Sailing on to Anegada
Anegada is a flat pancake of an island. Actually make that more like a smooth slice
of French toast with dollops of syrup on the top like the several puddled
lagoons throughout the island. And
equally as piping hot and delicious.
We’ve been here before and I remember the
beach being not only stunning but uninhabited by the usual fare of
vacationers. This time was remarkably
and splendidly the same. So picturesque
is Loblolly beach that a family photo taken on its shores was featured our
family’s Christmas card several years ago.
To get to Loblolly one needs some sort of
transportation. You can take a cab (I’ve never seen one), rent a jeep (never seen a rental one of those either)
or opt for a battle worn moped usually holding on to its last thread of life
through the miracle of duct tape.
The last time we were here we were with Keith
and Kathy. We tossed young versions of Connor
and Chloe on the backs of our rented mopeds and skirted our way across the island
in search of this beach. For our
celebratory return we planned to do the same only this time, both Connor and
Sev had visions of driving themselves across and not sitting as a passenger
behind a mother or father. This plan
would only work if they were 18—which of course they are, in island age.
Island age is like island time. It’s not really exact.
At the rental shop the lady looked
suspiciously at the boys when we said we wanted to rent two scooters and two
motorcycles. “How old are they?” she
asked.
“18” They responded in unison and sounding a
little too practiced.
The lady squinted her eyes and stared them
down. They didn’t flinch. She then squinted narrowed the slits of her
eyes and squinted even harder. They
remained unmoved. These boys were
hardened warriors who had battled with the sail and stay and came out brave
hardened men.
“Okay” she said. “Pick out your helmet…and
you pay for whatever happens.”
The boys smiled tellingly and quickly grabbed
their helmets and disappeared outside before the lady could change your
mind. On the islands, age isn’t really
as important as a valid credit card.
For any mothers and grandmothers reading
this, we did give a stern lecture about taming the ride to a healthy life
sustaining speed, minding the plethora of horned cattle, lively pigmy goats,
missing road concrete, and to not forget to mind the British side of the
road. Danger was avoided at all times
and everyone came out unscathed without a tale to tell other than getting
ourselves to the most epic primo beach.
(Nothing for Shakespeare here.)
We did a little drift diving around the reefs
of Loblolly. The current runs parallel
to the beach so you start on one end and finish at the other without so much as
moving a limb.
I had a little fish
imprint on me and follow me for the duration of my dive. He stayed six inches from my feet for an
hour. If you were snorkeling next to me
for any length of time you would have probably heard a gargled line from
“Finding Nemo” coming from my snorkel as I kept repeating, “fish are friends
not food” throughout my float. My little
fish friend was the first pet I was actually fond of. Undoubtedly because I wouldn’t have to feed
it or clean up after it, and perhaps maybe because I could eat it if it
bothered me.
Severin was content to relax under a palm
frond palapa and enjoy the day.
He collected some cool little shells but had
no place to put them. When we retuned to
shore we found his Bilbo Baggins feet like this…
And actually, his feet have been downgraded
to Frodo Feet, less swollen and red. He
had taken off one of his socks to put his shell collection in. I would imagine some of these shells may end
up as gifts for his sister back home, and if they do, I hope they will appreciate
the fact that he may have suffered some sunburn chaffing on their behalf! What
a great brother.
Once
we thoroughly enjoyed the beach we headed back to the other side of the island
in search of a good local burger. From
there we had a great view of our watery neighborhood where we were anchored for
the night.
When we left the restaurant,
another motley looking motor scooter gang showed up. They were comprised of ten or so older
couples with tan leathery skin with the same laid back sunny dispositions we
had. Not much to be angry about if
you’re a biker gang on Anegada. They
offered to take this group shot of us as we left the sandy parking lot…
In the evening, the sun began to hover on the
horizon puncturing the sky in a perfect orange blot. It finally took leave and sunk into the
horizon with hastened speed as if someone has pulled the stopper on the sky. The azure colors mixed with frothy cloud
swirls allowing the sun to drain into the watery abyss like a discarded orange
bath toy.
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