Now that’s more like it. Our flight to Miami made up for the lack of windows yesterday by sporting two windows on each first class row. We don’t often fly first class but my advice, if you get a chance, do it. Sit back with a mimosa and a good book and wait for breakfast to be served. I am reading a slutty thriller. Joe is reading Dante’s Divine Comedy about the seven levels of hell. Sometimes it’s like I don’t even know him. I can’t say for sure, but I suspect that yesterday’s flight inspired today’s reading material. I didn’t know American Airlines was even around in 1308.
We are making our first return engagement to Frenchman’s Lookout on Tortola in the British Virgin Islands (BVI). We’ve stayed at some really fine houses on our island treks but this one tops the list. It is a five suite villa that sits atop a mountain peninsula and has a 300 degree ocean view. It comes with a breakfast cook and a groundskeeper. I’m sure they will be delighted to hear of our impending return.
Getting there has proven to be a challenge. The house and the airport are on opposite ends of the island. It’s an hours drive through winding mountain roads. This time, we thought we’d be smart and fly into St Thomas and take a ferry over. That proved problematic because of flight time versus ferry time, so we’ve hired a private water taxi. At least I know where all the Pirates went…they are charging exorbitant rates to drive water taxis. The phrase “you can’t get there from here” comes to mind. Once again, Julia came through as our travel agent, getting all the kinks and bugs worked out. Many more trips like this and she may want to hang up her rolling suitcase. We, of course, being the selfish bastards that we are, won’t let her. She will be our travel maven until she is planning the best way to get ten Rascals on a plane.
We arrived in St Thomas to a crazy busy airport. I had somehow forgotten the humidity here is about 120%. I know you don’t believe that’s possible, but I swear it’s true. I look like Rosanne Rosana Dana on crack. I’m going to just have to go with it.
When we got to the house, we discovered that our groceries had not been delivered. While this might not seem like an emergency, our rum was in that order! Luckily, it soon showed up and we quickly hit the pool, where Tres proved he has a death wish by canonballing right in the middle of the women, with me taking the brunt of the splash. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But I will have my revenge.
Last week Eddie wanted everyone to send him a list of their five favorite songs. He made a playlist and we tried to guess who chose what song. We ended the day with dinner on the veranda, a gorgeous sunset, cigars, 18 year old Glenlivet and a discussion of the differences in toilets in India compared to toilets at the Aria in Las Vegas. All I can say is “holey shit” and the differences are vast. Maybe tomorrow we can talk about phlegm.