March 26
Quiet night in the lagoon in St. Martin. The lagoon was jammed when we got here about 10 days ago, and now, with a decent weather window, the boats are charging out every time a bridge opens.
St. Martin sucks the dollars, euros, florins, whatever, right out of your pocket, all the hours of the day. Between Island Water World, Budget Marine, the various Grande Marches and Cost-U-Less outlets, one hardly has time to hit the duty free diamond stores. Apparently I didn't have time.
We bought beer, $15 for 24 (Ting was more expensive by a buck, but we bought a case of Ting too); wine, 3 for $16 (and some more Black Opal for about 8), we bought chips, we bought mayo in tubes, we bought curry ketchup, and a half-dozen packs of Stroopwaffels.
This follows up the shocking shopping spree in the USVI - I won't tell you about the rum, or about the scotch (okay, 12-yr-old sherry cask Glenmorangie for $28, like omg, in an awful dirty store on a back street in Charlotte Amalie on the way to the Kmart), and I leave it to you to imagine Randy accosting strangers, shaking bottles in their bewildered faces, yelling "Do you KNOW how much this costs in Canada!?" So, yup, shopping has been fun.
On our way to the Daily Extra yesterday, last trip for discount beer, we passed a truck with a religious message banner across the top of the windshield. They're everywhere, trucks, buses, taxis, but this was special. Randy hadn't noticed it, and since the driver's window was open, I'm hissing to him, "Randy!! Look at the truck! The typo! 'Pslams'!" The banner drew our attention to "Pslams 91", but until I gave up on subtle and pointed right at it, he's looking at me going, Piss-lambs? Piss-lambs? What are you talking about?"
It's a bad thing about editors, but typos and stupid writing send me running for my dictionary for the correct spelling of "schadenfreude." One of the perks of the job. Oh, I don't have a job. Oh well! And there's always typos in the blog! I know!
After all the snorkelling and hiking last month in the USVI, St. Martin quickly turns cruisers into jaded, poofy, acquisitive fat people, on the hunt for the best bargain, followed up with a baguette stuffed with something that contains butterfat, goosefat, and any other kind of fat going. With chocolate. We have to compensate ourselves for life in the lagoon -- anytime you want to go anywhere (shopping) you have to battle the chop that is created on a shallow body of water almost two miles long. It's a good long fetch, and you always seem to be driving into it, coming and going, and for a week, we wear the same salty, damp clothes everytime we get in the dinghy. There are perfectly good reasons for the complete and total deterioration of our personal hygiene, and salt spray is right up there in the top 3.
We're leaving for St. Barts tomorrow, and heading for Antigua on Sunday. I spent an hour this afternoon grooming my fishing gear. I hope, once again, to dazzle you with the results of my efforts in the near future. Randy is making noises about how good the haddock will taste when he gets back to NS. O ye of little faith...
Quiet night in the lagoon in St. Martin. The lagoon was jammed when we got here about 10 days ago, and now, with a decent weather window, the boats are charging out every time a bridge opens.
St. Martin sucks the dollars, euros, florins, whatever, right out of your pocket, all the hours of the day. Between Island Water World, Budget Marine, the various Grande Marches and Cost-U-Less outlets, one hardly has time to hit the duty free diamond stores. Apparently I didn't have time.
We bought beer, $15 for 24 (Ting was more expensive by a buck, but we bought a case of Ting too); wine, 3 for $16 (and some more Black Opal for about 8), we bought chips, we bought mayo in tubes, we bought curry ketchup, and a half-dozen packs of Stroopwaffels.
This follows up the shocking shopping spree in the USVI - I won't tell you about the rum, or about the scotch (okay, 12-yr-old sherry cask Glenmorangie for $28, like omg, in an awful dirty store on a back street in Charlotte Amalie on the way to the Kmart), and I leave it to you to imagine Randy accosting strangers, shaking bottles in their bewildered faces, yelling "Do you KNOW how much this costs in Canada!?" So, yup, shopping has been fun.
On our way to the Daily Extra yesterday, last trip for discount beer, we passed a truck with a religious message banner across the top of the windshield. They're everywhere, trucks, buses, taxis, but this was special. Randy hadn't noticed it, and since the driver's window was open, I'm hissing to him, "Randy!! Look at the truck! The typo! 'Pslams'!" The banner drew our attention to "Pslams 91", but until I gave up on subtle and pointed right at it, he's looking at me going, Piss-lambs? Piss-lambs? What are you talking about?"
It's a bad thing about editors, but typos and stupid writing send me running for my dictionary for the correct spelling of "schadenfreude." One of the perks of the job. Oh, I don't have a job. Oh well! And there's always typos in the blog! I know!
After all the snorkelling and hiking last month in the USVI, St. Martin quickly turns cruisers into jaded, poofy, acquisitive fat people, on the hunt for the best bargain, followed up with a baguette stuffed with something that contains butterfat, goosefat, and any other kind of fat going. With chocolate. We have to compensate ourselves for life in the lagoon -- anytime you want to go anywhere (shopping) you have to battle the chop that is created on a shallow body of water almost two miles long. It's a good long fetch, and you always seem to be driving into it, coming and going, and for a week, we wear the same salty, damp clothes everytime we get in the dinghy. There are perfectly good reasons for the complete and total deterioration of our personal hygiene, and salt spray is right up there in the top 3.
We're leaving for St. Barts tomorrow, and heading for Antigua on Sunday. I spent an hour this afternoon grooming my fishing gear. I hope, once again, to dazzle you with the results of my efforts in the near future. Randy is making noises about how good the haddock will taste when he gets back to NS. O ye of little faith...
posted by Susan at 9:29 PM
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