TORTOLA DRIVING

I have found heaven. And it is called the British Virgin Islands.

After twenty-four and a half hours of traveling (we drove away from the house at noon on Monday and arrived on 4:30 Tuesday, but they are 4 hours ahead) I along with Shonah my daughter, and Amy the wonderful makeup girl that I often work with and call my on-set daughter (who had jumped at the chance of an all-expenses paid trip to the Caribbean in exchange for doing hair and makeup for the bridal party) arrived tired but very happy on Beef Island. Beef Island is connected to Tortola with a short bridge and houses the airport and a lovely stretch of beach called Trellis Bay where my daughter and I would later take the North Sound Express ferry to Virgin Gorda for the second week of our get-away.

The last flight of three connections was from Puerto Rico in an 8 seater Cessna. When we checked in we were told that the flight was overbooked but, not to worry, they would bring in as many pilots as needed and made sure everyone had a seat on one of their many aircraft standing by. We collected our checked-in luggage from the flight from Atlanta and handed it over to the agent for Cape Air. As she tagged those bags she asked for my carry on luggage, the piece of luggage containing all of my clothing for the trip except for one swim suit, including my outfit for the wedding. It also contained various elements of decorations and favours for the reception; ribbon, a wax seal kit, place card holders, some of the little white sand pails to hold the goodies at each place setting, and some of the goodies such as tiny bottles of maple syrup (representing Canada) and tins of tea (representing England)... that sort of thing. I had joked earlier that, should anyone try to force me to check it, they would have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands. Now this agent was looking at me and expecting me to just hand it over.

"Oh , I won't be checking this," I declared, "it contains very important items for a wedding and I cannot risk it getting lost."

"Well you are flying on a Cessna and there is nowhere for you to stow it in the cabin. It has to be checked and go in the back of the plane with the rest of the luggage. " She said with some sympathy.

"I'm sorry, there has to be a way I can keep it with me." I said as I gripped the handle tighter, not sure why - just in case she tried to snatch it off of me perhaps?

"It has to be checked."

I looked at my daughter for help and she shrugged. "If it has to be checked, mom, then it has to be checked."

I very reluctantly handed it over and watched her every move to make sure it was tagged properly. She then placed it alongside Shonah and Amy's bags and assured me that it would get on the plane just fine. With a longing look back at it, I tried really hard to believe her as I walked away.

Amy boarded the first of the three flights it would take to get everyone booked over to Tortola, and Shonah and I waited another 20 minutes for the pilot of the third overflow plane to arrive. When we climbed aboard, we were just three passengers.

After a breathtakingly beautiful flight across the azure Caribbean Sea dotted with lush green islands circled with white beaches, we landed at Beef Island Airport and made our way into the small terminal. Amy was waiting for us with our luggage piled at her feet. We were to meet my son Christopher and his girlfriend Izzy there as they had arrived on their flight connection from Dallas about two hours earlier and so, in a hurry to get going, I grabbed my big case and as my daughter grabbed hers scanned the pile for my smaller carry on. It wasn't there.

"Your carry on didn't come with my plane." Amy said.

"You have got to be kidding me." Was all I could say. I didn't want to think about the possibility of it having been left behind or put on the wrong flight. "Let's get through customs and then we can talk to the agent for Cape Air. Maybe it came on my plane."

We breezed through customs; and I will mention here that the Immigration Officer hit on my daughter saying something about the first pretty face he had seen all day - this after checking me through not 3 minutes before, the nerve of him!. It became a regular occurrence for her throughout the entire length of our stay, no matter how brief the encounter. She found it flattering at first, then amusing, then tiring and finally downright annoying. She doesn't get that sort of attention from guys at home, so it was funny for me to observe. (And yet Amy, who has to knock the guys off with a stick at home was virtually ignored the whole week. Maybe it's Shonah's blond hair, fair skin and the fact that the girl has some serious curves? I don't know.)

I headed to the Cape Air desk while the other two went off to find my son and Izzy, and it was there that I got my first taste of Caribbean laid-back, 'no problem' attitude. I did my best to calmly impress upon the happy fellow the importance of finding and retrieving the luggage ASAP - without allowing the huge well of frustration, panic and some anger that was forcing its way up my throat from a churning stomach to influence the words I used (such as 'There were THREE of us on the plane. How could you imbeciles lose luggage when you had just THREE passengers??') or resorting to threats (such as 'Look Buddy! I realize this is the laid-back Caribbean and all but if that luggage isn't here in time for the wedding you'll be laying DOWN for a long time), as that just gets you deliberate indifference. So I kept a smile on my face and even managed to crack a joke or two. He responded very well and assured me it would be on the next flight over from Puerto Rico which would be in half an hour and that he would put it in a taxi to our villa the second it landed. I told him I would call from the rental car office in half an hour to make sure it had arrived.

Meanwhile, Christopher and Izzy had been located and everyone was loading all of the luggage in a courtesy van which then took us the 30 minute drive to the car rental agency. When we arrived, there were only three cars parked in the lot and none were the one I had reserved. Turns out, it was still being used and wouldn't be ready until tomorrow so we were given a small SUV and a compact car. This meant I would have to drive, something I was hoping I could put off until I had a chance to experience the challenge of driving on the left side of the car on the left side of the road up and down steep hills with killer switch-backs from the comfort of the passenger seat. No such luck.

Once we had sorted out the cars I called the airport. The bag had not arrived. He assured me it would be on the next flight. Amazingly, I kept the frustration out of my voice as I told him I would call again in an hour.

The car rental agent asked if we knew where we were going and I told her I had directions to our villa but only one set so the two cars would have to stay together. She offered to have the fellow who drove us from the airport lead us in the white van. We gratefully accepted and piled into the vehicles. Just as we were setting off, I realized that she had said she wanted both cars returned with full gas tanks. I hopped back out of the car.

"We have two vehicles through no fault of our own," I explained, "so I won't be filling both back up. I will return this one full and the other will be whatever is left." I had read about the steep gas prices on this tiny island and so wasn't falling for that. She agreed and I jumped back in the SUV. The white van and the compact car with my son and Izzy were nowhere in sight. I put the car in drive and headed down the road, remembering to stay to the left, as fast as I dare go on the narrow street. To no avail. They were gone and so we were on our own. "Pull out the directions." I told Shonah, who was riding shotgun. The owner of the villa had sent us very detailed written directions from the airport to the villa and I had them in a folder with other information we needed on this trip.

The girls were fascinated with the Caribbean architecture and the bright colors of the houses. "I am judgmental when I see a house painted these colors in East Vancouver." Amy declared. Here, they were charming. They were busy snapping pictures as I tried to stay calm, stay left, and not think about the killer hills ahead of us.

I don't like the unknown. If I am to go into something or somewhere I haven't been before, I do a lot of research. I get a lot of grief about it from my kids. But it's just the way I am. So, in the months before this trip, I had spent hours on the internet and had Google Earthed the place until I knew every road. I had seen YouTube videos people had taken while driving the roads [that should tell you something about them right there], I had studied maps and read accounts. And what I had learned was that the terrain on all of the British Virgin Islands but one goes straight up from the beach. Even some of the beaches go uphill. And the roads were in poor repair for the most part with pot holes, speed bumps and, it bares repeating, killer hairpin turns. Residents drive at dangerous speeds going up and down the hills and sometimes even overtake other vehicles on blind corners. I had read of the many accidents that occur, some leading to death. I was informed. And freaked out.

We got to the one big roundabout in the main center of the island, Road Town, and counted the exits till we got to the third one and veered left onto the main thoroughfare. After a couple of blocks we came to a T intersection and turned right, the girls yelling 'KEEP LEFT' as I made the turn. The next direction on the sheet said 'turn right up Joe's Hill'. Only thing was, the hill was on the left. We came to a road that had a street sign but half of it was broken off and it just read '...Hill'. "That's it!" I cried and made a sharp turn left. "NO!" Shonah cried out, "You're supposed to turn right. The directions say right."

"They're wrong." I said. "There is no hill on the right, and the sign said '...Hill' so it has to be this. Besides, I recognize this turn from Google Earth and it leads up to the ridge that will take us across to the other side."

"I don't think so mom. You're gonna get lost."

That freaked me out. That and how steep the road was and the blind curve ahead that looked like it went straight into a jungle.

"Ok, I'll turn around." I said and took a narrow, steep road on the left that looked more like a driveway. I could see there was a house or two up ahead and figured I could turn around in their driveway. When I got up there, there wasn't much driveway and the road was even narrower. I pulled into the bit of space and could see right away that I didn't have enough room to back up and turn around. "I am going to have to back all the way down this road." I wasn't happy.

I started backing down the steep, narrow road and hadn't gone far when a car came down the hill right at us. Daughter stated the obvious, and I said that he would just have to wait. He came right up onto our bumper and stayed there as I slowly backed down about a hundred yards of narrow road bordered by a rocky face on one side and the tops of trees down a very steep drop off on the other. When I got to the end, I was afraid to back onto the '...Hill' road because I had to back across both lanes to get to the left and I couldn't tell if there was anything coming down the hill from around the curve. The girls yelled to go and that it was all clear, so I just trusted them and gunned it. The car on my bumper screeched around me as soon as there was room and took off down the hill.

It didn't take long for us to realize that the road WAS Joe's Hill and now I had to circle back around somehow and that meant driving through town again from a direction I had no map for. At some point I went to make a right turn at a T intersection. We were on the straight through road. There were three lanes for cars at the T with one car in the middle. Looked like he was on the left to me. Looked like normal Canadian sort of set up to me. So I turned right, into the right lane.... and a car came right at us. I screamed. I think the girls yelled that I needed to stay left. Thoroughly rattled, I backed up - on a busy street mind you, with a LOT of traffic - and drove to the left side and turned. The guy in the middle who had confused me was really angry but the guy who I almost hit just laughed. In the BVI residents cars have a yellow license plate and rental cars have light blue ones. He knew what the problem was. Stupid tourist.

We managed to make it back to "...Hill Road" and once we made the first terrifying hairpin turn, we had no trouble the rest of the way. When we found the road the house was on and I made the turn, a loud "You have GOT to be kidding me!" came from Shonah. And I could see why. The road, again looking more like a single lane driveway, rose up before us at such an steep angle, it was almost like looking at a wall. I floored the gas pedal and the SUV (all 8 cylinders) groaned it's way up and around the sharp bend. The parking area for our cars was immediately on the left after the curve and I pulled into it and shut the ignition of with a huge sigh of relief. Then I realized that the Christopher and Izzy's compact car wasn't there. They set off before us; one could assume they didn't get lost as we did as they had an islander leading them.... so where were they?

To be continued...

WEDDING FERVOUR

Two weeks today is wedding day.

Ashleigh and her fiance, Rob, have been back home from London for three weeks and between going to the gym together almost every day, fake and baking twice a week to turn the pasty winter white skin slightly tan so we don't burn in the Caribbean, and running ALL OVER the map on wedding errands, this puppy is tired. I am going to need a vacation to get over the past few weeks. But, I am loving it. Aside from the fact that I am going through more gasoline than a long-distance trucker, it is such a treat to be able to spend this much time with my daughter in the last few days before she moves on to her new life (in what looks like will be North Vancouver - a 45 minute drive away). Although, I have to say, being mother-of-the-bride is a bit of a tightrope act, taking your steps very carefully because one slip in either direction and you are in trouble. I was warned about this by a good friend who's daughter married last summer. The bride is, naturally, stressed and tired and the person she will usually take her frustration out on is mom. Thus a well intentioned comment or piece of advice will not be received in the spirit it was given and, more often than not, a sullen or terse reply will result. I had mentally prepared myself for this and so just bite my tongue and try to put it down to wedding stress. But I will admit that it is hard not to feel hurt. Especially when, right after snapping at me, she turns to Rob and is all softness, smiles and kisses. If she snapped at him as well then putting it down to stress would make sense and be easier to accept but because that never happens I feel quite abused sometimes. Remember that line from Steel Magnolias where Sally Fields says "why is all abuse heaped on the mother of the bride?" - it is so true. My friend and I have come to the conclusion that it is because they know we will love them no matter what and so we are safe. I take some comfort in that.

As long as I keep most of my opinions to myself and try not to overload her with suggestions, we get along great. And it really is a lot of fun. The other day we went for her dress fitting and, such a relief, there wasn't much alteration needed. The zipper bulged at the bottom right over her, um, bottom and the seamstress and I got into a discussion as to why it was doing that. She thought the lining was too tight and needed letting out. I did not agree and thought it was either that the dress was a bit too loose there or that the outer layer was attached to the lining wrong. She would not let go of the notion that the lining was tight and I finally told her I had been sewing for more than 35 years so kind of knew what I was talking about. She told me she was a seamstress and she knew what she was talking about. Ashleigh did not want the dress letting out as she did not feel it was tight at all but we finally just threw up our hands and said, fine - let it out. At that moment another seamstress came along, took one look at the problem and proclaimed that it was not the lining but that the dress needed taking in at the zipper. She popped a few pins in and, voila!, the bulge disappeared. I scored big points with the daughter on that one.

Speaking of dress fittings.... mine fits!!!!!!! I tried it on two weeks ago and it fits perfectly. Well, I would like to lose another 5 lbs to reduce my shrinking tummy roll even further but I have to say, I am pretty pleased. All the trips to the gym have really paid off. And, after searching the shops high and low for the right earrings and necklace to go with the dress, I found just what I wanted. Not at a shop but at the studio of a local jewelry designer that Ashleigh worked for years ago. We visited her a week ago to order some pieces for the bridesmaids gifts and for Ashleigh to wear with her wedding dress. Entering her workshop is like walking into Aladdin's cave. There are strands of pearls, piles of Swarovski crystals, and loops of gold and silver chain shimmering on each and every available surface. It takes as much willpower as I can muster not to pick up all the finished pieces and try them on. In among the treasures I spied a spool of hammered gold chain circles which I fell in love with on sight. The designer held out a few pieces made with it and I wanted them all. Then she held up another one and I think I might have actually swooned. I knew right away that it was the perfect piece for the dress and when I tried it on my daughter confirmed it. We picked up the finished jewelry yesterday and it all looks so beautiful. Very exciting.

WEDDED BLISS

Well it looks like it is finally going to happen. One of my kids is going to tie the knot. And I have to say, I couldn't be happier for her. Well, ok I could.

The guy she is marrying is Mr. Perfectly Wonderful. Really. He is the type of man I didn't think existed anymore, other than on film. He is a gentleman;  thoughtful, caring, kind, generous, absolutely madly in love with my daughter and isn't afraid to show it. She is madly in love with him. She is blissfully happy and is certain she has found an amazing man who she can spend all her days with.

So why could I be happier?

Because they are getting married on Tortola. And no, that isn't the island from Pirates of the Caribbean. That was Tortuga. Tortola is the largest of the British Virgin Islands. It's an unspoiled vista of lush jungle and white sandy beaches sitting in a sea of... well... Caribbean blue. Perfection. Picturesque. Exotic. Expensive. Very.

Just getting there, no wedding stuff, just GETTING there and accommodations (for four flights and a house that sleeps seven) is going to run over $10,000. That doesn't include spending money or food. And no wedding stuff. Did I say that already? There will be more than four people there but that's the four I am paying for, at least initially.

She wants a beach wedding. And somewhere in-between his family in London and ours in Vancouver so that it doesn't look like they are favouring one side over the other. While I understand the sentiment the logic of it is killing me, to wit: so, instead of inconveniencing just half of the guests let's inconvenience everyone. Hmmm.

It's not like we don't have nice beaches right here in B.C.  I will admit most have what is more like gravel than sand for a beach but not all of them. Tofino is one of her favourite places and the sand is actually sandy, if not the sugar white stuff of the Caribbean. I am sure we could have a gorgeous wedding there. Or I hear tell there is a nice spot on the water in Tsawwassen. Even better. And I am sure his parents would love to see Vancouver if for no other reason than to see where their first-born plans to make his home. But that isn't what they want. Alrighty then. So how about not having it in high season? Wait 6 weeks and the villas will slash prices in half. But that doesn't fit the time line for when they leave London and need to start the sponsorship process for his Canadian citizenship. Ok then. High season on Tortola it is.

Bottom line is this: she is my sweetie; one of my babies. I love her to death and I want her to have the wedding of her dreams. Heck, I wouldn't mind spending a week in the Caribbean in the middle of February. But, and it's a big one, right now the funds just don't exist. Like an idiot I spent the family allowance all those years on books and orthodontics for the kiddies with the goal of raising readers with nice teeth, instead of stashing it away in a high interest account for such a time as this. So what to do? Pray. Pray hard. For another union show like jPod to come along SOON and last all through the winter like Blood Ties did. Because if this winter to come shapes up like last winter, I will have a hard time holding onto the house and car let alone winging myself and three others off to paradise for a week.

And the ex better be ready to cough up the cost of the reception. Because after I pay for the brides dress, my dress, invitations, favours, table decorations, a hair and makeup gal to come along with us, a wedding present (as someone reminded me today...to which I replied 'the whole wedding is a present!!!!') and who knows what else... that meal might be the only one I get all week.