Welcome to Sting Ray City...

By Phyllis W. Zeno

I know I should have read the brochure more carefully, but after visiting Grand Cayman a dozen times or more, when something new popped up on the Cayman shore excursion list, I figured, go for it. I’ve been to Grand Cayman’s Seven Mile Beach; I’ve been to Hell and back and sent the obligatory postcard from its little post office; I’ve been to the turtle Kraal and read the road signs, Slow Turtle Crossing. (Is there a Fast Turtle Crossing somewhere?)

So when I saw Sting Ray City on the list, I thought a shopping expedition to a new mall would be a nice change. I’ve been to Twitty City...this couldn’t be too different.

I should have expected something when the fine print said, wear your bathing suit. But, hey, if they wanted to take me to the beach after shopping, that was okay, too.

They were a lively, happy-go-lucky bunch on the tour bus, so I could see it was going to be a fun trip.

The bus took us past the big hotels and then turned abruptly onto a dirt road that went across sand flats to a series of canals. What kind of mall was this? A very large catamaran awaited us at a wooden pier, and since all the other passengers were quickly grabbing the deck space, I thought I’d better move quickly or I’d be standing all the way to the mall.

We sailed through narrow canals out into the Caribbean, and I looked in vain for an island of some sort. Where was this Sting Ray City?

A row of breakers indicated a sandbar, and the captain gave orders to throw out the anchor.

There was a great deal of commotion, and all of the passengers donned flippers and snorkeling gear and dropped overboard.

“This is it?” I asked in astonishment.

“This is it!” said the captain. “Sting Ray City. We’ll spread some bread crumbs and in a few minutes the water will be teeming with sting rays.”

“And I’m supposed to jump in there with them?”

“Of course. That’s the idea of the tour.”

“Do the rest of the passengers know that?”

“I assume so. That’s why they came. Didn’t you read the brochure?”

“But why would anyone in their right mind want to do that?”

“For the excitement of it.”

“To be stung by a sting ray is exciting? How about painful?”

“They don’t sting unless you step on them on the bottom.”

“I assure you I don’t intend to step on their bottoms or anywhere else. How long will we be here?”

“Two and a half hours.”

“And there’s no shopping?”

“No shopping.”

I sighed, slipped on some flippers and snorkeling gear and slid over the side with the rest of the tourists.

I’d already been stung for the $35 by the tour office. How much worse could a sting ray be?