What's saving my life right now

I'm linking up again today with Modern Mrs. Darcy to share what's saving my life at this mid-point of winter.


My lifeline of happy right now isn't particularly reproducible, or one that makes any of my friends sympathetic, but it is honest.


Pictures of St. Lucia.

Pigeon Island in the background, which is neither a pigeon nor an island.  It was an island, until they dumped a bunch of fill and connected it to the mainland, so now it's a peninsula, called Pigeon Island.

Breakfast alfresco.

I can't get enough.

Hiking up Pigeon Island.

Fort Rodney, at the top of one of the two peaks of the [former] island; built by the British to ward off the French.

Our fifteenth-anniversary trip was quite possibly the best vacation I've ever had.

The other hill--Signal Peak (so named for its use by the US during WWII).  Also, the faint outline of Martinique in the background on the left.

Our resort, occupying the artificial causeway connecting Pigeon Island and St. Lucia; and Rodney Bay; from Fort Rodney.

It was heartbreaking to leave.  And, although I have sighed and repined enough that Jason has threatened me ("If you're going to be this depressed, I'm never taking you anywhere again!"), when I look out at a bleak frozen landscape, in my mind I see lush hibiscus and crystal turquoise water.

I later overheard someone at the resort asking someone else how long it takes to hike up Pigeon Island.  The man said, "Well, you go up there, and then you take about a hundred selfies, and then you climb the other peak...."  In other words, you're gonna spend much longer than the actual walking part.

Actual hiking time:  23 minutes.
Time spent taking selfies:  58 minutes.
Total time investment for present and future happiness:  priceless.

Rodney Bay, which we paddled clear across in a kayak on our first day.

I'm doing my best to cruise on the island-vibe momentum, channelling the utter relaxation I felt for a solid week.

Top of Signal Peak.

Looking back at Fort Rodney from the higher Signal Peak.

I love a pretty picture, and getting to flick through dozens of them that are connected in my mind to happy feelings and warm breezes and tons of fun..... it's saving my life this winter.

While at the top, we met a man from London who struck up a conversation, rendered delightful not only because of his friendliness, but also, obvs, because of his British accent.  Noting Jason's NYC shirt, he asked where we were from, which led to a discussion of the US as a tourist destination.  He had been to several American cities but expressed a desire to return for more sightseeing, at which we enthusiastically encouraged him... until we remembered that our federal government was at that moment technically shuttered, led by a head of state who is--ahem--not quite in the posture of unfurling the welcome mat for our foreign friends.  We faltered and then mumbled, "well, maybe in a few years..."  He very generously said, "We all have our lit'l problems, don't we?", citing the Brexit chaos, which I thought very kind, since from my perspective that seems much less embarrassing.  

I also had to ask Mr. London why he chose to come all the way to the Caribbean, when isn't the Mediterranean warm and lovely?  In explaining that the winter weather there is reasonable but not as warm as St. Lucia, he told us that this time of year it's "in the mid-twenties."  Jason and I both fell silent.  I realized right away he was talking Celsius and was mentally scrambling to do the math before he noticed our American ignorance.  Not fast enough--we had to admit we didn't know what that meant, but his apology and interpretation were most friendly, and so charmingly British-accented.

On the way back down the mountain, we met a young woman from Trinidad, who commended a visit to her country to us.  Such enjoyable interactions with people of various nationalities.

Another day in paradise

After a long day of traveling and then a full day of playing, we slept in on Tuesday.  I patiently shot all these pictures from our balcony while Jason finished his snooze.

Do St. Lucians even know what January is?

When I could be patient no more, we emerged around 11am in search of breakfast, which we found at the crêperie.  Although it had technically switched over to lunch, we still got our very tasty crêpes champignons.


After breakfast/lunch/brunch, we swam out and lounged in one of the circle floaties--big yellow rings holding up mesh nets (rather like a trampoline, but not bouncy) anchored out in the water.

Circle floaties visible in the background.

After sufficient lazing around, we visited the aqua center and made reservations for two snorkel trips later in the week, having come too late to reserve a spot for that day's tour.


No matter though; we plunged back in from the beach and snorkeled around the swimming area on our own.  We saw another eel, whole schools of ghosty-white fish, and an anemone straight out of Finding Nemo. 


In the early afternoon we went back to haunt the aqua center, so we could jump on the tour if someone didn't show up.  We met another couple there who had the same idea just before us ("I figure someone here has got to be hungover," as he sensibly said).  We chatted with them while we waited, and I was amused at their surprise that I readily identified their Canadian nationality by their accent. 


In the end, Mr. and Mrs. Canada got into the tour group and we didn't, so Jason decided to rent a jet ski for us.  It was at this moment that I realized that I had left my phone in the hot sun, like a complete idiot. 


I carried the wounded phone back to our room to cool off and have its best chance at recovery while berating my own stupidity.  Jason promised he still loved me and offered to let me drive the jet ski.


Do you know how fast those things go???

He was completely confident in my driving.

We crossed the bay much faster than by paddling, and visited the next bay over, as well as checking out a rock sticking out of the water we could see from a distance.

He eventually gained some courage.

After turning in our jet ski, it was more snorkeling at the beach before a late lunch at The Mariner--a Caesar salad with fresh snapper for me, delicious.  Then we moved to the pool and worked down the drink menu for a while.  We made some inquiries of a few people who were drinking out of coconuts, but never did crack the mystery of how to get them.  

By early evening, we found a smaller, deserted hot tub where we goofed off for a while before walking to the end of the pier to watch the sunset.

After the sun sank, we sat on a couch on the pier and watched the sky change from fiery to dark, and then we headed off to get ready for dinner at ye Olde London Pub.  I had the satisfyingly British-sounding bangers and mash (sausage and mashed potatoes), and one or more "signature cocktails."


Needing to redeem my terrible showing at billiards the night before, we replayed...and I was as unskilled as I ever am.  I did happen to make one incredibly lucky, beautiful shot, just as some men were walking past, who exclaimed at my prodigious skill and hoped that Jason wasn't playing me for money.  I let them marvel in their misjudgment all the way out of the hall before taking my next shot.


A warm, breezy walk on the beach, and another day in tropical paradise came to a blissful end.