Position: 18:27.20N 64:26.90W

Virgin Gorda. The fat virgin… Really, Christopher Columbus? As our young friend, Robyn would say, ‘How rude!’ A couple of days ago, Quest and a passing Xmassy squall made our way together to the main town, or as its known here; settlement. Ha! We imagined pirate dens and fire pits.. Spanish Town was the first place in all the Virgin Islands the British settled. Instead, we found a very nice, very respectable-looking marina. With a supermarket! Not a Morrisons or a pirate’s den. A little disappointed, we put our points card away. Oh well, never turn down a mooch around a food establishment. We did the research; the price checks. Somethings' less expensive than Antigua (meat), somethings' more (milk). Outside, chickens roamed around and a British post box was helpfully stuffed with a paper plate. 

Passports in hand, we went to check-in. We’d heard customer service in the BVI is on the poor side. It’s true there are lots of charter boats here. The morning after we arrived, I woke up, stumbled outside and thought, is there a regatta going on? About thirty sailboats were sailing off into the distance and as it happened, right into the path of a squall. We found out later that’s just what they do. Charter companies give their clients a well-trodden trail and the charter boats sail it in the small amount of time they’re here. Squall of no squall.. Fair enough, no? When I saw them, white billowing triangles disappearing into the distance, I had the distinct urge to wake up Quest’s crew and follow, baa, baa-ing all the way. The sheep in me is strong.. Luckily, I would have had better luck waking three, no wait, four including the sheep-chaser, stones. 

A lot of yachties over here turn their noses up at charter boats. Sure, there are some painful anchoring-swinging-kissing-smacking situations, none of which we’ve had the misfortune yet to experience. So far, we've always gazed at the charter boat in admiration. You can stay on a boat that’s not yours? Not worry about the water pump going off every three minutes even if there are no taps on? Not consider anti-foul maintenance or battery voltage patterns or have to find the guy who does the propane gas re-fills… how cool is that! Ok, charters may need four go’s to pick up a mooring buoy but hey, we’re not proud. There have been times we’ve abandoned a lunch or pit stop because of this same conundrum. Yes, you Aberdyfi… In Grenada, you fit in to the locals’ schedule. Period. In Antigua, super yachts make the neighbourhood feel distinctly upper end. Here in the BVI, hundreds of white sailing flies seem to be darting around a particularly pungent-smelling poo… ok.. we must be in the sailing suburbs! 

And the customer service in Customs and Immigration? It’s true, I’d never seen an immigration official before deal with passports while scrolling through Facebook. At the same time. It was hard not to giggle. She looked up and glared as if we were interrupting her in the middle of a tricky surgical operation. Then re-focused on her phone. ‘Place your immigration papers in the appropriate passports,’ she muttered and began to reply to someone’s Facebook comment. In contrast, the customs official next door was very informative. If not immediately friendly. However, once we understood that leaving and re-entering the BVI after the 30 day visa ends instead of paying the necessary extension fee is not a helpful measure for the people of the BVI, he loosened up a bit. Smiled at the end. That’s more like it, we thought. We were saying our prolonged and voluminous thanks when the immigration official gave a loud moan. We stopped in our tracks. ‘I forgot about my data plan!’ she wailed behind the glass, ‘I forgot to top it up last month.’ The Cap and I stared at each other. It had to be done. ‘Enjoy Facebook now!’ we sang. And ran out of there.

Love from Quest and her crew xx