CARIBBEAN MUSE CHAPTER 6

Our final night on board, Saturday, we three aft deckies hosted an end of the cruise appetizer and wine party. Mostly fueled by the various bottles of wine we had accumulated over the course of the week and a couple of deli trays. Brian contributed plates of goodies from the buffet and charming little tuxedo clad penguins of chocolate from the ship board cafe. As it was also the anniversary of what would have been Mother's 81st birthday, we began the party with a toast to her who no doubt was seated right in the midst of the hilarity. Fireworks accompanied our toast as the final sunset of the trip displayed itself in timely fashion and succulent glory as old Sol glided majestically into the briny deep of the Atlantic. How's that for freakin' poetry?

The moment led to minor meltdowns for the eldest and youngest of the party for different reasons. Reminiscence has been a large part of the last year and a half both during familiar get-togethers and as part of our new adventures. The rest of us engaged in a three team battle of Trivia. One thing became clear was that each team was lacking in the basics of trivial knowledge; with every team missing the same answers! Perhaps these things really did not happen.....and history lies. However when a brilliant answer was plucked from the proverbial air and somewhere deeper, there was major excitement and much argument over the veracity of the answer.

We all were up early as disembarkation began at 7:30 am. Believing in the kindness of humankind (though after the rudeness experienced throughout the trip, I don't know why I thought that); we headed for the elevators laden with our trunks and treasures. After watching car after car go by jammed to the ceiling and very disinterested passengers, who trying very hard not to make eye contact, we decided to hump it down the stairs. Oddly my suitcase had gained weight so humping down the stairs actually meant bumping it down the stairs as I could not pick it up. This led to further problems at the airport. Strange note: the trip back to the airport was $5less than the trip out. Those gypsy cabbies.....

We were informed at the counter that we were 4 lbs too heavy which results in a $50"shame on you" tax. Apparently if you pay the extra money, the plane mysteriously becomes bigger and able to fly heavier loads; or perhaps you can pump more gas in-who knows? Well choosing the cheaper part of valor, we dumped some bottles of goo that we didn't need-no not the Frangelica-and were able to make fighting weight. Although those, who shall remain nameless, merely checked their bags at the curb and thus avoided the whole "Biggest Loser" debacle altogether.

We spent the next few hours in a cut throat euchre game in the airline member lounge. Jammed in with a bunch of other "elites". Hey we were very happy for the comfortable surroundings, snackies and free Bloody Marys. We floated back to reality in Detroit facing winter once more. Racing to get from terminal "Siberia" to terminal "Way the Heck Over There" and hurtling up and down escalators which included taking one lap through a truly psychedelic corridor (lights & music) the final insult. The only time on the entire trip we were delayed was our puddle jumper from Detroit to Flint. Too much fuel on board so they had to dump it, pump it? Something. The B man said couldn't they just circle the parking lot for awhile. If it burns fuel like our boat, two times around ought to do it.

We then boarded a plane so small, I had to duck getting down the aisle and I'm the short one! Our steward was about the age of Abraham (after the kid grew up). We speculated on what mortal sin he had committed to get the 7:00 pm Sunday night flight duty to Flint. At any rate, he checked our belts, reiterated the messages no one listens to anyway, strapped himself into his jump seat, turned out the light, and as far as I know went to sleep. I'm telling you he was about 90 years old. Hate to see him trying to get the chute open and down if we had to crash land. No doubt, he would be the last one off the bird, like an hour later.

Being with everyone for this cruise was the high point even with the normal upsets and misunderstandings. We are all different and at least there is enough to do on board to do your own thing if you can find it. I think though we all retreated to our respective caves for a while to relish our togetherness and recover from it all! A big YAH to the Committe Chair M-girl who organized the trip.

CARRIBEAN MUSE CHAPTER 5

Last port of call was Grand Turk Island. As it was recently devastated by a hurricane (apparently the flat islands fare worse), there was little to do onshore. They did offer a tour of the "hurricane flattened areas" along with stories from the survivors. Not conducive to a relaxing tour of paradise.

Fortunately there was another heavenly option in the offing which was a full-blown, Jimmy Buffett, pounding DJ's, giant bong-filled alcohol fueled, cheeseburgers in Paradise, Margaritaville! What a gas. We made it that far from the ship and planted anchor for the rest of the day. They had a swim up pool which we left to the younger crowd as it was quite nippy (70's I believe) and stayed with a poolside table where we could watch all the action. There was non-stop music and silly games instigated by the DJ in charge.

There was a memorable beer guzzling competition where we were amply represented by our own Matthew R. who played by the rules and lost! But we were proud to back such a worthy entry into the frothy fray which included some spillage and spitting. This was followed by a hysterical scavenger hunt which had Kristen R. scurrying (they are definitely a party couple as is evidenced by their frantic dance off on board to break the 80's trivia tie).

Highlights included her frantically racing around securing beach towels, clothing, drinks, cell phones and one priceless moment when she had to put the shorts on her own cousin! She lagged considerably behind the rest as they were 1) button fly shorts; 2) belonged to his wife so fit was an issue, and 3) well geez it was her cousin! One gentleman, who I believe was European basically stripped off his trunks to supply one of the contestants which led to a very interesting re-robing as he apparently was wearing nothing underneath and beach towels really don't cover the rear very well! Kristen ended up as one item away from the last showdown which was just as well. The final stunt was selecting a likely male specimen, the woman draping herself completely over her victim and having him perform as many push-ups as possible before collapsing into a heap of squished and exhausted puddle of bodies.

A liberal dose of margarita's, beer, etc. of course added the the frivolity of the occasion, but as no one had been asked to steer the boat, we were all able to stagger back onboard and no harm done. The B man and myself, after a mixture of sun, booze, weird food and hilarity decided to fore go dinner that night in favor of taking turns hanging over the railing. As he basically probably only downed one beer, I guess it was the food. Ah well an early night is not all bad....

CARIBBEAN MUSE CHAPTER 4

Next port of call was St. Thomas island. Was up early and got to see the docking. Island was beautiful in the early morning dawn. Twinkling lights racing up the hills. Actually looked much better in the dark. The dock area was a little seedy except for the "made for tourist" duty free stores and the inevitable Diamonds International store that seem to spring up like ocean flowers on every spit of land.

A myriad of conveyances kept pulling up. Taxis, open air buses, pirate ships, catamarans, private cars (which we were warned about). Yes, I said pirate ships. Apparently the area was known as quite the hangout for the buccaneers including a private castle supposedly inhabited by Blackbeard himself. Modern day pirates use cell phones and wear designer jeans.

Not knowing, we did not book any adventures, but apparently it is definitely worth the price of admission to take the island tours and head to the beach. The open air buses with no seat belts become a dubious safety zone as you make one of the hairpin turns up the mountain and see the passage of your life from a straight drop away zone beneath your trembling gaze. Apparently most of the tourists make it back alright, with the usual allowances for the late returnees, usually singing.

We took a bus into town and were assailed from beginning to end with "need a ride back? come see what we have in here. want to take a tour? buy me, no buy me" Wait that was me looking at jewelry and clothes. As we were the only ship in port at the time the pleas for our attention and our dinero were actively and aggressively sought. Felt kind of special-not.

The open air flea markets are a gas. One gentleman was totally decked out in kind of an African, island outfit complete with feathers covering pertinent parts. The designer sandals and perfect American accent kind of detracted from that, but what the hey-his kink. Still don't know what he was selling as I was kind of mesmerized by his garb.

Retraced our steps with the Blaszaks to an open air establishment as we believed they advertised bathrooms. Very important to mark the locations of those on your tour. Of course it meant we had to re-enter the vendor gaunlet which put them into an absolute frenzy of audible advertising believing their entreaties led to our overwhelming need to come back and buy whatever the heck they were selling. If anything, it got crazier. At any rate we went back to a place that was, and I am not kidding, a bar in a jewelry store! It led to my contemplation of which came first the bar or the jewelry store? (kind of a chicken and egg scenario). Either you needed a drink to drown your sorrows over all you spent on jewelry or you needed to gird your financial loins before you plunked down your gold pieces for their gold pieces.

At any rate, I did not take much persuading to go back as they offered us a small sample of something called a "bushwhacker" on the street as we passed by. Very tasty with an ice cream texture. The thought of the jewelry store in the bar will now become clear. We sat down at the open air bar and ordered bushwhackers. Without measuring, the proprietor poured bottle after bottle of various rums into a previously prepared blender full of ice. An entire shelf is dedicated to this enterprise. He ground it all up and then topped it off with another bottle of "who knows what" and served it. I did not know that many kinds of rum existed, but absolutely delicious. We were warned that touristas the other day had drunk 5 apiece and were carried out, so we stuck with one.

We were further entertained by a local musician who had moved to the island from Philadelphia and thus sparked a friendly argument on the advantages of winter. I think I won when I said well people from the north live longer. No doubt from struggling and surviving all the cold weather. They may live shorter lives, but on the islands time goes slower. Hmmm - tie I guess.