to lug them around and try to find a shopkeeper willing to hold them.

Once off the boat, we needed to find a washroom (the one on the boat was out of order, as usual). We went to the Island Coffee Shop. (For future reference, later we did pass one or two public restrooms in the Royal Dane Mall.)

Beth and I had only about an hour until we had to leave for the airport. Liz had a later flight and more time to spend.

We hurried through the alleyways of the Royal Dane Mall, trying to find the store with the Peruvian pottery, a gift of which Liz surprised me after our last trip here. We looked around in a few shops along our way, and Beth bought gifts of jewelry for her mother and her nephew's girlfriend. We located Gladys's Cafe, which we heard had good, authentic island food. (After Beth and I left for the airport, Liz had nachos with homemade salsa there.)

With about 15 minutes left, we found the shop: El Mundo Caribe. I looked through the shelves of pottery and picked out two attractive vases to add to the one that Liz gave me two years ago. We made our purchases and said goodbye to Liz in the shop. I fought back tears.

In the taxi, Beth surprised me with a pendant necklace she'd bought at El Mundo Caribe -- a deep blue beach glass teardrop for me and a green one for her. At the airport, we split up to go to our separate airlines, checked in, and Beth was was waiting for me when I passed through security.

The TV in the waiting area was broadcasting the gory details of a murder -- nothing we needed or wanted to hear. We sat and watched the happy arrivals climb down from their planes and make the march around the building to get their baggage, shedding sweaters on the way.

A sudden rain shower.

I saw Beth off when her plane boarded. Then I found Ellen, who was taking the same flight as I was, and we compared notes on the week. She wore her T-shirt from Tortola, where she swam with the dolphins. Soon it was time for us to board.

The plane took off, and the islands passed from sight. Why does the texture of waves on the ocean surface look frozen from up high? (We observed the same thing from the pavilion at Maho - the pattern of smooth and rippled water did not seem to change for as long as we watched.)

We stopped in San Juan to debark and embark passengers. An auxiliary power outage caused us an hour's delay on the tarmac -- the pilot was waiting for word to "defer" it, which I took to mean: not worry about it, man! As we sat with the engines on, I watched the jet turbines spout little whirlwinds that danced on the wet tarmac.

The in-flight hours of daydreaming about St. John were punctuated by two movies that I quickly lost interest in, two beverage runs by the crew (hot tea for me, after taking a liking to the iced tea at dinner at Maho every night), and a couple of washroom breaks. Finally, we passed over the dazzling, golden web of lights adorning Chicagoland at night.

Ellen caught up with me at the baggage claim, and we said goodbye and agreed to keep in touch.

Outside it was 0 degrees Fahrenheit. The distance and contrast made St. John seem farther away in time than just four and a half hours. How it aches to end such a beautiful vacation!

* * *

Two weeks after leaving St. John, I had a dream that I snorkeled all the way around the rocks at Maho Point, from Little Maho Beach to Big Maho Beach. The water was teaming with fish everywhere I looked. I saw a small shark skim the bottom, and a sailfish (probably the only sailfish I'll ever see in the water!) in the dream. I also saw a school of fish that looked like pork pie hats. One of them was on the beach and wiggled and waddled his way into the water. If anyone knows what these fish are called, please let me know.-)

Friends of Virgin Islands National Park

The Friends of Virgin Islands National Park is dedicated to the protection and preservation of the natural and cultural resources of Virgin Islands National Park and promotes the responsible enjoyment of this unique national treasure.

The future of Maho Bay