Day Five - March 25, 2009

Another 13 hours on the go. Returned to the hotel in the dark (still haven’t gotten home in the daylight). Took some wrong turns, AGAIN. I am not even going to try to learn the route, going in circles can be a good lesson in patience.

The coqui frogs serenaded me again as Hercules and I returned to the hotel. Still no sightings.

I went on the sailboat, East Wind, today. A lot bigger than the Islena, more people. The sky was cloudier and windier. I enjoyed both trips for different reasons. I liked Arturo and Edwin better-more personal interaction with the tourists. But the sail boat has a different feel, more poetic, more rhythmic, more romantic and full of potential.

I made a personally huge decision and left my camera at home. It felt naked.

I was a lot better with the snorkel and mask. Didn’t swallow as much salt water as yesterday.
Our stops were both in the area of Icacos-the beach swim and a reef on the back of the island.
The food was the same and still delicious after all the swimming.

The waterproof camera experiment was a huge disappointment. I shot 50 pics. Lots of murky water, thumbs, and piecesof bread. I like maybe two. I need to realize –it’s not my SLR, the fish are fast, the current moved me in the opposite direction, the water was kind of murky, the sky was overcast for the second snorkel. So, all in all, I guess two is not bad.

After the boat returned I went in search of a shop where one of the crew got really cool earrings. Across from the entrance to El Yunque National Forest were the directions. Never found the store but ended up driving up to almost the top of the rainforest. And surprisingly, it rained. A nice change from the desert.








So exhausted and happy, I again fall asleep feeling the ocean waves under my bed.

Day Four - March 24, 2009

Eating dinner on a deck with the Coqui frog sounding like a bird for ambient music after an exhilarting day on the ocean. The patio is covered by a tree with gynormous leaves- they could be beet greens on steroids, palm fronds and a black sky scattered with stars. A light breeze from the ocean (sans dead fish smell) turns the overexposed skin to goosebumps.

I am going to expand my culinary experience tonight by trying a dish called pork mofongu. It just arrived in a giant wooden chalice. Note that it is dark, I read the menu by candlelight. But I am stilling going to pick out the cebollas (onions.-was afraid to ask what was in it beside plantains.) It’s pretty good once the onions are gone. The pork is coated with the plantains and fried. Probably not what my naturopathic doctor would approve of, but I worked off about 5000 calories today snorkeling in the ocean. Yes, me the girl who doesn’t like to put her face in the apartment complex pool swam in the ocean.

Katie and I spent the day aboard the Islena, a twin hulled powered catamaran, captained by the muy guapo Arturo and his padre Edwin. (Also good looking for the older cougar women)

Our first stop was Icacos, a little deserted island. Nice calm, shallow water for the neophytes like myself.

After paddling around for a while, we headed for Palomino Island where the bigger coral reef was.


So in full aqautic gear, looking like a dork, I set off in search of fish. And I found some. Maybe this was what Jacques Costeau felt when he was like eight. I swam with redbanded parrotfish, stoplight parrotfish, yellow jacktail, bar jack, blue chromis, porkfish, yellowtail snapper, foureye butterflyfish, hundreds of sergeant majors and yellow goatfish, bluehead wrasse and an ugly trunkfish chapin.






And so tired and crusted with sea salt, we headed
back to San Juan. We were greeted by the ferocious dock guard iguanas.

It was so great, I have booked tomorrow to snorkel again. This time I will be prepared. I have learned how to relax and breathe without hyperventilating. How to tell a good mask fix. And I am bringing a waterproof camera and some bread to entice the fishies to within the camera range.

Today was just indescribable . And challenging. Liberating, Exhilarating. And a conquering of some personal fears. That fear being in water without the boundaries of a pool where your feet can touch the bottom.

And as a side note, beware of iguanas who like to express their adrenaline junkie sides by racing across the freeways. Glad we had Hercules when we hit the 4 foot long monster at 65 miles per hour (. It’s been a while since I’ve had to note a kill by vehicle to my total (4 deer, a coyote, a duck and a rattlesnake (the snake was intentional).

And thus ended the day, exhausted, and sensing the rocking of the boat as I drifted to sleep.

Day Three – March 23, 2009 -Tortola and Virgin Gorda

Been up since 0330 to catch the early flight to Beef Island, where Cape Air lands on Tortola, British Virgin Islands. Cloudy and overcast. Reminded me A LOT of Juneau and the fantastic summers. The islands and southeast Alaska are all about cruise ship ports and tourist shops and a famous pub or saloon.

We flew in a in a Cessna 402 (more roomy than the C207’s I remember from Skag Air but this rotorchic prefers an A-star -although I’ll never turn down a flight.) Less waterfalls and a helluva lot warmer.

Landed at Beef Island, the airport for Tortola (attached to the big island with a bridge. Another similarity to southeast AK, Ketchikan Airport is on Gravina Island).

My de-virginized passport.


We were early for the ferry, but there were chickens to watch roam around the wharf. This kitty had the right idea – sleep when it’s this early.

Grabbed the John o Point Ferry over to Virgin Gorda (the Fat Virgin). Captain John sped us across the expanse of water and we were the first on the beach at The Baths. While KTO read her Dean Koontz book, I tested the water.

It was cold and the waves were stronger than I expected. Got knocked over a couple of times. Cut my foot and at one point was worried about not making it back to shore and breaking my hip again. But the blues and greens of the water was just like you see in the movies. Where the couples walk romantically in the twilight on the sandy beach. What they don't mention is how much work it is to walk on that sand. And how uncomfortable that sand in your shoes is. Not to mention if it gets in your shorts.

We had planned on spending the day at The Baths, but soon all of the snorkelers and sailboats came in and we decided to explore Road Town.

The ferry took us on the scenic route around Virgin Gorda back to Beef Island. Hopped a ride with Mike, a Cape Air pilot into Road Town. Had lunch at the obligatory “tourist pub” Pussers. Filled our bags with T-shirts, shot glasses and jewelry.

It was time to head back to the airport where we quickly scratched out a few postcards to stamp with the Queen’s postage while waiting for departure. So the lucky people whose addresses I remembered should get their cards in a couple of weeks.

Another return to the hotel in the dark. Don’t even remember what we did for dinner. I remember my feet hurting and being tired. And setting the alarm for 0630 for the drive to Fajardo and the Catamaran Snorkeling Cruise.

Monday, March 22, 2009 - Day Two –

This is the view from my balcony. Never did make it to the pool or the beach during the daylight.
It was nice that there were no bugs, I kept the glass door open while editing photos to warm up the room at night.

Let me introduce Hercules. Even though the Yaris was kind of cute and zippy, I decided that for my mid-life crisis trip to the islands, a Jeep would be more fun. So off came the top, map in hand and the mantra of “head west young women”. Katie and I were off the Rincon, a beach on the west side of the island. A few American songs on the radio. We didn’t make it to Rincon, but stopped at Isabella Beach. Only one little wrong turn down a one way and a little bump into a vehicle while backing up and being honked at.

The rock formations, the waves, the wind, the palm trees. It was wonderful. And best of all, unlike the beach in Mazatlan, there was no lingering scent of rotting fish flesh.

I was proud of myself, I only took a couple hundred photos. Thank god and Sony for digital cameras.

There was some interesting art and grafitti. So much artistic talent that goes to waste. If only that energy and passion could be harnessed.

And then there's the banyan trees. (I think that's what they are based on Wikipedia). Apparently the seeds of the ficus (fig) take root in a host tree and start growing over the structure of that tree.

So after a few hours of sitting on the beach, it was headed back to the hotel. A couple of wrong turns in the dark, but we made it. Big dinner at the hotel restaurant and planning Monday's travel plan. Stay tuned.....

Day One – Leaving Phoenix
03.22. 2009 0117 –Sunday-(Eastern Standard Time)

I apparently made the appropriate sacrifices to the Airline and Weather supreme beings. All flights on time. Luggage arrived as packed. No oversize seatmates. No crying children. I remembered all of the important things and made it all fit. Plus an extra bag to bring back the tourist loot.


I was prepared to be bored during the flight-packed a crossword puzzle book, a murder mystery, a “must read” classical novel (“The Picture of Dorian Gray”), and my laptop. But all I did was sleep. I’d been up since 1230 pm on Friday and worked third shift. Got off work and went to check in. Having the airport security badge is nice- straight to the head of the first class screening line.


Miami Airport – My feet and my camera bag. Waiting for the 757 to whisk me off to Puerto Rico

I did wake up for the island arrival. As the pilot began the final descent into San Luis Montano Airport, the shadow of the 757 was reflected on the woolly clouds and a pale rainbow encircled the shadow. Beautiful and magical. I considered it a good omen for the trip.

Finally relaxing at the Golden Sands Villa. Managed to navigate PR freeways and “calles” in the dark in the Yaris. Not going to mention how long it took me and how many wrong turns I made. The Villa is a subsidiary of the time share we inadvisably bought into a decade ago.. No properties were available (silly me making a spontaneous trip) so they suggested this place. It’s not bad. Not in the Cheena Hot Springs, Fairbank AK “rustic” category- (no phone, no TV)

Parking is interesting. It’s a construction site for a casino. The room is freezing. They want it kept at 65. And there was no way to adjust it. That’s like arctic cold. They advertised internet, but it’s not wireless, it’s through the TV. And $15 a night.

Can’t wait to really see the island in the daylight. Lots of strange birds in the darkness. And some new fragrant blossoms on the humid breeze.

A Solstice Seasons Salutation

What a busy month it's been. I have a difficult time believing that the rotations of the planet and the path around the sun have brought this year to a close. Somehow solstice slipped past me yesterday.

In Juneau, I celebrated the shortest day of the year with great joy. Even 5 minutes more of sun (when it wasn't overcast) was a blessed event. In the desert, it the temperature and sunshine make the winter much more pleasant.

So Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and well wishes for all celebrations of endings and beginnings. Welcome back the Sun.

It's Five O'Clock Somewhere

I was almost ready to post this page last week. As you might imagine, matters of the realm keep me busy. As I typed a few closing lines, I did something that deleted everything, quicker than the Queen of Hearts said, “off with her head.” So thus begins my feeble attempt to recreate what was a brilliant essay.



As you remember, the Way Back Machine had us visiting 1986 and the Mankato era. Reading through the yellowing pages of my diaries, a few things are evident. No one will ever publish the chronicles of my life. The only things noted are when I worked, when I had tests or skipped class. And when I went out. I went out a lot.



I will give credit to Siri, the Lutheran minister’s daughter, who introduced me to vodka. At the Centennial Hall Dining Room over Christmas break. She forgot to tell me to stir after adding the vodka. Apparently it was funny to watch me sputter. Coincidentally that is also the first night I said “fuck.”




My social life really started in Mankato. When I severed the relationship with Jeff number 1, I set off to create a new persona. I joined committees, participated in dorm government. And went out. Met a guy with long hair (for a country girl who went to Catholic school), an earring and wore a leather jacket. Did lights for a band. I guess I became a timid groupie, so to speak. VFW bars in places like Amboy. Dang, Small Change Brian looked good in leather pants. He was the first official photo for Kris’s Butt Shot album, a female response to the male photographers postering of the darkroom wall with scantily clad women.


Being in a college town afforded many imbibing locations. And thank god, many were within stumbling distance home. TJ Finnegan’s (everyone knows your name). The Albatross (meat market and Viking training camp.) South Street Saloon. (Dingy dive for cheap shots, especially ouzo for your best friend who got dumped by phone by her fiancé who married the secretary while he was home for summer vacation.)

Someplace Else (before it became a strip club-I wasn’t that sexually liberated back then).
The Kato Ballroom and the Johnny Holmes Travelling Fun Show. My first tequila shot egged on by Jamie Jacquart may have made learning to polka easier. Maybe not. Too many shots however, leads to puking in the bushes outside the ballroom.


Doing jumbo shots of Jack Daniels to impress the son of the bar owners where I just began cocktailing. I do not recommend that if you are seeking promotional opportunities. Sneaking Hardee’s Moosecups into the Student Union movie night filled with more Southern Comfort than coke. The summer of Lynchburg Lemonade. Editing Muse Magazine with a 2 liter bottle of wine cooler.


Up in the Cities, Pitcher Nite at Big Ten. After intramural softball and broomball, Sporty’s was the place to be. Kevin and Joey never could make me a pool player. Hog’s Breath in the burbs for wet t-shirt and tight jean contests.


For a landlocked town, Juneau, Alaska had its fair share of drinking establishments. The internationally famous Red Dog Saloon, a great place to work, insult your customer and then marry him. G.W. Teal’s for Lemon Drop shots at the weekly “Dispatchers Meeting”. Summer of 1992 when “Senator” Flannigan built the Jaeggermiester shrine. I may have contributed an empty bottle or two.


Hoochi’s Sports bar-they brought strippers in once a year. And for the enquiring mind a hoochi is a rubber quid like object that went over the herring when trolling for salmon. Or a really loose woman in Alaska, generally missing teeth. Hangar on the Wharf, fantasy football headquarters. The owner of the Hangar gave us a going away party when we moved to Arizona and lamented the fact his beer sales were going to drop.

By the time I had moved to Phoenix, I didn’t put a lot in my journals. As far as going out we always went to the same place – Hooters for a carafe (or two or three)of White Zinfandel and a pitcher of Killian’s. We were quite a fixture there.

So perhaps its irony or fate or something unnamable that I sit here at the dawn of 2009 celebrating my second sober New Year’s in 24 years. A new persona to create during what is quite probably a mid-life crisis. But it feels good. Single and sober. A great way to start a new decade. And it’s likely that I will be jotting down more than the 5:00 happy hour spots. Stay tuned.