Every Day is a Fancy Day

Every Day is a Fancy Day.

This ended up being a heady post, but its OK.

As I was saying before, my job is to pretend to be fancy, every day, at all times. Literally 24/7, I have to be ready to be fancy. I think the reason why I’m good at this is because I get such a curious enjoyment out of it. I’m really not classy at all, but the idea that people think I might be, and enjoy it as well, just gets me motivated. I love chatting with people about art, and life, and all the finer things that we might happen across. Trying to have exquisite taste is a game worth playing until you lose. Whether it’s a fishing story, good food, exotic casinos, or leisure activities, I always try to agree that it’s the greatest thing ever. And look at me, this fancy looking man, who loves the idea of taking a trip to Mexico to buy Tanzanite! Why wouldn’t you rub shoulders?
And so my tales along the Mexican Riviera continue to fall into place. I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else except where the fates/winds take me.

The Story of the Mariner

My new shipmates are some fun people. Of course I like to get along with them all. They have their departments, and ours is so small that I can just flight in and out of the different cliques, meeting as many people as possible. I was chatting with Leslie, a lovely South African security guard, and we were going on about what its like to live on the ship and she nailed it. She says its like a dream come true… except it’s a really weird dream, and the idea of having to one day wake up is neither something to look forward to nor wish away. It is indeed a strange life. Unreality.

Now, does anyone remember the board game Stratego? It’s sort of like chess except you can’t see what your opponent’s pieces are. The #1 kills all numbers above it, #2 does as well, all the way up to #9. #9 can only kill another # 9. # 8 diffuses the Bomb, and then there is the Spy. Every piece on the board can kill the Spy, so what’s the point? Well, the Spy can kill #1, but that’s it. Stratego. I need you to realize that here, on this ship, I am the Spy. I, Coleman, the Mariner’s Spy. I know who #1 is, and I’m going to get them.

Rooms for crew are not as nice as on the Disney Magic. I’m pretty much over it, but it makes life a bit harder. I don’t have a real sanctuary of home anymore, a place to relax and revive my psyche. I have a white bed with walls of pure white steel. It’s a sterile white coffin with fluorescent lights. The only solace it gives me is the idea that I’m living on a space ship. In the end, though, that might be better for my personality. I love space ships.

For our itinerary, we have one sea day, three days in Mexico, and then two more sea days before porting in L.A. Every sea day we have an art auction at 1:30 in the Lotus Lounge (its actually a really nice room inspired with Asian décor). After each auction we head up to Windjammer for dinner. It’s my favorite place to eat. It’s still a buffet, but they have classy food there, like Indian Chicken salad with squash, sushi, and Weiner schnitzel and waffles. Great stuff! And it looks out over the ocean with huge floor to ceiling panoramic windows. Anyways, we still wear our suits while we’re up there, and the only way to get there is to go across the pool deck. Everyone is outside in swimsuits and fat suits, and here comes this trio of business people in suits and ties. I love being the contrast like that. When were done with our meal, we get frozen yogurt on the way out. Now imagine three suits walking across a full pool deck eating ice cream cones. Its ridiculous, and we have been cheered at more than once. It’s a funny world to partake in.

I’ve made good friends with the activities manager Allin, from Brooklyn. He has Easter egg hunts, karaoke nights, and the sort, which I love to partake in, but my favorite night by far is Wii night. We’ve been playing a lot of Rock Band, which is great, but the best game ever is the Price is Right. We set up seats like you’ve got a real winner’s row, and everyone screams, and I can’t help but scream the loudest and jump out of my seat. It’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. When they show you what you’re going to play for, and its….a NEW CAR!!!! You can’t help but jump and scream. We all do, but I do the most…because I win the most. Seriously, I can’t wait to play it with people back home. It’s awesome.

Thematically, the ship is very eclectic. There’s just crazy modern art everywhere, and it’s totally bizarre. The perfect representation of this comes during the farewell parade at the end of the cruise. The “theme” is medieval space age, and there’s just wacko nuts everywhere. Princesses on stilts, metal Chinease dragons, punk leprechauns, shaky trees, and everything else. I love it. The music they play is all over the place, but the apex comes when they mix music from the Wizard of Oz with Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. That is the perfect description of what its like to live on this ship, its like mixing the Wizard of Oz with Ferris Bueller’s Day Off…at a parade…all the time.

“You’re out of the dark You’re out of the woods You’re out of the night! Step into the sun Step into the light! Chh Chh Chh Ahhhh Oh yeah!”

I went to eat dinner the other night, and saw that they had some lobster bisque for the officers. Sounds great right? “Is there real lobster in this?” I asked the dining staff. “No.” Well at least he was honest. So I still tried some. One spoonful was enough to curb my appetite for the night. It tasted like aqua turd…like dolphin dump. I will never forget it. I made everyone at the table try it. “Why would I?” they asked me. “Just do it.” In tasting my soup, we will forever be connected in a special knowing for the rest of our lives. It was the worst thing that’s ever happened… ever.

And so going back to living on what, at times, feels like a space ship. I am allowed to use the guest gym in the evenings, and so I usually go late at night. This is the only time that it happens. The guest gym is located on deck 12, and there’s a handy crew elevator near my room. The elevator gets out at a small stairwell adjacent to the spa, and when I open the fire door, there is a HUGE vacuum that sucks you through, and its loud too. Something is messed up with the air pressure. I’ve talked about it with other people and no one gets it, “Like, what’s with the vacuum by the spa?” “I don’t know, but it makes me afraid of being sucked out into space.” “I know exactly what you mean…” It’s pretty sweet.

Rebecca and I went to church on Easter, which was really nice. Our old pastor (Aunt Marcia’s best friend) holds sermon not very far from the port of San Pedro. It’s a good grounding force to have old faces every week. To see family and old friends. I’m still the wanderer, but not so much the stranger. Although, I am all still the stranger for being such a wanderer, its good to have a sister.

The Story of Safety

Safety is an important part of ship life. We hold two drills a week, one for guests, and one specifically for crew. As a manager I am given some extra responsibility, and I just love it. Who wouldn’t want to be properly prepared and trained for a major emergency? I get to be a life raft commander, which motivates my responsibility. Now there are 26 life BOATS aboard the Mariner, which fit 143 guests and 7 crew a piece. I will not be in one of these in case of abandon ship. I will be in a life RAFT, which only fits 35 crew. There are 68 rafts total, 32 assigned A thorough D and 36 spare. My life raft is 32 B and my responsibilities include making sure all of my 34 crew are present and accounted for, making sure they board the raft properly, and then assigning out supplies once adrift at sea. We have thermal protective aids for 10% of the persons aboard, 1.5 litres of water per person (which is not to be used within the first 24 hours), a fishing kit, a mirror for attracting planes, smoke signals, and delicious ration biscuits. Mmmm.

Before we abandon ship I am the public area team leader on deck 4 midship. My job is to clear the area and make sure guests get to their proper muster stations. I tell guests where to go based off of their lifejackets, or their Sea Pass card. Lost children are to be escorted to their muster station personally. Parents who have lost children must be told to remain calm, and then shown to their muster stations as their children will be taken there shortly by crew to be reunited. I’ve also been trained in basic fire fighting and assistance, and basic first aid and assistance. Further more, I have special security instructions and duties if there is a security breach. I’m not allowed to talk about that.

Basically, this safety awareness rules are good things to be trained and practiced in no matter where you are in life. I like the idea of being able to take control during an emergency, and know, with confidence, what to do. For instance, do you know what to do if there’s an electrical fire? Of course; unplug the appliance if you can, and use an extinguisher that doesn’t carry the current, either CO2 or dry powder. Whether the ship is on fire, infested with zombies, or on the brink of trans-dimensional disaster, these are skills I will take with me forever. Everyone should be trained for emergencies. I want to be a well suited player if life turns into the all powerful survival game, not one of the back props. I want to be able to survive, and help others survive too. Take control. Live life. Survive. S.O.L.A.S. Saftey Of Life At Sea.

That being said, the Safety Officer and I are pretty much arch rivals… and its this funny thing. On the Magic, Michael used to call me Claus, the snooty generic European art gallery director. This guy is Claes (pronounced the same way) from Sweden, and he’s a nut. Real military type, like Skeletor. Real ironic. I can’t wait to tell Michael about him.

The Story of the Scorpion

Old Indians used to fear photography because the believed their spirits became trapped in pictures. But what about in words? What about the things we commit to writing, which represent our thoughts and sometimes our spirit? Does sending our thoughts into the ether have any consequence? I’m sure there’s something to be gained when you put your heart and soul into words, which I do attempt here, but is there anything lost in the process? Does my spirit become trapped in these words and ideas? It must be a blessing and a curse then, and I do not know where the balance lies.

I’ve already talked of the beach at the end of the Earth, where the desert meets the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean at the very tip of the Baja Peninsula. I know now how sacred a place this is, and its value is not to be tread upon lightly. Even leaving behind footsteps at that place leaves a trail that goes much farther than our eyes can see, to the very heart within our beings. To meditate upon it could be dangerous, and above all it should be respected with the significance it deserves. I’ve always gotten strange feelings about certain places, whether it’s the spirit in the bathroom, the ghosts roaming the abandoned house, the sacred forests, or the many empty spaces in between. Some places simply feel more significant, they raise an awareness in me which is intangible, yet immediately recognizable. I feel the strongest ever about this beach, and as I walk along its alien sands I wonder if I’m not the only one who felt the same way. I think about ancient people who might have happened upon this place (the only way to get there is by boat) and what they must have believed, what they must have feared. And I also wonder what it is that has followed my path from that beach, and into my life.

It started just after I had begun writing my last post. It was late at night, and Eddie came back to the room after a successful night of drinking. He plopped down in the chair which sits right in front of our full length mirror. Now, in the instant that it cracked I swear I hadn’t noticed the chair touching the mirror at all, but we can’t be sure. It cracked from side to side, and guess who had to clean up the broken pieces (I’m just glad it wasn’t my bad luck). I thought nothing more of it other than you don’t see very large mirrors shatter everyday.

The next day was an auction day, and it ended very successfully. One of our best auctions since I’ve been aboard the Mariner. After the auction we set up our checkout computers in the conference center, deck 2 forward. There, we do all of our invoicing and signing and business stuff. Next to the conference center is a board room. A gentleman asked me to help him raise the blinds in the board room, so of course I went to help him search for the switch. That’s the kind of fancy gentleman I am. We looked everywhere, and could not find it. I’ll add I was in my tuxedo, and as such was already reluctant to look in the half open panel underneath the board table. The leg of the table prevented the panel door from shutting completely, so it opened easily. Here I am then, on my hands and knees in a tuxedo, investigating the inside of this white metal panel filled with dust bunnies. So, I am flipping switches in the panel and suddenly one of the dust bunnies scurries away from my hand. It was very small, and tan in color. I look closer to make out its shape, and notice that it’s actually a scorpion. I’ve never seen a fucking scorpion in real life before, and I don’t know if I want to again (ASK IT AGAIN, IT'LL GET YOU AGAIN!!!). I called Environmental immediately and they came to exterminate the issue. To commemorate the occasion I had Genna, the Australian airbrush tattoo artist; give me a scorpion on my left wrist with a glow-in-the-dark stinger. That was awesome.

Of course I had Tim check out the scorpion. Right afterwards he was talking about it with me and some lady, and while in mid-speech, his clipboard snapped in half, suddenly and without measure. I told him about the mirror. Strange. Later that evening we decided to go out for some drinks, and we received a call from Eddie saying that our shelves storing our invoice computers in the art locker had collapsed suddenly and without measure. It simply fell apart. The computers weren’t broken (thank you), but it was still very odd. So what does it all mean? Am I cursed? What’s following me? I wasn’t sure. But then the next day something happened which kind of cues me in as to where all of this is headed. All my travels thus far around the world, and all the spirits who call to me.

We had an auction the next day and a woman had come to me with a picture she wanted to purchase. She had been looking at it all week, and yesterday had decided she would come back to buy it from me. The painting was a dark landscape by the artist Tarkay, who is better known for his female portraits (all of which, in my opinion, look like Shelly Duvall). The landscape showed an old, dark house before a pitch black sky, half hidden between two wooded ridges. The title of the painitng: Silent Hillside

I’ve talked of Silent Hill before, the game, film, and general philosophy. What it is simply, a name for those spots in the world which carry the most sacred grounds. Points in our world which harbor strange energies and spirits. Basins of the supernatural. I do believe that there is a difference between a house that is simply haunted by a spirit, and the sacred place which calls out to the spirit as asylum. One of these places is Silent Hill, and one of these places lies at Land’s End, the end of the Earth, where the Pacific meets Cortez, at the tip of the Baja peninsula. I could not wait to go back.

The Story of the Secret Beach

I did not return to that place the next time I went to Cabo San Lucas. To be honest, I put it off for another week because I was a bit nervous, and I’m glad I did. I found two friends (Meghan and Viri) who wanted to come with me. Companions. I told them it was simply an adventure, and nothing more. I didn’t want to delve into anything else as I barely knew them. We met at 11am to tender from the ship to the Marina. Meghan said she felt like she was on an 80’s kids television show, going on an adventure. I couldn’t help but work in a Doctor Who reference, as it were, we were headed to an alien landscape. We had a wonderful light lunch out of a van, and bought a large blanket for the beach from the flea market (which made us all a nervous wreck!). We then went to charter a glass bottom boat to take us to Lover’s Beach (one of the many beaches at Land’s End). If you go, make sure to buy only one way tickets. Tricky Mexicans will try to get you to pay roundtrip, telling you they will come back and pick you up whenever you want, but they lie. They will leave you stranded there forever.

And so I showed Meghan and Viri what I had seen on my first trip, and they loved it. It was still as unreal, spooky, and unlike any other place in the whole world as the first time. I showed them the faces of the damned frozen in torment, and of the singular face who watches over them all, The Grim Reaper himself! I told them how I thought that this must indeed be a sacred place, and I believed when they agreed with me. Moving forward, we found a new cave, and spelunked for a bit before laying our blanket out, and soaking in the sunshine. After a while, I left the others lie while I walked along the shore. I didn’t have my glasses on, so I didn’t want to go far. I simply walked towards the other end of the beach, towards the point, where the sand stopped suddenly at a cliff face (beyond which lies the actual point of Land’s End; an archway jutting away from the rock into the sea). I walked without question, and with a seemingly unknown purpose towards this wall. Without glasses I found a very narrow fissure in the rock leading toward the water and into darkness. Following still, without question, I delved into the passage till I discovered a small opening above me. There was a rope attached to the opening, and pulling myself up and out of the passage, I found an entirely separate and hidden beach, secret and unpeopled from the others. My heart leaped at one of the greatest discoveries I had ever made. My own secret beach (by way of secret passage). I went to get the others.

Once, I had read a small book about the universe. Do you know what the line between light and dark on the surface of our planet is called? Between sunshine and outer space, the knowing and unknown? Its name is The Terminator. Did you know what it is called on the surface of the Moon? The Terminator. I’m sure there are metaphysical terminators all over our planet, and that one of them lies here at this place too. To be sure, the secret beach is somewhere near the terminator.

I woke Meghan and Viri quietly saying “I’ve found a secret beach.” They came without question and hesitation. Later, Meghan told me she had her doubts about being able to fit through the secret passage, but she just knew it would be alright. It was a tight squeeze, but we helped each other through with our packs and such. That sort of nervousness that comes with confined spaces I sonly natural, and that is how I felt. Emerging onto an empty beach from a small cave like that is a great relief, and one of the finest moments of satisfaction I can ever recall. No people in sight, just a land solely for adventurers, only the beach babes agile and thin enough to crawl up the rope and out of the cave. There was a large note written for us in the sand: “Ben Loves Sarah.” I wonder what it means. Other than that and a dried up dead pelican, there wasn’t anything of note on the beach. Just the beauty of the rocks, the sand, and the sea, exclusive to our enjoyment. I felt treated by the world, and refreshed. All my angst and nervousness had melted away, and now I felt comforted by this place as opposed to being afraid of it’s malicious nature. I felt blessed by this beautiful place as an adventurer, and we thoroughly enjoyed all our time there (got a wicked tan too). The three of us talked of secrets that could only be shared in that special place, our secret beach, a sanctuary for the unspoken things we could not talk of aboard the Mariner. There was a definite relaxed aire surrounding all of our movements and leisure, climbing on rocks, admiring the water, and lying in the clean sand around us. We bonded in a way only certain people can understand, and tried to come to an understanding of the sacred power that this place might have for the world.

So I look to these faces surrounding this place, and wonder: what are they? These sandstone gargoyles; are they really trapped evil spirits, and if so, where do these evil spirits come from? I think that they are indeed spirits, but they’re not demons in the usual sense. I think that they might be more akin to Shades, or remnants of spirits left behind by our greater entities. What if this place served as a basin that caught fragments of negative energies, like a spiritual filter? What if these screaming faces, these visions of misery, are simply manifestations of our own negative thoughts and insecurities? In essence, what if this sacred place serves as a trap for our personal demons, and lets us pass through the gateway freed of their emotional burden? Then this place is not so evil at all, but a spiritual gift. What if we leave as better people than as we came? This is the essence of what is behind Silent Hill, and the end of the Earth. I believe that this particular Terminator, the line between the light and the dark on our world, is indeed a sacred filter for the soul, and if you should find it, I encourage you to also step on through to the other side.

After we took the boat back to the Marina, we all decided that we should get some refreshments before heading back to the ship. We stopped at the first bar we came to, and ordered some guacamole and mojitos. I got a melon colada, which was wonderful. There’s nothing like a refreshing drink after a refreshing adventure, and the music they played was rather ironic. The song was slowed down to lounge version style, and sung softly by a woman. The song was Black Hole Sun.

And, oddly enough, as we left our secret beach via the secret passage, I noticed that my scorpion tattoo, which had been complete and unbroken for three days before we set out for the beach, was now totally vanished from my wrist. In a way, then, a part of me was claimed by that place after all. Perhaps this strange piece of my own self is left behind there always, at that place of dreams, trapped forever in stone. A face, unrecognizable to even my own eyes, twisted and frozen in torment. An unwanted part of my being left to haunt those who are unfortunate enough to forget their respect for the lands they haplessly trod upon, or even yet, the ones who do. Then I bid riddance to my torment, to my anguish, and leave my ghost behind forevermore as a monument, so that one day maybe you too may better understand this mystery of a world we live so briefly upon.

Just Remember:

You’re out of the dark You’re out of the woods You’re out of the night. Step into the sun Step into the light.

Its somewhere near the Terminator…Silent Hill…side?

The Story of Success

And of course, in terms of business, my ship is number one in the entire world.

Artificial Futures/ Concentrated Memories

Concentrated Memories/ Artificial Futures

Theres nothing quite like seeing your ship for the first time. Theres an overpowering feeling of awe, emotionally and literally. I almost wept when I first walked up to my new home. It’s simply magnificent. Magnificent…the most magnificent ship I have ever seen…Home. What was nice was having my family there. The Mariner of the Seas is the largest cruise ship to be out of LA, and so my sister, mother and I could see it as we drove down the San Pedro hills from miles away. Not quite the same as walking up along side it, but it was wonderful to say goodbye to my family on that first day. A real “coincidence.” The port is twenty minutes from my sister’s home and my mother just happened to be visiting the week of my embarkation. Funny world. I had been worried, of all things, about the name of my ship, and so when I found myself coupled with the Mariner, my mind was set to ease. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner anyone? That’s a name I can settle upon. Before I left Chicago I had went over to see my neighbors on a wonderful Sunday afternoon. The whole family was outside enjoying the weather and I had Dodo with me for a walk. Their little girl, Mave, asked me what I did. And so I told her I was a Mariner, that I lived out at sea. She then asked me “Are you a kid?” I didn’t know how to respond at first, but I said, I suppose I sort of am, and always will be. “Take care of Dodo for me while I’m gone,” I said, and she promised that she would.

And so I’ve been called back to Sea, in more ways than one. It’s the right time. I feel it in my bones. I look back on my month in Chicago with fondness. I had just the right taste of everything, a perfect visitation. It’s nice to be around people who look forward to your company. People are always eager for your stories when you’ve been away, looking for a touch of that outside reality. Just remember it goes both ways. Someone else’s unreality could quite easily be yours. And then it’s all the same. Words simply can’t comprehend an actual experience. Sights, smells, sounds, and “the touch.” My new assignment will be on the West Coast now. A new land. A new unreality. I embrace it.

The Mariner of the Seas is one of the largest passenger ships in the whole world. Top of the line, literally. I think that’s quite exciting. To be something at the forefront of humanity. One of the greatest feats of human engineering. My new home. Don’t believe me? Look it up on Wikipedia. The largest cruise ship to ever be out of the port of LA. There’s a city street running through the middle of the ship with a pub, general store, ice cream shop, French café, and a Fashion Boutique. There’s a clearance at the Fashion Boutique. That’s just above the ice skating arena.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mariner_of_the_seas

The first week has been hectic, but oh so thrilling. We had the “Hogs on the High Seas” cruise, where half the passengers are Harley Davidson enthusiasts. So we had a Harley Davidson artist named Scott Jacobson. Real cool guy. While enjoying cigars in the Concierge Lounge we talked about his Bentleys, Ferraris, and friends who piss in clothes hampers. Real men stuff. Fancy times. Every Day is a Fancy Day. I even bought a tuxedo for the trip, and I love wearing it. My job is to basically pretend to be fancy, helping others to feel extra fancy. There’s a time, then, when you don’t pretend anymore, you really just are fancy. I can feel that apex of life rushing upon me.

Here, now, I can finally say that I have been to Mexico. Visiting Cozumel aboard the Magic always felt like a gimmick to say I’m in Mexico. Some island off the coast, with an occasional visit to the mainland. Not enough. But on the West coast. The tip of the Baja Peninsula is a sight to see, and then some stops along the coast, Matzalan, Peurto Vallarta. This is the Mexican Riviera. This is life for now. Funny world. I missed talking about some stories I had back on the Magic, and for now it feels better to talk about them as distant memories. Bullet points from a time well lived. Zip lining in the jungles of the Mayan Riviera, snorkeling in underground caverns called cenotes, aqua boating along the coast of Grand Cayman, Exploring Xcaret eco-archeological park, and lovers from distant lands. And then there was of course Castaway Cay, The Beach, what it had taken from me and who it’s made me as a man. These things exist only as facts now, concentrated memories in history, and in that way perhaps their more intriguing. Just ask if you must know, and I will try to tell you of them in honesty.

More funny things about life now, being able to tell stories of truth, and you listen to the words you say, and I ask, is this really happening? Surely this must be a dream. Listen: “I was aboard the Disney Magic for five months where everything I had dreamed of as a child became reality. Now, aboard the Mariner, as a mariner, I look forward to artificial futures filled with amazing sights and new lands to explore.”

Also: “After being given two bottles of champagne from our clients in the Royal Suite, Lisa and I worked on our end of cruise paperwork. My deck cell phone rang, and it was the captain. I was nervous that the Master was calling me, but he only wanted to know where our guest artist was that night. ‘He’s in the Sky Bar, on Cloud Nine,’ I told him. Captain Per invited us to join him when we were finished with our business.”

LA is a fun place to be ported out of, and its much different that I have my sister there. It helps me to feel closer to home. And because we only have so much time together on Sundays, I think it will help us to become closer friends. Schedule Rebecca in for three hours every Sunday. We’ll go see a Korean fiendship bell, eat at a local Hungarian pasty shop, and pick up some necessary goods from the store. True story. It’s like regimented sessions, and I think for some things that can be very healthy. Now, Rebecca has this great crazy friend named Stacy who reminds me of Cher mixed with Shelly Duvall. I can’t think of a better combination really. We all like to go to a bar called The Other Room, and it reminds me of a strange Edward Gorey poem, the guy who drew the opening to PBS’s Mystery. Its dark, brooding, and oh so hip. Its LA. Another night we just went to downtown Manhattan Beach, which is just a hillside street next to the ocean, and we got happy hour at Beaches, where Mary, who had been in the November Rain music video, forgot how much she was serving us. Afterwards we went across the street where they serve Navy Grog. When we went for seconds the bartender told us we were over served. Rebecca and Stacy were not happy. This was a great last farewell night to living on land.

The ship itself is beautiful on the inside. It’s decorated with real modern art, and I’m talking about pulsating geometric domes for chandeliers, glowing stairs, and bizarre sculptures. There’s no real theme and I absolutely love it. Its like a playground for adults with extreme ADD. Also, lots more Jamaicans live on this ship than Magic, and their always telling me its “no problem.” This is good. One of them looked at my name and was surprised. “Coleman!” He said. “In Jamaica, Coleman is a kind of policeman, like a sort of secret detective.” “That’s exactly who I am,” I told him.

And so I’ve been through my first round along the Mexican Riviera. By far the most intriguing spot is Cabo San Lucas. Its sits at the tip on the Baja Peninsula where they call it “Land’s End.” Now I have often talked about visiting the Ends of the Earth as one of my top goals in life, and so far this place is the front runner. I believe they are very sacred spots on our planet, and it is here that the Pacific Ocean meets the Sea of Cortez. The Sea of Cortez has always intrigued me, and so here I find myself, at this strange beach, where unreality pulls at my being. The landscape looks like a set for an alien planet, brilliantly executed, but not quite real. There is a great archway that extends from the tip, like a portal, connecting the two waters. The rock formations look like screaming faces, and the flies buzz constantly, despite the lack of life. It is a foreboding spot, decorated with “screams of the damned frozen in torment” (my quote). It is a sacred place unlike any other. I am terrified of it, and yet so intrigued by it. I don’t dare go back there alone, but I know I will have to. Incredible.

For now, that should be good enough to set me up for future manventures. Thanks for following so far, but I have one last bit.

I was thinking in the shower again, and I was going off the notion about what it must be like to do a real audition for a movie in LA. And so I came up with a silly monologue:

“Before I met you it seemed that I lived my life with a sort of fabric covering my eyes. Like cotton balls, or cheesecloth, and then it was gone, and you were there, and I saw things as they were, for the first time, as they should be. And so when you left, I was afraid of going back to before, but it never did. I suppose, in a way, that’s a blessing, but it’s also my curse…How about another drink? Martinis… Cheers.”

I hope you like my lastest real ship pics! Can you see the Korean Friendship Bell in the distantce here?

I'm ringing it for you, friend, from this distance.

Koyaanisqatsi thoughts on life

It was another terrific weekend in the city, and oh the sights to see. Friday we saw babies on the floor. Saturday was the goofiest parade in the whole country at the Chicago Irish Parade, and Sunday I played some Fable and finally got to go see Watchmen (on Imax). All together, a nice package. Now to Watchmen. I thought it was fantastic, and of course the most fantastic character is Doctor Manhattan. I was pleasantly surprised when he tells his back story before heading off to Mars. The accompanying music was selected from Philip Glass’s Koyaanisqatsi soundtrack to reflect his angst.

The “Qatsi” trilogy, the first of which is Koyaanisqatsi, is a trio of experimental films focused on reflecting the chaotic nature of human existence on Earth. Philip Glass had always sworn he would never do a soundtrack, that is until he saw footage of the Koyaanisqatsi film. His music is as incredible as the footage. Absolutely haunting, and I love that it was included in a current part of our pop culture. Its totally with it, as it were, and I’ve been rewatching these films (before I knew what Watchmen had in store). Late one night, as I started drifting off to sleep, I decided to experiment myself, recording thoughts from what I was watching as they drifted to me over the wall of sleep, a bit like random association. I don't recall what most of them mean, but they were there, at one point, so, here they are now, Koyaanisqatsi thoughts on life:

Naked swimming is really the best way of swimming

Did the elephant temple with flags sell any tickets at all?

Was that the IRS agent? I’ll have to consult my sales

Forests of buildings with all different species and purposes

Egg drop soup map from hell

Charlie and I are going to board the prostitute train today

There has got to be tons of fleas and bugs in all that hay (and hair)

Little girl cleaning the guerilla sign question

All of our fields become oceans

This lady’s ride is late, shes going to have to walk

Kids laugh when they do bad, but jump when threatened

I have bingo all night long

The dance is the sauce but you’re going to have to roll up your pants so they don’t defling

When the dancers align their hats, do chess tournaments commence?

Where are the rockets shooting?

Mass Consciousness

Sideways cities make great Pachinko machines

Boy pointing at me behind the suicide jumper holding the pan of eggs

He should just beat that ghost in the log to trap her

Why are women always shaking their hair at me?

I wish that computers were powered by marble roller coasters

How much did the yellow visors cost and why isn’t everyone wearing them?

Can we keep going to Tyler’s?

Man: “I am going to faint”

Only devils blow smoke out of their nose

That little one there is going to grow up to be a tough woman to deal with

Isn’t that cool, I lost lost lost mine?

Backpacks are great tools used in many different capacities

Does man want to kill his children because he has to work for them?

And I think to myself, I could only go on under the guise that you thought/meant nothing of/to me.

Hear some of the music here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VysrUsrhKbQ&feature=related

From the Sea of Dreams

It’s still raining in Chicago. I have to say that it feels necessary, like a cleansing shower. I was looking forward to a change in weather, and I feel like I came for just the right taste of winter to spring time. The changing seasons are an essential part of the world, and I feel for the human species as well, both physically and spiritually. We are forced to change as the Earth does, and you can see it changes people too. Their attitudes, demeanor, and clothes. I missed hearing rain in the trees aboard the ship. The forest rain. There’s really nothing quite like it. Being able to live there feels right. In the forest. I think that one day I would like to settle down in a forest home.

It’s nice to be here. Home. Aunt Marcia once told me she thought I was running away from life, and I suppose I do feel that way sometimes. There is a lot of life for someone in Chicago, especially if you’ve grown up here. But also, maybe it’s trying to get away from the things I can’t have, the unlived lives in my veins, or maybe it’s sometimes just wanting to be a stranger to the strange land. To go somewhere where nothing knows nothing about what could possibly be. Nowhere, as it were. That’s also part of the adventure.

City adventures, though, are still rather exciting for me. Having so many people scattered across the city is like one of those games we play. I have my city map (recorded in my memory), safe spots with friends, and a slough of possible quests. You never know which of your favored old companions come into play, or which new ones you’ll meet. Sometimes…if you’re lucky…you get to meet…a babe! The only problem, one weekend isn’t enough to hit every spot on the map. Sometimes the choice isn’t for you to make, and often, you’re going to fall into unexpected predicaments. Just do your best. Use your items. And always begin a boss fight with plenty of health drinks.

Today, driving home from the city through the rain, I thought what it would be like to be remembered as “the ocean.” Infinitely mysterious, beautiful, and unforgiving. I’m not sure if that would be all positive, but it would be a powerful way to be looked upon. The way of the ocean. What an idea to entertain? I’m not sure if I would want that. I do love the sea, and it has been calling to me in my dreams, but that eternity, that blue void, is deadly. You and I would do best to remember that. Still, it’s captured in my mind, and heart, and I know I will always have solace there. And like ABBA says:

“Nothing can capture the heart like a memory can.”

I started doing lots of Tae Bo on the ship, and I miss it more than ever. Every Monday and Thursday. It was better than anything to have some motivation to exercise. Classes were hard, Leveau made sure of that, but they were a challenge I enjoyed facing. I even got my boss Bethany to come a few times. She was very fit, that Bethany, and it came to us being able to chat about exercise in the art gallery, which felt oddly natural, or course. What else do you discuss in art galleries? Oh you know, exercise, that kind of thing. Well, all sorts of good stuff really. Anyways, Tae Bo was in the spa after guest hours, and afterwards, Bethany and I would sneak into the rainforest room. To me, the rainforest room reminded me the most of life on a spaceship, which is terrific. Its totally closed off from the outside, has a misty fountain in the middle with relaxing LED lights, and various steam rooms surrounding it. Artificial futures. We always went for the intense, aromatherapy steam room. It’s the hottest I’ve ever been in my whole life. You can watch the sweat pour out of you. But it feels the best after a hard workout. Of course we got caught by one of the head security officers. We really should not have been in there, and it was kind of scary… but in that exciting way. That will be a memory to hold on to. Tae Bo with Leveau, followed by the rainforest room, and getting caught with Bethany. An odd world it is.

The Day after I learned how to race yachts in St. Martin, I scheduled an eco-hike excursion on St. John from St. Thomas. I loved reading about all the different excursions available and picking what I thought would be the most rewarding. The hike would take me through the forest and eventually to a secluded beach called Honeymoon Bay. The ferry boat left very early and the hike would take about 4 hours. Well, I’m not going to lie, but ferry ride was the best part. I just love boat rides that much, but the hike wasn’t bad. St John is mostly national park, so it’s less busy than the other islands. It had a great feel to it, as each island has a unique personality to it. Definitely stillness the others lack. When we arrived, we were greeted by Genie (“like Genie in a bottle”)….a crazy woman. Not only does she guide eco-hikes, but also a pirate castle back on St Thomas. You need only admire this picture of her:

She showed us lots of cacti, and so it was to no one’s surprise when a large woman backed into one. I was there, and so I said that the needles should be pulled out. So she stuck her arm towards me, and I proceeded to clean her of cactus needles while her husband and daughter watched. I felt a bit awkward…helpful…but slightly sensual. Very bizarre. So we do this hike, there’s a hermit crab, a tourist tree with peeling red bark, and then we get to this isolated beach on the side of the island. Honeymoon Bay. Only way to get there is by hiking or boating, and who is the one man sunbathing on this beach? Leveau. The huge Croatian who runs Tae Bo. “Ok, do splits now!” He can literally do the splits so that his legs come above his waste. It’s horrifying. When I asked how he got there, he said, “you know, I make my own way.” Of course Leveau, of course.

The most interesting part of the trip came on our way back. There was a family from Minnesota on the hike with me, and I got to talking with them, told them I had a house in Northern Wisconsin, in Spooner.
They too had a house up there, but just outside of Spooner.
No kidding, where?
Oh, do I know A and H corner (A and H are highways)?
Of course, that’s where A and H outpost is, where I buy my motor boat gas.
Well, they’re on a lake called Middle McKenzie.
Of course that’s where their house is, and of course that’s my lake as well.
Strange, small world.
Turns out, they know exactly which house is ours, and they even flipped a sailboat in front of it while some older woman laid out in the sun, watching. That would be my Grandma or mother. How funny that we’d be meeting here, in the Caribbean, and out of all those ten thousands of lakes up there. What are the chances?

On the way back I snapped this great lady, with St. John in the background. It makes me happy because she looks so content with the world:

Yesterday Was The Day Before

Being off the ship is like finding you’ve been in a social coma, and I’m now just waking up from the dream, suddenly. Monica likes to talk about the things I’ve missed while I’ve been gone, as if I had been comatose in a hospital somewhere. Oh you missed Octa-mom, and Rhinanna got abused, and the other things. It’s all very silly, but still laced with a bit of angst. What other fun tidbits did I miss that people forgot to tell me about? One might argue that if it was important enough, it would be remembered and retold, but we all know there’s nothing quite like living in the moment. There are important things I have missed to be sure. But all the same, I feel like I never left Chicago at all, and everything that happened to me at sea was from my imagination. From A Sea of Dreams.

I’m happy to have the chance to be home and see old faces. Old friends and family. The People I love, and the ones I thought. It’s like looking at everything through the passing sand of an hourglass. Removed, looking back at your life, now changed, as if through a glass darkly. Oh, things have changed. What did I think? What do I think? These are the same. These are so different. You….what about you? I try to make proper assessments of my last days at sea, but with the lingering notion that from here, this different life and world, it will only come from across the plane, from the time we’ve spent in a dream.

I’ve been negligent in my writing. Very Negligent. Like leaving your child and dog in the car outside of the Jewel in the middle of a heat wave negligent. But I’m here now, baby, its ok. I’ll turn the air back on… now. I tell myself its because I’ve been reading more, and exercising (Tae Bo with Leveau). Reading a lot more is definitely a good way to spend some free time, but that’s no excuse for not writing. We all should be reading more. But we all should be writing more as well, I suppose. I just love becoming obsessed with books sometimes, where every free moment goes back to the pages. You make that connection so it’s not just a task of completion anymore, but a very cerebral experience. The first book to do this to me was Duma Key by Stephen King. He is my absolute favorite writer, and I think his writing is just fantastic. Sometimes I like to think that we are very similar people, and if we were ever to meet for drinks, we’d end up being great friends. And then other times his books talk to me in that way, almost hauntingly specific. Especially when he talks about a man, a lost soul, with a lake house in the Northwoods who moves to an island in Florida to fall in love with the sea. Sometimes I understand what that might be like. The second book was Sharp Objects. Its about vomiting everywhere. Every couple of minutes of free time was spent following these stories, and I do not regret that time at all.

However, in the end, there’s no proper goodbyes on a ship, and I think that can be helpful. It happens too quick, and some have no idea you’ve left until they wonder where you’ve been some days later. This happened quite often to me. You think of someone you’re friends with, ask where so and so is, and then its: “Oh, he’s been gone two weeks now, didn’t you know?” No, I suppose I hadn’t. It’s a transient life to begin with, so it just might be easier to cut things off clean. It was a shock to the system, but damn if it wasn’t exhilarating. I’m going home now…I get to go home…going home. Did you know that the technical term for an extra digit (finger or toe) is polydactalysm.?

On the ship I used to listen to everyone, guests and crew and what they were saying in short snips of conversation. Most of the time it was fascinating, just jumping in and out of conversations. Once I caught a man talking and I heard him state that yesterday was the day before. I thought that was beautiful.

Things had fallen into a very forward routine for me on this last month. Every week is different, but it comes and goes. Western, Eastern, Western, Alt-Eastern, Western…etc. The Alternate is St. Croix, which became my favorite port by far. To keep things different, new and exciting, I’d taken up testing out the guest excursions. Michael called me an excursion whore, but I wouldn’t go that far, and besides, he’s just not an adventurer. He’d joke by saying I’d have to call off work because I was too busy planning my excursions for the week. I NEVER call off work; it would make me too nervous. The excursions are all pretty fun, but at the same time their packaged, processed adventures. I’ve done lots of different things; kayaking, zip lining, cave snorkeling, jeep adventuring, hiking, beaching, but theres no spontaneity, no surprises, no exceptions. They never quite live up to a good, solid off the fly, improvised adventure which I enjoy the most. There is one excursion, though, that’s topped the charts, and I do recommend going out with a pre-planned package. That adventure is sailing. I’ve been learning on two different types of sailboats, the little Hobie-Kats (miniature catamarans) I can rent in the lagoon at Castaway Cay, and the full blown regatta racing yacht, which is of course the most exciting. You’re supposed to have two years experience for the kats, but I just lied to those Goofballs. Sometimes you need only to break some rules to have more fun.

Now, from afar, I had always been fascinated with sailboats. In fact, they’ve always been my favorite type of boat despite never actually having ridden on one. I’ve had lots of boating experience growing up; row, motor, speed, and even paddle, but I’d never gotten on a sail. It was worth the wait. They are indeed my favorite way to enjoy the water. I wrote the following passage on a drunken night after a great sailing day. Now, it doesn’t make complete sense, but in that special way, I enjoy it:

Sailboats are beautiful symbols of the ocean, seemingly tranquil slices of wind, beacons on the horizon. But in reality they are instruments which dare to harness the elements to our own amusements. They’re tools for tricksters looking to play temptation’s fate with the spirits of the wind and the spirits of the water. Daring to break the threshold of danger into a realm of pure splendour on the sea. It’s a good trade to master in my book.

My Bahamian Seaman’s Book as it were.

That day on the regatta was something special. It was an all crew excursion, reserved specifically for the long term residents on the Disney Magic, which is a nice group of people for the most part. Now, the America’s Cup yacht race sees some of the finest and fastest sail boats in the world. Only thing is, every year you have to have new ships built. So, the old ones are retired to various places around the world, but especially in the Caribbean. On St. Maarten, we rented two of them to race against each other. It was totally fucking awesome. Its hard work though. I was a primary spinner, which is the toughest job (I asked for the toughest job specifically…if I didn’t, you’re a pussy!) Anyways, you have to constantly crank the sails every time the boat changes direction, or TAKs. “Get ready for tak!” they cry…I’m ready, you bastard…I’m ready. You see, sail boats don’t just go in a straight line, they zig zag to catch the wind in a way that takes them generally in the desired direction. Anyways, Joanie, the nurse, was one of the other three primary spinners, and she was commenting on how much my veins were bulging on my biceps. If she needed to draw blood from me, it would be nooooo problem. It was a great workout, but more than anything else, its the sounds, sights, and feel of the thing. You aren’t really going “fast,” but you can feel the pull of the wind behind you, and rolling the boat to the side, trying to dump you out. Its exilirating and a rush, and they insist that you drink lots of beer during the whole thing. The sound of the wind in the sail is an incredible howl and flap. September commented that there’s no wonder old sailors came up with myths about spirits calling from the sea with ghostly songs. “Have you ever heard the myth of the Sirens?” she asks me. Oh, dear September, I think I might have heard the tale.

Anyways, sailing is wet, dangerous, and difficult. This is something I know I will only grow to appreciate further. One of my serious goals in life is to own a sailboat, to be its captain as it were, and for me, this was a major step in that direction. For this race, my boat was the Canadian one, racing the American regatta, and of course we lost, but its fine. It’s about the experience, and everyone knows Canada comes second to the US anyways. After the yachting I took a beach excursion to Orient Bay. It was much less exciting, but a good ticket to go see the other side of the island. Because the beach was known for its nude sun bathers, I wore my European swimsuit. What a disappointment that was. It was crowded full of disgustingness. Lots of unsexyness crowded by the ocean. Obesity on the sea. It was a beautiful beach full of multiple reasons why I avoid the popular tourist spots. Luckily I met some friends; Minnie Mouse, Cinderella, and Chip. We had a fun little time hanging out together, before they had to leave. I walked back along the thousands of beach chairs to where the Disney bus would pick us up, and had a swim with Jaco, one of the excursion crew. We had a good men’s time together on the beach, getting pummeled by the rough sea, sipping some rum punch, and generally being men, before heading back to the ship. On the way home a woman expressed disappointment with the underdeveloped nature of the island when she saw wild goats living on the hillside next to the road.

The Derelict Faire

The most important thing to remember about St Croix is that more than any other island I've been, it’s a different world. Many guests complained about the island. “there wasn’t enough to do.” “Not enough shops.” These are all the "common type" thoughts. They are what separate the few and the masses. St. Croix is unique. It has a palpable feeling, a culture different from any other place, and for that I love it to pieces…to death…to eternity.

It’s the largest of the U.S. Virgin Islands, and so it goes, there are more stories to tell in its hidden corners, the annals, which I believe has far more than meets the eye. I’ve always known of St. Croix under odd circumstances. There was a small pond in my back yard that I put in while I was in middle school. I love the water, you see, and it took a lot of convincing to finally let my parents give in to putting in a pond. We still had it to this day and it was beautiful. It was only a hundred gallons shell, but the style of the pond, prefabricated, was called St. Croix, and so I always associated our little pond with that island. I love geography, and have always studied maps of the Caribbean, but that’s a different story. Regardless, I was really looking forward to finally coming to terms with the reality of St. Croix. Luckily, we had a long day in port there, so Madeline and I planned to have quite the day.

Getting off the ship took a little bit of extra time. I’m always forgetting things and so is Madeline, and we just had to go back a few times. We got off the ship with some friends so we decided to take some pictures on the dock. They’re pretty standard. Getting closer to land, we came upon some very frightening creatures. They were decorated men on stilts called “hooters” and they are the things of nightmares. It was the perfect way to start an adventure on a new world.

Moving forward we discovered an abandoned carnival. The wind was strong, brightening the colors of the place, highlighting the eerie emptiness of the whole mess. There were no Diamonds International, or Emeralds Express, or Tanzanite Outlets. There was only old town. There were only settled folk. There was only real life, different from the fantasy world of vacations. It was the most refreshing feeling.

We were lucky to find an island taxi that could take us to the opposite end for only 2.50. Most taxis charged $9 one way, so it was kind of a daunting deal. Were we tricking him or was he tricking us? Either way, after a 20 minute ride, we arrived in Christannsen. Taxis, I think, are one of the best ways to really feel out a land. The driver is always unique, and you zip by so quickly, its hard to process. Its like flipping through a a moving picture book. So many images that become one impression. Fantastic, but fleeting.

Christannsen had a nice old feel to it. It was fresh, clean, and old. Lots of abandoned buildings and forts. Like a giant derelict play land, a faire, so to speak. Most people turn their heads to these things, I think, but some of us find adventure in them. Madeline and I are lucky enough to have each other to enjoy similar ideals. There was an old, yellow fort on the harbor. You were supposed to buy tickets somewhere, but it really wasn’t arranged very well. We just walked in to what seemed to be an empty, staffless, building. It was well kept, but still haunting, looking out towards the sea in such a way. What I love most about these islands is all the boats you get to see. They’re everywhere, and each one, I’m sure, has it sown unique story to tell. Where its been and where its going. There are tons of smaller islands too with little houses and hotels on them, independent from the entire world. Each one a distinct life of its own. There really is so much out there. One world…one ocean…one continent…one archipelago…one island…one house…one soul, adrift at sea…and who are we? Who am I? What story do I have that’s greater than the one that came before me?

After the fort, we tried to find a nice beach to relax on. It turned into quite the hike. We walked down the street, and came upon a house being reclaimed by the jungle. Theres something all too exciting about excavating the ruins of old houses isn’t there? You start thinking of strange lives being lived…through these old, unfamiliar rooms. What ghosts still linger, and what is it they need before they disappear into the ether forever? My camera ran out of batteries there, but I did get some nice shots. The jungle had all but taken over the ruins. Moving on we came to an old gas station that had been converted to a restaurant. We found many more places like this. They all looked like they started as one thing and then morphed into another, and so on and so on until the buildings themselves become sort of forts in their own right. A central building surrounded by walls of belongings and bric-a-brac. Chickens and dogs running around like soldiers brought to alarm...lived in but loved in, each with its own personality. We walked by an ocean front road, where we saw old fishing boats being worked on and conch shells lining the street. The air smelled like the sea and the people looked at us with weary curiosity. Sometimes as a stranger you feel more at home in the land of the lost than anywhere else. Our walk to some sort of restaurant or popular area proved fruitless. It was Three Kings Day after all, and most public stores were closed. A reporter stopped us and asked what we thought of the place. We told her we both loved its charm. We assumed pseudo names so she wouldn’t print our real identities. I was Johannes and she was Adeline. We were either dating or siblings, because in Sweden, it can be hard to tell.

Completing a giant circle, we hiked back to the main square in Christannsen and decided to eat some food there before taking a cab to a neighboring bay for the rest of the afternoon. Along the boardwalk we ran into our good friend Jana! She was on a date with a comedian who was training for some sort of event called the joggleathon. Apparently you jog and juggle for like 5km. I don’t get it, but he had almost 0% body fat, which is fine. We stopped to have a lovely meal of fried tuna and buttery French shrimp sandwiches before finding our beach retreat. All the locals told us to simply take the water taxi to the nearby hotel island where you could just lay on the beach there, but that was too easy and close at hand. We decided to go a few bays over to Buccaneer Beach, where maybe things would be from a different perspective.

Adeline and I, Johannes, kept our pseudo names for the remainder of the trip. The Buccaneer Bay Beach was wonderful. We changed into our swimsuits in the nearby bushes like a couple of Bohemians while the other kept look out, and found relaxation in the calm water of St. Croix’s isolated beaches. It was our port of solace, separate from the ship, and our current realities. I think pretending to be someone else only helped our enjoyment of the afternoon. Only with this illusion could we shake the constant stress of making it back at departure time. Always coming and going, never any real time to enjoy. Its a give and take of a life. Besides swimming, ordering a couple drinks, and jumping off the pier, there wasn’t anything extraordinary about the couple hours we spent there, but it was unexpected and unpredictable, which is the key to good luck. I could not have imagined that place, and so it was that much more enjoyable. We decided that Buccaneer was a lame name, so we named the bay after our drinks, Madam Von Strolten’s rum punch. And so our afternoon had taken place at Cape Fjord Von Strolten…one of the most beautiful beaches in all of the West Indies.

On the way home, we joined forces with a family who had been stiffed by their previous taxi driver. It became evident that most of the people who cruise on Disney would not be enjoying St. Croix. Things weren’t jut perfect enough for them…and so come the complaints: “They were giving out free rum samples on the peir! Alchohol!!!” “The island is ugly.” “There’s not enough shopping!” These are the people of America. The backbone of my country. I did my best to chat with the driver to cover the uncomfortable silence in the cab. You could tell he had many stories to tell that Disney would not have been happy to hear. However, things turned sour when he stopped the car suddenly on a hill, and told us we had to wait for his son who would be meeting us here. Adeline needed to get back to the ship, and the family just stared at me dumbfounded, as if what was I, an officer, going to do? I told him we better continue to the ship, but suddenly he exited the vehicle and walked down the road. I followed him and told him we weren’t paying to wait for his son, who is “supposed” to meet him here, which was the middle of nowhere. After about 10 minutes this guy eventually showed up. He was in the U.S. military on leave and had gone to the wrong hill, apparently. He joined us on the rest of the ride and laughed when his father said that he would get us back to the ship in ten minutes. Our driver did not get a tip from anyone…except Johannes..who deep down, can understand the longing a father might have for a son…one day.

Adeline ran on board the ship while I took some time to wander the port. There was another abandoned fort there, this time red instead of yellow. I imagined a level you might find in Silent Hill at the abandoned fort. Theres a locked gate which you must find the key for in order to get access the top level and the cannons. You must shoot the cannon across the yard to find the gong, and then use the gong to ring the signal bell, which was foundered in Chicago, to my surprise. It’s a small world. I wandered to a liquor store hoping to buy some Carib, my favorite beer in the world, but it was too pricey, so I bought a drink made from Sea Moss with peanut. As I walked back to the ship and drank it, many locals pleasantly noted that I was enjoying that drink, telling me its also good with rum, and that I should enjoy it because I will need to make babies tonight. It was alright I guess, and I made plenty babies.

Back on the pier, the sun was setting and I had 30 minutes before I had to open my gallery. There was a local steel drum band playing and I sat to listen to their music for a minute. It was a wonderful sound. When the tune ended, the last song I heard was requested by a woman. If you haven’t heard Amazing Grace on steel drums, you should seek it out if you can remember. Letting the song bring back some memories I headed down the pier to my ship as the music drifted slowly away. As I got on the gangway, the song finally ended, and my wonderful day in St. Croix came to a close.