26th
Dramatic Escape to Paradise On A Boat, Part 6: St Thomas, USVIs
Easter Sunday dawns, and we awake early in our beautiful anchorage in Jost. Today we must return to American soil, which feels a little like giving in to an eventual return to “reality” - never pleasant. The sail from Jost to St Thomas is breathtaking. Clear blue water with hilly islands and bright sun and a perfect breeze. En route we enjoy a typically generous brunch of leftover French cheeses, fruit, and crostini. Customs is a cakewalk, though we get temporarily hung up by accidentally declaring some leftover sliced turkey, and receive a stern lecture about Mad Cow disease. That’s so 2003, I think to myself but refrain from voicing any of my theories about the ridiculousness of mass hysteria surrounding bird flu, swine flu etc. Now is not the time. We bow our heads and promise to destroy our smoked turkey stash.
We arrive safely at the marina, and begin an hours-long flurry of boat-cleaning and laundry. After hosing ourselves down, along with the boat, we head to the delightful bar/restaurant on the dock, cosily named Tickles. A few Caribs and salads later, and after a few last photos, S. heads to the airport. Alex, Claire and I have accomplished enough boat work to justify a trip to the beach, so we head to one nearby. It is a delirious and chaotic scene, with a band playing reggae and plenty of cold Coronas. After we complete a few suitably obscene Pirate-themed Mad-libs, I fall asleep for the better part of an hour, and have to be shaken awake by Alex and Claire who are standing over me laughing. Apparently I had fallen into a deep coma.
Our big evening plans to watch the Red Sox season opener come to fruition admirably at the famous Fat Turtle. We snag coveted seats at the corner of the bar and snack on conch fritters and delicious pizzas while enjoying alarmingly strong rum drinks. Even though it is Easter Sunday, at Fat Turtle it is apparently always Saturday night. We are surrounded by extremely inebriated college kids, a crew of riotous Aussies and boat-crew types. Everyone is watching the game, and the crowd are all Sox fans!
Things get a little hectic, rather quickly, as the Aussies buy several shots of rum for the bar, and the college kids next to me start making out. The bartender dances on the bar, and I find a drunk girl getting sick in the bathroom. We enjoy the scene for as long as we can stand it and then safely repair to the marina, where we catch the final inning at Tickles. The Sox win! Bed and second coma-sleep of the day.
The last morning is sad, as we pack our bags and finish cleaning the boat. After gigantic western omelettes at Tickles we head to the airport. Back in New York I wander around Whole Foods in a daze. There are so many people, and yet no reggae band or rum drinks. Alex’s catch-phrase from the trip pops into my mind- every day without fail as some madcap scene would unfold around us he would say “This isn’t Idaho.” It sure wasn’t. But then again, neither is New York City.
