So my girlfriends and I decided to take a Staycation a couple of weekends ago. We wanted to relax, go swimming without fear of paparazzi and write bestselling novels. We secured ourselves a multi-bedroom property complete with dock overlooking the Cayman Kai lagoon, and began on the logistics of how we would get supplies ALL the way from West Bay Road to North Side. What was the baggage limit for Cayman Airways again…?
I took up the task of making the list of crucial items necessary to get us through two whole days. I might add that at the top of that list I wrote “Stuff for Cayman Kai” in case I happened upon the paper 24 hours later and questioned its origins if there was no title to guide me. The magical weekend approached and we had our plans set: Carol would drive up with as much as she could fit in her car and Lynne and I would go by boat via North Sound, transporting everything else. It had all the makings of a bad Top Gear episode.
Two days prior I made a trip to Foster’s with my mission in hand. For once I would not be buying a jar of mayonnaise only to find three in the fridge at home. No, no – this had been a clearly researched assignment with nothing left to chance. As I piled the items high people began to stare, wondering if an early hurricane was approaching of which they were unaware. Batteries, toilet paper, squid, kitchen towel, salt, pepper, peanuts, crisps, cold meats, hot meats, warm meats, cheese, crackers, fruit…none of which weighed as much as the gallons of Orange Juice, Coke, 7-UP and Diet Coke that joined the grocery Jenga that my cart had become. Maybe I was overdoing it a touch, but suppose we lost electricity for a week? And the car and the boat stopped working? And all our legs broke simultaneously? What then?? My credit card burst into flames as it went through the machine, I was handed my ticker tape receipt, and I put some shoulder into getting that cart moving to the car – my feet ever-so-slightly sliding on the tiles. For some reason the vision of trying to push a stubborn elephant from the rear came to mind…
We were departing the metropolis on Friday evening. Carol came to pick up the suitcases I had filled with goods, heavier than any return trip from Miami, along with a brand new blender, nay, Margaritaville Frozen Concoction Maker (the official title) that she had kindly bought me as a gift. Of course this meant that Mudslide, Daiquiri and Pina Colada ingredients had also been packed. Off she drove, our own James May, her car’s suspension being tested to its very limits, whilst Lynne (Richard Hammond) and I (Jeremy Clarkson) took to the high seas.
It was a bumpy-ish ride over but could have been much less so, and faster, if Lynne hadn’t been like a Hummingbird on the throttle. We found the channel into the lagoon and aligned the boat with the dock as I leapt out and tied the rope in my signature Waffle Knot – lots of holes and criss-crosses – in the technique with no real holding power. Once Lynne had secured everything properly we grabbed our belongings and dragged them up the beach to the house. Where the hell were the porters?
We beat Carol by 20 minutes ,which was unfortunate, as we then had to assist her getting everything out of the car. Winners yet losers.
Thus began a fabulous weekend in Cayman Kai. That night we decided to leave my hundreds of dollars worth of food in the house, and opted for dinner at Kaibo. We dined on the balcony overlooking the docked boats, ate one of the best meals we’ve had in ages, and enjoyed some lovely wine.
On Saturday I arose at the crack of 10am to find Lynne making breakfast and a perfect day outside. We donned our swimsuits and swam in a pool as warm as bathwater, all of us with our very own noodles. That afternoon we were heading to the SandBar – hurrah!
We got there at around 4pm to find the waves a little feisty and dropped anchor just outside the really shallow area. I got my squid (which I had forgotten to remove from the freezer until the last minute), and waited for the other two gals to join me in the water. Join me they did not. They suddenly weren’t so keen on the stingrays, and it’s okay when there aren’t so many, but there were lots today…blah, blah, blah. I was on my own, with three boxes of frozen squid and feet that couldn’t touch the bottom. Thus ensued half-an-hour of prising apart stiff, cold tentacles and heads whilst hanging onto the anchor rope for dear life, getting a wave in the face every 10 seconds, and stingrays swarming like large grey cheetahs around a vulnerable albino buffalo in a blue swimsuit. When another boat of people showed up I happily offered them my remaining cephalopods and pulled my pruny self out of the sea.
That night we witnessed a magnificent sunset as we sipped restaurant-quality mudslides (ahem) on the porch and ate a meal of steak, potatoes and veggies. As we were leaving the next day and still had loads to eat I tried to push dessert and cheese and crackers and pickles on the others but no sale. Guess those were coming home.
The Sunday morning was leisurely as we packed everything; wanna know why? ‘Cos we had no flight to catch! I realised how wonderful it was to have no suitcases or security to worry about, and no real deadlines. As Lynne and I pulled away from the dock, surrounded by bags of food and more than 3oz of liquids, we revelled in the early evening sky and sparkling waters before us. This was definitely the way to travel.
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