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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Action & Adventure
- Subject: Recreation / Sports / Travel
- Published: 09/01/2022
Cruising to Haiti
Born 1954, M, from Cocoa Beach/FL, United StatesAnnie and I stood high on a Royal Caribbean cruise ship as it sailed into Labadee Cove, a peninsula on the northern coast of Haiti. We had a tradition when entering a port for the first time–wake early and drink coffee on the top deck. A view from above revealed an island’s characteristics. Was this an industrial port? Did we need a taxi to reach the town? Were fishing vessels leaving the harbor? Were other cruise ships ahead of us that would tie up taxis and tours? After getting a feel for the island, we planned our day.
With Labadee, a private port leased by Royal Caribbean, we saw beachside attractions surrounded by virgin green mountains and nothing else. A fence separated the tourists from the island and its people. That meant harassment by the natives would be minimal. It also restricted our Haitian visit to only this protected cove.
After the boat parked, we left to wander along a new concrete pier leading to a snow-white beach backdropped by steep, green mountains. Ship attendants handed out navy blue towels to passengers staking out their piece of tropical paradise on the beach. The suntan lotion ritual transformed pale skin into overweight, glistening tourists laid out on towels.
I picked up a map of Labadee’s attractions to plan our afternoon. We walked among trinket booths staffed by Haitians chattering in Creole. We listened to a local band playing in the shade of palm trees. I bought a CD to support the musicians, then moved further along the beach. Annie picked out a navy blue lawn chair to work on her tan. Suntan lotion was not in her vocabulary. Instead, she used a clear oil to boost UV tanning around her tight, black bathing suit.
I looked up for a source of noise above me. To my amazement, a laughing lady flew fifty feet over the bay on a zipline stretched from a nearby mountain to the shore. Oh, I had to do that.
My map led me to a line of adventurers screening for a ride on the Dragon’s Breath - a half mile long steel cable stretching from the beach to the side of a mountain. We filled out heart and back health questionnaires, signed legal releases, and went to an area to practice on cables strung between trees. A guide helped me climb a ladder against a tree at one end of a one-inch steel cable. He attached me to a seat beneath it, talked me through the ride, then pulled a release lever.
Instead of falling to earth, I coasted above the ground. My roller’s unique buzz and click on the cable sounded like a hornet or mechanical bird. After a twenty-yard practice slide, I became qualified to ride the Dragons Breath. Another guide took four of us in a jeep on a steep, winding road through thick forest. We stopped at the central zipline station on the mountainside.
My view showed waves rippling across Labadee Bay 500 feet below me. Blue chairs dotted the beach, and a miniature cruise ship rested in the background. Another attendant strapped me onto a seat connected to the cable. As he gave brief instructions for the ride, the other riders cheered me on to build my bravery. I felt more stupid than brave. The cable appeared to disappear into the water short of the shore. If so, two quick minutes of terror trapped underwater in my seat would bring a tropical demise. Surely Carnival was not in the business of killing tourists. My life depended on blind faith in the ride’s safety.
My group counted down.
“Three.”
I grabbed the metal seat frame.
“Two.” I took a big breath.
“One.”
Go!
The guide tripped a release on my seat to begin a fast ride over the sea. Down I dropped, not fast like free falling, but scary enough to send my stomach into my throat. Adrenaline flooded my body. I yelled with joy bordering on fear as I rushed downward, flying like a bird, faster and faster, as the wind blew across my face. The pulley clattered as it rolled along the cable. The cable’s curve flattened to stay above the bay. Green water and shallow reefs sprinted at me, bringing the salty ocean aroma. Sun worshippers laid out on the beach grew larger. A concrete landing pad on the waterfront approached. My pulley hit a slowing mechanism that swung my feet above my head. I swung back and forth for ten more yards before landing on a platform. Vacationers around me cheered. I had survived.
After disconnecting myself from the seat and cable, I wandered to the beach and found Annie working on her tan. I woke her from a nap.
She looked up. “How was the zipline?”
“What a rush. I thought I was doomed to drown in the bay.”
“Better you than me.”
Annie asked, “Do you want to shop in the straw market?”
“Yes. I am too excited to lie out. I just flew half a mile.”
We walked to the base of the zipline mountain to wander through souvenir shops. A tall fence behind the shops separated Carnival’s Labadee Cove from Haiti. A guard at a gate controlled which locals entered the Cove. We drifted through shops and purchased obligatory tee shirts and knick-knacks for my travel shelf at home. We bought tropical rum drinks and burgers for lunch from a beach bar. I watched a boat pulling a man across the bay under a parasail.
I glanced at Annie also watching the parachute. We grinned. We would have a day of adventure.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.
“Let’s do it.”
After finishing lunch, I purchased tickets and joined a waiting line on the pier. When the open speedboat returned, smiling passengers climbed onto the dock. We joined a dozen new adventurers in bathing suits to board the boat and don life jackets. The crew cast off lines, and the boat pulled away into sparkling blue water. Annie looked at me with a wry smile. Her laughing eyes anticipated a new thrill despite being deep into grandmotherhood and suffering from a fear of heights.
As the boat drove to sea, a crewman connected one end of a thick line to a frame over the engine and the other to a full-size parachute that caught air and opened behind us. We watched people, in singles or doubles, take turns connecting to the parachute and rising high behind the boat for ten minutes of incredible fun.
A crewman pointed to me. Our turn was next. We scrambled to the back of the boat and sat on plastic seats. They strapped us to the parachute. I could not believe we were doing this. I had avoided parasailing for years because of my safety policy of not going higher above water or ground than I was willing to fall. We looked at each other and laughed. If Annie could overcome her fear of heights, I would too.
The boat started forward, pulling the parachute and us into the sky. The wind blew salty air through my hair and in my nose. More engine noise and speed lifted us higher. Ten feet above water. Fifty feet. The boat shrank below us. One hundred feet up and further behind the boat. One hundred fifty feet. I no longer heard the engine, only the wind, and the parachute fluttering. Mysterious emerald mountains along the shoreline rose above us. Though the boat moved fast, the vast scale of the oceans and the island made it seem that we moved in slow motion. For the first time, I understood a bird’s magnificent perspective of soaring over the earth. Annie and I glanced at each other with grins. Our thrill was beyond words.
I could have floated above the ocean for hours, but my transformation into a bird soon ended. The boat slowed to pull our parachute down. Laughing with glee, we gently landed on the transom. We joined the crew, whose silent grins communicated a shared thrill of a short but incredible conversion into human featherless fowls. Haiti had checked off two items on my bucket list that I did not know existed. Cruises made terrific vacations.
Cruising to Haiti(Gordon England)
Annie and I stood high on a Royal Caribbean cruise ship as it sailed into Labadee Cove, a peninsula on the northern coast of Haiti. We had a tradition when entering a port for the first time–wake early and drink coffee on the top deck. A view from above revealed an island’s characteristics. Was this an industrial port? Did we need a taxi to reach the town? Were fishing vessels leaving the harbor? Were other cruise ships ahead of us that would tie up taxis and tours? After getting a feel for the island, we planned our day.
With Labadee, a private port leased by Royal Caribbean, we saw beachside attractions surrounded by virgin green mountains and nothing else. A fence separated the tourists from the island and its people. That meant harassment by the natives would be minimal. It also restricted our Haitian visit to only this protected cove.
After the boat parked, we left to wander along a new concrete pier leading to a snow-white beach backdropped by steep, green mountains. Ship attendants handed out navy blue towels to passengers staking out their piece of tropical paradise on the beach. The suntan lotion ritual transformed pale skin into overweight, glistening tourists laid out on towels.
I picked up a map of Labadee’s attractions to plan our afternoon. We walked among trinket booths staffed by Haitians chattering in Creole. We listened to a local band playing in the shade of palm trees. I bought a CD to support the musicians, then moved further along the beach. Annie picked out a navy blue lawn chair to work on her tan. Suntan lotion was not in her vocabulary. Instead, she used a clear oil to boost UV tanning around her tight, black bathing suit.
I looked up for a source of noise above me. To my amazement, a laughing lady flew fifty feet over the bay on a zipline stretched from a nearby mountain to the shore. Oh, I had to do that.
My map led me to a line of adventurers screening for a ride on the Dragon’s Breath - a half mile long steel cable stretching from the beach to the side of a mountain. We filled out heart and back health questionnaires, signed legal releases, and went to an area to practice on cables strung between trees. A guide helped me climb a ladder against a tree at one end of a one-inch steel cable. He attached me to a seat beneath it, talked me through the ride, then pulled a release lever.
Instead of falling to earth, I coasted above the ground. My roller’s unique buzz and click on the cable sounded like a hornet or mechanical bird. After a twenty-yard practice slide, I became qualified to ride the Dragons Breath. Another guide took four of us in a jeep on a steep, winding road through thick forest. We stopped at the central zipline station on the mountainside.
My view showed waves rippling across Labadee Bay 500 feet below me. Blue chairs dotted the beach, and a miniature cruise ship rested in the background. Another attendant strapped me onto a seat connected to the cable. As he gave brief instructions for the ride, the other riders cheered me on to build my bravery. I felt more stupid than brave. The cable appeared to disappear into the water short of the shore. If so, two quick minutes of terror trapped underwater in my seat would bring a tropical demise. Surely Carnival was not in the business of killing tourists. My life depended on blind faith in the ride’s safety.
My group counted down.
“Three.”
I grabbed the metal seat frame.
“Two.” I took a big breath.
“One.”
Go!
The guide tripped a release on my seat to begin a fast ride over the sea. Down I dropped, not fast like free falling, but scary enough to send my stomach into my throat. Adrenaline flooded my body. I yelled with joy bordering on fear as I rushed downward, flying like a bird, faster and faster, as the wind blew across my face. The pulley clattered as it rolled along the cable. The cable’s curve flattened to stay above the bay. Green water and shallow reefs sprinted at me, bringing the salty ocean aroma. Sun worshippers laid out on the beach grew larger. A concrete landing pad on the waterfront approached. My pulley hit a slowing mechanism that swung my feet above my head. I swung back and forth for ten more yards before landing on a platform. Vacationers around me cheered. I had survived.
After disconnecting myself from the seat and cable, I wandered to the beach and found Annie working on her tan. I woke her from a nap.
She looked up. “How was the zipline?”
“What a rush. I thought I was doomed to drown in the bay.”
“Better you than me.”
Annie asked, “Do you want to shop in the straw market?”
“Yes. I am too excited to lie out. I just flew half a mile.”
We walked to the base of the zipline mountain to wander through souvenir shops. A tall fence behind the shops separated Carnival’s Labadee Cove from Haiti. A guard at a gate controlled which locals entered the Cove. We drifted through shops and purchased obligatory tee shirts and knick-knacks for my travel shelf at home. We bought tropical rum drinks and burgers for lunch from a beach bar. I watched a boat pulling a man across the bay under a parasail.
I glanced at Annie also watching the parachute. We grinned. We would have a day of adventure.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.
“Let’s do it.”
After finishing lunch, I purchased tickets and joined a waiting line on the pier. When the open speedboat returned, smiling passengers climbed onto the dock. We joined a dozen new adventurers in bathing suits to board the boat and don life jackets. The crew cast off lines, and the boat pulled away into sparkling blue water. Annie looked at me with a wry smile. Her laughing eyes anticipated a new thrill despite being deep into grandmotherhood and suffering from a fear of heights.
As the boat drove to sea, a crewman connected one end of a thick line to a frame over the engine and the other to a full-size parachute that caught air and opened behind us. We watched people, in singles or doubles, take turns connecting to the parachute and rising high behind the boat for ten minutes of incredible fun.
A crewman pointed to me. Our turn was next. We scrambled to the back of the boat and sat on plastic seats. They strapped us to the parachute. I could not believe we were doing this. I had avoided parasailing for years because of my safety policy of not going higher above water or ground than I was willing to fall. We looked at each other and laughed. If Annie could overcome her fear of heights, I would too.
The boat started forward, pulling the parachute and us into the sky. The wind blew salty air through my hair and in my nose. More engine noise and speed lifted us higher. Ten feet above water. Fifty feet. The boat shrank below us. One hundred feet up and further behind the boat. One hundred fifty feet. I no longer heard the engine, only the wind, and the parachute fluttering. Mysterious emerald mountains along the shoreline rose above us. Though the boat moved fast, the vast scale of the oceans and the island made it seem that we moved in slow motion. For the first time, I understood a bird’s magnificent perspective of soaring over the earth. Annie and I glanced at each other with grins. Our thrill was beyond words.
I could have floated above the ocean for hours, but my transformation into a bird soon ended. The boat slowed to pull our parachute down. Laughing with glee, we gently landed on the transom. We joined the crew, whose silent grins communicated a shared thrill of a short but incredible conversion into human featherless fowls. Haiti had checked off two items on my bucket list that I did not know existed. Cruises made terrific vacations.
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Lillian Kazmierczak
09/14/2022Zip lining sounds amazing! Parasailing Im not too sure about. Glad you and Annie shortened your bucket lits. Congratulations on short story star of the day!
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Gerald R Gioglio
09/14/2022Congrats on an amazing adventure...fly boy...and for being the Story Star of the day.
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