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Charlotteville, Tobago
Thursday, February 19 2026
location: Cabin 300, the Star Clipper ship anchored in Man O War Bay, near Charlotteville, Tobago, the Caribbean Sea
I was up very early this morning, in time to catch the pre-breakfast buffet in the Piano Bar, where I sat tinkering with my laptop (mostly offline!) and drinking cappuccinos from the cappuccino machine. Most of the riverboats have their own industrial cappuccino robots that quickly produce various fancy coffee drinks. The Star Clipper, on the other hand, only had a big coffee pot full of acrid coffee (Maxwell House, it would later turn out) and a way to make hot water. So Dirk, the guy who owns the vegan riverboat company and usually acts as cruise director, had "organized" a couple of $600 cappuccino robots, one of which had gone missing (damn pirates of the Caribbean!). $600 might sound like a lot to spend on a cappuccino robot, but it only buys you a consumer-grade device that takes about two minutes to produce a typical drink. That's a long time when you're standing in line, so part of the reason I was up so early was to beat the rush and make myself a proper drink. The kind I like is usually more than just a cappuccino; it typically also includes a double shot of espresso or, on this particular machine, maybe an espresso mochiato (whatever that is; it sounds delicious). Due to the lack of people up and about, I was able to make myself at least two such drinks.
The few people who were up and about were mostly talking about how unsettled they felt as a result of the rocking of the boat as it plied the not-especially-gentle waters of the Caribbean Sea. Some had had trouble sleeping and others still had trouble just walking due to constant motion, which wasn't always predictable. This was very different from how things felt on a river boat, whose motion can scarcely be felt at all, or a large ship, which tends to be more stable. My experience last night hadn't been affected as much by the ship's motion as it had by its sounds. Each cycle of port-starboard movement had been accommanied by a loud clank, as if something big wasn't well secured. I would later decide that this must've been an anchor, one of which descends not far in front of our cabin near the bow of the ship.
Later, I think Gretchen went to morning stretches (sort of like yoga) in the Tropical Bar and then we met up with Kelly and Brian for breakfast down in the dining hall. The buffet was full of breakfast items, which I don't generally like. So I made myself sandwiches using vegan sausages and vegan bacon. The guy coming around with coffee was pouring that same acrid stuff from the ship's big coffee pot, and after drinking all those fancy robot drinks, I found it utterly undrinkable.
Overnight we'd sailed southeastward to the northern end of Tobago, the island usually included when saying the name of its big sister Trinidad. With the exception of St. George's, all of the ports we'd be visiting on this cruise didn't have proper harboring to dock our sailing ship. So instead it would drop anchor out in the bay and then use little ships it had brought along (called "tenders") to ferry to the dock those who wanted to go. Gretchen and I checked out snorkeling gear and then rode a tender to the little village on Tobago called Charlotteville (notice it lacks an "s," though even natives often pronounce it as if it has one and might be home to the University of Virginia).
Once we'd reached the dock, we waded through the guys offering taxi services and started our walk to Pirate's Bay, a small part of Man O War Bay to the northeast. To get there, we had to walk up to the top of a hill and down a long flight of concrete steps. It only took about fifteen minutes to get there, and then we were on a pristine beach with not all that many others. We were putting on our snorkeling gear when a woman with her arm in a cast (I joked that she was Australian, but she had a European accent) came by and suggested we do our snorkeling over by the rocks on the south end of the beach.
Gretchen was soon off snorkeling, and I wasn't far behind. But the currents and waves near the rocks were brutal and it wasn't long before I'd sustained a minor injury on my upper belly and had salt water coming down my snorkel. I'm a weak swimmer at best, and few things panic me more than not having access to air when I am trying to snorkel. I told myself not to panic as I clawed my way over to the rocks and pulled the snorkel from my mouth so I could breathe. I'd seen a few beautiful fish and some nice corral, but none of it was worth fearing for my life. So I tried making my way back to the beach by climbing along the rocks. In one place there was no alternative but to swim across a chasm, and I did so successfully. But after that I was done. I just sat on a rock in the shade and watched the others enjoying themselves. Some of the people were from our sailing ship and had been brought to Pirate's Bay by water taxi, which later came by to pick them up to return them to the dock (where they could take a tender back to the ship). One person not from our ship was a skinny white woman with two little black boys. I'm not sure what her relationship to them was, but she was treating them sort of like they were younger brothers. She took each out snorkeling one after the other while the other played on the beach unsupervised (in a way you'd never see in the United States). Gretchen returned at some point and said that the currents and waves near the rocks were challenging even for her, but that the snorkeling was better further out. But that didn't make me want to go join her when she went out for a second time. I just continued sitting there, alone with my thoughts. I've developed a new appreciation for being bored, since that state is helpful for developing ideas, so I didn't much care.
When Gretchen and I finally got around to leaving the beach, we did so with Tara (the photographer from our ship) and her daughter Angel (the girl who looked to be about fourteen). Gretchen and I are pros when it comes to hiking and can easily do it in flip flops for long distances in most cases. This is where having others join us is not necessarily a good thing, since such people usually take a long time to prepare for even modest hikes. Tara and Angel, for example, had to first wash all the sand off their feet, dry them, put on socks, and then put on shoes, all of which took time and could've been avoided had they just been hiking in sandals. But then we were climbing all those steps up from Pirate's Bay and then hiking down the hill back to Charlotteville.
Down at the dock, we noticed a fair number of free-range chickens walking around amid slow-moving vehicles and dogs. Everyone seemed to be coexisting just perfectly, as if in a tropical paradise. A drunk guy dancing by himself in the sun encouraged us to get some beers at a bar that happened to be there, so we (well, Tara and I) did. The woman running the place was deeply unpleasant, and kept snarling at her kids, who were playing there among us. One wore a noticeably swollen diaper.
At dinner this evening, the six of us in our clique (Kelly, Brian, Cathy, Simon, Gretchen, and me) sat together at a table and most of what happened was us reacting to Kelly, who was clearly not herself after taking diphenhydramine all day to combat motion sickness. You could see it in her eyes and her slackjawed expression. Being familiar with the effects of diphenhydramine, I wondered if she was even capable of forming memories at the time. Our discussion was full of humor and was wide-ranging, and every now and then Kelly would try to chime in with hilarious results. For example, someone was talking about something that had been flavored with rose water, and I replied that I don't like my food tasting like "little old ladies." This quickly transitioned into a discussion of cannibalism and whether or not Jeffrey Dahmer like to eat little old ladies, which of course he didn't (he preferred young Asian men as I recall). In that respect, then, I had something in common with Jeffrey Dahmer. To this, a bleary-eyed Kelly chimed in, "Why doesn't Jeffrey Dahmer like little old ladies?"
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The Caribbean Sea this morning. Click to enlarge.
A tender docked to our ship. Click to enlarge.
A tiny fake cannon on the deck of our ship. Click to enlarge.
On the tender headed to Charlotteville. Click to enlarge.
Rocks near where I snorkeled in Pirate Bay. Click to enlarge.
Other rocks near where I snorkeled in Pirate Bay. Click to enlarge.
A termite lodge near where I snorkeled in Pirate Bay. Click to enlarge.
The steps up from Pirate Bay. Gretchen has great legs! Click to enlarge.
Angel (in the foreground) and Gretchen coming up from Pirate Bay. Click to enlarge.
Our ship (the Star Clipper) viewed from the hill above Pirate Bay. Click to enlarge.
Chickens and humans on the street in Charlotteville, Tobago. Click to enlarge.
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