Friday, May 1, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Closure
Tonight brought the resolution of two things I've bitched about on this blog. First of all, the roommate and I had the conversation. I was wondering whether it would be necessary, but he again exhibited signs of having no sense of when not to ask me questions. He's been helping me put up the pot rack--which is the second thing that's been resolved--and actually, he's been very helpful in general--it was just the talking that was driving me nuts. So I came home, said I'd go to the hardware store as soon as I had a quick dinner, heated up my quick dinner, and sat down to eat it, when he starts asking me about my day. The minute I put a forkful into my mouth. Asks me what I did at work.
So I got back and we finished the pot rack-- and it looks good (I won't say great, because the wood panels draw attention to the fact that my ceiling is uneven, and one of the bars has to be at a slight angle, but with the pots and pans hanging from it, you can hardly tell). I thought about how to bring up the whole please-don't-talk-to-me-when-I'm-reading-etc. thing, but I didn't have to, because to his credit, he did. He asked--since it's been a month--how he was working out as a roommate. I said great, except for the talking thing. I made it clear that it wasn't personal, that it's an issue of my being tired and also wanting to get things done, and that it wasn't that I was never up for talking, just not when I was in the middle of something. He totally understood and took it well, said to be completely honest when I'm not interested in conversation.
So, it's a happy ending of April: The roommate issue of the last few days has been resolved, I have a pot rack, and the roommate is paying attention to Gracie so I don't have to.
***
I thought about posting a made-up example of what my blog would read like if I based it on all the mundane details of my life, but I just couldn't do it. And the details of my workday are even more mundane. I love my job, and it has its share of really interesting moments. The highlight—as was the highlight of my previous job—is interviewing people and learning about different things. However, the job comes with more than its fair share of unglamorous, meticulous tasks, which I don’t generally complain about because (1) they’re necessary and (2) it would be insane to complain about a fulfilling, well-paying job and secure job. Nonetheless, as I may have mentioned on these pages, my workplace has been described, somewhat but not entirely unfairly, as ‘where fun goes to die.’ While I’m very proud of the report that we issued yesterday, which will be available to the public a month from now, it’s hardly interesting to anyone unfamiliar with the topic. It’s important, well-researched, and well-written-- for which I can take a tiny part of the credit due to a hard-working team-- but I challenge you to get past the first few pages without falling asleep. And if you think the report itself is uninteresting to 99 percent of the population, its lack of mass appeal is nothing compared to that of the excruciatingly meticulous process that goes into putting the report together and clearing it to get out the door.
My point is, if you ask me how my day was, I'll say 'fine' or 'okay,' because, believe me, you don't want greater detail.
So I got back and we finished the pot rack-- and it looks good (I won't say great, because the wood panels draw attention to the fact that my ceiling is uneven, and one of the bars has to be at a slight angle, but with the pots and pans hanging from it, you can hardly tell). I thought about how to bring up the whole please-don't-talk-to-me-when-I'm-reading-etc. thing, but I didn't have to, because to his credit, he did. He asked--since it's been a month--how he was working out as a roommate. I said great, except for the talking thing. I made it clear that it wasn't personal, that it's an issue of my being tired and also wanting to get things done, and that it wasn't that I was never up for talking, just not when I was in the middle of something. He totally understood and took it well, said to be completely honest when I'm not interested in conversation.
So, it's a happy ending of April: The roommate issue of the last few days has been resolved, I have a pot rack, and the roommate is paying attention to Gracie so I don't have to.
***
I thought about posting a made-up example of what my blog would read like if I based it on all the mundane details of my life, but I just couldn't do it. And the details of my workday are even more mundane. I love my job, and it has its share of really interesting moments. The highlight—as was the highlight of my previous job—is interviewing people and learning about different things. However, the job comes with more than its fair share of unglamorous, meticulous tasks, which I don’t generally complain about because (1) they’re necessary and (2) it would be insane to complain about a fulfilling, well-paying job and secure job. Nonetheless, as I may have mentioned on these pages, my workplace has been described, somewhat but not entirely unfairly, as ‘where fun goes to die.’ While I’m very proud of the report that we issued yesterday, which will be available to the public a month from now, it’s hardly interesting to anyone unfamiliar with the topic. It’s important, well-researched, and well-written-- for which I can take a tiny part of the credit due to a hard-working team-- but I challenge you to get past the first few pages without falling asleep. And if you think the report itself is uninteresting to 99 percent of the population, its lack of mass appeal is nothing compared to that of the excruciatingly meticulous process that goes into putting the report together and clearing it to get out the door.
My point is, if you ask me how my day was, I'll say 'fine' or 'okay,' because, believe me, you don't want greater detail.
Thursday morning roundup
I know I said I would stop, but this Hertzberg piece is only partly about the tea parties, and, as usual, it's too good not to share.
Disturbing column from Kristof.
And an insightful-as-usual column from Collins.
Disturbing column from Kristof.
And an insightful-as-usual column from Collins.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Mother's always kind of right
For example, mom was right when she said that it's good to allow space between your car and the one in front of you. Now, that doesn't mean I needed to hear it at the time, or that she was being constructive in saying it (in fact, she was just annoying me, which made me less receptive to her message, which was, content-wise, perfectly reasonable). One might argue (and perhaps I already have argued) that mom has exhausted her credibility, and hence her ability to convey a message constructively, by offering unsolicited advice at every turn. She could tell me to always wear my seatbelt, which I do anyway, and I'd just roll my eyes at her. But I digress.
Mom was also kind of right that my roommate is too friendly--not in the sketchy sense that she implied; just in the literal sense. I advertised for a roommate, not for a live-in friend. What is available for the price of rent is a room and the common spaces in the house. My conversation, which entails my time and energy, is not for rent.
Now, I'm more than happy to be friendly, show the guy where things are around town, etc., but when I'm catching up on my Daily Shows and New Yorkers, I would like to do so in peace (that goes for you, too, Gracie), and everything about my body language says as much. I let it go the first time it happened; rather, I figured he would gauge by my monotonous, non-committal responses to his questions that I was not interested in conversation.
Sunday night
RM: So, tell me about your trip to China.
A.: [Shrug]. It was... over a year ago.
RM: You were there with your parents. How was that?
A.: It was okay.
A.: I'm really fading. Goodnight.
It was a bit smoother than that, but not much.
Tonight
There is sound coming off of my computer. It's the last few minutes of the Colbert Report.
RM: So, how was your day? [I'd asked him when he walked in how his was]
A.: It was fine. Busy.
RM: What time did you leave in the morning?
A.: I don't know... around 6:30?
RM: Did you bike or drive? It was rainy.
A.: I took the metro.
RM: So you walked to the metro in the rain.
A.: Yes.
RM: How long did that take?
A.: Just under ten minutes.
RM: Then?
A.: Then it takes twenty minutes to get to Chinatown, than another five to get to walk to the office.
RM: Oh, you have to walk once you get there, too?
A.: Yes.
RM: Then what happens?
A.: Then I work.
RM: So, first you turn on your computer...
OMFG. Did you all read that link from yesterday about Bob Graham and his diaries? There's a reason my blog isn't like that: I neither thing anyone else is, or should be, interested in the minutiae of my day, nor am I interested in that stuff. It bores me, and it's my day. It annoys me when my mom interrogates me about details she couldn't possibly have any use for, and it annoyed me when he was interrogating me. But it annoyed me even more that he had no gauge of how uninterested I was in this conversation.
RM: It's that, people fascinate me. I find people really fascinating.
And we had a discussion earlier about how he was an extrovert, gets energy from people, and he was really proud of himself for figuring out that I'm an introvert. So why can't he figure out that this conversation is less than enjoyable for me? Isn't part of being an extrovert having social skills?
RM: So, what's your routine once you've turned on your computer.
A.: I don't really have a routine. It depends on what's going on that day.
RM: So what was going on today?
A.: Well, I had to get this report out the door...
RM: What was it on?
A.: [content omitted]
RM: What did you find?
A.: I can't talk about that for another month, when it's officially out.
RM: Well, I could just google it.
A.: You could, but you won't get any results until it's officially issued, a month from now.
RM: So after you turn your computer on, you get your coffee, or tea?
And so on until I cut the conversation off. It was actually a very frustrating day at work and I didn't want to talk about it. And who the f* cares about my routine? Have I ever, ever blogged about my routine at work? That's because there is nothing interesting about it whatsoever.
An hour or so later. I'm blogging.
RM: So, what is the name of the book you're writing?
A.: [dismissive laugh]
RM: What is the name of the book you're writing?
A.: I'm not writing a book.
He got the point, for a whole ten minutes. Then started talking again (just saying something silly to get my attention).
RM: Can you hear me?
A.: Yes, I can hear you. I'm trying not to, because I'm busy, but I can hear you.
Hopefully, with that, I have established that I'm not always up for conversation, just because I'm here. I'm willing to get more confrontational but I'm hoping that I won't have to. It's a six-month lease, with five months left, and he won't be here most weekends.
Mom was also kind of right that my roommate is too friendly--not in the sketchy sense that she implied; just in the literal sense. I advertised for a roommate, not for a live-in friend. What is available for the price of rent is a room and the common spaces in the house. My conversation, which entails my time and energy, is not for rent.
Now, I'm more than happy to be friendly, show the guy where things are around town, etc., but when I'm catching up on my Daily Shows and New Yorkers, I would like to do so in peace (that goes for you, too, Gracie), and everything about my body language says as much. I let it go the first time it happened; rather, I figured he would gauge by my monotonous, non-committal responses to his questions that I was not interested in conversation.
Sunday night
RM: So, tell me about your trip to China.
A.: [Shrug]. It was... over a year ago.
RM: You were there with your parents. How was that?
A.: It was okay.
A.: I'm really fading. Goodnight.
It was a bit smoother than that, but not much.
Tonight
There is sound coming off of my computer. It's the last few minutes of the Colbert Report.
RM: So, how was your day? [I'd asked him when he walked in how his was]
A.: It was fine. Busy.
RM: What time did you leave in the morning?
A.: I don't know... around 6:30?
RM: Did you bike or drive? It was rainy.
A.: I took the metro.
RM: So you walked to the metro in the rain.
A.: Yes.
RM: How long did that take?
A.: Just under ten minutes.
RM: Then?
A.: Then it takes twenty minutes to get to Chinatown, than another five to get to walk to the office.
RM: Oh, you have to walk once you get there, too?
A.: Yes.
RM: Then what happens?
A.: Then I work.
RM: So, first you turn on your computer...
OMFG. Did you all read that link from yesterday about Bob Graham and his diaries? There's a reason my blog isn't like that: I neither thing anyone else is, or should be, interested in the minutiae of my day, nor am I interested in that stuff. It bores me, and it's my day. It annoys me when my mom interrogates me about details she couldn't possibly have any use for, and it annoyed me when he was interrogating me. But it annoyed me even more that he had no gauge of how uninterested I was in this conversation.
RM: It's that, people fascinate me. I find people really fascinating.
And we had a discussion earlier about how he was an extrovert, gets energy from people, and he was really proud of himself for figuring out that I'm an introvert. So why can't he figure out that this conversation is less than enjoyable for me? Isn't part of being an extrovert having social skills?
RM: So, what's your routine once you've turned on your computer.
A.: I don't really have a routine. It depends on what's going on that day.
RM: So what was going on today?
A.: Well, I had to get this report out the door...
RM: What was it on?
A.: [content omitted]
RM: What did you find?
A.: I can't talk about that for another month, when it's officially out.
RM: Well, I could just google it.
A.: You could, but you won't get any results until it's officially issued, a month from now.
RM: So after you turn your computer on, you get your coffee, or tea?
And so on until I cut the conversation off. It was actually a very frustrating day at work and I didn't want to talk about it. And who the f* cares about my routine? Have I ever, ever blogged about my routine at work? That's because there is nothing interesting about it whatsoever.
An hour or so later. I'm blogging.
RM: So, what is the name of the book you're writing?
A.: [dismissive laugh]
RM: What is the name of the book you're writing?
A.: I'm not writing a book.
He got the point, for a whole ten minutes. Then started talking again (just saying something silly to get my attention).
RM: Can you hear me?
A.: Yes, I can hear you. I'm trying not to, because I'm busy, but I can hear you.
Hopefully, with that, I have established that I'm not always up for conversation, just because I'm here. I'm willing to get more confrontational but I'm hoping that I won't have to. It's a six-month lease, with five months left, and he won't be here most weekends.
And I don't mean single women with cats
My demographic is officially worth studying: check out this event, which I, unfortunately, will not be able to attend.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Comedy
I hope you all caught Jon Stewart's (mispronounced) Che reference last night. And in case you were wondering, the t-shirts are still sold out on Colbert Nation.
Speaking of Colbert, a scientific study indicates that conservatives don't realize he's joking; and the National Organization for Marriage harbors some delusions about its video being featured on his show.
Speaking of Colbert, a scientific study indicates that conservatives don't realize he's joking; and the National Organization for Marriage harbors some delusions about its video being featured on his show.
Phone call
Mom means well, but she fails to appreciate that (1) I have access to groceries; (2) while my kitchen and fridge are not tiny, I don't care to fill either up with things I don't need; and (3) irony makes the situation slightly more tolerable (see title of this blog to register irony).
Mom: You like that port-wine cheese, right?
A.: Yes...
Mom: Oh, good. I bought you two pounds of it.
A.: What? Why? Mom, I don't need...
Mom: It keeps well, you'll get through it bit by bit.
Mom: What's that noise? Are you outside?
A.: Yes.
Mom, worried: Driving?
A.: No.
Mom: Are you going to bed now?
A.: No.
It was about 8:30pm.
Mom: You like that port-wine cheese, right?
A.: Yes...
Mom: Oh, good. I bought you two pounds of it.
A.: What? Why? Mom, I don't need...
Mom: It keeps well, you'll get through it bit by bit.
Mom: What's that noise? Are you outside?
A.: Yes.
Mom, worried: Driving?
A.: No.
Mom: Are you going to bed now?
A.: No.
It was about 8:30pm.
Tuesday evening roundup
This is awesome, and I'd be worried that I've done as much perfectly sober, but I've talked to plenty of other people who have done it, too. At one point at a brunch last year, almost an entire table of people, most of whom I'd never met in my life, were talking about how they found themselves in the Pentagon's parking lot.
Wendy learned this the hard way yesterday and this morning (albeit unrelated to the Pentagon):
***
I know you're sick of reading analyses of the tea parties-- and I've refrained from posting stuff-- but this one is really good.
On a kind-of related note, why moral hazard arguments against mortgage rescue can be misguided.
***
A witty take on the excesses of twitter.
***
I'm sure there's a market in this country for this kind of thing just waiting to be tapped.
***
You may want to wash your eyes out with soap upon seeing the picture, but the last sentence of the blurb is even more disturbing.
***
The second-seat controversy broke as I was on my way to St. Lucia. The Economist offers an intelligent take.
Wendy learned this the hard way yesterday and this morning (albeit unrelated to the Pentagon):
The Pentagon's own Web site tells visitors to take public transportation and warns that driving through the District during rush hours is "asking for trouble" and that the options to get to the Pentagon are "tricky" and "trickier."
***
I know you're sick of reading analyses of the tea parties-- and I've refrained from posting stuff-- but this one is really good.
On a kind-of related note, why moral hazard arguments against mortgage rescue can be misguided.
***
A witty take on the excesses of twitter.
***
I'm sure there's a market in this country for this kind of thing just waiting to be tapped.
***
You may want to wash your eyes out with soap upon seeing the picture, but the last sentence of the blurb is even more disturbing.
***
The second-seat controversy broke as I was on my way to St. Lucia. The Economist offers an intelligent take.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
St. Lucia
Answers to the questions you may be thinking:
Do you ever work?
-If you’ll recall, I worked over the holidays. Well, not on the actual holidays, but on the surrounding days. I work a lot. And then I take a lot of vacation.
If it makes you feel any better, I did get pangs of guilt, especially during the most amazing moments of the trip, when I’d find myself thinking, ‘I can’t believe I’m snorkeling, seeing these exotic, colorful fish, while my teammates are working to get two reports out the door.’ And then I’d get over it.
Actually, when I first got the wedding invitation, and figured out that I could get there and back on miles, I thought, ‘okay, how can I go to the wedding and miss the least possible amount of work, i.e. spend the least amount of time possible in St. Lucia.’ And then I caught myself in that thought and snapped out of it, and decided to go for five days.
How come you won the vacation lottery?
-Cuz I won the friend lottery. I have great friends. They’re fun and they initiate fun trips.
As your mom would say, didn’t Heather and Tom and their families get sick of you?
-Perhaps, but they continued to put up with my overbearing presence, out of politeness if nothing else, as mom would say.
How did you coordinate without cell phones?
-It worked out, partly because Soufriere is kind of a small city. I had no idea, upon arrival on the island, what I would do with myself that evening or the following day (I arrived on Friday afternoon and the wedding was Saturday evening), but when I checked into my hotel, the receptionist conveyed a message, from Heather, that she’d pick me up outside the hotel for dinner.
My hotel was downtown, across from the main square and main church (and yes, the church bells in the morning did get annoying). You couldn’t really go to many places without driving past it. I’d read a handful of reviews, some glowing, some less so—there were complaints about city noise (bad the first night—but no traveler with half a brain leaves home without earplugs—and actually non-existent for most of my stay), and there were some warnings about the ‘seedy’ location, which I rightly took with a grain of salt. Nothing about that area was seedy—it was just… urban Caribbean. Newsflash: outside the polished resorts of the Caribbean live some very poor people. There wasn’t a day that Soufriere didn’t remind me of Bluefields in one way or another, although it was less depressed.
On Saturday, we yachted over to Ti Kaye, where we snorkeled before leisurely sailing back. It was beautiful, and I took a few pictures of the sea and the overlooking villages and cliffs, but most turned out pretty blah. It was great. Heather, at one point, said, ‘This is the life.’ I again felt bad about not being at work, even though it was Saturday, because I had a feeling my team was working anyway… but once again, I got over it.
We sailed back to Soufriere, where the captain and crew (of one/two total) pointed out the boat that was used in “Pirates of the Caribbean,” which was filmed in nearby St. Vincent and the Grenadines. After cleaning up, I headed outside to wait for my ride. Not renting a car in St Lucia was the best decision ever—not that I would have even thought about it if I’d realized at the time that they drive on the left, or that the roads are so bad. I’d planned to take taxis, which I did to and from the airport, but the rest of the time, someone from Heather’s or Tom’s family would swing by to pick me up.
I had a little bit of time before the wedding to clean up and have lunch, so I stopped into Camille's for an okay roti (a massive wrap). Not unusually, the kitchen was elsewhere--in this case, upstairs--but there was a bar in the restaurant. On the shelves, next to all the neatly arranged alcohol, was a handwritten sign that said 'Viagra Sold Here.'
I'm glad I wasn't staying in one of the places with iffy plumbing or water supply, because it was hot and humid enough, and we were active enough, that I just wanted to shower all the time. It was kind of futile, because you'd want to shower five minutes after getting out of the shower, but it was still nice to shower.
Heather invited us to come early and hang out while she got ready. Crystals, where she was staying and where the wedding would be, offers great views of the Pitons—the two volcanos that define the St Lucian landscape (the southern part of it, anyway)—and the other surrounding mountains. You couldn’t turn your head without seeing something beautiful. I went out on their balcony and took some pictures before coming in to offer my share of moral support.
Not much was needed—Heather was anything but bridezilla.
Heather: Am I wearing too much lipstick?
A., others: Not at all.
As someone who doesn’t usually wear makeup, when I do actually put it on it always feels excessive, so I knew where she was coming from.
Heather: It seems like I’m wearing a lot of makeup. Do I look like a prostitute?
A., others: Not at all.
Later
A.: I’m having similar thoughts with this dress. All this cleavage makes me wonder if I look like a prostitute.
Jessica: You guys are so cute! Have you seen what prostitutes look like these days?
We ventured out on the deck to where the wedding would take place. The pitons loomed in the background. The scenery was beautiful. The musicians started playing their steel drums. Heather and Tom were married, pictures were taken, great local food was served.
The following morning, I walked over to the botanical garden and waterfall/sulphur baths (not to be confused with the famed Sulphur Springs at the drive-in volcano, which Tom’s sisters had explored and deemed a tourist trap—not that the diamond waterfall wasn’t one, but it was walking distance and not a bad way to spend the morning). Soufriere is actually named for the sulphur in the area. I walked back downtown, unsure of my plans for the afternoon, and popped into the Wine and Coffee Shop.
The WCS was started, about a month ago, by a Danish woman whose Italian husband ran a wine cooperative in Italy. He’s still associated with it, and they import the wine and sell it along with—you guessed it, coffee—as well as this habit-forming banana bread made by a local woman. Bananas are very big in St Lucia—it wasn’t fruit season when we were there, but bananas are always in season. I think I mentioned the banana ketchup that you find in stores and restaurants. Other local foods—those I saw at the market on Saturday morning, as well as on restaurant menus—include sweet potatoes, eggplant, green beans, yucca and pumpkin.
I’d heard about the WCS—it’s low-profit, in the sense that it’s partly there to employ local youth—and decided to pop in and maybe check my e-mail. Joel, aka Doggie, greeted me: “Hey—you’re with Kyle and Kim!” (Tom’s sisters). Soufriere was quite the small town. I chatted with Doggie and Beverly over some coffee and banana bread, and started reading the paper online when Mark, Tom’s brother, popped in. He was already best buds with the coffee shop crew. He told me that the family was heading to the botanical garden then (I’d just gone)a and would later head up to Anse Chastenet—a nicer beach than the one downtown—and that someone or other would pick me at the Hummingbird on the way in an hour or two. And so I factored in Caribbean time and brought my New Yorker—the travel issue, as it were—and lo and behold, Tom and Heather drove by and collected me.
Anse Chastenet was lovely. We spent the afternoon there and discussed dinner plans. The folks at Crystals had kitchens and would make appetizers. Mark, a New Jersey native who takes his pizza very seriously, had tried and loved a local pizza place the day before and suggested we revisit it. I’d get the wine, from Lila and co. Chris, Heather’s brother, would join us.
The pizza place was awesome. I wish I’d taken my camera. It’s basically in an alley—well, the walk up to it is, and the bakery, brick ovens and all, was in the back of the building. It too had opened only recently, and business was booming. All evening, people were coming in and ordering pizza. We ordered nine pies and went over to the wine shop to hang out and chat while we waited.
Hours later, the pizza was ready and wine picked up, and we were on our way. Now, the ride to Crystals is not exactly smooth. The other day, I’d bought some eggs to bring up and Tom insisted that I hold them rather than stick them in the back.
Mark: Hang on, I’m going to go fast. I can’t stop thinking about that pizza.
It was like an amusement park ride.
We had dinner and wine and s’mores, and looked up at the stars. I can’t remember the last time I saw so many stars, and so clearly visible. What I could guarantee—and I wasn’t the only person to point this out—was that it was the first time in my life I was looking at the stars without freezing my ass off. It was awesome.
The next day, we went yachting and snorkeling again. I saw even more amazing, exotic fish, and, it being Monday, felt a bit guilty about not being at work. Afterward we had lunch at Fedo’s—a poorly kept secret as an amazing local-food restaurant—where who came in but the pizza guy from last night. Small town, I tell you.
Afterward, Heather’s dad, who is quite the photographer, said he would drive around and take pictures, particularly to Canaries, a town we passed on the water on the way to Ti Kaye. Heather’s aunt Barbara and I opted to join him (another popular activity undertaken that afternoon was napping). We dropped off Heather’s mom, and Barbara and I enjoyed the Crystals scenery while we waited for Heather’s dad to get the camera equipment he needed. I saw Chris and co. coming up the hill and stepped up on a rock to get out of the way. Thirty seconds or so later, I felt a burning sensation at my feet and looked down to see my shoes and feet covered in reddish-black spots. I was being attacked by fire ants. I jumped down and started shaking them off my feet. Barbara thought fast and also shook them off my shoes. It was quite the adrenaline rush.
The ride to Canaries took us past some very scenic views. The town itself reminded me a lot of Bluefields. I bought some plantains from some women on the street—I wondered afterward whether John and Barbara thought that was sketchy—and we walked around the town. The locals looked bewildered at the thought of tourists there. We were fascinated by the recurring contrast of decrepit and refurbished: run-down, boarded up houses next to freshly painted ones with gorgeous mosaic-tiled steps. Just as we were about to leave, we saw some local fishermen drop off a couple of large dorados. They were more than happy to pose for pictures.
Dinner that night was much more subdued—even the kids (Heather’s nephews) were exhausted. The stars were just as beautiful, though.
The next morning, Heather, Tom, Barbara, Jessica (Barbara’s daughter/Heather’s cousin) and I set out to hike Gros Piton. Gros Piton is taller than its Petit neighbor, but also wider, and thus less steep, and unlike Petit Piton, summitable without ropes or other special equipment. Nonetheless, it was a bitch to climb. The first half-hour wasn’t bad, but then it was like climbing really steep stairs for an hour and a half, and the hike down was like climbing down really steep stairs. It was rough; our legs were shaking and we were exhausted. Worth it, though—amazing views from both the north and south faces.
After the hike, Heather and Tom dropped us off at Jalousie beach, which I would easily describe as the most beautiful I’d seen on the island, and took off for their date night. They’d been graciously entertaining family throughout their wedding week and opted for some downtime. I, meanwhile, was enjoying my status as an honorary family member, and continued to hang out with the family, the rest of which showed up to Jalousie shortly afterward. Barbara snorkeled there and said it was amazing. I hadn’t brought my gear, and though she’d offered to loan hers, I was enjoying just treading water and taking in the surrounding cliffs and mountains. Later, we all paparazzi’ed a heron that landed on the beach for an afternoon stroll.
That evening we had a tasty dinner at Mago, where Barbara and Jessica were staying. They served a ginger pumpkin soup, which Crystals had also served at the reception following the wedding—it was excellent. I had reacted wearily to the news of peanut butter flan for dessert, but it was actually delicious.
It was kind of interesting to go around to all these different places—it was like a tour of the accommodations in southern St. Lucia. I have to say that I liked mine—the budget option—the best. I hadn’t even sprung for a room with a view, but that was an option. The hotel was certainly downtown, and it lacked the views and privacy of some of the other places, but the room was actually the nicest I’d seen, and the one with the most functional air conditioning. The folks at Crystals loved their views and their kitchens—and the suites were beautiful and creatively designed—but plumbing problems abounded and the rooms never really got cool enough (i.e. not oppressively hot). The rooms at Mago were open—they overlooked Soufriere, with the Pitons in the background—but didn’t keep out the bugs or noise. The Hummingbird, where Mark stayed, was okay—sure, it offered beach access, but it wasn’t the nicest beach (and I could walk there in five minutes from my hotel, anyway). All beaches on the island are public, so you can access the one at Jalousie, for example, without paying the $600-$900-per-night price tag. Another friend of Heather’s stayed near the airport at an all-inclusive resort, and apart from attending the wedding and dinner the night before, didn’t join in on any activities. She basically stayed at the resort and did water aerobics and stuff. I ran into her later, when we were both waiting for connecting flights out of Miami. She said she wouldn’t go back to St. Lucia; after all, there were many beautiful coastlines in the world—why go back to a really poor island? Fair enough—while I don’t particularly agree with that assessment, nor validate it coming from someone who barely left her resort, I wouldn’t take it upon myself to roll my eyes and fear for the future of my country. Except that she’s in the foreign service.
I’ve never done the all-inclusive thing, perhaps because my parents have and hated it. They hated feeling tied down to the resort, when they were there to explore. I wouldn’t want impetus to stay put rather than get out; nor do I need impetus to eat all I can. Wendy, Chris’s wife was saying that she can see how an all-inclusive place would pay for itself (and St. Lucia is not cheap), and that’s nothing to sneeze at. But I’d decided, especially since my flight was practically free and hotel relatively inexpensive, that I’d rather spend money and see as much as possible of what St. Lucia had to offer than save money and see less.
Which was a good thing, because for a while I was concerned that Wednesday’s rainforest hike would cost me. And it would have been worth it.
Heather and co. were going on a rainforest hike on Wednesday—the day of my flight out—but weren’t sure what time they’d get back, so I opted not to go with them. I’d planned on leaving Soufriere around noon that day to get to the airport at 1pm for a 3pm flight, as recommended. I did want something to do on Wednesday morning, and I really wanted to see the rainforest. And I knew that Lila had also taken to organizing tours around the island. As it happened, they were going to Enbas Saut rainforest on Wednesday morning, and she was sure they’d be back by 11am or 11:30. After all, she’d made lunch reservations at Fedo’s for the other people on the tour—three Americans living on a sailboat in Mexico and sailing around the West Indies. So I signed on.
I was a little concerned when we didn’t get going until 10am (meeting time was 9:30), and increasingly so as it became clear that there’s no way we’d be back in time. My stuff was still in the hotel—I’d wanted to shower upon returning, so I didn’t check out—and the hotel could charge me for an extra night if I wasn’t out by noon. There was also the issue of missing my flight. So you see how these things could have added up. But I didn’t miss my flight, and the hotel didn’t charge me—Lila sensed my anxiety, reassured me that I had time to get to the airport and offered to go in and reason with reception—but she didn’t need to. They dropped me at the hotel around 1pm, and she said she’d go in and talk to reception after she dropped the others at the restaurant. I ran in, showered, grabbed my stuff, checked out, ran to the bank to get cash for the cab to the airport, and hopped in that cab. I felt bad about not waiting for Lila but I figured she’d understand. I do need to write her, thank her, and send her the picture of her and Vanelle at the waterfall. Anyway, the cabdriver booked it and I got to the airport at 2pm. There was no line whatsoever—probably because everyone else had gone through an hour ago—and I had just enough time to get through, wolf down a sandwich, and board. I couldn’t have been happier that I’d spent the morning hiking in the rainforest rather than sitting at the airport. Nonetheless, it was a bit stressful.
The rainforest hike wasn’t nearly as strenuous as the trail at Gros Piton, but it was hardly a leisurely stroll. It was pleasant, because it was in the shade, and the surrounding flora made for a beautiful hike. The waterfall at the base was amazing—the color of the rock face, made shiny from the water and red from the sun, was stunning. I took many pictures, but I doubt any managed to capture that deep red color. It was beautiful.
On the way back up, Vanelle talked about the flora. He pointed out an incense plant, as used in Catholic churches around the island, and also showed us an oily tree whose sticks could be used as torches should one be stuck in the rainforest after dark. He named the various lilies and orchids, and showed us a cacao plant—and cracked open its pod and offered the contents for a tasting. The pulp surrounding the bean was quite tasty, with a citrus flavor. That’s what’s removed, sometimes by people’s feet, before the bean on the inside is fermented and roasted. The views around the trail were beautiful, too, as was the drive back, during which a discussion took place that was not dissimilar to others I’d heard during the course of the trip: how happy everyone was that Obama was president. And these are not fiercely political nor partisan people. Lila said the election was very closely followed on the island, as well as the entire Caribbean region, and that people were ecstatic. Chris, the cab driver who took me to the airport, also noted the phenomenon.
The flight to Miami was just under four hours, and we got there minutes too late for me to catch an earlier flight to DC, but the three-hour wait for my flight wasn’t bad. I made some phone calls and reflected on the trip. I called my roommate to ask if everything was okay, which it was, and he insisted on picking me up at the airport (I would get in after midnight, minutes too late to catch the last metro train to my stop). It was very nice of him.
I told my mom that, she thought it was too nice; I rolled my eyes. He’s just a nice person. I called her from the airport as well—she’d wanted me to call her upon arrival in St. Lucia and I told her that I wouldn’t. Her ‘but you could get a sim card’ was met with my ‘but I’m not going to so you’re just going to have to assume that I’m fine.’ This time—i.e., in Miami, on my way home—she asked me how much the trip cost. I shuddered. Mom’s ‘how much was that?’ is really one of my least favorite car games. This time around, though, she was interested for a better reason, i.e. because she was thinking of going, not because she was stalking my finances. I think… because I told her how much I think it cost me, qualifying with the fact that I used miles for the flight, and she asked how much it would cost if one purchased a ticket. It was very hard to say: I got a great price for the hotel, largely because I was comfortable staying downtown and because whatever-you-want-to-call-the-global-economic-downturn has lowered hotel prices around the island. Activities on the island are expensive: they know they can gauge tourists, and even the hikes are made to cost quite a bit, whether by entry fees or requiring guides. We all did get sick of the constant haggling, at which I’ve never been very good. I do appreciate that some of the high prices are aimed at job creation and sustainable development. So I can’t put a price tag on my experience or estimate what it would cost someone else. And even though the island is beautiful, a bit part of the reason that the trip was so much fun, as with the Galapagos, is that I was there with my friends. I’ve not been to other Caribbean island nations, although I’ve been to Caribbean parts of Panama and Nicaragua, and they, too, were beautiful, so I can’t tell you how St. Lucia compares to, say, Belize, or either set of Virgin Islands. All I can tell you is that St. Lucia is beautiful, the trip was fun and amazing, and my friends are awesome.
Do you ever work?
-If you’ll recall, I worked over the holidays. Well, not on the actual holidays, but on the surrounding days. I work a lot. And then I take a lot of vacation.
If it makes you feel any better, I did get pangs of guilt, especially during the most amazing moments of the trip, when I’d find myself thinking, ‘I can’t believe I’m snorkeling, seeing these exotic, colorful fish, while my teammates are working to get two reports out the door.’ And then I’d get over it.
Actually, when I first got the wedding invitation, and figured out that I could get there and back on miles, I thought, ‘okay, how can I go to the wedding and miss the least possible amount of work, i.e. spend the least amount of time possible in St. Lucia.’ And then I caught myself in that thought and snapped out of it, and decided to go for five days.
How come you won the vacation lottery?
-Cuz I won the friend lottery. I have great friends. They’re fun and they initiate fun trips.
As your mom would say, didn’t Heather and Tom and their families get sick of you?
-Perhaps, but they continued to put up with my overbearing presence, out of politeness if nothing else, as mom would say.
How did you coordinate without cell phones?
-It worked out, partly because Soufriere is kind of a small city. I had no idea, upon arrival on the island, what I would do with myself that evening or the following day (I arrived on Friday afternoon and the wedding was Saturday evening), but when I checked into my hotel, the receptionist conveyed a message, from Heather, that she’d pick me up outside the hotel for dinner.
My hotel was downtown, across from the main square and main church (and yes, the church bells in the morning did get annoying). You couldn’t really go to many places without driving past it. I’d read a handful of reviews, some glowing, some less so—there were complaints about city noise (bad the first night—but no traveler with half a brain leaves home without earplugs—and actually non-existent for most of my stay), and there were some warnings about the ‘seedy’ location, which I rightly took with a grain of salt. Nothing about that area was seedy—it was just… urban Caribbean. Newsflash: outside the polished resorts of the Caribbean live some very poor people. There wasn’t a day that Soufriere didn’t remind me of Bluefields in one way or another, although it was less depressed.
On Saturday, we yachted over to Ti Kaye, where we snorkeled before leisurely sailing back. It was beautiful, and I took a few pictures of the sea and the overlooking villages and cliffs, but most turned out pretty blah. It was great. Heather, at one point, said, ‘This is the life.’ I again felt bad about not being at work, even though it was Saturday, because I had a feeling my team was working anyway… but once again, I got over it.
We sailed back to Soufriere, where the captain and crew (of one/two total) pointed out the boat that was used in “Pirates of the Caribbean,” which was filmed in nearby St. Vincent and the Grenadines. After cleaning up, I headed outside to wait for my ride. Not renting a car in St Lucia was the best decision ever—not that I would have even thought about it if I’d realized at the time that they drive on the left, or that the roads are so bad. I’d planned to take taxis, which I did to and from the airport, but the rest of the time, someone from Heather’s or Tom’s family would swing by to pick me up.
I had a little bit of time before the wedding to clean up and have lunch, so I stopped into Camille's for an okay roti (a massive wrap). Not unusually, the kitchen was elsewhere--in this case, upstairs--but there was a bar in the restaurant. On the shelves, next to all the neatly arranged alcohol, was a handwritten sign that said 'Viagra Sold Here.'
I'm glad I wasn't staying in one of the places with iffy plumbing or water supply, because it was hot and humid enough, and we were active enough, that I just wanted to shower all the time. It was kind of futile, because you'd want to shower five minutes after getting out of the shower, but it was still nice to shower.
Heather invited us to come early and hang out while she got ready. Crystals, where she was staying and where the wedding would be, offers great views of the Pitons—the two volcanos that define the St Lucian landscape (the southern part of it, anyway)—and the other surrounding mountains. You couldn’t turn your head without seeing something beautiful. I went out on their balcony and took some pictures before coming in to offer my share of moral support.
Not much was needed—Heather was anything but bridezilla.
Heather: Am I wearing too much lipstick?
A., others: Not at all.
As someone who doesn’t usually wear makeup, when I do actually put it on it always feels excessive, so I knew where she was coming from.
Heather: It seems like I’m wearing a lot of makeup. Do I look like a prostitute?
A., others: Not at all.
Later
A.: I’m having similar thoughts with this dress. All this cleavage makes me wonder if I look like a prostitute.
Jessica: You guys are so cute! Have you seen what prostitutes look like these days?
We ventured out on the deck to where the wedding would take place. The pitons loomed in the background. The scenery was beautiful. The musicians started playing their steel drums. Heather and Tom were married, pictures were taken, great local food was served.
The following morning, I walked over to the botanical garden and waterfall/sulphur baths (not to be confused with the famed Sulphur Springs at the drive-in volcano, which Tom’s sisters had explored and deemed a tourist trap—not that the diamond waterfall wasn’t one, but it was walking distance and not a bad way to spend the morning). Soufriere is actually named for the sulphur in the area. I walked back downtown, unsure of my plans for the afternoon, and popped into the Wine and Coffee Shop.
The WCS was started, about a month ago, by a Danish woman whose Italian husband ran a wine cooperative in Italy. He’s still associated with it, and they import the wine and sell it along with—you guessed it, coffee—as well as this habit-forming banana bread made by a local woman. Bananas are very big in St Lucia—it wasn’t fruit season when we were there, but bananas are always in season. I think I mentioned the banana ketchup that you find in stores and restaurants. Other local foods—those I saw at the market on Saturday morning, as well as on restaurant menus—include sweet potatoes, eggplant, green beans, yucca and pumpkin.
I’d heard about the WCS—it’s low-profit, in the sense that it’s partly there to employ local youth—and decided to pop in and maybe check my e-mail. Joel, aka Doggie, greeted me: “Hey—you’re with Kyle and Kim!” (Tom’s sisters). Soufriere was quite the small town. I chatted with Doggie and Beverly over some coffee and banana bread, and started reading the paper online when Mark, Tom’s brother, popped in. He was already best buds with the coffee shop crew. He told me that the family was heading to the botanical garden then (I’d just gone)a and would later head up to Anse Chastenet—a nicer beach than the one downtown—and that someone or other would pick me at the Hummingbird on the way in an hour or two. And so I factored in Caribbean time and brought my New Yorker—the travel issue, as it were—and lo and behold, Tom and Heather drove by and collected me.
Anse Chastenet was lovely. We spent the afternoon there and discussed dinner plans. The folks at Crystals had kitchens and would make appetizers. Mark, a New Jersey native who takes his pizza very seriously, had tried and loved a local pizza place the day before and suggested we revisit it. I’d get the wine, from Lila and co. Chris, Heather’s brother, would join us.
The pizza place was awesome. I wish I’d taken my camera. It’s basically in an alley—well, the walk up to it is, and the bakery, brick ovens and all, was in the back of the building. It too had opened only recently, and business was booming. All evening, people were coming in and ordering pizza. We ordered nine pies and went over to the wine shop to hang out and chat while we waited.
Hours later, the pizza was ready and wine picked up, and we were on our way. Now, the ride to Crystals is not exactly smooth. The other day, I’d bought some eggs to bring up and Tom insisted that I hold them rather than stick them in the back.
Mark: Hang on, I’m going to go fast. I can’t stop thinking about that pizza.
It was like an amusement park ride.
We had dinner and wine and s’mores, and looked up at the stars. I can’t remember the last time I saw so many stars, and so clearly visible. What I could guarantee—and I wasn’t the only person to point this out—was that it was the first time in my life I was looking at the stars without freezing my ass off. It was awesome.
The next day, we went yachting and snorkeling again. I saw even more amazing, exotic fish, and, it being Monday, felt a bit guilty about not being at work. Afterward we had lunch at Fedo’s—a poorly kept secret as an amazing local-food restaurant—where who came in but the pizza guy from last night. Small town, I tell you.
Afterward, Heather’s dad, who is quite the photographer, said he would drive around and take pictures, particularly to Canaries, a town we passed on the water on the way to Ti Kaye. Heather’s aunt Barbara and I opted to join him (another popular activity undertaken that afternoon was napping). We dropped off Heather’s mom, and Barbara and I enjoyed the Crystals scenery while we waited for Heather’s dad to get the camera equipment he needed. I saw Chris and co. coming up the hill and stepped up on a rock to get out of the way. Thirty seconds or so later, I felt a burning sensation at my feet and looked down to see my shoes and feet covered in reddish-black spots. I was being attacked by fire ants. I jumped down and started shaking them off my feet. Barbara thought fast and also shook them off my shoes. It was quite the adrenaline rush.
The ride to Canaries took us past some very scenic views. The town itself reminded me a lot of Bluefields. I bought some plantains from some women on the street—I wondered afterward whether John and Barbara thought that was sketchy—and we walked around the town. The locals looked bewildered at the thought of tourists there. We were fascinated by the recurring contrast of decrepit and refurbished: run-down, boarded up houses next to freshly painted ones with gorgeous mosaic-tiled steps. Just as we were about to leave, we saw some local fishermen drop off a couple of large dorados. They were more than happy to pose for pictures.
Dinner that night was much more subdued—even the kids (Heather’s nephews) were exhausted. The stars were just as beautiful, though.
The next morning, Heather, Tom, Barbara, Jessica (Barbara’s daughter/Heather’s cousin) and I set out to hike Gros Piton. Gros Piton is taller than its Petit neighbor, but also wider, and thus less steep, and unlike Petit Piton, summitable without ropes or other special equipment. Nonetheless, it was a bitch to climb. The first half-hour wasn’t bad, but then it was like climbing really steep stairs for an hour and a half, and the hike down was like climbing down really steep stairs. It was rough; our legs were shaking and we were exhausted. Worth it, though—amazing views from both the north and south faces.
After the hike, Heather and Tom dropped us off at Jalousie beach, which I would easily describe as the most beautiful I’d seen on the island, and took off for their date night. They’d been graciously entertaining family throughout their wedding week and opted for some downtime. I, meanwhile, was enjoying my status as an honorary family member, and continued to hang out with the family, the rest of which showed up to Jalousie shortly afterward. Barbara snorkeled there and said it was amazing. I hadn’t brought my gear, and though she’d offered to loan hers, I was enjoying just treading water and taking in the surrounding cliffs and mountains. Later, we all paparazzi’ed a heron that landed on the beach for an afternoon stroll.
That evening we had a tasty dinner at Mago, where Barbara and Jessica were staying. They served a ginger pumpkin soup, which Crystals had also served at the reception following the wedding—it was excellent. I had reacted wearily to the news of peanut butter flan for dessert, but it was actually delicious.
It was kind of interesting to go around to all these different places—it was like a tour of the accommodations in southern St. Lucia. I have to say that I liked mine—the budget option—the best. I hadn’t even sprung for a room with a view, but that was an option. The hotel was certainly downtown, and it lacked the views and privacy of some of the other places, but the room was actually the nicest I’d seen, and the one with the most functional air conditioning. The folks at Crystals loved their views and their kitchens—and the suites were beautiful and creatively designed—but plumbing problems abounded and the rooms never really got cool enough (i.e. not oppressively hot). The rooms at Mago were open—they overlooked Soufriere, with the Pitons in the background—but didn’t keep out the bugs or noise. The Hummingbird, where Mark stayed, was okay—sure, it offered beach access, but it wasn’t the nicest beach (and I could walk there in five minutes from my hotel, anyway). All beaches on the island are public, so you can access the one at Jalousie, for example, without paying the $600-$900-per-night price tag. Another friend of Heather’s stayed near the airport at an all-inclusive resort, and apart from attending the wedding and dinner the night before, didn’t join in on any activities. She basically stayed at the resort and did water aerobics and stuff. I ran into her later, when we were both waiting for connecting flights out of Miami. She said she wouldn’t go back to St. Lucia; after all, there were many beautiful coastlines in the world—why go back to a really poor island? Fair enough—while I don’t particularly agree with that assessment, nor validate it coming from someone who barely left her resort, I wouldn’t take it upon myself to roll my eyes and fear for the future of my country. Except that she’s in the foreign service.
I’ve never done the all-inclusive thing, perhaps because my parents have and hated it. They hated feeling tied down to the resort, when they were there to explore. I wouldn’t want impetus to stay put rather than get out; nor do I need impetus to eat all I can. Wendy, Chris’s wife was saying that she can see how an all-inclusive place would pay for itself (and St. Lucia is not cheap), and that’s nothing to sneeze at. But I’d decided, especially since my flight was practically free and hotel relatively inexpensive, that I’d rather spend money and see as much as possible of what St. Lucia had to offer than save money and see less.
Which was a good thing, because for a while I was concerned that Wednesday’s rainforest hike would cost me. And it would have been worth it.
Heather and co. were going on a rainforest hike on Wednesday—the day of my flight out—but weren’t sure what time they’d get back, so I opted not to go with them. I’d planned on leaving Soufriere around noon that day to get to the airport at 1pm for a 3pm flight, as recommended. I did want something to do on Wednesday morning, and I really wanted to see the rainforest. And I knew that Lila had also taken to organizing tours around the island. As it happened, they were going to Enbas Saut rainforest on Wednesday morning, and she was sure they’d be back by 11am or 11:30. After all, she’d made lunch reservations at Fedo’s for the other people on the tour—three Americans living on a sailboat in Mexico and sailing around the West Indies. So I signed on.
I was a little concerned when we didn’t get going until 10am (meeting time was 9:30), and increasingly so as it became clear that there’s no way we’d be back in time. My stuff was still in the hotel—I’d wanted to shower upon returning, so I didn’t check out—and the hotel could charge me for an extra night if I wasn’t out by noon. There was also the issue of missing my flight. So you see how these things could have added up. But I didn’t miss my flight, and the hotel didn’t charge me—Lila sensed my anxiety, reassured me that I had time to get to the airport and offered to go in and reason with reception—but she didn’t need to. They dropped me at the hotel around 1pm, and she said she’d go in and talk to reception after she dropped the others at the restaurant. I ran in, showered, grabbed my stuff, checked out, ran to the bank to get cash for the cab to the airport, and hopped in that cab. I felt bad about not waiting for Lila but I figured she’d understand. I do need to write her, thank her, and send her the picture of her and Vanelle at the waterfall. Anyway, the cabdriver booked it and I got to the airport at 2pm. There was no line whatsoever—probably because everyone else had gone through an hour ago—and I had just enough time to get through, wolf down a sandwich, and board. I couldn’t have been happier that I’d spent the morning hiking in the rainforest rather than sitting at the airport. Nonetheless, it was a bit stressful.
The rainforest hike wasn’t nearly as strenuous as the trail at Gros Piton, but it was hardly a leisurely stroll. It was pleasant, because it was in the shade, and the surrounding flora made for a beautiful hike. The waterfall at the base was amazing—the color of the rock face, made shiny from the water and red from the sun, was stunning. I took many pictures, but I doubt any managed to capture that deep red color. It was beautiful.
On the way back up, Vanelle talked about the flora. He pointed out an incense plant, as used in Catholic churches around the island, and also showed us an oily tree whose sticks could be used as torches should one be stuck in the rainforest after dark. He named the various lilies and orchids, and showed us a cacao plant—and cracked open its pod and offered the contents for a tasting. The pulp surrounding the bean was quite tasty, with a citrus flavor. That’s what’s removed, sometimes by people’s feet, before the bean on the inside is fermented and roasted. The views around the trail were beautiful, too, as was the drive back, during which a discussion took place that was not dissimilar to others I’d heard during the course of the trip: how happy everyone was that Obama was president. And these are not fiercely political nor partisan people. Lila said the election was very closely followed on the island, as well as the entire Caribbean region, and that people were ecstatic. Chris, the cab driver who took me to the airport, also noted the phenomenon.
The flight to Miami was just under four hours, and we got there minutes too late for me to catch an earlier flight to DC, but the three-hour wait for my flight wasn’t bad. I made some phone calls and reflected on the trip. I called my roommate to ask if everything was okay, which it was, and he insisted on picking me up at the airport (I would get in after midnight, minutes too late to catch the last metro train to my stop). It was very nice of him.
I told my mom that, she thought it was too nice; I rolled my eyes. He’s just a nice person. I called her from the airport as well—she’d wanted me to call her upon arrival in St. Lucia and I told her that I wouldn’t. Her ‘but you could get a sim card’ was met with my ‘but I’m not going to so you’re just going to have to assume that I’m fine.’ This time—i.e., in Miami, on my way home—she asked me how much the trip cost. I shuddered. Mom’s ‘how much was that?’ is really one of my least favorite car games. This time around, though, she was interested for a better reason, i.e. because she was thinking of going, not because she was stalking my finances. I think… because I told her how much I think it cost me, qualifying with the fact that I used miles for the flight, and she asked how much it would cost if one purchased a ticket. It was very hard to say: I got a great price for the hotel, largely because I was comfortable staying downtown and because whatever-you-want-to-call-the-global-economic-downturn has lowered hotel prices around the island. Activities on the island are expensive: they know they can gauge tourists, and even the hikes are made to cost quite a bit, whether by entry fees or requiring guides. We all did get sick of the constant haggling, at which I’ve never been very good. I do appreciate that some of the high prices are aimed at job creation and sustainable development. So I can’t put a price tag on my experience or estimate what it would cost someone else. And even though the island is beautiful, a bit part of the reason that the trip was so much fun, as with the Galapagos, is that I was there with my friends. I’ve not been to other Caribbean island nations, although I’ve been to Caribbean parts of Panama and Nicaragua, and they, too, were beautiful, so I can’t tell you how St. Lucia compares to, say, Belize, or either set of Virgin Islands. All I can tell you is that St. Lucia is beautiful, the trip was fun and amazing, and my friends are awesome.
hi
Hi, I'm back, and I have a lot to blog about! But between work... and boardgame night last night... and this morning's clearing of the English ivy that's suffocating the boxwoods at the Lincoln Memorial in honor of Earth Day... it's not going to be until later this afternoon. In the meantime, I'll leave you with the Economist's timely assessment of political labels and MSN's takedown of Suze Orman.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Greetings from St. Lucia
I don't think I'll ever blog from my cell phone, but I'm tempted sometimes. Like now. Because it's so f-ing beautiful and idyllic here that I've lost any impetus to tell you about the cluster f* American Airlines has going on when you have to check baggage, for example. Let me tell you, once that liquids ban is revoked, I will never check luggage again.
But I don't care, for now, just like I didn't care in Ecuador--until the next time I have to deal with that BS. Landing in St. Lucia offered one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen. The drive from the airport was cool, too. I checked in, got a message from Heather, saying she'd pick me up for dinner at Fond Deux-- a beautiful, tree-house like place in the mountains. Her wedding was also in a kind of tree house. Can't wait to show you guys the pictures.
I'm not a sappy person, but the wedding was so beautiful, and Heather so beautiful in her wedding gown, I teared up.
Don't know what we're doing this afternoon-- maybe drive-in volcano? We went snorkeling yesterday, it was awesome. Then we sailed back to Soufriere from Castries, and the weather was perfect. I saw lots of sea urchins, sponges, and funky-looking fish. There was one blue and white checkered fish, for example.
I've not had banana ketchup yet, but I've tried the local rum punch. Not bad.
Hope you're all having a good weekend! Later.
But I don't care, for now, just like I didn't care in Ecuador--until the next time I have to deal with that BS. Landing in St. Lucia offered one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen. The drive from the airport was cool, too. I checked in, got a message from Heather, saying she'd pick me up for dinner at Fond Deux-- a beautiful, tree-house like place in the mountains. Her wedding was also in a kind of tree house. Can't wait to show you guys the pictures.
I'm not a sappy person, but the wedding was so beautiful, and Heather so beautiful in her wedding gown, I teared up.
Don't know what we're doing this afternoon-- maybe drive-in volcano? We went snorkeling yesterday, it was awesome. Then we sailed back to Soufriere from Castries, and the weather was perfect. I saw lots of sea urchins, sponges, and funky-looking fish. There was one blue and white checkered fish, for example.
I've not had banana ketchup yet, but I've tried the local rum punch. Not bad.
Hope you're all having a good weekend! Later.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thursday morning roundup
Domino's makes nasty pizza--even when the ingredients haven't been up an employee's nose--and nasty politics.
Gail Collins adds her two cents on the tea parties, although really more on the ridiculous premise (i.e. if you're looking for more teabagging jokes, you'll be sorely disappointed).
I don't usually read (or post links to) Roger Cohen (unlike his Post counterpart of the same last name and first initial), but the man's got a point. I hope that poor guy not only gets the charges against him dropped but also gets Delta to pay up.
Gail Collins adds her two cents on the tea parties, although really more on the ridiculous premise (i.e. if you're looking for more teabagging jokes, you'll be sorely disappointed).
I don't usually read (or post links to) Roger Cohen (unlike his Post counterpart of the same last name and first initial), but the man's got a point. I hope that poor guy not only gets the charges against him dropped but also gets Delta to pay up.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Wednesday evening roundup
A friend passed along an even better MSNBC commentary on the teabaggers, and an interesting sociobiological commentary to go with it.
From the 'Why didn't I think of that file,' check out this great comment someone posted to a discussion on the Minnesota Senate race:
castanea: "He's good enough, he's smart enough, and doggone it the people elected him."
From the 'Why didn't I think of that file,' check out this great comment someone posted to a discussion on the Minnesota Senate race:
castanea: "He's good enough, he's smart enough, and doggone it the people elected him."
And when "zip it" fails...
I resort to, "Is Wayne Brady gonna have to choke a bitch?"
I'll let you debate whether that is a low- or highbrow reference.
I'll let you debate whether that is a low- or highbrow reference.
Wednesday morning roundup
Don't you just want to beat the crap out of the mortgage brokers in this article?
All joking aside, hacking baby seals is repugnant.
The Times' in appreciation of a librarian who was a fighter.
Thoughts on Goldman Sachs' resurgence.
On DC's scattered Russian community and the source of the craziness around the Verizon Center this time of year.
All joking aside, hacking baby seals is repugnant.
The Times' in appreciation of a librarian who was a fighter.
Thoughts on Goldman Sachs' resurgence.
On DC's scattered Russian community and the source of the craziness around the Verizon Center this time of year.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Intelligent arguments are back
Of the many arguments against cultural relativism I've read in my time, this one says it best.
Fareed Zakaria makes many good points, but I particularly like the premise on which he basis his main argument.
Fareed Zakaria makes many good points, but I particularly like the premise on which he basis his main argument.
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