One Man's Family

ST. CROIX

Today was our final stop, St. Croix, in the U.S. Virgin Islands.  Technically American turf, St. Croix is a bit of an anomaly due to its rich history. At various times it was occupied by Spain, France, Britain, Denmark and even the Knights of Malta, each of which left their mark with place names, architecture and other reminders.

Driving on St. Croix is on the left, which confuses Americans who think they are "home", especially since most of the vehicles have the driver's seat on the left where we're used to it.  We were told that the government tried to change it after the U.S. took over, but the residents couldn't get used to it and it caused too many accidents.   

St. George Village Botanical Garden

Without a plan for the day, I signed onto one of the ship's excursions with two members of our group, which included three stops:

The first was the St. George Village Botanical Garden.  Located on a former sugar plantation, the garden is a rich oasis of plant and animal life, explained to us by a knowledgeable guide as we strolled around the grounds.  Among the more curious finds were giant caterpillars who only feed on a particular type of tree, and a 15th-century Danish worker's grave.

Lawaetz Family Museum

Next, following a drive through the forested interior of the island, we visited the Lawaetz Family Museum, the homestead of a Danish farmer who moved to St. Croix in the 1890s and raised a large family there.  The house is still much as they left it (the family still owns it and assembles there for Christmas Eve), with childhood pictures and household implements neatly in their places, including the giant wooden bed that was patriarch Carl's first big purchase when he secured a good job.  


Our guide for this tour was a transplanted New Yorker who moved to St. Croix several years ago with the intention of writing a novel, a work that is still in progress.

Rainbow Beach

The final stop was at Rainbow Beach, a picturesque spot with an open-air bar and grill as well as a stand where you could rent jet-skis and other equipment.  We could see our ship in the distance down the beach as we took in our last round of fruity drinks before heading back to reality in the morning.


More photos from St. Croix

Hold On to Your Hat

Bernard of Clairvaux - Abbot, Theologian & Poet (1153)

ST. MAARTEN

This morning we arrived at Phillipsburg, St. Maarten, the only of our cruise stops to which I have been before.  In 2000 I was on a cruise on the Norwegian Sky that called here, and in 1998, my family rented a condominium on the island's southern coast for a week.

Much of my focus on St. Maarten centers around the airport.  On our way to our first visit, a combination of ineptitude and lack of information on the part of US AIr led to our being stranded in San Juan's airport. Both the ticket counter of US Air and our connecting carrier LIAT were abandoned at 3 in the afternoon, and when I finally roused a young woman by shouting "hello!" through the open doorway into the office, she half-listened to my story and then said casually, "All the flights are full.  You come back tomorrow night."

In those pre-9/11 days I was a little more, um, assertive with airline people than I would be now, and my family unanimously elected me to make it clear to US Air that spending over 24 hours of our vacation in this airport was not an acceptable option.  There were a bunch of sightseeing companies with planes for hire right there in the terminal, with tanned pilot types standing around doing nothing, so I asked the ticket agent why one of them could not bring us the short distance to St. Maarten.

"Oh, it's very expensive," she said dismissively.

I went for broke.  "Not for ME, it won't be. I already paid to get THERE, not HERE, and at this point I don't care if you have to BUY the plane.  Go ask somebody."

Apparently realizing at that point I was not going to give up, she shuffled off to make some phone calls, probably interrupting several more naps and finally speaking to the airline's headquarters in Virginia before returning with the pretty startling news that they could -- in fact -- pay one of these planes to get us to our destination, leaving within the hour.  I was pretty proud of myself, until I saw the plane:

Mom, Dad and our pilot with the Air Culebra Piper Aztec we
flew from San Juan to St. Maarten in 1998

This thing had none of the stuff I associate with planes.  There were no walkway or even stairs to get into it: you trotted across the tarmac, stepped on the wing and dropped right into your seat. There was no aisle, no bathroom, and no flight attendant.  And even if there had been one, there was no beer for him to grab if he decided he'd had enough of us and made a break for it.


Once my parents and sisters were settled in, the only seat left for me was right inside that open door, i.e. that normally reserved for the co-pilot! 

"Don't touch anything!" my sister stage-whispered from the third (and last) row.  Yeah, not a problem.  My experience skippering one of these puppies was limited to the Microsoft variety, and I was not about to try to change that now, even in the highly unlikely event that it was offered.  I contented myself with alternatively holding on for dear life and taking pictures to the degree that I could.  Our pilot pointed out Culebra, the small island in between Puerto Rico and St. Maarten where he lived, and then -- asking if I wanted a photo -- tilted the plane to get the wing out of the shot.  Um, thanks!

Now, I'll say this.  If you had asked me under different circumstances if I wanted to go up in a plane the size of a Volkswagen Microbus, I would have most likely laughed at you over my shoulder as I hurried back towards the sane people.  But when that plane was the only thing standing between me and a night on a drab gray chair trying to drown out 24 screens of CNN, I didn't think twice about it, and I don't think anybody in the family did either.  And -- having done so -- I can tell you it was an awesome ride, especially being able to look right out the front as we approached St. Maarten and landed again.

Air France A340 about to land.  Thanks to Gina for this shot.

The Princess Juliana International Airport is on the Dutch half of St. Maarten (the French spell it St. Martin), and its single runway begins just a dozen yards or so from the famous Maho Beach, where planespotters delight in the jets thundering close overhead as they  are about to land.  Supposedly people used to also hang on the fence when an airliner was getting ready to talk off (the prevailing wind is normally such so that flights take off and land with their backs to the beach) and then allowed the accelerating engines to blow them backwards towards the water, but now there are signs warning against such activity.

There are bars at either end of the beach with the flight timetables posted and radios tuned to the conversation between jets and the tower. We had intended to spend some time there today, but we ended up only being able to pass by it.  Friends from our cruise got to enjoy it, however, and shared some of their photos with me.

Instead, a Certain Party -- who does not beach -- and I contented ourselves with crepes at a sidewalk cafe in Marigot, on the French side.  But next time I'm bringing my earplugs and making a day of it.

You Have Arrived... Maybe

ANTIGUA

Today was a little more low-energy.  Not long after we docked at St. John, Antigua, the heretofore tranquil sky opened up and we had quite a rainstorm. One of the interesting things about the tropics is the abruptness with which the weather can change.  We literally saw the rain coming towards us like a curtain, and -- briefly -- it was raining at one end of the ship but not the other.  We had experienced the same thing on our day at sea on Monday:  A sudden squall drove us off the deck, but by the time we reached the elevators amidships, the sun had returned.


In this case, we again had only a short while to wait, and then Bobby, Amanda and I walked ashore, through the prerequisite cluster of shops and kiosks that seem to greet you at virtually every Caribbean pier, and for a short walk around the town of St. John as the sun dried things off. 

St. John's Cathedral, Antigua

Plainly visible from the ship is the imposing facade of St. John's Anglican Cathedral, and that was one thing I hoped to see.  However, upon arrival we discovered that -- due to a structural problem that came to light last year -- the church is closed until further notice.  We took a handful of pictures and headed back towards the pier, not finding much else in the town to explore.

A short while later, we had hired a cab and were headed towards a beach one of our fellow passengers had mentioned.  "Towards" it being the operating word, because we are not sure that the beach we eventually visited was the same one we had requested.  Having cleared the city limits and meandered for a half-hour or so through the countryside, our driver left the main drag for a bumpy driveway, past a salt pond, and coincidentally (?) ran into a handful of people he knew standing in this barren spot.  At his direction, we somewhat doubtfully trudged a short way further on the road and discovered what was in fact a beautiful, but sparsely populated, beach, as well as a small but elegant looking bungalow resort.

Coco Beach Resort, Antigua

Since the driver was apparently willing to wait with his friends while we enjoyed the beach, we were not about to complain.  We had no proof this was not in fact where we had asked to go, although Bobby had seen pictures of the place on the shipboard TV and it looked considerably more developed than what we saw before us.  And there was nothing wrong with the location, which we think was called Coco Beach, when the one we had been looking for was Coco Bay.  Looking at a map later, I believe there was in fact a much larger resort by that name a short distance away.


As is often the case with foreign travel, one finds oneself at the generally benevolent mercy of the local tourist machine.  Unless you do a lot of homework and come across as knowing exactly what you want and what it should cost, there is always a slight haze of doubt that you are getting the best deal as opposed to something that has been engineered to create the illusion of same for the profit or convenience of others.

Nevertheless, we enjoyed ourselves, and when we returned to the taxi at the appointed time, we found that our driver had calculated enough time get us back to the ship (always a concern, because -- unless you are on one of the excursions organized by the cruise line -- if you miss the boat, you're on your own to get either home or to the next port).

Lunch With Herod's Mom

William Porcher DuBose - Priest & Theologian (1918)

ST. LUCIA

Today's port-of-call was St. Lucia.  A little more than a hundred miles from Barbados, it allowed the Serenade of the Seas to chug along at a leisurely pace while we slept.

Herod explains how bananas grow

St. Lucia is mountainous and a large swath of its interior is relatively unspoiled.  Today I took a tour with several parties in our cruisecritic.com "family", again researched by one of them in advance.  Our guide, Herod, restricts the tour to ten people, which meant minimal waiting and plenty of flexibility to stop when something looked interesting and ask questions.

We had more exposure to the local people today than in Barbados, where we spent most of the day on a boat.  As we twisted through the forests and towns, men and women would wait patiently at the  roadside offering handicrafts, fresh fruit and (in several cases) the opportunity to get cozy with large snakes.  The sales pitches were not aggressive or frequent enough to be really annoying, and I expect our guide -- who does this every day -- knew who could be trusted.  

Among the things we saw were coconut and banana groves (with the opportunity to sample fresh fruit right off the tree), an ancient volcano which still emits sulphur-ripe steam, and a small waterfall surrounded by lush vegetation teeming with birds and butterflies.

But the highlight for me was when Herod announced that he was taking us to his house, where his mom had prepared lunch.

Anybody who knows me will roll their eyes at this; all you do is mention food and you immediately have my attention.  However, I loved this idea.  I know folks who will seek out familiar brands wherever they go instead of chancing some culinary misadventure, and the McDonald's and T.G.I. Fridays' folks have capitalized on this from Reykjavík to Dubai.  But I don't know of a better way to experience a place than to go to someone's home and share food with them that they prepared.

Lunch with Herod's Mom

Herod's mom was warm and gracious, and their house has a big terrace with a splendid view of one of the Pitons, the twin conical lava domes for which St. Lucia is famous.  We were treated to a buffet of curried chicken, fried codfish, rice and beans, plantains, and various other goodies.  


After lunch, we took a water taxi to a remote resort, situated between the two Pitons, to spend an hour or so on the beach.  We shared this space with just a handful of other tourists, and so were able to take in the rugged beauty of the place in peace.  Having gotten more than my share of sun the night before, I commandeered a chaise lounge under a canopy of overhanging sea grape and just took it all in.

Our return trip was accomplished by speedboat, much to the delight of the youngest members of our party.  Somehow these two pre-teen girls ended up right up in the bows, and every time the boat crested a wave, they would be literally tossed airborne, only to thump back down onto the (thankfully cushioned) seat.  They screamed and laughed all the way back to Castries, where the boat deposited us veritably at the ship's doorstep.

Tonight was formal-dress on board.  This is the subject of consternation for some, while others -- like me -- enjoy it on the rare occasions that I am required to dress up.  On some lines (Cunard transatlantic in particular) you will still be politely turned away from the dining room without a jacket, but In the Caribbean on most of today's mass-market ships, the dress code is more of a suggestion than a rule, and we saw people wearing everything from black tie to tank tops as we headed to dinner. 

Everyone in our party made an effort to comply without going crazy buying new gear which we would not have much future use.   I own a tux, for the simple reason that it was de rigueur aboard the Queen Mary 2 and I scored a sweet deal on one when we were preparing for that ship's maiden transatlantic crossing to New York in 2004.  It dawned on my last week that I should probably try the darn thing on and make sure I could still get in it, since it hasn't seen the light of day since Emily's wedding a few years ago.  Thankfully, I have neither packed on enough muscle or fat to require any alterations. 

At Barbara's request, we posed in various groups on the swank glass staircase in the ship's lobby, sporting our finery while the Company photographers snapped away.  These souvenir photos are mind-bendingly expensive, but it's part of the experience, so -- as many times as we say we're not going to do it -- we always end up buying at least a few.  Barbara had special reasons for wanting to document this trip, so for that purpose it was worth having the professional shots done.

The dinner was wonderful, and the Serenade's classic double-height dining room complete with a ceremonial staircase provided an elegant backdrop for our fellow passengers in their fancy duds.  But -- if I had to choose -- I'd still take that lunch under the Pitons, served up with a smile by Herod's mom.

So Much As it has Pleased Thee

Samuel Johnson, Timothy Cutler, and Thomas Bradbury Chandler
Early Priests of the American Church

 BARBADOS

Dawn off Barbados

This morning, we arrived at our first port of call, Barbados, having been at sea all day yesterday.  Invigorated by being aboard ship again, or perhaps just not used to a new bed, I woke up before dawn, grabbed my camera and meandered through the empty corridors looking for coffee and a spot to watch the sunrise.  I love the chance to explore the ship when very few of my fellow passengers are afoot, as it also give me the chance to photograph the public spaces without intruding on other peoples' vacations.   

This ship is fairly typical of those being built in the early 2000's.  She carries about 2,400 passengers, and most of her public spaces are located either fairly low in the ship or on the very top two decks, with four levels in between devoted almost exclusively to cabins so that the vast majority of them can sport private balconies.  We have one of these for the first time: earlier voyages were either on a tighter budget or (in the case of our transatlantic voyage in April of 2004) in a season and place when the weather conditions would not warrant the expense.  I chose our room specifically: located on the edge of a semicircular "bump" that extrudes from the side of the superstructure, it afforded us a slightly larger balcony than normal, just enough to let both of us stretch our legs out a bit.  Unfortunately the extra space did not come with extra furniture: we have two upright chairs and a miniscule table, so it is not quite as conducive to lounging as I had hoped. 

As luck would have it, we will be the only ship at each of our five ports of call.  This makes me happy in the sense that we will not be competing heavily for taxis, tours and shops, but I also do like seeing other ships and photographing them. 

I have been asked repeatedly why we did not choose one of the newest or largest vessels coming down the ways: this line's newest ship, the Oasis of the Seas is so big that it boasts various different "neighborhoods" (I can't help but wondering if any of them are "rough") as well as a zipline and a full-sized carousel.  Frankly, the idea of 5,400 people invading a small Caribbean island all at once is not particularly appealing, especially as the ship is too large to dock everywhere and requires the use of tenders to shuttle passengers ashore.  In addition, the ship is on the most mundane itinerary the Caribbean has to offer, and -- since the majority of us have been here before -- we wanted something a little more exotic.    

Catamaran Crew

I had done some homework in the months leading up to our voyage.  I am a big fan of cruisecritic.com, because it enables you to connect in advance with other people who will be on your particular sailing and ask questions about the ship and itinerary from more seasoned cruisers.  In our case, there are over 50 people, either users of the website or their traveling companions, so we did quite a bit of bonding before even setting sail. 

Yesterday, I met a number of them at a planned event in one of the lounges.  Today, three parties from that group as well as two other members of my entourage went on a catamaran tour that one of the "critics" had researched in advance.  We had a fantastic time, skimming along the smooth waters off the coast to an inlet where giant turtles lurk.  We got to snorkel with them, and they are apparently pretty used to people because they did not seem bothered in the least.  Two young brothers in our group had a waterproof camera and were deep-diving to get better shots, which they shared with me later

Giant turtle off Barbados.  Courtesy of Grandmaison family

Unfortunately the day was not without a casualty: one of the husbands in our group lost his wedding ring while in the water, and -- despite the efforts of the boat's captain and the brothers -- it was not found. 

Later this evening, we had some more serious business to deal with; in fact, the impetus for our trip.  After we set sail again from Barbados, we met with two officers of the ship at an appointed time and were escorted below to the aft mooring deck, a spot normally not accessible to passengers.  There, after a Certain Party led us in a brief prayer service while a handful of the ship's crew looked on, we were permitted to scatter a portion of Henry's ashes overboard into the ship's wake, followed by handfuls of rose petals thoughtfully provided by the Company.  It was one year to the day since his death. 

For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his ashes to the deep in sure and certain hopes of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ. 

This simple and yet powerful ritual marked the end of a year of "firsts": holidays, birthdays and other events where we were keenly reminded of his own contributions or strong opinions about such things were supposed to be done, and the hole left by his absence.  As we moved through the seasons, each of us mentally "bookmarked" these occasions, particularly when we got into the summer, when each milestone was already clouded by his illness.  

But the ship keeps moving.  We had originally been told that they might either slow down or stop, but as it turned out, that was not the case, and -- in a way -- I'm glad.  It symbolizes the fact that time stops for no one, and -- while we will obviously never stop missing him -- this was the "last first" when it comes to Henry.  He was not one to wallow in the past, and wouldn't condone us doing so either.  His life -- and his death -- changed us, and we carry those marks with us, but we also have to be ready to keep living fully into whatever is meant to happen next.  The ship keeps moving, and we move with it.

Down to the Sea

MARY THE VIRGIN - MOTHER OF CHRIST

Uncle Ziggy and Aunt Bertha aboard ship

My love of ships dates back to 1974.  That summer, my grandfather's sister and her husband departed New York on the S/S France, flagship of the storied Compagnie Générale Transatlantique, known simply on these shores as the French Line, on their way to spend the summer in Europe.  Retirees who never had children, they lived simply most of the year, but my uncle Ziggy was never one to scrimp when it came to food or travel, and they took some spectacular vacations for working-class people of the time. 

By the time I arrived on the scene, the jet age was in full swing and airlines had already won over most of the passenger traffic between the United States and Europe.  Ironically since the majority of leisure travelers were American, the United States Lines was one of the first to go.  The S/S United States, not yet 20 years in service, was laid up in 1969 and -- though still around -- has yet to carry another passenger.  One by one, the state-run steamship companies of Germany, Holland, Italy, Greece and France would give up the fight, and - in fact - the mighty France was abruptly withdrawn from service during my aunt and uncle's vacation.  But they were old-school, and -- rather than spend seven hours in an airplane seat -- they returned to the States aboard the last holdout, Cunard's Queen Elizabeth 2.  That ship continued to offer regular transatlantic crossings (interspersed with cruises to other places) until 2004, when she was replaced on the route by the much larger Queen Mary 2.  My dad and I were aboard when that fantastic vessel finished a stormy crossing and arrived in New York for the first time, to a hero's welcome.  But that's another blog entry.

CGT poster advertising the France

Getting back to 1974, if the days of the transatlantic liner were waning, there is no evidence of it in my memory of that afternoon.  In those carefree days, steamship lines welcomed the family and friends of departing travelers aboard the ships on sailing day.  As had always been the tradition, all that was required was a token donation to a seafarers' charity.  It was good P.R., because --  at least in my case -- that short visit left me with a desire to pack up and go on my own ocean voyage, one that would not be fulfilled for another 25 years but which is only stoked, rather than quenched, by every day spent aboard ship.


I actually remember very few details of the ship itself. Oddly enough, one thing that stuck in my head was the placement of the bathtub faucets, on the middle of the long wall vs. at one end.

One story which I can't recall personally but is is stuck in the family lore relates to this or another such bon voyage party.  My uncle had several brothers, and -- like him -- each of them was "a real character" as my paternal grandmother would say.  Apparently one of these uncles had earned quite a reputation aboard ship.  A cabin steward saw him with our entourage and brusquely inquired, "Are you on this trip?"  Upon learning he was headed back down the gangway shortly, the steward rolled his eyes and sighed, "Thank god!  I still remember you from the last time!"

Carnival Victory berthed in San Juan

Hopefully my own reputation is better.  As I write this, a Certain Party and I, along with his entire immediate family and a friend of his mom, are somewhere in the Windward Islands aboard the M/S Serenade of the Seas, part of the Royal Caribbean Cruise Line.  This is my eighth ocean voyage (tenth if you count overnight ferry crossings), a fact that is hardly remarkable given the prolific cruisers and crossers of my acquaintance.  But no sooner did we arrive at the terminal in San Juan when I felt the same rush that came over me on Pier 88 in New York all those summers ago, a feeling that built as we explored our compact cabin, met the steward, verified our dinner table assignment, and underwent all the little rituals that mark the beginning of seagoing travel, culminating with our after-dark departure past the brilliantly lit Victory (even Carnival ships look pretty at night).  I could get used to this.