Nice area, these Virgin Islands. Not a lot of difference, not a lot of distance, between the U.S. side and the British islands. But. Getting from one to the next is still international travel. And, with that comes Customs, Immigration, and the fun that goes along with it.
We had a slight glitch in one of our airline tickets, a glitch we discovered when we did the on-line check-in 24 hours before our departure. I love the advance check-in process, being able to secure a boarding pass before we even reach the ticket counter. Modern technology that works for me.
The glitch was a typo. One letter in my wife's name was wrong. I called the airline when we checked in. Talked with a nice lady, and she assured us that it had been submitted properly, but the "system" had created the misspelling. It would be no problem, she said. We'll see, I thought.
Well, she was half right. No problem all the way from Jacksonville (NC), to St. Thomas, and even into the BVI's. No problem getting out of Tortola and into St. Thomas. But, that's when the fun started. We cleared Customs and Immigration in St. Thomas, but an eagle-eyed TSA inspector, at the screening table, us with our shoes on the X-ray table, spotted that tiny typo and sent us packing. Back to the ticket counter we went.
We really should have used that screener to examine all those spy satellite pictures our CIA was snapping, in its effort to find bin Laden, now known as Been Dead. I'll bet she could have spotted him back in 2001, and this whole mess would have come to a much earlier end.
(By the way...I like what the inspector did. It showed she was actually doing her job. Making our flight that much safer. Rules is rules and we all must abide by them. Besides, it proves what I used to tell my team when I was a news director...spelling does matter).
Being the overly cautious person I am (I carry two cameras-back up stuff- I have two VHF radios on my boat, and I always had a back-up pistol when I was a cop), we had plenty of time before our flight was going to leave. The nice lady at USAirways said there should not have been an issue. Tell that to the TSA lady, I thought. She tried, on her computer, to make the change. To no avail. She told us there was nothing she could do. I even thought about some white-out but figured eagle eye would catch that, too.
After a discussion about the ticket agent putting us up at her house, and feeding us, and maybe washing our clothes, she made a call. Likely to Winston-Salem. It took a few key strokes, and Voila! My wife's name was changed back, we had new boarding passes, and we were back in business. With about three hours to spare. At least we didn't have to do the O.J. rush through the airport terminal (you don't remember those commercials? The ones made before he went nutso?)
Too bad that our close friends, the Brits, don't sit down with our fine folks in Washington and work out some sort of deal like the French and Dutch have in St. Martin-St. Marteen. That's an island, not far from the Virgin Islands, half French and half Dutch. The border is nothing more than an imaginary line. Locals and visitors alike wander from one side to the other. No border gates, no customs or immigration issues. Sort of like it really is between the United States and Mexico. Except that at St. Martin, it's legal to cross that border without clearing Customs.
In the Virgin Islands, even boating from one side to the other can be an issue. And, it can be inconvenient. Our hosts, U.S. citizens, and what they call resident boat owners, can take their vessel from Tortola to St. John, a US Virgin Island...a stones' throw away from Tortola...for dinner, but they would have to clear Immigration and Customs if visitors, such as ourselves, went along.
It would be cool if Hillary could get together with her counterpart in the UK and work out some play nice arrangements. It's not like the Brits are our bitter enemy. I'm sure they've forgotten all about that little incident back in 1776, and the skirmishes of 1812. A lot has happened since then, and we've all played well in the sandbox for a long time.
Ok, enough of that. How about some pretty pictures?
We had a slight glitch in one of our airline tickets, a glitch we discovered when we did the on-line check-in 24 hours before our departure. I love the advance check-in process, being able to secure a boarding pass before we even reach the ticket counter. Modern technology that works for me.
The glitch was a typo. One letter in my wife's name was wrong. I called the airline when we checked in. Talked with a nice lady, and she assured us that it had been submitted properly, but the "system" had created the misspelling. It would be no problem, she said. We'll see, I thought.
Well, she was half right. No problem all the way from Jacksonville (NC), to St. Thomas, and even into the BVI's. No problem getting out of Tortola and into St. Thomas. But, that's when the fun started. We cleared Customs and Immigration in St. Thomas, but an eagle-eyed TSA inspector, at the screening table, us with our shoes on the X-ray table, spotted that tiny typo and sent us packing. Back to the ticket counter we went.
We really should have used that screener to examine all those spy satellite pictures our CIA was snapping, in its effort to find bin Laden, now known as Been Dead. I'll bet she could have spotted him back in 2001, and this whole mess would have come to a much earlier end.
(By the way...I like what the inspector did. It showed she was actually doing her job. Making our flight that much safer. Rules is rules and we all must abide by them. Besides, it proves what I used to tell my team when I was a news director...spelling does matter).
Being the overly cautious person I am (I carry two cameras-back up stuff- I have two VHF radios on my boat, and I always had a back-up pistol when I was a cop), we had plenty of time before our flight was going to leave. The nice lady at USAirways said there should not have been an issue. Tell that to the TSA lady, I thought. She tried, on her computer, to make the change. To no avail. She told us there was nothing she could do. I even thought about some white-out but figured eagle eye would catch that, too.
After a discussion about the ticket agent putting us up at her house, and feeding us, and maybe washing our clothes, she made a call. Likely to Winston-Salem. It took a few key strokes, and Voila! My wife's name was changed back, we had new boarding passes, and we were back in business. With about three hours to spare. At least we didn't have to do the O.J. rush through the airport terminal (you don't remember those commercials? The ones made before he went nutso?)
Too bad that our close friends, the Brits, don't sit down with our fine folks in Washington and work out some sort of deal like the French and Dutch have in St. Martin-St. Marteen. That's an island, not far from the Virgin Islands, half French and half Dutch. The border is nothing more than an imaginary line. Locals and visitors alike wander from one side to the other. No border gates, no customs or immigration issues. Sort of like it really is between the United States and Mexico. Except that at St. Martin, it's legal to cross that border without clearing Customs.
In the Virgin Islands, even boating from one side to the other can be an issue. And, it can be inconvenient. Our hosts, U.S. citizens, and what they call resident boat owners, can take their vessel from Tortola to St. John, a US Virgin Island...a stones' throw away from Tortola...for dinner, but they would have to clear Immigration and Customs if visitors, such as ourselves, went along.
It would be cool if Hillary could get together with her counterpart in the UK and work out some play nice arrangements. It's not like the Brits are our bitter enemy. I'm sure they've forgotten all about that little incident back in 1776, and the skirmishes of 1812. A lot has happened since then, and we've all played well in the sandbox for a long time.
Ok, enough of that. How about some pretty pictures?
Saba Rock, just after sunset. A small island with food and drink. Good painkillers for $2.50 from 4-6 pm.
Our Fighter Escort
At Soper's Hole, rental sailboats await their new crews.
Now, this is border protection. At the Bitter End Yacht Club on Virgin Gorda, this slightly used weapon of mass destruction guards the harbor.
The Chicks are in charge. Linda, one of our hosts is on the left, Robe, my wife, is on the right.
Ahhhhhhh.
There are two dogs here. Look closely. One is on the port side (that's the left), at the transom.
Must have gotten those at a fish market. I dragged a line all along our inner-island runs and only picked up seaweed. I know there are fish there, because I saw lots of them, including some really nice grouper, while diving. And, I saw schooling fish on the surface. Just nothing that wanted my bait.
I was made for this hammock. At the Bitter End Yacht Club.
You want warm water? The sun will take care of your needs. Give it a few minutes.
Larry and Linda, our hosts.
Another nice boat on a mooring ball (a line with a buoy, running to a permanent rod sunk into the ocean's floor) take from the Reggae's galley (that's a kitchen) porthole (that's a window)
See you on the next installment.
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