Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale
A tale of a chartered trip
That started from Papagayo's porch
The Tiko Tiko ship

The mate was a sailor named Niko
The skipper was Philippe
Two passengers set sail that day
On a four-hour treep
A four-hour treep

Saturday morning, we went on a private charter aboard the Tiko Tiko catamaran that many a TravelTalk member seems to have enjoyed for their nude cruises around the island or to St. Bart's. We don't share well, so we decided to have the boat all to ourselves -- no Ginger and no Professor. Wait, I'm a professor, but I diverge. One of Abby's favorite memories is a sunset cat tour we took in Bora Bora the evening after I popped the big question 16 years ago. There was only one other couple on the boat. They were Brazilian and spoke little English, and we speak no Portuguese. Anyway, it was almost like a private charter. So, we figured why not have the Tiko Tiko cat to ourselves 16 years later. Before you say it -- "The snot is bragging and showing off" -- it is not all that expensive, and we do it only every 15 or so years. At my age, Abby may be doing the third installment by herself.

Off we went from Papagayo's at nine in the morning headed for Tintamarre. We settled back for the 40-minute sail. Niko kept us entertained with all sorts of tales, while Philippe kept us on course to Tintamarre. They could not guarantee that we would see turtles there. Had not seen any all week. But we had high hopes. No sooner had we reached the waters of Tintamarre than Philippe shouted "Tortue Ho" or something like that. Into the water we went, off to snorkel with "les tortues." We spotted a total of three. I got to follow one around, and Abby had a close encounter of the shell kind right on the surface.

We just kept snorkeling until we reached the we reached the shore. Since we had had champagne on the Bora Bora tour, we wanted to toast the beginning of the second our 15 years with champagne on the beach. Knowing in advance that Niko and Philippe did not offer bubbly, we had brought a demi bottle of our own on ice. We lay out on the beach and sipped our champagne on our own private island and pretended to own it and the boat. Ah, this is what dreams are made of.

Then suddenly all sorts of noise burst our bubble. Those of you who have read Day 3, the Battle of the Beach, might be able to guess in advance what shattered our idyllic fantasy. You got it right; another invasion of the Cruisers. They are inescapable. Like seaweed, they wash up on the beach wherever you go. You cannot stop them; all you can do is scoop them up with a bulldozer. Too cruel? I think not! Boatloads of them came with their noodles and flippers. Vastly outnumbered, we chose not to fight this day. We surrendered the isle and sailed off toward Pinel. "We'll be back tomorrow with reinforcements," I shouted, and Niko hurled insults in French. I did not understand him, but I do believe I heard the words "merd" and "mangez."

Eventually we sailed back to Papagayo's where we had started four hours ago. No weather came up, and Captain Philippe had made sure we were not stranded on that island. Good thing, because I am not a science professor, more like Gilligan.