Catching the Ferry: An Anguillian Love Story Part 1
I cannot tell you how many times I have sat at the Blowing Point Ferry Terminal in Anguilla, as locals would say “to catch the boat” headed to St. Maarten. Travelling to Anguilla by boat, is just one of the ways to get there, but the one most familiar to me. But what happened on February 24th, 2012 will make the terminal a very special place.
I had gone to Anguilla the day before, to visit both an aunt and an uncle who were hospitalized at the same time. My mother, living in New York, needed reassurance that her two elder siblings were ok. The plan was to go to Anguilla, visit my aunt and uncle and return to St. Maarten on the 7:30am ferry. Simple. Right? Thankfully, God’s plan was bigger and better.
When I went to the hospital I was unable to speak to my uncle. I did not want to return to St. Maarten, without being able to tell my mother, “I spoke with both of them, sent them your love, and they are doing well”. That meant, returning to the Princess Alexandra Hospital the next morning. Luckily, the ferry boats are scheduled to run every 45 minutes.
I arrived at the Blowing Point Ferry Terminal well before 1:30pm. As I entered, it was business as usual. I gave my passport to be signed paid the $15 boat fee and the $5 taxes; passed through security check; then proceeded to find a seat.
As I walked down the middle aisle between the rows of cold, steel, blue and silver seats, I quickly looked for the row with the least amount of people to find a free seat at the end. I found it, the only row with just one other person sitting at the opposite end. As I prepared to sit down, I just happened to glance at the man sitting in the last seat on the other end. He looked up and, literally, my heart jumped. It sounds cliché, like something that only happens in the movies, right? But this was the real deal.
With his full attention, I tried my best to sit ladylike, so not me, I usually just plop myself down. When I sat down he flashed those pearly white teeth with the biggest grin. I just knew he was trouble. My cynical self-thought, no one this fine could be good.
There was a young woman, asking visitors of a particular shade, not mine, to fill out surveys. Before I knew it, I blurted out “So only white people are tourist”. I honestly didn’t realize that I had said it out loud. The ever so fine man with the pearly white teeth, loudly commented “For true”, an Anguillian slang for “I agree”.
This started a lively discussion, between him and I, about stereotypes and the importance of acknowledging that visitors of Anguilla which also include travelers from neighboring islands and the Anguillians who live abroad. We were having such a good time I did not even noticed that it was time to board.
As I stood up to walk, I wondered if I had lost my “mojo”. I mean he didn’t even ask for my name. I am still old-school in that regard, where I think the man should make or at least feel he is making the first move. Walking towards the boat, I brought my New York hustle move to a slow step since he was on his turtle swag, hoping he would catch up.
So did he catch up? Well for now, let’s just say that I got my mojo back. You will have to read Part 2 to know what happened next.
I dream Anguilla.
I cannot tell you how many times I have sat at the Blowing Point Ferry Terminal in Anguilla, as locals would say “to catch the boat” headed to St. Maarten. Travelling to Anguilla by boat, is just one of the ways to get there, but the one most familiar to me. But what happened on February 24th, 2012 will make the terminal a very special place.
I had gone to Anguilla the day before, to visit both an aunt and an uncle who were hospitalized at the same time. My mother, living in New York, needed reassurance that her two elder siblings were ok. The plan was to go to Anguilla, visit my aunt and uncle and return to St. Maarten on the 7:30am ferry. Simple. Right? Thankfully, God’s plan was bigger and better.
When I went to the hospital I was unable to speak to my uncle. I did not want to return to St. Maarten, without being able to tell my mother, “I spoke with both of them, sent them your love, and they are doing well”. That meant, returning to the Princess Alexandra Hospital the next morning. Luckily, the ferry boats are scheduled to run every 45 minutes.
I arrived at the Blowing Point Ferry Terminal well before 1:30pm. As I entered, it was business as usual. I gave my passport to be signed paid the $15 boat fee and the $5 taxes; passed through security check; then proceeded to find a seat.
As I walked down the middle aisle between the rows of cold, steel, blue and silver seats, I quickly looked for the row with the least amount of people to find a free seat at the end. I found it, the only row with just one other person sitting at the opposite end. As I prepared to sit down, I just happened to glance at the man sitting in the last seat on the other end. He looked up and, literally, my heart jumped. It sounds cliché, like something that only happens in the movies, right? But this was the real deal.
With his full attention, I tried my best to sit ladylike, so not me, I usually just plop myself down. When I sat down he flashed those pearly white teeth with the biggest grin. I just knew he was trouble. My cynical self-thought, no one this fine could be good.
There was a young woman, asking visitors of a particular shade, not mine, to fill out surveys. Before I knew it, I blurted out “So only white people are tourist”. I honestly didn’t realize that I had said it out loud. The ever so fine man with the pearly white teeth, loudly commented “For true”, an Anguillian slang for “I agree”.
This started a lively discussion, between him and I, about stereotypes and the importance of acknowledging that visitors of Anguilla which also include travelers from neighboring islands and the Anguillians who live abroad. We were having such a good time I did not even noticed that it was time to board.
As I stood up to walk, I wondered if I had lost my “mojo”. I mean he didn’t even ask for my name. I am still old-school in that regard, where I think the man should make or at least feel he is making the first move. Walking towards the boat, I brought my New York hustle move to a slow step since he was on his turtle swag, hoping he would catch up.
So did he catch up? Well for now, let’s just say that I got my mojo back. You will have to read Part 2 to know what happened next.
I dream Anguilla.
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