It all started back in December of 1993 when my husband and I got married.  We had only just started windsurfing (if you could call it that) back in April of that year.  Gung-ho and broke, we decided to wait to take our honeymoon until we 1) had the money and 2) were good enough to go to a cool windsurfing location and actually sail.

Well, we never really saved the money but the day I hit 80,000 frequent flyer miles on my AA frequent flyer card, I called and booked our tickets; it was 2 years later and we were going to Margarita!  I booked our trip for April of the upcoming year (1996) and we counted the days.

Too scared to check our luggage, I went to Service Merchandise and bought cool looking JEEP duffel bags - big ones, you know, the ones just barely too big to carry.  I figured Brendan needed the warm up before 9 days of straight windsurfing.  Now, there is one thing you need to know about my husband, he is paranoid, I mean really paranoid (remember, he wouldn’t even check his luggage!).  Although fluent in Spanish, he was certain everyone was going to take us for everything we had, including the cute little Venezuelan boy who transported our luggage in Caracas ... Brendan knew for sure his car was waiting to steal everything even though he was only 8 or 9 but who knows, maybe they drive at that age down there??  So, as a result, I had purchased money belts, bra stashes, interior fanny packs, sock stashes and so on.  To go to the bathroom was a major event for both of us.

Getting back to our departure day, I had gone through my list.  I had water purifying pills, antibiotics, bug spray, sunburn ointment, Band-Aids, Neosporin, and more.  Brendan had to remind me we were not going camping and even though we were going to a remote island, they did have stores there and doctors too.  After being consoled, I decided to go ahead and leave the sunburn ointment and bug spray at home.

I of course packed several bathing suits, shorts, cute short Victoria’s Secret sun dresses (I mean, it was my honeymoon after all).  Little did I know that after a day in Margarita what you wear and how you look has absolutely no significance in your life.  Brendan had the usual, quicksilver shorts in several muted green colors, several surfer T-shirt in similar muted green colors, 1 sweatshirt, 1 pair of sandals, and tennis shoes, he was set.

Keep in mind all our clothes had to accompany our spring-suits, harnesses, booties, and rash guards, and of course my gloves, sailing shorts, hats, and assorted sunwear including my sailing glasses - everything crammed into two duffel bags that would need to fit into the overhead compartment without breaking it or the bags - good luck.

The morning of our departure, I had our passports, tickets, traveler’s checks, cash, marriage license, credit cards, driver’s licenses, phone cards and emergency contact personnel lists in their appropriate hiding places.  With bags in hand, I hugged and kissed my kids (Wetsuit and MooMoo - my precious furry little kittens), and headed toward the car.  We headed out the door in shorts and T-shirts.  After all, we were headed to a tropical paradise of palm trees and warm breezes.  But, this particular morning in Durham, it was 40 degrees and cold.  Oh well, it would warm up somewhere on the way to Miami, it had to, we didn’t pack any long pants or jeans!

Now, we had booked our gear and hotel through Vela Windsurfing Vacations, we were going to spend a week on Margarita Island and a week on Coche Island.  After unsuccessfully luring all our friends to join us, we were going solo, just the two of us, we were on an adventure, a mission.  We were going to have the awesome honeymoon, or rather, I was going to have the awesome honeymoon, Brendan was going to windsurf his tail off, so much for the romantic candlelight dinners!

We arrived first in Miami, then in Caracas.  Now, you cannot use your frequent flyer miles on American Airlines to book tickets from Caracas to the various islands, you have to purchase them separately and they cost about 85.00 round trip.  Caracas is one big fiasco.  People scurrying around in a blind panic trying to figure out where the hell to go.  There are no signs or coordinated efforts to get people to their destinations, it’s a free for all.  Thank God Brendan is fluent in Spanish!  He was able to learn that we needed to go to the other terminal for domestic flights.  Enter the young Venezuelan boy.  This young boy approaches wanting to transport our duffel bags to the new terminal.  Brendan had already turned down many older helpers.  After fighting with several flight attendants about shoving oversized duffel bags into the overhead compartments, he wasn’t about to let anyone touch them.  We had arrived all the way to Venezuela  with our bags in hand, he wasn’t going to give easily.  Finally, he realized that we weren’t going anywhere unless someone was carrying our bags.  He relented and let the young boy drag them on to the dolly.  Frantic that mine was on the bottom, I had to switch them - my hat would be ruined!

Once we arrived at the other terminal, Brendan gave the boy some money after some creative searching through various undergarments.  Our flight had been cancelled - Damn.  Well, again, thank God Brendan spoke Spanish, he was able to get us on an earlier flight.  By this time, we were exhausted.  We sat down in the bar, drank a beer and split a sandwich.  Finally we got on the plane - old plane, very old plane to Margarita.  They handed out pre-made sandwiches which were not individually wrapped - kind of scary but tasted ok.

Once we arrived in Margarita, the adventure began.  It was very late.  The lights of the arriving plane acted like a beacon for all the towns taxis to race to the airport.  I am certain some left dinners half eaten to get to our rescue.  We got in a taxi and headed out.  There were no street lights, nothing.  There were no other cabs in sight, we were on a lonely road driving between desert dunes and broken barbwire fences.  Where was everyone?  Where were the trees, the water, the tropical breezes, the Mai Tai’s?  This didn’t look like the Margarita I was longing for, this looked like Desert Storm!  For the first time since we had left, I was scared.  I think Brendan was too he didn’t say a word.  I kept motioning him to speak to driver in Spanish so he would know he couldn’t mess with us - we understood the language!  I remembered the horror stories I had read in Windsurfing magazine the year before about Margarita and the banditos.  I knew were going to be robbed and killed, I just knew it.  Before long, we bumped along into a tiny little town with a few buildings on each side of the road, some horses and mules running around and a few weather beaten fishermen wandering around aimlessly.  We drove up to a very big white stucco building - yes, the Hotel California.  Wow, what is this hotel doing in this beaten town.  Well, it was housing windsurfers.  Since we  had booked our hotel the prior year, we got the best room in the building…the top floor corner room, it was AWESOME!!!

We checked in and went into our room.  We opened the curtains to the balcony, stepped out to the cool, dry breeze of Margarita.  Wow, we peeled off all our documents, money, and etc. from our tired bodies, and put them in the safe and went to bed, exhausted!

By 6:00 a.m. Brendan was pacing.  I awoke with the sound of sliding glass door opening.  Brendan was already dressed and ready to go.  So much for a romantic breakfast, it was time for some windsurfing.  I walked out to the balcony and gasped!  There it was, beautiful green and blue water with white caps starting already.  Colored flags were flying and trees blowing in the dawning breezes.  Straw huts and sand everywhere amongst the giant palm trees.  The only activity in town were the dogs playing, racing around the small partially paved street below.  All I could think of was “how did anyone ever discover this remote paradise?”  I raced in and put on my suit, threw on a baseball cap and we headed for our free breakfast.  A variety of tropical fruit juices, funny looking prickly sour things, croissants, breads, and coffee and I mean coffee, the real stuff, the thick, black, smelly kind - yum yum!  The kind of coffee that would even give Brendan a buzz - he was thrilled!

No one had yet awakened.  The windy day before and evenings festivities had left everyone sleeping soundly with exhausted muscles and intoxicated blood levels.  I guessed all would begin to stir around noon or so.  By then, we’d have our equipment and be on the water!

Well, the good news is that Vela had enough equipment for everyone, they had it all:  Seatrend, Fanatic, F2, Tiga, Bic, NeilPryde, and more, they had wave gear, slalom gear, beginner, immediate, and pro stuff.  First, noticing all the sails were 5.5 or smaller I wondered where everything else was.  Then, I realized that was it, no one ever needed a bigger sail but I wasn’t convinced!  They must be rolled up and stashed somewhere.

I started out on a Fanatic sunset slalom because I always wanted to try it.  I went out on a 5.0 and got killed and hated the board.  I came back in and saw another girl my size on a Tiga with a 3.5, so I copied her and was still overpowered.  Brendan immediately went for the Seatrends.  The rules were:  If you break the nose, it’s 100 bucks, if you break a mast, it’s 100 bucks, no questions asked.  We broke lots of stuff including a mast but fortunately, no boards!

By the time I settled on an F2 Axxis and 2.9 Neil Pryde Combat Wave, I was exhausted.  It was so frigging windy, I could hardly sail.  It was so choppy, I could hardly stand it - my guts were going to come out.  Brendan was sailing around with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, I never realized he had so many teeth.  Lunch time came quickly and as projected, everyone was up and at ‘em.  The sailing inside was shallow and crowded, outside there were big swells and chop.  We came in to get some food and take a break.  There was a bungalow right in front of the Vela center where beautiful tanned Venezuelan women would make you any drink you wanted and serve toasted cheese and ham sandwiches.  It was great.  Brendan really liked the tall one with the bi…well, you know.  Anyway, I learned to drink something called a Total Wipeout.  It was just a mix of all kinds of alcohol, similar to an Iced Tea in the states but also had fruit juice.  One of those at lunch, and I was all set for another session.   By 3:00 I was so frustrated and exhausted, I stomped in and tossed my gear on the sand.  I couldn’t even carry up to the hut.  I couldn’t jibe - it was too choppy, I couldn’t water start - it was too choppy, I couldn’t up-haul - it was too choppy, I couldn’t sail - it was too choppy, I was a blustering idiot on the water and it was too damn choppy.

Meanwhile, Brendan couldn’t be happier.  An entire of day of hauling ass around full speed ahead and eating it over and over - because it was too choppy.  By the end of day one, his hands were sore and red.  I finally understood why everyone was wearing white tape on their fingers - it was actually a “cool” thing to do.

I decided to get another drink and call it a day.  I sat under the hut waiting for Brendan to come in.  Boy was it beautiful.  The sun was shining against a crystal blue sky, white caps were blazing across the water.

Everyone had to turn in their gear by 5:00, leaving only the pro’s on the water.  It was awesome watching them perform for us amatuers; they had mastered the conditions and were amazing.  Jumping, jibing, flying, racing, having a blast and they were good, really good.  Ok, time for another drink.

Brendan was whipped.  We went back to the hotel across the street, took showers and he was gone, sound asleep.  I let him sleep for 45 minutes before waking him up for dinner.  After a few beers, some music and good food, he was gone again and so was I.

Just like in the movie Ground Hog Day, except that it was the next day, day two was roughly the same as day one.  I was frustrated, Brendan was having a blast.  The only time I ever saw him was for a quick breakfast, lunch or dinner.  We had met a couple from San Francisco and another couple from Canada and we all quickly became best friends.  We sailed together, ate together, took pictures of each other, and we women bitched together about the conditions - it was too damn windy and too damn choppy and none of the boards worked and the harness lines were too damn short.

Finally, the day came where we had to pack up and head to Coche Island.  We just hated to leave our friends and go the remote island but we were excited too.

The ride over was an interesting one…it was raining and we had to walk to the end of a long pier to wait for a boat to take us on our journey.  After all our clothes were soaking wet, I began to see the boat in the distance.  It was flying up and crashing down over the chop, yes, it would be an interesting ride.   The driver didn’t say much, just picked us up along with another couple who had just arrived and we were on our way.  The ride is about 30 minutes at full throttle heading in a direction with nothing on the horizon but water.  When we arrived, the sun had started peaking through and the rain had subsided.  Hearing some distant drumming and music we turned around to see a parade of girls and boys, dressed up dancing and singing in a line and headed straight toward us.  Some gentlemen in white suits arrived at the beach with pink coladas of some sort and instantly I looked for the camera, this must be love boat right?  No, it was better.  We checked in - the check in desk is located on the beach under a permanent hut with tile floor - very cool.  Everyone has their own bungalow amongst the tropical gardens, yards from the sandy beaches.

We dumped our stuff and went in search of gear.  Everything was quiet at the Vela front.  On the chalk board, there were instructions for us (the only 2 guests) and they keys were hanging.  Basically, it read, sorry, won’t be here for awhile, grab what you want and have fun.  So, we did.  We grabbed slalom boards and I grabbed a 5.0 race sail, Brendan a 5.5.

The most important thing to note about Coche Island is the flat water, totally flat, really, really, really flat water.  There aren’t even any ripples from the wind.  The wind comes from the beach just over the water without touching it.  So, it looks calm on the water but the wind is blowing, trust me.

The reason people always make their jibes in Coche is not because of the flat water though, it’s because of the jellies, there are lots of jellies, the coffee can type that are orange with tentacles that float straight down.  They are really pretty and painful.  Actually, we heard it was unusual that there were jellies but there were a lot of them.

In any case, it was a blast.  We were racing along the beach.  You can literally sail a few yards from the sand because of the wind direction.  With the water so flat, you get going so fast that when you jibe, you have to push your sail around or wait to slow down before you flip.  It’s awesome; I was a jibing master!  I was jibing, and jibing, and jibing; I was the jibe queen.  Brendan and I were racing and flying around full speed ahead!  We broke for lunch and a suntan session.

In Coche, there is one restaurant and that’s it.  You get whatever they are serving that day.  The food is great.  They have chefs that take great pride in their cooking.  After lunch, we slept in the sun and sailed some more.  Finally, Marco showed up (the Vela center guy).  Marco and Brendan hit if off chatting away in Spanish.  Marco looked just like Jesus.  He had long brown hair, thin, tan face and body and knew everything there was to know about the world including politics, family, and business - curious!  He would grab a sail over his head and run to the beach with it.  His wife was just as beautiful and very young.  She was just learning to windsurf and Marco wasn’t very patient with her. He was happier when she was running around in her G-string and crocheted top that barely covered her perfect body.  Yes, he was very proud of her.

We put up our gear and went for a swim in the pool, then got ready for dinner.  Earlier, at lunch time, the chef had approached us asking what we wanted for dinner.  He said he had prepared a special seafood extravaganza for us.  We were both surprised and thrilled.  When he set out for dinner, we were escorted to a private table overlooking the ocean.  The table was beautifully decorated with a petite white table cloth, candles and flowers.  Wow, we were getting the treatment. Finally, I was getting my romantic dinner. I kept noticing though how the waiter kept looking at Brendan’s left hand, it was odd. They served us champagne and fresh salads, and just after we ate our incredible seafood something happened.  We noticed another table being setup on the other side of the pool, closer to the beach on the sand.  There was some scurrying in the kitchen and voices were raised.  All of a sudden, the waiter came over and asked if he could take our flowers and candle off the table, of course we agreed.  Soon, we were being ignored and the new table was getting all the attention.  As it turned out, they had mistaken us for the “new honeymooners” that had just arrived.  It was hilarious, everyone was laughing about it, including us.  After all, it was our honeymoon too, they just didn’t know it.  We wondered what they ate for dinner as we waved to them giggling to ourselves trying not to show it.

The next day we laughed with the new honeymooners about the previous nights mix-up noticing their shiny new rings.  I later mentioned to Brendan that had we kept our wedding rings on, they would never have known the difference!

By day two in Coche, we were bored.  The flat water was getting old and the island was very quiet.  We met a Spanish couple from Barcelona and Brendan reminisced about Spain while we all ate dinner together that evening.  The next day, we did a day trip back to Margarita.  What a reality check.  My sailing skills quickly deteriorated again.  Finally, I went for it, the new 8.3 Seatrend.  That board was alive!  A 2.9 and the Seatrend and I was flying over the chop.  Seven days into the trip and I was finally able to sail in Margarita.  It was work, that board required every bit of focus and energy I had.  By noon, I was beat.  After an hour of nap in the sun, I was ready to hit it again.  I had the best sailing day of my life!  I flew by Brendan on my new board catching some air (1 or 2 inches) and loving it!  By 3:00 I was afraid I would break the nose I was so tired.  I came screaming in full speed and cranked a jibe, my friends were impressed!  Brendan came screaming in an hour later and no time for chat, we headed back to the quiet island of Coche.  One thing to note.  Brendan had all the guys on Seatrends before leaving Margarita.  Vela’s private stash was empty, it was a frenzy in the morning.

Feeling left out in Coche, we ate dinner alone and crashed.  The next day we sailed in Coche again and decided to head back to Margarita for our last day of sailing.  I called Vela and asked if we could transfer, no problem!  We headed back to Margarita the next morning, checked back into the Hotel California and sailed all day.  We were somewhat depressed that night, our friends had left by then and we were leaving in the morning.  We wanted to stay, forever.  We were trying to decide just what we could do to earn a living down there.  We hiked up to a few other hotels up on the hill, discovering some other treasures for next time.  Needless to say, we sailed 9 out of 9 days; the perfect vacation.  Neither of us ever got sick, robbed, or hospitalized so we felt it was a success!

The next morning we headed for Miami, feeling like we were locals at the beach and airport.  I knew Brendan had taken the edge off when, yes, he checked our luggage.  We slept all the way to Miami, dreaming of Margarita Ville.