What does one do with sand in their hair and the knowledge that one’s husband can do magic?
Sleeping in is a delicious luxury. I’m tired. All of the stuff we have tried to do and places we have gone and constant trips out weary me. I wake up and collapse again and sleep for a few more hours. I’m rested for the most part but the days are full of swimming. Such as today.
We decided to use our ferry ticket to go and get breakfast and take a cab back. Breakfast was really lunch but I’m a stickler for my first meal being called breakfast. We wandered back to Jen’s Kitchen. The second experience was not as good as the first. My salad was nice and done how I wanted if I ignore the red and green peppers I had to pick off. It isn’t their fault that common favorite items are unappealing to me. My husband’s curried chicken was cold. He was not pleased at lukewarm temperatures and child bites of chicken. It was tasty but not hot and even I found it to be warm but not anything close to hot.
The food still tastes good and everyone is friendly. I find the close sitting by the gentlemen that seems to run the place uncomfortable. He talks to everyone, is very personable, and gets ones order right but he sits so closely. These are the times that I remember how very, very east coast american I am and personal space dependent.
We wandered out from breakfast and took a cab back to the hotel. It was time to go swimming. On the way inside I saw that the lemon water and fruit punch were back out. The other day I asked the gentleman at the towel hut what was in the lemon water. He looked at me like I was a simpleton and said very slowly, slowly as if one is speaking to an utter idiot, “Water. Ice. Lemon. Orange.”
Okay. Well, later that same day we swung by the one inside the reception and they have a red punch thing. I went over, excited and asked, “What is it?’ This time I was told, “It is fruit punch.” I got excited and he poured and glass and said it was, “Rum punch.”
Oh. I don’t drink. At all. My husband sipped it and said, “Oh yes, its rum.” Damn. The guy was shocked when I sighed and said, “No thanks,” and we passed by. My husband was making faces and said it tastes like it was about 1/2 run. This was near the time share desk so I think its part of the inhibition lowering.
To the elevators we went. This time, the doors opened and a slender, black woman sauntered out. She had on a steel colored bathing suit that was mostly strips and stripes. Her hair was coiffed in an intricate style and she daunted by, eyes narrowed with quite the, “Oh yes, I am amazing looking” attitude. I was fascinated by her body language. A pretty thing indeed.
We went up to change. Our room had been tended. I was worried it might not have been. The last time we wandered out close to noon they didn’t clean it. This time we had four bottles of water. I guess the entire, “Where is our shit?” thing worked.
I found myself pondering things like theft. When out and about one will bump into little stands of water. They are people sitting in an open, well traveled area with a cooler full of ice and water bottles selling them for a dollar. When we were on the open cab, headed back home, they’d run up to the cab and see if anyone wanted water while we waited at lights. I found myself wondering how many bottles of water wind up in those coolers. I guess it sounds like I am calling people thieves and maybe I am but there is blatant thievery and there is unused product. Not receiving our stuff the other day made me wonder about accountability.
We went down to the water. Our path involves somewhat convoluted travel through the hotel. The add hoc nature of some of the structure is revealed in these paths through hallways of rooms that lead to a door that goes outside (with no lock to come back in) that leads to steps that goes around and down to the beach. There is an elevator called the scenic elevator or something like that. It is very old, very slow, and breaks down constantly. Our second trip on it we met someone from the hotel who told us that they didn’t know what to do with it. It broke down constantly and the parts were no longer being made for it. Why he told us this I don’t know but it has broken down once so far, forcing us to walk up the mountain side of steps. I don’t want to walk up those steps when tired from swimming.
To the water we went. We have a little pattern now and set up quickly and go get in the water. We only use one beach chair to hold our stuff since we don’t sit on the beach. The beach itself is quite large, with thick fine sand and a great view. The thing is there is barely ever anyone in the water. I figured, maybe I smell? Maybe I’m gross and scaring them? But most people seem to want to lay in the sun or sit there and drink and drink and drink.
Yesterday, on the way back up, we met a man so intoxicated that he appeared to have some form of mental retardation. He was pretty clear eyed and stabled but the thick, fumbling, slurred speech was pretty amazing.
We swam and swam and swarm. This is when I lost my sunglasses. The ocean will take her due. I was grabbing handfuls of sand. Why, I don’t know. I love doing it. And a second wave came right behind the first and slamed into me. I could only close my eyes and hold my breath as I tumbled around and was slammed by a third wave. Water is so amazing violent at times.
When I came up to clean my eyes and nose my husband said, “Where are your glasses?” I blinked at the tint free world and said, “Gone.” Oh well. 9.99 out the window. But this is when magic happens. For over the next few minutes I hopelessly grope in the water. We are again bashed by a serious set of waves and my husband comes up, sputtering, with my sunglasses in his hand. He had scraped along the bottom and his hand caught hold of them. While my hair tie was lost my sunglasses were found. I was reminded of the exact same trick, done in Nassau by myself, three years before for a boys 200$ pair of Gucci Sunglasses lost in a similar matter. The ocean it seems does not care what price the sunglasses are.
Storm clouds crept across the horizon. The water became more turbulent and cooled. The flavor changed as well, getting more of the deeper tang of deep water. It was getting late and we had planned to swim early, something we’ve failed to do. On the beach, many people had left and a few new ones arrived.
I noticed that the lovely young lady was slowly walking along the beach. She had on jean shorts which were cut down from a pair of jeans. For some reason, as is common in this particular mode of self made clothing she had left the pockets intact but cut the pants themselves all the way up to the waistline. So there was lots of leg and bathing suit on display, and white cotton pocket hanging down, kind of confused and conflicting.
The rest of her party wandered onto the beach. There are conventions here. How anyone expects them to be productive, I don’t know. But now, there are five black men and this lovely black woman at the edge of the water. She, with an audience, comes to life. All of them hover on the edge of the water. One, makes sure to lift the edges of his swim trunks when the water splashes him. She walks the length of the beach sometimes playing in the surf and often avoiding getting wet. Yet, her jean shorts get wetter and wetter.
My husband and I are cold now. The sun is going down and its been covered by clouds for an hour. The ocean is cool and we are tired. We decide to get out and go rinse the bulk of the sand from ourselves and head up. I rinse off my feet on the steps. The girl brushes up the steps past me. I move out of the way of my husband and she approaches. They have a conversation and he turns the water on. She moves her foot forward only to be blocked by his. He cheerfully washes the sand off of his Vibrams and she stares at him for a moment and then flounces away. He continues to rinse off while I laugh into my towel.
It seems that their conversation went like this:
Her: Oh, I wonder how this works.
Him: Like this. He presses the handle.
She goes to rinse her toes as he holds the water for him only to find out that he had zero interest in holding the water on for her to wash her feet and washes his own.
We wash down a bit better at the main rinse off. Between those two moments she has shed her shorts and is now only in her metallic Bikini and actually in the water. Finally.
“She expected you to rinse her feet for her,” I say to him.
“I don’t know why.”
“Because she is pretty and you only have your fat, dowdy wife to deal with.”
“She had no tits.”
And we went back inside. Up on our floor there was a small child playing hide and go seek from a parent in the hallway. Another was playing with barbies. We skirted all of this activity, prayed that they’d not be noisy all night, and slipped into our room to debate dinner, the future, and sand.
A lot of sand comes off in the shower. My hair is a ratty, snarled mess from the water and I have to wash it out. I fill the tub with sand which is to be expected. However, after my hair mostly dries and I go to oil it I notice that I have dandruff. When I look closer I see that it is sand. Lots of sand. Tangled in the kinky mass of my hair. I’m shedding it slowly, everywhere. It is a weird feeling. At least it is clean.
Today was repeat day. We went back to the Green House.
We had to wait for our taxi which is expected. I was staring at the storm doors. They are folded back and open the entire main floor to the sky. The breeze blows through and through and the place is amazing. Yet, storms rage through this place and these doors, beautifully fashioned and lacquered do close. I decided to look at the supports. The holes where the pegs go in to lock the doors down are barely used. They don’t close these doors often. I find the brilliant livability of the weather hard to take in sometimes. For this area, this is winter. Most of the natives have on long pants and many wear long sleeves as well.
Will I grow used to these taxis without wondering about death? The trip was fine until the road he wanted was closed. The route we took led us higher into the city and its narrow backstreets littered with cars half parked in the street half on the sidewalk. He wiggled that van through amazing turns and twisted it around drop offs and parked cars as we navigated the roads. At one point he had to pull his mirror in because we were a breath away from the other car. I don’t get motion sickness but I do get ‘oh my god horrible road conditions’ sickness and staggered out of the cab wondering how this is normal for anyone.
Dinner was again good. My burger was excellent for a well done burger. It was startling. The wind was blowing and the place is open air. The cool breeze cools the food quickly but that is rather normal it seems. I watched the guy from the last time we where here rubbing down another car with a cloth. He spent the entire meal on this one car until the driver came back. I think that he is watching the car for the owner.
Another man, was begging some. He came to our window and asked each of us for a dollar. We said no. I do wonder what happened in life to turn him from a vibrant, energy filled young man such as the ones on the corner to a skeletal figure asking for change. We watched a car load up with people and the passenger offer the driver a shot, which she refused. We watched another car park and the driver get out with a shot in his hand. We watched a series of cop cars go racing off somewhere, their sirens a pale high pitches whistle in the night.
We caught a non authorized cab ride back to the hotel. He wears his seatbelt with a pin so that it can’t retract. Seatbelt usage is not common we’ve noticed.
Back at the hotel we order desert from room service. After an hour my husband calls them to ask WTF our piece of pie and brownie are at? He is more polite than that but that is the gist of what he asked.
And now, I’m tired. We’re going to have breakfast here tomorrow and try to hit the water early.
