Saturday, April 21st

Our last day in the Caribbean. Yipes. We are already halfway done with our contract.


The day was spent on Great Stirrup Cay, Norwegian’s private island. We got all beached out, and boarded the tender boats, which threw us around in the pretty rough sea. When we got to the island, we had bar-b-que, and sort of did our own thing. Cody hiked the island, Jennine and Dave laid by the beach and Steve and I found a hammock and quickly learned the art of reading and napping somewhat simultaneously.

I wish that were the whole story.

Not only was it our last day in the Caribbean it was our last full day in America. So, in a very American display of stupidity and hubris, Steve and I decided to go parasailing.

In our defense, we were given a hefty crew discount (half-off!) and I had never done it before, and you only live once. We signed the contracts sober, and relaxed in the hammock until it was time for our adventure.


It was terrifying. And it wasn’t even the parasailing part that was all that bad (although Steve and I were yelling some pretty obscene things when we realized that the Jamaican men who were operating the whole deal didn’t listen when we feebly told them we didn’t really want to go very high). It was the boat ride. Remember when I said it was a rough sea? Well the boat we were in (along with 12 other people) was very, very tiny and very, very influenced by the mighty ocean. I’m pretty sure it was very similar to one of Dante’s circles of Hell. We were whipped around, drenched to the bone, thrown against each other – all to the delight of the Jamaican pros in charge.

But I didn’t yarf. And neither did Steve. And, even though I shook so hard that people kept giving me towels because they thought I was freezing when really I was terrified, I did it.

I’ve always believed that one of the cornerstones of an anxiety disorder is a fear of losing control. And, one of my goals with this trip was to prove to myself that I had really gotten to a healthy place with my little problem. Well, floating 500 feet above the Atlantic Ocean with only a battered rope tethering you to the Earth and the wind dictating your every move sounds a lot like giving up control to me.

Anyway, we did it. And we never, ever, ever need to do it again.

P.S. I know there are no pictures of us actually parasailing, but that was because our camera was nearly ruined by the 70 foot waves that pummeled our little boat.