Let’s backtrack and start from last Thursday. With Kate’s dad and stepmom still down, Kate decided to put together a boat trip on her dad’s birthday to celebrate. (This is where the whole going to another country thing comes in.)
At 8 AM with passports, sandwiches, water and beer in hand, we arrived at the dock and boarded Lady Sol. We were lucky enough to be taking her out on her maiden voyage. We ended up cruising from island to island, from American to British waters. Our first stop was at a jumping rock, where Kate, her dad and Chris decided to plummet 30 or so feet from the top rock. I decided to opt out of this jump; not because I was scared of the actual jump, but because I was uneasy about getting from the boat to the jagged rock. I know: no guts, no glory.
We made our way over to Jost Van Dyke, where Kate, Chris and Paul brought our passports and legal documents to the police station to check in to this British-owned island. Brian and I made our way down to Foxy’s (one of Kenny’s main hangouts, and a big favorite among the locals) only to find the bar closed. A bar closed at 10 AM?! What on earth?!
No, it wasn’t that it was 10 AM that caused the closure. It was the fact that Foxy’s has an operating season, and we came about two weeks too early. But, we did get a chance to all sit and talk with Foxy, as he shared a few jokes and tales, as if he were putting on a show. (Foxy is an older West Indian gentleman with a heart younger than most his age; oh, and he owns Foxy’s, if you didn't already figure that out.)
“You know what kind of dog dat is?” Foxy asked in his West Indian accent.
“Looks like a black lab.” Kate replied.
“No. Dat’s an island dog. You wanna know how I know?”
We were all puzzled as anything. Surely, this overfed and overheated four-legged creature was a black lab; the black hair was quite indicative to us.
“Tree tings. One: he’s black. Two: he sits on his ass all day. And tree: he don’t know who his daddy is.”
Uneasy but genuine chuckles came from around, and more people gathered around Foxy to see his first performance of the day.
“You know, I don’t know why you white folk call us colored. Look at us; we are black. When we are born, we are black. When we stay out in the sun all day, we are black. When we get sick, we are black. When we get cold, we are black. When we get scared, we are black. When we die, we are black.”
None of us knew where this was going.
“Now, you white folk, on the other hand, should be called colored. When you are born, you are pink. When you stay out in the sun all day, you get red. When you get sick, you turn green. When you get cold, you turn blue. When you get scared, you become yellow. And when you die, you are grey. So why aren’t you the colored ones?”
Foxy made a point none of us had ever thought about. And while everyone was laughing, myself included, I thought how different views on race are here versus home. The minorities in Mount Laurel are so vastly disproportionate to those here. We “white folk” are the minority here, but not in the way that two white girls driving down Broad Street through Temple are the absolute minority. It’s kind of a refreshing experience here; around Temple, not so much.
After Foxy took his bow and invited us back when he opened up, we headed back to the dock and cracked open another beer. Three beers down, and it was only 11 AM. Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere. (This was the day, by the way, that I discovered I could no longer drink beer because of the carbonation; we won’t get into any digestive chronicles here and now though.)
We headed over to Sandy Spit and dropped anchor for a few hours. Sandy Spit is this little, itty bitty, tiny island that is mostly sand and a few scattered palm trees. It gives off a feeling of such remoteness, yet there are plenty of islands around. In fact, a Corona commercial was actually shot there.
We all tossed new, unopened beer cans out and dove in after them and swam to shore. We just hung out and relaxed and talked and drank and enjoyed the day. When we could feel ourselves starting to fry from the Caribbean sun, it was time for the next stop on our itinerary.
Our next stop was White Bay, where we hung out at Soggy Dollar Bar. Now, for those who don’t know, there is a reason the bar is called Soggy Dollar Bar. The bar is situated perfectly on a beach, and there is no dock. Boats come in and anchor, and passengers jump into the crystal clear blue water with their dollars tucked in their shorts or bikini tops and swim to shore. Hence the whole soggy dollar thing… the bartender actually has a clothesline where he hangs the wet dollars to dry.
The reason to go to Soggy Dollar, other than the general debauchery, is for the official Virgin Islands drink: The Painkiller. Most people know me to be a Malibu and pineapple juice kind of girl, but when I was introduced to this drink, I thought the world of it. I came home and attempted ordering it, and no bartender in the tri-state area has even heard of it; one bartender actually offered me an aspirin. Actually, if I had to pick one drink to represent myself, this would be it. Spoken like a professional drinker.
To further explain the phenomena that is the Painkiller, I will read an excerpt from an actual souvenir cup from Soggy Dollar Bar (no, Dad, I didn't pay for it; it came with the drink):
The Original Painkiller
Originated and Perfected at Sandcastle’s Soggy Dollar Bar in the 1970s, this smooth, full-flavored rum cocktail has become the essence of Caribbean imbibing. The correct concoction of premium dark Rum, Cream of Coconut, Pineapple, and Orange juice (proportions are secret), topped with fresh Grenadian Nutmeg makes the swim (no dock) to the Soggy Dollar Bar worth the effort. Perhaps it’s the setting of White Bay, the thirst from the swim, the perfect blend, or just because of the tradition of the “original” Painkiller at the Soggy Dollar Bar… whatever the reason, welcome and enjoy!
Some people may frown at the freshly ground Grenadian nutmeg or the general sweetness of the drink. But let me tell you, this drink has some kick to it. I like to think of myself like that as well.
So, we grabbed some lunch and some Painkillers, hung out and talked, and swam for a bit. There was some snorkeling to be done, and –
“Wait, does anyone see those girls on that boat?” Brian yelled out. We looked in the direction of his gaping mouth and saw the gleam and reflections of… wait, were they wearing metallic star-shaped pasties while sunbathing?!
A string of not-so-nice names popped into my head, but was too shocked to even say anything. Brian’s gaping mouth had turned into about ten gaping mouths from our boat. These girls were crazy. I hoped they had a lot of sunscreen on… because, you know, the reflection of the metallic adhesives could have catalyzed the process of sunburn.
After we all got over the porn-star-like sunbathers (none of us even noticed if any of them were pretty), we hung out for hours on the boat and in the water. Paul discovered that some kind of catamaran race or party was going on, so there was quite an influx of people at a usually very deserted time. We had our iPod turned up, and we were jammin’. Then all of a sudden, a flash went by and we heard a “Woohoo!”
One of the pastie girls waterskied right by us. Yup, you heard me correctly.
Eventually, the sky turned grey and the skies seemed to open up. It didn’t seem to slow anybody down, but we then decided it was time to move on, since it was now about 4:30. We raced along the water, which was slowly becoming more rough, and ended up back near the jumping rock. We decided to anchor for a while and hang out in the last hour of sunlight.
Four shot-gunned beers, a back flip off the boat and some snorkeling later, we decided to head back to the Yacht Club as the sun went down. It was then that I learned that the green flash – you know, the one every pirate marvelled at in the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie – actually exists. You know...
BARBOSSA: Ever gazed upon the green flash, Mr. Gibbs ?
GIBBS: I reckon I’ve seen my share. Happens on rare occasions, at the last glimpse of sunset, a green flash shoots up into the sky. Some go their whole lives and never see it. Some claim to have seen it. Some say…
PINTEL: …it signals when a soul comes back to this world from the dead!
For those who are still blithely unaware, James Prescott Joule (I have no idea who he is, he just came up on the Google search) describes it as “at the moment of the departure of the sun below the horizon, the last glimpse is colored bluish green.”
This was (and is) absolutely unbelievable to me. Chris said she’s seen it twice, and Vanessa had seen it once. The trick is you have to be on open water with a flat view of the horizon with no land masses in the way. There is a certain point in the sunset where the sun seems to flatten, and then creates digs in the sides. When these digs meet, the green flash occurs. Or, you know, the scientific part of it all could be crap, and it could mean that a soul has come back from the dead. One day, my friends, I will see that green flash.
We headed home that night, and even though our tired little butts were…well, exhausted, we still headed out for the Phillies game (and some dinner) with the rest of the crew.
On a side note, I'll be posting the rest of my crazy week shortly... obviously, you see that we have power and I have survived Hurricane Omar (yes, hurricane. Category three, to be exact.)
Maybe I could have been a pirate. Maybe in my next life, that's what I'll be.
You know you love me,
XOXO
- Island Girl
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