Late December, 2009 - The flowers and plant life are very lush on
Grenada. The island has a volcanic origin, so it has a mountainous,
rain forest interior. Outside our apartment there were hibiscus flowers
that were the most luscious and subtle shade of light burgundy.
We took a walk down to Grand Anse beach one day and decided
to keep on going. The beach is two miles long and is lined with
shrubs, palm trees and low lying resort villas. The north end of the
beach is busier while the south end of the beach (closer to where
we were staying) is very quiet.
Occasional vendors strolling the beach offer goods ranging from sarongs
and fragrant spice necklaces "to hang in de kitchen" that are made of
ginger, saffron and nutmeg, to birds and baskets made of cleverly woven
palm fronds. One fellow even offered us a coconut he had picked, "The
milk is good for your heart and lungs and liver." Local families gather
under the trees while the kids play in the waves.
Keeping an eye on everything, security people in crisp white shirts and
pressed pants, all employed by the resorts, make a quiet presence in the
background. At first we were nervous leaving the camera and cash in our
bag when we went swimming, but we soon realized it was safe enough.
Tourism is the biggest source of
foreign revenue for this small
nation, and I get the sense that all
citizens consider themselves participants in this industry. From the homeless-looking
fellow who eagerly gave us detailed directions to the hurried professional who stopped
mid-stride to offer guidance, we found that politeness and genuine friendliness were the
norm. The only hard part is understanding their thick Caribbean accent. They hear the
American accent all the time on TV, but we never get a chance to tune our ears to theirs.
We waltzed down the beach admiring
the beachfront resorts, deciding
which of the many hundred dollar per
night joints would be our preference if
we had to choose. Passing a very
busy dive hotel at the far south end of
the beach we discovered a narrow
path up the hill through thick jungly
brush. When we emerged on the
road at the top of the hill we looked
back at Grand Anse. What a view.
Descending the other side of the hill we came across
Quarantine Point, a local park on a picture perfect bluff.
Picnic tables strewn across the wide lawn epitomize the
relaxed atmosphere in Grenada: even the benches were
kicked back.
Cliffs stretched into the distance along one side of the bluff. St.
George's twinkled on the other side, as the bluff dropped off to
pounding surf on a beach below.
We strolled a little further down the road and found Morne Rouge Bay,
nicknamed BBC Beach after a beach bar that used to be there..
A cruise ship excursion boat, "Rhum Runner" was tied off at the
beach. The boat's loudspeakers were pumping out the jams with
that intoxicating Caribbean beat. The water was rippling with Italian
tourists, the men in impossibly small speedo bathing suits and the
women in even smaller bikinis. All were over 50. A tour host had a
tray of drinks in his hand and he waded through the water offering them to his guests. Not able to sell the final few, he started
doing tricks with his tray, delighting everyone as he ducked under the water, tray held aloft, and then resurfaced. In one corner a
husband videoed his wife as she played in the water. Struggling to understand the Caribbean accented English of the hosts, and
not having any hope of understanding the Italians, we laughed along with the crowd, swept up in their happy spirit. It was a great
day in a great place.
Climbing the very steep hill behind our apartment one morning, we saw
sailboat masts in the distance. That was enough of a lure to get us to
walk along the busy road to Prickly Bay in the neighborhood called
True Blue. We carefully picked our way along the sidewalk of the main
thoroughfare as cars flew by us and pedestrians hustled along. Off the
beach, Grenada is a very busy place.
Having enjoyed a few locally made beers, we were pleasantly
surprised as we passed the Grenada Breweries. They brew not
only Carib but Heineken and Guinness among others as well. We
popped our heads in and found out they give tours and decided that
might be a good thing for a rainy day.
We got a kick out of the street signs as we walked.
Turning down the road to the bay we passed some wonderful
houses. One in particular had a beautiful white fence loaded with
pink and white oleander flowers. On the plane coming to Grenada
we happened to meet the owner of the True Blue Bay Resort. We
wandered through his pretty property, but he wasn't in at the time.
Down on the docks
we found more
unusual plant-life and
many bobbing
charter sailboats.
At the end of the
dock was a huge wooden sailboat. Pausing to take a photo, we suddenly heard a
voice calling out from the deck. "Come on aboard and have a look!" Wow. He didn't
have to ask us twice. This boat, named Serengeti, turned out to be a very special 75
foot yacht. Used over the years by celebrities ranging from Frank Sinatra to Vivienne
Leigh to Alan Alda, the current owner was in the process of taking it westward to the
Panama Canal and then up to Vancouver.
The deck was enormous,
the wheelhouse even
bigger, and the
accommodations below
sprawled out in comfort.
Our host, Rice
Honeywell, was a very
happy Canadian who was helping the owner move the boat. He was
thrilled at his good fortune of landing this crewing gig and being able
to get away from work long enough to take advantage of the
opportunity. We chatted at length about sailing in the islands and
making ocean passages on this spacious 100 ton yacht. We later
checked out the yacht's website: www.serengeticharter.com.
Walking back we discovered one of the main boat storage facilities
in Grenada. Sailboats of every description were waiting for their
owners to come down to Grenada for a little wintertime fun. I'd
never thought of it, but catamarans make perfect carports, and
several cats had cars under them (probably the rental cars of their
owners while they worked on the boats to get them ready to launch).
A hard working crew was busy painting the bottom of another boat. As
they rolled the paint on with very long-handled rollers we joked with
them, "So this is what the cruising life is all about!"
For bad economic times, there was a lot of house construction
activity in the area. Walking back, we passed a group of guys
painting houses. One guy's black pants and shirt were covered in
paint splatters just like a Jackson Pollack painting. He must have
been doing house painting as a side-job to running a bus, or vice
versa, and he appropriately named his bus "Wet Paint." All of the
buses have names, some funny and some that make you scratch
your head. "Rookie," "Irish Hour," "First Class," and "Spit it out"
caught our eyes.
Fish Friday is a big event held every Friday night in the community
of Gouyave (pronounced "Guave" to rhyme with "suave") halfway
up the west coast of the island. Hopping on a bus into St.
George's, we squeezed in. As we approached town, the guy I was
squashed up against suddenly said, "You're the lady from the
beach." I turned and recognized his face. He had actually
approached us on two different days, selling spice necklaces that
were, of course, better than anyone else's. What a small place
Grenada is. Here I found myself pressed up against this beach
vendor in a sardine-can minibus, thigh to thigh and arm to arm.
He introduced himself as John, and we shook hands, but the bus
was at the terminal so we didn't get a chance to talk any further.
The second bus, up to Gouyave, was a 45 minute roller coaster
ride up and down and around impossibly steep, narrow and
twisting roads at breakneck speed with 18 adults and two lap-
sitting children packed on board. Little pockets of homes
tucked into richly forested coves and hillsides greeted us at
every turn. Considering Hurricane Ivan took out most of these
homes just five years ago, I was amazed at how little evidence
remained of that maelstrom. Just a rare home here or there
had been abandoned, roofless, windowless, and sometimes
wallless too. We learned later that when the corrugated metal
roof of your house wound up in a tree down the block after the
storm, you just went down there and got it and nailed it back
on. Grenadians banded together to rebuild.
Gouyave is a fishing town, and the homes were packed together,
separated by skinny streets. Stalls were set up everywhere to sell fish
tacos, fried fish, baked fish, fish stew and soup as well as other goodies
to make a great meal. The cooking was well underway when we got
there and the whole town had a yummy aroma. This town of 9,000
people, a little less than 10% of the country's total population, sits on the
shore backed up to a tropical jungle. The thick palm trees, banana trees
and other lush vegetation covered the hillsides all around town. A cop
greeted us as we got off the bus, the lone white people in town. He
showed us the police station and assured us that the event would be well
patrolled. He wasn't the only one watching us, though. When a slightly
deranged fellow came up and started talking gibberish to us, several
locals made gestures to us and lured the man away. Fish Friday is an
event that Grenada wants to share with tourists, and I got the distinct
feeling quite a few people in town had an eye on us to make sure we enjoyed ourselves.
The real festivities don't get underway until well after dark, and not
being night owls and being nervous about catching late buses back to
our apartment, we didn't stay into the heart of the evening. However,
we met a couple of Minnesotans on Grand Anse beach the next day
who had stayed quite late and enjoyed themselves very much.
We did catch an early bus to the ferry a few days later, however.
Osprey Ferry Lines runs between Grenada's three main islands, and
we were headed to Carriacou to the north.
Leaving St. George's we had a great view of the Carenage,
where the homes run up the hillsides almost to the top.
Catching a bus at 7 a.m. Sunday morning we had another example of
the efforts Grenadians make to accommodate tourists. As we walked
down the driveway a bus driver noticed us and stopped. He was
headed the wrong way, however, so I waved and yelled to him and we
walked over towards another bus that was headed in the right direction
on the other side of the street. As we approached that bus, however,
we saw it had the word "taxi" on the back, which meant we'd pay about
eight times as much for the ride. We stopped in our tracks, but the taxi
driver got out to encourage us into his van. When we said "No, we want
a bus," he suddenly waved to the bus that was still parked headed in the
wrong direction. "Ferry Terminal" he yelled out to the bus driver,
leading us over to the bus. The bus did a u-turn in the street and picked
us up. When we got to the ferry terminal, the taxi that had helped us
was right behind us, assisting passengers out of the van.
The ferry ride to Carriacou was a pleasant hour and a half cruise along Grenada's west coast. Most of the passengers were up on
deck, a group of locals imbibing their first Carib beers of the day. Carriacou's big Christmas music festival, Parang, was on its third
and last day, and undoubtedly some of these fellows were going to enjoy a long night of partying. Hillsborough, the main town on
Carriacou, looked utterly inviting and charming as we pulled in.
This tiny island is just a few miles long and is very laid back compared
to bustling Grenada. I had struggled back in Arizona to find a cheap
place to book for us, but when we arrived at our apartment we were
stunned. It was right on the beach, with a brochure-quality view and
gentle waves lapping the shore. In no time we were in our bathing
suits and checking out the glorious setting.
For me, this was exactly what comes to mind when someone says
"tropical island:" clear, calm, inviting water, lush green thick-leaved
vegetation, virgin sand, peace and tranquility with the occasional exotic
bird call from a tree. And there it all was, right off our deck. Simple, no-
frills accommodations, to be sure, but what a place Carriacou proved to
be.