HEY NINETEEN

Oh hi! Happy New Year! I can still say that, can’t I? I believe it can be said until the end of January. After that, you can have any kind of new year you like. I won’t insist.

I am not one for resolutions, as they are inevitably broken and lead to disappointment in one’s self, which in turn leads to self-pity, overeating and drunkenness. Best not to go there. Instead, I like to make suggestions to myself. For example, I have suggested that I try to do a half an hour of yoga every day that I possibly can. So far, I’ve managed four days out of 15, which is not great, but for the first 5 days of the year I was on a boat, or in transit, so I’m going to forgive myself even if you won’t. It’s hard to maintain mountain pose on deck.

In case I didn’t mention it, we went sailing in the British Virgin Islands: all four of us, plus one girlfriend. It was lovely, of course, although they are still very much in recovery from Hurricane Irma, which left an unimaginable path of destruction in September 2017. We really had no idea what to expect, but the boat was great, the islands and beaches were beautiful, if somewhat denuded of palm trees, and what restaurants that were open were doing a brisk business. The problem was that you never knew what to expect sailing from place to place. The most up-to-date cruising guide was published a month before Irma, so we would head to what should have been a picturesque island port, only to find boarded up buildings and derelict boats beached on the shore. Then, at the next port, there’d be hundreds of boats and super yachts moored in the bay, all set to party. Apparently they all knew something we didn’t.

Apparently one of the best places in the world to celebrate New Year’s Eve is at a beach bar called Foxy’s on the island of Jost Van Dyke. At best, Foxy’s can accommodate maybe 200 people, but at New Year’s they set up tents, and a stage in a field behind the bar, and thousands come from all over. Turns out it’s a costume party, so there were mermaids in full tail, pirates galore, yacht bunnies in bikinis, and at least half a dozen admirals in full regalia. Normally, I hate everything about NYE: crowds, drunken strangers, forced hilarity and staying up late, but the kids really wanted to go, so we did, and we actually had a good time. I had a couple of Foxy’s rum punches and danced in the field until I twisted my ankle. Just before midnight I thought it would be a good idea to buy shots of tequila for all my new friends, which made me even MORE friends. I’m not saying the whole family got hammered, but Ronan at one point changed his name to Tonan, and would only communicate via text message. For the life of me, I don’t know how we found our way back to our boat, but we did, and the next day, the sea was angry, my friends.

So that’s that. We are back in business, and 2019 is off to a confusing start. The U.S. government remains shut down, Brexit is a mess, France is ticked, the Chinese are mad at us, and the Saudis don’t like us much either. I have a new travel podcast starting January 21st, called “Three Trips Ahead” (available, as they say, wherever you get your podcasts), but the way things are going, it seems the best place to be is right here at home.

Have a happy a new year as one can under the circumstances.

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