It's been a while, and....

I've been in locations without Internet. The following is a post e-mail I sent to a group of people. They were the "crew" from my boat-- I was in the BVI (British Virgin Islands). Of the day of my departure, I realized that I was without my passport-- I'd neglected to retrieve it from a women who was "safely" holding it for me.


I am writing in great despair and disillusioned hopes. I currently find myself in a holding cell at immigration. They were not too happy about my overstay. And, I now learn that if I fail to collect a $200,000 bond, they will dispose of me accordingly. There is mold on the walls. an omnipotent smell of urine, and an ever present sound of "Ja Man".... Please help. I'm afraid if nothing is done soon, I'll, I'll.... THIS IS IMMIGRATION, SEN HIM THE MUNEY

Alright, so I'm back in the states. I returned last night.

After saying goodbye to several of you, I spoke with immigration, which, proved no help. They did however warn that after one day of overstay, I'd need to renew my Visa (this turned out not to be true).

At around 8:20am Flavia and that Texan arrived. A quick hello was greeted by another goodbye. My attention then turned to The Moorings shuttle. Which, initially wanted to charge me $20 but after some negotiation, we agreed on a price of $10.

Upon re-arriving at the hotel I quickly formed a team of capable people. And, transitioned the once sedate hotel into "Op Arin". At the Front Desk, in between people checking into the hotel, they began making calls and monitoring their phones. On the other side of the complex --at The Moorings Customer Service area-- I manned a radio and phone while they another. The airwaves and phone lines started to fill with the sounds of "GoodTimes, Goodtimes, this is Arin
Gilbert.... My passport. Anyone out there? Over"; "Tom, this is Gloria from The Moorings... Have a HUUUUGE favor... please begin making calls through the airwaves"; "Jim, this is Arin... Passport... Doug... meeting for her bag".

After a bit of time, and running out of people to contact, I informed my new "staff"of where they could locate me, grabbed a book, put on a pair of swim trunks and headed for the pool.

It was 9:30pm. I'd just returned from the front desk, where a sweet women allowed me to use her internet access to collect consulate information (turns out the nearest consulate is not in fact near...). The phone started ringing. I answered. An excited voice on the other line exclaimed "Arin! I think I have her! Hold, and I'll try transferring.". My Passport had been located! It was Bettina, she was returning to Tortola the next day at 12:00.

Because of the time I'd get my passport, I opted instead to stay another day on the island-- which actually turned into two. It was pleasantly spent. And found me botching a date (due to location confusion), touring the Governors museum and meeting the founder of it's preservation, shooting the sht with a few locals, staying for the final night of the Regatta (party was surprisingly sedate... SW employees didn't even take off their cloths) and meeting a few new
friends who I'll definitely find myself in future contact.

I write this from Santa Fe-- It's morning. There is a crisp chill in the air. The sun, not quite risen, will add no more then a few degrees to the 45 degree temperature. I'm wrapped in a blanket. Yesterday, around this time, I'd found myself on the tarmac. Sweating and using an "emergency information card" to cool myself. I laugh, as one couldn't imagine a more polar opposite morning.