Check-out at Barbuda

Check-out at Barbuda is different. No dinghy docks, so you brave the surf, passport and boat-papers in water-proof plastic bag. Today it's definitely a swim wear exercise. Landing near the verrrry exclusive hotel a watchman is skeptical to our dinghy beach-landing. But we have a date down the beach with George, the taxi driver. For the slight fee of $60, sixty US dollars (!), he will drive you to Codrington, then around the village so you can see the three officials who need to stamp hour papers, and back.
First the Harbor Master. Not home. Three houses down at the bar he and his pals are enjoying a Carib and a game of cards. But he will stamp the papers we fill out if George gets them from his house. One down.
Two to go. Next stop, "Customs". He's at home, but asleep. Now on his feet, he has a great deal for us to fill out. Some are 6 carbon-copy forms.
One to go. At the Airport. That's a dusty walk along side the runway's wire fence. And into a little one-room building. "Immigration". Now the last signatures and stamps are procured. But as "Full Circle" had already described the entire process our repeat was no surprise.

Back to dinghy. A wet launch, but successful. And now, back at "Babette", where to and when?
St. Barts? A night sail? The wind is suddenly from the west. The west! And our "guaranteed" following-wind sail has died. The dinghy lashed on deck, motor mounted aft, the wind is worse than ever, WNW. Right in our face.

But the die is cast. Just before sundown we tip-toe out between the reefs: A night sail to "Swedish" St. Barts.