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As of press time, Windjammer's future was still pretty uncertain. Keep an eye on our blog, This Just In, for updates--and be sure you read our story on what to do if a travel operator goes belly up. If you book the Grenadines trip, schedule early flights in and out of Grenada, and leave time to connect. (The boat returns to Grenada late Friday night.) Folks on our trip had to pay for charter flights to make the ship or to get home within a reasonable time frame. Not every Windjammer reservation agent is familiar with the layout of each of the company's ships. Talk to someone who knows the various cabins' quirks. Standard cabins on our six-night cruise started at $1,300 per person; we paid $1,700 each for a small, overheated Admiral Suite. That covered room and board, Bloody Marys in the morning, afternoon Swizzles, a glass of wine at dinner, and launches to and from various beaches. Snorkeling gear was $25 for the week. The extra tours and excursions ranged from $28 for the turtle tour to $85 for a half-day of scuba diving. Jammer regulars paid much less for cabins, having been offered half-price or two-for-one deals through Windjammer e-mail promotions. Be sure to sign up for CyberSailor at windjammer.com before you book: You may be sent a deal soon afterward. (A month after we returned from our cruise, I received a one-day-only sale notification: $499 per person for any cruise taken in the next two months.) Windjammer claims that seasickness is "seldom a problem," but this is scant consolation when you're the one bending over the railing. Get a prescription and/or anti-seasickness wristbands before you go. There's a heaping bowl of over-the-counter seasickness pills on the bar, but they made me fall asleep at 7:30 p.m. Then again, when the karaoke started, I really didn't mind. You'll have to find space for everything in your itty-bitty room, which is even more crowded with two bags of snorkeling gear and a wet beach towel in it. I packed three sundresses and a pair of hiking shoes I never wore. I wish I'd ditched them and packed a thin sheet or a large sarong to sit on at the beach.

"Do not ask me when we're going to get there!" bellowed Captain Julian. "This is the Caribbean! We live in la-la land 90 percent of the time! If there's food and booze, we don't give a damn!" A Windjammer cruise isn't for control freaks or prudes. You gotta expect a little chaos. That has always been the case--there's a reason for that "No Whiners" sign above the ship's bar. On our cruise, the chaos was consistent. Flights in and out of Grenada were delayed or cancelled and luggage was lost (none of which was Windjammer's fault), and airport pickups and drop-offs never materialized, causing last-minute scrambles for cabs (which was totally Windjammer's fault). Once we made it on board, we learned that the itineraries on the company's website are more like...possibilities. We visited just five of the seven ports of call listed for our St. Vincent and the Grenadines trip--Grenada, St. Vincent, Bequia, Union Island, and Mayreau. Just go with the flow, mon. And yet, we had way better flow than Windjammer passengers who sailed a month after we did. In August, passengers booked on three of the line's ships were stranded in Aruba, Costa Rica, and Panama. Crews reportedly hadn't been paid for months. (So that's why our crew nudged us to leave tips in cash.) Clearly there's a sea change of some kind ahead for Windjammer. The company was started in 1947 by Captain Mike Burke, who says he awoke from a bender to find himself the owner of the 19-foot boat on which he had passed out. (It was floating in the Bahamas. He'd begun drinking in Miami.) Burke christened it Hangover, using a half-empty bottle of Scotch, and soon began leading tours on it. Thus was born an empire. His children ran the company for years, amid stories of sibling squabbles, drug abuse, and accusations of embezzlement. But as of this writing, a group of investors has agreed to take a controlling interest in the company, perhaps ending the financial turmoil (and reimbursing those stranded passengers for their out-of-pocket expenses). One hopes any new owners can also retain the qualities that make Windjammer an affordable, attitudinal antidote to oversize, homogenous cruise ships. WHEN WE BOARDED the ship, my husband, Jonathan, and I were ready to party. We hadn't had a kid-free vacation since our older child was born almost six years ago, and Jonathan had just finished a round of cancer treatment. Bring on the rum! Like Windjammer's other three ships, the Yankee Clipper is a repurposed, reconditioned old sailing yacht small enough to slip into harbors that the big ships have to skip. Built in Germany in 1927, it was one of the few armor-plated private yachts in the world, and was later owned by the Vanderbilt family. It's ravishing, a 197-foot, 64-passenger vessel with teak and mahogany finishes, swooping carved railings, and brass accents. Yes, the deck could use refinishing and the masts are showing their age, but those flaws only give the ship character, like a glamorous old-time movie star. Windjammer's rabid fans agree. More than half the folks on our ship had sailed with the line before: Some were on their 14th Windjammer cruise. Several were starting their second week on the ship. Our 60 fellow passengers were a diverse crew--a cop, a high-school math teacher, a lounge singer, a travel agent, a radiologist, an equity analyst, a biker dude with a giant moustache, a young female soldier who ran a mobile military hospital in Iraq, a retired flight attendant, a farmer. We ranged in age from 16 to 70. There were a couple of families with teenagers. Officially, kids 6 and older are welcome on Windjammer cruises, but I wouldn't recommend the trips for kids younger than 15, unless they were weaned on rum. Though outnumbered, we newbies quickly picked up the lingo: Veterans are "Jammers," the captain's daily briefing is "story­time," and the rum drinks pounded every afternoon are "Swizzles." (They--as well as early morning Bloody Marys and wine at dinner--are included in the cost of the cruise. To buy other drinks, you use "doubloons," round punch cards you buy for $20.) Oh, and the Yankee Clipper is not a boat. "Can you stand in the middle and pee off the side?" Babu, one of the stewards, sputtered in outrage after I used the b-word. "If you can, it's a boat. If you can't, it's a ship!" I goofed again later, in front of Captain Julian. He clutched his heart in mock agony and wailed, "Calling my ship a boat is like telling a man that his penis is small!" Penis, penis, penis. There was so much below-the-belt sniggering that it often felt like we were cruising with the cast of Superbad. At the buffet lunch on our first afternoon, the centerpiece was a massive cucumber resting on two apples. At the towel-folding seminar one evening, we learned to make a giant towel penis. (Every day, the crew left adorable towel sculptures on our beds--butterflies, swans, elephants, and monkeys, all with Hershey's Kisses for eyes. There was no Hershey's Kiss in the penis.) And unlike storytime at home, the captain's spiels always ended with an off-color joke. Windjammer really wants passengers to have fun. In the evenings, there were group activities and contests, such as hermit-crab races, a "sexy scavenger hunt," and a battle of the sexes in which the guys were asked questions about shopping and the girls were quizzed about sports. But it was also perfectly fine to opt out, read, or just stare at the azure water. One afternoon, when we spotted a big cruise ship--a "foo foo ship," in Jammer-speak--the regulars started to vibrate with excitement. Crew members raced to the deck with a giant pirate flag and ran it up the mast. The sound system blared "The Ride of the Valkyries." A deckhand affixed a small brass cannon to the ship's railing, then loaded it with gunpowder shells. There was a deafening boom and a huge puff of smoke. "Reload!" yelled Captain Julian. Boom! Boom! Boom! "Give us your women or we'll keep firing!" (Blanks, but still.) Several Jammers leaned over the side and mooned the cruise ship. The mandatory costume party--"no costume, no dinner"--tested our creativity. The theme was Pirates, Pimps, Prostitutes, Black Tie, Lingerie, Toga. You had to pick one, or dress as something that started with a P, B, L, or T. I wrapped a towel around my head, stuck two Hershey's Kisses on it, and went as a towel sculpture; Jonathan sighed and put on my bra. The well-prepared Jammers really did it up, in elaborate pirate gear. Some of our fellow virgins, though less prepared, came through with shining creativity. A woman whose luggage never materialized during the cruise wore a Windjammer T-shirt she had bought on the ship with a pillow stuffed under it and a piece of paper pinned to her front saying "Didn't, Wouldn't, Shouldn't." She was a pregnant pirate with contractions. The 20-something Bud-drinking narcotics-squad cop rifled through his wife's lingerie and emerged from his cabin as a Playboy bunny. Whenever the tail fell off, he'd carefully and lovingly pin it back on to his rear. Later that night was the Miss Windjammer Contest, in which two guys compete in drag. One contestant, a med-school student, flitted across the deck in a blond wig, a minidress, pink nail polish, and Hershey's Kisses for nipples. When asked why he should win, he simpered, "Love is one of the many things I spread throughout the islands!" Sometimes the goofy togetherness got to be a bit much, but we couldn't really retreat to our cabin. It was barely big enough for a bunk, a shower, and a few shelves. It was also a "hot room," as Jammers called it, meaning it was right next to a chimney from the engine room; the bathroom was probably 105 degrees. (Whenever I told a Jammer we were in Cabin 7, he'd start laughing.) Still, the cabin was air-conditioned, and the mattresses were firm and comfortable. Also on the plus side, the food was good, non-fancy, and plentiful. Jonathan and I fell hard for the addictive, spicy mango- and hot-pepper-based sauces--Kutchela, Calypso, Flambeau, and Hot Chow--available at every meal. And my very first Caribbean mango made me swoon. It was easy to peel, addictive to eat, juicy and complex and floral, and it tasted nothing like the ones at home. Babu, the steward, sweetly kept me a stash of mangoes, presenting them like bouquets throughout the trip. Not all the camaraderie on board involved Benny Hill¿like naughtiness. Whenever we'd set sail, everyone was invited to help hoist the sails while a bagpipe version of "Amazing Grace" played on the ship's speakers. I'm from Rhode Island and grew up watching tall ships in Newport Harbor, but I had never been a passenger on one. I loved the cooperative effort of raising the sail--and the fact that it was the only work I did for a week. On a Windjammer cruise, the sails are usually augmented with the motor. This may annoy sailing purists, but it did not annoy me, because have I mentioned how I'm all about the not whining? Besides, unless there's a lot of wind, the ship needs the motor to reach the next island. One time, when we did sail with no motor, Captain Julian yelled, "I just saved Windjammer $500!" We generally "sailed" at night and spent days onshore. I sprang for four excursions and loved three. (I could've skipped the Jeep tour of St. Vincent, where our guide actually intoned: "There is a KFC. Over there is a bank. Over there is another bank. There are a lot of banks.") My favorite was the tour of Grenada, which included stops at a postcard-perfect waterfall and at a spice plantation. (Gre­nada, which produces about 20 percent of the world's nutmeg, is known as the Isle of Spice.) I felt like I got a sense of a real place, where real people lived. The van was swanky; our guide knew what he was talking about; the spice plantation was like something from the 18th century. Cocoa pods lay drying in the sun in giant wooden trays that slid out from under the old stone building like bureau drawers. An elderly woman named Delta showed us how to use nutmeg oil for topical pain relief. We learned that mace is actually the crumbly red skin of the nutmeg seed; that fresh bay leaves smell nothing like their dried cousins; that cinnamon sticks are rolled-up scrolls of tree bark. We peeked into the sweat house where cocoa seeds and pulp are left to ferment; we watched women silently husking nutmegs and tossing the seeds and skins into hollowed-out calabash shells; and we peered up a wooden ladder into an attic where the nutmegs were stored. The mingled scents of spices stayed with us all the way back to the ship. I also loved the excursion to Bequia's Old Hegg Turtle Sanctuary, where Orton "Brother" King, a 69-year-old retired fisherman and free diver, raises endangered baby hawksbill turtles. He keeps them for a few years, feeding them canned tuna and sardines, and then releases them into the wild. We got to watch him release his 841st turtle. That's when he discovers what gender his turtles are, he says. The females sniff around for a while so they'll imprint the setting in their tiny turtle brains and come back to spawn. The males make a beeline for the water. We watched, spellbound, as Brother King gently placed the turtle on the sand. It scurried straight into the surf. (It's a boy!) And sometimes we just lounged. The beach on Mayreau was dotted with fat-leafed palm trees, thatched huts, pink and purple bougain­villea, and darting butterflies and hummingbirds. Giant starfish sprinkled the soft, sandy ocean floor as if they were in a child's drawing. A short swim away was a small reef with Dr. Seuss-esque, finger-like pillar coral; fan and brain coral; and coral that resembled giant, empty tree stumps. As I snorkeled over the reef, I followed a gliding, otherworldly, black-and-blue batfish. It felt wonderful to be all alone, in motion, blissfully engulfed in silence. We found another quiet refuge on Bequia--dinner at a romantic restaurant followed by a long walk along the beach while everyone else was either on the Clipper or at a bar on the other side of the cove. Rumors are still swirling about the future of Windjammer. Will the new investment money materialize? Will the company retain its party-hearty, camping-on-the-high-seas atmosphere? It's a shame that real-world troubles have to intrude on the carefree Windjammer experience--which is all about pretending that there's no more urgent question than what to wear to the costume party. I've never felt as relaxed as the night a pod of dolphins, seven or eight of them, arced up alongside the ship, playing and leaping in the wake. Jonathan and I held hands and giggled like little kids. Later, when the Jimmy Buffett CD began playing for the umpteenth time, I caught a passenger rolling her eyes. She grinned at me and said, "If my biggest annoyances right now are too much Jimmy Buffett and getting sunscreen on my sunglasses, life ain't all that bad."

DAY 1 From the San Juan airport, my friend Josh and I hit the ground running. We'd normally rent a convertible no matter what the weather was like, but with blue skies and an 80-degree day there's no question--the ragtop PT Cruiser is ideal. Puerto Rico has been a U.S. territory since 1917, but the 51st state it is not: The culture is Latin and the language is Spanish. Even the automated tollbooth on Highway 3 blurts out "Gracias!" after we toss in a few coins. We're headed to El Yunque National Forest, a 28,000-acre tropical rain forest that's home to more than 200 species of trees. About four miles after the town of Río Grande, we turn south on tiny Route 191, and our view morphs from large roadside restaurants to corner stores, then to fields fringed by palms and bamboo. El Yunque is in the Luquillo Mountains, and as we drive up the two-lane road, the air grows cool and damp. At El Portal Rain Forest Center, we pick up trail maps and then continue our drive to the Mount Britton Lookout Tower trailhead--the start of an easy half-mile hike, most of which is paved. At the top, Josh and I climb the steps of the lookout tower, a 30-foot-tall stone structure that resembles a chess rook. We meet a pair of honeymooners from Kansas City and enjoy sweeping views of the cloud forest canopy. It's peaceful, but we're anxious to reach the peak of El Yunque, so we start up the trail that leads to the summit. Josh, a photographer, is dying to get shots of the scenery, which looks as if it belongs inKing Kong: Giant tree ferns line the path, and in the distance jagged green peaks sit engulfed by a thick, swirling fog. There's another hour before the park closes, so after completing our first trek of the day, we drive to the Palo Colorado Visitor Center parking lot. We hike hurriedly to the main attraction, La Mina Falls--a 35-foot-tall waterfall. Swimming in the natural pool is against the rules, but many people are doing it anyway. Josh and I hotfoot it back to the car. We have a 45-mile drive to Yabucoa, and we're starving from our long day of hiking. But at the family-runParador Palmas de Lucía, we hear some bad news. "Can you recommend any restaurants in town?" I ask Anna, the receptionist. "At this time of night?" she says. It's 7:15 p.m., and apparently most of the restaurants in Yabucoa close by 6 p.m. Fortunately, Parador Palmas de Lucía has a restaurant, so Josh and I toast our day with Medalla Light beer, dine on skirt steaks and stuffed plantain fritters, and retire to our room with a view of the sea. Lodging Parador Palmas de LucíaRte. 901 at Rte. 9911, Yabucoa, 787/893-4423, palmasdelucia.com, from $84 Activities El Yunque National ForestRte. 191, 787/888-1880, www.fs.fed.us/r8/caribbean, $3 DAY 2 There's not much to do in Yabucoa, so we get directions from the receptionist and drive off. It'll be the first of many times we're told to make a left when we really should be going right, but the detour takes us past a roadside fruit stand where we buy bananas, baby pineapple, and juicy yellow mangoes for breakfast. Realizing our miscue, we turn and make a beeline for La Ruta Panoáámica, a scenic stretch of winding one-lane roads that cut through the center of the island. Soon we reach theSantuario Diocesano Virgen del Carmen, a Catholic church and holy site (a woman who is locally revered once lived and worshipped there). There's a grotto, too, and we're told by the bookstore's cashier that the spring water cures cancer and other illnesses. Curious, we walk down a series of steps to find an elderly woman whose adult son is splashing water on her eyes. With our rudimentary Spanish, we learn that she has cataracts. We're all for divine intervention, but our focus soon turns to lunch. As we roll into Guavate, it's easy to see why the small mountain town is known for its roast pig. The main drag is lined with restaurants proudly displaying pigs roasting on spits. We chooseEl Rancho Original, an open-air, cafeteria-style restaurant that roasts at least two pigs a day. We order plates of the house specialty, rice and beans, and fried plantains, then grab a seat at a shady picnic table on the porch. It's 50 miles to Ponce, so after lunch we get on fast-moving Highway 52. Our first stop in Ponce, a bustling city, is thePonce Museum of Art. With more than 3,000 pieces, including an important collection of Pre-Raphaelite works, the museum is a refreshing surprise, literally: The air-conditioning is as enjoyable as what's hanging on the walls. Later that day we check into theHotel Meliá, a 73-room inn in the heart of the city's historic zone; our room has a balcony overlooking the main plaza. For dinner, the receptionist recommendsPito's Seafood, about four miles southwest. It's a romantic spot right on the water, and as we dine on fresh cobia, we can't help but lament the absence of our significant others. Josh and I skip a sit-down dessert in favor ofKing's Cream, a popular ice-cream shop located on the ground floor of our hotel. At 9:30 p.m., the line is out the door. We eventually order cones ofguanábana (soursop) and stroll around Las Delicias Plaza. Lodging Hotel MeliáCalle Cristina, Ponce, 787/842-0260, hotelmeliapr.com, from $95 Food El Rancho OriginalRte. 184, Guavate, 787/747-7296, pig plate $7 Pito's SeafoodRte. 2, Ponce, 787/841-4977, cobia $22 King's CreamCalle Cristina, Ponce, 787/843-8520 Activities Santuario Diocesano Virgen del CarmenRte. 7740, San Lorenzo, 787/736-5750, free Ponce Museum of Art2325 Ave. Las Américas, Ponce, 787/848-0505, museoarteponce.org, $5 DAY 3 Josh has a real sweet tooth, so when I tell him that we're going to Ricomini Bakery for breakfast, he's delighted. We've been tipped off about the brazo gitano--sponge cake rolled with fruit and cheese and then dusted with powdered sugar. It's traditionally a special-occasion dessert, but it sure goes well with morning coffee. The bakery is in Mayagüez, an industrial city on the west coast, and when we finally get a taste of the guava-filled cake, we agree that all the wrong turns were worth it. We're tempted to see what else is nearby, but the laid-back surf town of Rincón is just 15 miles northwest. Lined with towering palms, the winding Route 413--known locally as the Road to Happiness--allows us our first glimpse of the Atlantic. We stop right away atRincón Surf & Board, a surf school and hotel that also rents surfboards. Cobby, who moved from San Diego to Rinóón to become a surf instructor, helps us rent nine-foot longboards and offers to escort us to Maria's Beach, one of nearly a dozen local breaks, which he swears is "going off." Josh and I stick our boards nose down in the backseat and follow Cobby. The waves are chest high, perfect for us East Coasters. By the time we dry off, it's happy hour at theCalypso Cafe, an outdoor bar steps from the beach. We grab a cool rum punch each and watch the sun dip into the ocean. AtThe Tapas Bar at Casa Isleña, we eat the best food of the trip so far: small plates, starting at $3, of dishes such as seared yellowfin tuna, empanadas stuffed with beef and olives, and skirt steak marinated in ginger, garlic, and soy. We have a reservation for tonight atBeside the Pointe, a guesthouse where the beachfront location makes up for the below-average rooms. It has one of the liveliest bars in Rincón, where we drink one too many Heinekens on the deck. Lodging Beside the PointeRte. 413, Sandy Beach, Rincón, 888/823-8550, besidethepointe.com, from $70 Food Ricomini Bakery101 Calle Méndez Vigo, Mayagüez, 787/833-1444 Calypso CafeMaria's Beach, Rincón, 787/823-1626, calypsopr.com The Tapas Bar at Casa Isleña Puntas, Rincón, 787/823-1525, casa-islena.com Activities Rincón Surf & BoardPuntas, Rincón, 787/823-0610, surfandboard.com, board rental $20 DAY 4 Nearly everyone we met the night before raved about breakfast at La Rosa Inglesa. Opened in 2006, the hilltop B&B is run by Ruth and Jethro Wickenden Rivera, a cheery couple who met in Britain and moved to Rincón. They constructed the building from the ground up, and, says our waitress, "have been serving the best breakfast in town ever since." After trying the huevos rancheros and limeade, we couldn't agree more. We're used to getting lost by now, and we take some time to findRío Camuy Cave Park, home to one of the world's largest cave systems. The guide's humor feels canned, but once inside the main cave, we pay little attention. The place ishuge. My childhood trip to Virginia's Luray Caverns was nothing like this. The dome is 170 feet high, and there's a giant stalagmite directly below that's 30 feet in diameter. Each step is more eye-popping than the last. We drive north to the coastal city of Arecibo. Ice-cream trucks and food vans line the road nearArecibo Lighthouse & Historical Park, and dozens of cars are parked at all angles. But where is everybody? After climbing the steps of Los Morrillos Lighthouse, we're still baffled--until we spot La Posa, a packed, crescent-shaped beach. When we go down for a closer look, we see a massive tidal pool. It's jammed with kids and other shallow-water swimmers; Josh and I are convinced that we're the only tourists. It's our last chance for a swim before our drive to San Juan, so we dash for the water. A little while later we visit a food truck formofongo al ajillo--made with mashed plantains and garlicky shrimp--then drive east on scenic Route 681. The ocean-hugging road doesn't last as long as we'd like it to, but neither did our time in Puerto Rico. Food La Rosa InglesaEnsenada, Rincón, 787/823-4032, larosainglesa.com, eggs $7 Activities Río Camuy Cave ParkRte. 129, 787/898-3100, $12 Arecibo LighthouseRte. 655, Arecibo, 787/817-1936, arecibolighthouse.com, $9 Finding Your Way To get a copy of Puerto Rico's tourist mag, Qué Pasa!, in advance, contact Puerto Rico Tourism Co. (800/866-7827, gotopuertorico.com). Also, a GPS navigation system like the Garmin StreetPilot will come in handy. As for your rental car, stick with an economy or compact, especially if you're driving along La Ruta Panorámica. The one-lane roads can be fairly difficult for larger vehicles.

The upgradees "When a work conference forced us to put our original plans on hold, I booked a family vacation to Las Vegas instead. Gambling doesn't interest us--what appeals to us are just the lights and being there. The kids have never been out West. This is our chance!" Renée Simien, Lake Charles, La. Using our powers for the good of the people Renée Simien knew her children would enjoy a show or two during their week in Las Vegas, but they ended up getting to do much more than sit in the audience. Cirque du Soleil, the circus company known for its acrobatics and theatricality, gave the Simiens a rare behind-the-scenes look at Mystère, its kid-friendly production at Treasure Island. Renée and her family--husband Johnathan, 10-year-old daughter Jordan, and 8-year-old son Kendall--explored above and below the high-tech set, hung out backstage, and tried on the cast's wigs and headdresses. A make-up artist even transformed Renée into the Mystère character Red Bird. "I looked like all the brochures!" she says. During an afternoon training session, the Simiens watched artists practice (and sometimes make mistakes) as they learned routines. But best of all was the show itself. As Cirque du Soleil regulars know, audience members are often roped into comic pranks, especially while they're being seated. At their performance, the Simiens were the ones in the spotlight. "As soon as we walked in, we were part of the show," says Renée. Many thanks to... Cirque du Soleil, which performs Mystère five days a week at Treasure Island Hotel & Casino (cirquedusoleil.com, from $60, kids $30).