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Rajalary

~ The adventures of Richard and Julie Lary

Rajalary

Monthly Archives: May 2010

Getting into the Swing of the Caribbean

31 Monday May 2010

Posted by rajalary in Sailing

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Thursday was our first full day of sailing and an opportunity for Rooster Rich to rise with the sun, start up the motor and pull up lines before anyone else. He headed straight for The Baths on Virgin Gorda (below). This was one of our favorite places the last time we visited and a favorite with tourist, coming by sea or land. By the time we arrived, many of the mooring balls were already taken, so we opted for one that was opposite Devil’s Bay, a pleasant sandy beach with a roped off area for swimming. Baths from the water

Because of the rough water and reefs around the area, you can’t take your dingy ashore. There’s a mooring line that you can tie your dingy to and then swim the rest of the way. I don’t like this approach because even if you’re a great swimmer, the turbulent waves near the opening of The Baths can “wash” you ashore. Seven year ago, I landed on the beach, face first, rocks and sand down my bathing suit, and my dignity battered. In addition, it’s awkward and physically challenging to pull yourself up and back into the dingy after swimming back from The Baths.Find us at The Baths

The alternative was to swim from Efithia to Devil’s Bay, a lengthy and somewhat strenuous swim until you get close to shore where the tepid water gently kisses the sand (Can you see us in the picture to the left?). Rich had a dry bag in which we placed our camera, glasses, and other things we wanted to keep dry. As I had done the day before, I slathered sun block on my legs, arms, face, and chest. In the excitement, however, of seeing The Baths, I neglected to have Rich put sun block on my back. Within a few hours, my back was so badly sizzled that for the rest of the trip, I worse a sleeveless shirt, even when I snorkeled. Rock towers at The Baths

Rich, claiming that he’d never burned before, and therefore opted not to put on sun block. By day three, however, he wised up. By then, his back, legs, arms, and shoulders were well done and rather than slightly pink in the middle, they were red!

A short trail, south of Devil’s Bay, lead to another beach. As we approached, we could see a handful of small cairns or towers of rocks and coral that people had erected to mark the pathways or add to the landscape (above). As we turned the corner, I gasped. The beach was littered with dozens of cairns. It was very spiritual and picturesque. Before we left, I recommended Rich build a tower out of coral. The result is a bit phallic (below).

Several days later, I built a more respectful cairn at Bubbly Pool by Manchioneel Bay. Close up of Rich's tower

With the sun beating down on us, we headed to The Baths, which consists of gigantic boulders, the size of small houses, several stories in height and width, thoughtlessly tossed onto the beach, forming narrow passages and small pools of seawater. You amble through the boulder on narrow sandy paths and wooden steps. Using a rope, secured with heavy metal rings to a rock wall, we gingerly walked down a steep, slippery boulder into the grotto. At the bottom was a green pool of water that gently lapped at your ankles.

You can see me below, hanging onto the rope and leaning across one of the wooden stairs. In the lower picture, I’m standing on a house-sized rock.  Hang onto a rope at The Baths

After The Baths, we swam back to the boat, pulled up lines and headed to Great Dog, one in a series of small canine-named islands that have numerous National Park Trust Buoys for tying up and spending a few hours snorkeling or diving. Sailor, who heard barking when they anchored near these islands, named them Dog Islands. However, the barking they heard were from Caribbean Monk Seals. The seals also proved to be quite tasty and are now extinct. 

Surrounding the rugged coastlines of the Dog Islands are reefs that are teeming with tropical fish and many varieties of corals. Even though the currents were hefty, we snorkeled twice, going a different direction each time.Ladder at The Baths

Snorkeled-out and shriveled up from being in the water several hours, we headed for Gorda Sound and the bay by the Brias Creek Resort. The cheapest room at this very upscale resort is $585 in the summer (hot months) and from $810 to $1,710 during the winter. You need to make reservations for dinner, a four-course prix fixe for $75 per person plus 17% gratuity. If requested, the resort’s powerboat will pick you up at your sailboat or yacht then whisk you to the resort’s restaurant for lunch or dinner. After 5:30 p.m., they request “gentlemen wear trousers and a collared shirt” and “ladies wear suitable resort attire.” 

You can also reach the resort by dinghy; but if you’re dressed for dinner, you might look a bit disheveled when you arrive. The Baths_4

Having left our snazzy clothes at home, Rich and I settled for a humble, but tasty dinner of chicken kabobs (chicken, canned pineapple, bell peppers, and red onions) and potato bundles (sliced potatoes, onions, garlic, fresh basil, zucchini, olive oil, and Caribbean Spice wrapped in foil and placed on the barbeque). Afterwards, we piled into the dingy and headed to the resort.

In the water, on either side of the walkway from the Brias Creek Marina to the resort, are blue lights that give the water an eerie glow and attract swarms of two to three foot long barracudas. We saw a handful of these fish when snorkeling; they can attack and bite humans and are attracted to shiny objects like Rich’s and my wedding rings! Land crabs

The only part of the Brias Creek Resort that is open to non-guests is the bar and restaurant; nevertheless, Rich and I wanted to explore. While walking through a grove of trees, with flashlights in hand, we spotted numerous large holes on the ground with light orange crabs scampering in-and-out. This sighting was unusually because we were hundreds of yards from the water. I always thought that crabs live right next to the water.

We saw the same type of crabs near the airport on Tortola (above). Once again, they were far from the ocean. Although, a small fresh water creek flowed nearby.

When I edited this article, I typed “land crab” into Bing and amazingly, “land crab” is the common name for Cardisoma guanhumi, the crabs that we saw. There are several varies of these crabs in the Caribbean. When not turned into crab and rice dishes, they live in low-lying areas near mangrove swamps, salt ponds, wetlands, and marshes inside holes or burrows that go down on an angle to a larger living area where the crabs store food for winter dry spells. Julie and Rich at The Baths

Part of their burrows usually extends below the water line, creating alternative openings to the surface. Typically, they only venture out at night or when it’s raining to search of tasty morsels, which includes plants, dead things, and garbage.

Here’s a picture of Rich and I at The Baths. Our skin is still pale…

The Only Thing Not Laid Back is Their Driving

29 Saturday May 2010

Posted by rajalary in Sailing

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Sailing_day 1The flight from Seattle to Dallas was about 3.5 hours. I’ve always enjoyed this airport because it has many shops to see, in while waiting for your flight. It also has a circular maze of glass walls that you can meander through. Every few feet is a glass disc set in the floor. As you walk over a disc, a musical tone sounds. If you walk quickly, taking varying routes through the maze, you can create a tune. It’s very spiritual and serene inside the maze.

Before I could play in the maze, we grabbed a quick bite – bagel and cream cheese for me and pulled pork sandwich for Rich. We then boarded a four-hour flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Squished like sardines and limited to talking to each other and reading, Rich and I dozed for some of the flight and were happy to see twinkling lights after several hours of flying over the ocean.

From high above, Puerto Rico appears to be a hodge-podge of houses, buildings, and industrial sites. There are no tidy tracts of houses and tree-lined neighborhoods. Puerto Rico may be a U.S. territory, but it doesn’t appear to have evolved from being a second world country with a per capita income of less than $20,000 per year.

Road Town The small island is home to around four million people. In recent years, it’s become the permanent home of over 100,000 legal residents who immigrated from Spain, Argentina, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Colombia and Venezuela. In spite of the island being shoulder-to-shoulder people, both Rich and I would love to spend a day or two exploring the island by car or sailboat.

After a short lay-over with just enough time to buy an overpriced, dry submarine roll with two slices of rubbery American cheese, and greenish non-descript meat (it was disguised as a sandwich) we boarded a small plane for the final hop to Tortola, the largest of the British Virgin Islands.

We landed around 8:30 and spent an hour or so going through customs and waiting for our luggage to arrive. The plane was full, including a couple and their parents who were going to get married the next day. The rest of the people were either residents or heading for resorts or charter companies.

We were directed to a taxi van with another couple who were going to a resort at the far end of Tortola. They chattered about needing a drink, which is good advice for the faint of heart for the taxi driver immediately accelerated to forty or so miles per hour, even though the speed limit was considerably lower on the narrow, unlit, two-lane road. Although BVI drivers are supposed to drive on the left-hand side of the road, they continually cross the line, playing a constant game of chicken to see who will flitch first as they scramble around corners and cut each other off at intersections and wide sections in the roads. Bobby's

As I wrote seven years ago, it’s Disneyland’s Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride with taxis, cars, vans, small trucks, and motorcycles racing each other on narrow roads, lined with parked cars and pedestrians who don’t have the protection of formal sidewalks. It is a recipe for disaster. Sure enough, we read in one of the papers that a 22-year old girl was struck and killed by a speeding car several weeks earlier.

We arrived at the Conch Charter Marina in Road Town lickety-split and unloaded our two huge army duffle bags, Rich’s backpack, a sports bag of sailing equipment, my Eddie Bauer tote full of magazines, foods, and necessities, and finally my beloved netbook, Sputnik, on which I documented much of this trip, and Rich nightly downloaded information from his GPS and programmed way points for the following day’s sailing route.

We were pleasantly surprised by Eftihia, the 33.2 foot Beneteau sailboat we chartered. It has a large v-berth, white vinyl seats (better than upholstery when you’re wearing bathing suits most of the time), and a spacious kitchen with a large refrigerator.

Because we’d provisioned (i.e. ordered food, water, drinks, and ice) two weeks earlier, there was no need to rush to the big supermarket in town, Bobby’s (right), to buy what we needed for nine days of sailing. While there are small markets at various marinas, you never know what you’ll find and what’ll cost. Therefore, the best approach is to get what you need before you leave Road Town. 

In spite of having gotten up at 3:30 a.m. and hardly slept during the eighteen or so hours we’d been traveling, we were fully awake – especially since BVI iWalking back from Bobby'ss on east coast time and our west coast bodies were telling us it was only 7:30 p.m. After making up the v-berth with the linens we’d brought and stashing our clothing and gear in the boat, we grabbed three canvas grocery bags and walked a mile or so to Bobby’s.

Because the town has grown up considerably since we visited seven years ago, it took us a while to find the store, mainly because it doesn’t have a prominent sign and looks like a warehouse. Fortunately, it closed at midnight.

We primarily needed to buy fresh produce and fruit along with mint leaves, limes, and club soda to make mojitos using the bottle of rum the charter company had left on the boat.

Anything fresh in the BVI is very expensive and in limited quantities. We opted for three potatoes, two yellow onions, one red onion, a clove of garlic, a bag of lettuce, one mango, one bell pepper, three carrots, four locally grown cucumber pickles, two limes, one lemon, four cobs of frozen corn, two litters of club soda, dish soap, two cans of soda (to drink on the way back), and a bag of ice. The bill was $43. Rich's All-Stars

Happily, our three bags of groceries were much lighter than the half dozen bags of food and twenty pounds of ice we’d purchased seven years earlier when we opted not to provision. At the time, we barely staggered out of Bobby’s and across the street to the taxi stand.

This trip, we leisurely walk back to the marina. Still wired after putting away the food and thoroughly unpacking and putting away our clothes, sailing gear and the little bit of food we brought, we took a shower at the marina’s facility, We then stayed up until around 2 a.m. (11 p.m. Seattle time) talking and admiring the nearly full moon from the cockpit.

The next morning, as expected, Rich was up at the crack of dawn and dragged me out of bed for another trip to Bobby’s for ground pepper (Rich puts it on everything), a roll of paper towels, and a roll of toilet paper… it’s better to be safe than sorry. Above is Rich in his spank’n new, brown All-Stars, holding a bag from Bobby’s.

We ate the bagels that we’d brought and chatted with the man in the boat next to ours as we waited for the rest of our food, cans of Dr Pepper (Rich’s) and club soda (mine), bottled water, and ice to be delivered. It was then time to start the laborious process of going over the ins-and-outs of the boat with the charter company, and pay for insurance, park and cruising permits, and a hat with the charter company’s logo.

Finally, at around, 11:30 a.m. we hit the sea. We sailed for nearly three hours before reaching Cooper Island. By then, we were both exhausted fromJulie swimming at Cooper Island jetlag, the heat, stress of learning the particulars of the boat, and physical exertion of running back-and-forth from the boat to the charter company office, and up-and-down from the cockpit to the galley of the boat to get everything ready and checked out!

We easily grabbed a mooring ball at Cooper Island. Two minutes later, I flung off my clothes, pulled on a bathing suit and jumped into the astonishingly clear, warm, and aquamarine water (below is me on my back). It was heavenly. Rich joined me a little while later and I coerced him into swimming ashore. Most people, with their wits about them, take a dingy. Even though the shore looked close, it was a hefty swim.

Once ashore, we walked a bit, checking out the beach bar and restaurant that is associated with the Cooper Island Beach Club, and then swam gasped back to the boat. As if we weren’t already fully spent, we hopped in the dingy and motored over to a supposedly good snorkeling area.

It was the first time either one of us had donned fins, snorkels and masks in seven years. Rich was an old pro. I hyperventilated, gagged on sea water, fidgeted with my mask, and got very frustrated. Exacerbated, we returned to dingy then motored to the beach to pay for the use of the mooring ball ($25 per night).

Even though the lounge chairs on the beach are for resort guests, we decided to use two of them since there was hardly anyone left on the beach. We both instantly conked out under the shade of several palm trees.

Rested, we returned to the boat to cook dinner and prepare foods for the rest of the week – tuna salad (two cans of white tuna, lemon juice, slivers of lemon peel, and thinly chopped bell pepper), egg salad (eggs, chopped pickles and bell peppers, mayonnaise), and hummus (mashed canned garbanzo beans, olive oil, and Caribbean spice mix) for sandwiches. Our dinner was less dramatic, tortellini (brought from home) with olive oil and Caribbean spice mix, canned green beans (awful), and Jelly Bellys.

The end of our first day also marked sunburn phase I. I had liberally coated my legs, arms, face, and neck with Bullfrog sunscreen, which worked as expected to protect me from sunburn. I had neglected, however, to have Rich put sunscreen on my back. The hour of so swimming and snorkeling had singed my back.   Conch Marina

Putting a Face to a Soldier

27 Thursday May 2010

Posted by rajalary in Travel

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(This article was written several weeks ago on a bobbing boat. It’s particularly apropos for Memorial Day)

The first leg of our British Virgin Island (BVI) sailing adventure started at 6 a.m. at the SeaTac Airport. Because we’d gotten up a 3:30 a.m. all I wanted to do was sleep. Happily, Rich and I were seated in a row with just two seats across. There would be no third person to see me snooze with my mouth wide open and head bobbing from side-to-side as the plane pitched.

Before all of the passengers had been seated, the man across the aisle from us struck up a conversation. He was lamenting the ridiculous charge of $8 for a blanket. He commented that he was “willing to pay two smiles, but not $8.” Then again, with airlines charging for checked luggage, snacks, and in some instances, use of the bathroom, every creature comfort, even a blanket, becomes fair game for a tacking on a fee.

The man, whose name we later learned was Nick, was wearing nondescript white shorts, a tee shirt, white socks, canvas shoes, and a baseball hat. He was eager to talk and was perpetually fidgeting, rubbing his nose, adjusting his hat, scratching his leg, and putting Chapstick on his lips. In spite of the early hour, he was wide-awake and eager to strike up a conversation. He was moving from Fort Lewis, an hour south of Seattle, to the Brooke Army Medical Center outside San Antonio, to be closer to his family. He let slipped that he had been in Afghanistan. My ears perked up.

Not wanting to miss details of his deployment, I fought the urge to sleep and listened to him recount his recent trip, snowboarding at Snoqualmie in eastern Washington. Rich, having been a snowboard instructor for six years, was delighted to talk shop about boards, snow conditions, and other tedious details on how to skim down a hill on a narrow board with your feet restrained in heavy boots.

I continued reading a TIME magazine. Ironically, the lead article was on a captain and his company’s attempts to reopen a school in Afghanistan. Sensing a break in the conversation, I handed the magazine to Rich, with a page open to a map of Afghanistan, and asked that he have Nick point out where he deployed. He was east of Kandahar in an area where the roads where lined with pomegranate trees and an occasional vegetable garden and trees with apple so thickly skinned that he couldn’t abide eating them.

From what we could gather, Nick joined the Army in 2007, after the construction business collapsed in Florida and his plans to travel abroad with friends fell through. He ended up leading a team that patrolled an area crawling with the insurgence. He spoke of the camaraderie and the extraordinary experience of training then closely bonding with members of his squadron.

One fateful morning, however, an improvised explosive device (IED) exploded during his patrol, knocking him unconscious for ten minutes. Later that afternoon, his team encountered another IED. Even though Nick appeared not be injured, the force of the IEDs damaged his equilibrium. His speech, memory, and balance were severely impacted.

Just as a baby is harmed when shaken too hard, an explosion or sharp jolt can cause ones brain to knock against the skull, causing traumatic brain injury (TBI). It’s estimated that two-thirds of all soldiers wounded in Iraq suffer from TBI. The rocket propelled grenades, mortars, and other explosive devices commonly used in Iraq create concussive shock blasts that damage the brain.

Even though Nick enjoyed living in Washington, he was excited about being with his family in Texas. He was hopeful his continual headaches would be alleviated. He explained how they can be completely debilitating, making it impossible for him to do anything more than wish them away. Several times during our conversation, he reached into his backpack for a prescription bottle and gulped down a pill.

It was heartbreaking to listen to him occasionally struggle to find the right word, especially after he explained that he loves to read and used to have a rich vocabulary. His constant fidgeting confirmed the damage that’d been done to his cerebral cortex. We gave him a card with our contact information and asked that he jot down on another card his contact information. He struggled to write his email address, clutching the pen and straining to keep his hand and arm steady.

We unfortunately lost his contact information during our sailing adventure. It would have been nice to have kept in touch. Or maybe not.

Nick put a face on the horrors of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. He joined the Army on a whim when his plans to travel with friends fell through. In the end, he got his wish, traveling to a hellish country with men who became his closest friends, training, patrolling, and forming a tight unit to protect each other.

Then twice, on a fateful day, the normalcy of his life ended. We’ll never know the outcome of his rehabilitation or whether he moves forward with his life, getting a job, marrying, and having kids. In spite of everything, not a bitter or angry word came from his mouth. He was joyful and determined to grab every opportunity that came his way.

This Memorial Day, Nick is the face we’ll recall when we think about the thousands of men and women who’ve paid a high price to defend America.

Twenty One Hour Day

21 Friday May 2010

Posted by rajalary in Travel

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Rather than write about the start of our recent sailing adventure in the British Virgin Islands (BVI), I decided to provide the ending first. It’s like flipping to the back of a novel when you can’t decide whether it’s worth the time and effort to wade through the rest of the pages.

Our final day in BVI was spent at the historical Fort Burt Hotel, which was built in 1666 by the Dutch. In the 1950’s it was turned into a hotel. We were thrilled with our room, which provided a view of the marina, Road Town, and the surrounding hills. Three of the pictures in this blog were taken from our room’s balcony. The pool was a short walk away. View from Fort BurtHaving slept nine night in a v-berth on a thin mattress with a cranky sun-burned wife, Rich claimed the king-sized bed made him feel like a cherry resting on fluffy cream cheese icing, slathered on a carrot cake.

After a glorious day recharging our batteries, we finished packing our bags, turned out the lights, and slept soundly until the alarm went off at 4:45 a.m. Thirty minutes later a taxi whisked us towards the airport.

Because there is no public transportation in BVI and relatively few cars, it’s common for people to hitchhike. And in the seven years since we visited, everyone seems to have acquired a cell phone, which is permanently affixed to their ear. Given these facts, it was no surprise that our taxi driver received a call, and on the way to the airport, he took a side street to a slummy area to pick up a mystery package from a supposed friend. He then returned to the main road, and a few minutes later, gave a lift to a women who needed to go to the airport. We were the only people, however, who had to pay the fare.

In spite of the early hour, there was a lengthy line in front of the American Airlines window. We were unruffled, though, knowing we’d left plenty of time to check our luggage, go through security, and get on the plane. Rich was pleased that he’d carefully packaged our bags. The bottles of water, cans of soda, and a bottle of rum from the boat were in our carry-on bags; snorkel and fins, clothing, and sailing gear in two large Army duffle bags; and my beloved netbook, Sputnik, with pictures and notes from the trip, secured in a satchel and slung over my shoulder.

If you read the paragraph above carefully, you would have realized we were moments away from committing the first of the day’s many mistakes and SNAFUS. You can’t have containers with more than 2 ounces of liquid in your carry-ons. The bottle of rum had to go. And the sodas and waters either drunk or poured out.

Fortunately, the ticket agent was thinking clearly and offered to place the rum in one of our duffle bags, which of course, had already been tossed onto a conveyor belt and zipped outside to be placed on the plane. And unbeknownst to us, she checked both of our duffle bags under Rich’s name. She also recommended that we hurriedly drink the sodas before going through security.View 2 from Fort Burt

While chug-a-lugging the sodas, Rich decided to dump out the water. I recommended that he pour it on some plants. He returned moments later, a smile from ear-to-ear, with two empty water bottles and a cream-colored cat in the crook of his arm. There are many stray cats in BVI who are receptive to petting and nuzzling for food scraps. So in a sense, it wasn’t remarkable to find a cat lounging just inside the airport. The cat was a nice distraction and we hoped a good omen for the long trip home.

We were wrong on all accounts.

After handing my boarding pass to the screener, I was told to step aside, where I was searched from head to toe, and everything in my carry-on bag was taken out while I was questioned about my visit to BVI. Finally, I was told why my luggage and I were subject to such a thorough examination. An “SSSS” (Secondary Security Screening Selection) appeared on the top of my boarding pass, which required an enemy-of-the-state-level of scrutiny. The inspectors even walked onto the tarmac to track down and search my luggage before it was loaded onto the plane.

They were in for a surprise. There was NO luggage for ”Julie Lary” because the agent had checked both bags under Rich’s name! Had this not been the case, we would most assuredly have missed our plane.

But, the fun was not yet over, my carry on luggage and I were re-inspected once again at the gate, making Rich and I the last people to get on the plane.

The forty-five minute flight to Puerto Rico was blissfully uneventful as was our trip through customs and immigration. Once again, however, with an “SSSS” on my boarding pass, I was thoroughly inspected, and my carry-on bag and Sputnik unpackaged and swabbed for explosive residues. They also decided to inspect Rich and his large bag full of sailing gear. We now know that there are no explosive materials on his binoculars, GPS, video camera, digital camera, sailing books, empty water bottle , and wallet.Pool at Fort Burt

After getting cups of coffee and Cinnabons, we waited to board a 7.5 hour flight to Los Angeles. Just as they were boarding the first class passengers, Rich was paged. He was informed that we’d failed to claim our luggage at customs. Rich grabbed our boarding pass out of his backpack and with an American Airlines agent in tow, sprinted back to customs.

The bags were by the baggage carousel so it was just a matter of Rich grabbing them. With the help of the agent, he was able to cut to the front of the line and whoosh through customs. The next challenge was getting through the screeners, which immediately presented a problem because Rich had inadvertently grabbed our tickets for the Los Angeles to Seattle flight instead of the ones for Puerto Rico to Los Angeles.

Fortunately, the agent directed him to the American Airlines help desk, which reissued the Puerto Rico tickets. Aside from being thoroughly searched again, he was able to race back to the board area – shoes in hand and breathing hard – to join me in getting on the plane. Fortunately, we had exit row seats that were in back of first class. We simply needed to make it through the door, cross the aisle, and flop down on our seats.

Prior to the custom’s commotion, I’d purchased what I hoped was an engaging book to read, Relentless by Dean Koontz. I started the 7.5 hour flight by finishing up a magazine and the newspapers we’d brought. I then dove into the novel. By the time we got back to Seattle, I’d nearly finished the book. Dean Koontz is a fabulous writer! Funny! Suspenseful! Innovative!

Since the food selection at the Puerto Rico airport was awful, I recommended to Rich that we buy food on the plane. I’d read that the package meals on the plane are usually very good and inexpensive. Sure enough, when the cart came around, they had a nice selection, at a premium price of course.

Night view Fort BurtRich handed them his credit card and ordered two Boston Market grinder sandwiches with chips, a cheese, dried fruit, and cracker plate, and a large cookie. Leftover from sailing, we had a package of Japanese crackers, some Costco dried fruit and nut mix, and Jelly Belly jelly beans. I recommended to Rich that we space out the food over the 7.5 hour flight. Every half hour or so, he informed me how close we were getting to our next food indulgence.

Eating makes flying much more pleasurable!

Los Angeles was smoggy-foggy when we landed. We were optimistic that our luggage had also landed and wasn’t saturated with rum from a broken bottle inside. Putting our concerns aside, we got on a shuttle bus to the Alaska/Horizon terminal. Three minutes on the bus, Rich jumped up and exclaimed that he left his wallet on the plane.

I’m not making this up!

The shuttle driver turned around and barely came to a stop before Rich jumped of the bus and raced for the door. We scrambled across the busy American Airlines terminal and Rich ran down towards the plane we’d left ten minutes earlier.

Writing this, I can’t believe that he wasn’t stopped by some security officer! Undeterred by his lunacy, he ran back onto the plane and looked around our seats. No wallet. He then frantically searched through his backpack. Vola! Wallet!

Back to the shuttle bus. By the time we reached the Alaska/Horizon terminal, my patience was thread-thin. When Rich started scurrying around looking for the gate, I went the opposite direction and found the “departure and arrival” board, which confirmed I was in the right place to get on the flight back to Seattle.

Of course, Rich was furious when he found me and decided to quench his fury by buying more food. His choice was a Burger King “Bessie Cow” burger with French fries and a large root beer. To appease me, he bought from Starbucks a tasty turkey and cheese sandwich on chewy bread. Rich at Fort Burt

Listen. You’re a hostage in an airport. You might as well eat.

The flight to Seattle was nearly three hours, which gave me plenty of time to read Relentless. In the row in front of us were two little kids who were ricocheting off the ceiling before we took off. They proved to be little angels for the entire flight and were kept engaged by their mother.

The monsters in the row behind us were another story. Nevertheless, we were relieved that nearly 18 hours of flying and being at airports was coming to a thankful end. We arrived at the BVI airport at 6 a.m. (3 a.m. pacific time) and landed in Seattle at around 9 p.m.

When we got home, we were too wired to sleep so we unpacked our bags, conversed with the cats, inspected our plants by flashlight, and then watched some TV before crawling into bed, twenty one hours after we’d gotten up at the Fort Burt Hotel in BVI.

And our luggage. It was waiting for us in Seattle. The bottle of rum didn’t break and neither did the two small conch shells we’d packed.

Garden Planted!

02 Sunday May 2010

Posted by rajalary in Gardening

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Between the raindrops on Saturday, Rich and I put in the plants that we’d bought at the Washington Technical College several weeks ago along with bitty seed starts that we’d been coddling indoors for the past few months. The latter has proven very frustrating. The only seeds that have grown with any success has been pea pods, peas, cilantro, and lettuce. Although, the latter die as soon as we put them outdoors.

Our raised beds — in Mount Vernon — now feature five types of tomatoes, three types of broccoli, two artichokes, celery, two types of peppers, peas, pea pods, several types of lettuces (from the technical college), spinach basil, thyme, cilantro, and mystery seed starts… and may be beans if they ever do us the honor of popping out the ground.

We still need to plant squash, cucumbers, bell peppers, and Japanese or Thai eggplant. Oh, and radishes. And tomatillos would be great.

Even though Zephyra isn’t a vegetable or herb, she felt her picture should be posted for everyone to admire. Zephyra thinks the world is a beautiful place with squirrels to chase, fences to climb, plants to hide among, catnip to sniff, and raccoon water to drink.

The picture to the right was taken in Kirkland. As soon as Rich stains the deck, we’ll put the pots (background) on the deck. The pots contain blueberries, raspberries, orange rhododendron, mock orange, apple tree, and baby trees and lilacs. We’ll also be creating pots of lettuce, basil, tomatoes, and pea pods for weekly consumption while in Kirkland.

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