Boris Reports: No Virgins on Van Dyke

Boris sends in this disappointed dispatch from the Caribbean Sea where apparently his brand of premium vodka did not mix well with the local tonic:
Over the Christmas/New Years Holiday, I set out on a beautiful boat to explore the British Virgin Islands. I left New York expecting the usual wildness/parties/models/orgies on yachts, etc. that St. Barth's had always offered. Everyone told me to expect none of this, saying that the area of the world I was heading to was very quiet, without nightlife, and frequented by an unusually homely group of vacationers. Did I believe them? Of course not. But they were right. Everywhere we went, the bars were deserted and the few that were not were inhabited by revoltingly fat deformed Midwesterners wearing too little clothing. I resigned myself to evenings watching movies and drinking myself to sleep on the boat (the concept of boat is better than not boat became blindingly clear).

What I did believe was the complete fabrication that Jost Van Dyke was the biggest and best party for New Years Eve. Now Jost Van Dyke has some beautiful beaches, don't get me wrong. It also has a tremendous amount of visitors, unfortunately they're all hideous and classless. Roughly a couple thousand of these lovely grease puppies were in attendance for the "big shindig" on the 31st when our vessel pulled in to shore. Bars were set up everywhere, booths selling bottles of low-grade booze and rancid food of the street meat variety were strewn about on the way to the central party area. In addition to the drunken frat boys, beer-funnelling tattooed housewives and their sweaty Hawaiian shirt clad beerbellied husbands were a fair amount of fairly dangerous-looking locals. All in all, not a crowd anyone would desire to spend the last hours of any year with. Luckily, we were accompanied by a burly Aussie from the boat to keep these slimey revelers at bay. After a couple of drinks, my group ventured to a "VIP" outdoor space where some sort of concert was going on. The only thing that was "VIP" peasant-to-me distance was far greater. A lacklustre countdown to New Years happened, kisses, hugs, followed by a sprint to the dock and onto the launch. We were soon back aboard our boat drinking, dancing, and generally just celebrating having made it off Jost Van Dyke alive. I recounted my thoughts on life, the demise of Bijan, and the evening to a 15-year old chain-smoking chap named Nico who told me "I like your style". Well I like your style too my friend.

So what did I learn? The Virgin Islands are beautiful but not to expect action, not to leave the boat, fat people should wear lots of clothing, and definitely not to go to Jost Van Dyke for New Years!

I'm switching it up for '06.

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