Wednesday, June 10 (Day 3) – Stay thirsty Yost Van Dyke

Visitor Center

8:29 am – Just sitting on the dock of Cruz Bay wasting island time when the “Dos Equis super spokesman” showed up in a dinghy to take us to our charter sailboat…

Customs agents often detain him because his passport includes a stamp for the lost city of Atlantis.

His ponytail alone has diplomatic immunity.

He uses a sea urchin for a loofah.

The Sea is a cruel and fickle mistress because he refuses to tie the “naut” with her.

Every island gets renamed “Lovango” after he’s been in port.

Sharks study him because he’s never been sick.

He has no tolerance for tan lines, not even on the soles of his feet.

The most potent Painkillers are made with nutmeg ground on his funny bone.

If he’d been cast in Waterworld, the move would have made money.

Captain Hollywood Joe (left) and 54b

He is Captain “Hollywood” Joe – The Most Interesting Man In The Caribbean.

8:47 am –“Chill-limin” (even better than “Chillaxin”) on the deck of a 60’ ketch–the incomparable Treazzure–endearing myself (read: making walking the plank seem like an attractive option) to our fellow travelers (a cool couple from NY celebrating their anniversary) and getting acquainted with Captain Joe’s First Mate, Danielle, the consummate hostess and drink aficionado.

Danielle: “What do you think? What would be the perfect drink with this morning sail over to Jost?”

Captain Joe: “Mimosa?”

Danielle: “No. If the dew point were higher and the wind were coming out of the south, right on the money, but for this sail? Bloody Mary.”
54b: “What’s going on?”

Captain Joe: “Danielle can pick out the perfect drink for any Caribbean sailing voyage. Go ahead. Challenge her.”

54b: “Challenge her?”

Danielle and Jack

Captain Joe: “Go on.”

54b: “Okay, Virgin Gorda.”

Danielle: “Lime-n-Coconut with a dash of Sprite. Don’t waste my time.”

[Offers to put a pink umbrella in my drink as if to throw down the gauntlet.]

Danielle: “Come on. Push me.”

54b: “Anegada.”

Danielle: “High tide?”

54b: “Low tide.”

Danielle: “I’m with ya.”

54b: “Moonlight sail. Malfunctioning mizzen-mast. 80% chance of precip.”

Danielle: [Pauses to think] “Dark & Stormy.”

Capatain Joe: “YES!”

FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY LIVER…I really want to thank Danielle. My wife and I didn’t have the cash to charter our own boat to JVD and we really wanted a little more intimacy and flexibility than the canned trips on the bigger boats could offer. Danielle took it upon herself to find another couple to go with us and even promised us a flat rate even if my wife and I ended up being the only ones going that day. She’s good people and if you ever find yourself in the same boat we were in (aren’t puns fun), I highly recommend you contact Danielle at (www.sailingvirginislands.com) and upgrade yourself to a yacht.

10:11 am –Riding shotgun with Captain Jack–The Most Interesting Cat In The Caribbean (or at the bravest one anyway). This all-black bilge rat chaser has never spent a day of his nine lives on dry land. He’s friendly, fearless, and prefers that his leeward litter box be kept duty free.

Every yacht needs a ship's cat

Seriously, this feline’s more chill than Chester the Cheetah. Plus he helped me locate Treazzure’s precious cargo…multiple cases of iced-down beer right under the seat cushions. Rrrrrreeeooooowww!

10:34 am – Anchoring in Great Harbour, JVD while playing “Bobbing For Beers” (also known as “Dodge-Beer”). What’s that you ask? Why it’s only the latest drinking craze sweeping the Caribbean. How do you play? I’m glad you didn’t ask…

STEP 1: Dive off a sailboat while yelling, “Beer me!”

STEP 2: Someone on deck tosses a 12-ounce can (16oz for professionals) in after you hopefully avoiding your head.

STEP 3: Locate said beer before resurfacing and chug it.

54beer

It’s fun for the whole family. And here’s the best part: even when you lose, you still win, because canned beer floats. (LEGAL: Void where inebriated. Not recommended in contiguous United States. Please drink and dive responsibly.)

10:46 am –On the way to customs, Captain Joe drops us off on the beach in front of the Jost Van Dyke Police Station. No doubt Great Harbour’s Finest felt the disturbance in the force long before I made landfall, but it does beg the question, “do they really need cops on Jost and do they walk their beats barefoot?” Inebriated minds like mine want to know. I figure even with idiots like me on the loose, there hasn’t been a better gig than being a Jost Cop since Barney Fife regulated Mayberry.

11:47 am – Testing the elasticity of my swimsuit while inhaling Foxy’s Chicken Roti…seriously, I could not have stopped eating that Caribbean burrito to attend the Apocalypse. It’s that good. Got freaky with a Friggin in de Riggin and chased it with one of Foxy’s home brews too.

White Bay, Jost Van Dyke, BVI

12:52 pm – In a moment of shear poetic irony, the Aquapac 6000 succumbs to poor packing practices and its promise to keep its precious cargo dry is compromised on the swim into White Bay thus keeping alive the tradition and “joie de vivre” of the Soggy Dollar Bar. There’s just nothing like paying for a round of Painkillers with a bunch of wet dollar bills. Now that’s what I call “making it rain.”

1:27 pm – With an array of tropical cocktail confectionaries dotting a postcard-white sandy beach replete with narcolepsy-inducing hammocks overlooking crystal clear blue water made of unicorn tears, White Bay on Jost is quite possibly the most stress-free place on Earth…and how am I choosing to spend my time in Tranquil Town? Having a conniption fit trying to make a ring on a string (hanging from a tree) swoop over and catch on a tiny hook. It was like going to Chuck E. Cheese’s to do your taxes. Epic fail mon.

Unicorn Tears

1:58 pm – “But there’s booze in the One Love Bar blender, and soon it will render, a frozen Bushwacker that helps me hang on…hang on…hang on…” Keep drinking like this and I’ll have to declare my liver when I go back through customs.

2:13 pm – Typically my wife cuts me off before “Frank the Tank” hits defcon floor, but the governor’s currently in a coma swaying in a hammock in front of Soggy’s. You know what that means. Fasten your seatbelts and return your tray tables to their full-upright positions–next stop, spirit world. ”Hello dark rum, my old friend. I’ve come to drink with you again…”

Soggy Dollar Hammock

2:44 pm – Gathering our things before making the swim back to the boat and enjoying this lovely interrogation…

“Hey Sweetheart, how was your nap?”
“Wonderful. I see you had another Painkiller?”
“Who me? No, never-never…okay, how’d you know?”
“You have nutmeg in your nose hairs.”
“Doh!”

NOTE TO SELF: When downing a Painkiller like a juice box, don’t breathe through your nose.

The Treazzure Mast

4-ish pm –Mooning the Caneel Bay Resort ferry to avenge the honor of the Treazzure, whose main cabin was flooded this morning thanks to an overzealous Caneel Bay ferryman that was rooster tailing through the no-wake zone off of Honeymoon beach. “Not cool mon.”

5ish pm – Passing through customs armed with enough liquid courage to storm the Bastille and wondering aloud why they were so strict with their hours of operation. Seriously, I thought we were all on island time? This whole deadline thing is really harshing my mellow. Then my wife reminded me that if I didn’t shut up I’d probably be spending the rest of the night with Homeland Security getting interviewed by Dr. Jellyfinger.

Cafe Roma

8:03 pm – Still in the spirit world discussing the meaning of life with the bartender at Café Roma while waiting for a pizza. He used to be a lawyer in Cleveland until he decided to trade that bar for this one and move to St. John. I consider him a role model for the times and not just because he slipped me a Red Stripe on the house.

So I cried on his shoulder and told him how even on St. John I didn’t feel like I could completely escape the worries about the recession and my job back home and how I felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. He said if you think that’s heavy, wait ‘til you get a load of this pizza. Seriously, no lie, I think that pie weighed 20 pounds. And holy pepperoni was it good. Especially after drinking in the sun all day.

And you know what, he was right…it’s hard to worry about things you can’t control when the pizza you’re carrying is about to give you a hernia. That’s wisdom St. John style.