All Yours!


High Season
December the 15th was the date set for opening the hotel. The restaurant was taking shape. The kitchen, which had been finally opened to us when Phil signed the contract, had to be entirely gutted. The walls were covered in congealed grease an inch thick. A concrete water tank was built into the floor which, when exposed, revealed a family of giant toads. Some Bain Marie pans contained a dead family of baby rats. Some heavy duty renovations were in order. Gradually the kitchen was stripped and redone until its surfaces were all tiled and clean. It was re-plumbed, so that waste pipes drained into the sewage, instead of into the beach. The hotel rooms were being painted white, but still had the heavy curtains and bed linen. On first sight, the rooms looked more suited to a winters day in the UK than a beach front hotel. Slowly they changed from a sludge brown colour to white. Phil's plan was to go off to St Maarten, a duty free island, in order to get necessary electrical appliances, such as kettles, televisions and cooking equipment. It was going to cost in the region of five thousand US dollars to get them there, as opposed to eight or nine thousand in Antigua. By the eighth of the month he still hadn't gone.
Mounting Pressure
I asked Phil when he was going to go, stressing to him that we needed the stuff so we could open in five days. He mumbled something about "probably on Thursday", and disappeared into his room. Thursday the eleventh arrived, Phil remained at the hotel. My alarm was complete. I knew he had problems dealing with spending money, so gently confronted him again. Once again, I was treated to the sight of a man aping a quivering jelly. "Look Phil," I said, " I know this is very difficult for you, but if you want to open the hotel you must go. If you feel you can't do you want me to take over for you ?". He replied that he didn't and went off to his room again. The next morning, there was a tap on my door. It was Phil. He was clearly upset and near to tears. The poor man seemed close to a breakdown. We talked on the balcony as the sun rose. He told me that he wanted me to take over and use his funds until I managed to get all mine out there. I was deeply touched, knowing he was taking a difficult decision. It was obvious he wanted to leave. My heart went out to him as I suggested he stayed, relaxed and ran the bar for me. If he began to feel better about the whole project and wanted back in, he should come to me and I would gladly give him forty nine percent. He mumbled his thanks, shook my hands and went off to his room again. I went into overdrive.
St Maarten I called my friend Hedley, the owner of a restaurant on Dickinson Bay, the busiest hotel on the island. Telling him what had transpired, I explained I had to go to St Maarten the next day and would he accompany me if I paid for his flight. He readily agreed, appreciating I would need a guide. The next morning, off we went to the airport. LIAT (Leeward Islands Air Transport), ran a flight to St Maarten every day. Also known as "Leave Island Any Time", they informed me their flight was full. Somewhat flummoxed, I had no idea what to do. The hotel was due to open in three days and I needed this equipment to make the place habitable for people paying sixty US dollars a night. Hedley came to the rescue. He suggested I hired a small aircraft to take us there. The five hundred dollars would still enable me to save thousands on Antiguan prices. It was a plan. Off he went to find a charter, returning to lead me to their office. Once there, Hedley went off and I met the pilot, filled out the forms and we were set. The pilot, a scot named Ray, went off to file a flight plan returning just after Hedley showed up again. I introduced them and we set off to the plane. I felt a strained atmosphere as Hedley said, " I think you ought to know I threw this guy out of my restaurant two weeks ago for fighting in the bar when he was drunk." As we walked across the tarmac, I suggested to Ray he should come to my hotel for a drink. His response was that it had to be mine, because he was banned from Hedley's. Hedley quickly said, "Well I think we can forget about that now". " Bloody right" I said, " I don't want to be turfed out of the plane at four thousand feet!" Amidst laughter and general relief, we flew off to St Maarten.
Rules are Made to Be Broken
St Maarten is split into two. One half, containing the airport, French and very chic. The other, housing the duty free stores, Dutch and anything but chic. We hired a taxi to the Dutch side and Long Street. There, I trawled the stores, getting quotes for all my requirements. Bartering, until I thought they would barter no more, and moving to the next. Finally at about three p.m. I bought my consignment. It only cost me three thousand US dollars, so I was pleased with the deal. In all I bought sixteen televisions, two stereo systems, ten kettles, a toaster, a mixer, two coffee makers, an espresso machine for Phil, some crockery and silverware. Now all I had to do was get it back to Antigua. The original intention was to ship most via a container, the essentials would be coming back on the aircraft. The only problem was the time. Hedley was becoming concerned that the airport, an hour and a half away, would be closed by the time we returned. I decided to ship it all back on the aircraft, we left Long Street's teeming masses at four o'clock. Thus, a laden minivan arrived at the airport at five thirty.
A Tight Fit Ray was there to greet us when we arrived. "Hurry up guys the airport is about to close". Realising my intentions to put my purchases on the tiny plane, he disappeared to get permission for the taxi to go to the tarmac. Once there, we unloaded the taxi and stood looking at the mountain of boxes. It's amazing how many stowage places there are on a six seater aircraft. It certainly impressed me as Ray threw all the doors open. We packed until there was no more room. There were still three large boxes on the tarmac. Everything was turfed off again as Ray set about repacking. By now, it was five forty, the airport closed at five forty five. Well, we put everything in again, until the airplane was full. There was enough room for one passenger in the back, the pilot and co-pilot in the front, with a large box, containing a stereo, on the ground. Jumping into the passenger seat, I urged Ray and Hedley to stow the box on my lap. This was done, creasing the corners of the box as they jammed it in. All that remained was to shut my door. Together they heaved and strained, until one door catch at the bottom snapped into place. All I heard was Ray saying," hell that will have to do, the door will probably fly open on the way, but he won't fall out because the stereo will stop him." Words of comfort to one who is a nervous flyer. We taxied for ever it seemed, finally straining into the darkening sky. I clung to the seat beside me for the entire flight, anxiously waiting for the door to fly open. Petrified, is the only way to describe my state. Only when we landed back in Antigua did I release my vice like grip on that seat. It was an extremely relieved man who shoved the stereo out and climbed out of the aircraft with my mission accomplished. I could open the hotel to guests on Monday the fifteenth of December, in time for the high season.