Today, sadly, was our departure day. Cassandra and I both woke up early, showered, finished packing and hauled our stuff to the front lobby for transfer to the airport. I went to the Courtyard Cafe for breakfast, and, of course, my breakfast request was lost and I ended up spending a bit of time there. At least I could enjoy my coffee, and enlighten everyone on how "I almost got into the truck with Ty and his friends for some after hours island partying," and how I wouldn't wash my cheek for a year! Not really, but it was a good story, or so I thought. Back to the hotel, and outside for some last minute reading, sunbathing, napping and then shell searching with Penne, Nancy and Keri.

Warren joined us later, and passed on information of the night before, where apparently Ty drove head-on into another car, and he was currently in the hospital sleeping it off. Everybody was okay, but not the truck, which was borrowed without permission. doh! The story of the day then became "Wow, good thing Yvette didn't get in the truck last night." So my funny story went awry. To put it in perspective, two of the stories that were told about Ty: The first is about how he was out windsurfing or sailing one day, the sail broke, and he spent 17 hours paddling the boat back to Grand Turk, getting hypothermia and a short stay in the hospital. The second story is about how he one night decided to drink a fifth of alcohol (vodka?), gave himself alcohol poisoning, slept it off in the hospital, and when he woke up, the doctor had saved the stomach contents they pumped, showed Ty, who responded with, well, put some ice on it. !!!

The rest of the day was spent at airports, making connections, getting back to the hotel to pick up Cathy's car and getting home safely about 1am or so, then straight to bed.

Although, divers will appreciate this story. As it was told, one of our group, a Mr. Macho Diver, on the flight over to Grand Turk announced to anyone that would listen that diving is not dangerous, nobody has ever died while diving, blah blah blah. During the week, he decided on one of the dives, without telling his dive master, that he was going to beat a personal depth, although I'm not sure if it was his own or someone he knew. So with only his dive buddy (er, 'girlfriend') knowing, he dropped to 217 feet while his buddy stayed (and watched?) from 90 feet. Well, his dive master was none too pleased to say the least. Nor was the owner of the dive operation. This is the same couple who dove 3-4 times every day, including one shore dive where they went out to the reef (which is a good distance from shore) until they ran out of air, then had to swim back. !!