The Travel Game - Do Not Pass Go

Leaving from STJ  is a step by step process as we begin our transformation into the surreal re-entry that is the modern world. The world that's been going on without us for two months. You have to think of it as a game, and you're advancing along the board. There is nothing you can do to speed it along or anticipate obstacles. The best way to do it is to simply stay focused and relaxed. One step at a time.

 Step one: The ferry. We were lucky, there was one at the dock and it left on time. We've had some missed planes and anxious moments.This wasn't one of those days.

On the Ferry Roanoke Leaving STJ Behind

Squall over St Thomas

We Hit It

Step two: getting to the airport and returning the car. I wasn't doing a good job practicing my Zen. Budget car rental wanted the car back empty because we'd paid for a full tank. Well, it was empty, the little gas light had come on yesterday. We kept reassessing "Is it on the E yet?". George kept saying we have plenty of gas. What's this "Plenty" mean? We passed up two gas stations but we made it to the airport. I don't like the gas game.

St Thomas has traffic lights, divided highways, wider roads, cars and you can get your speed up to 40mph. This is more traumatic than you think. If I'd told you this was a picture of Cuba you'd believe me.

The Imposing Danish Fort Christian, 1666

I always regret not having taken a day to visit STT. It has many qualities, history, restaurants, charm. I always forget that when the only experience I have is KMart.

George Gets a Beer at the Airport

We bade a hasty goodbye to our loyal Meep Jeep, it's a wonder he survived. There was a long line at Budget but we could just toss the keys because of the pre-paid gas. That was worth the heart attack of possibly running out of gas, missing the plane and being stranded somewhere.

There was an even longer line to go through security. They like to bunch planes, and 3 or 4 arrive or depart at the same time. It looks like a scene from an evacuation. We decided to sit in the baggage claim area bar.

She Has Got To Be Kidding

Step three: the serpentine line for Customs and Immigration - be sure to fill out your form before you reach the desk. Of course there are no forms and there are no pens. I could have rented my Bic.  (I bought a wooden frog and didn't declare the artifacts hidden in my knitting).

Almost there - you can skip step four, the checked bag screening, because you, as a wizened traveler, have only a carry on, right? So to the "Carry On Bags Only" line. 

Step five: Passport and boarding pass check. Through the confused TSA people with their new full body scan cabinets. Don't ask. Zen. Remember, Zen.

That's it, you're through. Well done! Four steps to evacuation.

Eventually, once you go through the above steps, you will wind up in Quarantine. It's not really a quarantine, I just call it that, because you are so isolated from the world as you wait. You're home free. Your plane might even leave on time. It's a good sign if you see it parked outside. 

Quarantine is a huge room of molded plastic chairs and teasing picture windows. It's pathetic. There's a tiny "restaurant" with a bar and shrink wrapped food, menu boards listing offerings that don't exist.  There's a typical gift shop with magazines, candy and STT t-shirts and souvenirs. Lately they opened a duty free liquor store, a jewelry kiosk and a Pandora make-your-own-bead-bracelet shop. The air is stale, if the AC is on you will freeze, if it's off you will suffocate. This is where people sit, still in shorts and flip flops, with peeling noses, with negative-raccoon faces,  sorrowfully watching the next bunch of vacationers arrive. You were out there once.

Quarantine

I'm convinced Quarantine is the islands' way of re-acclimating you to reality. You don't even get a hint of how nice you've had it. Vacation time is over, Homie. It's air conditioning and multitudes of humanity from now on. 

What gets me is the sparrows. There are always sparrows who have somehow gotten in and can't get out. These sparrows multiply. One day there will be a flock of them. As far as I can tell they're eating crumbs, sipping spilled soda and water. I try not to look. It's too sad. I don't think anyone feels bad about these birds, just me. Why don't they get them out?

George and I weren't sitting together on the plane and there was no option to switch around. I was with a Jiggler. He kept bouncing his legs, getting up, wrapping his earphone cord into a neat figure 8. He chewed one fingernail until I thought he'd start in on the finger.  Shudder. I crossed my arms over my chest, plugged in my MP3 and zoned out. Next thing I knew we were approaching Atlantic City and the coast of NJ. All in all it was a smooth day. Game over and we won.

There are so many good familiar things about being back but also some meaninglessness. A book is still by the bed where I left it, though I can't remember the plot. I have stuff on my desk, but I don't know what it's for. Packages arrived, things I ordered on line in STJ - what was I thinking? Where did the night vision goggles come from? Fridge is empty and very clean - did I do that? Water comes pouring out of the faucet like it was limitless - that shower felt magnificent. I can't wait for rain! The air is cool and brisk.

And daffodils! It's Spring and just lovely. It makes me ask just what IS paradise?

As Dorothy says, "there's no place like home." 

Many thanks to MEGAN for picking us up at the airport and planting the flowers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78pQdRVXdL0