Nancy

Ok, love him or hate him, I just had to see for myself. Lincoln Center was filled with people, David Blaine was floating in water and we just had to see it. On day 8 of his submersion, we took a drive to NYC and hung around for a bit. The crowd was great, people cheering, jeering, whatever, but it was lots of fun to see. I liked talking to the others in the crowd, met a couple who just got engaged, they were all giddy and happy and wanted me to take photos of them with Davids globe between their pursed lips, like they were kissing a mini ball of David Blaine between their kissing lips, very funny. Great people watching..




Standing on a bench/wall watching David and chatting with the newly engaged..




Up close, around 6pm. It was a bit like being at a circus side/freak show, you just had to look.

Meet Mr. Evans..I met him yesterday. When I happened to look up from my book, I noticed him, he was intent on doing what he has been doing since he was fourteen years old, fishing.

As he got out of his boat which was now in the surf rolling on the waves close to shore, he stood chest high in the water and pulled his cooler out of the boat which made me grab my camera as this meant there must be fish inside, therefor a very legitimate reason for asking permission to photograph him, er his fish..sometimes I fear locals will feel like they are viewed as just a snapshot for some tourist's scrapbook, being shown to friends and family along with comments like, "isnt he just adorable", see the "native". I see lots of character in this old face, he is not just a snapshot to me.

So, anyway, I watch him for a couple of minutes before approaching him and realize that he is slowly pulling his boat out of the sea by a rope, about six inches at a time as it is very hot still, around four in the afternoon. He drags it on the sand, just a little at a time, it is heavy, he is aged, and there is no rush. I ask him how his day was, was it successful and he seems thankful that I have given him a reason to pause and chat while he catches his breath for a minute. He is very sweaty and I can almost smell the salt coming out his pores. He is older than I realized and he tells me about his life. He is 76 years old, we shake hands and intoduce ourselves, he shows me his catch, lots of snapper, some angel fish and a trigger fish. He says he eats fish five times a day, has eaten it all his life and assures me that this, and only eating food from the earth in its natural form, no chemicals has kept him this healthy. I ask him if he has been out all day on the water, his boat is really a small rowboat with a bench seat, no back, just a small evinrude engine and he says, no, not all day, just since 9 this morning. It is four in the afternoon, and 76 year old Mr. Evans does not consider this a full day of work, just a half day...

He has 11 children, 16 or 17 grandchildren, doesnt rememeber the number exactly.

He and I pull his boat from the water together. He has some pvc pipes that he pushes up against the bow of the boat, on the sand, so as we pull the rope, the boat rolls along on the pipes and is eventually brought to where he leaves it in the evenings. We saw him again today, Pam helped him pull his boat out this time. He had more fish, a full cooler today and I hope we see him tomorrow, I like watching this old fisherman.

The second day we were here, there was a massive beach party with the finish line for the regatta directly in front of our beach. it was a good day with lots of people and food and drinks.




This was the boat to win the race, called UFO.




Little guy all decked out for the party...

Jen, looking striking as ever..

Pam and Remy. Every resort has one, every guest either loves them or hates them, but the ever present Remy, resident tour guide/beach attendant/salesman/loafer/storyteller/babysitter/introducer of guests seizes the opportunity to pose with Pam.

The sunset on the first night.

We three have been in Anguilla since saturday...a very long day during which I, traveling alone, had bad luck at every turn. The day began at 5am, the alarm clock, not set properly, did not sound. Then the driver who was to take me to the airport phoned, he was running late...now I usually plan my travel times very close to the edge, I like to arrive at the airport and walk right onto the plane so a late driver was not a good thing. He then phones back fifteen minutes later to tell me he has gone off the road in the fog and hit a telephone pole and cannot pick me up. His suggestion, after he informs me he is not hurt which only serves to remind me that I have not inquired as to his health (shame on me, I hang my head)is to call the owner of the limo company and ask HIM to come pick me up. Now this would add at least 40 minutes onto an already risky schedule so there was only one solution, Martin would have to drive me...what a gem he is as he speeds down 684 to the Hutchinson River Parkway at 80mph in the fog because I again, cut it very close..we made it to JFK in one hour and fourteen minutes including a stop at the mobile station off the hutch for the third, and very well functioning I might add, transplanted kidney from his lovely sister Vicky to perform. I then sit at jfk for an hour as the flight is delayed...this is life..

Now since Pam and Jen are traveling from Newark airport, we have a bet going as to which of us will arrive at the Malliouhana resort first. The flights go to St. Maarten, and there you must either take a ferry or small plane to Anguilla. I, smartass that I am, feel for certain that I will not only arrive earlier than they, but will be perched on a beach chair, rum punch in hand, and will also be sporting a tan. Oh how wrong I was.

I chose the small plane, they, the ferry. As I flew into St. Maarten, I could actually see Anguilla very clearly, it was very close and I knew already I had made a bad choice.

I had to get my bag, clear customs and walk the length of the airport (which isnt really that far if you are wearing reefs and shorts, but very far in heels with a steamer trunk size suitcase) and walk right on past all the others jumping in cabs headed for the ferry to Anguilla. I wanted to join them but felt since I had already purchased my ticket, I should see it through. It is at this point that it dawns on me as I view the line of departing passengers waiting to go through security to board planes back home after their holiday (easter weekend mind you) that I a now one of THEM. A departing passenger that hasnt really arrived yet...I have sweat through my Ann Taylor loft yellow sweater with the embroidered flowers as I think of Pam and Jen already on the ferry...damn..I am committed now for sure as I recheck my bag and wait for the plane. A small commuter plane, four seats, goes every hour. They lie. Winair goes when they damn well feel like it and not a moment sooner. They wait till they have enough passengers to fill the plane, tickets and schedules be damned, and it was only myself and a man named Eric (who incidently was a dead ringer for my oldest friend Sean) that made the same travel error that day. We got on the plane, the pilot turned in his seat, said over the roar of the twin prop engines, "Ok guys, those are your seat belts, and those are your emergency exits, pointing to the doors on either side, and thats all you need to know". We then sit on the runway waiting for permission to take off for 45 mins. and the only open window was a one foot square window next to the pilot. In spite of it all, I smile, but also notice that the wing out my side of the plane has some wire and duct tape on it. Great..

Needless to say, Pam and Jen were the ones perched on the beach chairs, I am now a very humbled smartass.

Shark fin in the market in Hong Kong

The wedding that took place on the beach

Chelsea jumped from the bungalow.