After our sail from Virgin Gorda through the night I was beat up. After a couple near misses with an oil tanker and another yacht, I was ready for 2 1/2 hour nap once we fired up the engines. Once I awoke I found out that I was in the land of big ballers. It’s a totally different deal here compared to the BVI. I’m feelin it though, there’s so much to do, I could use a couple weeks of sensory overload after the mellow scene we just came from.
We ate sushi at Bamboo Bernie’s that night only to discover a re-occuring theme; bad service. It’s not that I don’t appreciate a good smart-ass attitude, but I would expect our Eurotrash waiter to ask if we’re done first before taking a plate of 8 pieces of sushi off the table. Not only did he snatch our food from under our noses, after we asked him to pack it up in a “kitty bag”, he piled on wasabi making it totally inedible for Skidz. “Frenchy’s” real lucky that gratuity was included because he deserved a 1 cent tip. I soon found an off duty waitress that I’m sure will treat us better next time we come.
The next day we headed for the mountains to Loterie Farm on the French side of the island. That place rocks, it’s like a playground for aspiring mountaineers. There’s a low level ropes course for beginners that has zip lines on the lower part of the mountain. Being the gnarly, motley pack of hooligans that we are, we opted for the extreme course which started at the top of the mountain. We had to pick through a bunch of stinky loaner shoes because we had all worn sandals like rookies. That basket smelled like a full diaper on a pile of burnt hair…NASTY. After we donned our swamp-foot slippers, our more than competent guide, Andrew took us up to the summit. We were briefed on our gear with quick but thorough instructions, then we were off. We flew through buttressed trees on a cable connected to a harness. The longest flight was probably 5oo meters long and 75 meters high. We walked across cable bridges, climbed up and down ladders and got attacked by a swarm of fire ants that nearly crippled Mystic’s leg. It soon became apparent to Andrew that we weren’t the average cruise ship tourists.
Ok, I have to give you the story of how the Lil’ Sexy suit came about: Jamie had sent this skin tight, one piece “speed suit” down w/ Lars and Sandor so Ty could wear it kiteboarding. Ty refused to make an ass out of himself and wouldn’t wear it so Kyber, (never taking himself too seriously), was just waiting for the right time to break it out. So, getting back to our fun in the forest. About halfway down, things got kinda weird when Kyber started stripping and climbing into the suite. After a little male enhancement with his shirt, he was transformed into Lil’ Sexy- Codpiece Crusader. Naomi from Chippewa joined in on the costume party with her Supergirl outfit and together they made a duo that resembled jesters more than superheros. Apparently, the superpowers didn’t come with the suits because a small toothless dog sent both of them running like Cujo was nipping at their heals. We were rolling, just laughing until our stomaches were sore. After the near-fatal dog attack, the deranged duo headed to the bar and restaurant to shock and awe the patrons. I filmed the whole ordeal on video and we’ll soon have “The Adventures of Lil’ Sexy and Supergirl” video edited on Youtube and posted here.
After an overload of adrenaline and comedy we were ready to mellow out, so we headed to the Butterfly Farm. The place is landscaped nicely with a wide array of beautiful vegetation. Apparently the morning hours are the best time to view these winged wonders. When we got there, most of them were tanked from drinking fermented orange juice at the “bar”.
Once we got our fill of butterfly facts, we headed to the beach. The scene was kinda lame there. Though we did get to enjoy a few topless Euroboobies, we also had the misfortune of seeing a bottomless Eurodude. Feeling the crunch of the Dollar to Euro conversion, we opted to head back to the Dutch side for some local Caribbean BBQ.
That night, the Irish blood in my body was boiling so I motivated the troop to head over to the Soggy Dollar for some St. Patrick’s Day revelry. This place makes the Soggy Dollar on Jost Van Dyke seem like a confession booth. The music was pumping and the place was packed with fine “yachties” and tourists shaking their money makers long after Saturday turned to Sunday.
The next day there was a charity event at the hotel/casino near where we’re docked. They were giving helicopter rides for only $25. Kyber went for a spin to snap a few shots while I stayed below to tone the photos I had shot the day before. That night chef Nomes prepared us an amazing meal of salmon and stuffing garnished with mango. While posing for a picture, she dropped a pillow in the drink and we soon were doing an overboard drill. Mystic was supposed to fly back to Virgin Gorda that night but he made a surprise re-emergence to the Natty M in the middle of the night because the seats on the plane were sold out. Irie times I tell you, life is good. It was great having a local islander aboard for a few days. Mystic is one of the funniest people I’ve met and I’ll be waiting for him to send his take on our first 3 days here so I can post it here.
The surf’s been pumping here for the first time in many moons. Locals say that this swell is the biggest one to hit here in years. So we’ve been on dawn patrol for the last 2 days enjoying the fruits of the swell at Cupecoy. I’ll post those shots soon I tell you… wait for it, wait for it.
In closing, I’ll leave you with a few shots I snapped from the Bitter End on our last day there. Also, let me briefly mention Kyber’s tender trip to the customs office in Virgin Gorda. While en route to check us out of the BVI, Kyber unleashed the horsepower of the Red Rocket and she bucked him off like a bronco. When he got back, he was preaching the good word of wrist leashes and their virtues. Apparently, like everyone, he wasn’t wearing his leash that kills the engine if you go overboard. It must’ve been a scary swim because he looked like he’d seen a ghost when he got back… gnar gnar
-Benjamin C Anglin