Some days just start off on the wrong side of the bed - you know - like when you inadvertently put your underwear on inside out and don't notice until noon. We knew that we would be arriving late to St. Thomas and I had sent three separate emails to let the tour company know about the delay (thanks to the gomer in Nassau). Their replies were typically Rastafarian: Don't worry! Someone will be there! Just come, mon!" So we did.
We hustled our way down the gangway with the other four thousand people (from our ship) and three thousand (from the Holland ship) plus another twenty thousand (from the other three ships). Peter spotted our guide "Aaron" tours, and a darkly sweating fellow named Joe, who growled "We have been waiting a really LONG time for you!" Huh, we thought, welcome to St. Thomas yourself. Rick reminded him that he wasn't exactly driving the boat.
Climbed onto an open air taxi all the while being glared at by some disgruntled tourists who had waited far too long for our ship to arrive. Our fault, of course. After a great deal of confusion, money appearing, hands flying about, we discovered that our originally-booked tour had left without us but No Worries! He hired his friend, Joe! And Joe would take us on a great tour! In his open air, crammed-to-the-hilt "taxi." Somehow our six hour tour got reduced to two hours, the first 45 minutes of which were dedicated to shopping.
Shopping. Shopping in a cruise town consists of closing your eyes, jutting out your elbows and making a dead run for the air conditioned shops. Nine times out of ten, you'll land in a Diamonds International. How on earth can so many diamond shops survive on a tiny island? The one civilized thing was that free champagne and beer was offered to most shoppers, and it was commonplace to carry that drink with you throughout all the shops. That part was fun.
After some time we realized that we needed to turn back to the more domestic shops, tee shirts, trinkets, local faire. We wandered through the little kiosks, ramshackle buildings covered by tarps and corrigated metal, all selling the same awful junk, most of which made in China. We sauntered lazily past the displays, basically just putting in time until our "taxi" returned. And that's when it happened. I leaned forward to deposit my empty drink container into a garbage and my foot inadvertently caught up in the voluminous tarp that was used to cover the table that was laiden with drinks for sale. Pop, beer, wine..... I felt the tug, tried valiantly to disentangle myself, and immediately pulled a large section of tarp, containing drinks, off the table. Several pop cans immediately exploded and the ginger ale cans were spinning around like fireworks, spraying ice cold pop directly up my crotch. The beer bottles shattered and fuzzed and foamed and everywere, people stopped short to watch. Several comments like "Man! Can you ever smell beer!" were heard, and I stood there acutely aware that most of it had seeped directly into my sandals. Rick, ever the gallant gentleman, stomped firmly on the spinning pop cans to stop his wife from being totally drenched, and was immediately rewarded by a shower of sticky pop straight up his leg and from there, over to my glasses. I was so stunned that I just stood there gibbering. Both guys pulled out a few bills to placate the lady behind the counter, who was probably thinking a big fat lawsuit was in her future (and should have been, by the way!).
Fortunately we had some beach towels on us which were used to mop up, then some "Wet Ones" towelettes to get rid of most of the syrup. Despite all that we still felt sticky, hot and somewhat depressed, not to mention embarrassed.
Once Joe returned we climbed back on to the open air taxi with all the others and were taken to the top of the mountain for some spectacular views, hairpin turns on crumbling roads and nailbiting moments. We fell for the "World Famous Banana Daquerie" at the top of the mountain, sipped it all the way down to the 10 minute beach stop (where the washrooms were locked), and finally were returned to the ship at day's end. We were all mightily relieved to step back on board the Allure, especially the stickier members of our party.
Tomorrow is St. Maarten's and let's hope I don't break anything. Almost time for me to wear a harness.