Mistakes Were Made

"It's all part of my journey- I've done a lot of stupid things, but you learn by your mistakes." - Ozzy Osbourne.

Well, it had to happen sooner or later.  We fucked up.  Now, when I say "we," I really mean I fucked up and Amy was negligent in failing to stop me.  (For the purposes of this blog entry, no official blame has been levied on either party.  This remains a subject of intense controversy and will be worked out in an upcoming arm wrestling match, date TBD.)  Also, before you start worrying, know that this mistake was non-life threatening, and completely reversible.  It merely resulted in us having to shovel and rake 10,000 pounds of gravel... on a hill... three times.

This shitshow started when, after a few weeks, our driveway became rutted by virtue of a couple rain showers washing away some parts of the driveway, and increased vehicle traffic due to the fact that we like to party.  Now when I say "rutted," I mean that driving up and down the driveway was an off-road experience like you've never seen.  Shocks were shocked, and oil pans put in jeopardy of being torn off.  I also know that "rutted" is probably not a word.  However, after shoveling five tons of gravel in the sun, I feel like I've gained a certain amount of road construction street cred' which allows me to make up whatever words I like.

After we bought our new ride, which as you may have read is not exactly an off-road vehicle, the problem of the rutted driveway became more acute.  "Well," I says, "all we need to do is get some gravel," I says, "dump it in the road," I says, "and spread it out to the holes."  Now, in my defense, I am not an engineer, geologist, or other road scientist.  Therefore, the idea of (potholes+gravel to fill them=level road) seemed perfectly sane to me.

Having spent exactly 30 seconds of thought on my plan, I confidently ordered four cubic yards of gravel to be dumped in the driveway.  (1 cubic yard of gravel= 2,400 - 2,900 pounds).  When the guys brought out the dump truck full of gravel, and asked where they should put it, the look in their eyes when I told them to dump it on the driveway should have been my first clue that something was amiss.  However, I was undaunted.  After Amy gave me her side-eye/ smirk, I should have really known something was amiss.  I remained undaunted.  After they dumped the truck, my first thought was: "Damn.  That's a lot of gravel."  Little did I know how deeply and painfully I would come to understand this statement.

Amy and I promptly started shoveling and raking the gravel into the potholes.  It took me all of two minutes to come to the realization: "Man, this is not going to work."  Nevertheless, we continued to spread the gravel over the divots in the driveway and smooth the gravel out over most of the inclined portion of the driveway.  In my defense, after it was done, it looked pretty good- a nice, even layer of gravel, gently sloping from the parking lot to the road.

What I failed to account for, however, was gravity.  You see, rather than place a nice, even layer of gravel that would facilitate our guests' ingress and egress from the property, what I actually did was put 10,000 pounds of marbles on a pitched surface.  This came to my attention when I was walking down my newly-resurfaced driveway and promptly slipped and fell on my ass.  (Although my lovely wife didn't laugh outright, the smart-ass smirk on her face told me this was going to be a long day.)  This was followed shortly thereafter with several vehicles getting stuck halfway up the driveway while they were trying to leave.  Sheepishly, I trudged up the driveway and had to essentially shovel people out of the driveway.  (Insert smirking wife here.)  Yes.  I had to shovel people out of my driveway.  On a desert island.  In the middle of summer.  Several times.

The next day I took my shovel and rake up the hill to attempt to rectify the situation.  Now would be a good time to give you the complete list of things that suck worse than shoveling 10,000 pounds of gravel in 90 degree weather:

1)  Shoveling 10,000 pounds of gravel in 90 degree weather, twice.
2)  Shoveling 10,000 pounds of gravel in 90 degree weather, three times.
THE END.

Yes, having tried and failed not once, but twice, to place all of the gravel in any way that would help the situation, on the third time, I shoveled all the gravel to the sides of the road.  What we have been left with is an operable driveway that is slightly better than when I started.  That being said, I have contacted two reputable construction companies about fixing the thing.  In addition, after a week of shoveling gravel, and needing a big win, I took some time and installed a hammock overlooking the marina:














Amy and the dogs love it.

Having admitted to my first mistake on the island, I guess now is the time to reveal our next change.  It isn't really a mistake, but circumstances have forced me to reveal what I am calling, "The Death of the Lionfish."

Again, do not panic.  Let me explain:

When we came up with the name Lionfish Hotel, most everyone we talked to in the United States loved it.  It was cool, lent itself to good logo designs, and and said, "I'm here, I'm beautiful, yet slightly dangerous."  Our perfect name.

However, once we got down to the island, we were met with, shall we say, less than stellar reviews of the name.  You see, the mighty lionfish, while beautiful, is also an apex predator of all other reef fish.  Essentially, when lionfish inhabit a reef, they proceed to kill all of the other fish around.  (When you need to wipe out an ecosystem, accept no substitute.)  This means, that on an island like Providenciales, which is surrounded by a reef, the lionfish is universally hated.  Divers, fishermen, and basically anyone who makes their money from tourism (80% of the island), do NOT like lionfish.  Several people on the island drew this to our attention, with varying advice like, "you may want to change the name," and "are you sure about the name?"  Perhaps the most direct review of the name came from a local friend of our which stated, "well, lionfish are the scourge of the community... I guess it would be like naming your business AIDS."  Needless to say, we went back to the drawing board.

After more thinking, research, and input from our investors, I give you the new logo to...

Wait for it...

The BANYAN INN:

Banyan is a term taken from British Royal Navy lexicon.  Banyan, as a nautical term, is defined as "the Traditional Royal Navy term for a day or shorter period of rest and relaxation."  In addition, "Banyan Day" is defined as "a picnic or cookout for [a] ship's crew."  According to Royal Navy Customs: "Until about 1880 Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays were meatless days.  This practice probably was carried out as a food conservation measure.    In times when food at sea became plentiful and wholesome banyan days were occasions of feasting.  The term still relates to feasting in the sense of a picnic or beach party."  Essentially, Banyan referred to a day when sailors would go ashore and have a day to party, with barbecue and beer.  ("A sometimes impromptu beach party with a barbie and perhaps a can or two.")    

Our new name reflects the history of the island as being a British Protectorate, our location on the Southside Marina, and the fact that we like both barbecue and beer.  Our all-day Banyan Day parties will hearken back to the sailors of yore and be filled with (wo)men, wine, and song.  Also, our Shipwrecked Sunday brunches will preserve our and our friends' years-old tradition of "brunching" our way through the weekend.

Our new website is banyaninn.com.  (Currently under construction.)

So, future Banyan Inn guests, remove those Lionfish Hotel tattoos you had done.  Also, when you glide down our soon-to-be-refurbished driveway, know that the pile of gravel you see at the bottom stands as a monument to obstacles overcome and the wisdom of listening to your wife the first time...