West of the Quator

by Cheryl Bartlam DuBois

  So, now Rob had a choice, turn the charter down or secretly pick up his passengers on the little island of Barbuda, which Fritz managed to arrange by having a local ferry drop the five rock stars on shore at night only to be picked up on the beach by Alex in the Island Fever’s dinghy, and ferried aboard with all their luggage. Actually, the guys were quite intrigued by the entire clandestine affair and didn’t hesitate to go along with the plan. Especially, since they’d heard tales told by a certain musician of the drug smugglers and pirates in the islands. The guys just thought that it was all part of the ambiance and excitement of the trip.

  The morning that they were to pick up their five rock stars, Alex set out early from their previous night’s anchorage at Green Island, which gave them the shortest route possible to the undeveloped island of Barbuda forty miles to the north, which was surprisingly quite sizable – being more than half the size of Antigua itself. Alex set out on a course of ten degrees north allowing her to sneak past Spanish Port to the east and then head in toward Cocoa point with the noon sun, using her hand-bearing compass3* to avoid the many reefs that surrounded Barbuda4** – the ones that had claimed over two hundred boats over the centuries. Although the compass gave her some measure of safety, Alex knew that the only way to really navigate these waters was to eyeball your way between the reefs and shoals.

  Due to their illicit status as an illegal charter on the island, Alex did her best to stay away from overly populated harbors and bays to avoid clearing in with immigration, since they had not cleared out of Antigua. Fritz, their charter agent, had chosen to qualify this as a special charter – a celebrity charter in fact, since the five guys were a rather ambiguously famous English rock band. In actuality, it turned out to be a week of baby-sitting five burned out rockers just off a nine month tour, who were used to being pampered and waited on hand and foot – not to mention their affinity for any and all stray babes found in each and every port they pulled into from locals to tourists. After of course, they had given up on Alex who was not in the least impressed by their somewhat ambiguous star status. Even though Barbuda was a little frequented spot by tourists, they somehow managed to collect all that the island so miraculously had to offer them. By the third day, there were so many scantily clad girls on board, the Island Fever was beginning to look like a floating bordello. To be perfectly honest, Rob and Raymond had very few complaints about their predicament, nor did I, since there was a definite excess of women to go around, and the girls it seemed, were almost as impressed by Rob’s status as owner of this magnificent vessel as Joey had indeed said they would be, as they were by the Rock and Roll luminaries themselves. Once again, Rob, was in Paradise. Alex had however, had just about enough of the carnage by the third day as she watched Rob who was quite enjoying the free-for-all that ensued amongst their promiscuous and indiscriminate passengers, and she decided to re-direct their route to a deserted beach north of Palmetto Point on the leeward side of Barbuda, where the fellows could romp and play on shore to their heart’s content while living out all of their unfulfilled fantasies. And, where it was unlikely that they would collect any additional groupie stowaways not to mention attention to the fact that they were on charter in the first place.

  To Alex’s relief, her new anchorage had been a great success since it was by far one of the most beautiful beaches on an island of seemingly endless beaches, or in the entire West Indies as far as I’m concerned, since the pale pink sand of this magnificent beach wrapped its arms around a crystal clear turquoise bay – eleven miles long – barely marred by even a rock on the sandy bottom. It was clear to Alex why she had heard it called the most beautiful beach in the Caribbean, for although she had not personally seen all of them, she found it hard to imagine one that could come close to matching the beauty of this one.

  On shore, the only sign of civilization was the ruins of a small hotel which was surrounded by a stand of palms and Australian pines in the very center of the beach. Along the beach grew a plethora of vegetation – morning glory and yellow and orange creeper spread across the sand at the high water mark and above the beach grew Spanish cedar, and sea grape, all decorated with colorful bromeliads and wild orchids. Although the beach was just a spit of land which separated the ocean from Codrington Lagoon, it was impossible to see the buildings of Codrington on the far side of the Lagoon from sea level in the bay – making it seem as though nothing more existed on the island than their very own little world. For the next three days Alex took the guys and girls exploring and snorkeling for lobster while Raymond barbecued their catch on shore. This was Alex’s secret spot which was rarely frequented by the other term charter boats due to its isolation, lack of civilization, and its many reefs one had to navigate – the reason Alex had fallen in love with it. The area’s largest population, aside from the lobster along the bottom, was a rookery of frigate birds5* which soared overhead – their strange cries creating an unearthly sound which made it all seem a bit surreal. The Frigate bird colony, which was on the other side of the spit of land in Codrington Lagoon, was the island’s largest nature preserve. These majestic birds high above, the abundant colorful fish and spotted eagle rays on the reefs, and their all encompassing picturesque hideaway, made them feel as if they’d actually arrived at heaven on earth.

  Alex was content enough with their surroundings, although she refused to admit to herself that she was somewhat irritated seeing Rob pay so much attention to the young attractive girls on board, even if he was restricting his participation to a voyeur capacity. However, she did find it rather distasteful that some of the starry-eyed pubescents who had latched onto him looked young enough to be his daughter. But what did she care anyway. After all, it was his boat and his life and it was his prerogative to do with it whatever he pleased. What she didn’t realize was that, all the while, Rob was in complete admiration of the professional self-restraint that Alex had maintained since she could have easily had her pick of anyone of the five eligible, successful, sexy rock stars. All of which had lean wiry almost emaciated bodies, looking as if they lived on a diet of booze and cocaine. In fact, Rob wondered how she always managed to avoid showing any interest in men in general. At least he had come to the conclusion that he shouldn’t take her cold shouldered disinterest personally. Alex had never discussed her love life or her past with Rob. She had never mentioned Michael or her three year partnership with him. Even though they’d never married, Alex had felt as if such a bond had existed between them since they had been inseparable during those years. Actually, Alex spoke with no one about him. She had kept in touch with a few friends from home, but their lives had evolved so differently she felt she had no one in which to confide. Although both Rob and Raymond had become friends, she was unable to share openly with them the intimate details of her life.

  In getting the hang of term charter, Rob was finally starting to fall into the groove of island life and decided to use some of their down-time constructively. He decided to take advantage of Raymond’s willingness to teach him the art of windsurfing – that sport which has masterfully combined the elements of wind and water to create the ultimate surfing machine. And, as with his general laid-back demeanor, Raymond was a far more patient teacher than Alex when it came to the principles of sailing, which suddenly became much more rudimentary to Rob with twelve square feet of canvas in his hands and a stick under his feet than the complicated sailing rig which was carried by the Island Fever.

  “So Raymond. Exactly what do I do now that I’m standing on this fiberglass board?” questioned Rob, more than a little nervous about his first lesson in windsurfing.

  “Well it’s quite simple you know, you just have to become one with the elements. Like the wind man, and then you just go,” said Raymond in his esoteric way of explaining things.

  “Okay,” said Rob contemplating Raymond’s instructions. “What do I do in between becoming one with the wind and going?”

  “Well… you just pick the sail up out of the water with that rope
there. Then you hang on to the boom. Lean it forward to go downwind and back to go upwind,” explained Raymond very matter-of-factly as if Rob actually understood what he was saying.

  “Easy for you to say,” said Rob as he struggled to keep his balance on the two foot wide board, failing miserably – inevitably ending up flailing about in the water underneath the board.

  “Watch me,” said Raymond as he climbed on and placed his left foot just behind the mast.6* He pulled the sail out of the water using the knotted rope that was attached to the spot where the wishboom7** was tied to the mast. Then he gripped the boom overhanded with both hands and pulled back in on the sail spinning the board up towards the wind and effortlessly took off at a fair clip in the steady on-shore breeze.

  In fact, by the end of the week, Rob was actually getting pretty good at this new sport and had even begun to seem somewhat agile to Alex, even though, in reality she knew better.

  Upon their return to port, Rob was to learn that Althea had gotten wind of Rob’s illegal pick up in Barbuda. It seemed that the illicit smuggler who had fetched their passengers was in fact her second cousin, and was actually on her husband’s payroll as captain for his ferry boat which ran between Antigua and Barbuda, unbeknownst to Fritz. She had not only, not approved his charter license – by the time Rob returned, she had banned him from picking up any further passengers from local waters until the license was issued, which now seemed to fall within some terminally indefinite time frame. Rob, it seemed, was screwed.

  “Like I sai befo, you get it when I say so ‘n not befo,” repeated Althea for the third time to Rob who stood before her in her office with offerings of both cash and an extra large sugar sac filled with kinips. Rob was beginning to understand how a Buddhist felt venerating the Buddha with offerings since Althea certainly fit the physical profile; and like the Buddha her word laid down the law and was respected on the island as such.

  “But what else exactly has to be done befo/before you can approve it?” questioned a frustrated Rob – no longer willing to except her standard West Indian answer which fell under the guidelines of – always be vague and never commit to anything definitive.

  “Like I sai one mo tyme. I be workin’ on’it an when I prove it, you get it, n not a day befo’.”

  Rob was worried. What would he do now sans an income? But to Rob’s good fortune, Fritz came through for him the next day, with a temporary solution – a charter only one week and ninety-two miles away on another island. It seemed that he had arranged for him to pick up his new fare on a small half French, half Dutch island called Saint Martin/Sint Maarten9* during Carnival week, and cruise the upper chain of the Leeward10** Islands or Lesser Antilles. St. Maarten being no relation what-so-ever to Antigua, Fritz assured him that he would have no problems with Althea or any other island officials where this charter was concerned as long as he cleared his passengers in and out on the more tolerant Dutch side of the island.

  As far as the name ‘Lesser Antilles’ goes, somehow I’ve always thought the terminology to be a rather derogatory description for a chain of islands as beautiful as the Leeward and the Windward Islands. But, Columbus seemed to feel that they were of lesser value than Hispaniola (Haiti and the Dominican Republic), Cuba, and Jamaica which he deemed the ‘Greater Antilles.’ But you know what they say Chris ole buddy, “Sometimes less, is best.”

  As for Columbus, of all the islands he discovered in the Lesser Antilles it seems that Saint Martin/Sint Maarten developed into, by far, the most unique since today it exists as, not one, but two countries. How is it that the French and the Dutch have lived together so peacefully sharing only thirty-six square miles of rock and sand for over two hundred years? The answer must be that the Dutch got the monopoly on the booze along with the main trading port, and the French got the beautiful, secluded, nude beaches. A profitable solution for both don’t you think? Maybe Europe should have just taken a lesson in harmony from this tiny island decades ago. Why there aren’t even any boarders to cross. In fact the only way that you know that you’ve left the Dutch side and entered the French is when you’ve left the pot-holes behind. And so goes life in the islands. What’s a pot-hole or two when you’re surrounded by Paradise?

  It was just about at this point in his journey that Rob was beginning to understand what Columbus must have felt when he had first headed off on his voyage into the unknown hoping to discover his new world. He was a very brave man Rob thought – or a very foolish one, since he was traversing terra, or rather, aqua incognita, since to Renaissance mapmakers this was totally uncharted territory. How could Columbus have ever been certain that he wouldn’t just simply fall off the end of the earth? After all, that was the prevailing belief at the time. Likened to Columbus’ journey, Rob had ventured off into the great unknown, leaving the security of ‘the civilized world’ behind. And, as far as Sydney was concerned, he was on the brink of falling off the map of society – if not falling off the edge of the earth itself. After all, she already suspected that he’d indeed fallen off his rocker.

  It was as fearful as it was exciting for Rob to know that the waters which lay ahead were totally uncharted, and he was yet to realize that the real search he had set out on was more in fact a pursuit of self-discovery rather than a search to discover Paradise. But most importantly, he was to eventually learn, that it was not so much about the arrival at one’s final port, as it was about the journey across the sea of life itself that truly mattered. Once again a concept that always seems to elude most present day participants of the human race, and the thing that we on ‘The Other Side’ seem to find hardest to impart to them.

  So, Alex and Raymond busied themselves with preparations to leave on their mission to retrieve their passengers on this unusual little atoll ninety-two miles northwest of Antigua, and Rob, went off to meet with Fritz one last time to get final instructions and to collect his deposit for their second big term charter. Rob sat in Fritz’s right hand drive car in a deserted cul-de-sac feeling as if he were on some clandestine drug exchange, as he watched Fritz count off five thousand dollars cash into his eager hands.

  “Don’t forget now, these people only eat kosher food… meat or fish and vegetables, so be sure to tell Raymond to buy the right food. Their agent books a lot of business with me,” insisted Fritz.

  “Exactly where do I buy kosher food down here? I mean I’m Catholic, what do I know about kosher,” Rob questioned in a panic.

  “Easy, stay away from shellfish and pork. The rest, just tell em you picked it up at this great island kosher deli in Antigua before you left.”

  That’s easy enough thought Rob nodding his head as he pocketed the cash and smiled, “Don’t worry Fritz. I won’t let you down. If you book another charter for us, get in touch by Landsradio…11* we’ll just pick them up from there.”

  “Do what I can,” answered Fritz as he started the car and drove Rob back to the market where Raymond waited in his car in the parking lot for Rob so they could buy provisions.

  Rob was finally beginning to believe that maybe everything was indeed going to work out just as he’d hoped as he tallied the math in his head – let’s say fifty weeks a year at ten thousand or so a pop. Why that was a far cry better than the stock market could ever provide for him. Unfortunately, Rob was so busy counting his fuzzy little chicks that he still didn’t realize, that the eggs needed to hatch that golden goose had not only not yet been laid – they hadn’t even been conceived.

  “Wow, maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all,” thought Rob excited by the thought of the easy cash in his pocket. “Wait till I tell Sydney how much I’m making a week. She has to be impressed by the potential we have to make enough in three or four years to just simply sail away for a while, drop out or maybe even cruise around the world. Cruise around the world. I like the sound of that,” Rob repeated to himself. That was definitely something to work towards, Rob thought. “Maybe I should convince Sydney to come down as soon as things are running smoothly and
show her. It’s a pretty nice life here after all, she’ll see,” Rob repeated over and over in an attempt to convince even himself.

  But what Rob didn’t know was that he would have his chance to show Sydney just how wonderful things were in Paradise much sooner than he expected.

  1*TERM CHARTER — Meaning any charter averaging a week or more in length as opposed to the daily cattle-run. Often considered a sentence term to the captain and crew so unlucky as to find themselves aboard for a week with passengers from hell.

  2**KINIPS — A strange West Indian fruit that is ninety-five percent pit and shell. It is however is the most addicting fruit/snack known to man – like the sunflower seed and the pistachio nut. One must de-shell it by biting the shell/skin in half then pop the fleshy, juicy covered nut into one’s mouth eliciting a sweet/tart sensation as one sucks the pit like a jawbreaker until there’s nothing left in your mouth but a tasteless Ping-Pong ball.

  3*HAND-BEARING COMPASS — An object that looks like a hockey puck which is a portable compass for taking bearings of land or other objects.

  4**BARBUDA – An island originally settled by the Codrington family in 1685, who leased it from the British for one fat sheep a year – native Barbudans being the descendants of slaves imported to the island to run the Cordington’s livestock interests. Although Bardudan’s have been loath to accept the twentieth century’s, roads, cars and TV’s – those modern inventions have managed to find their way onto the island due to the fact that although emancipated from England, Barbuda is still under the rule of her southern neighbor, Antigua. And of course, Antigua has welcomed with open arms, all the luxuries and lifestyle which have cultivated the tourist trade. Aside from a modicum of tourism, and their century-old tradition of sheep herding, the island subsists today on the export of sand – their most plentiful attribute, and a small charcoal industry.