“To believe in luck, you must believe that the universe is a roulette wheel and instead of paying out to us what we have earned, it pays out only what it wishes. But it is not a spinning wheel of chance, it is a work of art, complete and framed by eternity.” (Dean Koontz, Innocence) Our adventures of these past few weeks, were peppered with truly amazing experiences that if one were to place odds on occurring, would have been astronomically improbable. With that being said as a preview to describing our trip, I hope to recount the voyage along with photos of the amazing sights we encountered. Photos and stories can’t truly do justice to relaying the feeling of actually being there and experiencing what we felt, but I will certainly do my best. It will take me a few posts to encompass the entire story, so here begins the telling…
Getting There
John Kretschmer Training Passage – Part I
The day of our departure to Tortola approached, as did the impeding, record breaking snowstorm in the Northeast. For over a year, I had meticulously planned this trip, originally for just myself, but as luck would have it, that which some would call the spinning wheel of chance, someone backed out last minute and Dan was able to come with me. I booked the trip knowing that the end of January often brought inclement weather. I planned to leave a day early in order to provide a slush day if we did incur bad weather on our departure day. A major snowstorm hit Boston, temporarily halting flights, but by the morning of our departure, air traffic began to resume its normal schedule. I had booked a series of flights to get to the island of St. Thomas, saving us several hundred dollars in airfare by not taking a direct flight to Tortola. It would have cost between $700 – $800 each to fly to Beef Island in Tortola, but I got an amazing deal and paid around $250 round trip for each of us to get to St. Thomas. Once in St. Thomas, all we had to do was take a short ferry ride over to Tortola where we would meet John Kretschmer and begin our Trans Atlantic training passage. Seemed like a simple enough plan.
All seemed good and right as we awoke at 4 am to start the three leg series that would land us in the islands. Our flight was due to take off at 6 am and the flights were running to Boston without delay. Our son, Derek, awoke early, cooked us breakfast, made us tea, and we began our adventure with bright and cheery attitudes. Derek drove us to the Philly airport where we checked our bags, passed through security and boarded our flight. I held hands with Daniel as we watched the sun rising from the tarmac, waiting for our turn to take off, our spirits soaring as brightly as the newly dawning day. We taxied into position with high hopes for a smooth trip, until the announcement shattered our peaceful beginning that the plane was experience electric problems. We had evaded the wrench that Mother Nature could have thrown in to our plans, only to be thwarted by electrical issues.
We arrived back at the gate and after questioning the flight attendent on how we could possibly make our connection from Boston to Charlotte with this delay, she suggested we disembark and get a flight directly to Charlotte without going through Boston. I asked her about our luggage, and how that possibly would make the connection. She promised us it would follow us in a timely manner. Taking her word, we left the silence of the other waiting passengers and walked off the plane. Without hesitation, the US Airways representative booked Dan and I on a flight to Charlotte and again, I inquired about our luggage only to be cursorily told that our luggage would get to Tortola. In the back of my mind, the math did not add up. If Dan and I couldn’t get to St. Thomas on our originally planned route, what were the chances of our luggage arriving on time? I had great reservations about spending ten days out at sea with no clothes. At this point, we had no other options and found ourselves waiting back at the Philly airport until 10 am. Good thing we got up at 4 and arrived at the airport at 6! C’est la vie.
The main reason I gave us an extra day in St. Thomas was there were no flights arriving in Tortola from the Northeast that arrived before 3:30 in the afternoon. The last ferry from St. Thomas to Tortola left at 5:00. If the plane was delayed or there was any problem with the luggage, we would miss the last ferry off the island, and thus miss our boat’s departure the following morning. I planned on getting into St. Thomas a day early, spending a leisurely evening in a hotel, and give ourselves all day to take the ferry to Tortola. We would spend the next evening aboard our vessel, a 47ft. Kaufman named Quetzal, and depart first thing the next morning. As Dan and I sat watching the baggage carousel spewing out luggage at our final destination in St. Thomas, with no sign of our own, I knew we were in trouble. Despite all the promises from the US Airways helpful staff, I knew the odds of our luggage actually being on our plane were slim to none. In the spirit of adventure, with the warm Caribbean breezes drifting through the airport and the rum punches already flowing; Dan and I still had smiles on our faces as we began the process of reporting our lost luggage. However, since there was only 1 flight a day arriving from Charlotte to St. Thomas, the 3:30 flight, we were now in the same boat as if we had left Philly a day later. We had to wait for the last flight of the day to land, pray our luggage was on that flight, and drive across the island to catch the 5:00 ferry. Meanwhile, Dan and I had 24 hours to kill in St. Thomas, with no luggage.
If you don’t mind peeling paint, slightly musty odors and saggy mattresses, Sunset Gardens hotel in St. Thomas is a great place to stay. It only has a few rooms, but has an amazing view, and is very reasonable for the islands. We ventured from our hotel into the town of Charlotte Amalie and shopped for at least one change of clothes if our luggage didn’t arrive, dined, and sampled the pleasures and sights of the island. We checked in periodically with the airport to ensure our luggage was in fact on the way, and contacted John with our dilemma. We had a plan B and a plan C if our luggage did not arrive. Plan C was to swim to Tortola, so I was hoping we wouldn’t get to plan C. By 3 the next afternoon, Dan and I were back at the baggage carousel, waiting anxiously for the luggage to begin the unceremonious journey along the moving track, and praying that ours would make their appearance from the mysterious magic door. Bag after bag popped into view, and at 4:30, there was still no sign of our own. I glanced nervously at my watch and proactively had a taxi lined up to take us to the ferry. 4:35, the last few straggling bags emerge into view, ours among them. Dan and I sprang into motion. He threw me one bag, and told me to sprint to the taxi while he retrieved the other. Outside the terminal, while we were franticly watching the moments tick by until the last ferry untied from the dock, the taxi men where on island time.
Island time. It runs quite differently from US time. I ran outside and informed the driver that our luggage had arrived and we HAD to make the 5:00 ferry in town. With motions as slow and deliberate as a sloth basking in the summer sun, he loaded my bag into the back of the van, then disappeared. Dan sprinted into view with the last bag and hurled it into the back of the van. Six other passengers were also waiting to get to the ferry and Dan took the second to last spot in the back of the van next to me. Breathing hard, he looked at me after settling in, and inquired as to the whereabouts of the driver.
“I don’t know,” I yelled in frustration. “He seems to have disappeared. Get your ass out of the van and go find the man!” Dan took the cue and crawled back through the seats and exploded out of the door to find the missing driver. Our friendly island cab driver was in the process of returning with yet another customer and chatting happily with him, repeating his sloth like motions to add the man’s bag to the back of the van. Finally, the last inch of space in the back of the van was taken by Dan and the last passenger. I glanced at my watch and we had 15 minutes to get to the ferry, and buy tickets. Then, a terrifying thought occurred. When going from the US Virgins to the British Virgins, you have to clear customs. “Oh dear God,” I said to Dan. “How are we going to get through customs, buy our tickets and make it on the ferry in 15 minutes?”
Island time. You gotta love it. We arrived at the ferry at 4:55 and I elbowed my way to the customs window while Dan rushed off to get the tickets. 15 minutes later, we had our tickets in hand, our bags were sent off through a different door to be taken to the ferry, and we were alone on the dock. No one else was ready to board the ferry. 20 minutes later, the dock workers ambled into view, loaded the luggage and let the passengers aboard. Island time working in our favor this time. We settled into the seats on the top of the deck to get a great view of our passage, and smiled contentedly that all had fallen into place. We had our luggage, we made the last ferry off the island, and in an hour or so, we would be aboard Quetzal. What we didn’t know then, was the surprise that was waiting for us quite near our waiting vessel. It seems that the spinning roulette wheel of luck had landed once again on our winning number and we were in for a big surprise.
