Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The time i cruised with my dad. Part VII

I'm too lazy to sort these photos. Also, blogger is being a dick about it.

Cruise, day 7.

Here it's been over a year and i'm going to try to recall our tour on the island of St. Marten. Or if you're French, St. Maarten.

There is a bit of a tiff between the dutch and the french regarding this island. Our driver gave us the scoop and was clearly dutch. When we crossed onto the french said, he said we "can boo, now." This is the island that dad and I spent alone. We took our taxi tour and we shopped and then? We saw a gigantic penis. This is also the island where my photos of the water, were the bluest. The rooftops of the buildings were the most colorful and when you combine vivid colors with the oceanist blue, it makes for some frameable photos.

At first, when we arrived to port, there were a few brown guys (I say brown because I really couldn't tell you their nationality. Indian, maybe? See, I don't want to guess. So they were brown.) who kinda kept looking at me. I tried not to notice but they were smiling so big. Did they know me from somewhere? I behaved like a goddam nun on the ship, it's not like they saw my boobs some drunken evening. Finally, they approached me and introduced themselves; they were waiters from the dining room. They weren't in their usual, maroon colored, RC regalia. Their tshirts, flip flops and backpacks threw me off. I should have guessed, Parnil had told me the night before, when I was eating my B&J that this is the island where all of the staff will leave the ship to go play. St. Maarten is the gem of all islands. So, the waiters from the dining room were heading to the beach because this was, apparently, the best island. But dad and I didn't go to the beach. We took a taxi tour around the entire island. We were spent from all of the sun bathing and eating that we just wanted to sit in a taxi and be educated. It was delightful. We stopped in Marigot. This is a shopping center that I was looking forward to. “The historical Marigot shopping center” one of the pamphlets called it. I was expecting some handmade items. Old, historical pieces of art. Maybe someone making cigars by hand. There was nothing but crap. “Made in China” items had been shipped to these people to sell. “St. Marten Islands” tshirts and hats. Knock off Prada billfolds for -get this- $80. (I wouldn't have spent $30.) There was Bob Marley paraphenalia, pot pipes with people in various sex positions molded on the top. But mostly, just St. Maarten island apparel and it was definitely not made on the island. It was clothing that we would call defective for not fitting correctly and sell in outlet malls and on They couldn't pay me to take this shit. And they tried. It was fun to walk around with daddy, though. We made fun of everything. And most anyone who was seriously considering buying the shit. We found a semi-sanitary bathroom facility before we departed to make our way around the rest of the island. The driver took us to Bikini Beach. We sat down to rest at the beach side grill, where dad and I met some New Yorkers who were on our cruise. We also met the beach dog. Her name is Aisha (Eye-ee-shuh?) and she was the most well-fed dog we had seen all week. I couldn't stop petting her. It was warming me to be around a friendly animal. I was missing both of mine.

The lady, with her NY accent, offered me some hand sanitizer because Aisha was rather grimey. Bless that woman. In continuing conversation, it turned out that her and her boyfriend, Mario, were there for their anniversary.

We found our driver and made our way back around the island but not without stopping at the nude beach. Yep. I walked a nude beach with my dad. We didn't walk very far. There were no attractive people that were naked. None. There was a smokin' hot lady, but she was only topless. She wasn't playing fair. Everyone else? Was gross. There was an old lady. I mean elderly... and naked. She wasn't fat at all. But that doesn't mean she wasn't gross. And she really wasn't gross so much as she was repulsive. I tried to sneak a photo. I really did. There are no cameras on the nude beach. NOT fair.

Before we left to head back to port, our driver waved us to the other side of the beach. “You gotta come see this.” Dad and I follow and as we approached a few men that were talking, dad abruptly turns around, shaking his head. He had seen enough. Enough of what, though? I finally looked down to where the driver was pointing and there was a man wearing only an unbuttoned shirt and a hat. Oh. And a smile. And there appeared to be a flesh colored iguana hanging...oh. He had the largest penis I had ever seen. I couldn't do anything besides burst out laughing. I didn't hide it. I was clearly laughing from awkward amazement. I was cackling. I lost my breath and then continued to cackle. And to top it off, my eyes never left that man's penis. The man, Penis Man, just continued his conversation with the other man with whom he was talking. I'm sure they were both annoyed with my unabashed laughter. I wanted to take a photo and I wished that I would have at least, politely asked him to just stand there, I wouldn't need to have his face in it, just hold a dollar next to it for scale. That's all I wanted. I wanted document proof that there is a man with a penis that hangs to his knees, flacid. And it wasn't long and skinny, it had girth. It was like, what maybe the abominal snowman, or big foot would pack. Our driver informed us on our way back to port, in between many giggles, that Penis Man was at the beach every day. Like clock-work, every day. He just hangs out. So to speak. Uh...yeah. If I had a penis like that, I would live near a nude beach so that I could show it off every day as well. What else would you do with a gigantic piece of showman ship like that? Nothing.

That was really the highlight of the day and, well, of the week i guess. At least, the highlight in the category of phallicism.

Along the rest of the drive around the island, we learned that the Queen of the Netherlands (also the Queen of St. Maarten) hadn't been on the island in decades, not since she was a little girl. And as we passed back over onto the Dutch side, our driver said, “Okay, you can be happy again.”