The end

Our final snorkel excursion took us around Pigeon Island to a cove somewhat further away.

This time Jason very kindly rented me a wetsuit, which kept me from chattering in my mask after thirty minutes.

Fort Rodney from below

After snorkeling, we lounged in chairs by the pool and assessed the situation.  It was our last afternoon.  We had snorkeled all over the place.  We had eaten at all the good places.  We had lounged; we had danced.


We decided there were only two things lacking.  We had not swum in every pool.  And we had not tasted every cocktail on the menu.


It was time to get to work.

This particular pool ended at a rocky drop-off, beside which I am standing.  Water from the upper pool trickled through the rocks and overflowed into a lower pool below.  There is no way to get from one pool to the other without getting out and walking all the way around.  Or, of course, heaving yourself onto the sharp rocks, edging down the slippery waterfall, and then leaping into the pool below, all without spilling your drink in the pool or killing yourself.  I did go on record as saying that was a bad idea.  But the couple next to us at the wall egged us on and said their brother-in-law did it.  So, really, what choice did we have?  

Drinking a Bob Marley.  Wet hair may or may not be due to leaping over jagged waterfall into rather shallow lower pool.

Our pool tour complete, we lounged again at the main pool and polished off the last few cocktails while we watched the crowd--in particular, one dear woman who had possibly sampled the entire drink menu in the last hour, who had a kind soul on either side of her at the swim-up bar with an arm around her, propping her up.  When they got distracted and let go, off she went, over backwards into the pool.  

Her friend fished her out and dragged her around for a while, keeping her head above water.  They fed her pizza and laid her out, laughing hysterically, on the side of the pool.  

Bless her, it's a good thing she wasn't confronted with a judgement call involving a hazardous waterfall.

Our dinner reservation was at the Japanese steakhouse Kimono's, but first we took a stroll at sunset.

We were seated next to an uncommonly talkative gentleman from California.

Can you find the hummingbird?

He kept up an unbreaking stream of conversation with us, despite Jason's encouragement to engage the help of his personal butler to win back the good graces of his wife, who had actually walked out during the first course.  When our meal was finished and he showed no sign of departure, we excused ourselves to the bathroom and escaped out the back.


We wondered for days afterward if Mr. California was still sitting at that table, waiting for us to come back.

After dinner we played one last game of billiards, in which I was actually beating Jason the whole time, all the way to the end, when I brilliantly, astonishingly shot the 8-ball into the side pocket at an unbelievable angle, after having called the corner pocket. 


So, I lost on a technicality.


Fortunately, the night club opened to console me with music, dancing, and a chocolate buffet.

Thus came to a close our week of sumptuous luxury, having been fully spoiled by land and by sea, coming in and going out, mind, body and soul.

I don't think I could have left at all had I not the faith of C. S. Lewis.

There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.

One day God will create a new earth.  All will be beautiful, glorious, and alive.  

I don't think the new St. Lucia will be much different than the old one.  

And I can't wait to go there again.