If you are a follower of the No Reservations TV show you know that Anthony Bourdain traipses around the globe, while managing to drink and eat himself to excess and into a pretty lucrative career.
As they say, “great job, if you can find it.”
Last week I reported on my recent personal get together with Tony, with a somewhat unexpected response from him.
Bourdain did post his version of our tête-à-tête on his own blog, and while I was not exactly mentioned by name, I’m in there—somewhere.
The Travel Channel provides us with their typical tidbits on this week’s episode, should you want any back-story on their trek to the Caribbean. (YouTube preview below)
I sometimes think I am really not that much of a world traveler, but as I review each No Reservations episode, I am quite frankly (pun intended) amazed how much my footsteps follow Bourdain’s, or maybe it’s the other way around.
I did the Caribbean back around ‘92 as the travel gods intended, by a private 52’ sailboat with only three of us onboard, as we ventured from Saint Thomas, south to Martinique.
Closer to where Bourdain’s entourage sails, my favorite stop was Iles des Saintes, a small island just south of the French island of Guadeloupe: a little piece of France in the middle of the Caribbean.
We also stopped on the English island of Nevis, and got to meet up close and personal with an immigration official by the name of Mr. Maynard, who I am convinced was the inspiration for the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song, Immigration Man. After surviving that bureaucratic encounter, we got to meet James Taylor’s younger brother who was sailing and singing his own way around that area.
The downside of the adventure was that it almost cost me my marriage.
We were living in the frozen tundra of northeast California, where, contrary to common opinion, it does get cold in California, as in minus 20 Fahrenheit. One week the high never went above zero degrees.
The particular winter when I was offered a berth on a sailboat named Godspeed, we were having the winter-from-hell (which does not sound like the most appropriate phrase in this case) with snowfall almost measured in feet-per-hour.
So I left my wonderful wife with our two young daughters while I flew south to the tropical climes of the Caribbean.
This trip has not been my only extended absence from home over 32 years of marriage—as of next Thursday (no dear, I did not forget)—whether for work or to feed my wannabe travel writer adventures.
Yes, what a saint. No, her…not me.
Although, sometimes she does seem to really appreciate the peace and quiet my absences afford her.
For the life of me, I just can’t understand that.
O.K. yes, I do get it.