The Honeymoon Begins

There was sun, sand, surf, and copious amounts of seafood. Snorkeling, so much snorkeling that my teeth hurt from the snorkel and the tops of my feet were rubbed raw from the flippers. Pina coladas, oh yes, delivered right to our hammock on the beach. Excellent meals, excellent wine, desserts galore. Moonlit walks, stunning views, boat rides, 4WD track excursions, and lots of sunblock (therefore no burns. Well maybe one teeny one on my lower legs. But that’s it).

In fact, the only problem with our honeymoon was that it began and ended in the St. Thomas airport. Aka hell on earth.

Well maybe not hell. But definitely not a fun place. When we approached the St. Thomas airspace on Day 1 of the ‘moon, apparently some Cessna or similar had landed in distress on the runway, so all planes were ordered to circle around and around for a while til it all got cleared up. Our plane was finally cleared to land, which we did (and boy if it doesn’t look like you’re going to land in the sea at this airport! It’s a nasty trick to play on a nervous stomach!) Then we had to park in line with the rest of the backed up planes, waiting our turn at the gate. The PA system crackled on, and a very apologetic pilot explained that we were on an older plane that didn’t have air conditioning, so we would be sweating it out til we could get a gate. Yum.

Sweat we did, though mercifully not for too long, and then we all filed off the plane and across the tarmac. We traipse on through to baggage claim, and then the chaos hits. All the flights that had been hanging out in the air waiting for a clear runway – well, they’d all landed. My best estimate is that about, I don’t know, a kazillion people crowded into the open air baggage claim area, elbowing each other, screaming at their kids, and parkeing themselves obstinately with shins touching the baggage belt, refusing to give ground even when you’re trying to grab your own luggage and they’re in the way. I really, really hated humanity there for a few moments. After a long anxious wait we wrestled our found bags over to the Caneel Bay porter, and we didn’t see them again until we got to our room, which made the steep fee for baggage handling totally, absolutely worth it. We snarfed down a couple of complimentary cookies, signed a few check-in papers confirming our rate etc., and then trailed out to the chaotic taxi rank and climbed into a van displaying a whole bunch of wonderfully cheeky bumper stickers. Apparently our driver was a fan of the word @$$hole.

The driver hurled us down the street, tapping his horn without ceasing, and dumped us onto the St. Thomas pier where the “Lady Caneel” ferry was waiting to take us to our new home for the next 4 days. The Professor and I were nervous and highly strung from the airport fiasco, and both feeling a little snippy. A half hour ferry ride later, when we stepped onto Caneel’s private dock and were greeted by a white-uniformed man handing us a cool hand towel from a flower be-decked tray; when we cast our eyes around the small and quiet sugar-sand beach and Caribbean blue water; when we met our guide who gave us a tour of the grounds, and even later an orientation to our room; when we breathed the sea air and began to really contemplate what a week in the VIs would feel like . . . well then, we finally started to relax.