The close of the tour.
Charles:
We’ve got only a few cycles left before we catch the taxi back to the airport, our boat safely in harbor, stalwart against the building dark of the next cold front. To the BVI, a cold front means a drop in winds, rain showers that would be described by most as “a pleasant distraction”, and a decrease in temperature of about a degree. That’s a fahrenheit degree.
In fact, it’s been stuffier today than any other day since we started our trip – the recycled chill of a 757 cabin in flight actually sounds agreeable. I’ve gone crazy, I know.
We spent the last two days making our way back to base – sort of. No trip is complete without a stopover at Soper’s Hole and the gift shops that dot the eastern quay. We got a few odds and ends for Christmas, then fired up the grill to cook the last meal on the boat. The next day, the swell was building again, and our final run back to Road Town was reminiscent of the first day, when our legs still had learning to do about the pitch and roll of the sea.
Sleeping on a boat for this long means we’ll have wave-brain for a while; closing one’s eyes in the shower is a good way to bring it on: your mind imagines you’re still pitching and moving about. I predict the next week of land-based sleep is going to bring interesting, kinetic dreams.
In all, this trip has been a great opportunity to do as little as possible, as laid-back as possible, with the best food and drink possible, with the kindest weather the planet has to offer around Christmastime. The islanders here call it limin’. I could get used to it.
That’s a dangerous thought. Back to Type A mode. Do things. Sound important. Schedules, milestones, grunt grunt grunt. I’ve got a plane to catch. Profit.
*transmission ends*
Alicia:
*transmission resumes*
When we set out on this trip, Charles scoffed at me for bringing a dozen books (yes, that’s the actual number, not an exaggeration) on a week-long excursion. He himself brought a single pair. Now, at week’s end, who is loaning him an advance copy of the Jasper Fforde’s newest novel? That’s right. Meanwhile, I’ve cruised through all but three of the books I brought, and those three are some solid nonfiction volumes that should be plenty to occupy me on the long series of plane rides home.
There have been times in the course of our voyage where I have felt guilty for the strong urge to moor the boat, mix a cocktail or two, relax on deck (or belowdecks, on the days when the AC was operational), and read until my eyes were drooping and it was time for sleep. I can’t remember the last time I had an opportunity to go through so many books of my own choosing in so short a period of time. And the bonus facts that I get to do so between bouts of sailing and snorkeling and some truly amazing food? Heaven.
That said, the pull now is homeward. I miss sweaters, and blankets, and not being so itchy and hot. Charles misses the video games, and we both miss karaoke and familiar faces. The best vacations make you as happy to return home as you originally were to escape it, and by such a standard this trip was nearly perfect.
Over and out.