I came to an appreciation of exploring the world at the tender age of 4. Trust me, travel is not wasted on one so young. Give a child her first journey into the global unknown, and she'll remember it her entire lifetime.

It was then that I took my first ocean voyage, on a "tin crate" called the Queen of Nassau. My "stateroom" was nothing more than a canvas sling for a bed, with a wool blanket thrown across a rope to form a door for this makeshift compartment. I shared the quarters with my father while my sister and mother had similar accommodations just one blanket away.

It was still the dawning side of the 1960s and we were headed from Miami, Fla., to the still-primitive and under-developed island of Nassau. We were going for two reasons: To visit the straw market and buy impossibly unwearable hats and purses woven from dried palms, and to see Blind Blake, a native performer whose name was Blake and who was (any guesses?...) blind.

On the first night onboard ship, I was allowed to wander from stern to bow with my sister -- two years my senior, so what trouble could possibly befall us? Armed with a roll of pennies and a roll of nickels, we were quite sure we could afford any luxury the ship might allow. However, we stumbled upon an unexpected thrill when we found the saloon.

Think of a Wild West saloon, if you will, because this was similar in kind ---smoky, dingy, men playing cards at small tables, women with preposterous makeup slurping down cocktails, and a man hammering out music on a single steel drum. Then, much to the delight of two little girls, there was also an unfathomable machine -- a one-armed bandit -- beckoning from the corner of the room.

A kindly gent explained to us that if we put our nickels into the hungry machine's gaping slot, we might magically turn one nickel into two. Being the younger and more naive of our twosome, I plugged my nickels in as fast as I could, watched little windows of fruit spin and turn, and walked away with nothing at all.

But my sister had a different experience. On the fourth nickel, the machine lit up like a Christmas tree... bells sounded, lights flashed and the bandit began spitting nickels at us in a fury we could never have imagined. It was like a peanut scramble, as five-cent pieces rolled across a makeshift dance floor. And every time the ship lurched, the coins would shift direction. As we ran and giggled and gathered our winnings, the hardened crowd softened and applauded and laughed and helped us find our coins.

We were tired tots the next day as we went to hear Blind Blake perform something new -- "calypso" music. And when we returned to our little ship, we thought it quite odd that the entire island had turned out at the pier to bid the two young gamblers farewell. There was a marching band, and there were school children, and police in dress uniforms marching in formation. There was music, and shots fired into the air, and a grand red carpet leading to the gangway.

And then there was a dose of reality.

None of this was for the two little girls from Pennsylvania! It was, instead, a salute to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor who were sailing with us back to the States. Of course, at such an age as I was, I couldn't imagine what could be so captivating about a man who gave up the throne of England just to marry an American divorcee. Indeed, I had never even heard of Dukes and Duchesses! I only knew that I was delighted that they had managed to cause such a colorful commotion.

That evening in the shipboard dining room, the D&D were seated in a corner all to themselves, while other passengers stretched their necks to get a glimpse of displaced royalty. As for myself, I was much more interested in the fact that rough seas caused our dinner plates to slide right across the surface of the table and to drop (crash!) right onto the floor! What heaven this sailing experience was for a wide-eyed child!

As we pulled into the port of Miami the next morning, I had my first "Loveboat"-like experience, right along the rail of that aging Queen of Nassau. A rascalian "older" boy --- age 5 or 6 I would estimate -- wanted to give me a remembrance of our brief meeting on board the vessel. Out from his pocket he pulled the gift: a 5-inch long stick, meticulously wrapped in waxed paper and bound with string.

A strange thing to give a girl, I said. But better than a frog...

He instructed me to unwrap it and take it to my lips. And never one to turn away from what may have been an imprudent suggestion, I did just as he commanded. "Take a bite," he said.
And again I followed orders.

Then and there I tasted the sweet, raw, intense juice of sugar cane, just cut from a Bahamian field. And in my innocent acceptance of an awkward gift, I drank in a memory that would last a lifetime. And I would never forget......