Day 5 ~ Antigua
Wednesday, April 27
We get a personal wakeup call from the captain, as he bangs the ship into the dock at Antigua. My half-asleep, California brain thinks it’s an earthquake. But no, we are in the harbor of St. Johns, industrial stuff on the right and the requisite condos on the left. There is also a Carnival ship on the left, and Snookie returns from his morning coffee run to report that people in the dining rooms on both ships are busily watching each other eat breakfast.
We get a personal wakeup call from the captain, as he bangs the ship into the dock at Antigua. My half-asleep, California brain thinks it’s an earthquake. But no, we are in the harbor of St. Johns, industrial stuff on the right and the requisite condos on the left. There is also a Carnival ship on the left, and Snookie returns from his morning coffee run to report that people in the dining rooms on both ships are busily watching each other eat breakfast.
This is Chicken Day: Thirty-five years ago, we pooled our meager resources to make a down payment on a diamond. Today, we stroll through a diamond shop but manage to escape without wiping out our assets. Or our freedom . . .
Other than the shops (Diamonds! Perfume! Calvin Klein T-shirts!) just off the pier, most of the town looks like a cross between New Orleans and Kaunakakai gone to seed, the buildings painted in the colors you see on the returns aisle at Home Depot. The side street shops, which cater to the locals, sell oil cloths by the yard, fabric in decidedly untropical plaids, and pirated DVDs. The most interesting spot in town is the cathedral, which is closed for repairs (dating from the 1842 earthquake? It’s not clear) and we spend a few minutes chatting with one of the locals, who is very proud that the building is still standing after 160 years. I decipher the 18th century markers in the cemetery, including one for an 87-year-old barrister, who “faced his mortal existence with Christian fortitude and resignation to the will of his redeemer.” And, obviously, with enough money to pay the stonemason for all of those letters.
Other than the shops (Diamonds! Perfume! Calvin Klein T-shirts!) just off the pier, most of the town looks like a cross between New Orleans and Kaunakakai gone to seed, the buildings painted in the colors you see on the returns aisle at Home Depot. The side street shops, which cater to the locals, sell oil cloths by the yard, fabric in decidedly untropical plaids, and pirated DVDs. The most interesting spot in town is the cathedral, which is closed for repairs (dating from the 1842 earthquake? It’s not clear) and we spend a few minutes chatting with one of the locals, who is very proud that the building is still standing after 160 years. I decipher the 18th century markers in the cemetery, including one for an 87-year-old barrister, who “faced his mortal existence with Christian fortitude and resignation to the will of his redeemer.” And, obviously, with enough money to pay the stonemason for all of those letters.
Another monument outside the market place is a giant sculpture of Sir Vere Cornwall Bird, the first prime minister (1981) of Antigua and Barbuda, who looks like a cross between Barack Obama and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Wonder what the Birthers would make of that.
After four days, people are starting to look familiar. Twice at the pool we’ve ended up next to a group that obviously decided to cruise in lieu of their annual trek to the Catskills. There is general unhappiness about the air quality in their inside cabins, and talk of a lawsuit. It is, Snookie says, like having dinner at the boyhood home of Alvy Singer.
Dance class is the cha-cha. Except they persist in teaching us the real cha-cha, not that sloppy American version. So there is a bit of a learning curve as we practice stepping sideways instead of front and back. But we’ve got the New Yorker move down cold, and with a few hours of practice we may even master the parallel breaks.
Dance class is the cha-cha. Except they persist in teaching us the real cha-cha, not that sloppy American version. So there is a bit of a learning curve as we practice stepping sideways instead of front and back. But we’ve got the New Yorker move down cold, and with a few hours of practice we may even master the parallel breaks.
Then it’s 15 laps around the top deck (which won’t offset even two bites of blueberry ice cream) and time to watch the sunset. And that’s followed
by the usual routine of wine and sushi on the balcony, dancing on the ever-moving dance floor, dinner and sleep. Life is hard.
by the usual routine of wine and sushi on the balcony, dancing on the ever-moving dance floor, dinner and sleep. Life is hard.
Oh, yes. How will we remember Antigua? Well, to quote the clueless tourist in A Room With a View: “That’s where we saw the yellow dog.”
Sail on to Day 6
