The BVI ~ http://twoevans.shutterfly.com/533 for pics!

I need to vent. Of pleasure, tranquility, and fun. I need to tell you how good I feel because the urge to write about my last week's adventure is causing me to type at about 100 words per minute. My skin is tan and my brain feels about ten pounds lighter after sun, sand, and lazy days. I can feel my insides grinning. No, they are guffawing in utter delight.

Nearly two weeks ago my little brother graduated high school. Diplomas are worth celebrating, and Tim and Claire Ficker are good at pomp and circumstance. This time the pomp came in the form of a gorgeous 47 foot sailboat called Lionheart and the circumstance we floated upon was the British Virgin Islands.

I cannot tell you how excited we have collectively been to board the plane headed south and disembark for our adventure of boat, sea, and island breeze. Nevertheless, the Caribbean at this time of year (or always?) is h.o.t. Humid and lethargic, I arrived with my pants clinging to my legs and dots of sweat on my pale nose and cheeks. Jimmy Buffet did not celebrate rum solely for its alcohol content-- rum is always served on the rocks. From my vantage point on land I looked longingly at our boat docked at the Village Cay Marina. Even the small breeze that tickled flags on masts beckoned me to join it on the open sea.

Luckily we were off after a good night's sleep and a strong cup of coffee. Captain Andy welcomed us aboard, reminding us in his charming yet dry British accent to take our shoes off and make ourselves at home. Oh, you think he was just being sweet... no, Captain Andy is not sweet and shoes bring sand onto his otherwise well maintained vessel. Shoes off was an order, and we decided we liked this firm weathered sailor. Captain Andy is a Brit, and what he misses most about England is the sarcasm. Or so he says, but I'd believe him because he has a dry wit to uphold the British reputation. He is also thoughtful, hard working, capable, and fun. With miles traveled and thousands of pages read his stories and re-tellings will keep you rapt for hours.

With Captain Andy at the helm we set off into the azure beauty that is el Caribe. The freedom of the sea can take hold of you like a composer snatching up a tune and we quickly turned into its happy houseguests, living only in bathing suits and sunglasses, lathered in suntan lotion and sweat. Ginny quite rightly assessed that we would never be dry; if we were not snorkeling and wet we were covered in sun lotion and if not that soaked in sweat. The heat and the salt became gloriously unavoidable.

We had barely set out from Tortola when Captain Andy dropped us into the water to snorkel around a cluster of large rocks that looked like wizards' hats poking out of the aqua blue. We followed other vacationers around the structures and marveled at the hundreds of fish that swam below. They weaved in and out of coral, rock, and sponge and glistened in the occasional flash of sunlight. Lavender and turquoise, yellow and aquamarine. Chartreuse, silver, red dappled with black. We ourselves weaved in and out of rocks and fire coral, avoiding its stinging fingertips, and through scuba divers' bubbles that rose up from the ocean floor. That might have been my favorite part, suspended on the sea surface while the thousand little bubbles tickled my stomach, legs, and hands. It was fascinating to see people swimming down where the fish dwell, and I was excited for my brother's and dad's chance to scuba dive too.

The late afternoons found us laying on the catamaran's trampoline, sipping Painkillers (the official drink of the islands) and reading novels or falling asleep to the gentle thump, thump of the waves sloshing the sides of the pontoons. Andy would motor us to a mooring where Kyle and Mark would hook the line and secure us a ball amid our cheers of victory. After a hard won fight for the best mooring ball and a valiant retrieval we celebrated by cooking dinner or venturing onto the island of the day.

One evening we ate at Cooper's Island, a happily nostalgic place for the Ficker family as we had ventured to the same small island eight years before. Freshly showered after a long and exhaustingly fun day on the boat, our stomachs growled and we watched the white coated chefs sauteé and fricassee from our open air table on the beach. The palm trees cast long shadows on the sand while we laughed. Around a candlelit table we listened to Captain Andy tell us funny anecdotes from his many travels abroad and in the islands.

After filling our bellies each night we would collapse into our tiny cabins. Early on we had to admit to our rugged sea captain that we were not so rustic-- air conditioning would be a necessity if we were to get a bit of shuteye. So we fell asleep wrapped in the warmth of sunburn and listening to the low hum of the generator and the soft buzz of fans while Captain fell asleep on deck peacefully in the heat. One day Captain mentioned to me that the breeze would be nice that night. "We may be able to switch off the generator and just open our windows tonight," he said cheerfully. He thought it would be quaint to sleep amid the sounds and feel of the Tropics. "Ahem," I cleared my throat at dinner. "We have something very important to discuss. Andy thinks we should sleep with no air on tonight, and I think we should vote." Our unanimous seven hands went up in the air in favor of luxurious cool air and our captain slumped his shoulders in reluctant acquiescence. I sighed a deep breath of relief and let go of any presumption that I was at all a rugged outdoorswoman.

On our last full day we finally made it to the object of snorkeling passion, Monkey Point. The sights there were not limited to fish. Kyle chased a turtle, touching it lightly on the shell which perturbed it enough to whirl around and aim straight for Ginny's and Josh's toes. Escaping death by turtle bite, we ventured further around the cavernous rock to find literally thousands of fish swirling in tight circles and lines. Mark spotted an eel poking through a fissure in the rock and we all clustered, heads butting on the surface, to marvel at the little guy. Closer to the beach our fins and toes touched sand, making it explode weightless around our feet and agitating the flounder hidden there. One old flounder fellow, age marked by the placement of his beady frog eyes on the top of his flat body, seemed not to worry over our intrusion and resorted to fixing his wayward eye on our masked faces until we (well, I) chickened out and headed for the beach.

This day being the day before my birthday, my sweet family decided to celebrate my 26 long years:) Early in the afternoon, as we approached Saba Rock and the Bitter End, I smelled a waft of baking sugar and flour. Ginny came on deck and announced there was a confectionary on the island, and its smell was trapped on the inside of the boat. "That's why it smells so good in here," she told me and I quickly stepped inside. Later, on the island, I forgot to inquire about the confectionary. Hot and sticky as I was, a mojito was much more inviting anyway.

Later that night we joined hands around the table inside the ship as the rain was pelting the fiberglass outside. We dined on homemade chicken, bruschetta, salad, and instant mashed potatoes. We filled our plastic wineglasses with Pinot Noir and cheered my birthday and our trip. At the last, someone marched in with a lopsided chocolate iced cake, complete with sprinkles and a candle to boot. I laughed and blew the candles out and counted my blessings of the people around me. All of our faces were various shades of brown or freckled and each lined with its own marks of age or youth. We were sweaty and cramped avoiding the downpour and our wineglasses were shoddy at best. It was perfection.

There are infinite recountable moments contained in that week of luxurious adventure. There was the hour or two when I climbed over slippery rocks with Dad, Kyle, and Ginny and there was too the time I swam nearly a mile with Ginny and fell into a giggling fit so bad I could have drowned. There were peaceful moments reading my Bible and prayers to a God whose creation I could see, touch, and feel like arms of grace spread wide and welcoming. I hope they will stay with me for a time because I have come home rather refreshed.