The Welcoming Committee, Trip Report Day 1
Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2009 4:41 pm
Warning! This is not a brief report. What we have here is my own personal journal, not edited because I am way too lazy. There is no Reader's Digest version. Skim it and look at the pretty pictures, or read it and risk boredom, the choice is yours. I predict that as my reports continue, they will become much less verbose, and more picture heavy.
Trip Report, Day 1: March 13, 2009
The Welcoming Committee
Getting up hours before dawn is normally not my favorite thing to do, but this Friday the 13th was an exception. In four hours we would be on a jet headed out on the first leg of our journey to St. John, which was planned as a spur of the moment thing when our plans for Bora Bora fell through. I woke that morning feeling entirely confident that St.John was not going to be something we "settled" for, because in the two months that I'd been reading the VIOL forum, the members had warmly greeted me and opened my eyes to the appealing charms in store for us on the Rock.
The day was as clear and bright as Chicago ever gets in the winter: the soul-sucking grey skies had produced a whole 14 degrees Fahrenheit, none of them particularly user friendly. At the US Airways gate, I scoped out our fellow travelers, and struck up conversations with those wearing Tevas and socks, to ask which tropical clime they were destined for. We exchanged information on the gate situations we would find in Philly (thanks for the info, Forum Folks! You made me look smart!) Boarding our US Airways flight went without a hitch. We took off about half an hour late due to the need to de-ice the wings, and motor around and around O'Hare's maze of runways to warm up the engine.
As we neared Philadelphia, I admired the scenery far down below. A Flight Attendant got on the horn and rattled off a long list of connections and chirpily announced that even though we would be landing late, if we didn't dilly dally and hauled ass, we would most likely, probably, perhaps, possibly meet our connections. The wheels touched down, and everyone except the three people not changing planes jostled for position, and bolted off the ramp. I spotted my older daughter, N, as she charged past me with a feral gleam in her eye, and although her words were distorted due to the Doppler Effect, I thought I heard her exclaim (as her form shrank in the distance) "I am NOT going to miss that damn plaaaaannnnneeee..."
I have been working out at the Y for the last several months to build strength and stamina for hiking and swimming. I was pleased with my performance at the Mile distance that day, considering I was dragging a carry on and carrying a drag on bag. The plane was mostly boarded as we found our seats, but we were not the last to get on, which made the competetive side of me even prouder. I had out-run several elderly folks, apparently. All that hard training paid off.
Yes, I can sense your impatience. Most of you reading this want to get to the juicy bits. The on-island activities. Well, take a deep breath and wait for it...because my fellow newbs have questions right about now. For instance, was US Airways stinky about carry on size? Not on this trip. What about the second carry on? If you could lug it and mash it under your seat, c'est la vie. Is there transportation in Philly between the far reaches of Gate C and Gate Way The Hell A West? Just your two barking dogs, some patches of rolling sidewalk, and those little golf cart vehicles if you care to chance stepping in front of one and waving and whistling. You don't need to leave the secure area to get between gates.
We left Philly about an hour late due to rush hour on the take off runway. The flight landed in STT with a minimum of white knuckles, even though looking out both sides of the aircraft is an ocean view. You lug your things down a set of stairs onto the runway, and are herded along the outside of the terminal to the taxi stands. No eating, drinking, or taking pictures is allowed on the runway. Don't even think about taking a photo of someone eating or drinking.
The taxi triage man sorts out the sheeples according to where they are going, and what time it is. We were directed to a taxi headed for the Charlotte Amalie ferry, which suited us just fine. There was one stop on the way at the ferry terminal for those folks going to Tortola, and then we were offloaded across the street from the dock where our ferry to STJ bobbed lopsidedly in the water. The crew took our suitcases, and directed us up the steep ramp. There were no luggage tags, and there was no safety talk. Eventually the engines fired up and the boat wallowed out into the harbor.
The first member of the welcoming committee arrived. If I am not mistaken, this is a brown booby. I am not talking about tan lines here, I'm talking about our avian friends.
He kept pace with the ferry for most of the trip, occasionally amusing us by skimming over to surf the wake, sometimes with tragically comical crash and burn results.
By now it was drizzling, and a bit windy. Coupled with the salt spray, we were surrounded by a misty nimbus which dampened our hair, but not our enthusiasm. And then there she was, St. John, rising and falling on the horizon as we plowed through the swells to meet her!
We headed up the dock toward St. John Spice, mindfully aware that any surreptitious efforts to adjust wedgies and slipping shoulder straps might be recorded for posterity on the Spice Cam. I noted the sad, sad faces on most of the people standing there, fully aware that in a week I would be one of them. Younger daughter A and I headed off to visit the public restrooms, while husband M and older daughter N met up with the second member of the welcoming committee, Robin, who was our villa representative. She took our luggage in her jeep, and we enjoyed the chance to stretch our legs on the brief walk to St John Car Rental. The pleasant ladies at the car rental office tossed us the keys, and we were on our way. Robin was quite willing to show us around Cruz Bay if we wished to provision ourselves, but we opted to follow her directly to our Villa rental, Bo Atabey in Coral Bay.
Have you ever wondered what your last words on Earth would be, if you were to face your mortality in a sudden and frightening way? I don't need to wonder anymore, because I faced certain death at least half a dozen times that afternoon. I am somewhat mortified to report that my final utterances would be not at all ladylike. Headed east on Centerline Road, I could have sworn that the people driving west were pointing and laughing at us. What was that all about?
My cell phone rang just as we were entering the outskirts of Coral Bay (the town, not the harbor, I am relieved to report) and it was Saltydog asking what time we had stepped off the ferry, because she was trying to get a Spice Cam capture for us. We chatted briefly, but I was having trouble concentrating due to my likely imminent death in a firey head-on or rollover.
We followed Robin's jeep up Seagrape Hill, and she revealed the Secret of the Driveway Approach. She got us settled in the villa, gave us a brief orientation, and presented us with a lovely welcome gift. And then we were on our own.
Bo Atabey is an exquisite villa that was built with love, and is outfitted in a tasteful West Indies style, with everything you could need at your fingertips. Great attention to detail, just lovely all around. I won't post a lot of pictures of the structure, you can find many much nicer than I could provide on the Bo Atabey website. Here's a view of the house as you approach from the drive up Seagrape Hill:
My eye is attracted to the flowering bushes on the slope by the pool patio, interspersed with what appear to be melon vines bearing fruit.
**************** 
A wastes no time aquainting herself with the local residents. As a child she had lizards for pets, and so she moves around the property getting to know who lives in which territory and marking their differences as individuals, in size, markings and personality. Here is Sugar, who lives on the balcony and eats the ants who eat the sugar that the bananaquits spill. Sugar also eats the sugar directly, lapping it up with her delicate pink tongue.
Here is Bubbles, who guards the laundry room door.
After choosing up sides for bedrooms, we changed our clothing and headed for Skinny Legs for dinner. As soon as we sat down, we met the third and fourth members of the Welcoming Committee. We were instantly befriended by Jack and Debbie, who have been coming to St John for 40 years and have a house in..I think Upper Carolina? Jack kept us amused with a warm patter of comments and local information. He told us about the folks playing music that night, and pointed out Pirate Bill, a Skinny Legs legend who worked with Mel Fisher for a number of years. (Think Atocha) N had the chance to meet Mel Fisher during her undergraduate years, when he spoke at her college. Jack called Pirate Bill over and introduced us. He spent some time talking to N, and took the string of booty coinage off his neck, and let her handle them. What a rare opportunity, to get such a close look at this treasure, and hold it in your own hands. Bill called A over for a look, too. While she handled his booty, he embraced her gently, just a half an inch north of improper. She was entranced by the shiny things, and I'm not sure she really noticed at this point.
We ate, we drank, we were invited to visit Jack and Debbie in their villa, and Jack offered to email us the photos he had been snapping of our family. We passed Bill on the way out, and he gave A, N and I an enthusiastic group hug. Then M came along, and Bill regarded him for a moment, looked at the girls, looked at M, looked at the girls, looked at M...and said "Are these your daughters?"
M nodded. Bill looked slightly abashed for one fleeting instant, pondered a moment, looked M in the eye, and asked sheepishly, "Well, can you blame me?" We all laughed, and on the way out we sent him a drink to show no harm taken.
Obligatory cankle picture.
Back at the villa, we toss on our suits and plug the ipod into the docking station, and set it so we can hear the music out by the pool. The skies have cleared and it is a beautiful evening, so M and I recline on the loungers, the girls take Rum and Cokes out on the deck, and jump in the pool.
We spend a couple hours admiring the celestial sprinklings that are imposible to see from home due to light and air pollution. We enjoy the silent swoopings as the bats carry on their insect patrol duties.
Nice personalized ceramics.
Eventually we wander off to bed and settle in. Sometime in the night I awake to the sounds of a good heavy downpour, and the left part of my brain rejoices for cisterns all across the island. The right side of my brain enjoys the sound the rain makes on the roof.
Day 1 Recap
Scale: 0=Nothing 5=Unpleasantness
Mosquito/Bug Bites 0
Sunburn 0
Muscular/Skeletal Pain 0
Mortifying Social Faux Pas 1
All in all, a very good day.
You may wish to avert your eyes, Day 2 will be posted in the near future.
Trip Report, Day 1: March 13, 2009
The Welcoming Committee
Getting up hours before dawn is normally not my favorite thing to do, but this Friday the 13th was an exception. In four hours we would be on a jet headed out on the first leg of our journey to St. John, which was planned as a spur of the moment thing when our plans for Bora Bora fell through. I woke that morning feeling entirely confident that St.John was not going to be something we "settled" for, because in the two months that I'd been reading the VIOL forum, the members had warmly greeted me and opened my eyes to the appealing charms in store for us on the Rock.
The day was as clear and bright as Chicago ever gets in the winter: the soul-sucking grey skies had produced a whole 14 degrees Fahrenheit, none of them particularly user friendly. At the US Airways gate, I scoped out our fellow travelers, and struck up conversations with those wearing Tevas and socks, to ask which tropical clime they were destined for. We exchanged information on the gate situations we would find in Philly (thanks for the info, Forum Folks! You made me look smart!) Boarding our US Airways flight went without a hitch. We took off about half an hour late due to the need to de-ice the wings, and motor around and around O'Hare's maze of runways to warm up the engine.
As we neared Philadelphia, I admired the scenery far down below. A Flight Attendant got on the horn and rattled off a long list of connections and chirpily announced that even though we would be landing late, if we didn't dilly dally and hauled ass, we would most likely, probably, perhaps, possibly meet our connections. The wheels touched down, and everyone except the three people not changing planes jostled for position, and bolted off the ramp. I spotted my older daughter, N, as she charged past me with a feral gleam in her eye, and although her words were distorted due to the Doppler Effect, I thought I heard her exclaim (as her form shrank in the distance) "I am NOT going to miss that damn plaaaaannnnneeee..."
I have been working out at the Y for the last several months to build strength and stamina for hiking and swimming. I was pleased with my performance at the Mile distance that day, considering I was dragging a carry on and carrying a drag on bag. The plane was mostly boarded as we found our seats, but we were not the last to get on, which made the competetive side of me even prouder. I had out-run several elderly folks, apparently. All that hard training paid off.
Yes, I can sense your impatience. Most of you reading this want to get to the juicy bits. The on-island activities. Well, take a deep breath and wait for it...because my fellow newbs have questions right about now. For instance, was US Airways stinky about carry on size? Not on this trip. What about the second carry on? If you could lug it and mash it under your seat, c'est la vie. Is there transportation in Philly between the far reaches of Gate C and Gate Way The Hell A West? Just your two barking dogs, some patches of rolling sidewalk, and those little golf cart vehicles if you care to chance stepping in front of one and waving and whistling. You don't need to leave the secure area to get between gates.
We left Philly about an hour late due to rush hour on the take off runway. The flight landed in STT with a minimum of white knuckles, even though looking out both sides of the aircraft is an ocean view. You lug your things down a set of stairs onto the runway, and are herded along the outside of the terminal to the taxi stands. No eating, drinking, or taking pictures is allowed on the runway. Don't even think about taking a photo of someone eating or drinking.
The taxi triage man sorts out the sheeples according to where they are going, and what time it is. We were directed to a taxi headed for the Charlotte Amalie ferry, which suited us just fine. There was one stop on the way at the ferry terminal for those folks going to Tortola, and then we were offloaded across the street from the dock where our ferry to STJ bobbed lopsidedly in the water. The crew took our suitcases, and directed us up the steep ramp. There were no luggage tags, and there was no safety talk. Eventually the engines fired up and the boat wallowed out into the harbor.
The first member of the welcoming committee arrived. If I am not mistaken, this is a brown booby. I am not talking about tan lines here, I'm talking about our avian friends.
He kept pace with the ferry for most of the trip, occasionally amusing us by skimming over to surf the wake, sometimes with tragically comical crash and burn results.
By now it was drizzling, and a bit windy. Coupled with the salt spray, we were surrounded by a misty nimbus which dampened our hair, but not our enthusiasm. And then there she was, St. John, rising and falling on the horizon as we plowed through the swells to meet her!
We headed up the dock toward St. John Spice, mindfully aware that any surreptitious efforts to adjust wedgies and slipping shoulder straps might be recorded for posterity on the Spice Cam. I noted the sad, sad faces on most of the people standing there, fully aware that in a week I would be one of them. Younger daughter A and I headed off to visit the public restrooms, while husband M and older daughter N met up with the second member of the welcoming committee, Robin, who was our villa representative. She took our luggage in her jeep, and we enjoyed the chance to stretch our legs on the brief walk to St John Car Rental. The pleasant ladies at the car rental office tossed us the keys, and we were on our way. Robin was quite willing to show us around Cruz Bay if we wished to provision ourselves, but we opted to follow her directly to our Villa rental, Bo Atabey in Coral Bay.
Have you ever wondered what your last words on Earth would be, if you were to face your mortality in a sudden and frightening way? I don't need to wonder anymore, because I faced certain death at least half a dozen times that afternoon. I am somewhat mortified to report that my final utterances would be not at all ladylike. Headed east on Centerline Road, I could have sworn that the people driving west were pointing and laughing at us. What was that all about?
My cell phone rang just as we were entering the outskirts of Coral Bay (the town, not the harbor, I am relieved to report) and it was Saltydog asking what time we had stepped off the ferry, because she was trying to get a Spice Cam capture for us. We chatted briefly, but I was having trouble concentrating due to my likely imminent death in a firey head-on or rollover.
We followed Robin's jeep up Seagrape Hill, and she revealed the Secret of the Driveway Approach. She got us settled in the villa, gave us a brief orientation, and presented us with a lovely welcome gift. And then we were on our own.
Bo Atabey is an exquisite villa that was built with love, and is outfitted in a tasteful West Indies style, with everything you could need at your fingertips. Great attention to detail, just lovely all around. I won't post a lot of pictures of the structure, you can find many much nicer than I could provide on the Bo Atabey website. Here's a view of the house as you approach from the drive up Seagrape Hill:
My eye is attracted to the flowering bushes on the slope by the pool patio, interspersed with what appear to be melon vines bearing fruit.
**************** A wastes no time aquainting herself with the local residents. As a child she had lizards for pets, and so she moves around the property getting to know who lives in which territory and marking their differences as individuals, in size, markings and personality. Here is Sugar, who lives on the balcony and eats the ants who eat the sugar that the bananaquits spill. Sugar also eats the sugar directly, lapping it up with her delicate pink tongue.
Here is Bubbles, who guards the laundry room door.
After choosing up sides for bedrooms, we changed our clothing and headed for Skinny Legs for dinner. As soon as we sat down, we met the third and fourth members of the Welcoming Committee. We were instantly befriended by Jack and Debbie, who have been coming to St John for 40 years and have a house in..I think Upper Carolina? Jack kept us amused with a warm patter of comments and local information. He told us about the folks playing music that night, and pointed out Pirate Bill, a Skinny Legs legend who worked with Mel Fisher for a number of years. (Think Atocha) N had the chance to meet Mel Fisher during her undergraduate years, when he spoke at her college. Jack called Pirate Bill over and introduced us. He spent some time talking to N, and took the string of booty coinage off his neck, and let her handle them. What a rare opportunity, to get such a close look at this treasure, and hold it in your own hands. Bill called A over for a look, too. While she handled his booty, he embraced her gently, just a half an inch north of improper. She was entranced by the shiny things, and I'm not sure she really noticed at this point.
We ate, we drank, we were invited to visit Jack and Debbie in their villa, and Jack offered to email us the photos he had been snapping of our family. We passed Bill on the way out, and he gave A, N and I an enthusiastic group hug. Then M came along, and Bill regarded him for a moment, looked at the girls, looked at M, looked at the girls, looked at M...and said "Are these your daughters?"
M nodded. Bill looked slightly abashed for one fleeting instant, pondered a moment, looked M in the eye, and asked sheepishly, "Well, can you blame me?" We all laughed, and on the way out we sent him a drink to show no harm taken.
Obligatory cankle picture.
Back at the villa, we toss on our suits and plug the ipod into the docking station, and set it so we can hear the music out by the pool. The skies have cleared and it is a beautiful evening, so M and I recline on the loungers, the girls take Rum and Cokes out on the deck, and jump in the pool.
We spend a couple hours admiring the celestial sprinklings that are imposible to see from home due to light and air pollution. We enjoy the silent swoopings as the bats carry on their insect patrol duties.
Nice personalized ceramics.
Eventually we wander off to bed and settle in. Sometime in the night I awake to the sounds of a good heavy downpour, and the left part of my brain rejoices for cisterns all across the island. The right side of my brain enjoys the sound the rain makes on the roof.
Day 1 Recap
Scale: 0=Nothing 5=Unpleasantness
Mosquito/Bug Bites 0
Sunburn 0
Muscular/Skeletal Pain 0
Mortifying Social Faux Pas 1
All in all, a very good day.
You may wish to avert your eyes, Day 2 will be posted in the near future.
had to read word by word...no boredom there...