Travelogue

Antigua 2026: Part the Third

Monday, February 16

It is 0522 hrs and I’ve been up for forty minutes, quietly moving about this lovely vessel in an effort not to wake any of the other occupants. I am reasonably familiar with the layout (where is the Nescafe, how do I operate the stovetop) but lighting is a little mysterious so I used my phone mostly, until I found one of those increasingly ubiquitous (can something be “increasingly" ubiquitous?) rechargeable lamps. I have also seen to the posting/marketing of Part the Second which hit your emails a few minutes ago. I hope you enjoy it.

I am gently rocking facing aft in the cockpit, with a white screen blazing away at the remaining good eye cells I have against the still dark background of Falmouth Harbour. I've spent a little time already admiring the lights of this scene; those from the vessels at anchor, those from the vessels further (farther?) in on the piers, dwellings in the hills surrounding, or my favorite, the green and red navigation buoys. I am considering a stab at some Tai-Chi here when the sun peeks out, as I am immensely gluttonous.

The topic of growing a beard has arisen in conjunction with my trip in April to Crete, brought up at dinner the other night by Rob and heartily assented to by The Kitten. I was a little surprised that she was so supportive of the idea, but then she reminded me that she will not have to have any personal experience with it. I started shaving daily in November 2024 and have been very good about it (I think this is a great sacrifice worthy of affirmation, Catherine thinks it is table stakes for grown manning), so the idea of going rogue has some appeal. I am however, aware of the historical fact that I have never gone past 14 days without a shave due to the unbearable itching that arises, so a month may not be possible. I'm also thinking about a #2 or #3 crew cut to go along with it, firmly capturing the meth dealer esthetic.

I am reliably informed that today's voyage plan consists of raising anchor around 0900 and proceeding to a lunch reservation on Green Island, proceeding counterclockwise from around the five o'clock position on Antigua to the three o'clock, a transit of some two-to-three hours. It is wonderful to hear these five old Caribbean salts talk about their favorite places in this special part of the world. It is almost impossible to pin any of them down (“if I held a gun to your head…”), as there are so many inputs that they have to process.

I am not prone to envy. In most cases, when someone achieves something desirable or possesses something lovely, I am excited for them. I have found my soft spot though. I have seen on this trip many instances of men in their late twenties or early thirties chasing, carrying, shouldering, or otherwise managing small children, especially girls, and I have experienced flat-out envy. I did not enter my girls' lives until they were six and eight, and so I missed out on this phase of very small personhood. That I dreadfully suboptimized the time I DID have with them in their childhood only raises the seriousness of my mistakes. I content myself (perhaps mistakenly) with the notion that I will be a far better grandfather than stepfather, mostly because of the model I had in my own father, whose love-light shone brightly in the presence of my nine nieces and nephews.

Tuesday, February 17

We are at anchor off of Green Island, Antigua, and have been here since about noon yesterday after a choppy three-hour transit. Upon arrival, we headed ashore for a fabulous lunch (I had the wahoo, figure the odds), then back to the boat for nap, swim, and shower.

Others in our party are more adventurous, and Rob took to the water in something called “wing foiling", which he seemed expert at. In this activity, a large, inflatable foil pulls one along atop a riding board with a rudder extending from the bottom, such that the rider is for extended periods of time cutting through the water with only the rudder in the water.

It is quite late, after 0800hrs, and I am only now getting to this as I had company on deck to observe sunrise and so did not hunker down at my tablet. We are here through tomorrow morning at anchor in a fantastic little bit of maritime real estate. The kitten is forward doing some yoga and relaxation, there are a couple of others working on the evaporator, our hostess is cooking and another is reading. There is a lot of talk about activities today, but I am likely to be inactive. More later.

Wednesday, February 18

All but one are awake at 0730 hrs here at anchor, and we'll get underway for our next anchorage at 1000 or so, after the wind surfing/kite foiling/paddle boarding has occurred. I will pass on these delights, and cheer from the cockpit whilst enjoying the gentle rocking and bright sun. As predicted, I was able to remain (blissfully) inactive yesterday, bagging a solid afternoon nap while the go-getters go-got.

A period such as this--cadging luxury from one's friends--inevitably raises the “what would I do" questions, and none occurs more often than “would I buy a cruising boat (motored for me rather than sail, which is too much bother) or a Caribbean villa of similar value. I get that this is a serious first-world discussion, but this is the place where I have previously also dreamed out loud about winning Powerball, which is statistically likelier than either a motor yacht or island villa for me.

Lolling here at anchor on a perfect morning surrounded by lovely people ends the discussion for me, especially when one considers the wonderful value of mobility. You buy a second home, that's it. That's the place. It may be gorgeous, in a great place, nicely furnished, but the boat can go find another anchorage, another island, another culture, another nation. There at a LOT more things to worry about owning a boat, but if you can deal with weather, fuel, water, power, and navigation, you have a lovely home you can take with you. At dinner last night, I thought about my friend David who with Alison owns this boat, who can (if he isn't schlepping spare parts or bedsheets) hop on a plane in Newport News and a few hours later meet up with his boat that some accommodating harbormaster has been looking over, with nothing more than a small backpack, as he is meeting up with his cruising stuff left here in drawers in his stateroom.

I have become obsessed with logistics and packing as my monthlong trip to Crete begins only one month, twenty-six days and five hours from now, and I'm thinking constantly about what to bring. The climate is late Spring Easton MD, so I know what I need, I just haven't nailed down how many of each thing is necessary. There is a washer/dryer in the apartment, so I am thinking maximal minimalism, especially as I am unconcerned with how my sartorial repetition is processed by the locals. I have a great carryon/backpack and a fetching bandolier that should do the trick, with the backpack then to be repurposed as my means for moving groceries back to the crib. I have this discussion with myself because with the same bags for this trip, I have dramatically overpacked, and the carryon backpack is stuffed to the gills and heavier than it needs to be.

Thursday, February 19

Here we are…the last full day of the trip. Tomorrow (Friday,) we'll fly out in the afternoon and get to DC late through Charlotte. We'll bunk nip in to the Army and Navy Club downtown for the night, have a nice brekky and then get underway for Easton on Saturday morning. Today, we'll loll about at anchor near Bird Island while the ambitious among us take to their various water toys as your faithful correspondent stands watch over all property. About 1600 hrs, we'll motor for about a half hour and drop the hook again off of our farewell dinner restaurant.

I calculated last night that the time from the start of my recent trip to the Bahamas to the end of this trip to Antigua is almost exactly the same number of days that comprise my trip to Crete later in the spring. The thing is, this time has FLOWN by. I wonder if a month is going to be enough?

News this morning of the former Prince Andrew's arrest. I need to understand this better, but it looks like a pretty solid (if unsatisfying) case of influence peddling. My Mom used to think he was the bee's knees when he was younger. Maybe they were onto something with all that “Randy Andy" talk, no?

Ok, we're done for now. I'll drop the next essay on Monday morning, which will clean up all remaining business of this trip among other things. Again, thanks for your forebearance with my editing issues.

Morning coffee