On December 16, anchored out by ourselves in beautiful Savannah Bay, Virgin Gorda, we celebrated Jo Belle’s birthday. I won’t say how old she is, because she doesn’t look it, but it’s okay for you to guess if you can do this math without looking anything up: the year Elvis died minus the year we dropped the bomb, plus how old MLK Jr. was when he died, minus 1. If you lived through any of that, you are old enough to know the answer.
After the celebrations, we spent a day at the Virgin Gorda Baths. Wow! That was worth it! Of course, before we left for the Baths via taxi, there was a bit of a debate. What to wear? We had heard there was hiking over rocks, but we also heard there were pools of water. Mel put her swimsuit on underneath her clothes, but no one else was keen on that. “We’ll just bring ours in a backpack,” her family said. Mel, thinking of what a busy tourist site was like, said, “Okay, but I bet there won’t be anywhere to change. You might regret it!”
Mel would like to tell her family that repeating her words over and over as they were proven wrong every time they turned a corner in the Baths, which was essentially a chain of caves with plenty of dark corners, is rude.
She secretly wishes there were more spiders there.
So here is a bunch of pictures of her family swimming in the Baths in their swimsuits. Apparently, her husband and children are adept at changing quickly in crevasses. They all were smug on the ride back home, sitting in their dry underwear while Mel went commando in her dry shorts. “That’s okay,” Mel comforted herself, “I’ve got tons of pictures of rocks.”
Enjoy these pictures of rocks.