Anchored in the shade of a volcano
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Sun 16 Jan 2011 14:59
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13:17.61N
061:14.30W Andy and Celia returned to the cold of Gothenburg
winter this morning, so we're back down to a crew of two. Yesterday we put them
on the shore on St Vincent, in a town called Layou, for the flight back to
Grenada. We had arranged a taxi from a tall, bespectacled and slightly
bookish-looking chap called Niceness for 7am. At ten past I rang to find that
Niceness wasn't feeling that nice, had overslept after a Friday night on the
razzle and wasn't coming to collect anyone.
Luckily the island swarms with little minibuses
which screech to a stop anywhere and everywhere to pick up and set down
travellers. They clambered aboard one of these waving rucksacks and guitars and
disappeared into the hills, heading for the capital Kingstown.
The last couple of days on this island have been
magnificent. We spent a night in a tiny, deserted anchorage on the west coast
called Petit Byahaut. There had been an ecohotel here with small thatched huts
in the trees, but the place was falling apart as we explored just before
sundown. There was a distinctly spooky atmosphere to the place, which was
littered with belongings and paperwork dated no later than 2006. As the sun set,
it was easy to imagine that we were starring inadvertantly in some sort of
horror movie. A lone light would appear on shore, and strange things would begin
to happen on board, then, to the long, tense screech of a single violin chord,
the light under the trees would start to advance towards us across the
water...
We spent the early evening telling ghost stories
and trying to frighten each other. But when we woke up the following morning,
the sun was bright and the snorkelling unbelievable. I saw a cuttlefish and
captured a coral snake in the net, to its intense irritation. I don't know
whether they are dangerous. We also saw flat fish and a strange creature that
glides around the bottom of the sea on huge purple wings, clicking loudly at any
threats.
We spent a day negotiating the island's roads by
minibus, all of which are all emblazoned with proud windscreen stickers such as
'Big Dre', 'Stay Level' or 'Mash it up'. We were taken for a tour of the
botanical gardens, which date back to 1786, and are stuffed with all manner of
herbs, spices and fruit. It may be the only botanical garden where the guides
constantly pull fruit, flowers and leaves off the trees to show
you.
There's also a bustling fish market known locally
as 'Little Tokyo'. the story goes that the market was built by the Japanese in
an effort to foster support for its stance on whaling. St Vincent is allowed to
capture four whales a year, with the tricky business of chasing them
concentrated in Bequia. The quota is rarely reached. Our guide there told us how
locals went out in sailing boats to hunt whales, after a permanent lookout on
the highest part of the island had raised the alarm. He told how the fishermen
would often take fright, and preferred to go after the cows rather than the
bulls, which were much more aggressive. The meat, he said, had the taste of
fish, with the consistency of beef, and was excellent.
Today, we had planned to scale St Vincent's
volcano, La Soufriere. It's 1200m above sea level, and would have been a
significant ascent, but sadly the cloud was low and rain heavy, so we've bailed
out, to the dismay of a boatload of small boys who welcomed us into the
anchorage and tried to negotiate the trip with us. We may go for a shorter
walk through the rainforest to a local waterfall instead.
After that, we're setting sail for Martinique and
the next stage of the trip. The French island is the most easterly in the main
arc of the Antilles, and marks our closest point of longitude to Dartmouth for
about six months. After that, we shouldn't have to beat into the wind so much
between islands. This will seem queer to Andy and Celia, who saw nothing but
close-hauled tacking into choppy waves during their 10 daysand 100 miles on
Summer Song, and no doubt believe that to be the norm in a boat.
Martinique should also allow us to replenish basic
supplies of tinned and jarred food. We're keen to recreate some of the meals we
had during the Atlantic crossing, but have run short of key ingredients.
Anything you eat or drink here costs as much, or more, than it does in Europe,
even if it's locally grown. Dairy products are non-existent and meat is patchy,
to say the least. Locals top up their expensive shopping by growing things at
home, but this is a part of the world where rich people are fat and poor people
are thin.
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