Kim had been longing to dinghy over to Gun Creek because of a "quiet" bar she had read about in her guide book; on our second night we decided to go to Gun Creek by way of a resplendent schooner of an indescribable size; [need Bob's help w/ description of masts]; we dinghy'd out of our way to get good photos of this magnificent vessel; being at the end of its journey for the day, its sails were furled; we would have loved to see its sails unfurled, but we departed the next morning, never to see such a sight;

as we neared the opening to Gun Creek, we strained our eyes to see where we might land; my naked eyes are not as good as Kim's bespectacled eyes, but I had seen a building which seemed to declar itself a "Bar". However, as we motored closer, the "Bar" appeared to be deserted. We corrected course and headed towards a small dock. I felt doubtful, that we should send an emisseary ahead to scope the lay of the land.

Strangely, I felt that it was important that there be other white people about. Not because I was afraid of the natives, but rather because I did not wish to intrude. If we were the only whites, then I felt that we should turn back and leave the townsfolk to themselves. If there were other whites, then the folks at Gun Creek were probably used to having whites around.

The others, having no such inhibitions, tied up the dinghy and climbed onto the dock. The bar Kim had read about was up a steep hill, and had no seating. I thought the prospects seemed grim. There were only a few whites, and I felt that we did not belong. Just then, some boys rounded a corner and I was face to face with them. To them I was just landscape. I began to feel that it might be OK for us to stay.

Kim and Bob bellied up to the bar and procured a most delicious "ginger wine". I should have followed suit since ginger wine had not been in evidence at other bars. Stubbornly, I insisted on having my manly shot of rum, neat, thank you very much. The rum was quite good (Cruzan, a Virgin Islands rum widely available in my home town), and very smooth. It made the Pusser's rum seem undrinkable by comparison.

Ian had expressed concern to me about all of us drinking and then dinghying some distance in the dark. I can only assume that this is why he abstained.

We wandered back to the dock to enjoy our drinks. A local woman sat behind us, reading. As we talked, she interjected a question, and a conversation began. She had a way of conversing which I found a bit confusing. When she asked a question, she listened to the answer for just a little while before jumping in.

Being in a mellow frame of mind, and not feeling the need to do more than listen, I listened some, and talked to Ian some. I never did figure out whether this woman was interested in hearing what we had to say, or whether she thought it was more important that we hear what she had to say. Either way, it didn't matter to me. Kim and Bob seemed to have better luck with her.

I made my shot of Cruzan last longer than I have ever made a single shot of the hard stuff last. That was one fine drink. I allowed my eyes to wander over the hill before me and to observe with pleasure the proportion of natural land to man-made surface. There were houses sprinkled about, but most of the island's surface was furry with plant life. I was pleased that a native person was, of her own accord, making conversation with us.

But I also wondered to what degree any native person could be truly interested in the all-too-common white tourist. I had always dreaded being the white tourist in a dark land. I couldn't bear the thought of being just another rich white person in a land full of poor black people. But it seemed to me like the people of the Virgin Islands did all right, and that the tourist industry was a pretty important part of that.

Now that I was here, it didn't seem important that I bridge the gap between myself and the natives. People like me were a dime a dozen; I was one of thousands. The most important thing about me was that I bring my money in and that I leave some behind. People had been friendly enough, but I felt that I knew my place in the scheme of things. It was a relief, in a way, not to feel ashamed of who I was in the face of people with less.