Mid-December, 2009 - [From the Phoenix Parks] -- Living full-time in an
RV poses the considerable challenge of figuring out what to do in the
wintertime. While most RV snowbirds come down from the northern states
and provinces to spend the winter in southern California, Arizona, Texas
and Florida, we find those places are all too cold. And we aren't alone.
The smallest owl species, the Elf Owl, feels the same way. Arizona is the
elf owl's summer home, and these adorable little guys show up around late
February each year, hanging out in the cool saguaro cactus interiors when
the summertime heat really starts to sizzle. They leave in the fall for
warmer climes in Mexico where their favorite insects and scorpions are still
active and buzzing and available for dinner over Christmas and New Years.
There is nowhere consistently warm in the US between December and
February, except possibly southern Florida, which is not big-rig friendly.
We have shivered our way through the past two winters. and felt very cooped up in our rig. We would happily take the buggy down
the Baja peninsula or down to Puerto Vallarta (or beyond) in Mexico each winter, but the Dodge truck has one of the new "Blue
Tech" engines that requires the new non-polluting #2 Diesel fuel (all diesel trucks in the US with a model year of mid-2007 or later
have these engines). Although our truck was built in Mexico, it is not sold in Mexico. Mexican diesel trucks conform to less
stringent pollution standards and #2 diesel is not readily available in Mexico except in the border towns.
So this year we put a lot of thought into coming up with a different plan. We entered a few contests to win a sailing charter in the
Caribbean, we agreed to help some friends sail their boat down the Mexican coast to Central America and through the Panama
Canal, we tried to get into the Baja Ha-Ha sailing rally from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, aboard the mothership
catamaran Profligate, and we toyed with the idea of getting an RV site in a park somewhere relatively warm.
But none of these ideas worked out. So we finally
cobbled together some frequent flier miles that were
left over from our corporate working days and got
tickets to Grenada in the southeastern Caribbean, with
the idea of visiting both Grenada and nearby St.
Vincent and the Grenadines. We found two furnished
apartments on different islands that we could rent
cheaply for a month apiece, and we came up with a
loose plan to spend two months based in apartments
and two weeks wandering through the Grenadine
Islands. The buggy will stay at a friend's RV storage
facility until we return at the end of February.
The Grenadine islands sit about 100 miles off the South
American (Venezuelan) coast, north of Trinidad, at the
bottom of the chain of eastern Caribbean islands. The
island of St. Vincent caps the north end, and together
with most of the Grenadine islands makes up the
country of St. Vincent and the Grenadines. The island
of Grenada lies to the south, and together with the
southernmost Grenadine islands makes up the country
of Grenada.
Under British rule until 1974, Grenada is an independent country that made US headline news in 1983 when the US military
invaded to overthrow a volatile regime that had seized power. St. George's University's medical school trains many future US
physicians, and these medical school students had to be evacuated during the invasion. Grenada hit the headlines once again in
2004 when Hurricane Ivan proved that Grenada doesn't really sit south of the hurricane belt as many had thought. The
devastation was extreme: ninety percent of the island's homes were damaged by the storm.
Grenada has personal meaning to me because it was the final destination
of a sailing charter I did in 1992. After sashaying through the glittering
islands that start with St. Lucia,100 miles further up the chain, I fell in love
with the people and sights of Grenada, also known as the Spice Island.
This was one of those technicolor times in my life that remains near and
dear to my heart and stands out in my memory as ten of the best days I've
ever had. I vividly remember sailing those crystalline turquoise waters and
seeing starfish on the sand 50 feet below the boat. Mark has similar
memories of Barbados, which lies 50 miles east of St. Vincent. He visited
in the mid-1970's, dashing about the island on a scooter with his girlfriend,
watching horses pull open wagonloads of hay from the inland farms and
buying fresh fish from fishermen on the beach. Those brilliant memories
bring warmth to his soul. He was lucky to get to Barbados when every
building on the island was just one story high.
Leaving Phoenix, we watched the
beautifully contoured mountains of
eastern Arizona and western New
Mexico slip away under the wing
of our plane, and said "goodbye"
to the arid, angular desert for a
few months. Twelve hours of flying and a layover in Miami got us to Grenada by 9:00 that
night, and we emerged from customs and immigration into the sultry humid air of this lush
land. Christmas lights and beeping car horns greeted us, and we jumped into a taxi -- on
the wrong side at first, as we forgot they drive like the Brits -- and straight into a gridlocked
traffic jam. "I've been driving taxis here since 1985, and it's always like this," our driver
said, laughing. "We have a terrible infrastructure here." The horns continued, high-pitched
but friendly, and the drivers hung out of their van windows, arms waving madly, as they
joked with each other and tried to wriggle their vans free of the mess.
Our apartment was clean but
spartan, a bit like Motel 6 prior
to renovations, with air
conditioning, wifi and cable
TV. Outside our windows a cacophony of tree frogs chirped
rhythmically in the dark, like a bunch of squeaky swing sets at a
playground. Too excited to sleep, we settled in to watch Oprah's
White House Christmas special on the 9" screen. It wasn't until our
second night that we found local Caribbean stations sprinkled between
the standard American cable fare. German and French stations
rounded out the offerings.
We awoke the next morning to bright sunshine flooding our room.
Through bleary, blinking eyes we saw the town of St. George's and its
welcoming harbor sparkling in the distance beyond our veranda.
We had barely slept a wink in the
tiny bed, surrounded by strange
tropical noises, and we'd lost three
hours to time-zone changes, but in
a flash we grabbed our masks,
snorkels and fins and dashed down
to the beach. On the way, we
stopped to check out the source of
a pitiful wailing we had been hearing
all morning. It turned out to be a
mama goat across the street, and
she had an awful lot to say for herself.
Grand Anse
beach is the
most popular
beach in Grenada, situated just a little southwest of the main town of St.
George's. It was a quick walk for us, and our grins preceded us all the
way down the hill. The little cars -- all late model and shiny -- zoomed
past us, their horns happily beeping. Toyotas, Isuzus, and other familiar
car makes filled the road, but the models were new to our eyes.
Passersby greeted us, and we waved when the cars honked, learning
too late that taxis stop when you wave.
Suddenly a van did a u-turn right next to us, backing up into
someone's front yard, while its driver hung out the window,
gesturing at us to get in. Oops. It also took a few near nips for
us to remember to look right before crossing the street or risk
getting run over.
Down by the beach
the thick scents of
exotic plants filled
the air. Unfamiliar
birds called out from
deep in the bushes.
The sun warmed our
bodies, then baked
us, and we hurriedly
added more and
more layers of
sunscreen.
Several gorgeous resorts line the
south end of Grand Anse beach, and we wandered
through their manicured grounds. Flowers of all kinds
and colors bloomed everywhere.
There is a building ordinance that prohibits buildings
taller than tree-level on the beach, and this keeps the
beachfront intimate and accessible. We cut through a
city park to the beach and squished our toes in the
sand. It was impossible to believe that just yesterday
we'd been drinking hot tea to stay warm. Being
winter, the ocean water was just shy of bath water, but
once we got in we sure didn't want to come out.
A few family groups frolicked
in the waves nearby, while a
young couple worked on their
tans. Here we were in
Paradise. How amazing.
One of Santa's elves made a
brief appearance. He strolled
down the beach wishing
everyone a merry Christmas.
The next day we walked to the town of St. George's. It's a crazy
scene on the road, with guys standing in the backs of pickup trucks
and bumper to bumper cars beeping their way down the road. When
a police car snaked its way through a traffic jam, lights swirling, cars
drove up on the sidewalks like it was an oridinary thing.
Meanwhile the views opened up alongside us, offering palm tree
silhouettes against turquoise backdrops. Grenada is a popular cruise ship
destination, and there is always one or more docked in town or anchored
in the bay. Lots of smaller cruising sailboats anchor in the bay as well.
We wandered through the marina where I met some avian friends
and got a quick parrot fix. We stopped to talk to a French couple
who had sailed here from home, across the Atlantic, two years ago
on their 42' German-built boat. The world seemed to open its arms
to us.
The town of St. George's sprawls up a hillside, making a beautiful view
from across the harbor as you approach. We arrived just as two cruise
ships were unloading, and found ourselves caught up in the frenzy of local
vendors selling spices, crafts, fruit and seashells to the tourists.
We made a quick stop in the library, housed in a beautiful old
stone building, and walked through the Sendall Tunnel where
pedestrians and cars share an impossibly skinny road.
The government buildings and foreign
consulates line the pretty waterfront.
Crisply dressed professionals walk the
sidewalks alongside sunburned
tourists, eager vendors and casual
locals "liming" (relaxing) in the shade
of the trees.
We wanted to catch a bus back to our
apartment but needed to learn
something about the bus system first.
Buses here are essentially 10-passenger mini-vans, and each one displays a number on the
windshield indicating its route. There are no schedules, but they are very frequent. We walked
over to the bus terminal, the hub of the nine or so bus lines that operate in Grenada, hoping to
get a map of the bus lines or at least a list of which buses go where. No such luck. We spoke
with three different bus terminal officials, each sporting a uniform and clipboard, but none of
them knew of such a thing. Instead, the way you work the bus system here is simply to go to
the bus terminal and ask which bus to take. Perhaps by the end of our stay we will know all the
bus lines and can make up our own master list!
Joining the slightly controlled chaos at the bus terminal, we
climbed into one of the buses marked "1" after two drivers of
different #1 buses both tried to persuade us onto their bus. The
first driver had only one seat available, which seemed odd. It
was only after we'd sat in the second bus that we discovered
they load these buses to the gills, and the first driver had
probably assumed I would sit in Mark's lap. Seventeen people
were squeezed onto our bus, with a skinny mom and her
skinnier daughter sharing a jumper seat that was pulled out of
nowhere. With every stop the folks near the door all had to pile
out to let the other riders pff, and then they piled back on again.
These cramped quarters could explain the nickname the
"chicken bus," but by the time we got off we decided the
nickname was more likely because the drivers all play the game
of chicken with each other. I have never careened around so many blind turns at such a speed, and when our bus went over the
double yellow line and risked a head-on with another bus, our driver honked at the other guy! All the while everyone was laughing
and jostling and in great spirits. We have been on the Spice Isle for just a few days, but what an experience so far.