Saturday

My Honeymoon, phase 1; or The Last Part of My Last Three-ish Months; or I'm Pretty Sure I Should Never Be The One To Choose the Travel Destination Ever, Ever Again.

Once upon a time I got married. It was neat. 

Then there was a honeymoon. It was here:





It started perfectly. For 24 hours, it was the beach-rum-infested-paradise-dream-happy that you think of when you think honeymoon. 


Example:
Cpt Awesompants shot this photo, for he is awesome. Awesomepants.
Sigh. 

24 hours. Just 24. We went kayaking. I got a sunburn. We ate lobster. We slept like the dead, in full recovery from wedding mania that had consumed us for the better part of six months. 

And then it ended, because this happened: 

This is Irene. She is white and fluffy and fucking evil.

This is a better, more satellite-y picture: 

It's like winning the lottery! Or getting shot. A little of both. More of the latter. 

All I can say is: denial + laziness + rum + not wanting to pack up and leave a day after arriving (when it took two days to get there in the first damn place) + blind faith in the incredibly sturdy cabin we were staying in = very foolish decision to stay put = honeymoon that is ruined by hurricane.

After all, I said-- I'm from Vermont. How bad could it possibly be?
After all, he said-- I'm used to crazy weather. How bad could it possibly be?

In retrospect, it was just slightly worse than we could have ever, in our wildest dreams, imagined it could possibly be. It was kind of the like the time Frodo was all: the EYE!! I'm naked and stuff!!! and Sam was all: I CARRY YOU!! and then there was a giant spider, or maybe it was the other way around, but it was all terrible and awful and exhausting and doomy and then the spider bit Frodo. Which is just adding insult to injury.

Part of my recalcitrance to skeedaddle was due to the fact that I'd already once been through the mayhem of evacuating a city because of a hurricane and it was a rather stupid and unnecessary experience. It was in Savannah in my first year of art school (where yes-- I did indeed learn to draw stick figures!!) and it was hurricane Floyd and the entire city was ordered to skip out and go to wherever else like Atlanta at the same time on the same highway which then became an immediate parking lot.

I, of course, didn't have any gas in my car (because buying gas is for sissies) but had volunteered to drive a few friends to Atlanta. So we went to the gas station. This took four hours. Immediately afterwards we got in an accident (I mean this literally, as it happened when we were pulling out of the parking space at the Circle K after buying gas and enough skittles to.. ahem... survive a hurricane). The insurance company calls lasted another hour. We got back in the car, turned around towards Savannah, and decided to chance it.
It rained a little. The wind blew some moss off trees. It was epically anticlimactic.

Perhaps ironically, Floyd was the last hurricane to really hit (and-- concurrently-- utterly fuck up) Cat Island.

Date. With. Destiny. 




End phase 1. Phase 2 up next.









1 comment:

  1. I'm so sorry your potentially rum-fuelled honeymoon was ruined by an evil hurricane. Anything that destroys the potential for rum-filled enjoyment is clearly an ass.

    And seriously, where do they get these names for Islands?! And by 'they' I mean the people in charge of naming islands... They have a sweet job.

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