“I need to see their passports before I can sign these departure papers,” said the customs officer shaking his head. He glanced at me like I was an idiot and should know these things. I was sitting in front of him with in the British Virgin Islands customs office.
“When I called earlier, someone told me they did not have to be physically present to be cleared for departure,” I explained. “I have a scanned photo of their passports. They arrive at the airport at 6:15 tonight. I want to leave the marina at first light.” I held up my phone with the photos.
Brushing me away, he said, “Come back tomorrow or before 8 p.m. We are open until then.” He went back to his computer. He was scanning a news page and laughed at something he found funny. When he saw me from the corner of his eye, still sitting, he said without looking up, “Anything else I can help you with?”
I shook my head, the salty tang of the sea air a poor consolation for my frustration, and headed back to the marina in a taxi. I texted my crew Marco and his son Matthew, letting them know I’d meet them at the airport, then we’d hit the customs office before heading to the Marina. The message zipped through the network. Arriving at the same customs office at 7 p.m. with Marco and Matthew, we had plenty of time to spare. A tall, serious customs officer, different from the one I’d seen before, his face etched with weariness, said, “The cashier is gone now. Checking you out is not an option. You need to come back tomorrow.”
“You cannot be serious,” I laughed, a disbelieving chuckle escaping my lips. “I was here only a few hours ago; they said to return before 8 p.m., and, wouldn’t you know it, here we are!”
The customs man was walking away, but stopped abruptly, his footsteps crunching on the concrete floor. He turned and pointed an accusing finger directly at me. “Are you laughing at me?” His demeanor shifted, his eyes hardening, and a dangerous glint appeared.
We bolted back to the waiting taxi, the three of us a blur of motion, hoping the cover of darkness would shield us until we could try again tomorrow. “It’s all part of the adventure package I offer to you….” I explained.
The following morning, we sailed into the calm harbour, where customs was located and we picked up a mooring ball. The three of us launched the little dinghy, the splash echoing unnaturally loud in the stillness before dawn, and we inched our way toward the customs office. Each movement was deliberate, our expressions carefully neutral, certainly without laughing this time. Things went a little smoother, and with a sigh of relief, we headed out to sea, the salty spray of the ocean already on our faces.
Many sailors I’ve met on my travels whispered that the Spanish Virgin Islands are a well-kept secret, a hidden paradise. Culebra is strikingly beautiful, with its near-deserted beaches and the gentle sounds of waves lapping the shore, it is incredibly inviting. The sky was a soft blend of orange and purple as we arrived well before dark at 4 p.m. We dropped anchor in 15 feet of clear, turquoise water, the seabed visible below. My experience with US customs was markedly different than I anticipated, filled with no unexpected delays and stringent questioning. I simply filled in our passport information onto the Roam app. The satisfying beep of the digital ‘welcome to the US’ notification echoed as we launched the dinghy, the message appearing on my phone screen. Sighing, a wave of relief washed over me. Despite the world’s turmoil, I felt a comforting sense of safety.
For 25 years, I’ve known Marco as a sensible, hardworking, exceptionally talented surgeon; his steady hands and sharp mind were legendary in the operating room. Confined to a small sailboat, with the smell of salt and the sounds of waves, you quickly understand someone’s true nature. It was unexpected, but his exceptional cooking pleasantly surprised me. The textures, tastes, and presentation were all amazing. That night, he prepared a delectable fettuccine with mushrooms and shrimp, the aroma of sautéing garlic and parsley filling the boat’s galley as he carefully chopped the vegetables and spices. After dinner, the cool night air caressed my face as I sat under the stars in the cockpit, a sense of peace washing over me; “Life is good,” I thought.
Leaving Culebra at the crack of dawn, the rising sun painted the sky in vibrant hues as I promised myself a return to that quiet paradise. Today, we had a perfect weather window—the strong winds at our backs felt exhilarating. A lively discussion ensued, filled with the clatter of mugs before we left that morning, about anchoring off the west side of Puerto Rico for the night, or braving the legendary Mona Passage’s unpredictable currents for an overnight sail to the Dominican Republic. With a thrill of excitement, Marco and Matthew eagerly selected the nighttime passage adventure, the air alive with the promise of mystery. A strong wind of 23 knots is blowing from the eastern direction. With our enormous Code 0 sail fully deployed, we are presently making excellent progress at a speed of 8.5 knots. I don’t have to look far at the expansive azure blue sea to be constantly reminded of how wonderfully good life is.
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You certainly do get yourself into some situations 🙃 never laugh at Customs people – sadly nothing is funny to them – you are living life which is awesome – enjoy every moment (is that Marco C. from Himber? – please say hello if it is him – safe sailing 🦋