The flight from St. Vincents back to Grenada. We packed up and took the open van back to the ferry, which gave us another chance to look at the dropping off point. I watched the boat as it came around the island, showing finally the most inhospitable backside imaginable, a cliff. I watched the water, again, wondering how people could dare travel from one island to another in the bad days.

Day 2 Grenada

We arrived at our hotel after dark. I have stopped mistaking our destination for the Falklands. We are surrounded by lush land and poverty. The hotel is a little oasis that is supposed to look across the bay at the Grenada Medical School, another oasis.

I hate oasises. They make me feel like an overpriviged jerk, and I enjoy not feeling that way in my surroundings at home. These trips, I guess, put things in a better perspective, I guess. I am, certainly, in the big scheme of things, overprileged. I never would have handled a plantation well, or being a princess, either. Then again, I never would have handled being a slave with any degree of flair, or a maidservant. I'll work in my garden for eight hours at a time, but if forced to cut cabbage for two hours, I am reduced to a whiny brat looking for the nearest gallon of ice cream.

It was dark and quiet, and the man showing us to our room carried -carried - at least 200 pouns worth of suitcases up and down a curvy sidewalk to our suite. He insisted. There is no nightlife here for the high school and college aged kids. There is no town they can walk into. There is a town, certainly, at St. George, but we are not there.

I must go now. Breakfast is included and is served at a particular time. We must all go together and be dressed. There is a coffee pot up here in the beautiful second floor living room, but no coffee. So as I must go and there is no coffee here anyway, I will go.

Back. We followed a different walkway this time, one that cut across other hotel suites and rooms, by the dive shop and yacht store. When we came to the part of the walkway by the water, we saw dozens of crabs, scampering to get out of our sight. I goosebumped immediately. Anything crustacean looking terrifies me. It must be the odd, leggedy walk that does it. The restaurant is buffet, and it is always fun to see what is offered in different parts of the world. There is always glass jars of flake and granola-based cereals, yogurt in plastic tubs, and fruits. And to satisfy a large English tour, there are eggs and breakfast meats, too. And breads. I have decided to subsist on yogurt and honey and coffee.

We are back for a two hour break to swim in the hotel pools. I'll take photos now.

Family O'Broads

We are going off to the Caribbean. We leave today. Or sometime later today. I am, as usual, half elated at the prospect of so much copy material from the trip, and half in dread of how exhausting this will be. For me. There is very little about a trip with three children and a husband that will allow me to rest on a chaise lounge all day, soak up the sun, and sleep, read, and write. These trips are programmed. Event-filled. And making sure that everybody has whatever is needed and is ok with the next event and survived the last event and remains in the proper frame of mind in general, falls on me. And I must hide all my feelings of fear and dread because these trips are the only demand that my husband makes of my time. So long ago I stopped being unable to breathe at the thought of getting ready to leave, being gone, and cleaning up all the while I was gone mess upon my return, and learned to go, take a pen and pad, and turn these events into a working trip.

We are going to an area I've never been before, the islands not far off the coast of Argentina. It is mid-summer and we are nearer to the equater than I may have ever been in my life, so I have packed solar protection swim wear and purchased underwater gear to help me learn how to use a new underwater camera for competitions.