I am writing the blog today accompanied by the cheery chappy that is Gerry.  Who knows what Lawrence has been up to in the bowels of the ship in our absence between January and May but, fingers crossed, Gerry is a happy purring pussy cat.  That and the improved gear lever is making for a much happier experience all around this trip.

The restaurant we had “chosen”, being the only one open, at Cumberland Bay is called Mojito’s and looks somewhat abandoned, rather scruffy with an unattractive tin shack alongside.  We dinghied over to the safest looking dock, not too bad only two or three really big holes, scuffed along a sandy track, up the concrete steps to come out on the terrace overlooking the bay.  In solemn and solitary state on the bare verandah, was a single table, laid with a pretty cloth, a colourful flower arrangement, petals strewn around and real napkins carefully folded most elegantly.  Charming.  In the corner was a huddle of scruffy local menfolk, rasta locks flowing, lounging on chairs and smoking, ganga is presumed. It seemed mandatory to have a Mojito which we did.  DInner was served most etiquette correctly and was far far tastier than the offerings from Ladera.  The piece de resistance was the banana flambe, without ice cream, the ice cream lady hadn’t visited that day.  The rum was generously applied and flamed, dazzling blue in the dim lighting, for a good long time.  (Mine burnt the longest, not that I am in any way competitive).  A man who had promised us bread on he boat appeared clutching two bags which we accepted generously, somewhat more pricey than Waitrose.  We puttered safely back, avoiding the lines that tie the boats to shore, admired the proliferation of stars, with a bit of Phantom as a background, and all slept exceedingly well.

We occupied one of the stone throwing boys of yesterday by getting him to release our line, the thought that giving him something to do was preferable to him lurking with a vengeful look in his eye around the dinghy.  We sailed away dreamily at 10am, set the sails but resorted to the motor on and off with the lack of gusto.  It picked up once we were clear of the lee of course and we had a nice tempered gentle sail, a bit too close to the wind for Windy’s liking and tried not to be too competitive when overtaken by a catamaran, understandably, and a monohull most annoyingly.  We eased into Admiralty Bay, followed in a friendly Baker to a mooring buoy in the stalls, most tidily approached same and were tied up with no fuss at all.  After our arrival beer we cleared the decks and changed into shore clothes during which operation Susie managed to pull a muscle in her back adding insult to the injury that she had sustained just before the holiday when painfully dropping a laptop on her toe. 

We headed ashore thinking to pick up a bite of lunch but Port Elizabeth was all of a stir because it was the funeral of a 42 year old taxi driver who had a heart condition, had fallen down the stairs and a) broken his neck b) hit his head depending who was telling you the tale.  It seems that the whole population of Bequia was in attendance, dressed in their Sunday best high fashion, all in black and white.  Most of the restaurants were closed, their patrons most probably at the funeral, and those that were open showing the final of the something a rather football thing, we found one and enjoyed: for Bob a BLT and us girls a seafood salad, seafood being a name loosely applied to anything that comes from the sea, washed down with a refreshing Hairoun.   It proved an excellent spot for people watching and a whole book could not do justice to the characters that entered and left the scene, like a mesmerising play, with the grande finale of the procession to the graveyard singing hymns as they went.  We left after the final curtain and after the mandatory visit to Doris’ food emporium where Sara kindly bought a bottle of Gavi di Gavi, just because we could, a visit to the ATM again, just because Bob could, checking in and out (we lied a bit about our departure date because it is Sunday tomorrow and Customs etc will be closed), interrupted the man in Customs who had his nose to the football game (one of the teams scoring just as he was processing Bob’s paperwork), Sara and Susie having a gentle nose around while Bob filled in the forms in fiveplicate, booking a taxi tour for tomorrow, we have retreated for a bit of relaxation before the sun sets.  Oh such a busy day.