Moths to a Flame - Part 9, Antigua

 

Saturday morning breaks as an absolutely beautiful day. The sun shines over the town of St Johns as we slowly approach the docks in the protected harbor. It is day six of our cruise and the weather is perfect. There are already two ships at the docks, one comfortably tied to our right, and another that appears to be floundering off to our left. The one to our left is the huge Italian MSC Seaview and her thrusters are churning up the harbor into a coffee-colored anomaly in the usually blue Caribbean Sea. Exactly the opposite from the pristine waters of St. Croix. I have watched her for at least ten minutes and she hasn’t moved more than a few feet.

The small island in the US Virgin Islands just a stones throw from St. Thomas is St John. It is not St Johns. St Johns is the city on the island nation of Antigua and Barbuda, where we are. Those who read my stuff know now I’m a stickler for getting things straight because I don’t like people smiling while they think “This clown thinks he knows what he is talking about” while I make a fool of myself. I have heard the name of the island pronounced Antigwa and Antigah. I decide to ask the locals I meet onshore and ask how the natives say it. People may still smile at me but at least I know I lined up my ducks.

We tie up while the Seaview still hasn’t fully straightened out and wonder if her massive size has created a problem. That does not appear to be the case, though, as she eventually ties up alongside us in a comedy that could have been from Benny Hill. High up on the forward hull, a service door is open and the officers are yelling at the rope crew far below on the dock. There is confusion about which big, heavy line goes over which cleat, and the Italian crew, yelling as loudly as they can, with their heavy accents, only get shoulder shrugs from the confused dock crew far below. 

Finally, lines get switched to the crew’s satisfaction and all goes quiet in the man-made canyon between the huge ships. The Millennium is ready to discharge passengers by the time they finally get settled next door. Again, it is time for us to go to breakfast.

We exit the ship as painlessly as before, swiping our guest cards on the security station and watching our beautiful profile photos pop up on the security monitor. We stop to stare at the canyon created by the two giant ships before we amble through the de rigueur security station. As we get our bearings, we meet a woman we had met earlier in the elevator as we headed out. Nicely dressed in a blue, business-like pant suit, the woman who appeared to be about our age, complained endlessly during the short elevator ride about being charged by the pound for her luggage. I noticed she had everything with her, several carry-ons across her shoulders and towing a huge suitcase as she exited the elevator.

When we met her again, she was standing at the curb in a taxi-pick up area, staring up the street as a ship's officer stood quietly behind her, his hands behind his back as is common with European men. Ilse and I felt sorry for her as we expected she had to make an emergency trip home for some family reason or another. After we re-boarded later, we were told she had been thrown off the ship for using profane language toward one of the ship’s crew.

It is Antigah. Ahn-tee-gah, with the accent on the tee. We asked the security guards at the dock, and even though they stared at me like I had six heads, one of them finally laughed and said. “We call it Antigah, but we hear everything you can imagine. Have a good day.”

So, we did.

Once we left the dock area and stepped into the real world, reality reached out and slapped us awake. Christmas decorations have been surprisingly sparse in every port we’ve been to. It appears COVID has dampened enthusiasm everywhere. This is a busy town, but when I look back at the docks, I see why. There are two more cruise ships lining up behind the Millennium to dock. I strain to see where they are going to put them. There will be five cruise ships docked here at the same time. The locals are gearing up for the rush of tourists.

This may not be the forum to air my opinions about the lack of leadership in most third world countries, but in the thirty years we’ve been coming to the Caribbean islands, not much has changed. Most cities in the hurricane belt are just as crappy as they were the first time we were here. This is our first time time in Antigua, but St Johns is no exception. Within a block of the shopping zone, you can easily slip off the curb into a three foot deep hole with weeds growing out of it. There is no standard for anything here, especially safety, The sad part is they are no different than most other Caribbean port cities, although several towns, such as Nassau in the Bahamas, Willemstad in Curacao, and Oranjestad in Aruba would rate better than average. The average here is subpar by almost all American and European standards, so caution, extreme caution, has to be used when just strolling or walking, looking at the local sights. We dodged pipes sticking out of the road and sidewalks as well as pipes sticking out of walls at eye level. I’m sure the areas and resorts built especially for the tourist trade are designed to make foreigners feel at home, but if you decide to go au natural in the port towns, be forewarned. I tripped over a stub pipe sticking out of a sidewalk in Philipsburg, St Maarten, even though I was watching where I was walking! I missed falling hard on the pavement by mere fractions of an inch.

We decided to walk to St. Johns Cathedral, the Anglican church that dominates the town. In the hustle and bustle of street vendors and shops, we stopped and asked a local policemen who quite proudly gave us explicit directions to the church, although we were only three blocks away. The church is undergoing reconstruction so the main entrance had two-by-four timber laid across the steps to warn people to use a different entrance. Ilse and I wandered through the tombstones, looking at the dates that go back several hundred years before finally spending ten minutes in the church itself. In my opinion, visiting churches is an acquired taste, but this one’s history draws many visitors.

We wandered back through town using different streets, but decided it was time to kick-back on ship and enjoy another great lunch. The continuous beep-beep of the local traffic is again part of the atmosphere as everybody here seems to know everybody else, which is cool. Just mind numbing.

I take a photo of a sailing sloop, probably thirty-two feet long or so, with its broken mast forlornly drooped across the stern. It is swinging slowly around its mooring buoy. She’s several hundred yards in front of the newly arrived Azamara Quest, one of the newer, smaller, boutique class cruisers fast gaining popularity in the cruising world. The disabled sloop just in front of her belies the story of someone’s broken dreams, not just a broken mast. That would be a story of its own.

I glance up as an Airbus with its wheels down, flying just off the side of the ship, throttles back while I’m daydreaming about the sloop. Airliners coming from who-knows-where begin to approach the airport, their flight pattern parallels our dock. I count seven in a ten minute period as I sit with my gin and tonic, my feet propped up in absolute, decadent pleasure. Perhaps someday we’ll fly in to one of the islands, but for now, the Celebrity Millennium will do just fine.

Tonight turns out to be one of those memorable nights that go in scrapbooks. We finally had dinner with Dany and Seba of Supernova Duo.

It also was a full moon. A Caribbean cruise with a full moon should be on everyone’s bucket list.

St Kitts 

 https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-9-st-kitts.html

Moths to a Flame - Part 8, St. Croix

 

Standing on the deck watching the island emerge in front of us in the breaking daylight was different from Nassau or San Juan. I could not pick out where we were going. There was no sign of a city or a pier or any place to dock. We seemed to be sailing toward green, rolling hills dotted with occasional houses with pastures scattered in between. Coming in on the leeward side of the island was a nice change from yesterday’s rough water approach in San Juan, adding to the peaceful, almost pastoral first image of St. Croix. The cruise since leaving San Juan has been slower, less hectic as St. Croix is less than one hundred miles away. By the time I see light traffic on the coastal road, I can see the single finger pier that juts straight out from the seashore. There is an old, unimpressive red fort off to the left side. After San Juan, two cars and a pickup truck is light traffic.

We quietly docked at eight in the morning, a new, single finger pier that would accommodate two ships at once. While the ship went through the arrival process, Ilse and I went for breakfast. This time we ate at the Oceanview café, the buffet style restaurant aft on deck ten. The selections of different breakfast foods is amazing and again, there are more servers than diners. I made a note to try coddled eggs next time.

There were only a few scattered passengers ahead of us on the pier as we walked to the security checkpoint, not anything like previous cruises. The atmosphere was exactly opposite bustling San Juan. As we walked toward the security tent at the end of the pier, I noticed the water was so clear we could see under the boat. Three young girls dressed in scarlet red local costumes welcomed us with bright smiles and maps of the island, and we were disdainfully waved through security with the priceless, limp-wristed motion famous around the world.

The second thing to catch my eye was they drive on the left side of the road. St. Thomas and St John, just over the horizon, also drive on the left even though they are in the US Virgin Islands, not the British Virgin Islands. The traditional beep-beep greeting between the locals is a common language in every Caribbean island, but the first time I heard it here, I turned around to look. There simply wasn’t any traffic. The souvenir shops in tiny Frederiksted – the town has fewer than a thousand people – all had bumper stickers for sale that said “Drive Left!” Obviously they were for tourists who rent cars and are not accustomed to driving in the islands.

Not that there were more than a handful of souvenir or tourist shops in town. With only a few exceptions, they all seemed to be owned by transplanted Americans. We were on the other end of the island from where the cruise ships used to land at Christiansted, a bustling metropolis by comparison of around three thousand people. The population of the entire island, world famous for its magnificent beaches is only 40,000 people. All the beaches in St. Croix are free to the public.

The pretty bay front park is a nice welcome to cruise passengers, and the backdrop to many ship’s photographs. 

Ilse and I have done package tours on previous cruises, but usually we like to see a place for ourselves the first time we visit a port, especially now with COVID restrictions in place on every island. We decided to avoid the little buses or taxis even though we wanted to visit the nearby botanical gardens, but it was too far to walk so we simply strolled around the small, odd little town. We were once warned in Charlotte Amalie about straying too far off the beaten path by ourselves, but here we are at ease. We are not carelessly unconscious as we always keep safety tucked in the back of our minds. I worked in downtown Miami for many years and old habits are hard to break.

The town itself drops in attractiveness within a few blocks, so we head back to the fort at the end of the pier, buying my first cap of the trip on the way. The people we chat with are friendly, but disappointed in the small size of the crowd.

I walked around the clock tower checking all four clocks after I noticed the two sides I could see were completely different. A perfect description of St. Croix: what you see depends on the direction you are looking, all four clocks show very different times.

We headed back to the ship for salad and pizza and my first Budweiser of the trip. After sitting on our balcony, reading and listening to our own music – we always bring a Bluetooth speaker – I glance at Ilse. She is sound asleep, holding her head with one hand and her Kindle in the other. There is no one on the pier except the ship’s staff idly waiting under the Celebrity Cruise logo sunshade. The three young girls dressed in bright red local costumes have abandoned their post and are all sitting in the shade of the security tent at the other end, chatting and laughing.

The helicopter landing pad on the bow is opened for our departure from Frederiksted, so Ilse and I, wearing the required close-toed shoes, climbed the ladder to the Helipad, wondering how they transport anyone who isn’t ambulatory up there in the first place. It is a wonderful view, especially as several rain showers began to move down the hills toward the bay. Drinks are served as everyone begins to ooh and aah at the rainbows that seem to be a departing touch from the local tourist board. The ship quietly turns and heads toward more rain showers off-shore.

After dinner we headed to the Sunset bar at the stern on deck ten, our favorite lounge at night. The weather is beautiful and the moon is almost full. Tomorrow is Antigua and a full moon. We can’t wait.

https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-antigua.html

Moths to a Flame - Part 7, San Juan

 

Day four starts like the others, I’m awake before daybreak. Once again I’m on deck as soon as I’m dressed. A beautiful, warm December morning due east of Las Galeras, Haiti. Clear skies but the wind has barely subsided, it is still whistling through the railing. I checked my cellphone app for all the technical details that most other passengers couldn’t care less about. We are eight hundred and eighty-five miles from Ft Lauderdale and have only eighty-eight miles to go. We should pass the famous Castillo de San Felipe del Morro sometime around two in the afternoon. The afternoon is perfect as the sun will highlight the side facing the channel as we enter. This is, to me the prettiest and most symbolic port entry in the Caribbean, and this time our balcony stateroom will be facing the iconic fortress as we enter the harbor.

During the day we had the opportunity to chat and joke with our wait staff, shop sales people, and several ship’s officers. Everyone was masked all the time the entire cruise, so we quickly learned to read eyes. The eyes speak volumes, and we saw eyes from Indonesia, Venezuela, the Philippines, Korea, and just about any country you can think of. The eyes all speak the same language. We met another Daniela from Venezuela who now lives in Colombia, and still another Daniela who was from Chile, just west of Bariloche, Argentina, where Dany of Supernova Duo call home. We met Feliz, from Manila in the Philippines, who went to hospitality school in Arkansas. Our drink hostess, who was from Korea, told us all how to distinguish Asian nationalities as westerners are at a loss when it comes to the many different far eastern styles and features. “It’s how we cut our hair,” she said, her eyes dancing at her chance to tease our group. We were as at ease with them as they were with us. With only five hundred passengers on a ship that usually carries over two thousand passengers, everyone a chance to interact with other, passengers, crew and staff with a cordiality we had never seen on previous cruises.

I double checked the battery for my camera as well as our cellphones as we approached the coast of Puerto Rico, the mountains behind San Juan visible well before the port itself. The pilot boat approached on our port side – that’s sailor talk for the left side – burying the bow in the heavy swells. It passes and turns behind us to come alongside out of the wind on the other side of the boat. We’ve slowed considerably to allow the pilot to make the transfer, but seas are very heavy. Being on the leeward side makes it easier, but not by much.

A deep-sea fishing boat, probably in the thirty-two foot range, not more than a mile away, disappears from sight regularly in the deep troughs, only its outriggers visible above the waves. We watched the small boat for several minutes wondering just how much Dramamine it would take to go fishing with them.

Old Town San Juan was a marvelous surprise the first time we were here, and we planned our walking tour to include El Morro, but the sporadic rains started before we disembarked and turned into a constant reason to duck for cover. We did some sightseeing through parts of town in between rain showers, but cut our tour short and headed back to the boat. If you want to find a drugstore, all you have to do is watch for the long lines as it seems that is the first place everyone from the ships go. The Walgreens at the foot of the pier does a bang up business every time a cruise ship docks. The first sign you see when you step onto the pier is a warning sign about the one hundred dollar fine for failing to wear a mask. Everyone in every store we stopped in was masked. The crew and staff of the boat were on a tight leash due to the COVID restrictions, and were restricted to crew members only outings.

We had dinner in the main dining room which was even emptier than usual. Dave, our waiter who has been with Celebrity Cruises for over eighteen years, welcomed us warmly as usual, our preferred drinks waiting as we were seated. The service on the Millennium is superb. To our unbridled relief, this cruise has been the perfect antidote to the last one we took some seven years earlier.

We were back on top by midnight to watch as we departed the brightly lit city. Another Celebrity ship, the Constellation, which joined us earlier along with Carnival’s Magic, shoved off just before we did. The two ship’s Captains did a long tete-a-tete with the ship’s horns to the delight of the passengers on deck. We were disappointed to find El Morrow is no longer well lighted at night and the marvelous structure is no longer dominate in the darkness as we sailed out the channel. No problem, we joined the dance party on the pool deck. Always a way to enjoy the moment. Definitely not a Geritol cruise.

Next: St. Croix

https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-8-st-croix.html

Moths to a Flame - Part 6, Oh Dark Thirty

It was “oh dark thirty” when I slowly focused on the dim display of the bedside alarm clock. I’m pretty sure the large numbers said 4:40, or something pretty close to it. “Oh dark thirty” was the Air Force way of saying very, very early in the morning. Many civilians don’t know the military says “Oh” in place of the technically correct numeric “zero” when saying twenty-four hour time in spoken English. Trust me, I can make this worse. You’d have to understand that both words zero or “Oh” are redundant. There is only one four-thirty in military time and that comes way too early for most of us. Four-thirty in the afternoon for normal people would be sixteen-thirty in military time. No excuse for somebody to miss a war just because they were sleeping in. But everybody in the military says “oh four thirty” as if they have to define the missing digit. If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be funny to ridicule military time.

I finally found my glasses and confirmed it was far earlier than I expected. It was not pitch black outside despite being in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I knew we were three days from the next full moon but that didn’t seem to be source of the odd, dim light. I pulled the curtains back slightly to see outside. Opening the balcony door was out of the question. The ship was balking at leaving its comfortable berth in Nassau and heading into a twenty-nine knot head-wind over twelve hours ago. We turned south after clearing the Northeast Providence Channel and were now in nine-foot seas. Moderate seas, as I hear the Captain say later. We are one hundred twenty miles due east of Port Nelson, Bahamas as we head toward San Juan at nineteen knots, about twenty-two miles per hour. The wind across the deck was a brisk forty-eight knots, about fifty-five mph. The low white light was from the ship’s lights illuminating the periodic, wind-swept ocean spray that seemed to encapsulate the ship. No wonder we were occasionally shuddering and shaking. It didn’t matter, Ilse was sound asleep as were most of the passengers on the ship.

A small, odd, faint glimmer of light caught my eye on the dark balcony sliding glass door. The dim light appeared to be on the horizon. But then it was gone. I tried to find it it and once again it appeared, and just as abruptly disappeared. Was that a ship? By then I was wide awake staring blankly into the darkness when I realized the pinpoint of light was on the glass, not on the horizon. The light was coming from the hallway through the peep-hole in the cabin door behind me. No phantom ships in the Bermuda Triangle to write about after all.

Sleep was out of the question, so I quietly dressed, picked up my camera and slipped out of the room. I had the ship completely to myself. I’m usually wide awake well before daybreak every single day we’re onboard. This day at sea is no different. I watched our early morning arrival in Nassau the day before, chatting with the only two other people on deck as we watched the beautiful sunrise as we pulled into port. They were both walkers, using the walking path through the chaise lounges on the pool deck before the sunbathers even woke up.

The only people on deck are the same two dedicated walkers I met yesterday, but today we are at sea. They press on, both wearing windbreakers and not stopping to chat for long. I had a reminder from the ship’s app to move my time ahead one hour as we had crossed into the Atlantic Time Zone but I didn’t bother. If my cell phone self adjusts, great, if not I’ll just add an hour… maybe. I haven’t worn a wrist watch since I retired.

I stood on the top deck as the wind began to subside and the white caps began to to diminish. Once again, I get to see my favorite part of cruising, the phenomenal, deep blue of the open ocean. The shuddering subsided as the ocean smoothed out. It doesn’t take mother nature much to remind us we are just small humans on her big, powerful planet. Even though the ship weighs more than ninety thousand tons and pushes over twenty-one million gallons of sea water aside just to float, Planet Earth still taps us on the shoulder every once in a while to let us know we are here at her pleasure.

Ilse and I sat in the room and talked about our plans and promptly forgot about the time change. When we went to the dining room for breakfast, of course we were late. It was quarter after nine not quarter after eight, and the tables were being reset for the next meal. Besides, they were having a tour of the kitchen later. When we realized our mistake, we got up and apologized, told them we were going up top to eat at the open buffet, but Maitre ‘d and our staff would would not hear any part of it. To say the service on the Millennium is outstanding would be an understatement. We were re-seated and served a marvelous breakfast as if nothing happened. We decided not to miss the kitchen tour.

We spent the rest of the day after the tour just exploring shops and facilities, and of course back on deck where for the first time ever, we looked down on a rainbow. 

By four in the after noon, the wind was down to around forty knots but the shuddering snuck up on us occasionally.

After another great meal, we worked our way slowly to the theater for the evening show, stopping at several lounges and getting to listen to our friends Daniela and Seba once again. 

It is eleven thirty when we head back to the room after meeting new people who dance socially distanced from each other. The huge beautiful skylight lounge had a five piece band and exactly seven patrons.

We are two hundred and fifty miles from Puerto Rico.

https://piddlepaddler.blogspot.com/2022/01/moths-to-flame-part-7-san-juan.html