The Reunion

There was a time in everyone's life when they've had to suffer through the maze of awkwardness, painful highs and lows of those youthful hormone charged days.....yes, I mean High School. I, like many others from time to time, have reflected upon those High School days of classroom antics, disappointments, stuttering romantic interludes, football games, Homecoming and the teachers you loved and hated. A sometimes irrational time, when looked at from a distance, makes you wonder why those times remain such a huge part of us. I would argue that those years, like a mile marker, defined us and made us, more than anything else (baring personal loss of a loved one or military service), the people we are today.

So, as most of us try desperately to distance ourselves from those days and events, every 5, 10, 20, 30, or, in this case, 40 years, we agree to return to those times and places to rejoin those of our class to renew old ties and relive old memories. There comes in the mail (yes, it was an email) a chilling reminder from the Reunion Committee.You know, those eternally ebullient people consisting of the usual suspects from the ASB, Honor Society, various social clubs and those Yearbook members who always volunteered to hang those Pep Rally banners and diligently typed those cute captions under your group or action photos that have followed you throughout the years like a felony rap sheet.

And suddenly the fragile fabric of your reality fades away and draws you inexorably back to that locker hallway near the Social Studies Building as you walk toward your Homeroom as the smell of cigarette smoke envelopes you as you pass the Boy's bathroom....and, like a time traveler, you're there. Tiny flickers of moments dart around you, faces and places flash by and then it's gone. And you know you have to go and attend so you sign up.

And why do we do this? Well....mostly to see who is left.... hey, most of us have arrived in our sixth decade, yes the vanguard of the dreaded post-war Baby-Boomers...or now, in a kinder, gentler world, known as Mid-Century kids. After all...these were the people you spent more time with than your own family for much of your formative years. Eschewing the occasional embarrassing flashback, there still lies an unrelenting, nagging underground need to reach back to those times, back when our only real concerns revolved around getting to school on-time, getting enough credits to graduate and what we were going to do this weekend with our newly minted driver's licenses.

Now, in a world of taxes, mortgages, bills (like paying off student loans for our kids), home improvement and waning careers, we are still inexplicably haunted by the specter of those times. Wanting to meet those people and, in essence, asking ourselves, "What if....?

Football legends and Cheerleaders are no longer the hard-body images of the future success many of our teachers and counselors fostered in us but the grey-haired older shells of our former selves. Don't get me wrong, many of us did go on to college and successful careers but many didn't and just lived the middle-class life that many of our parents prepared us for.

We were also there as distrust in Government thoroughly bloomed with the Nixon Years, the tragic "exit strategy" of Vietnam, the widening of the social classes and races and as the sexual revolution rode stupidly into the AIDS years. We began the overspending, credit card, "creative financing" mortgage and economic disaster of the 90's which ultimately led to the crash of 2007. Perhaps, in our sometimes futile efforts to make the world better for our kids, we have reneged on our parents promise of a better life for us and our children after their sacrifices of the Great Depression and World War II.

But, I digress. Back to the Reunion. Dianna and I had attended and met at Stephen Watts Kearny High School. The school was named in honor of General Stephen W. Kearny, a leader in the Mexican-American War. Kearny High opened its doors in 1941 the school mascot was the "Komet" (seriously, even in my formative writing years, the misspelling always bugged me). A former military base, Camp Kearny, was near where the current campus is located

The original school was a temporary building in the neighborhood before moving into what is now Montgomery Middle School (then Montgomery Junior High) located at 2470 Ulric Street in San Diego. The Class of 1943, was the first graduating class. In 1953 the high school moved to its present location at 7651 Wellington Way. Notable Alumni are Richard Alf, Class of 1970, Co-founder and former chairman of the San Diego Comic-Con International, Cliff Hicks, Class of '82, played in three Super Bowls during his 9½-year NFL career and Cleavon Little, Class of 1957, actor, Blazing Saddles. As well as my personal friend, Randy Rogel, Daytime Emmy award winner class of 1972.

The "new" Kearny High was an answer to the large increase in the military's presence and aerospace industry employment in San Diego. At that time, there were several military housing developments in and around San Diego, one placed in the then new found community of Linda Vista, north of Downtown. Linda Vista was home of the very first mall-type shopping center in the United States, which was dedicated by Eleanor Roosevelt in 1942. Linda Vista Plaza was home to the Safeway grocery store and the Linda Theater. Shortly thereafter came the Bank of America where Dianna opened her first bank account. There was the Linda Vista Department Store which became part of the Walker Scott chain of department stores. A new bedroom community in the midst of several military facilities in Kearny Mesa.

Back then it was primarily an all-white community which brought prosperity and middle-class values to the coastal plains graced with the beautiful Southern California weather and the Sunshine Equity it brought to home values which attracted big business and ultimately seeded the future high-tech cellphone industry which burgeoned companies like Qualcomm among the scrub-grass plains.

But by the time Dianna and I got there in the early 70's, white flight had taken hold and after the military housing developments had been privatized and sold as low-income housing, African-American families, in a vain attempt to get their kids away from the gangs and violence of the inner city (they didn't take into account their children's mobility with the advent of buying cars for their kids...the gang affiliations just moved north with their kids) they moved them to the new "projects" around our school. And then came the end of the Vietnam War and the influx of the "Boat People" Southeast Asians the government resettled among us. Young adolescents stumbling our way into adulthood thrown into this new world of race relations.

We flew in to town on Friday and the pre-reunion mixer was that night at Filippis Pizza in Kearny Mesa. I must admit that, even though we knew there would be classmates we knew there, I was a little nervous about going. Here I am just turned 60 and concerned about who I might bump into and what they might think of what I've become. I know....irrational, but remember the words to "You're Always 17 In Your Hometown" by Cross Canadian Ragweed?  It really rings true. But once there and the first drinks hit the table, it was old home week. It really struck me how, once the surprise of those sometimes awkward first signs of recognition passed, the conversations flowed as though the years had never separated us. Let the reminiscing begin! Discussions rapidly moved from shared key High School moments to kids and grandkid stories and pictures.

The reunion was being held in the old neighborhood at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel by one of my old stomping grounds, Montgomery Field, a small commuter airport. When we arrived, not knowing the layout, Dianna asked how we would find the meeting room. I told her we just need to locate some old folks and follow them. Dianna dismissed my statement right off but, just then, we observed an old grey-haired couple in front of us, followed them and.....found the Reunion registration table!

Now although this was technically Dianna's 40th Reunion, it was being held as a joint Reunion for other classes as well. Of the 900 classmates who graduated on the football field with Dianna, about 250 showed up for this one. This would be my 42nd Reunion and I did run into several of my classmates as well. My reaction was best captured by one of Dianna's classmates we ran into, as he looked around for a familiar face, "Who are all these old people?"

As we visited around, I remarked to Dianna about a man I saw wearing a bright red suit jacket in amongst several alumnus. She off-handedly replied that it was our Drama Teacher, Jack Winans. I looked back and could now see the familiar Winans profile, much thinner than I recalled but still with a thinning head of white hair. I quickly went over to him and he immediately recognized me and greeted me like we had never been apart. The man had always been deeply entrenched in dramatic arts and had been active in the theatre in San Diego for many years. As we spoke he related to me that he was still working in the business and had recently been doing one-man shows reciting Shakespeare monologues at various events. The guys still going strong at 90. Amazing.

Sally Rogel-Kaufman and Jack Winans

We were able to bring together the usual suspects from our Drama days where we rehashed performances, after parties and budding romances with some new revelations of who may have had a crush on who which left you another "What if....?" paradigm to consider.

The night all too quickly passed and soon we found ourselves, Reunion Warriors, huddled around a patio table in the cooling darkness as the hotel staff began cleaning up around us. The darkness was often pierced by the glow of an iPhone as newly awakened friendships coalesced and contact information was transmitted. No one seemed motivated to leave but we all began our goodbyes and promises to Friend in Facebook, text and email each other in the near future.

There was one last hurrah of sorts, a breakfast for some of us at The Broken Yoke the following morning  in Mission Valley Center where many of us had stalked in our Mall Rat days. I had the Tiki Toast, two big slices of King Hawaiian Bread drizzled with caramel and loaded with fresh fruit. Wow

All in all, I was pleasantly surprised to see and hear from friends I hadn't seen or thought about in many years and I promised myself I would try harder to keep them closer to my heart and in my thoughts from now on.

The Last of the Bahamas

On arrival on our last stop, we hopped on a driving historical tour of Nassau. Now many of you (especially you Millionaire lifelines) might want to jot down that Nassau is not the capitol of the Bahamas. Of course, Columbus is credited with “finding” the Bahamas in 1492 (Chris...I think they were already there) but the Bahamians (mandatory education from 5 to 16) know that the Bahamas (really the Commonwealth of the Bahamas) are made up of a series of 700 islands or “Keys” (and 200 other cays and rocks) but only 20 are inhabited and referred to by their District name like Freeport with Port Lucaya as it's capitol or “County Seat” if you will. Therefore the Capitol of the Bahamas is actually the District of New Providence and Nassau happens to be it's County Seat. It just so happens that most of the main Government buildings like Parliament (Robert, in his really cool accent said,”Yes ladies  and gentlemen, this is where they make the laws and then break 'em), House of Commons, etc. are located within the City Limits.

Established in 1647, the Bahamas declared independence in 1973 but is still a British Protectorate kind of like Puerto Rico is a territory of the United States. The entire population of the Bahamas is about 400,000, 60% of whom live in or around Nassau. The Nassau we often see more of is The Atlantis Resort on Paradise Island which is just across the Bay from the Port of Nassau where we docked.

The Bahamas and Nassau, in particular, is still a major center of off-shore banking but, according to our guide Robert, the electronic age has brought about more regulation and influence from countries like the United States (and their evil sibling the IRS) have brought about more transparency and less (but not all) anonymity to account holders and making catching tax dodgers, drug money and funds tied to terrorists and organized crime more visible.

We drove up to tiny Fort Fincastle and the adjoining Water Tower. The water to tower stands 126 ft above the the hilltop and was constructed in 1928 to maintain water pressure in the city below (yeah..you guessed it, we paid for it to reward the Bahamas for cooperating with us during prohibition and keeping their demon rum out of our reach). It has a 216 step stairway with an observation deck (only 154 steps on the Statue of Liberty) but we didn't go (really....216 steps, Hell
no!). But luckily, Fincastle has a neat platform for a panoramic view of Nassau and the bay.

The city, as you can imagine, is pretty old and the central downtown is only a few blocks. Driving is a nightmare with tiny streets clogged with vehicles of all sorts clearly not anticipated by the founders which makes the downtown a cacophony of honking horns and heaving trucks and cars all vying for precious little asphalt. Robert pointed out the proliferation of the color pink throughout the country. Turns out pink is a national color of sorts due to the presence of Flamingos which are the National Bird of the country.

Actually the best part of the ride was the drive to the Queens Stairs and a long winding tour of several surrounding neighborhoods where the common and uncommon folks live. I love these kinds of tours the Tourist Commission doesn't want you to see because the areas don't put the country's best foot forward. I can only describe it as a mixed development community. You can have your million dollar home and right next door could literally be a very modest home some might classify as slapped together shanties. And lots of half-completed structures that we commonly see in many poorer countries we visit.

Of course, most of the really expensive homes belong to the aforementioned foreign wealthy and government elite but some residents have taken advantage of Nassau's unique real estate tax system. When you buy the land and/or home you pay the current estimated tax for that property. Then the tax board forgets about you until you improve your home to around $250,000 dollars (Bahamian dollar trades dollar for dollar with US currency) then they come back out, reassess and you start paying taxes again. Up to that point you're tax free until you sell your home. Then the new owner gets appraised at the higher rate and that new owner pays the new taxes from then on. Cool.

That similarly translates to paying for water. The Government won't make you pay for water until the value of your home exceeds that magic $250,000 dollar appraisal. Then you must dig a well and get your own water or pay for the service. Robert encouraged us to come to the Bahamas to live. He said a modest two bedroom can be had for between $16,000 and $40,000. Robert confessed that there is a high unemployment rate among their young men and is a sore point for the rest of the natives. They refer to them “as those who can but won't” and are the source of a lot of the crime. Alcoholism and illegal drugs (kind of an oxymoron for the Caribbean) are their biggest problems along with theft.

But I digress (yes Tonia....as I all too often do). The Queens Stairs is a really amazing bit of construction in honor of Queen Victoria on her signing legislation freeing the slaves in the British Empire in 1837. Over 600 “workers” (yeah...you get my drift) chiseled their way over some 102 ft down into the man made ravine created from the quarrying of stone for various fortifications and government buildings sometime between 1793 and 1794; a century later (Oh, how ironic) the 65 step staircase was renamed to honor the 65 year reign (actually 64 years 1837-1901...oops) of Queen Victoria as well as her role in helping bring about the enforcement of the abolition of slavery in the Bahamas. Quite an accomplishment for 19th century stonemasons with only hand tools to hew it out of solid rock in what one observer (me) would refer to as oppressive heat (recall this was May). Kind of on the same level as bringing all those stones together to make the pyramids.

Our final site was Fort Charlotte overlooking Nassau Bay. Built in 1789 by Lord Dunmore, the British Governor (ex-Governor of our own state of Virginia until the British lost), this fort took two years and 106 “workers” to cold chisel out the interior of this fort to house soldiers, their powder and shot to hold off an anticipated horde of Frenchmen who...never showed up. Must have been some kind of an intelligence failure. I'll bet some heads rolled (well...unless they were with the CIA).

There was a display of the use of “Hot Shot” munitions used against the old wooden ships. The grenadiers would have large fire pits where they would heat up the cannonballs  to cherry red, load them in their cannons and fire them up to a mile at the offending ships. These “Hot Shots” were also referred to as “Great Balls of Fire”...now you know where Jerry Lee may have gotten his song. Kind of cool design feature includes a “dry moat.” It would have been difficult to maintain a water source to fill it up so the designer planted prickly pears to act as a deterrent against breaching Anglo-Saxons. It did guard the port for some 200 years and still provides a commanding view of the city and the harbor. Back to the ship and heading home.

We have come full circle and as we approach the entrance to the Mississippi  Delta we pass by in review the many oil derricks dotting the Gulf of Mexico, standing tall over the water like Man 'O Wars of a bygone era lining up for battle but silently absorbing what's left of the oil and gas bubbling under the depths (hopefully not leaking) feeding our insatiable needs above the water. Someday they'll have sucked the world dry and hopefully we'll have found something cleaner and more sustainable for our children's future.

The weather has finally come around and we will be restarting our weekend travels soon. More to come!

Freeport

Our next port was Freeport.  Freeport was an up and coming region about the time the American Colonies were opening up. The British had enslaved all the inhabitants and had them harvest most of the trees on the Island. Most of the lumber used to build the first structures in Virginia most likely were brought from Freeport. The island is rather small and only about 93 miles long and 12 miles across but a classic Bahamian Island with white sand beaches and crystal clear green-blue waters.

I had booked another Segway excursion for us. We had taken our first in Mexico and, as it turned out, were the “veteran” Segway drivers in the tour. Our guide was Arnold (AJ) and once you cut through the thick Bahamian accent, he was quite informative and funny. He took an immediate shine to Dianna. We were probably the oldest couple in the group (and I'm still struggling with that concept daily) and when he took her aside to give her instruction, he could see Dianna was a quick study and had retained her skills. He often drove in formation with her and chided her along with little quips about her driving skills.

On one run, we drove through a grove of trees with thin trunks and wispy needled leaves. Arnold pointed them out and referred to them as Australian Pines. They were not indigenous to the Bahamas and were planted almost by accident by some Australian settlers in the late 1800's. A couple had been brought over to plant at their new home as a result of the deforesting of the Islands by the early settlers.  Begun as an experiment, they quickly thrived in the Bahamian soil and are now seen all over the Bahamas. What no one knew at the time was that Australian Pines thrive in salty, sandy earth. This becomes even more important when storm surges from weather or hurricanes flood the land. Freeport's highest point is only 33 feet above sea level. The trees, even when completely submerged just bounce back when the waters recede.

Arnold ran us down to the beach and gave us an opportunity to walk the pristine sands and was kind enough to take pictures of each of us. He pointed out a pretty home just up the beach we drove by that was a vacation home to Dan Merino.

Arnold made it a point to give us the 411 on Conch Shell meat. Like Abalone, it was considered a delicacy but that wasn't all. He wanted us all to know about the benefits of eating Conch especially, it turns out, for the men. Arnold was a firm believer and advocate for eating copious amounts of Conch he euphemistically referred to as the Bahamian Viagra.

Like a snake-oil salesman he proclaimed Conch was strong enough to cure any degree of ED, right capsized ships or straighten the Tower of Pisa if taken as directed. Quite the advocate I must say.  At the end of our sojourn, as we disengaged ourselves from our safety equipment, he took Dianna aside and handed her a beautiful Conch shell she had been admiring, as a Mother's Day gift.

We were then walked over to a small beach restaurant to relax before the drive back to town. It was a nice mom and pop restaurant called Banana Bay and bar with a really nice Lanai open patio overlooking the beach  in a place called Fortune Bay. Both of us had the delicious Chunky Chicken Salad and some Ice Tea on the one of their picnic tables.


Fortune Bay is an example of the chaste system typical of our experience in the Caribbean. Only the wealthy, primarily white (many of whom are foreigners) reside in the exclusive communities. These were historically lands either seized by the early British rulers or areas set aside for the wealthy and government officials after independence. Most of the poorer natives work in the service or hospitality industry and live in more, how should we say.....modest homes and neighborhoods (think the Colonias in Mexico). Although the Government has made some improvements, there is much to be done and there is still a lot of graft and corruption for the people to endure. Two hurricanes in 2004 (say it with me Tonia...Frances and Jeanne) devastated the island and tourism has suffered ever since then.

A drive to the shopping mecca, Port Lucaya, and shopping. Nothing to write home about (wait a minute, that's what I'm doing) the usual suspects, the Diamond's International, Del Sols and the like but I had to try Arnold's Conch Meat challenge. A word about the name Port Lucaya. I should point out that the indigenous people of the Bahamas when the British landed were the Lucayans and the Arawaks. Unfortunately, you can't meet or interview one because, once the British arrived, they quickly enslaved the tribal people who either worked to death, were sent off to other places, died of disease or killed themselves rather than be abused by their masters.

Not impressed by the shopping options, we stopped at the “After Deck” Bar and Grille and I ordered some Conch Chowder and a couple of Bahama Mama rum drinks. A really tasty, almost Chili-like concoction with bits (and I mean “bits”) of Conch meat mixed in. I highly recommend it. Not for it's magical powers but just a really good soup with some pieces of potato and carrots thrown in for good measure. Then it was back to the ship and off again to Nassau.

Key West (again)

After a day at sea, we made our first port, Key West. Many of you may recall we had visited Key West for the first time just eight months ago. Having hit all the touristy stuff then, we ( I ) decided to indulge in some fun. I signed us up for a “Pub Crawl” excursion. I noted that it was the most popular excursion in past cruises and sounded like fun, well...and there was a promise of drinking copious amounts of alcohol (hey, we're on vacation for God's sake). We promptly met our tour guides....all old, grey haired men with pervasive signs of alcoholism, at dockside and were split into groups to glide our way through downtown Key West. Our guide, Beau, was a very spirited guide who led by tooting his Conch (pronounced Konk) shell he referred  to as his “Shell Phone” through the streets of Key West.

Beau gave a very quick history of the island as we walked. He pointed out the rich pirate history of Key West which was prevalent right up to the early 1920s. Before lighthouses were the norm, many ships ran aground on the reefs around the Island. Many homes there still have their “widow walks” on their roofs where many entrepreneurs stationed men to keep an eye on the waters around Key West for shipwrecks. They would alert men (“wreckers”)to man their boats to meet the ships and provide assistance but at a price, usually a large percentage of their cargo. When the Captains initially refused, the men would politely leave and stand-off in the water and wait. Once the Captain realized his plight, he would call them back, they would strike a deal and render any assistance they could provide. They would bring their bounty back to Key West and its many warehouses to hold for sale. Key West became the Amazon of the East and would draw in people from all over the world to attend these auctions making Key West one of the wealthiest cities in the US.


Originally from Nashville Tennessee, Beau came out here from Seattle Washington five years ago for the weekend and never went back. Beau keeps busy doing tours for the pub crawl as well as ghost tours. Beau was a big advocate of the Keys and specifically Key West but noted the big negative was the weather and of course, hurricanes. He said most residents were weather experts and closely followed their weather apps. He said if the hurricanes came up from the Caribbean, Cuba usually got in the way and broke up the storms so they would lose their punch by the time they got to the Keys. But, if a storm is headed up through the Straits of Florida, he remarked, residents typically will take a spoon of jam and place it in their pockets because they knew they were “toast”. A rather entertaining, fatalistic but practical view of life in the Keys.

We began our trek at a place on Duval Street called the Lazy Gecko  . The drink there was the Rum Punch where Beau would illustrate with a right cross to his chin as he pronounced the name of the drink. He was right on the money. The cost of the tour included one free drink at each bar with emphasis on the drink-of-the-day. At Gecko it was the Rum Punch. Wow...no rum was left out of this sucker. It was very smooth and delicious as rum is one of my favorite drink additives (think rum and coke).

Nick after two drinks!

The second stop was the Rum Tree Bar which was a lovely bar situated in an alley off Duval next to Angelina's Pizza which shared the alley. Lots of plaques from various military units that have visited the island thanking the bar for their support (and, I assume, liquor) they may have provided. 

The next was the Flying Monkeys Saloon across the way on Duval. The Monkey specialized in using grain alcohol in their drinks. There was an extensive selection in a series of Margarita Slushy machines you could choose from. Dianna had the “Grain Train” and I had something called the “Howler.” Now mind you, neither of us had had anything significant to eat since breakfast on the boat and these two drinks had a distinctive effect on both of us. Dianna began giggling (more then she usually does) and I seemed to have an inability to walk in a single direction. I found myself bouncing off stationary objects like the bar and associated stools and umbrellas set up throughout the outdoor bar.

As we walked (well stumbled) Beau pointed out that in our travels around the Island that we might notice the presence of wild chickens and roosters through out Key West. Beau said it was the result of the outlawing of Cock Fighting in the Keys  in the 1920s. When the decision was made, all the game birds were rounded up and brought to Key West for adjudication. But there didn't seem to be a proper consensus as to what to do with them (I'm guessing many of those decision makers had probably attended this particular excursion as well) so they decided to release the birds into the wild resulting in an explosion in the population of feral roosters all over the island. Now they can't (or won't) get rid of the damn things. Like the wild pigs of Hawaii.

As we approached our next stop, Beau stopped us by an unassuming white blockhouse looking building at Greene and Elizabeth Streets. Beau reported that this simple cork lined structure was Jimmy Buffet's first recording studio. Buffet purchased the old ice house and turned out some of his first recordings from there. Since then, several big recording artists have come to the Keys to record their stuff and take in the local fare like Kris Kristofferson and more recently Kenny Chesney has been seen in and out of there cutting some tracks.

A short walk away on the  Harbor Walk to the Key West Historic Seaport. For almost 200 years, the Seaport has been a focal point for much of the economic and cultural life on the island. By the late 1700's, sea captains found that the uninhabited island of Key West (which was also known by the Spanish name "Cayo Hueso") was a useful stopping point during coastal navigation. It had a safe anchorage, and there were stocks of drinkable water at primitive wells ashore.

Obligatory group photo of the Crawl

The Seaport (also known as the "inner harbor" or as "Key West Bight") primarily served as a base for vessels used in fisheries, coastal shipping, and other maritime trades. The Harbor Walk took us to the Schooner Wharf Bar a collection of elevated patios where you could drink, view the harbor and listen to music.

The drink of the day was a Rum Punch. And there we met Gary Hemser and his guitar. Gary was the headliner for the afternoon and as he strummed kindly reminded us he had just finished smoking some weed and apologized that he may wander a little during his set. If you spend any time in Key West you will grow to realize this is the accepted norm for many of the local residents. Gary was pretty good all in all so I recorded one of his numbers.

As we left, Beau conducted a contest. To the person who could blow on his Conch the longest, he would reward them with a set of pretty fancy Marti Gras beads to wear proudly back home. When he called for volunteers, of course, my loving wife (dearly wanting those beads) pushed me forward and my fellow travelers parted to watch me embarrass myself. Actually, I surprised myself and did rather well with 7 seconds. The technique is to purse your lips together like a Bronx Cheer and blow. But a ringer came forward (young guy..maybe late 20s, that bastard!) and did 21 seconds...and he was a smoker! Well...the alcohol soothed my wounded pride...and we carried on.

Our last stop was Rick's Key West and Rick's Tropical Breeze drinks. More sweetness than alcohol taste which made most of the drinks the kind that sneak up on one if not allowed to consume food. But a wonderful bar and a little off the beaten path which this tour was set to do. Most of the bars we attended were not “big name” bars like Sloppy Joe's or Margaritaville which seemed to be overflowing with patrons and I liked it that way.


After photos with Beau, we parted company and walked...more like stumbled back over to The Rum Tree and got two slices of pizza from Angelina's. A really good thin crust Hawaiian pizza made to order right from their traditional pizza oven, not one of those long assembly line Pizza Hut things.


Now with some of that alcohol absorbed by the pizza, we were better able to make our way back to the ship and on to The Bahamas.