The Beach
syladyshamrock
dmccarthy
Sun 24 Apr 2011 02:59
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Tir Na Nog meets lotusland, we all head to the
second highest summit to watch Sundayâs sun go down. 200 people in a 18th
centuary English garrison chanting and dancing to the beat of a steel drum and
another spectacular sunset. Seconds after, a sperm whale breaches three or
four times while some fumble with their cameras. Rum punch with freshly
ground nutmeg is the traditional drink and are so potent that you are forewarned
to keep the straw from each cup in your pocket and when you reach four, go home!
Apparently the penalty for acquiring twelve straws is; sleeping on a balcony,
getting eaten alive by mosquitos and no having recollection of the previous
twelve hours.
Reputed to have a beach for every day of the
year, Antigua is a spectacular place. With hills and valleys, palm beaches and
mangrove rivers and especially Nelsonâs dockyard, a restored 18th century
Georgian fort whose walls still stand and was reputedly the last outpost of the
British Leeward Island fleet. Now the officers quarters are home to quaint
restaurants and bars. Furthermore the entire area is a national park and
nature reserve. Sitting there, tiny brightly coloured birds flutter about as the
fish jump in the harbour.
Arriving in Antigua after my 2500Nm in 23 days.
Half-tied up I head down the pier to ogle at some of the other boats and meet
Darragh who is just arriving in after a days racing on a Farr 60. Still in
awe of the other yachts we head to Salperton for a couple of celebratory drinks
and a bottle of champagne. With the bubbles now firmly in control itâs
time to hit the pubs. The Caribbean 600 race boats have been arriving in
all day and there is an electric party atmosphere. At 0000 we get a call
from Lee Overly Partners, formerly Chieftain, to ask us to come down to the dock
to handle some lines. When they arrive the race organisers bring down 4
cases of beer which are quickly devoured on the dock by the thirsty crew. Back
to the bar again and at about 0500, with the party still in full flight, it was
clear that I wasnât going to be the last person to leave this party.
From the first sight of the Maltese Falcon to the
last peck on cheek good-bye from a pretty stewardess, the most impressive thing
I have seen here are the people of the yachting industry. All of them
beautiful, talented, friendly people. They go about their work in the
extremely professional manner that these boats require while maintaining a fun
and chatty persona. As most are away from their families they seem to make
a special effort to support one another at birthdays and holidays.
Somebody bakes a cake, another rallies a party for dinner and drinks.
Everybody seems vital and young,, the Sunday rosà lunches must be preserving
them. The oldest person you are likely to see is a captain or engineer in
his mid forties. They strut along the beaches in their boardies with their
aviators on, still ripped and bronzed like Pipeline legends and if you meet one
in a bar he could tell you a book load of stories of his comings and
goings.
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