I like to think I'm not a tourist but a traveler. It's essentially the same thing I guess but it doesn't feel nearly as nerdy. In St. Thomas, we obviously weren't locals—we weren't that tan. But it was enough to not be associated with the dweebs from the cruise ships, who descended upon a beach en masse. All the hair braiders and trinket sellers and taxi drivers would then follow them around like an entourage. We were pretty invisible to the entourage because we brought our own beers from the market and roasted in the sun on our towels instead of renting beach chairs. I.E, we were on the broke plan. But the sun and the sand are free so it wasn't really any problem for us.
It wasn't a bad thing when the cruise shippers came around, it made for fantastic people watching, but I never got over seeing those giant ships. They were a cause for deep awe—something that seemed to defy physics and the laws of nature. Just ... a lot of people in one place at one time.
We took an open-air bus through the cool jungle to the national park on St. John. Lance has sunscreen in his beard.
This is a hell of a place to endure a hangover. We moved very little. The sun and salt water left us tired and toasted.
The ferry from St. Thomas to St. John.
We hopped on a sail boat one day to go snorkeling in a few new locales and met some nice folks along the way.
Being on the boat was great because you didn't have to do anything, just sit there and take in the deal spread out before you.
I'm pretty sure he's pointing out a sea turtle?
Hawksnest Beach. I loved it for its emptiness. This is also where we snorkeled by a nurse shark and a gaggle of squid.
Charlotte Amalie, the capital of St. Thomas.
Taking 100 steps one step at at time.
Ships lanterns, painted cobalt.
Lance has a little thing for pirates. This is pretty much his dream beer.
I just love how they cut holes in the portico for the tree. I like to think I would've done the same.