Trips: St. Lucia (Day 6)

Monday, January 31

I woke up and I couldn't walk.  I couldn't use my arms.  I had flexed and extended muscles with such intensity during Sunday's ascent of Petit Piton that I was utterly useless on Monday.  And with a full day of air travel ahead, my plan was simple: I would do nothing. 

I ate breakfast with my new friends from Sarasota.  I told them about my hike.  We exchanged tales of travel.  I recommended to them going to Santorini, next on their to do list.  They recommended Kauai during my future trip to Hawaii.  I also gave them my voltage converter, as promised.  We exchanged information.  We entertained crossing paths either at Yankees Spring Training in Tampa or Jimmy said to me, "Or hit up Siesta beach, let us know, and we can take you around on my boat."  We'll see if that plays out in mid-March.  Gotta love meeting new friends!

I laid in bed and relaxed all morning.  I grabbed a quick lunch and Kester picked me up at 1:30 PM.  He insisted on picking me up and taking me to the airport.  "I left another couple at the mineral baths," he told me.  "I've known you since you arrived; I want to take you back."  We sped down the Southern Road back towards Vieux Fort.  Another beautiful day.  "You come back for the Jazz Festival?" he asked.  I told him I'd love to.  "If you're back in Soufriere, you know how to find me."  I knew he meant that.  

The airport at Vieux Fort was small.  There were eight gates and it seemed like all eight flights were departing at the same time.  The overhead speaker system made announcements with muffled  words, to add to the confusion.  It was a mad dash to the gates and to our planes. 

The plane was full of tan people, saddened to return back home.  I slept for the majority of that leg.  I landed back in Miami, where I had to go through the long process of clearing passport control, and customs.  We landed at 7:10 PM.  The path from our arrival Gate D45 to passport control seemed like two miles in length: an endless maze of flat moving paths, long tunnels, and frustrated passengers, aching their way along.  New turns were greeted with spurts of curse words.  An hour passed and I found myself going back through security.  Over an hour later, I was at my connecting gate: Gate D43.  How a difference of two gate numbers spanned an hour is beyond me.  I ate away my frustrations:  two Nathans hot dogs, half an Au Bon Pain club sandwich, a bag of Cape Cod potato chips, and an orange Gatorade.  

I was unconscious for the flight back to Atlanta.  We landed at midnight.  

I hopped back in my car, initially weirded out by having the steering wheel on the left side of the car.  I pumped up the music and navigated my way home through the fog.  I grabbed my mail.  I got into my apartment.  I took a half hour shower.  I started laundry.  I covered myself in a thick-sooted layer of Gold Bond Powder to help soothe the mosquito bites.  I fell asleep at 2 AM.  I had to report for work at 10 AM.  

One of the best trips I've taken.  Incredible.

Once, I asked Kester why people on St. Lucia were so friendly.  "It's simple here," he told me.  "You live, you love, you listen to music, you chill, but above all else, if you're friendly to everyone, the world is a happy place."  Amen.