Two landmarks in one day
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Tue 21 Dec 2010 23:05
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13:51.22N
61:04.03W
We were in Canaries today. Not the islands near
Morocco, you understand - no lightning change of plan for us. But the Canaries
which is on the west coast of St Lucia, half way between Marigot Bay, where we
spent the night, and Soufriere, home to the Piton hills.
We were a bit hesitant about approaching the
village, which looked friendly enough, because the water was churned up,
obscuring any reefs or coral heads. We anchored up as a steady stream of charter
boats and ARC boats sailed blissfully on by without stopping. It became apparent
why when we landed on the beach and realised that tourism had not yet arrived (a
good thing in my book). A welcome committee of friendly local kids gave way to
an official unofficial guide, who took us round the village's principal sights -
the bakery, the fish market and the snack bar.
We ended up nibbling rotis - mixed veg or chicken
in a mild sauce wrapped in a chapatti type thing, while a full blown family
argument erupted in front of our eyes, between two old ladies. Our official
unofficial guide explained later that a very small child left in the great
grandmother's care had popped next door to his grandmother's, where he'd found a
knife lying about and nearly squewered himself. The great grandmother was not
impressed.
Then a local farmer in a characteristic ripped
t-shirt, with grizzly goatee and wild hair popped in, to address us on the need
for peace and love in the world between black and white. And how, despite his
reputation, he would never do anything to hurt a nice white person. Parts of
this much repeated speech were emphasised by the brandishing of a small
penknife. Satisfied that we'd understood his point, he pottered off to the bar
to order more rum, but not before presenting us with a muddy
grapefruit.
Finally, we returned to a building by a small
stream that spilled into the sea where all the fishing boats were pulled up. A
man was boiling conches in an old oil drum, while another chap offered us a
lobster which was sadly too big for any of our saucepans. A rasta with
dreadlocks and a distant gaze was gutting small ballyhoos - fish with long
snouts - which he sold us for the rate of eight to the £. The eight fish are
fizzing on the barbecue as I type.
We're moored up on a buoy just north of Soufriere,
the old capital of the island from its French days. The famous Pitons - verdant,
conelike hills rising to over 100m by the beach - lie to our south and we're
about a mile from town, which we'll explore tomorrow. The snorkelling here is
much better as the water is clearer and Alex has already come face to face with
her first scary fish. We're not sure what it was, but it gave her a predatory
look. The water is still quite silty from the after effects of Hurricane Thomas
last month, but it seems to be clearing.
It's a beautiful spot and rather better than the
very crowded Marigot Bay, where we anchored last night. In Marigot, we tried to
find a legendary French-run bar called JJs in the lagoon, but a helpful chap
told us it had been condemned and invited us instead to his bar. It was tucked
away in the mangroves, which were loud with croaks, squawks and chirrups.
The rain hasn't let up yet, and every couple of
hours another blustery, warm shower blows over us. Apparently Grenada is
blazingly hot, so perhaps we should be grateful. The ballyhoo are about ready,
so more anon...
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