Antigua

Antigua in the afternoon. My first glimpse of the real world of mega yachting. We pulled into Falmouth Harbor and ogled the floating mansions. One motor yacht, more than 100 feet long and probably 50 feet high with 3 stories, had a "garage" down below. A 20 foot wide door swung open and inside was a small sailboat (20-30 feet), a motor boat and several jet skis. There was also a waterfall down the back of the boat and later that night we found that they had underwater lights around the hull to swim by at night. Not to mention the Christmas tree of lights strung over every railing and every beam. There were deck swabbers everywhere - scrubbing, buffing, and polishing. We explored town a bit and saw the rowboat that two men had recently rowed across the Atlantic. It was not very big.

Our next move was to get ourselves on up to Shirley Heights, which is where the party is in Antigua every Sunday night. Shirley Heights is an old stone fort on a cliff with cobble stoned patio and a low walled perimeter over looking English Harbor and the southwest coastline of Antigua. It was a picturesque panorama with golden sunshine dripping down over green hills and puddling in the little cove as though the air were made of honey. There was a twenty piece steel pan band playing the usual fare. I was particularly impressed with the guy playing five 50 gallon drums topped with steel pan bowls tuned to different tones. Steel pans always make me think that if metal had a voice this would be it's speech - rising in tremulous vibrato like wind and heat stretching it's being into sound. The calypso rills trickled out over the honey harbor in peals and torrents bringing visions of coconut wind wafting through waving palm fronds. The rum was flowing like water. And the tourists were thick as the balmy air. Everyone who is anyone eventually shows up at Shirley Heights. The wall was lined with people as the sun sank like a ripe pink plum into a rosy peach fuzz haze and cheers erupted all along the wall as people spotted a green flash in her last moments of glory before hiding her blushing cheeks beneath the waves. The view was idyllic and the air was sweet. We ran into an old friend, Mike, whom I had met in Bequia and who Sam had known from the States and seen all over the Caribbean already. I also met some lovely ladies from the UK while collecting drinks from the bar. They were in Antigua on holiday and were intrigued by my tattooed hand. We struck up conversation and pretty soon we had all decided to go sailing the next day. The steel band rolled into thunder then melted into rain and the other band took over, pounding out rhythms of reggae and rock. My shoes had come off by then of course, as they always did, and the British girl Ruth tucked them in her bag for me. The night began to dissolve into music, dancing, and laughter. Somewhere along the way I lost track of Sam. Luckily I was at a party filled with boat people. It's never hard to find a place to crash. I caught a taxi back to town with friends and didn't realize just how hazy that rum had painted the world until I woke up and got a look at the boat I had climbed onto in the night. One of those mega yachts I had been admiring as we pulled into the harbor, a 96 foot sailboat with all kinds of plush all over the place. I tiptoed through the galley and high ceilinged main salon that was like a living room in a regular house bug-eyed at the sheer magnitude and luxury of it all. I never even reached the aft end of the boat...

Eventually, back on Zenaida, we met up with Helen and Ruth and their friends Steve and Greg. We headed out for a day sail and dropped anchor near a secluded beach. We decided to swim into shore and enjoyed the white sands and picking through the debris on the beach to find the occasional tiny perfect sea urchin, cowrie, or limpet. We had a lovely day with them and back in the harbor spent several hours doing slide shows in the salon giving photo tours of my various travels. We all went to dinner and I had the local Mahi Mahi, something I had never tried before, and which was melting in your mouth kind of good. It was a long full day overstuffed with fun, sun, and tasty treats. After saying our goodbyes we decided to take a short nap and set sail at 2 am for St Martin.

We didn't quite make that schedule. But we did haul anchor by three. Leaving the harbor at night was a magical scene. All the fancy boats were lit at the spreaders and with tall masts there were many levels, so you had this night scape like a city skyline of tall thin skyscrapers. It was like looking at an alien city at night - futuristic, vaguely familiar but with something about the picture not quite right.


We sailed over crazy confused seas with the wind swinging south, the boat yawing all over the place as the stern was pushed about by the waves. We sat the night watch together to help keep each other awake, then sailed into a fiery red sunrise that bubbled up out of the sea. It was a long day and we took turns napping as Zenaida plunged forward through the rolly seas. We decided to stop in St Barts for the night as the weather had slowed us down a bit. We found a lovely little cove with free moorings and promptly went to bed. In the morning, we took the last short trip to St Martin. I spent several hours driving through more confused seas and got myself to the point where I could steer while sitting facing sideways on the deck, lounged back with my arms up on the rails and using my feet to turn the wheel as we lightly sailed past the cruise ships, ocean liners and giant freight boats that littered the coast line.


St Martin is like being in America. You pay in American dollars. You can find anything you need. And your money runs like water down the drain.
And here we are, waiting to pick up a charter in a few days. I've already sailed more than 400 miles and been to 10 different countries since this adventure began. Come on wind. I dare you. Bring it on.