The Island Trip

We decided to go over to the island. The island is not far. It lies just a horizon away. We had never been. Heard it was no big fucking deal. It was Jimi's idea. "Fuck them," he said, referring to the people who said the island is not worth seeing. "If it's no fucking good why are all those cruise ships parked over there all the fucking time?" Jimi can make a lot of sense when his brain has been made lucid by a few morning Sols.

You cannot really see the island from our shore but you can count the cruise ships. Some days there are half a dozen of them tied up over there. A thousand years from now marine archaeologists will look at the wrecked remains of cruise ships and wonder what the fuck were people doing floating around on the heavyweight beer guts of the high seas. Sonja loves the cruise ships. She says shit like, "Aren't they just majestic?" She was a big fan of the Love Boat when she was younger.

We brought along our flasks which the hotel had been so kind to fill up for us and walked over to the ferry along the white beach. Great fucking beach, topless women galore, though not this early in the day, sand white as the lead in my wooden pencil. Hunky looked disappointed at the lack of topless women on the beach, "There better be some when we got back. I need some pictures for the internet!"

Did not cost much to get on and the wait to load was not too long. A lot of people with scuba gear were unloading their shit as they returned to the mainland. Finally we got on. First thing I noticed was the ferry sells beer. All ferries should sell beer. Dope too. Peyote may be going a bit too far but why the fuck not? I bought a round of ice-cold Dos Equis and sat down.

The boat was air conditioned. Another nice touch. That was when Kitty noticed the ship's carpeting. "God is that fucking ugly!" was how she summed it up. Colourful as a peyote trip in a Christmas wrap factory.

We were not far from shore when we saw how the ship's colourful carpet would come in handy. It was a more than a little wavy so people started puking like a bunch of punk rockers eating amanita muscaria. The brave were puking outside, everybody else was puking in the aisles. I ordered us another round. I am Newfie, my sealegs are so good I ought to have been in the navy and all the rest of our small tour group are too proud of Canada's image to heave in public.

At last we were back on land. We rented a Jeep and got out of town as fast as we could. The Ontarians had told us about a good place to eat and drink on the far shore, far away from the city and the thousands of cruise ship fat cunts wandering the streets in search of bargains.

The road circles the island just like Barnston Island Highway. The road is the only high point around. To the inside, the heart of the island is a giant alligator swamp; not much to see on the shore either once you are past the cruise ships.

Once we got to the far end of the island, the shore closest Jamaica, we got to see what we came for. Good sized waves crashing in on razor limestone or sandy beach. Reminded me of Newfoundland's east coast in some way even though this coastline lacks the rugged natural defences Newfoundland's does.

We ate at Bob Marley's place, again a drunken Ontarian's idea, a restaurant which has been destroyed three times by hurricanes in the last couple decades. I had the conch, fucking lovely, it tasted much like cod tongues. The beer was colder than the beer back at the hotel.

Further along more beautiful beaches and then Hunky shouted out, "Vultures!" Big black bastards. Hunky was doing a great job driving. He was laying off the booze because he had taken too much peyote before we got on the ferry. Never take ten buttons if you still want to able to drink beer all day.

We got the Jeep back in time to have a quick look around the sea shore near the ferry terminal. It is not a bad looking town. I hear it gets quiet around midnight when the cruise ships have mostly fucked off for their next destination.

We drank even more beer on the way back. Three each. Not bad for a half hour ferry ride. Think how much money the ferries in B.C. could make selling beer and dope on board. I should be in charge of that bloated seal carcass of a company.

Another enjoyable excursion: no one puked and no one got arrested, not even a speeding ticket. I might just go back one day.