COME FLY WITH US To MARGARITA ISLAND- THE SEA, SUN AND FUN ISLAND! CONVIASA FLYS ON FRIDAYS & SUNDAYS A 50 MINS FLIGHT WITH CONNECTIONS TO CARACAS AND OTHER SOUTH AMERICAN DESTINATIONS OUR DEPARTURE TIME 12:25PM Rey THIS ISLAND OFFERS A VARIETY OF ENTERTAINMENT! CASINOS & NIGHTCLUBS WATER SPORTS (SWIMMING WITH DOLPHINS) JEEP SAFARI TOURS EXOTIC AND TASTY CUISINE GREAT FOR SHOPPING a ee WE OFFER SPECIAL HOTEL & AIRFARE PACKAGES! A CHOICE OF 5S AND 3 STAR RATED HOTELS CONTACT DOPCO LIMITED TODAY! OFFICE: @) 444.4732/444-4736 OR DROP IN AT OUR OFFICE LOCATED AT GRAND ANSE (OPPOSITE CK’S SUPERMARKET) OUR EMAIL: dopooiaspioceisle.com Grenada Offering a full range of specialty chocking & storage options . Steel Cradles . Tiedown Anchors throughout the yard . . Mast Removal & Storage . Designated Storage Areas by boat type . 70 ton Travelift Awl Grip Painting Exotic Composite & Fiberglass Rigging Canvas / Sail Loft Electronic / Electrical Mechanical Metal Fabrication & Welding Custom Woodworking Restaurant & Bar Moorings Free Wi-Fi een Island Water World onsite 2 HULL CURE > VOLVO marine - PENTA [ola : eset mae info@grenadamarine.com Fax: +473 443-1668 www.grenadamarine.com Tel: +473 443-1667 FIAO” SIHHO CARIBBEAN CELEBRATIONS Ryan Weaver July 20th, 2009 was one special day. 65 years ago — Bomb almost assassinated Hitler. 40 years ago — First bootprint mashed into lunar dust. 30 years ago — I was born. Thirtieth birthdays are vulnerable to insults, I discovered. My younger sisters looked with persistence for symptoms of my new old age: hair loss and gain in all the wrong places, wrinkles, a limp, liver spots, incontinence, etcetera. My parents sympathized by whisking me away to Barbuda. It wasn’t a very far whisking because we were already in Antigua. Still, an escape from an escape ought to keep my newly old disposition refreshed and cheerful. The Barbuda Express ferry parking lot was empty except for a beer label fluttering across the pavement. When I mentioned our reservations to the ticket lady she looked at her paperwork and cranked an eyebrow up a good half-inch. “Says here you en’t have no tour,” she said. “We prefer to do our own thing.” “Ooo-kay.” Courtesy of recent atmospheric temper tantrums, the ferry crossing was adventure- some. We performed levitation tricks each time the catamaran went freefalling down the backside of a swell. Mom tried to enhance the thrill of this phenomenon by hopping but accidentally launched her head into the roof and was forced into retirement. Despite earnest effort we made only a splashy, millimetric progress. It was not hard to believe that the Apocalypse would arrive before Barbuda. We weren't able to sight the island until it was right in front of us, because it’s flat. This was news to me. I suddenly came to the realization that I knew nothing about Barbuda. Nothing, that is, except what the perpetual ad-campaign in my travel magazines claimed: that Barbuda was all beauty and charm, riches and exclusivity — just the type of snooty island one deserved on one’s 30th birthday. But the port wasn’t snooty. In fact I could identify nothing resembling a port. Instead, Captain Greg seemed to be deliberately pointing our bow at an eyesore of a shipwreck. The shipwreck consisted of rusty iron ribs drooping into a shallow sea. Beyond the shipwreck lay a milky lagoon and a wharf where some battered boats rollicked. Ashore, two busted vans awaited arriving locals. That was it. No taxis; no buildings; nothing. Nearby an elevator dumped sand atop an industrial-sized pile that grew no bigger because the wind whipped it all off and carried it along the road and flung it into our faces. “Happy Birthday, Ryan!” Mom shouted. Ha, ha, hal I assured my bewildered party that if we walked out past the chain-link fence with the faded plywood welcome sign we'd surely hit a town soon. No island whose bloodline was tourism, I assured them, would dare maroon their tourists in this rubble pit. But the view stretching far down River Road (there are no rivers on Barbuda, by the way) consisted of nothing but potholes and palm trees. We trudged back and knocked on the window of the only vehicle left at the ferry landing. The driver seemed baffled when we said we wanted to go to town. “To rent a car,” I explained. This put the driver in a state of noggin-scratching pontification. He scrolled through his phone contacts and dialed the proprietor of (let’s call it) Acme Rentals: ACME RENTALS For the best in rentals use Acme Rentals. The cost of getting a rental is never as affordable before. Come enjoy Barbuda in air-conditioning comfort. Acme agreed to help us out and I found myself charmed once again by the Caribbean work ethic: why waste time holding regular hours at your rental car agency when you could take the day off until someone phoned? It’s sound logic. The island passing us by looked parched, thorny and scrubby, the type of place you'd expect to see cattle bones half buried in the dirt. The road was poor. —Continued on next page