Author: The Reads

The last week has been a lot cooler now that the Christmas Breeze is here. Each December the prevailing wind shifts from the South West to blowing from the North East, bringing cooler air. But with the shift in wind comes the increased chance of a ‘Nor=Easter‘. A storm out to sea which drives strong winds and high waves onto the west coast of the island.

We get at least one storm a year this way normally blowing through in a day but this year the Nor=Easter blew for a week. It culminated at the weekend with huge waves battering the west coast of the island and driving waves into the middle of George Town.

Lots of the sea front shops, bars and restaurants suffered damage. Here you can see Sunset House being battered. Tonnes of sand, seaweed and debris has had to be cleared away all along the coasts.

https://www.caymancompass.com/2018/12/23/high-seas-batter-grand-caymans-west-coast/

Some of the beaches up near the posh hotels on Seven Mile have been washed away exposing Iron Shore. The general consensus was it was the worst Nor Wester in 20 years!

It has been quite spectacular!

James came back from a coral cleaning echo dive last week and said he had learned about another ship wreck near us. So we grabbed our gear and went looking for the wreck of the Nicolas.

Worth getting up early for…

Dark

The sun slips into the westing sea,

The water’s opalescent mirror surface shimmers to black.

Lights spring into existence in windows and porches,

The white noise of air conditioning units hum tunelessly,

Music floats on the humid breeze.

The bright of the day is fades to night.

 

Just before the day is finally extinguished,

The background drone falls silent, the day suddenly still.

Unfettered the night rushes in, gloom robs the world of colour.

We take for granted the trickle of power that silently animates our world,

Lights our existance and wards off the shadows.

Only when it’s gone do we realise how pervasive and how dark the night.

 

Streetlights lifeless, their illumination absent.

Windows now sightless stare blindly.

Inside shadow homes candles are lit in ancient devotion.

But rather than solace the flickering flames splash light

Birthing unworldly phantoms, ghost from the void.

The once familiar and comforting now eerie and haunted.

Eyes adjust to the gloom, outside a soft glow beckons.

 

On stoops and steps gather gaggles,

Silhouettes seeking company and the comfort of a crowd.

Freed from the neon glare of ubiquitous light pollution

A faint luminescence floresces glows all around.

The illumination of the waxing moon,

The distant glimmer of stars.

Around voices fall hushed, awed to a whisper by the revelation above.

 

Stars abound! Star upon star.

Oh, so very many their numbers beyond counting.

Tiny splinters of light sweep from horizon to horizon,

Resplendently bejewelling the night sky.

A shimmering river of cold silver glitter,

Dusted with specks of emerald and ruby,

A band of pale diamond fire.

A rent in the very fabric of the night,

Its crowning glory.

 

Sunday

Shops shut.

Town silent.

The glittering sea, empty.

No cruise ships on the horizon.

The world leaves us alone.

Bliss.

Scuba tanks on. Fins in hand we descend the steps into the sea. Behind me, over my shoulder the last rays of the setting sun play across the sea.

It would be easy to be nervous but it wouldn’t help. I force my mind to calm and I still my normally rampant imagination.

The mantra ‘just concentrate on the technical aspects of the dive’ running in my head on a loop.

The sea is still warm.

Fins on. Final checks. Torches on. This is it. We sink into the inky dark sea. As we fall the last of the twilight fades and full dark engulfs us, surrounds us.

Pitch black.

I can see nothing outside the cone of my torch beam. A beam that back on land seemed blinding yet down here struggles to illuminate more than a few meters ahead.

Other than my own breathing, it is utterly silent. It is utterly lightness. I have never experienced black like it. (Yes Marcel it is even blacker than you!).

So dark.

50 feet down with only three tiny cones of light you can sense the immensity of the sea all around you. It is endless in all directions, you just hang like motes in a void.

I don’t think I have ever felt more vulnerable.

Without the torches there would be no frame of reference to tell you which way was up or down. It baffles your senses. In the torch beams dark shadows distort what you do see. It is disorienting to say the least.

Beyond the cones of light, nothing.

It is here that you have to find a way to block out that fear of the dark. You have to turn your imagination off. You can’t even begin to think about what lurks beyond the weak glimmer of your torch. If you let the thoughts in you are in trouble. You have to stay calm and just let the experience wash over you, through you.

Imagination could trigger panic and here that would mean real trouble. So you slow your breathing. Slowing your breathing in turn calms you and the shadows in your head retreat.

The darkness all around you remains but you are in control and the mantra ‘just concentrate on the technical aspects of the dive’ keeps you focused. I run through my equipment checks, I check my air and depth. The familiar driving out the unknown.

The torch beam illuminates coral and sleeping fish.

Squid flash into view pulsating with light.

Lion fish hunt their magnificent manes bristling. Deadly.

On every coral tiny shrimp and crabs.

The giant shells of conch zoom across the sand.

At night the reef is alive and full of colour. Polyps waving in the current.

We stick close together reluctant to be to far apart. Anything over a few meters and we would be lost to each other completely swallowed by the dark. So instinctively we three stick close together.

Then out of the pitch black a shape can dimly be seen at the very extent of our combined torch beams. Amphitrite. The mermaid I met on my first ever dive.

At night she is ghostly, a spectre at the bottom of the sea. Where in day light she sits in stained glass light at night she is transformed into a pale spirit.

A memorial to all those lost at sea.

We begin heading back in the direction we know the shore lies. Slowly moving up the mini-wall and through the coral gardens.

Suddenly out of the dark a huge silver shape moving like a torpedo straight at us. At the last-minute it veers away and disappears into the dark.

Heart racing I slow my breathing. I know that shape. But I know it only to be a sluggish and quiescent thing. Not this fast-moving creature.

It is back swimming with us fascinated by our torch beams. A huge tarpon. A King Fish. Maybe five and a half to six foot long.

During the day the big silver fish sleep or move with slow languid motions. At night it is transformed into a sleek purposeful hunter.

Gleeming.

Stunning, speed and power. Never more a mirror than now reflecting our torch beams.

Blazing.

It circles us a few times and content that we are not its prey it slips into the dark. Gone. We carry on. But as we swim something gently touches my shoulder. Rests on my shoulder.

I freeze. Ready to scream, to thrash, to dash for the surface. A heartbeat from a total melt down. If I was ever going to panic it’s now.

I can see both of my buddies in front of me.

What the hell is touching me?

But I sense no threat. Only a calm presence. A big presence.

Total self-control.

With a steel will I keeping my breathing slow and even. I turn my head slowly and find myself eye to eye with the tarpon. His face literally next to mine, the only thing separating our eyes is the glass of my mask. It’s body running down my back next to my tank.

It is resting on me.

As much in shock and relief, as amused by the cheeky fish I bust out laughing. Big gouts of bubbles streaming from my regulator as I giggle. Not hysteria but genuine laughter.

With the slightest twitch my friend pushes away from me and swims parallel to me using my torch beam to look for its prey! It stays alongside me for a minute and then once again it is gone. Hunting in the dark.

Its been 50 minutes in the black. We surface and swim the short distance back to the dockside the twinkling lights of Sunset House guiding us home, the sound of music, laughter and chatter welcoming back into our world. Back to our reality.

Night diving, stunning and an abject lesson in self-control!

Would I do it again?

Yep.

No not a spelling mistake.

Sunday morning. Sat on South Sound beach enjoying a picnic breakfast with friends.

This beach has been a new find for us. Totally deserted.

Utterly beautiful.

It is like having our own private slice of paradise.

So we sit replete, watching gentle waves play across the turquoise Caribbean Sea. It sparkles under the morning sun.

Along the horizon plays a huge storm changing the sky from startling blue east of us and to a gloaming grey in the west.

In front of us lies Peter Cay. A small island. It looks tempting sitting only quarter of a mile away. It looks like a manageable swim but in reality the rip here is strong. Waves hook continuously around the little island making it appear like it sits at the centre of a whirlpool.

Thunder and lightening crackle in the clouds. The wind from the storm just gentles the edge of the heat making it lovely and refreshing as we chill.

 

Then breaking the surface of the sea only a few meters in front of us a big turtle.

“See! Turtle!” I shout gleefully only to be greeted by a chorus of snorts and accusations of “you are making it up”.

This game has been going on for about half an hour.

Somehow the turtle knows when no one but me is watching and times his breathing to match.

I think he is playing a joke, trying to get everyone else to think I am mad.

With the storm coming ever closer we finally decided to call it a morning.

Seeing we are leaving the turtle finally ends it’s game of ‘peek-a-boo’ and rises gently to the surface to float just in front of us.

At last everyone sees the turtle. But everyone agrees I am mad.

I must be crazy just look where I live!

 

Time travel sucks.

Even a short hop of seven hours leaves you ragged and on edge.

The whole process is unpleasant.

First you are crammed into a metal tube.

You are strapped down and for some reason chilled to the point of hypothermia.

Barely space to move.

Claustrophobia is not an option, you just have to get on with it.

There you remain for seven hours.

Bland food is thrown at you at odd intervals.

You eat because there is nothing else to do.

You try to sleep but cramp, noise and discomfort keep you on the edge of alertness and prevent real sleep.

It is exhausting mentally and physically.

Finally you are disgorged, feeling cramped, rumpled and in desperate need of a shower.

You are disoriented. 5000 miles from where you started and you are five hours in the past. You may have been travelling for seven hours but only two have passed. You woke up at 5am, 13 hours ago, it is still 10 in the morning.

Your brain and body are out of sync. You are out of phase and your body knows it. You may have travelled in time but part of you still needs to catch up.

You are stretched out like a pulled spring and it takes time to recoil.

Passport checks.

The aggressively bored (and heavily armed) customs officer scrutinises you over the top of your own passport. Is it really you?

Humourless metronomes programmed to assume everyone is a potential terrorist. Everyone a threat.

Finally after quizzing you they decide you are not the danger they are looking for.

Finished with you they stamp your passport in a derisory manner. Like they are doing you a favour.

A nod and a grunted ‘have a good stay‘ welcomes you to the USA.

Their undisguised suspicion moves on to the next in the line. A dazed six year old girl clutching a multicoloured unicorn. A clear national threat.

Baggage reclaim

Sharp elbows. Tuts and unbridled passive aggression roil through the tired mob as they wait impatiently for their battered bags. The least fun fairground rides ever turn endlessly and empty in the huge hall under a sick neon glow.

The crowd gathers at the indicated carousel like participants in saddest tombola ever. One where everyone is a winner.

Well almost.

A split bag emerges from the guts of the airport some poor sod’s smalls disgorged onto the conveyor belt for the world to see. They don’t look too clean. Everyone openly releaved that its not their bag.

Bags reclaimed and out to the cab rank.

Medallion

Bundled into a yellow van and out into the endless stream of traffic.

An hour of listening to the driver alternately hurl abuse at other road users and drivel inanities into his cell phone. It sounds like he is having girlfriend trouble. Multiple girlfriends. Hence the trouble.

The ride is a little harrowing as the driver’s attention is only half on the road. He sends and checks texts as he navigates traffic packed streets with equal disregard for the rules of the road and dating etiquette.

The drivers medallion says his name is Dwayne. That’s not the name his baby momma or girlfriend used.

Out of the windows the frenetic city seems to be in a state of chaos. Even more so than usual.

Something has happened.

Something serious.

Police cars, fire engines and ambulances bully their way urgently through the rush hour traffic. Horns blaring, sirens screaming and lights flashing. All heading for midtown.

All going the way we are. We seem to be heading towards the incident.

The cab tucks in behind an ambulance and cuts through the gridlock.

We pass another ambulance at the curb side and paramedics treating a woman for severe scolding to her legs. Red angry looking and blistered, she looks half cooked.

We arrive. JFK to Penn Station. 1 hour. In late morning traffic! Amazing, who knew an explosion in Manhattan could be a good thing?

Hotel Pennsylvania

Built in 1900 it’s a classic New York hotel with many of its original features. Like the bellboy and carpets. I think they built the hotel around the former, now run down, creaky but clean much like the hotel.

Reception is about as busy as the station that shares its name, the front lobby throngs like the streets outside.

Queuing for check in and time to find out what has happened.

A steam pipe has exploded in the Flatiron District. The explosion happened less than an hour ago.

Five hurt, none seriously.

None seriously? How serious can steam burns be? If they are anything like the woman on the street then pretty bad! She was cooked, her legs looking for all the world like the hotdogs the ubiquitous New York street vendors pedal.

The news report says that a five block cordon had been set up around the blast site.

Emergency services are working to shut off the steam. But the real fear is the aerosolised asbestos that now covers the surrounding buildings and streets. For the last hundred years the deadly substance had lain buried beneath the streets malevolently waiting wrapped around the steam pipe. Now it was out. Spewing into the air from the torn road in a great cloud of thick grey steam.

Buildings are being evacuated. Not ours we are just outside the danger zone.

People inside the cordoned off area are having to strip down and be decontaminated before leaving the scene. Anyone who left the scene immediately after the blast is being asked to return to be treated and their clothes disposed of to prevent inhalation of particulates.

Amazingly the TV stations are already running adds asking if the viewer suffers from breathing conditions or Mesothelioma. They could be entitled to compensation. I thought our cabby was the ambulance chaser but he has nothing on these guys.

Checked in. Keys in hand we leave the mayhem of the lobby. The room is massive, the size of a tennis court!

Bags dumped a quick shower and out.

A whole day ahead of us in NEW YORK and the city that never sleeps!

Times Square

With the carnage of the explosion south of us on 6th it seems sensible to head north up Broadway and to see Times Square. It also seems poetic given the Galifrayian nature of the last thirteen hours.

The closer to the square we get the thicker the crowd and more frenetic.

And then there it is Times Square. The neon madness that is this New York landmark does not disappoint.

It is an assault on already overwhelmed senses. The square promises everything from ice cream to lap dancing. A bit early for both I think, or not, I don’t know, it’s mid morning and midnight at the same time. Anything goes.

To add to the tumult the crowd is studded with cartoon characters including Micky Mouse and Iron Man. Batman is arguing with the Statue of Liberty and President Trump is shouting nonsense at us all.

The last one may be real, it’s hard to tell, they all seem to want their photo taken with me and want me to give them money. Sod that.

Then a gap in the crowd, like the eye of a hurricane. Calm. Stood their in the quiescence two women in Stars and Stripes bikinis. Closer inspections reveals the bikinis are actually layers of blue paint and both women are as naked as the day they were born.

I always thought the lyrics said ‘native New Yorker’, guess I misheard.

As quick as the eye appeared it is gone and so are the women. The maelstrom resumes.

We duck down a side street, and the crowds thin, the assault stops like a switch being thrown and sanity returns.

Just off the square is an open church with a sign inviting one and all to come in and seek sanctuary. St Mary’s the Virgin.

Bliss.

We turn south on 8th and walk towards the oasis that is Bryant Park. Sat in this little green gem of a park a restorative coffee rights the world.

Time to take stock. Maps out we plan our assault on the city. First the open top bus and boat. The Statue of Liberty, The Met and a Night at the Museum of Natural History. The Zoo and and an exploration of Central Park. Brooklyn Bridge, The High Line, Tower One, Empire State and Ground Zero all make the list. Oh and shopping, shopping and more shopping.

Time for a quick haircut. Then on the move again and we head down to Penn Station and there we hook up with the Clarks. Because of course you travel 5000 miles and some of your best buddies just happen to be in the Big Apple too.

To Bravo’s and a slice of New York pizza and a beer for five bucks. Nice. We are ready for the adventure.

But first sleep.

4 am Friday

New York really does not sleep and like Bag Puss when New York is awake so is everyone else.

A combination of jet lag and the noise of the city have us all up early. Breakfast in bed.

The news is still reporting the steam pipe explosion and Donald Trump has set everyone off again. They are going nuts about a recording of him discussing paying off another adult film star to keep quiet about an affair. Maybe that’s what I saw in Times Square? It makes sense. Well about as much sense as anything else in this city.

Time to dress and head out the door to meet the Clarks. The gang together we bundle on to the open top bus and head Down Town on the Lower Manhattan Loop.

Soho and Greenwich are full of colour, a rainbow of eclectic characters gentrifying everything.

The business district gleams all glass and chrome. There among the skyscrapers we climb off and head for the boat. A river cruise taking in both rivers and providing unequalled views of the Statue of Liberty.

Yes a real cruise this time.

Lulled by the boat I am soon dosing in the sun. Darn that jet lag.

Refreshed from my nap time to enjoy the sites from the river. A great, calm, way to see the city. The Statue of Liberty is stunning like something out of every film you have ever seen.

Inspired by yesterday’s explosion the disaster movie reference mash up starts.

You would be amazed at how much of New York you have seen destroyed on celluloid. How many murder scenes you would recognise. We were literally walking, well at this point floating, through every disaster movie we knew.

‘Hey this is the Hudson River where the guy from Monsters Inc. landed the plane…’ Blank looks. ‘Sully’.

‘Look there is the Empire State Building can anyone see King Kong?’

The Day After Tomorrow, Planet of the Apes, X-Men, Avengers, Bronx Warriors, Crocodile Dundee, Curious George the list is endless.

Off the boat we stroll up to One World Plaza only to find ourselves standing at Ground Zero and the site of 9/11.

No jokes here. Suddenly it’s not funny anymore.

The memorial is just beautiful. A somber respectful place. So moving.

Around the fountain that marks the site of Tower One are the names of all the victims who died in the first crash and collapse of that awful day. Thousands of them.

Two sides of the second fountain, next to the names of the occupants of Tower Two are engraved the names of all the first responders who were killed when the towers came down. Men and women who ran into the burning buildings. Who climbed hundreds of flights of stairs to rescue others who put their lives on the line. Who paid the ultimate price.

Heroes.

I found Chaplin Mychal Judge’s name. He was Franciscan friar and the fire department Chaplin and among the many to die.

I remember his story so vividly among so many others. That day he was there to provide comfort, solace and prayer and he became a sacrifice.

On September 11, 2001, upon learning that the World Trade Center had been hit by the first of two jetliners, Judge rushed to the site. Judge entered the lobby of the World Trade Center North Tower, where an emergency command post had been organized. There he offered aid and prayers for the rescuers, the injured, and the dead.

When the South Tower collapsed at 9:59 am, debris went flying through the North Tower lobby, killing many inside, including Judge. At the moment he was struck in the head and killed, Judge was praying.

The photo of his body being carried out is just one of the iconic images of that day.

Very moving.

Regardless of your politics, the conspiracy theories and the horrors that led to that day and followed it, it is a place of reflection. Somewhere that touches everyone who visits in a very profound way.

Quieter now we head back to the bus stop and north to Midtown. Bryant Park once again our oasis in the hustle and bustle. Jet lag is catching up with us all so an early night is called. We walk the twelve blocks back to our hotels.

Saturday

Up Town. We hop the bus again and follow Central Park north along its western edge to glimpse Harlem. Round the North of the park and down its eastern side parallel to Madison Avenue. Here it’s all off for Central Park Zoo. The kids love it for all of us the bears and the snow leopards steal the show.

We mooch up through the park to the Boathouse for a spot of lunch.

The Park is amazing with so much happening all the time. New Yorkers really do use their public spaces well.

Our paths diverge here with the Clarks heading south and the Reads heading west to Madison Avenue and the Apple shop to pick up two long awaited birthday presents.

The weather up to this point, sunny and warm, changes to gray and rain threatens so we head back to our hotel. Our route takes in Macy’s and Old Navy.

Sunday – Ache

A slow start this morning. Before we decided to go and explore. Not fancying the crowds on Broadway we head over to 6th were we find a 10 block stretch of the Avenue is closed to traffic this morning for the 6th Avenue Market! So we wend our way slowly up the street poking through stalls that sell everything. It’s really relaxed and friendly and it has a great local market atmosphere right in the heart of Midtown.

The market brings us to our new favourite place, Bryant Park.

Here Victoria and Poppy head off for, you guessed it, more shopping.

So the waving goodbye to the girls James and I set off 30 blocks north and to The Met.

We wind through the streets, through Central Station. As we looked east along one street we see the heliport and Marine One landing. The President is in town!

As we draw near the Park the long threatened rain arrives so Jim and I take shelter in a cafe while the worst of it passes.

Shower over we resume our trek.

The Met is beautiful with gallery after gallery of fine art, historic artefacts, sculptures and great light. The big airy galleries really show everything off so well.

The surrealist collection is particularly good and nestled among the other great works is a Picasso from 1932. One of his ‘broken‘ ladies we saw an exhibition of his work from this key year last week at the Tate Modern!

The Medieval Exhibition provides the setting for a contemporary show. Alongside gargoyles and church reliquary are the most amazing reimagining of religious dress. Priestly robes by Versace, an Armani designed garb for the Pope. High fashion meets high church in the exhibition Heavenly Bodies. I had forgotten it was on. I read about the display a few weeks ago, it has caused real controversy and I thought that it sounded interesting. Here seeing it in the flesh it was breath taking. Such a clever setting for the work. Totally worth the walk to get there.

Jumping on the bus we head back down town awestruck and very foot-sore.

Inspired by what we said about the exhibition Victoria decided to start dressing as the Holy Ghost.

Monday = Cake as Poppy Turns Thirteen

Birthday breakfast at R.

We descend into the heat and madness below Penn Station and the subway. Fun I am sure at the best of times but with a gaggle of kids in rush hour it concentrates the mind. Having said that it’s clean and easy to navigate and everyone we meet is friendly and helpful. So despite the crush and bustle we commit, after all this is the most direct way to the Museum of Natural History.

I can happily say that after six and a half solid hours of walking I have managed to visit every single gallery. The things I have seen could and do fill books and libraries. My feet ache, again, and my brain is full! But again it was totally worth it!

The best bits? Too many to name.

Because it’s Poppy’s birthday Junior’s calls. Home of some of the best cheese cake in all of New York. So to Times Square and the theatre district once more.

Yes the cheesecake is just as good as promised. We tried a selection between us but none equalled their No.1 Original Cheesecake. I guess it’s a classic for a reason.

A happy girl!

Tuesday – Bape

Well the Clarks have left New York so time to meet up with our other friends Julie and Jas.

That’s right two sets of New York friends.

We know them both from Cayman and they are in town staying with family in the Bronx.

Our plan is to meet them down town so we head down to Brooklyn via Soho and the Bape or A Bathing Ape Store. This place is so now it makes my teeth itch.

One very happy boy. Thank you to everyone who gave James birthday money.

Now in his new shirt over the river where we caught up with Julie and Jas.

New York looks magnificent from the bridge. 100 feet below flows the East River.

Then to Tower One and the most incredible views of Manhattan and its surrounding Boroughs.

I never had the chance to go up The Twin Towers. I wasn’t going to miss this.

Next on the itinerary was The High Line so north again to Soho.

The High Line is genius. A disused raised freight line converted into linear park snaking through Manhattan.

It’s like a magic carpet ride above the city streets.

End to end.

A well deserved pint followed.

Wednesday – Gape

It’s our last day in New York. So up the Empire State Building of course.

A bit of final shopping and time to pack ready for an early start on Thursday.

All in all a magnificent week.

Over Christmas my brother Ben and I spent time diligently, nay selflessly, going from bar to bar putting up flyers for the Tropical Pressure Festival.

This is an annual event that takes place in deepest Cornwall so putting up adverts in Grand Cayman makes perfect sense.

Ben is one of the organisers and wanted to send pictures to his colleagues of him advertising the event far and wide and he thought it would be a laugh to send some pictures in from the actual Caribbean.

After a week of dedicated flyering we sent off a range of photos including Ben’s favourite spot Macabuca in Westbay.

Scroll forward six months and we are in the U.K. on holiday catching up with family. We headed down to Cornwall and today we made it to day one of the Tropical Pressure Festival where we were met by this fellow:

Inspired by his visit to the Cayman Islands Ben, who is the bar manager for the festival, has named two of the bars after watering holes he visited over Christmas!

Rum Point and the main bar Macabuca.

The festival is lovely, a real family event with jazz, reggae, salsa, drums, art and circus acts on the site.

The weather was stunning just like being in the Caribbean! And I would know.

P