How a Delayed Honeymoon Set Our Travel Wheels in Motion
Our sandcastle on Cinnamon Bay
Part One
By PAMELA BARKER
How did it all really begin?
Travel in our lives.
It's a long and winding road for the two of us, which I will not even begin to dissect in this missive. What I will do is share the beginning, the early days of us when I was young and clueless, and he was 23 and a lot less clueless.
There was this thing I did when I was 21. More on that later in the story.
You see, at that age I was married to the person I met when I was 18 and a freshman college student focusing on dance. Of course, I was taking all the required courses, plus sociology and anthropology. When I began that freshman year, I was 17 and only knew I would be going to New York City and land my dancing feet on Broadway.
Coming from a family of newspaper readers -- morning, afternoon and Sunday -- I poured over the Travel Section every Sunday, clipping out favorite stories and places I wanted to go. One Sunday I was intrigued by an article extolling the virtues of an island called, St. John, which had a national park with few inhabitants. Yes, St. John went in my little box of travel dreams along with, Crete.
Funny, how the Universe can have other plans, which brings me to beginning of travel in our life together.
By PAMELA BARKER
How did it all really begin?
Travel in our lives.
It's a long and winding road for the two of us, which I will not even begin to dissect in this missive. What I will do is share the beginning, the early days of us when I was young and clueless, and he was 23 and a lot less clueless.
There was this thing I did when I was 21. More on that later in the story.
You see, at that age I was married to the person I met when I was 18 and a freshman college student focusing on dance. Of course, I was taking all the required courses, plus sociology and anthropology. When I began that freshman year, I was 17 and only knew I would be going to New York City and land my dancing feet on Broadway.
Coming from a family of newspaper readers -- morning, afternoon and Sunday -- I poured over the Travel Section every Sunday, clipping out favorite stories and places I wanted to go. One Sunday I was intrigued by an article extolling the virtues of an island called, St. John, which had a national park with few inhabitants. Yes, St. John went in my little box of travel dreams along with, Crete.
Funny, how the Universe can have other plans, which brings me to beginning of travel in our life together.
Pam on St. John
This is not my life story, just a particular segment, but a few details are helpful.
The beginning.
Without a cold January night, my adventure at 21 would be quite different.
You see, little did I realize when I stepped into that room and saw my blind date...wearing the best jeans, the best shirt, and the best hair, my life, with Gerry Pronounced Gary, was about to take a huge turn. But, that part of my life is for another time.
That thing I did when I was 21?
Camping.
Some who really know me understand camping and I are not friends, but when my mate suggested we go camping for our delayed honeymoon, I figured the adventure of camping on St. John in the U.S. Virgin Island sounded exotic, and I was all in.
So, for over one year, we saved as the trip had to be paid for in cash. I had a Neiman Marcus credit card that would take us absolutely nowhere, and he had one MasterCard. At 21 and 23, how far could we really get on those?
Let the saving begin.
Plans were made.
Nice new luggage, red and black, was purchased.
Never one to leave anything to chance, then as now, Gerry took that year to plan every detail. Yet, does anything ever totally go as planned?
The basic plan was to fly to New York, land at JFK, and take a bus into Manhattan. Budget, remember?
We would spend one night at the iconic, Chelsea Hotel and see the sights. Fly out the next day to St. Thomas, stay a night at the Galleon House boutique hotel (breakfast included helped our budget), then take a taxi to Red Hook landing, catch a boat to St. John, and Cinnamon Bay.
How difficult could any of that be? Just wait.
Although no white board was used, everything was precisely planned and reservations were made.
The camping part at Cinnamon Bay Campground on St. John. Each campsite was privately ensconced in the massive flora along the beach. Private. Steps away from the water.
Although sleeping would be inside a tent, it was on a high foundation, and the campground provided everything you needed. Not unlike the trailer in the film, “The Long Long Trailer.” All we had to do was provide our own provisions, which could be purchased at the small, but nice, on-site store.
Budget alarms were sounded, and we decided to buy canned food to take with us. After all, we had that entire set of brand new luggage.
Our budget was tight and our stay would be for two weeks.
Yes, arriving with our own provision sounded good, but did it?
One year passed. Canned food, mosquito spray and clothing packed,. We were off, St. John was waiting, along with the ruins of the sugar plantations, waiting to be hiked.
Here is where inexperience absolutely rears its head, and it did so at several turns.
Let's get into it. Shall we?
Luggage claimed, since there were not wheels at that time, we immediately realized balancing the weight and number of bags on a bus was not jovial, but we pressed on.
The bus ride into Manhattan was long, but we were happy idiots anyway. We rode to the end of the line and the bus driver indicated it was time to exit. He watched as we wrestled luggage. Did I mention this was our first time in the Big Apple?
Once off the bus, I asked the driver which way to Grand Central. He grinned silently, and pointed over his shoulder. The vision came into view. We were there.
Hustling luggage into the station, we were ready for the subway which would be a quick ride to the area of the Chelsea.
With glee, we managed to board the subway car, luggage in tow. Well, we could check that off our list. See you soon, Chelsea.
One little problem, though. As the car zipped along, we bypassed our stop. Time to hoist the bags off and try again. Bypassing our stop kept happening until the realization struck...we were on the express instead of the local.
Finally, we exited at Penn Station, and by this point we were ready to ditch the canned food and the piece of luggage with it. Madison Square Garden, we see you and we need to sit and think about our choices at this point.
Via our feet, with the luggage, which had become like another person to be dragged along, we arrived at the Chelsea and until the next morning, we engaged in the magic of being in the City. The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Choc full o'Nuts (budget). It was grand.
Although no white board was used, everything was precisely planned and reservations were made.
The camping part at Cinnamon Bay Campground on St. John. Each campsite was privately ensconced in the massive flora along the beach. Private. Steps away from the water.
Although sleeping would be inside a tent, it was on a high foundation, and the campground provided everything you needed. Not unlike the trailer in the film, “The Long Long Trailer.” All we had to do was provide our own provisions, which could be purchased at the small, but nice, on-site store.
Budget alarms were sounded, and we decided to buy canned food to take with us. After all, we had that entire set of brand new luggage.
Our budget was tight and our stay would be for two weeks.
Yes, arriving with our own provision sounded good, but did it?
One year passed. Canned food, mosquito spray and clothing packed,. We were off, St. John was waiting, along with the ruins of the sugar plantations, waiting to be hiked.
Here is where inexperience absolutely rears its head, and it did so at several turns.
Let's get into it. Shall we?
Luggage claimed, since there were not wheels at that time, we immediately realized balancing the weight and number of bags on a bus was not jovial, but we pressed on.
The bus ride into Manhattan was long, but we were happy idiots anyway. We rode to the end of the line and the bus driver indicated it was time to exit. He watched as we wrestled luggage. Did I mention this was our first time in the Big Apple?
Once off the bus, I asked the driver which way to Grand Central. He grinned silently, and pointed over his shoulder. The vision came into view. We were there.
Hustling luggage into the station, we were ready for the subway which would be a quick ride to the area of the Chelsea.
With glee, we managed to board the subway car, luggage in tow. Well, we could check that off our list. See you soon, Chelsea.
One little problem, though. As the car zipped along, we bypassed our stop. Time to hoist the bags off and try again. Bypassing our stop kept happening until the realization struck...we were on the express instead of the local.
Finally, we exited at Penn Station, and by this point we were ready to ditch the canned food and the piece of luggage with it. Madison Square Garden, we see you and we need to sit and think about our choices at this point.
Via our feet, with the luggage, which had become like another person to be dragged along, we arrived at the Chelsea and until the next morning, we engaged in the magic of being in the City. The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Choc full o'Nuts (budget). It was grand.
Morning dawned and with our luggage companions (we had not ditched the canned goods), it was time for a return to Grand Central and the bus back to JFK.
On the bus, the luggage stored under it, we sighed with accomplishment, American Airlines would have to deal with those black and red monsters.
Arriving at the airport, our apprehension began to elevate, as we had allowed the exact amount of time to get to the American terminal.
But there was a problem: The bus began to circle into every terminal -- except ours.
Discussing our dilemma with the driver, he dropped us at another terminal with instructions to make a run for our terminal.
The monster bags in our arms, we did just that.
We ran through JFK and made it to our terminal just in time to see the area empty and hear them say boarding was about to close. We could not miss the flight from New York to St Thomas, as there was only one per day.
Why do I believe, with all my heart, about how the Universe shows up in life just when you really need it?
The black and reds were checked and we made the flight.
We made the flight to St. Thomas seated in First Class, not the tickets we purchased.
Morning dawned and with our luggage companions (we had not ditched the canned goods), it was time for a return to Grand Central and the bus back to JFK.
On the bus, the luggage stored under it, we sighed with accomplishment, American Airlines would have to deal with those black and red monsters.
Arriving at the airport, our apprehension began to elevate, as we had allowed the exact amount of time to get to the American terminal.
But there was a problem: The bus began to circle into every terminal -- except ours.
Discussing our dilemma with the driver, he dropped us at another terminal with instructions to make a run for our terminal.
The monster bags in our arms, we did just that.
We ran through JFK and made it to our terminal just in time to see the area empty and hear them say boarding was about to close. We could not miss the flight from New York to St Thomas, as there was only one per day.
Why do I believe, with all my heart, about how the Universe shows up in life just when you really need it?
The black and reds were checked and we made the flight.
We made the flight to St. Thomas seated in First Class, not the tickets we purchased.
Pam shopping on St Thomas
Part Two
Lounging in First Class luxury on the flight from New York to St. Thomas, eating Hearts of Palm, we were aware the landing in St. Thomas meant touching down and braking quickly because of mountains.
I knew the landing had the potential to be dangerous because Gerry left no stone un-turned, like it was discovery in a legal case, when it came to trip preparation. Some things should be left unsaid, wouldn't you agree?
On the approach to the island, gazing out the window was thrilling. It was gorgeous. The water was the bluest, the mountain ranges looked exotic with red-roof-topped houses dotted low and high in the hills of Charlotte Amalie.
It was adventure time, and I was not even thinking about the black and red monsters containing our provisions while camping on St. John. Today we were in St. Thomas, with overnight reservations at a place called, Galleon House, on the hill above the port and the downtown area.
The Galleon House was reasonably priced for our budget, and the location was perfect as it was not far from the dock where we would catch the ferry boat to St. John. A brief taxi ride and we arrived at our hotel. Reading about something and seeing it can go many ways,. In this case, we were not disappointed as the overall vibe was casual, comfortable and welcoming. But, most importantly, the views were breathtaking.
Exciting for me, the historic shopping district, Dronningens Gade (Danish name) was just down the hill, a brief walk. Stowing the black and red monsters in our cozy room, we were off to the duty-free shops. Of course, one of us was way more excited than the other. As we are going back in time in this missive, my first travel to an island brought a surprise. In the heat of the day, the shops close for a few hours until things begin to cool down. They no longer do that unless there are no cruise ships in port (not very likely). The good news for us was that the Orange Julius fast food place was open and busy. We would come to know that OJ over our time in the Virgin Islands.
Sipping a cold Orange Julius but no shopping, -- more on that later. It was time to explore the waterfront and the historic neoclassical government house built between 1864 and 1867, and the famed 99 Steps which must be climbed.
Part Two
Lounging in First Class luxury on the flight from New York to St. Thomas, eating Hearts of Palm, we were aware the landing in St. Thomas meant touching down and braking quickly because of mountains.
I knew the landing had the potential to be dangerous because Gerry left no stone un-turned, like it was discovery in a legal case, when it came to trip preparation. Some things should be left unsaid, wouldn't you agree?
On the approach to the island, gazing out the window was thrilling. It was gorgeous. The water was the bluest, the mountain ranges looked exotic with red-roof-topped houses dotted low and high in the hills of Charlotte Amalie.
It was adventure time, and I was not even thinking about the black and red monsters containing our provisions while camping on St. John. Today we were in St. Thomas, with overnight reservations at a place called, Galleon House, on the hill above the port and the downtown area.
The Galleon House was reasonably priced for our budget, and the location was perfect as it was not far from the dock where we would catch the ferry boat to St. John. A brief taxi ride and we arrived at our hotel. Reading about something and seeing it can go many ways,. In this case, we were not disappointed as the overall vibe was casual, comfortable and welcoming. But, most importantly, the views were breathtaking.
Exciting for me, the historic shopping district, Dronningens Gade (Danish name) was just down the hill, a brief walk. Stowing the black and red monsters in our cozy room, we were off to the duty-free shops. Of course, one of us was way more excited than the other. As we are going back in time in this missive, my first travel to an island brought a surprise. In the heat of the day, the shops close for a few hours until things begin to cool down. They no longer do that unless there are no cruise ships in port (not very likely). The good news for us was that the Orange Julius fast food place was open and busy. We would come to know that OJ over our time in the Virgin Islands.
Sipping a cold Orange Julius but no shopping, -- more on that later. It was time to explore the waterfront and the historic neoclassical government house built between 1864 and 1867, and the famed 99 Steps which must be climbed.
On the ferry to St. John
Up early the next day, we began to learn more of the ropes of travel as the included breakfast meant communal dining with others and a Great Dane that lingered at my elbow. It was a gorgeous setting, cool morning breeze, good breakfast and the excitement that we would soon be departing for Red Hook Landing to catch the ferry to Cruz Bay on St. John.
Actually leaving St. Thomas for the anticipated beauty of St. John. filled me with mixed emotions. My mind was torn between actually pressing feet into the sandy beach of Cinnamon Bay and the unexpected adventure. I knew the beach was referred to as one of the longest and most breathtaking, white-sand beaches in the Virgin Islands National Park, so it had to be worthy.
During the ferry ride from Red Hook Landing to Cruz Bay, my thoughts returned to how my teenage self had dreamed of this happening in my life. Now, did I really want to do this or just enjoy the comfort of a sweet boutique hotel with shopping on cobblestone streets nearby. Then it hit me. Reality.
Camping.
Hiking.
Let me stop at this point to say, Gerry, my travel expert even then, was all in on everything. He had no trepidation outside of our budget considerations. We were young, inexperienced travelers, but he was one to seriously take care of business, even at that age. Certainly he never expressed anything but joy and being all in.
Arriving on St. John meant a taxi (Jeep) ride of about five miles to reach Cinnamon Bay. Unlike today, St. John did not have much going on, it was pristine.
Cinnamon Bay, campground was to be our honeymoon home for the next, almost two weeks. Did that work out?
We were not disappointed as the campground delivered on their promises -- everything was provided with the exception of food.
Actually leaving St. Thomas for the anticipated beauty of St. John. filled me with mixed emotions. My mind was torn between actually pressing feet into the sandy beach of Cinnamon Bay and the unexpected adventure. I knew the beach was referred to as one of the longest and most breathtaking, white-sand beaches in the Virgin Islands National Park, so it had to be worthy.
During the ferry ride from Red Hook Landing to Cruz Bay, my thoughts returned to how my teenage self had dreamed of this happening in my life. Now, did I really want to do this or just enjoy the comfort of a sweet boutique hotel with shopping on cobblestone streets nearby. Then it hit me. Reality.
Camping.
Hiking.
Let me stop at this point to say, Gerry, my travel expert even then, was all in on everything. He had no trepidation outside of our budget considerations. We were young, inexperienced travelers, but he was one to seriously take care of business, even at that age. Certainly he never expressed anything but joy and being all in.
Arriving on St. John meant a taxi (Jeep) ride of about five miles to reach Cinnamon Bay. Unlike today, St. John did not have much going on, it was pristine.
Cinnamon Bay, campground was to be our honeymoon home for the next, almost two weeks. Did that work out?
We were not disappointed as the campground delivered on their promises -- everything was provided with the exception of food.
None of that really mattered when we stepped through the sea-grape barrier vegetation because before us was the most stunning beach and view we had ever seen. St. John, we have arrived. We spent scant time worrying about the camping at that point, just changed into swimsuits and jumped in. Immediately upon entering the water it was clear, I mean literally clear like glass, everything below water level was visible. The tiny fish swimming around my legs were exotic, brightly neon colored like the most beautiful aquarium I could imagine.
Settled into our tent set-up, we planned our hikes to the various ruins around the island. The Sugar Plantations were quite interesting. Keeping it real, the island was heaven, heaven with mosquitoes and afternoon rain every day like clockwork.
It took only a few hikes to realize leaving our non-resistant to rain bug-spray at the tent, was not the best idea. Mosquitoes love Gerry and they cared for me a bit too much as well. Another lesson learned.
Our days were filled with beach time, in the water or building sandcastles, hiking, exploring the island, including our beach neighbor, Caneel Bay (no longer open). The nights were romantic, sitting on the beach as darkness fell, then the star-packed sky lit up like the most beautiful planetarium. Our fellow campers mostly kept to themselves, so the evenings on the beach were perfect. Quiet.
Now, let me get back to the thing I said I did when I was 21.
This.
Camping even in a tropical paradise is still just that camping.
Let me break it down for you.
The tent was not bad, but the cots were just that, cots. We pushed them together and made a double cot. Yeah, you can imagine the comfort of that.
By camping standards I will say our accommodations could be considered almost luxury. Included were bedding, towels, Coleman cooler, cooking equipment, eating and cooking utensils, flashlights, lanterns and water in a container.
A note about bathing.
It was an outdoor shower. Communal. Now, it was private, but little bugs were known to join me and that was not okay. My hair was almost waist length, so showering took time and I was always aware of others needing a rinse as well.
Camping and cooking.
First thing I need to say, my Mother was not one to encourage cooking. She did it. Done.
None of that really mattered when we stepped through the sea-grape barrier vegetation because before us was the most stunning beach and view we had ever seen. St. John, we have arrived. We spent scant time worrying about the camping at that point, just changed into swimsuits and jumped in. Immediately upon entering the water it was clear, I mean literally clear like glass, everything below water level was visible. The tiny fish swimming around my legs were exotic, brightly neon colored like the most beautiful aquarium I could imagine.
Settled into our tent set-up, we planned our hikes to the various ruins around the island. The Sugar Plantations were quite interesting. Keeping it real, the island was heaven, heaven with mosquitoes and afternoon rain every day like clockwork.
It took only a few hikes to realize leaving our non-resistant to rain bug-spray at the tent, was not the best idea. Mosquitoes love Gerry and they cared for me a bit too much as well. Another lesson learned.
Our days were filled with beach time, in the water or building sandcastles, hiking, exploring the island, including our beach neighbor, Caneel Bay (no longer open). The nights were romantic, sitting on the beach as darkness fell, then the star-packed sky lit up like the most beautiful planetarium. Our fellow campers mostly kept to themselves, so the evenings on the beach were perfect. Quiet.
Now, let me get back to the thing I said I did when I was 21.
This.
Camping even in a tropical paradise is still just that camping.
Let me break it down for you.
The tent was not bad, but the cots were just that, cots. We pushed them together and made a double cot. Yeah, you can imagine the comfort of that.
By camping standards I will say our accommodations could be considered almost luxury. Included were bedding, towels, Coleman cooler, cooking equipment, eating and cooking utensils, flashlights, lanterns and water in a container.
A note about bathing.
It was an outdoor shower. Communal. Now, it was private, but little bugs were known to join me and that was not okay. My hair was almost waist length, so showering took time and I was always aware of others needing a rinse as well.
Camping and cooking.
First thing I need to say, my Mother was not one to encourage cooking. She did it. Done.
Pam in our camping kitchen
Therefore, I did not know how to cook anything except scrambled eggs (how can that go wrong) when Gerry and I got married and learning more than that was a process of a few years. Having said that, cooking on an outdoor Coleman range, powered by some sort of gas, was definitely a challenge.
There are no snakes on St. John, and giving a tip of the hat to those strange creatures, the mongoose. Really appreciate them. However, on a particular morning I had made that one thing I knew how to make, scrambled eggs (purchased from the Cinnamon Bay store), left them to stay warm on the stove in the pan, and turned to get Gerry from the tent. Immediately turning back to the stove, to my shock a furry mongoose was feasting on the eggs.
It was time to dig into some of those canned goods we lugged to the island.
We enjoyed our time, greatly, on St. John, but we cut it short and returned to Galleon House on St. Thomas. Grateful were we they had a vacancy. Admittedly, we were there in November, still a hurricane threat possible. This expense was unexpected, but we managed. At this point, Gerry could have been experiencing unspoken budget stress. Most likely was.
Once back on St. Thomas, I finally shopped. We ate at Orange Julius, where we were regulars as we had to make up for the hotel expense.
We splurged one evening to celebrate, at Sebastians on the waterfront. Fancy.
By the end of our trip, we were going home with shoes for me, jewelry for me, a heavy cast iron lantern (crated in a box) a small round mahogany table and loads of souvenirs for friends and family.
We have learned so much from those days, me in particular. I still over-pack, but I don't over-shop. As a matter of fact, even with all the thousands upon thousands of miles we have covered...we, certainly I, remain in a travel learning curve. You never know everything.
About our budget.
We came home with $10.
Therefore, I did not know how to cook anything except scrambled eggs (how can that go wrong) when Gerry and I got married and learning more than that was a process of a few years. Having said that, cooking on an outdoor Coleman range, powered by some sort of gas, was definitely a challenge.
There are no snakes on St. John, and giving a tip of the hat to those strange creatures, the mongoose. Really appreciate them. However, on a particular morning I had made that one thing I knew how to make, scrambled eggs (purchased from the Cinnamon Bay store), left them to stay warm on the stove in the pan, and turned to get Gerry from the tent. Immediately turning back to the stove, to my shock a furry mongoose was feasting on the eggs.
It was time to dig into some of those canned goods we lugged to the island.
We enjoyed our time, greatly, on St. John, but we cut it short and returned to Galleon House on St. Thomas. Grateful were we they had a vacancy. Admittedly, we were there in November, still a hurricane threat possible. This expense was unexpected, but we managed. At this point, Gerry could have been experiencing unspoken budget stress. Most likely was.
Once back on St. Thomas, I finally shopped. We ate at Orange Julius, where we were regulars as we had to make up for the hotel expense.
We splurged one evening to celebrate, at Sebastians on the waterfront. Fancy.
By the end of our trip, we were going home with shoes for me, jewelry for me, a heavy cast iron lantern (crated in a box) a small round mahogany table and loads of souvenirs for friends and family.
We have learned so much from those days, me in particular. I still over-pack, but I don't over-shop. As a matter of fact, even with all the thousands upon thousands of miles we have covered...we, certainly I, remain in a travel learning curve. You never know everything.
About our budget.
We came home with $10.
Gerry's budget records
Through the years, we have been back to St. Thomas more times than I can count. We still always stop by the outside of the Galleon House for a quick photo, we occasionally talk about staying there again.
A trip back to St John a few years ago meant staying at a new luxury hotel. I missed the way it was that first time.
One last thing.
About those travel sections I poured over and clipped articles from as a teen, the world does spin in mysterious ways.
In our careers in the world of media, we worked with and came to be good friends with the Travel Editor who wrote and oversaw all those pages and articles, the ones I read as a teen. He was a highly respected journalist, world traveler and great person.
Even more interesting, Gerry edited a book he wrote. It was not about travel.
Finally...I am his travel Plus-One and we still have not made it to Crete.
A trip back to St John a few years ago meant staying at a new luxury hotel. I missed the way it was that first time.
One last thing.
About those travel sections I poured over and clipped articles from as a teen, the world does spin in mysterious ways.
In our careers in the world of media, we worked with and came to be good friends with the Travel Editor who wrote and oversaw all those pages and articles, the ones I read as a teen. He was a highly respected journalist, world traveler and great person.
Even more interesting, Gerry edited a book he wrote. It was not about travel.
Finally...I am his travel Plus-One and we still have not made it to Crete.
