Spring Break 2015 - Day 9 - "Time to Say Goodbye"

4/12/15, “A Time to Say Goodbye”

Grantley Adams International Airport, Barbados (BGI)

Well, my travels in the Lesser Antilles have come to an end, and now it is time to say goodbye.  There is a familiar sinking feeling that accompanies each trip, one before I embark on the voyage, worrying about everything that can go wrong, and this one, when it’s time to say goodbye, at the end of the trip.  When I get back to work on Monday, I will make a rational evaluation of this trip, how wonderful it was, where it ranks in my overall list, but, for now, it is merely time to say goodbye, and I cannot but think about how much I will miss it here.  My next trip to the Caribbean will bring me to Jose Marti International Airport, which is in Cuba.  That trip will be epic, but I still do not see how the Greater Antilles can be greater than the Lesser Antilles.  Then there will be Hispanolia to say “Caribbean Complete.”  After that, all that remains is the Bahamas to say, “West Indies Complete.”

Those are future trips.  Now, it is time to say goodbye to Barbados, to the Lesser Antilles.  Here at Grantley Adams, the eighth and final such airport in the Lesser Antilles, each of which has earned their own airport entry, I should feel triumphant.  I pulled off the trip perfectly, yet I just feel empty and depressed.  Is it the other stuff in my life?  The usual doubts returning?  Or is it the fact that I will likely never again return to these so-called Lesser Antilles, or at least not for a decade.  I had trouble sleeping in, and I heard my neighbors making preparations to go to the beach.  I wanted to say goodbye to them, but I wanted more to get an extra hour of sleep.  In the end, I got neither, and they were gone by the time I went to breakfast.

I worked on publishing last night’s entry while I ate, but I didn’t have much of an appetite, the empty feeling already returning.  Again, they tried too hard, some kind of breakfast pizza.  After I finished, I went back to my room, where I lit up my last Winston Churchill and published my entry.  I went outside, enjoying the view from my porch one last time, and that was when the empty feeling came in full force.  I did not want to leave.  I didn’t want to stay here.  I didn’t want to leave.  I didn’t want to go home.  I didn’t know what I wanted, and that doesn’t make for a good song.  I packed as I finished my cigar and then took a quick shower.  On the way to the airport, I lit up my Partagas, and I was told I couldn’t smoke in the car, a first, so I kept the cigar out the window.  We stopped to take ceremonial pictures at the Garrison and the beach.

That was it, time to say goodbye.  He dropped me off at the airport, where I found a bench, relit the Partagas, and proceeded to write this entry.  I have to check in soon, but I can write until the cigar is done.  Hopefully by the time I get to my cool apartment in New York, everything will be back to normal.  For now, I just want to enjoy my last cigar, as it is time to say goodbye.  This trip has been different from my usual trips in so many ways.  First, the pace of it has been different.  Second, I will honestly be able to answer that I have met interesting people, whether it was the waitress in Grenada, the manager in Saint Vincent, my neighbors in Barbados, or P--- and her husband.  I will remember all of them as long as I remember this trip.  Will this be the new way that I travel?  I think not, but I will make more of an effort to interact with people as I travel.  On that note, I close.  It is time to say goodbye.

En route, NYC Taxi 4G57

Well, here I am, back to the familiar, taking a taxi from Kennedy, as I have so often done before.  The sun was setting as we landed in Kennedy, and now the sun has set on my time in the sun.  My coworker was, of course, right that I spent most of my waking hours smoking cigars in the shade.  In fact, I only went to the beach to take a ceremonial picture in my suit with my cigar.  The only water I felt the whole trip was from the rain, and I did not feel the touch of sand.  Yes, reader, I spent a week in the Caribbean, and I did not go to the beach.  I avoided the sun as much as possible, and I stayed away from the tourist hotspots.  I had the time of my life.

I am making my way back home, and I will try to watch Game of Thrones, once again returning to the familiar.  I will be going to Brooklyn to visit my old friend on Wednesday, another return to the familiar.  I got far more work done in the 26 hours I worked remotely than I could have at the office, and I somehow managed to catch up with a large backlog of work, which allows me to return tomorrow with a fresh start.  I usually take this time to summarize and reflect, but I have already done a lot of reflecting.

I have spent enough time writing about the magic of the Lesser Antilles, and I have nothing left to say other than, “Reader, get on a plane and go there.”  Spend at least one full day exploring the city, experiencing the local culture, rather than going to the beach.  If you do, you will never think of the Caribbean as merely a place to go to the beach.  Other than the day of the MIA-GND flight, each day’s entry has had the title of a song.  The non-travel days (where I woke up and went to sleep in the same country) had titles of songs from “Beauty and the Beast.”  I chose “Belle,” “Gaston,” “Be Our Guest,” “Something There,” and “Tale as Old as Time,” the last one since I had already used the proper title of the song as the overview for the Day 0 entry.  Each of those five entries had a thematic analysis of the song, as it related to the movie, to the trip, and to my life.  If you have missed any of those entries, I encourage you to go back to read them.

As for the travel days.  I started to get clever, since I decided I could use any song title.  The titles were “Memories” as I left Grenada, “Journey to the Past” as I headed to Barbados, and “Time to Say Goodbye” for this entry to close out the trip.  It is 2015, and I will be going to Cuba this summer.  I suppose that I should save Hispaniola for 2016 and the Bahamas for 2017, but those are what I call “flex trips.”  Bahamas could literally be done any unplanned weekend between now and the end of August.  Hispaniola would need a three-day weekend to be done together, or I could do it as two separate weekend trips.  I am planning to go to Costa Rica in October.  That’s it.  Those are the only countries I have left in the continent.

What else will that leave me?  Lots of stuff left to do in the US, Canada, and Mexico, plenty of Olympic Stadiums, and various Wonders of the World.  I have been embarking on my mission for almost three years now, and I am in the home stretch.  On paper, I am 63%, possibly even more.  I need to double check my list to make sure it is properly updated.  However, it was not until I said “Lesser Antilles Complete” that I realized just how much progress I had made.  In three months’ time, I will say, “Mainland US Complete,” and I just realized that I wanted to save the last of my Partagas from the box for that occasion.

We are entering Manhattan now, so I will wrap up.  After I closed, I headed in, lost a couple of my lighters to securities, the souvenir ones, not the good ones, and uploaded my photos at the gate.  I got on, and it was a long and boring flight.  I spent most of it playing my game, but I got bored of that, so then I listened to some comedy on SiriusXM.  I snacked a bit, that being the only food other than breakfast I have eaten all day.

When we landed, I realized that it was a new terminal for me.  The Global Entry machines had an issue, but it all worked it in the end, and my bag was already making its way around.  I had no problem with Customs, and I was in a taxi by 8 PM, only 40 minutes after we landed.  I then proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with the trip.  It’s been a great one.  Next stop: Chicago (or the outskirts) for the pipe show, which I might actually cancel.  Otherwise, Sweden.

Spring Break 2015 - Day 8 - "Tale as Old as Time"

4/11/15

Holetown, Barbados

Reader, if you have been paying attention, you know what today’s entry will be called.  It truly is “a tale as old as time.”  Ever since I drove up to Quebec for 26 hours, leaving the country for the first time in almost a decade, I have been making it a point to stop at the local Casa del Habano.  Here I am in Holetown, where the British first landed over 400 years ago, their conquest of the Caribbean a tale practically as old as time, certainly older than the tale I have been referencing all trip (“Beauty and the Beast”).  This is how I travel, and, here at the Casa, I quite literally feel at home.

I have a driver waiting for me downstairs, and as soon as I finish this entry, he will take me on a loop of the island.  Afterwards, I will be meeting the daughter of my first babysitter for dinner, another tale as old as time.  So much about this trip has been familiar, but, here in the “Jewel of the Caribbean,” smoking a Churchill, just as I have smoked ever since I started smoking Cubans, I finally feel at home.  Having time to relax, having nothing planned, not knowing how to spend my time, that’s all new.  Fuck.  I just got a notification that my computer is restarting in 5 minutes, so I might close abruptly.  I will continue the reflections tonight.

After I closed, I crashed outside, and I was woken up at 9 AM by the housekeeping staff from next door who reminded me that breakfast was on its way.  Actually, I was woken up slightly earlier in my favorite way, by a text from my favorite person to receive a text from, but I had tried to fall back asleep.  I went to breakfast, and I was delighted that included a simple plate of bacon and eggs.  After breakfast, I fell back asleep for a few hours, then I lit up a Davidoff as I cleaned my pipes.

I packed for the day and headed into town, where I went to lunch at the local fast food place, Chefette’s, getting the local specialty.  It was packed, and I could see Parliament, but, when I looked around, I did not see a single white face. 

I lit up a Partagas after lunch, and my next stop was the synagogue, established in 1654, it is the oldest synagogue in the Americas.  I walked around some more, took some more pictures, and bought some more souvenirs.

I then hired a taxi and driver for the next three hours, and our first stop was Holetown, the site where the British landed.  We went to the mall, where I found the Casa del Habana, bought a bunch of cigars, lit up a Churchill, took a ceremonial picture, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as the computer is about to restart.

Bridgetown, Barbados

Well, the sun has set for the last time in my time in the Lesser Antilles.  It will be sunset in New York just as I am landing tomorrow.  After I closed at the cigar shop, the computer restarted before the save could complete.  Anticipating this, I had been saving constantly, so I had lost one or two sentences, tops.  The restart was so that my computer could install Windows 8.1, though I was perfectly happy with Windows 8, but there did not appear to be any way around it.  It took two hours to install this update, and I had to constantly fidget with the computer as we drove.

While I was enjoying the Churchill, along with the views of the island, I knew that I would find no peace until the computer was up and running again.  For a while it didn’t look like it was going to work, and I got an error message saying to choose the proper boot sequence.  What the fuck?  In my inebriated state (having been constantly sipping my small bottle of rum), I had no idea what I was doing, but I somehow managed to press the correct buttons to change the boot sequence and get it running.  I’m not entirely sure that I could have done it sober.  I had all sorts of visions of having to try to find a computer repair shop open tonight or tomorrow morning or writing my entries on my phone.  Nothing about getting my computer up and running again.  Finally, after two hours, and back here, I was able to log in and open up this document.  I got caught up on the news of the day and chatted with the couple next door a bit.  Once the sun set, I proceeded to write this entry.

Now, as for these reflections.  In about an hour I will be meeting with the daughter (and son-in-law) of my first babysitter.  I do not know these people, though they know of me.  Any two people on this island could fool me into thinking they were them, provided they knew enough about my first babysitter and somehow managed to throw in a few stories about me and my brother growing up, yet we have an unspoken bond through the babysitter, the daughter’s mother.  Apparently, she saw my brother and me as sons.  Once my dad remarried, there was no need for a live-in babysitter, nor was there a place for a mother and a governess (think Sound of Music), and it was time for her to retire.  I went through a long string of babysitters and housekeepers.  I have no doubt that I wore them out.  One didn’t even last a whole day.  To me, this tale is as old as time.  I have brief, fleeting memories of each of them, but they all blur together.

Returning to one of my earlier entries (“Belle”), while taking care of a rich (by their standards) family’s children and cleaning their house hardly seems like a dream job, perhaps, to them, it was.  How many people just want to leave this British Caribbean Island?  To them, isn’t getting a good job in New York, a steady job where you are treated properly, the dream?  Isn’t that the “adventure in the great wide somewhere?”  I think it is, and I think so even more based on the email I received from her other daughter.

It is a tale as old as time that people travel to live among the less fortunate while the people in those destinations just dream of living in the big city where the travelers live.  I do not need to give examples of this, but I’m sure my reader can supply his or her own.  There is deep irony to this that someone from England would spend untold amounts of money to go on safari in Africa while the people there would want nothing more than to be a member of the staff in that British family’s home back in England.

Not everyone gets to meet her Prince Charming and live happily ever after in a castle, but happily ever after does not have to be about marrying a wealthy prince.  For every Belle or Cinderella who winds up in the castle, there are dozens, nay thousands of Tianas who find out that having what you need is different from getting what you want.  Sorry, not explaining that reference.  Watch The Princess and the Frog if you haven’t.  It’s too good of a movie not to watch.  While set in more of a modern time than the other Princess stories, the lessons it teaches are still as old as time.

In 24 hours, I will be returning to the familiar, to my normal life.  If my boss offered to let me stay here another week (and paid for my hotel) and let me work remotely while I was here, I’m not entirely sure I’d take him up on it.  There is nothing left here for me to see, and the heat is getting to me.  I’ll be glad to be back in New York.  Alright, my ride will be here in 15 minutes, and I need to get ready.  Well, I need to put on pants, which doesn’t take 15 minutes, but I’ll close.

The past four hours have taken a most interesting turn of events.  My entries this trip have been filled with Disney references, so there is no reason not to continue this trend.  There is a scene (well it occurs multiple times) in The Princess and the Frog where Tiana (or Charlotte in a different scene) wishes upon the evening star.  The same thing happens in Pinocchio, of course, but the manner in which it occurred was very specific in this movie.  Well, last night I saw what I thought was the evening star, so, for fun, I made a wish in the same way that Tiana did.  Reader, you should recall from my previous trip what those wishes were.

I did not expect it to work.  I did not expect that 24 hours later I would realize that not only was Robin Williams on my side but that there’s merit to the phrase “Be careful what you wish for.”  I will go into more details in my personal journal, but I will pull another quote from PatF.  I got what I wanted but maybe not what I needed.  Alright, enough of that.  Once again I find myself dead tired, but the events of this evening need to be recorded while they’re still fresh.

I have developed a policy of no longer including names in this Travelogue, not even first names.  My former babysitter was E---.  Her daughter is P---, and her husband is C---.  That is how I will refer to them for this entry.  At 7:30 PM, I called C--- on his cell.  He was right outside, so I hurried to get ready and meet him there.  When I got to the car, P--- got out and greeted me like I was a member of her extended family, a nephew or something.  She insisted that she had met me when I was a little boy, when my father brought me here.  No, that was my brother.  We went back and forth on that for a minute or two.  Eventually, she believed me that this was indeed my first time in Barbados.

She had actually met me, though, in 2012 at E---‘s funeral.  I did not recognize her, and she did not remember me.  I remember the funeral, though.  My father and I were treated like royalty, E---‘s family so touched that her former employer and his son would make the trek out to Brooklyn to come to the funeral.  E--- practically raised my brother.  There was np question of us not going.  I think there was even talk of my brother flying back from Seattle to come to the funeral.

They first took me to Saint Lawrence’s Gap, the main tourist hotspot.  It was the first time since I left the States that I saw white faces far outnumbering black faces, and C--- was quick to comment on it.  “This is where all the white people go.”  I joked to myself that maybe this was where my neighbors went.  I was right.  As we were driving, I saw two very familiar people smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk.  Yes, it was them.

We continued up to Oistin’s, another popular tourist area with blaring music.  We found a place to sit and order fish.  However, between their accents and the loud music, I found it impossible to understand them.  I did my best.  C--- looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, but P--- and I made conversation.  She asked about my dating life.  I told her that my girlfriend and I had broken up three months ago.  Meanwhile, my phone was chirping, and kept responding.  When she saw the screen, I pointed to it and said, “New girl.”  She seemed pleased with the idea.  I ordered the flying fish, while P--- got the dolphin.  Somehow the portion for P--- and C--- were much larger, like three times as much fish.  I had a feeling that I was going to be offered extra fish.  I was not wrong.  P--- gave me half of her fish and had trouble finishing the other half.

Meanwhile, they started playing karaoke, and, after dinner we went over to join them.  I wanted to do “Blank Space,” but they only had a few Taylor Swift songs.  I chose “Love Story,” which I rightly butchered.  After I did my rendition, we listened a little more before we decided to call it a night.  They took me back to my hotel, where I continued to text the new girl.  We exchanged a total of 92 messages over the course of the evening.

Thanks, Robin Williams. I got my three flag pins, my three Parliaments, and a girl who won’t stop texting me.  You’ve really been on my team this trip.  If I can get a fourth wish, just fix everything at work, though I guess that’s actually in my power to achieve.  When I got back, I realized that I had forgotten to charge my computer, so I lounged around a bit while I charged it up some.  I lit up a VSG and headed out to the porch, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I’ll now close so that I can sleep outside for the last time.

Spring Break 2015 - Day 7 - "Something There"

4/10/15

Bridgetown, Barbados

Reader, you have been with me long enough to know exactly how and why I travel.  Reader, you know exactly what I mean when I say “Complete.”  Reader, you know the difference between enjoyment and fulfillment.  Reader, you have followed along with me as I have raced from place to place, trying to fit as much in to as short of a time as possible.  Reader, what then happens when I say “Lesser Antilles Complete” but still have over two full days to kill before I have to fly home?  Reader, what happens when I have done everything that I “have” to do and have time to do what I “want” to do?  Reader, what happens when I stop racing around and instead just relax?  Reader, what happens when I learn to travel like everyone else and enjoy myself?  Do I discover that there's something there that wasn’t there before?

Of course not!  I’m as bored af!  I spent the day working, and I’m pretty much entirely caught up.  If there was more work to do, I wouldn’t mind spending tomorrow working, too.  There were more crises that needed my attention, and I acquitted myself beautifully (possibly even better than I would have if I was in New York).  The only problem was that heat was getting to me.  Everything was going well, but my depression was worsening.  Yes, reader, I was lying here in paradise and all the usual things I doubt were all going well.  Ten degrees cooler, and I would have been in heaven.  As it was, I was in hell.

The first time I ever wondered if there was something there, almost a year ago, I decided to be like everyone else.  Instead of evaluating a potential mate based on a list of characteristics (if she's smart, if she gets my jokes, if she can make me laugh, if we share the same values, etc.), I fell in love with someone because of how she made me feel, not because I could objectively point reasons why the relationship would work.  We all know how poorly that turned out, but it was a new experience for me being beholden to my emotions rather than to reason.  I put my arm around her chair (not even around her shoulder) at a Mets game.

All the sudden, there was something there that wasn’t there before.  Just like that.  Five months later, it broke and burned and ended, and I was miserable for those five months, but, for five hours, I was the happiest I had ever been in my life.  For five months before that I had been wondering if there was something there.  All the sudden, in one moment, there was something there that wasn’t there before.

It doesn’t have to be a romantic relationship.  I've mentioned the four women who were in my life last semester, the four girls I loved liked sisters (even if my actions towards one became more than brotherly).  Two weeks later, the semester started, and, instead of heading home after class, I waited with my Cohiba for my two classmates to come down.  We chatted for about an hour.  All the sudden, there was something there that wasn’t there before.  We were like the three best friends, talking for almost an hour after class almost every class.  Talking about everything and anything.  There was something there that wasn’t there last semester.

Then came my coworker.  Well, she had been working there about two months before she sent me a friend request on Facebook.  We barely spoke in the office.  A few weeks ago, one of my coworkers teased me something like, “Steven, I don’t get it.  You text her every day now, but the entire time she was working here you exchanged maybe five words with her.”  If I had met her in a philosophy class when we were both single, I definitely would have wanted to find out if there was something there.  As it was, us both being in happy relationships when we met (and she still now), we definitively and permanently “friend-zoned” each other, but that’s not the point of this story.

Okay, she sent me the friend request.  I barely knew her, but I already knew that I loved her and that I would always and forever.  I sat on the request for days.  Did I trust her enough to report on my activities from Facebook back to management?  Now, I’d trust her with my life, with my darkest and deepest secrets, but, then, I hardly knew her.  I accepted the request, and, suddenly, there was something there that wasn’t there before.  When she left, there was no question of us staying in touch.  Friendship is so weird, how friendships form, the friends you choose to have in your life, why two people like each other.  It’s almost unexplainable.

The fourth girl?  In October, after we had seen each other twice over the course of two months, the first times we had seen each other since the summer we met two years prior, we started texting every day.  All the sudden, there was something there that wasn’t there before.  I now wonder if it was always there but I just never realized it.  That daily texting with her was all I ever wanted with her.  If I had made the effort to keep in touch with her, would we have been texting every day for three years now?

I should clarify, when I first met her, I wanted more than just to have a new friend.  I asked her out a few times, but she turned me down.  Once she went back to Orlando, my feelings towards her slowly and steadily became more sisterly, but we’d only text like once a month.  All of the sudden, in October, there was something there that wasn’t there before, and now I can't imagine what my life would be like without her friendship.  She is the rock that keeps me grounded to reality, that constantly reminds me that, like Spock, I have a human side, too.

As for that human side, well, no, I’m not enjoying travelling like everyone else.  I was much happier to be working today than I would have been on the beach.  Okay, one last example, a male example this time, my new best friend.  He basically followed me home after work one day.  All of the sudden, there was something there that wasn’t there before.  I think one week recently we hung out every night, by that I mean seven days in a row.  It was completely spontaneous that we became friends, but is a friendship that works, and there is a something there that wasn’t there before.

Enough of this.  I was seriously considering today’s entry being a one-liner, in line with King George’s apocryphal July 4^th, 1776 journal entry, “Nothing important happened today.”  I suppose that was true.  Nothing important happened today.  In fact, my brief #NightOnTheTown was the only thing of note, but, of course, I will record every minor detail.

Reader, if you are only interested in the philosophy/reflections, you can stop reading now.  I think I had another cigar after I closed, maybe a Jericho Hill, but I can’t recall.  I slept outside, and I actually slept pretty well.  I woke up and went to breakfast.  It was just me and the couple next door at breakfast.  I thought we were the only ones staying at the hotel.  It was a “four-course” breakfast.  All throughout breakfast, I kept thinking to myself, “They’re trying too hard,” just like the check-in clerk was trying too hard.  The first course was cereal.  I wasn’t interested.  The second course was a fruit plate.  I asked for that to be brought later.  I needed protein, badly.

She brought it out.  It was an egg soufflé served with, get this, grilled spiced shrimp and sweet potato.  They were definitely trying too hard.  That wasn’t breakfast.  It was dinner.  The saltfish was one thing, this was just too much.  I could barely tolerate it on my palate first thing in the morning, but I was starving, so I ate it all.  I would have much preferred just bacon and fried eggs.  The fruit plate, trying too hard, as well.  A bowl of cut-up melon would have done the trick.  Then they brought dessert, again, trying too hard.  Apple tart with maple ice cream.  It was delicious, but, again, they were trying too hard.  A bit of cake or a donut would have done fine.  Actually, I’m going to pauseso that I can go inside and have my donut.  I really need it.

Okay, so after breakfast I lit up a Winston Churchill and got to work.  Did I have another cigar before lunch?  Actually, I’ll need to check my bands.  No, doesn’t look like I did.  I headed down towards the beach for lunch, having no interest in actually going to the beach other than to take a ceremonial picture to send to my friend who always teases me about not going to the beach when I travel to the Caribbean.  The heat was starting to get to me.  I had been told to go to Cockspurs for lunch, but they only serve food when there’s a ship in port.  There was none today, nor would there be one tomorrow.  There was a shack nearby, so I went there.  I got fish and chips and a beer, accompanied by an Aging Room.  The meal was delicious.  I was so exhausted by the time I was done that I forgot to take the ceremonial picture, and the food portion was small, so I was getting hungry again.  I stopped at the gas station to load up on snacks.

Wow, I am dead tired.  I’m going to have to wrap up.  I’m not sure I’ll even have the energy to publish tonight or sleep outside.  Oh, about that, well, when I got back to my room, the housekeeping staff was there.  They were making up the room, and they seemed annoyed.  “He slept outside,” one of them muttered to the other one, as they brought the outside linens and pillows back inside and remade the inside bed with the inside linens and pillows and remade the outside bed with the outside pillows, thereby costing themselves their tip.  Seriously?!?  If I slept outside last night, obviously I wanted to sleep outside again.  Why would they go through all the trouble of making it harder for me to sleep outside again?  “The day bed is only to be used in the daytime,” I would later joke to my cousin.

I finished my cigar as I worked and then I needed to lie down again.  The heat was winning this battle.  I worked for the rest of the afternoon, but I had no energy.  My next cigar was a new one called, “Mr. Sam.”  It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great.  I can’t remember if I bought it or if it was a gift.  There was an emergency proposal revision that needed to go out by the end of the day, and I was the only one who could do it.  As soon as that was finished, I called the front desk and asked for a taxi to be called to take me into town.  Okay, I think I might need to take a short nap before I finish, so I’ll pause again.  Definitely won’t be watching my movie tonight.

Alright, that was a long pause, but I think I’m energized enough to wrap this up before I pass out.  Slightly past 6 PM, I headed towards the reception area to see if my cab was there, as it should have been by then.  It wasn’t.  There was someone else there, someone I hadn’t seen there before.  Actually, maybe I had seen him lounging in the garden during the day.  A cab soon came, but we weren’t sure whose cab it was, mine or his.  We were both heading in to town, so we shared it.  Half the cost, excellent.  The driver recommended that I go to the Waterfront Café for dinner.  They had a great menu, but it seemed overpriced, very much overpriced.  I decided to chance it, since this was going to be my #NightOnTheTown.

I was glad I did.  I ordered the fish cakes as an appetizer and the fish special as my main course.  I also got another beer.  When the fish cakes came, I said to myself that, for the price I paid, they better be the best fish cakes in the world.  They were.  When I finished, I lit up my Partagas.  I was soon told I couldn’t smoke there.  These were the only tables that had been sheltered from the rain.  Oh, right, it had been raining all day, so I took the cigar and walked a little closer to the water with my beer while I waited for my main course.

There was a boating outfit shop, so I asked if there was anyone who could take me around on a boat for an hour.  He said that he couldn’t but recommended a couple of other boats.  My fish plate was soon there, but I started with the sides, fried plantains and potato wedges.  Just the sides were practically orgasmic, and the fish was even better.  It was definitely worth the price.  I got a rum to go with it (“not Mount Gay”).  After I finished, I relit my cigar while I waited for the check, then I walked around the harbor to try and find the boats.  I couldn’t find the boats, nor could I find any boats that were crewed.  There went that plan.

I walked around until I discovered a busy side street with a pool hall.  There were a bunch of arcades with video poker machines.  Long story short, after playing for a bit, I put 8 coins in won, got four of a kind, and got 200 coins back.  The coins weren’t worth much, but I knew to quit when I was ahead, it was enough to pay for my milkshake, my cab fare back, and then some.  When I got back, I lit up my Rovera.  Wondering if I had now smoked a pipe in every country in the lesser Antilles, I looked back at my first few entries.  I didn’t smoke pipes either in Saint Lucia or Trinidad and Tobago, so, no.  I then proceeded to write this entry, pausing as note.  I will now close so that I can crash and save the publication for the morning.

Spring Break 2015 - Day 6 - "Journey to the Past"

4/9/15

E. T. Joshua Airport, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines (SVD)

There are so many famous expressions about the past, some of the quite contradictory.  “What’s past is prologue.”  “Those who cannot learn from the mistakes of history are doomed to repeat themselves.”  “What’s past is past.”  “Don’t dwell on the past.”  “History repeats itself.”  “The future will resemble the past.”

There is merit to all of those quotes, but the last one would have to be my favorite.  Reader, if you flip a switch for a light bulb, why do you think it will turn on?  Are you an electrical engineer?  Did you wire the circuit yourself?  No, of course not.  You believe it because you believe that the future will resemble the past.  (Almost) every time you have flipped that switch, the light bulb has turned on, and because the future will resemble the past, you believe that it will turn on again.  If it doesn’t, you believe that the lightbulb is out, and you need to replace it.  Life is so much like that, too, and, ever since I first heard that phrase (often shortened “The future resembles the past” or abbreviated FRP), it has provided me great comfort.

Whenever I am upset about something or doubting something, all I have to say to myself is “FRP,” and my doubts go away.  It’s not perfect, there are times when the present doesn’t resemble anything in the future, but it’s a very good motto.  Now, if we want to get into deep philosophy, the only reason that we know that the future resembles the past is that in the past the future has resembled the past, so we have no reason to believe that in the future the future will resemble the past other than that in the past the future has resembled the past, but you can take that up with Hume.  (Spoiler alert: he’s long dead.)

In a couple of hours, I will be embarking on a journey to the past.  Historic Bridgetown and its Garrison.  Ere the sun sets, I will say, “Lesser Antilles Complete,” and I will have almost 72 hours to enjoy in Barbados before I fly home.  This was always meant to be the final destination of the trip.  Oh, wait, no I won’t be able to say it until I have dinner.  Well, what a celebratory meal it will be if I can say it there.

I believe that Bridgetown, more than any other city in the Lesser Antilles preserves the remnants of the British Colonial period.  It should be, for me, the crown jewel of my travels to the Lesser Antilles, and I’m quite glad that I’ll have plenty of time there.  A flag pin and a picture at Parliament, that’s all I need.

Okay, so what happened after I closed?  I published my entry, lit up a Flor del Antilles, and put on my movie.  I loved every minute of it.  There is no other Disney movie between Mulan (1998) and Tangled (2010) that compares.  While Tangled is considered the beginning of the Second Disney Renaissance, it would be remiss to exclude The Princess and the Frog (2009) from that discussion.  It was 1 AM by the time I got to sleep, and there was a work emergency that needed my attention first thing in the morning.  I was in no state to work on the sensitive project after four shots of rum.

I woke up and went straight to work as soon as I got to the breakfast table.  I had the same thing as yesterday, and it was delicious, but I had no appetite, I was so engrossed in the work project.  I lit up a Camacho as I ate, and I went back to my porch to finish everything up.  Everything was sorted from my end by the time I was done with the cigar, but I knew that I would be stressed until the final product was submitted to the client.  I was right.  I wrote about depression last night.  The thing about depression is that the little bad things seem awful while the good things have no savor, or they have no savor beyond the time they last.  I thought about writing one last entry from the porch, but it didn’t have the same allure as the one in Grenada.  I figured the airport entry would be better.

I got ready and headed into town to the restaurant I was told would have fried jack fish and breadfruit.  They did not, so I got smoked herring and provisions, along with the local beer.  Again, it was delicious, but, again, I had no appetite.  I think I ate less than half my meal, along with a VSG, which I am still smoking.  I got a taxi to take me to the airport, stopping at the hotel.  The check-in process hadn’t even begun when I got to the airport.  The airport is tiny, and there is no outdoor seating area.  I went to sit by the entrance on the curb, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can finish my cigar and check in.

Aboard LI 756, En route SVD-BGI

A LIAT flight has been a staple of each of my trips to the Lesser Antilles, whether it was the DOM-SLU flight that got cancelled two years, the ANT-SKB flight that was “only” delayed by 40 minutes last year, the GND-SVD flight a few days ago, or this one today where everything went perfectly.  It is fitting that I have now flown LIAT four times, and this is the first flight that has been on time.  It is also my last LIAT flight.  It is a brief flight, so it will be a brief entry.  They just reminded us that it was a “Non-smoking” flight.

I hate LIAT, but is also fitting that this flight to BGI, my last LIAT flight, will take me to where I need to be to say “Lesser Antilles Complete.”  I still have the DR, Haiti, Cuba, and the Bahamas to finish off the West Indies, but those all have direct flights on American carriers from JFK or MIA.  They will probably each also get their own trip, since combining Haiti and the DR could be tricky.  “Lesser Antilles Complete” will be one of the biggest geographical “completes” of my journey so far, and the one that has required the most work with three separate trips, all meticulously planned.  Actually, this one wasn’t meticulously planned.  It was just executed well.

When I get back to my office and stick up the last of the eight flag pins from the Lesser Antilles, I will not be able to describe how important that is to me.  Actually, my reader should understand at this point.  After I closed, I went to check in and then security.  The airport was tiny, but it was not as small as some of the airports we utilized in Alaska or the Canadian North.  I guess Gustavus had the smallest I can remember.  They said they had a lighter in my jacket.  I actually had three, so I reached in my and handed over the cheapest one.  Oh well.

I still have my torch in my checked luggage to last me in Barbados, assuming my bag makes it there.  Yeah, that’s something that LIAT could still fuck up on this flight.  I will never forget when I landed on the AA flight to Dominica, and the worker there was shocked that everyone got their bag.  Yeah, American carriers tend to do that.  I uploaded my photos to Facebook, followed up with the office on the project, and bought a bottle of rum.  It was not long before we were boarding.  Once we were airborne, I reached up to grab my laptop and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.  When I next write (from Bridgetown), the first words will, hopefully, be “Barbados Complete.  Lesser Antilles Complete.”

Bridgetown, Barbados

I grabbed a fish cake with my chopsticks and dipped it in pepper sauce.  “Barbados Complete.”  I paused to fight back tears of joy.  The next three words were what this trip (and the three trips I have taken over the past three years) has been leading to.  I was going to savor this moment forever.  “Lesser Antilles Complete.”  What could I add to make to make the quote even more spectacular?  “And I don’t see how the Greater Antilles could possibly be greater.”

Reader, there 8 countries in the Lesser Antilles, 4 in the Greater Antilles, 3 in North America proper, 7 in Central America, and The Bahamas.  That makes 23 (plus Greenland and Iceland if I want to count them).  I have now Officially visited 18 of them, and I have visited Parliament/Congress at each one, too.  I’ve been to 50 countries total, now, I just realized, and that is a hell of a milestone.  Of those 18 countries in the continental landmass, I have Completed 15 of them, now.  There are still lots of WHS for me to visit in the three countries in North America proper.  After I closed, we were soon landing.

I have been calling Barbados the crown jewel of the British West Indies, but that is something I made up, though it is not without merit.  Even before we landed, I knew that it was unmatched anywhere I have visited in the Lesser Antilles or the British West Indies as a whole.  The view as we were landing, unmatched.  The quality of the airport, unmatched, and it puts LGA to shame.  This was a major international airport with flights coming in from England, Germany, and Italy.  Actually, maybe the airport in Kingston could compete.

There was no line for Immigration, them having more than enough stations to quickly service the relatively small LIAT flight.  My bag came out quickly.  I exchanged my money for Barbados dollars, and I got a perfectly good exchange rate, better than what Google says is the rate, even, just having to pay a nominal fee (the price of a regular cup of coffee at Starbucks).  I bought a bottle of premium Mount Gay rum, which I look forward to enjoying over the weekend.  The taxi for the hotel was waiting for me outside.

Oh, right, the hotel.  I started to get a little concerned at Immigration.  The officer asked me where my hotel was.  She had never heard of it, which was not a good sign.  She looked it up on the computer, and it said Brittons Hill.  Is that a suburb of Bridgetown or a neighborhood?  I can’t get a straight answer from anyone.  It’s only 2 miles from Parliament, though.  I was concerned.  Were there hotels closer in town?  I had already prepaid, but “Brittons Hill, Barbados” just doesn’t have the same ring to it as “Bridgetown, Barbados” for my dateline.  If it was a neighborhood on the outskirts but within city limits, that wasn’t a problem.  If I was writing from 125^th Street, it would be “New York, New York,” not “Harlem, New York,” but, if I was writing from Atlantic Avenue, it would be “Brooklyn, New York.”  Google Maps says it’s in Bridgetown, and that is my default guide when in doubt, but I suppose I could add a parenthetical just to be safe.

The exchange clerk also never heard of the hotel.  In fact, no one has.  What did I get myself into?  I arrived at the hotel, and the clerk seemed dead set on letting me relax before I checked in.  I didn’t have time to relax.  I needed my picture at Parliament before sunset.  He was as nice as could be, but, eventually, I just had to ask him, “Can I have my key?”  He showed me to my room.  To call it rustic would be an understatement.  I have stayed in all sorts of hotels in my travels, but most have them are just a bed and a place to smoke and

write my entry.

This trip is different.  This trip I need hotels with living areas, too.  The one in Grenada had the balcony where I spent most of my time, but it was not a good “live-in” hotel.  The location was unbeatable, though.  In Saint Vincent, that was a great “live-in” hotel with the porch and the bar and the lounge.  This brings it to a whole other level.  The room is great.  It has wooden windows.  By that, I mean wooden slats that function as windows.  It has a bed outside.  Reader, recall all the times I have dragged mattresses outside?  This one already has the bed outside, with outlets!  The porch alone, with the bed, a table, two chairs, and a couch, is about the size of my apartment.

My taxi was ready before I changed into my casual clothes.  I was ready to do this.  I asked the driver where to go for souvenirs.  She thought everything would be closed by now, but the duty free shop might have souvenirs.  She dropped me off at Parliament.  I was ready for this.  Remember, three countries, three flag pins, three Parliaments.  Was Robin Williams still on my side?  Would he grant me my three wishes?  I lit up my Partagas, and I was so ready.  I was born ready.  I suppose that only my original readers can fully appreciate the significance of the next hour for me, but I ask everyone else to follow along.

I was literally skipping around the plaza of Parliament as I took my pictures.  Eight countries in the Lesser Antilles, eight Parliaments now, but only seven flag pins.  Time to find that last flag pin.  All the souvenir shops were closed (it wasn’t even yet 6 PM), but the duty free shop was open.  They had it all, the mug, the shot glasses, the key chains, the t-shirts, and, yes, the flag pin.  They also had rum and cigars, but I passed on that, having enough rum already and the cigars being overpriced.  It was raining when I left, but I just needed to walk across the famous, historic bridge after which this city is named to get to dinner, the last piece of the puzzle to make everything Official and Complete.  I ditched the Partagas on the way, but I knew I’d want another cigar with dinner.

I sat outside, and my table had a stunning view of Parliament.  Reader, did I mention that Historic Bridgetown and its Garrison is a WHS, and Parliament is the Official nomination photo?  In my excitement of visiting Parliament, I had completely forgotten.  However, as I sat down to dinner, I remembered, and the significance of it was not lost.  They had the local specialties: fish cakes and cou cou with flying fish.  Of course I ordered that, along with the local beer.

When my fish cakes came, the scene I mentioned at the beginning of this entry occurred, and then, I started singing, “God Save the Queen,” though I pay homage neither to God nor the Queen.  Now, I’m singing it again.  I got some rum to go with the main course, my third drink of the day, and now I’m regretting it.  I lit up a Jericho Hill to go with the main course, and it lasted all the back to the hotel, which the driver had trouble finding, since he’d never heard of it, either.

I got situated on the porch, where I lit up a Perdomo (I forgot to mention the Perdomo I had Tuesday when I went to the trade center Parliament in St. George’s) and proceeded to write this entry, which I will close so that I can publish it and also write a proposal that I promised I’d have ready for review by midnight.  I guess no Disney Night tonight.

Oh, wait, I’m calling today “Journey to the Past” for a reason.  Everything about this country, well, visually and architecturally feels like it’s from a different era.  It doesn’t feel like I’m staying in a hotel.  I truly am staying in a manor house.  The streets and buildings in Bridgetown are from another era.  It is not the modern Parliament I am used to seeing here.  It is a building that has stood for centuries.  Save my laptop and cell phone and clothing, you could take a picture of me on this porch, and it would seem just as accurate as from Colonial times.  While I am working with the most modern of technology tomorrow, it will be nice to feel like I am actually living in the past.

Spring Break 2015 - Day 5 - "Be Our Guest"

4/8/15

Kingstown, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines

Yes, this view is how I will always visually remember Saint Vincent.  Tonight is, most likely, the last night I will spend in the Windward Islands for quite some time, unless I decide to jet off to Martinique at some point, which I doubt I will do.  The pictures can only begin to capture the beauty of these so-called Lesser Antilles.  It is more than just a collection of islands.  It is a way of life.  However, what the pictures cannot express are the people.  They are some of the friendliest people in the world.

Further, these countries are four of the safest countries in the world, as well.  There is almost no crime here.  In the time I have spent in the Windward Islands (and the Leeward Islands), I have never once felt unsafe.  Sure, I have been approached by beggars, but they were harmless.  When I was in Britain at the beginning of last year, there was a story on the news that a Briton and, I think, his wife, were killed on their sailboat at harbor in Saint Lucia.  It was so shocking that that would happen, that a murder would occur in such a safe country, that it was the top developing story all day.

These are islands that thrive on tourism, and, as can be expected, at every restaurant and hotel I have visited, I was invited by the hosts to “Be Our Guest.”  I have come across some surly hotel staff and even surlier wait staff in my travels, but not in the Windward Islands.  Here, it is always, “Be our guest.”  While I have not yet seen any singing candlesticks or clocks or teapots, I have always been made to feel welcome.  Can I smoke out here?  “Be our guest.  I’ll bring you an ashtray.”  I can approach any stranger on the street for directions, and they are more than happy to oblige.

After I closed last night, I could not connect to the Wi-Fi, so I just went to sleep, saving it for the morning to publish.  I headed to the breakfast area where the manager was quick to great me.  He all but said, “Be our guest.”  Come to think of it, he reminds me of Lumiere.  I had prepaid the room, but I needed to sign some paperwork, but first he made sure I was situated for breakfast.  I ordered the local special and coffee.  The coffee was good, finally, and I lit up a Winston Churchill.  He had also told me that they changed the Wi-Fi code.  I was connected, so I got to work on publishing my entry, finishing just as the food arrived.  The meal was as delicious as all of my breakfasts in the Windward Islands have been.  Actually, that might be what I miss the most.  Reader, if you ever find yourself in the Windward Islands, please, I beg you, try the saltfish, it’s delicious.  (“Don’t believe me, ask the dishes.”)  You might balk at the idea of having saltfish for breakfast, but, if you don’t, you are truly missing out on something.

After breakfast, I brought some more coffee back with me and got right to work.  For my next cigar, I opted for a, wow, I can’t remember.  It was an Aroma de Cuba.  After I got done everything I needed to do in the morning, I got ready to head to town.  My driver last night had told me that there was only one place in town that had souvenirs, and the receptionist had told me the best place to go for lunch (Cobblestone).  All of my eggs were in that basket.  Was Robin Williams still on my team?  Would I get that second flag pin?  I walked down the hill and towards the souvenir shop.  Parliament was in the same area, too, and the restaurant was there, also.  I ditched my cigar before I walked in.  It was a first-rate souvenir shop, and I was surprised how many locals were there.  I asked if they had flag pins.  They had two different types.  Jackpot!  They were overpriced, but I got both of them.

Reader, I think you know me well enough that if the flag pin was the price of my airfare, I still would have bought it.  I also got some other assorted souvenirs, including a shot glass and a beer stein.  I handed her my card to pay, but she said their machine was down.  Hmm, I didn’t have enough cash on me, so I asked her where the ATM was.  She told me, and I asked again for directions from someone else, but I couldn’t find it, so I walked back.  I had enough cash to pay for everything but the shot glass and the beer stein, and I figured that walking around with glass wasn’t the best idea, anyway.  I also got better directions to the ATM and to Parliament.

I decided to go to Parliament first.  The famous, historic prison was right there, too, the oldest building on the island and, to my surprise, still in use.  It looked like it could house 20-30 inmates, tops.  The prison was right in town.  Reader, imagine having a prison in Washington, D.C., right along the National Mall.  Of course not.  The prison is in some isolated location in rural Kentucky or Colorado.  I took my pictures there, then I went to Parliament.  This was it, and I was going to do it up right.  I hadn’t had my Cuban yet, so it wouldn’t be Complete until I lit that up, so I allowed myself a bunch of pictures without the cigar first.  Then I lit up the Partagas.

“Saint Vincent and the Grenadines Complete.  Windward Islands Complete, and it’s been amazing.”  It truly has been.  I walked around, and the bank was actually on the way to the restaurant.  I went in, and I took out how much cash I thought I needed for the rest of the trip.  That was a mistake.  I had forgotten that Barbados uses their own currency, not the East Caribbean Dollar.  I guess I should be able to use up what I took out, but I should have taken out half the amount.  Otherwise, I’ll need to convert in Barbados, but that will not be the best idea.  I still had plenty of cigar left when I went to the restaurant.  I suppose that it was technically outdoor seating, but smoking was not allowed there.  I could smoke on the balcony.

I asked if they could bring my food out there.  They couldn’t, but they would let me know when it was ready, and I could leave the cigar there while I ate.  That would work.  I then looked at that menu, and my heart sank.  It wasn’t local food.  It was burgers and sandwiches.  Hmm, I was actually in the mood for a good burger, ordered one, along with the local beer.  I brought the beer back to the balcony as I enjoyed my cigar.  It wasn’t long before my burger was ready.  The meal was delicious.  I retrieved the rest of my cigar, which got a little waterlogged from a brief rain spell while I was eating, and I made my way back to the hotel.  I ditched the cigar before I got back, but I was spent.  I needed to lie down in the AC before I got back to work.

Once I recovered, I went outside to do some more work and lit up an Ardor.  I was not doing well in the heat, and I needed to take a nap after my pipe, which I did.  I spent the rest of my time working inside, giving up the smoke for the AC.  A little before 6 PM, I came out and talked with the owner again.  He asked the chef where I could find a local dish I wanted to try for lunch tomorrow, and I am looking forward to having dinner at the hotel restaurant, though I don’t expect that they will be singing, “Be our guest,” but the service will be just as good.

I went back to my porch, where I lit up a Padron, answered a few emails, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get on with my evening.  I’m thinking “101 Dalmatians” tonight.  Or maybe “The Princess and the Frog.”  Wonder if Netflix works here.  Okay, I’m rambling, so I’ll close.

I was wrong.  It won’t be this view that I remember when I think of Saint Vincent.  It won’t be the amazing saltfish I had for breakfast.  It won’t be time downtown.  It will be when the manager and the waiter all but said to me, “Be our guest.”  It was almost three hours ago that I closed, and I’m now only getting back to my balcony, and I know that I need to write this entry before I watch my movie (“The Princess and the Frog”).  I finished the Padron and headed to the patio for dinner, choosing the same table as last time.  What would I order?  I chose the lobster.  It was a little expensive (not by NY standards), but I had the extra EC dollars to spend, and the waiter recommended that.  I also ordered a rum.

A few minutes he came back saying that the manager invited me to be his guest for a drink.  I was expecting the foreigner who had greeted me this morning, but it was someone else, an older local.  He was sitting at the bar, so I joined him there, and the waiter poured me a drink.  Reader, it was almost two hours before we parted company, and I was not bored for a single minute.  That is what I will always remember about Saint Vincent.

When people ask me if I met any interesting people this trip, I will gladly answer that I did.  There were two types of dark local rum, and the waiter assured me that I could try both.  Free drinks.  I like that.  It was difficult to understand the two of them, as they had thick accents.  Ironically, one of them would later say that he thought Americans and Canadians had very similar accents.

For two hours the three of us talked about everything and everything from politics to the places we’ve been to everything that is wrong in the world to whether or not there will ever be peace in the Middle East.  For the last question, I said, “Maybe not in our lifetimes, but never is a long word.”  He insisted that there never would be peace.  I said again that not for at least 20 years but not never and reminded him of the religious wars between England and France and how they are best friends now.  (This was at the end of the evening, I’m going out of order.)

We spoke about all the killing in the history of the world that had occurred in the name of religion, occurring for as long as religion has existed.  He said that he couldn’t understand how anyone could take another life.  We spoke about all the weird plane incidents of the past year or so.  How could someone get so depressed that he would crash a plane?  Having plenty of experience with depression, I answered him that he probably got to a point where life had no meaning, so he just didn’t care about his life or anyone else’s.  Once you are at the point that you could take your own life, so what if you take other lives with yours?  I’m glad that I have never gotten to that point, but I was able to understand it.  What caused depression, he wanted to know.  I explained that it is often just a chemical thing, something goes wrong with the wiring of the brain.  He did not know that.

We talked about politics, about American politics, about the different candidates, about the Clintons, about the Bushes.  When I say “we,” the waiter was often included.  He asked about Sarah Palin.  I explained that McCain was a very centrist candidate, so they needed someone far to the right on the ticket to get out the vote.  We both agreed that we liked McCain.  We spoke about local politics.  There are two parties, one to the left, and one further to the left.  I said that that was in such sharp contrast to the right-wing politics of Central America.  The countries looks so similar, but the militaristic culture of Central America is very different than what is here.

Wow, I’m toasted.  Four rums will do that to me, I guess.  I talked with the waiter about the murder in Saint Lucia.  He remembered that.  I asked about the prison.  There is one other prison and a women’s prison.  The prison in town houses 400 inmates, mostly “crimes of passion,” according to the manager.  He said that the prison was next to the courthouse as a remnant of colonial times, just like the cemetery was next to the hospital.  “That’s efficient,” I offered.  There is so much that we talked about that I cannot possibly hope to record it all.  I did not see a single other person than the three of us for the whole time.

They also told me where I could I get fried jack fish and that if I told him earlier he would have gotten some for the chef to cook here.  “Be our guest” indeed.  I might need a nap before my movie.  I asked my famous question about what makes Saint Vincent culture different from other islands.  At first they didn’t understand.  I rephrased it.  They said something about the Carnival and music and other cultural activities.  Not what I meant.  What about the people?  There is more of a diversity of talent, more connection to the sea, lots of seafarers.  Okay, that worked, but it wasn’t as good as the answer I got in Grenada.

Alright, so what about this meal?  It was not long before my lobster came, and it was delicious.  The manager went towards the lounge area so that I could enjoy my meal in peace, and the waiter poured me a second drink.  After I was done, I brought the drink to where he was sitting.  We talked a little, but something was missing.  Reader, what do I need for a conversation like this after a meal like that?  A pipe of course.  I excused myself and went back to my room to grab a pipe, picking up an ashtray from the room.  Oh, we talked about drug laws, which are very strict here.  I lit up my Maestro de Paja, and we continued our conversation.  They brought me a third glass of rum.  I had had one with my cigar earlier, so that made four.  I can’t remember the last time I’ve had four drinks in one evening.  At least I can sleep in tomorrow.

After the pipe, I got some dessert, and I lit up a second bowl.  At 9 PM, they started to close up, and a bit after that, the manager said his goodbyes, and we exchanged niceties.  I went back to my balcony, where I finished my pipe and rum and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and watch my movie.  I might need a nap first, though, if I do, I might not wake up…