Three rubes take a road trip

Ann and Rita and I went to Atlanta to pick up my new dog.  Originally, Bud and I were going, but the schedule got changed so often he got frustrated with the whole thing.  By the time the day for the trip was finally settled upon, and he realized it was actually the day he had suggested and agreed to originally, I was so irritated by his attitude I wouldn't have let him go unless he was the only driver left in the state.  Ann and I had mentioned the trip to her husband, Tim, to see if he might want to come along to help her with the driving (since we all know I can't drive), but he just started muttering things about "Well Philip made the trip down and back" in so many hours ... blah, blah blah.  We decided he wasn't going to be any help and we didn't need him anyway.  We didn't even mess with Rita's husband, Harold.  He couldn't believe we were going to drive for five to six hours one-way to pick up a dog.  So it was going to be the three old dames on the road to Atlanta.


We planned to leave at 6:00 AM on Sunday morning.  We decided it would be easier on all of us if Bud and I spent the night with Tim and Ann, so we could start from her house in the morning.  Rita lives in High Point, fairly close to Ann, so it was no problem to swing by and pick her up.  Saturday morning Bud had to do some work at the McLeansville Wildlife Club, and I had a horrendous headache, so I went back to bed.  At 12:30 PM, just as I had awakened and started to get up, the phone rang.  It was Ann and she wanted to know how hard it was snowing at my house.  I looked out the window and told her I couldn't see any snow.  She was amazed because it was coming down hard and fast at her house.  As we were talking, I watched a flake or two drift down, then a few more, then a bit more, then a noticeable amount more, and by the time I got off the phone, it was snowing pretty seriously outside my window too.  Bud chose exactly that moment to walk through the door.  They had finished the work on the barbecue pits at the perfect time, because they were working outside, and it would be pretty hard to see what they were doing with the way the snow was coming down.  Bud took a shower, and we packed an overnight bag and headed off to High Point, though I'm relatively sure Bud thought I would be returning home with him in the morning.


When we got there, Tim was all negative and nay-saying  -- he said we three women were never gonna get to Atlanta with that snow out there.  I explained to Tim that the snow was supposed to stop by midnight, that it was not snowing south of us, and that unless we had a blizzard, we were going.  I don't think he or Bud believed us.  Harold didn't even believe Rita would be able to get out of bed in time enough for us to leave at 6:00 AM.  However, before they went to bed Saturday night, Tim and Bud checked the weather, the roads, the traffic reports and made sure there were no football games or NASCAR races taking place anywhere between High Point and Atlanta, so we wouldn't have to worry about traffic jams.  I'm sure they were trying to be helpful and considerate, and I appreciate it, but it's not like we've never been in traffic before.  And, how hard could this be?  You get on I-85 and go south until you reach Atlanta.   You get the dog and get back on I-85 and go north until you get back home.  We figured we could do that without a guide, or a GPS, or even a map.


At 5:00 AM the next morning, we were up and drinking coffee.  We left Ann's house a little before 6:00 AM and got to Rita's about five after.  Rita came shuffling out, dressed like an Eskimo, but she was ready to go.  We hit the road.  We had a great ride down to Atlanta.  The roads were fine.  The traffic was light.  We just cruised along like we knew what we were doing, and we got to Atlanta by 11:00 AM.  I called the dog's foster parents, who were meeting us.  They were driving up from the Alabama coast and their drive was approximately the same distance as ours.  I told them we had taken the Chamblee-Tucker Road exit, just north of Atlanta, and we were at a Dairy Queen, where we planned to get lunch and wait for them.  They had just crossed into Georgia, and figured they were about an hour away.


As it turned out, the Dairy Queen was not open for lunch until 11:30 AM, so we set off in search of another place to eat.  We stopped at a number of places, but none of them were open until 11:30 AM or noon on Sunday.  I find this to be very odd.  I know about blue laws and stuff, and I know Atlanta is smack in the Bible Belt, but so is North Carolina and we can get food on Sunday before 11:30 AM.  I was aghast to find Atlanta (a major metropolitan area) more regressive than Greensboro and High Point (two less than teeming municipalities).   We settled for lunch at the Subway, which opened at 9:00 AM because they now serve breakfast.  Following lunch we drove back to the Dairy Queen to wait for my new dog.  After what seemed like an eternity, they pulled up and the three of us ran excitedly toward their car.  I'm sure they were wondering by what or whom they were being invaded.  But we met Georgia my dog, and her foster parents, conducted the business of paying and paperwork, put Georgia in Ann's van and headed back to North Carolina in less than 30 minutes.  The fact that it was below 40º and the wind was whipping around at about 20 mph, had nothing to do with our haste (sure).


And so we were headed home and were feeling pretty smug and self-satisfied about our little adventure, which thus far had been disaster free, unlike the dire predictions of some men we know.  We stopped briefly at a rest area in southern South Carolina and took Georgia out for a walk.  Last year, when the economy of our country was in the pits, many states closed rest areas, in theory to save money.  Virginia had closed almost all of their rest areas along I-85 and so had South Carolina.  But on our last trip to Maryland, we noticed the Virginia rest areas were back in business, and on our trip down to Atlanta we noticed all the South Carolina rest areas were open.  Unfortunately, that can't be said for the state of Georgia.  We didn't see  a single usable rest area from Atlanta to the South Carolina border.


After our brief stop, we were motoring along making great time when Rita decided she needed to call her youngest daughter.  Her daughter had not been feeling well and thought she might have a kidney infection, so she was going to one of the urgent care facilities to see a doctor.  Unfortunately, Rita couldn't find her cell phone.  She looked in her purse, all around the front seat area of the van, in her coat pockets, in every place she could think to look, but alas, no cell phone.  I tried to call Rita's phone from my phone, and I could hear it ringing, but there was no ringing noise audible in the van.  Rita couldn't remember if she had seen her phone since we left Atlanta, and assumed it had dropped from her coat pocket either at the Dairy Queen or at the rest stop in South Carolina.  We debated turning around.  I tried calling again, with the same result.  Rita didn't think we needed to back track just for a cell phone and I said if it was my phone, I wouldn't turn around, so we decided to just go on.  Rita called her oldest daughter and asked her to tell Harold that Rita had lost her phone and have him call to cancel her service.  She borrowed Ann's phone to call her daughter to find out about the kidney infection (which, in fact, is what was wrong with her).  Her daughter said she had tried to call Rita several times, but got no answer, so Rita explained about the missing phone.  Well, okay.  We weren't going to make the trip completely without issues, but the cell phone was something we could all handle.


Then Ann decided to put her window down for just a brief second.  That was fine, except it would not go back up.  She hit the button for up, but nothing happened.  She tried down, and that worked just fine.  However, now the window was more than half-way down and it was not going up.  She tapped the button lightly.  Nothing.   We pulled off the highway, and she opened and slammed her car door.  Nothing.  She smacked the door panel.  Nothing.  It would keep on going down, if that was what we wanted, but it was not going up no matter what.  Well, it was in the very low 40's outside and windy.  Driving up the highway at 70 mph with your driver's side window open makes for a bit of a nippy ride.  Ann turned the heat up full blast but that was really not much help.  Ann put her coat on, then she wrapped her scarf around her neck and over her ears, then she put her hat on, but she was still getting a frozen face.  Rita also had to bundle up to stay warm.  Georgia and I were in the back, and not directly in the flow of the wind, so we stayed reasonably warm.  But we all suffered from the percussion like pressure changes caused by the wind, and the constant noise.  Okay, so now we had a real problem.  Our little adventure was not going to be free from chaos.  The guys would be able to gloat.  But we didn't think we should be held responsible for the window motor going out.  It was just really poor timing.


And, there we were, whizzing up the highway, when Rita pops up holding her cell phone in her hand.  It seems she was sitting on it.  When I wondered out loud why it didn't ring when I called it, Rita's remark was "I'm glad I didn't have it on vibrate."  Okay, that started us. We laughed and giggled for ten minutes.  Then Ann adds to the whole thing by suggesting the ringing was "butt blocked".  Well, we might as well have some fun with it, since we were freezing to death and irritated.  Rita tried to call Harold to tell him she had found her phone, but discovered her service had already been terminated.  Talk about efficiency!  So, I loaned her my phone to call.  Harold was not available, so she got her oldest daughter again and asked her to relay the message.  We knew we were never going to hear the end of how the three of us couldn't even take a simple trip to Atlanta without some disaster, so what the heck.  Before we got home, Rita's service has been reinstated.  I would love to have heard what Harold told the people at Verizon when he called the second time.


We were at my house by 6:15 PM (thank God, any longer and my head would have exploded).  We brought Georgia in the house and introduced her to the other three dogs.  Ann and Rita were anxious to get back to High Point, so they took off almost immediately.  I can't say I blame them.  It was still a 30 minute trip for them, with the window down, the temperature now in the mid-30's and dropping, and the wind beating their brains through their ears.  But, we had done it!.  We went down to Atlanta, got Georgia, and returned all in one day, without major disaster -- SO THERE!  For the record, Georgia did not cause even one second of trouble throughout the entire trip.


I soon went to lie down to try to get over the unbelievable headache.  Bud got on the phone with his brother, but yelled down the hall for me to come get Georgia.  Poor baby, not knowing the rules and being so confused, she had an accident.  Bud wanted me to take Georgia back in the bedroom with me, but he didn't say anything about the other dogs.  So I came out and got Georgia, took her back to our bedroom and closed the door.  Then I tried to rest again.  I occasionally checked the phone to see if Bud was still on it.  Georgia was pacing and panting and scratching on the door because she wanted out.  Once I noticed Bud was finished talking to his brother, I picked up the phone and called his handset from my extension.  No answer.  So I called another handset located in the front of the house.  Still no answer.  But, Bud opened the bedroom door, stuck his head in and said "the phones are going nuts".  I thought I would roll off the bed laughing.  He didn't see the humor in it, since he didn't know the phones had intercom capability, but I found it hysterical.  He let Georgia out, and there were no more incidents.


After a lot of sniffing and a few growls and one episode of bared teeth, Georgia settled right in to the household.  We love her already.  What a sweetheart she is.

You can see Bailey in the background.

Fast asleep after a hard morning playing.

The following announcement is brought to you by....

Bad weather.  It is cloudy and cold today.  The forecast is rain and snow tonight.  What the Hell is that all about?  As near as I can tell, I still live in North Carolina and it ISN'T SUPPOSED TO SNOW IN DECEMBER!  Anyway, I have a massive headache, so I'm headed back to bed.  I won't be around tomorrow.  I suppose all of you will just have to sit on the edge of your seats and bite your fingernails down into the quick, anxiously awaiting my return.  I wish!   Love.

With this ring (aka The Great Ketchup Conflict)

June of 1999 was a very special year for us in Freeport.  We brought our friends Tim and Ann along, as well as another couple, Ron and Susan Landreth.  Tim and Ron were in a band called White Men in Debt, so they brought their guitars along with them.  If you've ever known anyone who's in a band, their instruments are just as much a part of them as their arms and legs.  Where they go, the instrument goes.  Since Tim's guitar (Gilda) is a 1965 Guild 12-string acoustic guitar, and worth a lot of money as well as being irreplaceable, he brought it as carry-on luggage.  Weeks before we left, he carefully checked the size of the overhead bins in all the planes on which we would be passengers.  So now, not only would we have sun, sand, sea and surf, we would be serenaded in the moonlight (and the daylight).

Actually, there was another reason the six of us were going to the Bahamas.  Tim and Ann were getting married.  It was sort of an elopement.  Both Tim and Ann have lived in High Point, North Carolina all their lives (except for the short while Tim lived in Baltimore).  Both of their families are prominent and well known.  Tim is an only child, Ann is an only daughter (she has one brother).  If they had decided to get married in High Point, the mothers of both bride and groom would have insisted on a formal wedding.  The whole thing would have turned into a three ring circus, which is exactly what Tim and Ann wanted to avoid.  So they eloped to Freeport with four of their closest friends.  Conveniently, Bud and I had a timeshare where we could all stay for free.  However, arranging a wedding meant there were several tasks involved that would be unlike anything we had ever done in Freeport in the past.

Fortunately, one of the first things we did was find a taxi driver and make him our personal valet.  His name was Dudley, and after our first fare he gave us his business card and told us to call him anytime, day or night, when we needed to go anywhere.  He was as good as his word.  The trips to the grocery store to get enough breakfast and lunch food for six people for a week were so much easier with your own personal driver.  The trips to the liquor store didn't require a driver, since the liquor stores were handily located within walking distance just across the street at the International Bazaar, but if he saw us trudging back with arms loaded, he would pick us up and drive us to the hotel front door.  The trips to the government buildings to get the marriage license and arrange for a minister were far less painful with Dudley showing the way and greasing the wheels to get through the red tape.  He was pleasant, punctual, informative, and turned out to be one of the best things to happen to us on any trip to Freeport.  One evening we were walking back from the casino and it started to rain.  We were all going to make a run for it, but as soon as we ran out from under the canopy, there was Dudley, offering us a ride back to the hotel so we wouldn't get wet.  He wouldn't even let us pay him.  We invited him to the wedding, but he said he needed to drive and make money.  He was in a competition for something like "cabbie of the year", and he was in the lead.  He didn't want to lose his edge.  He certainly would get our vote for cabbie of the decade.

Once all the wedding details were arranged, we settled into some serious recreating.  One day we all went to the beach, but the guys did not bring their instruments.  Such a shame, because that day there was a local band playing at the snack shack.  Tim and Ron could not resist joining the band.  The Bahamian band did not know all the words to Margaritaville so Tim and Ron went up to teach them, while the rest of us in the peanut gallery sang along.  After the impromptu show, we decided to get something to eat.  The guys went up to the shack for burgers and fries.  Ann asked Tim to get a large order of fries so they could share them.  And that's how it started -- The Great Ketchup Conflict.  Ann likes her ketchup in a large puddle to the side for dipping the fries.  Actually, I prefer my ketchup that way too.  Tim, on the other hand, wants his ketchup squirted all over the top of the fries, and that's exactly what he did (Bud coats his fries with blobs of ketchup too).  When he arrived at the table with the obviously now tainted fries, Ann went just a little bit ballistic.  Now, in Ann's defense I must say, she was about to get married and she was suffering some formidable premarriage jitters.  This was not her first marriage, so I would have thought it wouldn't mess with her head so much, but she was on the verge of becoming a serious basket case.  It would have been a simple matter for Tim to just pour ketchup all over only half of the fries, but thoughts like that never enter Tim's universe.  The rest of us just sat there flabbergasted as the ketchup debacle escalated into hostilities just short of bloodshed.  It appeared a few streams of ketchup were going to doom the nuptials.  Fortunately, calmer heads eventually prevailed, but the escapade will live forever in the minds of those present.

Other than premarital delirium, the wedding went off with only one more minor hitch.  The original plan was to hold the service in the gardens outside the hotel.  Unfortunately, Mother Nature chose that particular time to be a little cranky herself, and we had to move to the hotel lobby to keep from getting drenched.   The lobby, of course, meant everyone passing through now became an uninvited guest at the performance, but, hey, we're nothing if not versatile.  Tim wore his dress white shorts and formal flip flops.  We did make him put down his snifter of scotch until after the ritualistic ceremony.  Ann dressed more formally, and managed to make it through without further drama.  Once the "I will" parts were done, the now significantly larger audience applauded the newlyweds, the proper paperwork was completed, and we adjourned to the bar for further celebrations.  The rest of the week was a happy honeymoon for all.

While Ann was taking a shower to get ready for the wedding, Tim wrote a love song for her.  He really doesn't do love songs often, so I, for one, was quite impressed.  He also wrote it in less time than it took Ann to complete her shower.  The song, and the lovely couple are shown below.

The Bougainvillea Waltz

  By Tim Webb

Bougainvillea, my darling,

Grows by our window tonight.

We are down in the islands

And everything's gonna be all right.

Chorus

I hear your voice in the darkness, 

I feel your body close to mine.

Yes, we are back in the islands

And everything's gonna be just fine.

We've been a long time coming

To the place we have found.

We will be down be the ocean

When the sun goes down.

I hear the rain on the window.

I hear the wind in the trees.

I smell the fragrance of the flowers.

I'm glad that you are here with me.

No problem, Mon!

Most years we went back to Freeport.  We banked our week and traded for another location a few times, but we were happy in the Bahamas and we wanted to go there more than anywhere else.  Our first apartment was a one bedroom, which theoretically slept four if your guests weren't interested in comfort or privacy.  We wanted to share our tropical paradise with friends, and provide comfort and privacy, so we upgraded to a two bedroom unit in 1995.


Our unit had a complete kitchen and we took advantage of it.  We went shopping at the local grocery store and bought supplies for breakfasts and lunches.  We opted to eat dinner at a restaurant each night.  Our unit was at the Princess Country Club Hotel, and was across the street from the Princess Towers Hotel and the Princess Casino.  We had access to all restaurants and all pools at both facilities as well as the seafood buffet served in the restaurant in the casino.  We were also conveniently located across from the International Bazaar in Freeport, which offered hundreds of shops, liquor stores, restaurants and the straw market.  The Bahamas are noted for their high quality and inexpensive (by U.S. standards) emeralds, and jewelry stores abound.  We could walk to almost everything we needed, and what we couldn't walk to was just a short taxi ride away.  We even started buying the necessary ingredients to make our own Bahama Mamas to save a few bucks when it wasn't happy hour (when you got two for the price of one).  Liquor in the Bahamas was far less expensive than in the U.S. so we always stocked up on a supply of Bailey's Irish Cream to bring back to North Carolina.  We found an incredible restaurant named Pier 1 that required a taxi ride, but was well worth the trip.  Pier 1 was actually built on stilts out over the water and each evening the staff fed the lemon sharks living in the waters beneath the restaurant.  So, we could sit outside watching the sharks feeding, while feeding on shark (Bud did).  The food at Pier 1 was a cut above most of the local establishments.  The decor was typically nautical, but the service was top notch and the staff friendly and informed.  Pier 1 was completely destroyed by hurricanes in 2004, but has been rebuilt and reopened in February, 2009 -- see legendary Pier 1 reopening.


Sometimes during the day we'd go on little excursions or side trips -- beach parties, boat excursions, flora and fauna viewing.  One year Bud and I paid to spend a day as assistant dolphin trainers.  We got our money's worth.  We spent the entire day helping the staff at the dolphin facility with feedings and training.  We saw the regular daily dolphin show, but after the tourists left, we we allowed to swim with the dolphins.  We went with the staff when they took a boat out into the open water and brought along two dolphins from the facility.  The dolphins stayed near the boat the entire time and it was exciting to have them swimming alongside and leaping out of the water while we were motoring along.  When we turned back, the dolphins turned back too.  They had absolutely no interest in taking off into the wild.  I'd say those guys knew who provided their meals.

Most days we'd just go to the beach.  At the beach there were waitresses to bring you drinks, or you could walk up to the bar and get your own (we usually brought a stash of our homemade Bahama Mamas in a cooler).  You could get hot dogs, hamburgers and fries.  There were straw market stalls with towels, t-shirts, dresses, bathing suits and cover ups for sale.  There were girls who braided and they would braid anything.  One even offered to braid the hair on Bud's chest (which is usually longer than the hair on his head).  I never got any braids, but because I almost always have long hair, it was a never ending effort to get those girls to go away.  There were people selling jewelry like ankle bracelets and necklaces made from shells and beads.  There were volleyball nets, there were catamarans, there were jet skis, there was para-sailing.  I did that one year.  What a great ride!  And there was beautiful, clear blue, warm water.   After a day at the beach, we'd head back to the hotel and get in the pool or the hot tub while we consumed our quota of Bahama Mamas during happy hour.


Most evenings we'd wander over to the casino for awhile.  I'd throw away about $20 worth of quarters in the slots.  Sometimes I took an hour or two; sometimes it was over in ten to fifteen minutes.  Bud would play blackjack, and after studying the book he bought, he now won more often than he lost.  One evening I had just about run my course at the slots.  It was a 25¢ machine, and you had to play three quarters for the big payoff.  I dropped my last three quarters in the machine, got up off my stool, pulled the handle (back then they all still had handles instead of buttons -- I liked the handles much better) and almost started to walk away.  Suddenly there were bells and whistles and flashing lights and the lighted bar on top my machine started whirling around.  One of the casino employees came over and told me to sit on my stool and stay there until he came back, because they were going to pay the money to person who was sitting on the stool when they returned.  I was totally in shock.  I had just hit the jackpot for that particular machine.  When the three guys in black suits came back, I was glued to that stool.  They made me sign a bunch of papers, and then they presented me with $750.  It wasn't a fortune, but it was a jackpot and it was mine.  I asked them if they were going to report me to the IRS, but they said they weren't required to do that for such a small amount.  But, yes, for all you nitpickers out there, I did report it on my 1040 that year.  I still play the slots, but I've never even come close to winning anything again.


We loved our home away from home in the Bahamas and so did everyone we took with us.  The properties changed hands and went from Princess to Royal Oasis, but the adventure remained.  Until those same two hurricanes that destroyed Pier 1 in 2004, also destroyed our home in the Bahamas, and the economy of Grand Bahama Island and Freeport in particular.   Pier 1 has recovered, but the economy, the two hotels and the casino have not.  There are plans (see What's Happening with Royal Oasis), but it looks as if it will still be awhile before progress is made. 

A not so tropical island paradise

As a "bonus" for buying a timeshare at the Princess Country Club Hotel in Freeport, we got a free week at one of several other Princess properties of our choice.  I don't remember where all of them were, but I do recall one was in Scottsdale, Arizona.  I'm sure Scottsdale is a nice place but the last time I looked at a map it was not situated on any ocean or sea.  To me that means, though there would probably be a whole lot of sun and sand, there would not be much in the way of waves or tropical breezes. Two outta four doesn't make it.  Scottsdale just isn't my kinda town.  One of the other choices though was Bermuda.  Sun, check.  Sand, check.  Ocean, check.  Tropical breezes, check.  It looked like four outta four, so in 1993 we went to Bermuda.  The free week was supposed to be in addition to our normal timeshare week in Freeport, but we didn't have the time or the money to go on an island vacation twice in one year.  We banked our timeshare week and went to Bermuda instead.


Bermuda is sometimes considered a tropical island, but it isn't really.  The island group is located due east of the Carolinas at latitude 32º 20' N.  The Tropic of Cancer is at latitude 23º 26' N.  However, Bermuda owes its subtropical climate to its position in the Sargasso Sea, east of the warm Gulf Stream current.  The result of this fortunate position is temperate year round conditions -- warmer in winter and cooler in summer than the mainland cities at the same latitude.  Though the territory of Bermuda consists of 181 islands, there is one main island, usually called Bermuda, where the two incorporated municipalities are located.  These are the City of Hamilton (the capital city) and the Town of St. George (the largest city).  There are other villages on the islands, but the majority of the population are found in one of the two large municipalities.


The roads on the island are narrow, and there are restrictions on who may own a car (only Bermudian residents and only one per family) and the size of vehicles.  A large portion of traveling is done on scooters.  Scooters are available for rent, and that is unquestionably the best way to get anywhere.  As long as you remember, these people are Brits and they drive on the "wrong" side of the road.  Again, I did not dare attempt anything so risky as piloting myself.  I rode along as a passenger on the back of Bud's scooter, which was daredevil enough for me in that traffic on the wrong side of those teensy roads, around curves, up and down steep hills.  But Bud was a great helmsman, and we traversed the entire island on our little scooter, visiting quaint little perfume and glass shops, and locating secluded little out of the way beaches.  I have to say, in all the place I have been, I have never seen water quite the same color as it is in Bermuda.  There aren't a lot of sandy beaches in Bermuda, but the ones that are there are beautiful.  Horseshoe Bay is a popular spot for waterfront activities, and rightly so.


Hamilton is a fun little city with shops and taverns and businesses and grocery stores.  The smaller cruise ships (less than 700' long) dock at a pier in the middle of downtown Hamilton.  One afternoon we sat on the outside second floor balcony of an Irish pub in Hamilton and watched the cruise ship passengers disembark.  I can think of worse ways to waste an afternoon.   During our week there, Bermudians celebrated one of their holidays, and the entire City of Hamilton was turned into a giant street fair.  We could have stayed another week and not run out of places to see and things to do.


As mentioned earlier, Bermuda is a British territory and it is still verrrrry British.  They still have afternoon tea at 4:00 PM.  You are expected to dress for dinner.  Bathing suits are not to be worn in the hotel lobby.  The entire atmosphere is much more formal and not nearly as laid-back as any of the islands further south.  We had heard things were a bit more expensive in Bermuda than other islands, and we found that to be true.  But we believe we received a good value for the money spent.  The cities of Hamilton and St. George were immaculate.  In the entire week we were there we did not see any trash, we did not see any seemingly abandoned properties going to ruin, we did not see a single individual who could even remotely have been considered a vagrant.  Those things may exists in Bermuda, but they are certainly not obvious to the casual observer.


We had a great vacation, and both of us are glad to have had the opportunity to visit, though we have not returned.  Will we go back to Bermuda?  Probably not.  We both prefer the more relaxed atmosphere of the Caribbean.  There's just something in that true tropical air that calls to my soul, as if beckoning me home.  

Back to the islands

The second time I went to the Bahamas was in May of 1992.  Bud and I belonged to a bowling league and the league decided to have a contest to see who could earn the most money for charity.  First prize was an all expenses paid (with only a few little asterisks) four day/three night vacation to Freeport in the Bahamas.  It was actually a gambling junket package that Princess Hotels and Casino offered, but it was in the Bahamas and it was almost free.  The object of the contest was to get people (theoretically, your friends) to agree to pay a certain amount of money per pin for a preselected game you would bowl (for example, 10¢ per pin and you score a 175 would mean that person would pay $17.50 toward your charity).  I was a slightly below average bowler.  I really enjoyed the sport, but I've never been good at things that require hand/eye coordination, or that require walking and doing anything else at the same time.  I could never put any of that fancy spin stuff on the ball.  I usually started the season bowling around 160, but by the time the season was over my average had dropped to around 135 or 140.  This is exactly the opposite of how it is supposed to happen.  You are supposed to improve each week.  Well, as we all know, I've never been very good at doing things the way they are supposed to be done.


So, I set out to get people to pledge some money for my bowling.  This was my opportunity to get even.  Throughout my entire work history, I had always been the person who did not have children in school or scouts who were selling candy or magazines or wrapping paper or some other fundraising hooha.  When I was in school or girl scouts, we personally went door-to-door trying to sell our wares.  Well, actually I was only a girl scout for three weeks before I was unceremoniously booted out because I seemed to have some difficulty blindly following orders that seemed foolish to me.  Which makes one wonder how I ever lasted my entire enlistment in the military.  But, back to the fundraising.  It has been a very long time since it was safe to send children out knocking on strangers' doors, so parents now do the fundraising and the kid reaps the benefits.  Parents bring the booklets and order forms to their place of employment and corral fellow employees into buying all sorts of things for which they have no use.  For years, just to keep these parents from badgering me, I ordered all sorts of paraphernalia that would sit around my home gathering dust (unless it was chocolate) until I finally got tired of looking at it and either donated it to charity or threw it out.  Now, at last, I was to get my revenge.  Every parent from whom I had ever purchased any item for their child's fundraising efforts was now fair game for my charity bowling event, and there were a bunch of them.  In the overall scheme of things, the score was never close to even.  I only did this once in my life.  Parents did it every year they had kids in school or scouts -- the same parents year after year after year.


After I got all my suckers donors lined up, I went to the Controller of the company where I worked and talked him into a matching donation.  This meant if I earned $300 from my "friends" pledges, the company would throw in another $300 and my contribution to charity would be $600.  Somehow I managed to coerce enough people to sponsor me so when I bowled a 187 game, my charity earnings were around $650.  My company kicked in another $650, bringing my total to around $1300, which by far surpassed any other bowler in the league.  I won the trip!!!!


I was so excited I couldn't sit still.  I talked Bud into kicking in a little of our own money and extending it to five days/four nights.  The airfare was the same (free) and we basically ended up paying for just one night in the Princess Country Club Hotel in Freeport since the other nights were included in the package.  As it got closer and closer to our departure date, I got more and more excited.  Bud, on the other hand, was completely blasé and uninterested.  To be perfectly honest, he was really getting on my nerves with his apathetic attitude.  Finally, when he got on my last nerve, I demanded to know what was the matter with him, and did he think maybe I should take someone else since he didn't seem to have the least bit of excitement or anticipation.  He explained that he had never been to the islands, he had no idea what to expect, and he couldn't get excited since he didn't know whether he would enjoy himself or not.  I just threw my hands up and walked off muttering.  What?  He couldn't believe me when I told him how incredible it was going to be?  Men!  Sometimes I wonder how it is we ever manage to live together at all. 


Our airplane left at oh-dark-thirty in the morning from Raleigh, North Carolina.  Raleigh is an hour and a half from our home.  The plane was chartered by Princess and was a direct flight from Raleigh to Freeport.  They offered Bahama Mamas (a rum drink you can never get enough of) in flight.  We arrived in beautiful, warm, sunny Freeport early in the day and had plenty of time to check in and get to the beach.  We received a coupon book as part of the package with specials at some of the hotel restaurants and some chips to get started at the casino.  The purpose, of course, is to get you into the casino and tempt you to spend your own money -- a lot of your own money.  It was the first time I'd ever been in a casino and I was fascinated by the noise and the flashing lights and the brilliant tackiness of it all.  I'm a bit like a crow and easily distracted by sparkly things.  I only play the 25¢ slots though.  And even then I only play until I lose a preset amount of money and then I walk away.  Bud plays blackjack, and after our first visit to the Bahamas he bought a book and studied how to be a better blackjack player. 


It took Bud less than 30 minutes to decide he was a tropical island kinda guy.  As a matter of fact, he had such a grand time, we purchased a timeshare apartment right there at the Princess Country Club so we could return often.  Why is it this guy never believes me when I tell him I know what he likes?

OMG, I'm a Parrothead!

With these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes
Nothing remains quite the same
With all of my running and all of my cunning
If I couldn't laugh I just would go insane
If we couldn't laugh we just would go insane
If we weren't all crazy we would go insane
... Jimmy Buffett


The first time I went to the Bahamas was in August of 1975 or 1976.  My sister, Cindy, was stationed on Eleuthera Island and I was living in Atlanta.  I decided to go for a visit.  Now the world was a different place in the mid-1970's, and a lot of the things we take for granted today just didn't exist back then.  People went to the Bahamas, but they went to Nassau or Freeport.  Rarely did anyone vacation on Eleuthera.


Eleuthera is a long skinny island, about 110 miles long.  If I remember correctly, the airport was at one end and the Naval Facility was at the other.  Cindy didn't live on the Naval Facility but she did live near it.  I was not allowed on the facility.  Though I had a high security clearance when I was in the military, I was no longer in the service.  Even if I had been, no matter how much of a security clearance you have, there's this little thing called "need to know".  Well, I didn't need to know what was going on at her facility, so there was no reason for me to go there.  The Naval Facility on Eleuthera was decommissioned in 1980.


Cindy picked me up at the airport, but my suitcase didn't make the whole trip.  My plane had stopped in Bimini and, apparently, so had my suitcase.  It went on to Jamaica and Puerto Rico (places I have still never been) before it finally made it to Eleuthera, on the day I was leaving to go home.  Fortunately, Cindy and I were still the same size in the mid-1970's.  I had donated all my Navy uniforms to her, so she had no problem loaning me a few things to wear while I was visiting.  After all, we were in the Bahamas.  How much clothing does a person need?


The ride from the airport to her apartment scared me silly.  It was the first time I had been in a country that drove on the left side of the road.  It was dark before we got to her apartment and I just could not get used to seeing car headlights coming at me from the "wrong" side of the road.  I don't know how she ever adjusted.  I've been back to the Bahamas many times, but I have never operated a vehicle of any sort while there.  I consider myself lucky when I make it across the street without being run over, since invariably I look the wrong way before I start across the road.


Her apartment was pretty basic, meaning it didn't have air conditioning.  Like I said, it was a bit of a different world back then.  She had some fans, and there were tropical breezes, but it can get downright toasty in August on a tropical island.  Another thing I had some difficulty with was milk.  I am a big milk drinker.  In the mid-1970's the milk on Eleuthera was all imported (it may still be for all I know) and was frozen before it was transported.  Well, milk looses at little something once it's frozen and then defrosted -- something like taste!  It becomes watery and bland.  I'd like to think they have figured out a better way of importing milk by now.  Maybe someone got the bright idea of raising dairy cows.  I hope someone did something, because that stuff was awful.


One night Cindy took me out to eat at the one and only restaurant on the island.  This was the first time I ate langostino, which is a crustacean somewhere between a very small lobster and a really large shrimp.  It was, of course, delicious.  The rest of the time we ate at her apartment, or at little local café type establishments.  She also took me to this really interesting place where the width of the island is so small you can stand with one foot in the Atlantic Ocean and the other in the Caribbean Sea.  We went for some walks around the town area where she lived.  One day while we were walking along a seawall barrier, Cindy grabbed my arm and pulled me over to go around a fishing line that was cast into the sea and laying on the wall.  I thought she'd gone a little bit batty on me, until she explained, then I knew she was loco.  One day not long after she had arrived, Cindy had stepped across a Haitian woman's fishing line and the woman had chased after her to put a curse on her.  She told Cindy that by crossing her fishing line she had jinxed it so she was putting a curse on her to get even.  There were a number of Haitians who had escaped to the Bahamas during the turmoil after Papa Doc's death.  Papa Doc had ruled Haiti with a mix of a rural militia, personality cults and Voodoo.   A large portion of the Haitian population believed in black magic.  Cindy didn't want us to be cursed.


One day we went swimming.  Cindy brought along her boyfriend, but I don't remember his name.  He seemed a little uncommunicative, but hey, I wasn't the one dating him so what did I care?  He and I were in the water and Cindy was up on the beach.   I was standing about 10' from shore in water up to my chest, when he pops up out of nowhere right next to me and very calmly says, "I think you better get out of the water."  I looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language and was about to tell him what he could do with his thoughts when Cindy yells from the beach, "If he says get out, then get out now."  So, I'm thinking to myself these two have both gone off the deep end, but rather than cause a problem (who me?), I just started heading for the beach.  About halfway there I turned around to make sure Cindy's friend was getting out of the water too.  I mean, after all, if I had to get out, everyone had to get out.  Yes, he was heading toward shore also, and then I saw why.  There was this nice shark dorsal fin sticking out of the water about two feet from where I had been standing just a minute or so before.  Well, I sped up my retreat just a bit, but by the time we got up on the beach I was furious.  I was fussing and fuming at whatsisname.  I asked him why in the world he had not told me there was a shark instead of just calmly telling me to get out of the water.  His reply was he didn't want me to get hysterical.  Me?  Hysterical?  Oh, something like I was at the moment because he had treated me like a simpering idiot?  Since I was now acting exactly like what he said he had hoped to avoid, I'm sure he believed he made the right choice in not being honest with me.  However, I do not believe I would have panicked.  I actually might have moved a little more readily if I had known there was a problem instead of just thinking he was a jerk.  However, bloodshed was avoided, both in and out of the water.


The day before I was scheduled to fly back to Atlanta, hurricane watches were posted on Eleuthera.  The skies grew dark and cloudy, the winds picked up and the water became very choppy.  If the hurricane were to actually hit, the airport would close and there would be no way off the island.  There was one public telephone on the entire island.  Yes, you read that correctly -- one!  But we made the trek to the telephone so I could call my employer in Atlanta to explain the possibility that my vacation might be extended due to circumstances beyond my control.  No one in Atlanta knew anything about a hurricane.  It was the mid-1970's.  The Weather Channel (which incidentally comes to you from Atlanta) didn't come into existence until mid-1982.  My boss thought I was handing him a line of hooey.  That was the second time I ALMOST got stranded in paradise, but almost just doesn't count.  As it turned out, the hurricane did not hit Eleuthera and I was able to fly back to the states on time.  My world traveling errant suitcase arrived on the same plane I was about to board, so I just had them put it right back on the plane.  


I loved everything about my first trip to the Bahamas and I swore I would return.  I've never returned to Eleuthera, but I've been back to the Bahamas many times.  Truly my definition of a blissful Utopia.  I love the latitude and the attitude.