Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“No shit! What's the boat's name? I'll have to call you up on the radio, and come for a vis-
it.”
Darrell was as good as his word and would call us up on the boat's VHF radio, arranging to
meet us at various bars around town. We became good friends in the next couple of weeks
and had many a fun night ogling the scenery in the bars. It became a familiar sound, and
one that would be repeated by Gavin and me for years after.
“Déjà vu, Déjà vu, calling yacht Déjà vu, this is Witchall, Witchall, Witchall, calling yacht
Déjà vu, do you copy, over?”
One night we were at a Chinese bar and restaurant called Kimsha's and noticed one of the
patrons had two tape measures placed strategically on his jogging shorts for some reason.
It looked so odd, so unlikely.
“What the hell?” commented Darrell. “I guess he's a construction worker and is desperately
trying to let all the women know, but why two?”
We laughed and left it at that. The following evening when Darrell came down to the wa-
ter's edge to pick up Gavin and I in his company truck, I got a great laugh out of him by
jumping onto the dock with my elaborate double-pouched leather nail belt complete with
expandable U.S.A. colored suspenders, bristling with screw drivers, pencils, nail punch,
bradawl, two tape measures, and a large claw hammer dangling on my naked thigh. I was
in a pair of running shorts and tank top and had a baseball cap perched on my head.
Darrell roared with laughter, “I dare you to go to Kimsha's like that!”
“Oh, I intend to; don't worry, the double-taped toe tapper has met his match.”
Later when we trooped into the bar nonchalantly and ordered a round of beers, I was aware
of a few stares and suppressed chuckles, and when the tape measure man finally came in
predictably with his two tape measures, he stared uncomfortably and suspiciously at me.
He finally realized why I was dressed the way I was, especially with the two tapes and
laughed good-naturedly.
We got good mileage from that prank, and when we finally did leave St. Maarten, we were
genuinely sorry to say goodbye to Darrell, “Witchall, Witchall, Witchall!”
