Friday in St. Thomas was another typical, gorgeous, warm, bright, sunny, breezy, fabulous day in the Caribbean. There was nothing remarkable or picturesque that happened.

Except.

If you know Mae, you know she loves to sew. Whether it’s shirts and shorts for grandkids, bowl koozies for the microwave, dresses for herself, or purses, she just likes to sew.

So (see what I did there?) anyplace we go, we look for fabric. Recently we were in London and went to the famous Liberty fabric store. In Iceland, we walked a few miles to a fabric store to find stuff. In Paris, well, fabric stores were everywhere. In Sint Maarten a few years ago, we had a blast with a cab driver who took us all over the island and waited for us while Mae shopped in a unique fabric store.

St. Thomas was just another opportunity to get some fabric. And to create a memory.

We scoped out the location of the store and off we went. We hopped in a dilapidated converted van that the person assured us was a taxi. The short drive over to the main port (where 3 large ships were berthed) was rougher than the two prior sea days. But we got there.

Armed with our trusted iPhones as a guide, we took of on foot. We knew the exact address, and we knew when we had to make turns because of the street names. There was a slight problem in that there were no street signs. At one point, we had walked past the street on which we needed to turn so we backtracked. As we paused for a pickup truck to pass before we continued down the street, the pickup stopped, and we were greeted by a friendly-looking gentleman. He said, “You don’t belong here; just head back to the ship.” His tone and demeanor was nothing but warm; kinda like a grandfather admonishing a child.

Unfazed, Mae said, “We’re looking for a fabric store. It’s supposed to be on this street so we have to go.” He looked at us, looked down the street, looked back at us and said, “It’s the 2nd building on the right. Go in, get what you need and leave. Come out of the store, turn left, then turn left and head back to the beach.” He was nothing but protective and the neighborhood we were venturing into was not one frequented by tourists. For good reason.

So of course, Mae took off for the store. It was the fastest she had ever looked at material and we exited without buying anything (a first!). We scooted back to the “taxi stand,” found the first car with a driver and hopped in. Off we went to the small port (where we tied up to the wharf). Mae didn’t relax until the person at the gangway said, “Welcome home!”

Tomorrow is St. Kitts and Nevis. I hope there are no fabric stores.