Waiting for the Big "O"

(An Excerpt from Waiting in the Wrong Line - available at Amazon.com - links follow article.)

The car is pulled to the side of a narrow dirt road almost hidden by overgrown foliage. A beautiful white sandy beach can be seen from the car through a small clearing, and waves are relentlessly eroding the shoreline. We are on the island of St. Martin in the West Indies. We are on our honeymoon.

And we’ve been fighting all week.

We have battled in restaurants.

We have bickered on the beach.

We have brawled in the waves.

Strangers hear us coming and going.

Strangers want to remain strangers.

Right now we are sitting in a rented car on the side of a dirt road almost hidden by overgrown foliage, and we have drawn a bright red boundary line down the middle of the front seat.

I am so mad. It is at least 90 degrees outside, but you can see the steam coming out of my ears, seeping out of the car, rising from the roof of our rented car. If this were a cartoon, there would be horns growing out of the roof of our car and a devil’s tail would be coming out of the exhaust pipe. The car would be rocking with body parts being thrown from the car windows.

Unfortunately, to make the week just perfect, our rental car is the lemon of all rental cars. The air conditioning doesn’t work. The radio is not attached. There is gum stuck on the driver’s side of the windshield and a spring is coming out of the passenger seat, right under my behind.

When we point this out to the rental agent, he says, with a thick accent, “Hey, Maan, it be all we got.”

And, “Hey, Maan, it be all we got,” is all we’ve heard all week.

Orange juice with breakfast? “Papaya today. Hey, Maan, it be all we got.”

Hot water in the shower? “Cold showers. Hey, Maan, it be all we got.”

This has not been a good week.

Of the three pieces of luggage we put on board the airplane, only two came off. The one we can’t find has my asthma medicine and my brand new expensive bathing suit in it. It took me a month to find that bathing suit, to find one that fit just right and was so comfortable and sexy. The lost piece of luggage also has my husband’s Tums. My asthma medicine is secondary. My new bathing suit doesn’t matter. My husband’s Tums? He’s a basket case!

“What am I going to do without Tums?” my husband frets.

I stare at him, wheezing, desperately trying to fill my lungs with air, hoping I can find an island pharmacist who will make a long distance call to my pulmonary specialist. I say, without a hint of nastiness, “Maybe you should lay off the spicy food this week.”

To which my husband agonizes, “I won’t make it without Tums!”

To which I reply in oxygen-poor gasps, tugging at my bathing suit that I had to buy from the store in the lobby, even though it is too small, “I guess you’ll have to live with heartburn, honey.”

It’s been a tough week.

Now we’re sitting in the rented car, on the side of a dirt road. I am tugging at my too-small bathing suit. I am wheezing. My husband has heartburn. We haven’t had a good cup of coffee in a week. And we are both pissed. We are pissed at the car. We are pissed at the hotel. And we are really pissed at each other.


My husband gets up this morning and says, “Let’s fix this vacation now.”

I nod my head, somewhat skeptically, but I agree. We need a quick fix for this honeymoon in hell.

My husband goes to the lobby to talk to the concierge. He comes back an hour later and he’s bubbling. He’s found a perfect place for us to go. He’s waving a hand drawn map. He says it’s going to be great.

I’m already upset.

Nothing on this island could possibly bring this level of excitement.

Then he starts, “The concierge says it’s called Orient Beach. It’s on the other side of the island. It will take about an hour to get there. It’s a nude beach.” My husband’s rambling now. “All the movie stars go there. Very private.” he continues.

“A nude beach?” I ask. “Why’d he tell you about it?”

“Well, we got to talking about surfing, and then he told me,” he answers. “And he said there were great waves.”

Surfing.

Great waves.

I should have read the scribbling in the sand dune.

“Great waves,” the concierge says to the boy who spent the summer of his freshman year in high school painting his mother’s house to earn money to buy his first long board.

“Great waves,” he says to the teen who hid surfing magazines under the mattress, to look at the waves, not the girls in the string bikinis.

“Great waves,” he says to the college student who memorizedEndless Summer.

“Great waves,” he says to the young adult who watched surfing specials on television instead of the Super Bowl.

“Great waves,” he says to the homeowner who wanted to decorate our living room around a poster called Sunset at Doheny.

“Great waves,” he says to the man I married who I have never seen on a surfboard.

My husband tells me “nude beach” and “movie stars,” expecting me to react with, “Wow, what a wonderful, fabulous, original idea you have,” and all he gets is a nasty look from me.

Being the wonderful sport that I am, and wanting to try to salvage this semi-miserable honeymoon in paradise, I decide to go along with it. We grab towels and sun block. My husband hands me the map, and we’re on our way to a beautiful nude beach where movie stars hang out, which just by coincidence has great waves.

We drive for an hour. The island is very green, very lush, and extremely humid. It is early when we leave. For miles we drive never seeing another vehicle. We pass many other beaches. The sand is white. The water rushing to the shore comes in long, lingering pushes against the sand. I imagine myself lying in the sand at the water’s edge. There are no people on these beaches.

We are, for the first time this week, chatting peacefully. We are even laughing. My husband doesn’t have heartburn and I am not wheezing. With some distance between the hotel room and us, this vacation is starting to look more memorable. I’m starting to think that maybe, for once, my husband has had a good idea that won’t turn into the Nightmare in the Caribbean.

Then I see the sign: Orient Beach.

The sign is large. It is brightly colored. Orient Beach.

Our day is about to be an adventure in paradise. “I got you here,” I announce, crumbling the hand written map and throwing it in the back seat.

My husband looks around. He looks at the sign. “This isn’t Orient Beach,” he says.

“Yes, it is,” I answer, pointing to the sign, “Orient Beach.”

“Nope,” he says. “This is Rient Beach. We want Orient Beach.”

“It is Orient Beach,” I continue, not having a clue what he is trying to say.

“Rient Beach,” he argues.

Now there’s an explanation here, an artistic interpretation. Imagine the word “Rient.” From the top of the “R” start an “O”. Bring it up and around the back of the “R” so that it looks like a giant “O” going around the word “Rient.” It is very clear to me. I can’t see the confusion.

I get out of the car.

“Get back in the car! This isn’t Orient Beach,” he says. He leans over the back of the seat and retrieves the map I just crumbled. “Why did you crumble this?” he mumbles. “I’ll get us there.”

“We are there,” I say. “Look at me.” He looks up.

As if my arm is a giant, thick, bold, black magic marker I am dramatizing the big “O” with my arm. I am drawing a giant “O” in the air. “See O … rient. ORIENT. See it? Don’t you see the “O”? Come on, think outside the box.” I am standing there drawing this giant “O” over and overagain in the air for my husband’s benefit.

“Get back in the car,” he says.

I go up to the billboard. I point to the “O” and draw a giant circle one more time.

“Get back in the car,” he says.

I go back to the car. I am standing next to his window. “Think of a giant ‘O.’ Now put the word ‘range’ in it. What have you got?”

Expecting to hear, “Orange,” all I get is, “Get in the car.”

“Orange,” I say. “Think ‘O’ plus ‘range’ is ‘orange.’”

He says nothing.

I try again. “Imagine the word ‘liver’ with a giant ‘O’ around it?”

“In the car,” he says louder.

I get louder, not liking the bossy tone he’s delivering. “Oliver. Think: ‘O’ plus ‘liver’ is Oliver!”

I push myself up on the hood, blocking the driver’s view. I am visibly enraged. With my finger, I write on the filthy windshield, “vulate.” Then I add the giant “O.” I am screaming. “Think. ‘O’ plus ‘vulate’ is ovulate.”

He has stopped talking.

“‘rgasm.’ ‘O’ plus ‘rgasm.’ Think!” I am writing “orgasm” across the windshield.
Screaming, “verload,” I yell and write. “‘O’ plus ‘verload,’ ‘OVERLOAD’.” I am now screaming over the engine. If anyone is hiding in the bushes, they’ve all jumped into the sea in fear of the mad woman on top of the hood of the car giving a spelling lesson to a baboon who can drive.

I get down from the hood. I open the car door get in, glaring at him, “You are such an AF!” I say.

“You mean ASS?” he says, trying to correct me.

“No,” I say. “You are an AF! ‘A.’ ‘F.’ ‘AF’.”

“What is an AF?” he asks.

“Sam, ‘AF’ with a big ‘O’ going around it. YOU ARE AN AF!” I say.

I turn my body away from him and stare out the window, trying to get a view of the great waves before we leave Rient Beach.

And then he shuts off the ignition.

“Oaf,” he says. “I am an oaf.” He meekly smiles, staring through the windshield with the words “orgasm” and “ovulate” and “overload” written in the filth.

I don’t say anything. We both silently get out of the car, grabbing our share of gear from the trunk and head toward the beach, and I swear, as we pass the “Orient Beach” sign, my husband says, “Ya know, that’s a really cool logo.”

---end

©2002, Felice Prager. All Rights Reserved. This blog is copyright protected. No item on this blog, including this essay or any photographs, may be used without the author's express written permission.

The Contents of this blog – including all photographs – are COPYRIGHT PROTECTED and may NOT be used, distributed, shared, emailed, or copied in any form without the written consent of the author/photographer.

Originally Published In Traveler’s Tales – Whose Panties Are These?
Also Published at CommonTies.com and Sasee Magazine.

To purchase WAITING IN THE WRONG LINE, follow the links at http://www.feliceprager.com

Grand Canyon Skywalk

Before the Grand Canyon Skywalk even opened to the public, more than 2500 articles appeared about it in Great Britain, Germany, Italy, Japan, France, Australia, the United States, and other places around the world. Before anyone stepped out onto the cantilevered glass bridge, Popular Mechanics called it the “best of what’s new” in engineering. Ultimately, the Grand Canyon Skywalk has a lot of hype to live up to, and its fate will be determined by how tourists react to this new attraction. It has received a huge amount of national and international media attention, including having astronaut Buzz Aldrin lead the first walkers onto the Grand Canyon Glass Skywalk in a private ceremony on March 20, 2007. Since March 28, 2007, Grand Canyon Skywalk’s opening day, the lines to get onto the glass bridge have been long and interest has remained strong - despite the heat, the cost, the conditions in this remote area of Arizona, and the controversy surrounding the construction.

The Grand Canyon Skywalk is located at Grand Canyon West on the Hualapai Indian Reservation. It is not in Grand Canyon National Park as many have thought it was. In fact, it is a 3-hour drive from Las Vegas through Hoover Dam, a 6-hour drive from Phoenix through Wickenburg and Kingman, and a 5-hour drive from the Grand Canyon’s South Rim. Geographically speaking it is located approximately halfway between Las Vegas and the South Rim, but it is not easy getting there.

No matter what route you take, Dolan Springs Diamond Bar Road is at the end of your trip. This is a 15-mile unpaved and deeply rutted road. Since car rental agencies consider this off-road travel, you will be held liable if any damage to your vehicle is incurred. In addition, unless you are an off-road savvy driver or passenger, this is not for everyone.

Many who have visited Grand Canyon West’s Skywalk have opted to take advantage of a Park and Ride Shuttle Service offered from the Grand Canyon West Welcome Center located near Meadview, Arizona. This costs $10 per person and reservations are required.

There is also an entry fee of $49 per person into Grand Canyon West. This is called the “Spirit Package” which includes a permit to enter the area, photo opportunities with members of the Hualapai tribe in ceremonial regalia, Native American performances, transportation to a non-working mine and the glass bridge, and an all-you-can-eat western style buffet lunch. There are upgrades available to this package that include rim-side Hummer tours and horseback riding, helicopter rides down to the Colorado River, and pontoon trips on the river. These upgrades cost between $50 and $200 per person.

None of these fees includes actually walking onto the Grand Canyon Skywalk. That costs an additional $25 per person. Thus, the minimum cost for this excursion, is $75 per person. For the adventurous, it could wind up costing several hundred dollars per person.

The Skywalk is a U-shaped glass bridge jutting 70 feet past the rim of the Grand Canyon. The other side of the Canyon can be seen three miles away. The bridge is advertised as being 4000 feet high although it is said to be only about 2000 feet from the bridge to the Colorado River below which is already high above sea level. The Skywalk is not directly above the main canyon, Granite Gorge, which contains the Colorado River, but instead extends over a side canyon. The walls and floor are built from glass that is 4 inches thick. According to the press, the Skywalk is capable of holding 70 tons of weight, or the equivalent of 800 people weighing 175 pounds each. However, the permitted capacity on the Skywalk is limited to 120 persons at a time. Promotions claim that the Skywalk is sturdy enough to hold the weight of a dozen fully loaded 747’s, and strong enough to withstand winds up to 100 miles per hour and earthquakes.

Before stepping onto the glass walkway, all cameras, cell phones, keys, and other personal belongings must be surrendered so as not to puncture or scratch the glass. Visitors are given booties to wear over their shoes for the same purpose. Though the tourist is invited to bring cameras to the Skywalk, these are not permitted on the bridge. Souvenir photographs are available for sale.

Many visitors have been disappointed with the differences between the artist renderings and advertisements of the Skywalk and what the Skywalk actually is like. It is not as picturesque as the original well-know Grand Canyon National Park but it is still awe-inspiring.

To the dismay of many travelers, the site itself is also not developed yet as it is a work-in-progress. Those who have spent the money to see and walk on the bridge claim it looks more like a construction site. The site has at least 15 more years of construction ahead of it, at a minimum, to get it to be as the builders envision it.

There is also no nearby lodging available at this time. Tourists must go to Kingman which is one and a half hours away or to Laughlin or Las Vegas which is further just to find hotels. Some have opted to travel from Las Vegas or the South Rim via airplane tours to avoid the difficulties in finding lodging at the site.

To date, the Skywalk has experience long lines in blistering heat. Grand Canyon West is considerably hotter than Grand Canyon National Park. Since it is so far from civilization, there has been a shortage of water and food at times.

It is hoped that Grand Canyon West’s Skywalk Project will give an economic boost to the Hualapai Indian Tribe, who have battled widespread unemployment and poverty for decades. That is their dream though it is still far off. The concept was the dream of Las Vegas entrepreneur, David Jin, who, with the help of Las Vegas design firm, Lochsa Engineering, came up with this project.

According to Hualapai officials, the cost of the Skywalk alone will exceed $40 million when it is complete. This includes nothing but the Skywalk. Future plans for the Grand Canyon Skywalk Complex include a museum, movie theater, VIP lounge, gift shop, and several restaurants including a high-end restaurant called The Skywalk Café where visitors will be able to dine outdoors at the canyon's rim. The Skywalk is the cornerstone of a larger plan by the Hualapai tribe, which it hopes will be the catalyst for a 9,000-acre development to be called Grand Canyon West. This would open up a 100-mile stretch along the canyon's South Rim and include hotels, restaurants, a golf course, and cable cars to ferry visitors from the canyon rim to the Colorado River, which has been previously inaccessible. There are obvious protests to the environmental impact of such a project.

For varying reasons such as the above mentioned, there has been controversy about this project. From Native Americans to environmentalists, the project has been criticized.

Thus, the new Grand Canyon Skywalk has several shortcomings:

It is a long drive from anywhere.

Once you get there, the last 15 miles are bumpy and unpaved.

It is not in Grand Canyon National Park and the views are not as spectacular.

It is expensive.

Cameras are not permitted on the Skywalk.

Tourists are advised to bring sun protections (hat, sunglasses, and sunscreen) because the wait on the lines is long in the intense heat.

The project is environmentally unpopular.

It is a work in progress and resembles a construction site.

If tourists are willing to travel, brave the elements, and cover the cost of this excursion for a once-in-a-lifetime experience, it is important to understand the above variables before they go. Otherwise, it might be a better choice to wait for the site to be better developed.

That’s up to the individual tourist.

- - -

(This essay was published at DesertUSA.com in 2007.)

©2002, Felice Prager. All Rights Reserved. This blog is copyright protected. No item on this blog, including this essay or any photographs, may be used without the author's express written permission.