The Caribbean is a very special place. The downside is the heat (40C most days) & the bugs (billions everywhere), but once you get accustomed to the heat and the bugs start to ignore you, then life is very good indeed. There is a strong sense that the British Virgin Islands will eventually succumb to commercial pressures and become much more like their neighbours. Whilst inevitable, this will be a great shame. I hope that someone has the forethought and vision to develop it whist retaining it's special character; the friendliness of the locals. the very low crime rate (at one hotel resort, the rooms don't have locks!) and the atmosphere of a sleepy backwater that has been complicit in letting the world pass it by. I'll be back, next time with a boat at my disposal, so I can have even easier access to the sea. take advantage of those cooling breezes and explore even further.
The heat and the paleness of our skin makes a holiday in the tropics something of an obstacle course. We cannot go out unless a good slathering of sun cream has been applied and anything that you are likely to do washes off the sun cream. By the time you’ve applied sufficient sun cream, you are either exhausted by the heat or it is now the middle of the day and the fear is that the sun will break through, no matter how many tubes of factor 50 have been applied. Consequently, achieving a whole day out is quite an undertaking, but for our last day on Tortola, I thought that it was worth a try. When I presented my plan, Ciaran cried out “but why would we spend our last day in Tortola on another island?” I had no answer for this, so I just did what I always do when faced with children that are too clever – stick to the plan!
The plan was a 10 o’clock ferry from Soper’s Hole to Jost Van Dyke, the island that we had been looking at for the last week from our villa. Then we could have a swim, a snorkel, a leisurely lunch and back on an afternoon ferry.
The island has less than 200 inhabitants, so we were prepared for a different vibe to Tortola, but we were presented with the sleepiest town we had seen yet, the only thing moving in it was us. Having walked the length of it in less than 15 minutes, even at our heat of the day snail’s pace, we selected a bit of shady beach and sat down to contemplate how early we could get the ferry back. I could sense the serious dissension growing amongst the family.
Then our day changed with the arrival of Caesar. The family, with skin that glows like the moon, had obviously fascinated the locals sitting on the town beach amongst the thistles. He recommended that we get down to White Beach where we could start enjoying ourselves. He could even organise a taxi and get us a good rate. Oh God, we were going to die! The open taxi was summoned and we rattled over the hill to the other side of the island. Oliver offered us a deal whereby if we paid in advance for the return journey, we would get a discount. With some misgivings, the money was handed over; we were also committed now to the last ferry at 5 o’clock.
We were dropped at the back of the famous Soggy Dollar Bar, so named because the sailors would swim ashore from their ships and pay for their rum with wet money. The White Bay Beach is a beautiful gently curved beach covered with eye scorching white sand and lined with palm trees. The beach is a very popular day-sail venue, so the bay was dotted with sailboats, catamarans and dinghies. The people alighting from these boats were almost exclusively white, twenty-something, beautiful, loud and American. We headed to the part of the beach furthest from them, but after some snorkelling & swimming, the most entertaining activity became the people watching. Without exception, they rolled off the boats into the water (pronounced war–der) and proceeded to the bar for iced drinks. This part of the process was completed without wetting any part of their bodies above the waist. Drinks purchased, they than stood around in the shallows ribbing each other. One man looked irritated when Ciaran swam quite close to him, he held his drink higher lest any seawater should splash in. My favourite conversation piece, which drifted over, was from a girl with improbably large breasts “Oh my Gawd, I have never seen waves this big in the Caribbean (pronounced with emphasis on the Car), it’s like totally ruined my day.” I think that maybe her hair had got wet.
After a while, a conch is blown from the boat to call the partygoers back. This was my favourite part of the afternoon, rather than abandon their iced drinks or knock it back in one, they would all complete a complicated manoeuvre of walking, then swimming, then paddling on their backs to the boat with the drink held above the waves. It was like watching the culmination of some strange evolutionary process.
The English in the Caribbean are just as much a type but they are quieter and therefore less entertaining. Typically, they are older sailing types. The Dad is playing the experienced weather-worn captain, but overall he’s pretty pleased with himself – he is rich enough to take his whole family sailing in the Caribbean after all. Mum is practical, hair slicked back with seawater, absolutely no make-up. The children (two) are gorgeous, tanned and with that self-assurance that comes with a life of privilege. They always have the right gear on. They have never come ashore to party; they just have to get provisions, so that they can sail off into unchartered territory again, probably to a little private beach that even the locals don’t know about.
The third group of tourists that is completely separate is the black Americans. Some beaches appear to be completely one colour. At White Bay, one end was black, the other white. The degree of self-segregation is surprising and discomforting.
Caesar suddenly popped up on the beach, to tell us how right he was to send us over this way. He clearly saw us as the strangest group on the beach; 5 people laying in the shade, reading. He thought that we were forcing the children to read against their desire to party. More reassuringly, Oliver the taxi driver did come back for us and we were able to escape from this crazy island. The day wasn’t quite what I’d plan, but I think my family were grateful?!?
All this doing nothing is well and good but it was time to strike out for somewhere. We had been told more than once to go to Smuggler’s Cove, named so – well I’m sure that you can guess – because it is beautiful and the snorkelling is great. Nobody lied. It is a perfect little heart shaped beach with a reef starting at the shore. The sand is white and the sea is that beautiful aquamarine that you see in every photo of the Caribbean. The variety of fish that we saw was phenomenal and I wish that my knowledge was greater to share them with you. But suffice to say that we saw every size, shape and exquisite colour.
The reef was quite close to the surface, so it was safer to swim around it, but coming in the last time, I messed up and ended up in waters too shallow to swim in and too slippy and wavy to stand up in. The result was cuts and bruises all over my hands and legs and possibly a little black spine from a sea urchin embedded in my heel. All this adds rather beautifully to my insect bites to make my legs rather attractive!
After a few days here, we are starting to get the measure of this unique place. At first, it seemed that it had no culture of its own, that it had only borrowed culture from the current dominating power (now the US) and with traces of all the previous powers that have passed through. But with longer here, it feels that the culture is the ability to survive these passing phases, to be completely dependent on the economies outside of the islands but to remain completely independent. People who live here cannot contemplate living anywhere else and they are fiercely proud of what it means to be an islander. They must be outward looking and that makes them knowledgeable about the world and its affairs, but far from feeling cut off from where it’s all at, they are glad when some of the world’s problems pass them by. However, the people that we have interacted with have been predominantly white, perhaps we only know half of the story.
Not sure that I can follow Ciaran’s entry, that boy can tell a good story. The day on the island was as magical as he described. For adults, who I know are interested, you can no longer hire the whole island, when you could it was $10,000 a night, 3-night minimum. Now there is just a little one-bedroom cottage on the beach, which is rented out mostly to honeymoon couples. For everyone else, money cannot buy you a visit.
Mick & I spent some of the day reflecting on whether Jon & Katie’s life is as idyllic as it seems. It certainly works for them but it is not for everybody and not for us. The day of snorkelling & kayaking was more exhausting that we had realised so much of today was spent in reflection, reading or lazing in the pool.
The house here is beautiful, painted in bright Caribbean colours with orange walls, mint green roofs and blue woodwork. The main room is completely open with windows with shutters but no glass. The dining area is the terrace. The three bedrooms are like separate houses opening onto a courtyard, which resembles a mini town square.
We share the house with a nest of young Pearly-eyed Thrashers and their ever-attentive mother (click on picture below to see the glint in her eye!) who swoops at us each time we get too close to the nest. She also comes into the kitchen to forage for food and was caught standing on a packet of bread dive-bombing it with her beak in an almost successful attempt to break through the plastic.
Around the house is the very noisy rooster complete with hen and chicks as well as numerous lizards and koi in the pool, but by far the greatest amount of wildlife is bugs, large and small but all of them intent on finding white skin to munch on. Our legs look like we have all caught leprosy – not a good look!
Our view from the terrace is spectacular, looking across lush green vegetation down to the coast, the sparkling sea and across to the island of Jost Van Dyke.
The first few nights here, the moon was fairly full but this night, the sky was clear and the moon dimmed enough to reveal the beauty of the heavens. We lay down by the pool, looking up at shooting stars, satellites and all the constellations and clearly visibly was the milky way. The best star viewing I have ever experienced. Then Michael started to freak out at the swooping bats…..
Day 5 – 5th day alone by guest writer Sydney the catish cato
"Miaow Mioaaw Miioooaw mioaaw mioooawww mioaw mioaw mioaww." Tranlations ("I am cato. I like to eat. I miss the big ones. I am cato.") "Miaow Miaoww Miaoooww miaow miaow mioaw mioaw mioaw oaw mioaw mioaw miiooaaww." Translations ("The big ones have not been here for several darks now but a friendly female big one has fed me.") By Sydney aka Cato.
Day 5 – New Years Eve
Guest Writer for the second time Ciaran Hegarty
We get up at 7:30 which disgraces me seeing as I asked dad to wake us up at 6:45 so we can get out for 8:00 when the lifts open. Now normally I could eat my breakfast and get dressed to be out for 8:00 in just over half an hour but I live with Liam so the extra half an hour would be for Liam. So I have my breakfast and then I start to get dressed but then I cant find any of my clothes so by time we’re out it’s about 8:20. So we do snowshed again for 15,000,000 time but still you can’t get bored of good old snowshed. When we reach the bottom we do it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Then liam got bored and decided to turn in. So he went in leaving only me, mike, dad and mum and so we challenge the mountain RAMSHEAD!
Now to be taken over By CCCCCClare HHegarty! Clap clap clap.
Skiing lunches all have a number of similarities. Some of the surroundings are nicer than others i.e. they are less busy or have amazing views but the food and ambience are all pretty much the same. The prize for the least pleasant by a mile though has to go to Ramshead. Firstly, it is the centre for the children’s lessons, so is full of instructors with little teams of would-be skiers. These children are quite cute on skis but off skis, they just take up a lot a valuable space. Secondly, there are no windows so nothing to remind you that you are in the middle of the mountains in beautiful Vermont. But overwhelmingly, there is the smell which is beyond description and should never be present in an eating establishment. If I haven’t convinced you that you should never eat there, I have more. The best thing about skiing is that it is wonderful exercise, which takes place in beautiful surroundings, which the whole family can enjoy. The worst thing about it is the amount of faffing that you have to do to get to that point. Skiing down a hill is sublime, walking uphill in skis is tricky and storing skis & poles for a whole family and then walking about inside in boots and the 5 layers of clothing necessary to keep the cold out outside is exhausting and definitely brings out the worst in people. For our particular lunch, I sat with a super aggressive American woman behind who berated her husband to anyone who would listen for half an hour. His crime was that he had skied off with the car keys and a screaming baby needed to be taken home. For some reason, the phone calls that he received from his wife didn’t seem to be bring him back to the lodge any quicker! In front of me was a teenage autistic boy who rocked himself to oblivion throughout – his response to his environment never made more sense to me !
Escape from Ramshead lodge and the smell and back to the beautiful mountain. Ciaran and I completed one last run from the top of Ramshead and then joined Liam back in the hotel.
For New Year, we hadn’t been quick enough to get the Hibachi table that we wanted at Sushi Yoshi but we were able to get in there for regular Chinese Food. We were seated at our table in time for 7pm, which was midnight in the UK. So we ate our meal whilst talking to family in the UK to wish them a Happy New Year and texting friends.
Our fortune cookies took on the extra significance of New Year’s resolutions and are recorded here:
Mick – In great attempts it is glorious even to fail Clare – Good sense is the master of human life. Mike – Act well your part there the honour lies. Liam – Aim at the stars, but keep your feet on the ground. Ciars – A truly great person never puts away the simplicity of a child.
Happy New Year and best wishes for 2009 to all our readers!
Ciaran’s chirpy description of our first day skiing really doesn’t do justice to the difficulty of the conditions. Liam’s description, that has yet to be posted, is much more on the mark. They had re-routed our beloved Great Eastern route leaving us on the far side of the mountain with no choice for getting back other than via a long hard ski down treacherous and steep banks of ice. With legs still accustoming themselves to the demands of skiing, it became quite gruelling and the next morning my muscles were still feeling the effects.
It had snowed in the night, so conditions were much improved but confidence needed to be restored. Lots of runs down the familiar Snowshed in the morning and then in the afternoon, we re-discovered a little of the old family-feel Killington at Ramshead. However, it seemed that conditions must still be bad further up the mountain as we saw about 5 stretcher cases in the course of a couple of hours!
We had done home cooking on Sunday night, experienced the joys of American pizza on Monday night, so it was time to brave the cold and eat out. Strangely (for us English weather-obsessed folks) the cars here rarely have temperature gauges, so I have no idea how cold it gets here at night. I just know that it is cold enough to maker me keen with coldness. I’m sure that the heating systems in monster American cars are very efficient but they just don’t warm me up and every second spent outside, slices into exposed flesh like a knife. We shared the lift down in the hotel with one of the bellboys who advised us to try out a place called The Garlic, which does “killer pasta (pronounced parsta)”, but the idea of murderous carbohydrates just didn’t do it for me, so we headed to another old favourite – Casey’s Caboose – and had the joy for the first time of actually sitting in the caboose. The subliminal messaging had obviously got to Mick, Mike & Liam who all ordered slayer linguine or assassin fettuccine. I ignored all previous experiences of American food portions and ordered a steak. This really will kill you as the steak always covers most of a large dinner plate and half of the table. After 15 minutes of eating, all you have eaten is enough to make room for a tomato slice, then you have to explain that it was lovely but no you don’t want it bagged – you could never look at that steak again!!!
Still at least you can plead jetlag, shiver your way home and be in bed with your book by 9pm.
Sleep is a great healer and tiredness ensured that the boys didn’t even object to sharing a double bed. The hotel was a familiar one and the breakfast lived up to its memory. At least we had the car outside so that we could get straight on with the last leg of our journey.
We had in mind a beautiful town in Vermont called Woodstock, which we had passed through many times but never stopped. Woodstock has that picture perfect New England look to it, particularly at this time of the year. It has beautiful architecture and is completed with snowdrifts at the side of the road and wreaths on all the doors. We lucked out with our choice of restaurant with Bentleys, which was having a jazz brunch, an unusual pair of musicians, a saxophonist and a guitarist, something to give Mike & Ciarz some ideas! The food was good too and the two pints of local beer just finished it off and me!
We’ve become so familiar with Killington now that everything about the journey is part of tradition. First, we pass Bill & Blanche’s Pancake House (usually a stop but not this time), then the first view of the ski slopes (again usually lots of oohs & ahhs but this time concern about the lack of snow) and finally the smell of the hotel lobby, a mixture of the wood fire and snow dampened carpets drying out.
It’s our fifth time in this hotel, so although the rooms are almost identical, we are quickly able to identify the differences and assess their positive or negative implications – a bit like a spot the difference competition. For the record, this room has good artwork, lots of chairs and a good view of the slopes, but it is a long walk from the pool and even a longer walk at the end of the day with aching muscles and heavy ski boots.
Another essential part of the Hegarty Family holiday is the pool. There is nothing quite like it. It is open air and heated to a degree that the condensation coming off in the cold air makes it difficult to see from one side of the pool to the other. Another hazard is that wet hair will freeze so hard that your head aches, so once your hair is wet, you have to frequently immerse yourself in the bath warm water to melt your head and keep comfortable. If the pool isn’t warm enough for you, there is the scalding hot Jacuzzi, which is my favourite place to chat and to observe the stars. Boys being boys, they of course prefer to play who can stand on the side of the pool longest with the added variation of who can rub icy snow on their bodies before jumping back in the pool!
(Ed's note: Well of course you would, its a no-brainer! Except that lots of families offered it before us said no, so what was the catch?)
(2pm GMT) The offer seemed innocuous enough to start with; delay our journey for one hour for £560 each. Oh but the flight wasn’t direct, we would have to fly to Washington Dulles and change to an internal flight to Boston. The thing was the flights hadn’t cost us that much to start with, but the hotel bill was going to be astronomical with the low pound, so it was very tempting as and we succumbed to it. There is no such thing as a free lunch and ours wasn’t, we had £25 towards it but we had to hold onto our bags while we ate it.
We struck a deal with the boys, £100 for each of them and £2,500 towards our summer holiday. We cheered them up with thoughts of seeing the airport where Die Hard 2 was based, how they would spend their share of the money and on the thought that we might not get called up.
We were called, so our paths were set, but an upgrade was promised which cheered us up immensely.
(5pm GMT) The flight was very comfortable with extra legroom and spare seats to spread out.
(12:30 GMT 7:30pm ET) The arrival at Dulles was shocking, standing at immigration for an hour to be admitted, we were the last group from the plane but then this was dead time.
(2:00am GMT 9:00pm ET) The immigration officer was charming as ever but I couldn’t get over the incongruity of the large tough looking black man who was called Hyacinthe. The hour wait had broken Ciaran’s spirits – he needed food fast and an Obama golf ball fast apparently. Mick provided most of the entertainment for us by calling the car company to explain that we wouldn’t be picking the car up today but tomorrow. He explained it so nicely and patiently but put the phone down muttering about “missiles having been launched” and “still need to pick up car tonight”.
The flight was delayed and spirits would have been low had we not spent the time worrying about Sydney and what the alternative would have been like – if we had taken her skiing! We imagined everything from strapping four little mini-skis on to her feet, her first sights and smells of snow and of course her skiing down a gentle slope. The flight delay announcements were made more charming by the indeterminate species of the creature making them.
(11:00pm ET 4:00am GMT) We’re on the plane! Could have been the best plane in the world, could have been the worst – I slept for the entire 90 minutes
(12:30am ET 5:30am GMT) We’re in Boston only 5 hours later than planned, but like they said in Outnumbered airport hours are like days in the outside world.
Mick and I are seasoned travellers, able to adapt our arrangements, so we’d failed with the car but we had switched our hotel reservation from one about an hour North of Boston to one at the airport, so the plan now was to split up, Mick to pick up the car and the rest of us to get the courtesy bus to the hotel. That didn’t work, we were still waiting for our bus when Mick had collected the mini-van and was able to pick us up (1:30 EST 6:30am GMT).
The benefits of SatNav are huge, no matter how strange and unfamiliar the surroundings, you can find you way around with complete independence. In this case we were able to find our way from the airport (A) to 85 American Legion Highway, Boston (B) and then to 85 American Legion Highway, Revere (C) – which is where our hotel was. It is a credit to us all that we didn’t explode.
(2:30am EST 7:30am GMT) Oh the joy of lying horizontally and sleeping………………..
These are just occasional stories of what we are doing (usually on holiday) for anyone who is interested in reading them - including ourselves maybe, in future years. Let us know what you think and please feel free to comment on any entries, just click on the word "comments"at the end of each entry. Also you can click on any of the pictures to see larger versions.
The Caribbean is a very special place. The downside is the heat (40C most days) & the bugs (billions everywhere), but once you get accustomed to the heat and the bugs start to ignore you, then life is very good indeed. There is a strong sense that the British Virgin Islands will eventually succumb to commercial pressures and become much more like their neighbours. Whilst inevitable, this will be a great shame. I hope that someone has the forethought and vision to develop it whist retaining it's special character; the friendliness of the locals. the very low crime rate (at one hotel resort, the rooms don't have locks!) and the atmosphere of a sleepy backwater that has been complicit in letting the world pass it by. I'll be back, next time with a boat at my disposal, so I can have even easier access to the sea. take advantage of those cooling breezes and explore even further.
