This week: Sydney, Australia

Sadly, the Sydney Harbor Bridge climb was not for disabled people. I discovered this when pouring over the bridge climb checklist of health conditions that would disqualify me from the climb, things such as heart ailments and missing limbs – no wheel chairs allowed. Because of the ladders, steps and narrow passageways, the bridge cannot accommodate these things.

I sat in the front desk area with several people; families and couples. A woman came from behind a door that was actually part of the wall, like a secret entrance. She announced her name was Sara and asked the people with 9 a.m. climb tickets to follow her through the door. In a tiny room with a bench on one end, we all sat down while Sara explained the forms we needed to fill out and that we needed a breathalyzer test. The forms had to do with liability and the Bridge Climb would not be liable for anyone or we couldn’t go on the climb. More importantly, we had to print our names as we wanted them to appear on our climb certificates.

After passing the breathalyzer test Sara ushered us through another door and to locker room area where she had us stand in a circle and introduced ourselves while she gathered our outfits for the journey. Starting the introductions were two couples from Canada and their Australian friends from New Castle. One of the Canadian women was afraid of heights. Sara then told us that many Australians did the bridge climb in an attempt to overcome that fear. Next was a family from Canberra with their 12-year-old daughter. Twelve was the youngest age the bridge climb would accept. Last was a couple from the Sydney suburbs. I was the only person from the States. Sara then handed us our lovely gray and blue jumpsuits to wear. Sara asked us to remove everything from our pockets and she gave us lockers to hold our bags including any cameras, wallets or purses. The keys to our lockers were hooked to the zippers of our jumpsuits and then tucked inside. Sara also requested that anyone with prescription drugs for chronic conditions hand them over to her. Two individuals had asthma inhalers. Sara put the inhalers inside separate plastic bags and wrote down the names of the owners before tucking them inside a fanny pack. We were 30 minutes in our bridge climb and we hadn’t even started yet.

From here Sara introduced us to Sasha, our climbing guide. Barely 5 feet tall, brown-haired and smiling, Sasha would take us up the bridge. But first we had to gear up and complete a practice climb. To keep germs away since all gear was reusable, we had to wash our hands in large round wash basin, like they have in sports stadiums. Sasha instructed us on how to put on our belts, which not only held our communications radio, but also permanently attached us to the bridge. In the front of our belts was a heavy wire with an unusual locking mechanism at the end. The mechanism weighed a kilo and looked like a yoyo. Inside the yoyo were metal spinners that allowed us to pass through the metal hooks that attached the tether wire to the bridge. A patented system, Sasha said. After putting on our belts we had to practice moving the latch over the hooks by walking through a small U-shaped line to get to the next prep area. If I didn’t keep the mechanism parallel to the rail, it didn’t go through and I had to use my hand to push it.

Our outfits were still incomplete so we moved to the other side of the room. As we gathered around, Sasha held up a small blue pouch and announced these were our “parachutes” to which one of the women in our group gasped aloud in fear.

“I’m just kidding,” Sasha said. “They’re really your life jackets!” We laughed nervously, but the Canadian woman verged on tears until her husband pointed to a sign above the bin that said Rain Jackets. Relieved, Sasha told us about our accessories. Fall in Sydney was chilly and with rain in the forecast, we attached a fleece pouch for warmth and separate rain jacket pouch for wet. Both jackets were sewn into the pouch. We merely had to unzip and then unfold to wear them. The pouches hooked to each side of our belts. Just what I needed, extra weight on my hips. Then we were given the option of attaching either a ball cap or beanie to our suits to protect our heads from the cold and our faces from UV rays. I chose the cap. These attached to hooks sewn into our jumpsuits behind our necks. If the wind blew the hats off, they wouldn’t fall to the highway below. Those of us who had sunglasses attached them to an eyeglass necklace that was also hooked to our jumpsuits. Finally Sasha gave us a handkerchief attached to a wristband. We put on the wristband and then tucked the handkerchief inside our jumpsuit sleeves. Sasha explained that these were for a runny nose, which can happen on a windy bridge, or for anyone overcome with tears at the beautiful sight of the harbor.

“It can happen!” Sasha laughed. The purpose for all this caution was because nothing, absolutely nothing, went up the bridge without being attached. Too many cars, boats and pedestrians traveled below and falling debris was deadly.

Now for a test run. We took turns climbing up a ladder, one person at a time. Then we walked across a catwalk and finally down a “double” ladder. The double ladder was two sections of a ladder with the second section moved about a foot to one side of the first. To climb the bridge we would have to navigate eight such ladders (four on each side). Everyone in our group passed. Just one more stop before starting our journey, the communications room.

Our radios were specially designed headsets based on ones army snipers used. Sasha explained that snipers not only need to hear the commands of their officers, but also the sounds around them so the military developed “inner ear bone” headsets. They rested on our temples and touched our upper cheek bone. The vibration of this bone carried sound to the inner ear, so we would be able to hear Sasha as she talked on the windy bridge as well as hear the sounds of the harbor. The headsets attached to a pack on our belts and made us look like we had black Elvis side burns. Armed with latest in technology, we were ready to climb.

To get to the inner workings of the bridge, we had to exit the training area and walk out in public to another door. Two gentlemen out walking their dogs watched us go by. Sasha swiped a magnetic strip card through a security box to open the door to the inside of the first bridge pylon. Steps and a passage way were carved from the cement of the pylon that brought us to the start of the tether line. Once tethered, we would not be able to change positions for the rest of the journey. The group with the woman who was afraid of heights went first, then the family of three, then me, then the young urban couple and finally the other couple from Canada.

The walk began about six stories high with a straight, narrow passageway from the small pylon to the larger Southeast Pylon. A garden path to the Rocks district was below. This area was blocked off by a construction site. Silver tarp draped down from the bottom of the bridge all the way to the ground and we could see workers with face masks going in and out of the tarp below. Sasha explained that Sydney was in the middle of a 13-year Bridge Painting Project. The Harbor Bridge was being completely stripped of 70 years of toxic paint so it could receive a fresh earth-friendly coat. The brief section of catwalk we had just passed was already done. Sasha said this project was difficult because so many of the earlier paints used on the bridge contained lead and had to be sandblasted down to bare metal before new paint could be added. Sasha pointed from our entrance to the tarp curtain and said that was the distance covered in three years. It was about half a football field and they weren’t even to the water yet. As we passed two workers waved at us and we could hear the sandblaster buzzing behind the tarp. On the other side Sasha pointed out the Park Hyatt Hotel, the most exclusive hotel in all of Sydney. The penthouse suite rents for $6000 AUS a night, she told us. They also boasted the most secluded pool in downtown Sidney, however, the rooftop pool was in full view of us bridge climbers who passed by every 10 minutes of everyday.

“Not so exclusive after all,” she joked.

Once we reached the Southeast Pylon, we had to maneuver through a tight space to get around the corner. Now we were at the base of the first of four ladders. These would take us straight up to the top of the bridge’s arch. What Sasha didn’t tell us, until just now, was that we would climb between two lanes of traffic. I could hear the cars above as the first people in our group began. At the base of the ladder were two other guides whose only job was to stand there and assist those who needed it on the ladders. When it was my turn, I was so busy concentrating on my feet that I barely noticed the cars buzzing by. The steps were narrow and if I clung too close, I banged my knees on the steps. Remembering to keep three points of contact, as Sasha instructed us, I made my way up the first section, slid right to begin the second section, then slid to the right again to the third section and one more time for the fourth. Sasha was waiting for me when I finished.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Like I’ve had a work out on a Stairmaster!” From here I could see the entire harbor unobstructed. It was chilly and windy, but not unbearable. The opera house was below and the ferry terminal nearby with boats of all sizes moving everywhere. We were on a set of gradually ascending stairs and could easily walk up the arch. As we moved, Sasha pointed out land marks, such as Fort Douglas, a former prison, and the opera house. I could see another group of climbers ahead of us just as another group quickly appeared behind.

About half way up, Sasha stopped for our first photo op. She called us forward in our small groups and took a digital photo with the city as a backdrop. Then Sasha moved to the other side of the stairway and we each took another photo with the opera house behind. Her digital camera was hooked to her suit as well. From here was just a short distance to the top. The summit was 134 meters above the harbor. Sasha had us pose for a group photo while we applauded.



At the top we made our way across a wide catwalk to the west side of the arch, stopping in the middle for more photos. I attempted to strike the “Captain Morgan” pose by holding up one foot and putting my arm in front of me. Sasha said no, I had to keep both feet on the ground, three points of contact always. Oops, that was embarrassing.

On the west side of the bridge a light rain began as we descended and Sasha told us how the bridge was built. The workers on the bridge back in the 1920’s did not have the extensive protection that we had. Without any support they would run across the girders from side to side. Attaching the odd million rivets that held the girders together took even more skill. Blow torches didn’t exist in 1923 so a worker was on the top of the arch with a kiln that would heat the metal rivets white hot. That person, using tongs, would toss the rivets, one by one, to another worker in the middle of the cross girder where he would catch the rivet in a bucket. Using a gloved hand he would retrieve the rivet and place it in the hole. Sasha said not every rivet tossed found the bucket. No one knew the exact number of rivets that fell into the harbor below, but people still found them washed up on shore today.

Responding to a question, Sasha told us that only 16 people, of all the thousands who worked over nine years, lost their lives on the bridge. She also mentioned this number was misleading because the death toll included workers who were killed in the prep area on the ground while making parts for the bridge. One of those deaths was a man who hammered sheets of steel and accidentally split his thumb open with his own hammer. Rather than go the doctor’s tent and miss a day’s wages, he put his glove back on and continued to work. He died of tetanus three days later. Sasha also mentioned Paul Hogan, star of Crocodile Dundee, was a bridge painter.

Sasha pointed out Luna Park across the harbor from us. Even during the day it was lit like a Christmas tree. The tiny amusement park was a gift to the city by the bridge’s construction company for putting up with the noise and mess of such a major construction. However, nearby residents soon complained about the noise the roller coaster made and had it removed. Now the only ride visible from the top of the bridge was the giant Ferris wheel.

We approached the Southwest Pylon to descend the remaining four ladders. This time we would be climbing between two train tracks, which sped by every 15 minutes. Just as our youngest group member, the 12-year-old, began her descent, a train zoomed by. Those of us still above commented how she wasn’t fazed at all. I wasn’t sure I would be so even keeled if a train buzzed within a few feet of me. My descent was train free. Greeting me at the bottom were the same two guides who watched us go up. I had no clue how they got there.

This was the home stretch as we walked across the west catwalk. Sasha told us that to build the bridge, the government had to seize homes and businesses to make way. One of those buildings was the Harbourview Pub. While residents were quite alright with the demolishing of their homes and businesses to make way for progress, they were not so willing to part with their beloved pub. They only agreed to the seizure if the pub was moved, so brick by brick, it was torn down and rebuilt 150 meters away from its original location. Because of the move, the pub no longer had its namesake harbor view. As we passed we could clearly see the third story balcony bar where people sipped pints and ate lunch.

After squeezing through another tight space, Sasha declared us finished. Another group waiting to start watched us as we unhooked our belts from the tether to freedom. Of course, we weren’t completely done, we had to return to the prep area, but I could hear each person sigh in relief as they unhooked themselves. The climb was exhilarating, but with the weather changing from drizzle to rain, it was good to be done.

Back in the main building we still had several tasks to complete. First we had to wipe down our headsets with a disinfecting cloth before turning them in. Next we put our caps, hankies, fleece and rain jacket pouches into another bin. Sasha said these would be washed before being put back out for use by other climbers. We had to march back up to the starting room where we removed our belts. Finally we removed our attractive jumpsuits and put them in a wash bin and washed our hands again in the large sink.



After retrieving our bags from the lockers we entered a different door to the Bridge Climb gift shop. Sara, from the breathalyzer test, passed out envelopes as we entered. Inside were our certificates complete with our name and a 5x7 group photo. To get the solo photos of myself, I had to purchase them from the gift shop photo center. I just showed them my certificate and they pulled up my photos. Within minutes I had three 5x7’s and a CD I could use to show everyone the three hours I spent conquering the Sydney Harbor Bridge. What a morning, mate!

To learn more visit: Bridge Climb
Harbourview Hotel & Pub
Luna Park

This week: Sounds

Do you hear what I hear?

When people talk about their travels, they tend to do so in one way: Visually. And that’s perfectly acceptable in such a beautiful world. However, I’d like to offer another way: Audibly. Some of my most memorable travel experiences have been through the ear canals.

***

I was enjoying the view while walking on a trail above White Bay on Jost van Dyke, British Virgin Islands. The trail separated the more family-friendly beach of the Sandcastle Hotel and the Soggy Dollar Bar from the more clothing optional beach of Ivan’s Campgrounds and Stress-free bar. The view was stunning…water every color of blue from teal to sapphire, shiny white boats of all sizes snuggled within a perfect half-moon bay reaching out on both sides. It was while taking in this view that I heard a funny noise: ploop, plop, ploop, plop followed by chink, chank, chink, chank. The sound followed the crash of a wave so it had to be below me. I peered over the edge (I was about a story-and-a-half above the water). I saw only sand so I was perplexed. I watched the next few waves come in and didn’t hear the sound again. Then finally, my ears caught it: ploop, chink, plop, chank. It was off to my right. I moved over a bit and saw the thousands of hand-sized black rocks, polished perfectly round by ions of sea waves. The rocks were only in a small part of the beach that jutted out from the middle of the bay. If I had to guess, I’d say it was less then 10 yards wide. The wet rocks looked like giant beads of onyx. The rocks were quiet, except for the crash of several waves. Then a wave came in from one side of the bay. The water swept across the rocks and suddenly, the rocks sitting on top were in motion, ploop, chink, plop, chank as they rolled down the rocks below them. It was like watching a giant Japanese pachinko machine as the black rocks zig-zagged following the trail of receding water as the wave pulled away. I waited for the sound again as a wave approached straight on and hit the rocks with force. However, no pachinko sound followed. I then realized it was only the waves that came in from an angle that pulled the rocks from the beach into the water, which meant I only heard the sound every few waves. I wished I’d had a recorder to trap the sound. It was oddly soothing and slightly silly and I wanted to hear it over and over again. Such an unusual sound, I wanted to remember it long after I was gone. Turned out I didn’t need a recorder. I can still hear those rocks.
***

I knew we were in for something unusual when we received our park map at the entrance to Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado. I unfolded it to find our way to the camp grounds. In the lower left corner, a large white outline of an arrow with the word “wind” in white capital letters. It pointed northeast. On the right side of the map was another white arrow also with the word “wind.” It pointed southwest and was right next to the line marking Medano Pass Primitive Road, the road we would be camping on. That wind must make quite a presence in these mountains if the National Park Service felt the need to put it on the park map. The wind was a nasty physical presence when on the dunes; blowing sand up my nose and pelting me with tiny darts. However, up at the campsite, the wind turned into something else. Our campsite was in a small valley below the road and next to Medano Creek. It provided protection from the wind, but every now and then it was still able to penetrate the towering aspen trees to our campfire and bring up the flames just to remind us of how nasty it could be. The sound of it, however, was nothing like the powerful gusts we felt. Its whoosh ebbed and flowed with a smoothness, like a rocking chair. When you looked up you could see the tops of the aspens swaying back and forth, which made you want to rock with it. The sound was guttural, not overbearing, but we did have to raise our voices when talking. Sometimes the dog would not come when we called her. We didn’t know if she was pretending not to hear us or if she really couldn’t hear us. After the sun set and the stars popped out, the wind was still the dominant sound, one minute behind us, the next minute in front of us, then a gust from the side. We never knew where it was going to come from. I made the comment that it might be hard to sleep with all that racket, but not so. Upon zipping myself up in my warm sleeping bag, I fell peacefully asleep in record time thanks to that soothing whoosh outside the tent. The wind blocked out all the other nocturnal noises that would have kept me awake; leaves, nuts and pine cones falling from trees; critters scavenging around; crickets, flies and mosquitoes; the bubbling of the creek that would have made me have to pee every hour. What a sweet blissful sleep! Too bad it abruptly ended at dawn when I awoke to the sound of……..nothing. Silence. Calm, Quiet. It made me nervous. How did this crazy wind go from full force to nothing? Outside the tent, it was chilly, but the sun was slowly warming the air around me. I heard birds for the first time. It didn’t last long. Within the hour, the wind slowly picked up and by the time we had breakfast, it was back to its whisping ways. Funny, our alarm clock was the when the noise stopped. I didn’t know which sound was more intriguing: the whoosh of the wind or the silence when it stopped.
***

Amazing things happened where land and water meet. Off the coast of Belize, Ambergris Caye paralleled the second largest barrier reef in the world. This alone made for an attractive place, where rock met air surrounded by water, full of Technicolor fish and marine animals. This reef protected the island from the harsh Caribbean Sea. From the beaches of Ambergris Caye, the reef was on the horizon, about a ½ mile out, which made it difficult to see. The white caps formed a line that followed the horizon. The reef was the reason the waters surrounding the island were calm, the reason boats traveled easily from Mexico to Costa Rica, the reason small children played in the shallow waters without their parents worrying about them getting swept out to sea, the reason windsurfers from around the world came here to skim the surface of Chetumal Bay. All because of the calm in the lagoon that formed behind the barrier reef. About a mile away from shore, that white stripe protected us from those waves. During the busy day’s activities, I didn’t give the reef much thought, however, as we walked the beach at night, my husband heard a strange sound.

“Can you hear that?” We paused and listened. Was it thunder? No because the sound never stopped or started.

“It sounds like…traffic.” I proposed.

“Wait, that’s the reef!” my husband exclaimed.

If we could hear that sound from 1/2 mile away, just imagine what it sounded like up close. I would find out later that week on a snorkel trip. It’s loud! And violent! The reef was all chaos with wave after wave crashing into it from all directions. Yet, tucked under the western side, fish lived without being disturbed and eels floated above the coral, oblivious to the noise above. Every night before retiring to sleep, we would stand on the beach or out on the pier listening. We could just barely hear it. It was a dull roar, a white noise, a rush of air. I couldn’t put my finger on it. The sound didn’t grow loud or soft. It stayed the same frequency, the same tone, the same decibel and it didn’t stop. It was the sound of eternity.

This week: Cruz Bay, St. John, USVI

Thomas

My first encounter with Thomas was by phone. I wanted to rent a car for our vacation in the Virgin Islands. It was four weeks before we would arrive, plenty of time to rent a car I thought. Sitting at my dining table with a list of rental agencies from the internet, I called the first one. I asked for a 2-door Jeep Wrangler. They didn’t have one. The second place I called didn’t have one. No Wrangler at the third place either.

“How ‘bout a Liberty then?” I asked

“No, no Liberty.”

“Well, how ‘bout a Suzuki?”

“No. You don’t get it. We have NO cars” said the rather angry voice on the phone. Not good. I called place number four, still no cars. Place number five didn’t answer. Hospitality Car Rental was number six.

“Hello, Thomas!”

“I need a car for February 24 for one week. Do you have anything???” I asked trying to hide the desperation in my voice.

“Today is your lucky day!!!” he announced in a deep baritone. “I have a regular customer from New York City. He stay inna villa dat week every year, but he jus’ called me to say he not coming.” Without even knowing what kind of car or how much, I asked to rent it.

“No problem!” I heard him shuffling papers through the phone. Thomas told me that every car on St. John was booked. I said I was finding that out the hard way. He said I was very lucky to have called when I did or I might not have found a car at all. Since we were staying on the far side of the island, no car would have been a huge inconvenience. Before he could even finish reading me the rental agreement, I rattled off our credit card number. When the transaction was finished I thanked him. He told me he was glad he could help and then he said “love you, bye” and hung up. Wait…had I heard that right?

So a major part of our vacation plans were in place and everything under control. Four weeks later, we arrived in our stopover, Atlanta. It was 8 a.m. and due to a possible snow storm our St. Thomas flight was delayed. We were stuck in Atlanta for the next six hours. Hoping to catch some sleep I had just put my feet up when my cell phone rang.

“Dis is Thomas. Dere was a problem wit your rental car.” In the airport my phone wasn’t receiving very well. His words were fading in and out, but I managed to catch two of them, tailgate and smashed.

“Oh, if it’s just the tailgate, that’s no big deal,” I said.

“Oh, nooooo ma’am,” his baritone reverberated in the phone. “Not tailgate…Totaled.” Even though I heard him clearly, I asked ‘what’ anyway. Thomas continued, “De car I had for you is totaled. Dey drove it right off de road.”

“Are the people are OK?” Remembering the steep and twisting roads from previous visits, I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer.

“Dere were no casualties, but de car is badly damaged.”

“Soooooooo now what?” I asked

“Don’t worry. I got replacement car for you. I begged everyone until I got you a car.”

“So we have a car?” I glanced at my husband who had a concerned look on his face.

“Yes, when do you arrive here?’

“Around 7 p.m.”

“I’ll leave the car in my parking lot and the keys will be under the passenger seat,” Thomas explained. This was all very strange. St. John was a friendly, safe island, but leaving keys in an unlocked car seemed too good to be true. Confused, I told him thank you and hung up. The next ten hours wouldn’t go by fast enough.

At 6:30 p.m. we arrived at the ferry terminal in St. Thomas. While my husband purchased our tickets I bought Coronas from the extremely convenient ferry terminal bar. I breathed deeply the warm, moist air. Aaaah, humidity. The Corona would subdue my nauseous head from the airport taxi ride. We were just taking our seats when Thomas called my cell again.

“I was jus’ calling to tell you I have a car for you. It’s here in my lot wit da keys.”

“That’s great!” I said over the boat’s engine. “We just boarded the ferry. We’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Oh, you on da ferry now?” I told him I could barely here him above the motor. “Den I’ll wait for you.” Although I felt bad for making him wait, I was relieved because I barely understood his thick island patois and wasn’t sure I heard his directions clearly.

When we arrived at the Cruz Bay dock, I went to find Thomas while my husband collected our luggage. I had no idea who I was looking for, black, white, young, old. A woman standing at the end of the dock held an island villa sign. She was waiting for guests. Knowing it was a small island, I asked her if she knew Thomas.

“He was standing right there,” she pointed, but there was only empty space. Then she started shouting, “Thomas! Thomas!” A man walking down the street in a white t-shirt and dark blue jeans turned around. “Thomas, this woman is looking for you.” A smile lit up the dark man’s face.
“Car Rie! I have your car!” he emphasized with a hug. My husband caught up to us. Thomas graciously grabbed our largest bag and we walked across the street and around the corner to his parking lot. The car was a Jeep Liberty 4-door, way bigger than we needed.

He once again apologized about the car we were suppose to have. Thomas said it was a complete loss and he had to call in a few favors to get this new car. It was from another agency, St. John Car Rental. Even though we were getting a larger car, he said that we would still only pay the Wrangler price. Then Thomas explained we would have to come back tomorrow and take care of the paper work with the new agency and to get a refund from him since he had charged us in advance. He also told us that we could use both his parking lot and the other rental agency’s parking lot for free anytime we were in Cruz Bay. With parking a scarce commodity here, this was a generous offer. We thanked him and shook hands. Riding in the comfy Liberty on the way to our lodging, I was finally able to relax.

The next day we saw Thomas again in his dark blue jeans a crisp white t-shirt, but the shirt looked fresh. Like most men, he probably had dozens of them. He was tall and bald with huge arms and if he had had a gold hoop earring in one ear, he could have been a black Mr. Clean. We didn’t notice it in the dark last night, but his parking lot was also a smoothie stand, so we ordered a banana, strawberry and mango smoothie. He used fresh fruit that had been stacked at his order window. We ordered a small, but he gave us a medium for the small price. Then we sat next to his parking lot under a large canvas with a few plastic tables and chairs. The thick and rich smoothie could have been a meal by itself. Thomas came out of his stand to sit with us. Placing his cell phone on the table for easy access, he explained why getting a rental car was so difficult.

St. John was a tiny island. There were only two public roads: Northshore that followed the coastline went to all the beaches and Centerline, which cut over the middle to the island’s eastside. These roads were narrow and vertical. And for no good reason anyone could give us, they drove on the left side of the road in right-sided automobiles. During high season, these roads were packed with rental cars, taxis and scooters. My husband then mentioned all the construction trucks that were trying to keep up with new development. On top of that, Thomas added, the daily car barge was bringing over rental cars from St. Thomas. With accidents a frequent and sometimes deadly occurrence, something had to give.

“A few years ago, de government banned rental cars from St. Thomas coming over here,” he told us. “Now we have less traffic, which is wonderful. However, dey keep building more and more hotel rooms. Dere are twice as many people, but de same number of cars. Dat is why it so difficult to find a car. You have to start six months in advance.” My eyes bugged wide as I slurped my smoothie.

“Crazy,” Thomas slumped back in his chair. “Tis great for my business, so I don’t complain, but also ridiculous, you know? Lemmie get dat refund for you,” He said as he stood up from his chair. We thanked him for his hard work in getting our car and said we would stop by again.

The next afternoon we returned to Cruz Bay after a morning of snorkeling. We parked our car in Thomas’ lot and then ordered two more banana, strawberry and mango smoothies. He asked us if we wanted a shot of rum in them, but we declined because happy hour at Woody’s was less than an hour away. After getting our liquid fruit we sat in the plastic chairs and enjoyed the shade on a hot Caribbean day. It was cruise ship day on St. Thomas and that meant day-trippers, dozens of them roaming around town and buzzing by on scooters. We could distinguish them by their backpacks and large tote bags stuffed with beach towels. A family came up to Thomas’ stand and bought some smoothies. Thomas greeted each family member individually with a “Good afternoon. How are you today?” While the blender whirled, he would ask them where they were from and what they liked most about St. John. After handing them their drinks, he would tell them to enjoy their stay. Behind the family was a young couple and he greeted them the same way. They told Thomas they were from Seattle, which caught our attention because we rarely met anyone west of the Mississippi on St. John. We conversed with them while Thomas made their smoothies. We invited them to sit with us, but they had to get to the return ferry. With a break in customers, Thomas came outside to hang with us. He had a package in his right hand wrapped in foil. Turned out to be his lunch, roast chicken and rice. It smelled delicious, but the smoothie was quickly filling me up. Thomas asked how we were doing, but before we could answer, more people walked up to the window. We decided not to bother him so we waved goodbye and said we’d be back tomorrow.

On Friday morning, we arrived at Thomas’ smoothie stand again. Thomas was outside at the tables with stacks of fruit boxes - bananas, oranges, mangos. A beautiful brown-skinned woman handed him a box of straws and said she would see him later. She was already chatting on a cell phone as she got her blue SUV parked in the street next to the stand and drove away. She was as tall as Thomas, had shoulder-length curly brown hair with blonde tips and perfectly arched eye brows. Despite the humidity she wore pastel make up on her eyes and cheeks, but what really blew me away were the tight blue jeans and high heels she wore. This woman was dressed to the nines and it wasn’t even noon yet. Sadly I looked at my own attire: gym shorts and tank top, hair pulled into a pony tail. The only thing on my face was sun screen. I couldn’t even fathom wearing denim jeans in this heat and the humidity would sweat make up right off. Thomas smiled as he shook my husband’s hand.

“Dat was my wife. I needed some supplies.” My husband told Thomas he “done good” in the wife department and he flashed us that all-knowing smile. He told us about his family. He was born and raised on St. John while his wife was originally from St. Croix. They had three sons and the oldest was getting ready to go to college. He was considering the University of Minnesota, which we thought odd; an island boy who had never seen snow before going to Minnesota. Thomas, however, had a different view of higher education. Although proud his son was going to college, Thomas didn’t think it was all that necessary.

“I know doctors, teachers, I even know a judge...deese are my classmates who went to college and dey make no money. I never go to college and make lots of money. Education is a good ting, but it doesn’t guarantee success. Here in school, dey teach you science and math, but dey don’t teach you how to balance a checkbook or how to invest your money. People do such foolish tings wit deir money. Me, I teach my sons how to handle money so dey know what to do.” Thomas pointed his index finger to the table. “It tis the business man dat make money here (St. John), not doctors and lawyers.”

My husband asked Thomas if he made all his money from rental cars. Thomas said no, it was actually from two apartment buildings in Cruz Bay that he owned and collected rent from. However, the smoothie stand and rental cars were his first businesses which gave him the capital to invest in the buildings. Owning property on an expensive Caribbean island was quite impressive and we asked him why he didn’t just kick back and let the rent checks roll in. He told us he wouldn’t be as successful if he did that.

“I have to work all de time. I have a family to take care of, besides if you want to live long time and make lots of money, you must keep working.” We laughed because we were on vacation, not working. Thomas then asked us if we wanted our usual smoothie. That was Thomas, always working, always making money.

We sat in the shade of the canvas enjoying our smoothies while the rest of Cruz Bay worked. Pick up trucks with construction company names on the doors drove by. Thomas waved at a passing police car. The mail truck stopped with Thomas’ mail. A waitress we knew from Woody’s walked by. Thomas asked her what she was doing away from the bar. She said they needed more napkins and headed to the convenience store across the street. After unloading his fruit inside the stand, Thomas came back out to sit with us. He asked us what we liked about St. John.
“Meeting people like you,” my husband replied. “Bet you can tell us a great place to have lunch.”

He laughed. “De Fish Trap has excellent food. De chef is a friend of mine. Remember dat chicken I had yesterday? Dat was ‘im. You tell ‘im I send you; he make you de best meal for a good price.” Having finished our smoothies and knowing Thomas had to work, we said goodbye.

A few days later we returned to Cruz Bay to return the rental car. After settling our bill with St. John Car Rental, we walked the three blocks to Thomas’ stand and had what would be our last smoothies of the vacation. It was another cruise ship day and there was a line when we arrived. No problem, we had all afternoon. We ordered our “usual,” size medium. Thomas handed us two larges and refused us when we tried to give him full price. We told Thomas we had returned the Jeep and thanked him again for all the trouble he took to get it for us.

In his island accent he said, “No problem mon.”

Thomas did not want his photo taken, but I did get one of the fruit stand. Also included is a photo of the huge rental car. Check out these Cruz Bay websites:

Westin St. John

St. John Rental Cars List

VI Ferry Schedule

Cruz Bay Webam

The Fish Trap

This Week: Please Donate Blood

On March 9, 2010, I was able to do something I haven't been able to do for a year. I donated blood. Last March Colorado's Bonfils Blood Center deferred me from giving blood for a whole year because I had spent a week in the Central American country of Belize. I knew travel abroad can be a concern for blood agencies, however, I learned the hard way just how strict those rules were. I remained patient and with the year over I can once again donate needed pints of blood.

Donating blood is one of the simplest, yet most important things that a person can donate. I have been donating blood since I was first eligible at age 17. I don't know the exact amount since I have worked with three different blood agencies over the years, but estimate I have donated at least eight gallons of blood.

Donating blood takes about an hour for most people. Upon arriving you check in with the attendant. This person keeps track of when you last donated and gives you a questionnaire. Some of the information they ask of you is to list all foreign countries you have visited in the last three years, what medications you are taking and what illnesses you have had. After filling out the form a nurse takes you into a small, but private screen room where he or she takes your temperature, blood pressure and pricks your finger to do a hematocrit (red blood cell) test. They also review your form to make sure you didn't miss anything. If you are accepted then you wait for the first available chair. Let the bloodletting begin!

The phlebotomist (person who draws blood) first sterilizes your arm with iodine, a dark yellow liquid on a large q-tip. Then an additional sterilizing agent is applied by a small sponge. The phlebotomist then hands you a small vinyl ball and asks you to squeeze it several time so your vein will appear. They refer to it as "popping" the vein. The phlebotomist then marks the vein with a marker or by applying a pressure mark with a fingernail or plastic tube. Once the vein is marked, the blood press cuff (sphygmomanometer) is put on your upper arm and tightened. This fills the vein making it even easier to see and preps it for the needle. At this point, you are ready for the stick. They use a large needle so the phlebotomist will give you the option to look away if you want. Yes, you can feel the needle go in, but once set, that feeling goes away. Sometimes it stings, but only briefly. Once the needle is inserted and the blood flowing, the phlebotomist tapes the needle down with a sterile cloth to keep it in place.

There is a ten minute time limit for blood donation. Most people can fill a pint in less than ten minutes, however, I am a slow bleeder. The cure for this is to drink lots of water prior to donating. Whether you fill up the bag or not, the phlebotomist will stop at ten minutes so you don't have to sit there for too long.

I have been deferred from donating three times. Once was because my blood pressure was too low, however, I blame the Broncos football team for that. It was during the Broncos Blood Drive back in 1999. Thousands of people were there so I had over an hour wait just to get to the pre-screening area. I had fallen asleep while waiting so my blood pressure was at sleeping level by the time they got around to me. I now make my own appointments with the Bonfils center in my neighborhood. The second time was because my iron levels (hematocrit) were too low - by only one point!!! That shows how strict they are. Then I had the deferral last year from my trip abroad. I don't consider myself to be an exotic traveler so I was quite surprised to discover Belize was on the list. (It is not listed on their website, but on a larger list kept at the center.) I was told that malaria is prevalent in many Central American countries, such as Costa Rica, Honduras and Nicaragua. While rare to develop it in Belize, it is all the same geographical area, so Bonfils erred on the side of caution. Other places on the deferred list are most African countries, Haiti, Indonesia, Vietnam and, surprisingly, several locations in Mexico. I was also surprised to discover that extended travel in Europe can also lead to deferral, but they determine that on an individual basis. Extenuating factors include specific locations, such as rural England (remember Mad Cow disease?) and whether you had medical treatments while there.

Creepy as it sounds, I enjoy donating blood. I find it quite relaxing. You get to put your feet up and nurses are at your beck and call. Cold? Ask for a blanket. Thirsty? Ask for bottle water or juice. Some places you can watch TV. There have been several occasions when I have almost fallen asleep during the procedure. Unfortunately, the nurses won't let you fall asleep because you have to keep squeezing the ball to keep the blood flowing. Then afterwards, they give you cookies. How cool is that?

I currently donate blood to Bonfils Blood Center in Colorado. They supply up to 80% of the blood used in Colorado's hospitals, however, less than 4% of Colorado's population participates. There are many ways that blood is used and one pint of blood can help up to three people. In times of need, Bonfils can supply blood to out-state agencies. They supplied blood to the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina and to New York after 9/11. They even supply blood to the US Military so my blood could be going to help the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan.*

Little has changed in the procedure for drawing blood in all the years I have participated, however, the rules and restrictions for who can and cannot donate have changed greatly. HIV was little known when I started and global travel wasn't as common back then as it is now. The basic requirements* are:

• Must be 18 years old (16 or 17 with parental consent)
• Weigh at least 110 pounds
• Be in good health with no history of hepatitis or HIV/AIDS
• Been at least 56 days since your last donation

Here are some suggestions if you are interested in donating blood: 1) Make an appointment rather than attend a crowded blood drive; you can always tell the attendant if you are donating for a specific organization; 2) Drink plenty of liquids, but not caffeine, before you go; 3) Relax!

People have told me they want to donate blood, but then find excuses not to. Some say it takes too long, but if you follow my suggestions above, it won't take more than an hour. Some people complain that it hurts. Please! I've had paper cuts that hurt worse. Stop making excuses and do something that will immediately benefit your friends and neighbors. Donate blood today.

You can find out more information and even make appointments at the Bonfils Blood Center website. For those of you outside of Colorado, check the American Red Cross to learn more about blood donation in your area.

*Information from Bonfils website.

This Week: San Pedro, Belize

…For Me to Poop On

On Wednesday nights, as they had for years, the Pier Lounge Chicken Drop held court on the beach behind the bar. This event took place in the village of San Pedro on the Caribbean island of Ambergris Caye, Belize. Never one to turn down a chance to win some money, I had to participate. A raffle was a raffle, right? Well, the winner of this raffle was determined in the messiest of ways: Chicken Poop.

Set in the sand, a waist-high fishing net guarded the white board that contained the raffle numbers. The large white board was divided into smaller squares with numbers printed in red from 1 to 100. On this wooden board a chicken was placed and whatever number the chicken pooped on determined the winner. The bar opened up ticket sales around 6 p.m. Numbers are $1 Belize each. Just so you know, Belize currency is based on the US dollar at a 2:1 ratio; $2 Belize was $1 US. I purchased 10 numbers. Winner receives the entire pot, $100 Belize.

A line of about 12 people were already in front of me when I went inside to get my numbers. A man stood behind a wooden podium taking money for the chicken drop. The man drew individual numbers printed on pieces of paper from a large jar. When my turn at the front arrived he pulled my ten numbers, one at a time, and set them on the wooden podium for me to see. Then he took a long skinny ticket slip and wrote my numbers on the bottom: 50-72-6-43-67-31-53-3-45-86. At the top the slip said “The world famous chicken drop at the Pier Lounge” next to a cartoon drawing of a chicken. The raffle cashier also wrote that my tickets were for Drop #1 above my numbers. The bottom of the slip said “San Pedro Town, Ambergris Caye, Belize” just in case I forgot where I was.

The Pier Lounge ran about five chicken drops a night and the games didn’t begin until all drops were sold out. My ten numbers just about emptied the jar for the first drop so we had a ways to go. We passed the time by drinking Belikins, the local ale, and listening to a two-man reggae band. We were also able to stake some prime viewing territory right at the board. My husband prepped his camcorder.

After about an hour, a man with a microphone and head wrapped gangster-style in a scarf announced he was our MC for the night and that it was time for the presentation of the chicken. Everyone began to crowd around the raffle board. He introduced the manager, a tall white guy who could have passed for a frat boy on the mainland. He came from the shaded area outside the spotlights carrying a large basket. It was tall and round with a lid. He set the basket down and picked up the lid with one hand and with the other hand held the largest, most beautiful chicken I had ever seen. The chicken was a dark brown, almost red, with long silky feathers. She had the bright red giggly thing under her beak. The manager handed the chicken to a young woman with long blonde hair and short black skirt. The MC said it was her job was to “encourage” the chicken to do her business in the fastest manner possible. The MC instructed the blonde to “shake the chicken.” She gingerly moved the chicken up and down and from side to side. The MC told her to spin the chicken upside-down. She did so slowly. Then he told her to blow on the chicken’s butt. This was all to help the chicken, the MC said. She held the chicken out as far as her arms would go and blew. Then the MC told her to toss the chicken onto the board. The woman gently set the chicken down on the board in front of her. The game was on!

As the chicken looked around at us, everyone began yelling and cheering and coaxing and pleading. The chicken took a step forward. The crowd got louder. Then the chicken took a few steps in our direction. One of my numbers was 3 and the chicken was heading straight for it.

“Com’ooooon chicken!” I yelled.

The chicken then turned and headed in another direction but that was OK because one of my other numbers was 67 and chicken approached it slowly actually standing on the number for several seconds. Then she was on the move again this time back to the side she started from. The ruckus continued to grow. In case they needed video proof, my husband recorded every move of the chicken with his digital camcorder. An older woman who slurred her shouts of chicken encouragement stumbled her way in front of me and I had to hold my camera over her head to take photos. Soon, standing proved too difficult for her and she ended up kneeling on the sand yelling at the chicken through the netting, providing an unobstructed view for me. Now on the other side of the board, the chicken approached number 86, another one of my numbers. Without fanfare the chicken pooped. I didn’t see it at first, but people on the other side of the board were jumping up and down. The chicken had pooped about two squares from number 86. I was a loser.

We hung around the Pier Lounge long enough to discover that the winner must clean up the poop on the board before claiming their prize. An older woman in t-shirt and shorts had won and with a rag provided by the MC, she stepped over the netting and wiped up the poop. Then she was handed the cash. You won’t see that on the World Series of Poker. I think I’ll stick to the lottery.

This Week: Key West, Florida

Awesome Adventures

Gwen and I slept in on Saturday. We were in our hotel room and from the window we could see it was still a little cloudy from an early morning rainstorm, but the heat of the sun would soon burn off the clouds and it would be another gorgeous Key West day. What to do, what to do? Yesterday afternoon we soaked up the sun on the beach and spent the evening shopping and dining. Then at night we hit the clubs and danced until 4 this morning, just a typical day in the Keys. Gwen wanted to do something on the water, like rent jet skis or boating or sailing. Without a clue as to what I was looking for, I grabbed the phone book and flipped through the yellow pages. There was a category called “Water Sports.” The very first ad said “Awesome Adventures – Parasailing.” Gwen thought that sounded good so I called the number.

“Awesome Adventures! This is Mark.”
“Hi, Mark. We want to go parasailing today.”
“Well, talk to me.”
“How much?”
“Forty dollars per hour.”
“That’s sounds great. Where do we go?”
“Do you know where the Marriott Hotel is?”
“Yeah, we drove by it yesterday.”
“Well, they have a pier that they let us pick people up at. Just walk around the hotel to the beach and out on the pier. You need to be there at noon. Are there two of you?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome. You sound like a lotta a fun.”
I rolled my eyes at Gwen. This was going to be interesting…

As instructed we parked our car at the Marriott Hotel. Then we walked around the hotel to the beach and pier. The pier had a sign that said it was for hotel guests only, but no one stopped us as we made our way to the end. We’d barely been there a minute when a sea green and white motorboat with chrome trim pulled up beside the dock.

“Hey ladies!” The sandy blonde driver said. “Did you just call me?” We said yes.

“Awesome! Get in” he said. “I’m Mark and this is my helper Sam. It’s his first day on the job.” Sam waved at us from the back of the boat. We asked Sam how he liked his new job. He didn’t know because we were his first customers ever.

“I have to warn you, it’s been extremely windy lately and we can’t sail in those conditions. If you’ll bear with us, we’ll drive you around to see if the wind will cooperate.” We sat down in the front of the boat while Mark took off. We went all the way down to the tip of Key West where the Atlantic meets the Gulf of Mexico. Mark whipped the boat around and we headed back watching all the people gathering along Smathers Beach. After this test of the waters and wind, Mark decided it was OK to parasail.

Gwen went up first. Mark showed her how to put on the jacket and straps that would attach her to the parachute. He then spent the next ten minutes explaining to Sam how to open up the sail and run the rope line. Finally, Mark was back at the wheel of the boat and he yelled at Sam to let go of the sail. On his first try, Sam threw the sail and it opened up as the boat moved forward. Gwen’s feet lifted. Sam turned on the motorized tow rope ring and slowly Gwen drifted into the air. I waved at her and took some photos. Mark easily moved the boat along the Key West shoreline.

“You wanna drive?” Before he could change his mind, I was behind the wheel and asked him where he wanted me to go.

“See where that dark water is. Head that way.” I did and when we got there Mark turned off the motor. The water was dark because the area was filled with kelp. Gwen slowly sank from the sky. She yelled down to us.

“What are you doing?!?”
“Taking you for a dip!” Mark replied as he took over the boat’s wheel.

“Noooooo! Not in that nasty water!” Gwen began kicking her feet in hopes she would rise again as she dropped closer to the kelp covered water. Just before Gwen’s feet touched the water, Mark hit the throttle of the boat and Gwen popped back up into the air and she was sailing again. I laughed hysterically at the trick Mark just played.

“Just wait until your turn,” he said with a grin. Mark made a sweeping turn to get the boat back around and heading south. As we rode, Mark’s cell phone rang and asked me drive the boat again. It was another customer. He told them he would pick them up at the Marriott dock in 45 minutes. A few minutes later Sam reeled Gwen back to the boat. When she landed, she gave Mark a piece of her mind about dipping her into the kelp water.

“Oh, com’on. I was just having fun. That’s what Key West is all about.”

It was my turn to strap on the preserver and get hooked up to the sail. Again Sam threw the chute perfectly and it popped open as Mark moved the boat forward. I began my ascent slowly as Gwen took photos. It was high, very high. Even though it looked like the boat was moving fast, I felt like I was hardly moving at all; I simply floated above the water. In the distance I could see the outline of a large cruise ship heading into the Caribbean. Nothing but the sound of the wind as I sailed along the coast. Then Mark stopped the boat.

I didn’t see any of that “nasty” kelp water below me. Whew! My only worry was just how wet Mark was going to get me. I sank fast. I heard Gwen laughing from the boat. As my feet hit the water I was pretty sure I let out an embarrassingly girlish scream. Mark gunned the boat and I flew up again; I had been dipped up to my knees. All too soon my time was up and Sam reeled me into the boat. Now I knew why Mark said the word “awesome” all the time.

“Hey, we got a family to pick up next. You girls wanna stay on the boat and help us out?” he asked. He got a ‘hell yeah!’ as a response. “Awesome,” he said.

Mark whipped the boat around and we headed back to the dock to pick up a family of four from Texas; mom, dad and two sons, I guessed around thirteen and eight years old. Mark drove the boat out into the open water and asked me if I would straighten out the boat while he got the jackets ready. Mom and dad were going separately and the boys would go together. Gwen helped Sam gather up the parachute and get it ready for launch. With mom ready to go, Sam threw the chute, but it didn’t open. I pulled the boat forward while Gwen and Sam gathered it up again. Second time was a charm and we got mom up in the air. She even played the good sport when it was time for her dipping. Gwen chatted with the boys while I drove and the dad took photos. Then it was dad’s turn. While their dad flew up in the air, the younger of the two boys asked me if I had worked for Awesome Adventures a long time. Sensing his nervousness, I nodded my head.

“So you’ve done this before?” he said pointing gingerly toward his skyward father.
“All the time.”
“So it’s safe then.”
“Of course!”

With the two boys ready to go in the double parasail strap, they looked rather odd with the older brother being so much taller; his legs dangled down awkwardly while the younger boy kept his legs tucked up. Mom expressed a worry that their odd sizes would affect the parasail, but Mark assured her they would be fine. Gwen drove the boat for the boys and she made sure both got a big dunk when the time came. They laughed and hollered. We dropped the family off at the Marriott dock and when dad asked how much, Mark told him it was 40 dollars for the hour. He gave Mark three twenty dollar bills and thanked him.

“This is why I work in the Keys!” Mark said as he pocketed the money. With no more customers we drove the boat around the coast and got to know our shipmates. Mark owned the boat and he looked like he came right out of a Beach Boys song with his dark sunglasses, board shorts and pearly white smile. Although I guessed he was mid-30’s, he didn't act that age. The boat was how he made his living, simply driving up and the down the shores of Key West seven days a week waiting for customers. And if there were no customers?

“Who cares,” he said as he held his arms up to show off the spender of the coastal waters and the beautiful shoreline.

Sam was a dread-locked Australian who began traveling the U.S. three months ago with nothing but a backpack. Mid-20’s or so, he had made his way across North America from California. Sam said Key West was, by far, the best place he had been on his travels. After meeting Mark at a bar, he asked for a job.

“Isn’t it great to be on vacation and not at work?” Mark asked us. Before we could reply, he said, “Oh, wait. I AM at work!” He and Sam laughed as Mark’s cell rang with another customer.

This time it was two teenage girls. They were with their mom when we met them at the pier, but mom didn’t know how to swim and didn’t want to get on the boat. We took the girls out to sea and they sailed together in the dual strap. Again Sam had a little trouble with the chute so Gwen had to come to his rescue. I drove the boat. Once we got the girls in the air, they wouldn’t stop squealing. We stopped over the kelpy water and girls squealed louder as they dropped toward it. One girl was begging us not to dip her in the kelp. Mark ignored them and actually let them sit in the kelp for a second until they stopped whining. Then he told me to gun the motor and up into the sky they went. When their turn was over, they were all giggles and smiles as they came back onto the boat. We dropped them back off at the Marriott pier where mom was waiting.

While cruising the Atlantic Ocean, Mark saw a friend of his riding a jet ski. Bob was enjoying his weekend on the water. Mark waved him over to the boat. After proper introductions, Gwen begged him for ride, climbed on the back and off they went. Mark, Sam and I went to pick up another customer. After an hour, Gwen and Bob cruised up near the boat and with Gwen driving. She turned the handles sharply and the ski almost came to a dead stop as the back end whipped around. Bob was thrown clear of the ski and despite trying to hang on to Gwen, she managed to stay afloat still on the ski. We laughed at the sight of tiny, demur little Gwen able to throw an experienced jet skier like Bob right off.

Now my turn on Bob’s jet ski with Gwen driving Mark’s boat. We headed down the coastline of Key West and I weaved in and around all the boat traffic. I did a sweep to the Gulf of Mexico side just because I could, and then we headed back. Bob wanted to drive so we traded places and with his more advanced skills he jumped some of the ocean waves. We were airborne! Soon Mark’s boat was in the distance. Mark didn’t appear to have any customers and Bob was running low on gas, so it was time to drop me off.

“5 o’clock!” Mark announced that he was done for the day and turned on the boat’s radio to a reggae station. The four of us motored around the gulf side of Key West toward the marina so we could see the famous Key West sunset, but first, some food. With his cell phone, Mark called his favorite pizza place and ordered two pizzas and some beer. He told the pizza place he would meet them at Pier 13 in 20 minutes. Soon enough we headed to Pier 13 and there was the pizza guy, standing on the end of the dock with pizza boxes and a six pack of beer. Armed with sustenance, we again headed out into more open water, waving at the passengers on the evening booze cruise ships that had just left the marina. We danced on the front of the boat until Sam told us to check out the sky. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud and rays of light were spilling out from above and below. Then the sun reappeared below the cloud and the sky filled with pink, red and orange. The water glistened as the huge, orange orb fell behind the water. With the sun gone it was time to take the boat in.

Mark and Sam dropped us off at the Marriott pier where we had met them seven hours earlier. We paid for the parasailing and our share of dinner. Arrangements were made to meet them at a Duval Street pub later, but for some reason they never showed. Actually, a more accurate story was that we arrived too late and they got tired of waiting for us. Oh well. They had been perfect gentlemen all day on the boat and meeting them at the bar may have ruined their cavalier perception. So ended an Awesome Key West Adventure.

***

Sadly, Awesome Adventures is no long around, but there are many fun things to do in Key West. Visit Keywest.com for more info and some great web cams.

This Week: New York City, New York

Late Nite with Conan O'Brien

At 3 p.m. on New Year’s Eve, 1996, my mom and I walked into 30 Rockefeller Center. We had two tickets for Late Nite with Conan O’Brien on NBC. My New York City guide book said to arrive around 3 p.m. to make sure we were guaranteed a seat. Already a number of people were sitting on the floor at a roped off elevator entrance. As we sat down on the floor, my mom overheard a girl in front of us say something about Canada so she asked her where she was from. Turned out she was one of five college students from Toronto who got up before dawn, packed in a car and drove down to NYC just to see their favorite Canadian band, Barenaked Ladies. Since we didn’t know who the guests were, I was thrilled to learn they would be on the show. "If I Had a $1,000,000" was one of my favorite songs. My mother, who only listened to country music, was absolutely mortified that a band would call itself Bare Naked Ladies. I had to reassure her they were not obscene. As we sat there on the floor and waited, we watched the group of people behind us grow larger and spread across the lobby.

After an hour of sitting on the floor bored out of our minds, an NBC page finally rounded us all up. In small groups we were herded into the three elevators that took us up to some unknown floor. We walked out into a labyrinth of offices and filing cabinets. Several NBC pages pointed us through a maze of several hallways and finally through some large metal doors. Even though we were one of the first people to show up to 30 Rock, sadly we ended up in the back row of Studio 6A.

The stage set was very blue, a deep blue, like the nighttime sky, appropriate for a show that airs around midnight. In the left corner was the band section and a drum kit on a raised platform. At the back wall of the stage on a blue platform were musical instruments, which I assumed belonged to the Barenaked Ladies. Next to the stage was Conan’s wood desk and two chairs for guests. Behind the desk was a window facade of the nighttime NYC skyline. On the far right were fire doors that were open with people going in and out. Three large TV cameras were positioned opposite the set. There were already several people working around the cameras and moving wires behind them. Above us televisions hung down from the ceiling rafters. Below each TV was a white sign that said “Audience” in red letters. These TVs would broadcast the show to us as it happened. Since we were sitting in the last row with the stage far below us, those TV’s would come in handy.

Just as we were about to fall asleep waiting for something to happen, a stage manager, clipboard in hand, introduced a comedian. He said the comedian had been on Seinfeld, but I had never heard of him. He told a few jokes, but nothing particularly entertaining. Finally an announcer, who we couldn’t see, got things rolling by introducing the Late Nite Band, The Max Weinberg Seven. He introduced Max first and Max ran out through the open doors, across the stage to the drum kit, jumped onto his stool and began banging away. Better know as the drummer for Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band, he played a fast jazzy beat with a goofy smile on his face. One by one each band member was introduced and then came running out to his place in the bandstand. When they arrived at their place, they picked up their instrument and began playing, each member building on the previous sound. With all seven band members introduced Weinberg kept things moving with a frenetic swing beat while the horn section blared away. Most impressive was the trumpeter who blew a continuous note for one whole minute.

With the pre-show off to a bang, Conan sprang through the fire doors. Upon his introduction, he not only came out onto the stage, but ran up the first few steps into the crowd and sang a rendition of Elvis Presley’s “Burning Love” with the band backing him. His 6'4" frame towered over a woman in the third row as he serenaded her with "hunka hunka burning love!" She shriveled away from him, laughing hysterically. His performance was amazing and the crowd roared with applause when he finished. Finally some real entertainment!

As Conan settled on the stage receiving a touch up of makeup, the stage manager explained how the show would work: The show was shot in real time including commercial breaks and that every time the red light above the TV was lit, the show was live. Also when the audience sign lit up, we should be as “exuberant” as possible. Lastly, we were to have lots of fun. Then the countdown was on…four, three, two, one.

Simultaneously the red light and audience sign lit up and the Max Weinberg Seven began playing. We yelled and clapped as loud as we could, even though we still had no idea who Conan’s guests were. Then the unseen announcer began:

“It’s Late Nite with Cooooo-nan O’Briiiiii-eeeeen! And the Max Weinberg Seven! Tonight’s guests are Scott Thompson and from Saturday Night Live, Molly Shaaaaaannon. Musical guest, Barenaked Ladies!”

We continued “exuberantly” clapping and hollering until Conan asked us to stop so he could deliver his monologue. Conan went through his jokes, which were quite funny, and then the show went to the first commercial break as the band played. They played through the entire two minutes while Conan had his make up touched up some more. During the commercials, there was a countdown clock on the TV monitors so we would know when to be “exuberant” again.

The first guest was Scott Thompson, who was hilarious, expletives and all. One benefit of being in the studio audience was hearing the inappropriate words that would get edited out later, like being in on a private joke. Thompson was on the Larry Shandling Show at the time, but was probably better known for being a member of “Kids in the Hall” with Dave Foley. Conan and Thompson took the time to celebrate the Central Time Zone New Year (since the middle of the show occurs at midnight in the Central Time Zone) complete with confetti and balloons and the band playing Auld Lang Syne, which we all sang.

After another commercial break the next guest was Molly Shannon. At the time she was a new member of the Saturday Night Live cast. She spent most of her interview telling a terrible story about her encounter with actor Gary Coleman in Los Angeles. The story was awful and so outrageous, I had doubts it was even true. Before the show went to its final commercial break a bright light came on behind my mom and me. Surprised, we turned around to find a camera in our faces. We were on TV!

The Barenaked Ladies provided the finale for Late Nite by playing their song, "Brian Wilson." The song’s refrain was “I’m lying in bed, just like Brian Wilson did…” My mom leaned over and whispered, “Are they saying ‘Brian Wilson’?” I told her yes. She said she thought so. I waited for the next question (why are they singing about Brian Wilson?), but it never came. Good thing too because I had no idea how I was going to explain that.

The show ended around 6 p.m. so we had plenty of time before midnight and Times Square. We ate dinner at a restaurant nearby thinking we were close enough for the New Year’s Eve ball drop, but we were wrong. We didn’t get within ten blocks. The streets were packed with people or closed off by police barricade. Several hours later after squeezing ourselves between as many people as we could, we managed to see a tiny white dot sink between two buildings and heard cheering in the distance, so we assumed it must be midnight. Feeling rather anti-climactic we squeezed back through the crowd and then walked down Broadway toward our hotel. Just as we approached the southwest corner of Central Park, a firework show began. Pleasantly surprised, we enjoyed a 15-minute firework show that was far more exciting than being squished between thousands of strangers watching that tiny little dot.

When the fireworks show ended, we went back to our hotel arriving just in time to watch the NBC broadcast of Late Nite on television. The show was even better on TV then when we were in the studio. The crowd sounded louder and the jokes were still funny. The best part was seeing us on TV when the crowd shot was shown before the last commercial. And we thought sitting in the back row was bad thing!

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You too can be a member of a studio audience - You can find information about tickets for all kinds of TV shows either through their website or through the website of the network on which they appear. However, keep these things in mind: Be sure to request your tickets far in advance of your visit to guarantee you get tickets in the first place. To ensure a full house, TV shows give away more tickets than they have seats, so you must arrive several hours before taping, tickets in hand, to guarantee your spot. Be aware most TV shows don’t even tape during holidays, when most of us regular people do our traveling (TV people need vacations too!). The best months for seeing major celebrities on a talk show are the “sweeps” months of November, February, May and July. No recording devices of any kind are allowed (that's why I have no photos of Conan to show you). It’s interesting to see how TV shows are made and if you have the opportunity to get into one, go for it. Remember to be flexible, patient and, most importantly, exuberant!

If you are in New York City, something else that’s fun to do is wave to the cameras at the Today Show, which we did the day before New Year’s Eve. The studio is on the corner of 49th and Rockefeller Plaza. Be sure to dress for the weather. Back then, the Today Show was only two hours long; it’s now four hours long (that’s a lotta standing). We got up at 4 a.m. and arrived at Rockefeller Center around 5:30 a.m. We were nervous about walking around while it was still dark, but there were several shops already open (we bought orange juice and bagels on the way). There were several homeless people sleeping on the streets, however, police officers came around and woke them up telling them to move on. Shop keepers were washing off the sidewalks with hoses and garbage trucks were picking up garbage bags. The city was being cleaned up as we watched, homeless and all. At the time, I thought standing at the Today Show was the silliest, most touristy thing I had ever done, but I had fun. I admit I even made a sign for the cameras. After the show was over, we got a photo with Matt Lauer and his autograph.