It was short dinghy ride to the restaurant, named Harris Restaurant. The restaurant was right on the beach. There was sand under foot. Cynthia, pictured above with Captain Jean, greeted us like we were old friends and promised to take very good care of us. She didn't disappoint. She was a very hard working woman, and treated her other customers like she did us, visiting tables frequently, checking on the service. There were only two other parties, separate groups of Canadians, but everyone sort of merged together under Cynthia boisterous social skills. The meal consisted of soup, salad, some huge lobsters and pie for dessert. The setting and the meal were very special, but Cynthia was particularly special. I'd love to know her story. I'm sure it's a good one. The most interesting person I've met on this trip.
My admiration for Cynthia was even increased the next morning. I was out on the deck of the boat at about 6:30, reading. At 6:50 am, I noticed Cynthia exiting the small building that houses the restaurant, marching purposefully toward her SUV. She was all dressed in white now with a white knit cap. She got into the SUV and headed up the mountain. I followed her until she was out of sight. I'm sure a novel could be written about where she was headed. -- Post From My IPad
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