A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back - One last day of decadence in the capital-imperialistic BVI

One last day of decadence in the capital-imperialistic BVI

A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back

Sam and Alex Fortescue

Thu 7 Apr 2011 00:09

18:26.455N

64:45.546W

Is that the smell of freshly rolled Romeo y Julieta off the port bow? The scent of mojitos made with Habana rum?? Or is it the unmistakeable whiff of a beach barbecue in the BVI? Well, we're slightly embarassed to say that it is the latter... After great fanfare about our departure for Cuban waters, we've decided to prolong our stay in the BVI by anchoring up in White Bay on Jost van Dyke for the night. We'd always planned to pop in here for lunch before departure, but after a mammoth internet session yesterday, we postpomed for 24 hours and now, with the brilliant white coral sands fringed with palms just 100m away, we've put it all off again.

Before the sun set, a trio of pelicans were nosediving into the water after fish in the nearby reef. After swimming ashore, I spent a few minutes trying to capture a decent photo of these amazing prehistoric beasts plunging, without much success. As we loafed away to explore the beach, an American voice rang out from a nearby sun lounger.

"Wanna know something cool about pelicans," he enquired.

There is only one correct response to this sort of question if you are British: a polite, but noncomittal affirmative. "Hmmmmmmmmmmyes," I replied.

"My dive instructor told me that pelicans have no extra eyelids, so they go blind from all their diving."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah-hmmmm. After five years, they're all worn out, and can't spot the fish or dive inna rock or something. In captivity they live for 20 years."

"I say...." It seems like the poor old pelican could shortly be up for a Darwin award.

White Bay also boasts the attraction of the Soggy Dollar Bar - so called because most people get there by swimming ashore from a boat. It claims to be the home of the Painkiller - initially thought to be an ingenious way of forestalling hangovers caused by rum punches; but later established as a rum cocktail in its own right. In fact, as Alex pointed out, it is lazy pina colada: instead of pineapple, you use OJ. As such, I'm not sure what the Gaffer would make of it, but it slipped down well with a frosting of grated nutmeg in twammock (a hammock for two). We raised a glass to the Escapados and the Great Whiteans, recently spilled off a plane in Paris, without whom we would not have enjoyed such an awesome holiday within a holiday racing in the BVI regatta - may they all return swiftly to warmer waters.

It hasn't been an entirely idle day, however. We hauled up an exceedingly filthy anchor from the mangrovey depths of Road Town harbour this morning, and buzzed out into the bay. Before we could get a sail out and bear way west towards Jost van Dyke, there was a piercing shriek. Where before this sent us into bewildered panic, we now recognise the cause with resignation. It is the engine temperature alarm, meaning that the donk is overheating. For some reason. Last time this happened, it appeared to be due to a broken part in the water pump, which I replaced. Now I'm not so sure. It went off after barely 15 minutes of operation, which should not have been enough to really heat the engine up. I'm hoping that a bit of poking about with a screwdriver this afternoon will have done the job. While in the turquoise waters of White Bay, we took the opportunity to clean the hull, which was thoroughly encrusted with barnacles and weed after a week unattended in Road Town. It was actually a two hour job, involving numerous near lungfuls of water through the snorkel and the removal of thousands of stubborn little crustaceans.

This is Road Town calling...