Township rebellion... and nice waterfalls
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Tue 18 Jan 2011 18:21
14:28.2N
60:52.5W
St Vincent turned from a tropical backwater into a
seething den of gang warfare on our last day. Convinced that we had plumbed the
true character of the island on preceeding days, with our trip to Wallalibou Bay
where the set for scenes from Pirates of the Caribbean was still in place on the
beach, we expected our last afternoon in Chateaubelair to be a case of tranquil
waterfall spotting. But when we went onshore with our 'guide', a boy called
George (I'm just about to get my tourist permit), we felt as if we were walking
through a precarious nomansland between two ragged warring
factions.
The town felt pretty desperate, with everyone
shouting at everyone else, aggressive mutterings from dark bars and a lot of
shady goings-on with machetes in coconut plantations. The smell of ganga was
everywhere. George ended up yelling at a group of even younger boys who had
rowed out to talk to us the night before, and felt that they had bagged us for
touring purposes. There was some scuffling as we passed, on our way up the hill
to see a spectacular waterfall.
On the way back, we passed a standoff between two
groups of boys, eyeballing each other across the street. An air of delapidation
and neglect made it seem that fighting may have been the only real
entertainment. In the end, we were relieved to get back onboard Summer Song. As
the previous night, we were serenaded by some apallingly inept karaoke from a
beackside establishment, that even a locked hatch couldn't entirely
eliminate.
The alarm went at midnight, when we reluctantly
dragged ourselves out of the fo'c'sle berth to go to sea. It was a bright
moonlit night, so finding our way out of the wide bay was not a problem. We had
to motor out of the windshadow of the island, but before we knew it there was a
solid 20 knots of wind and rising seas. The channel between St Vincent and St
Lucia is about 30 miles, and it took six hours of crashing through mountainous
waves with gusts of 30 knots plus, heeling at up to 50 degrees before we got
into the more sheltered water in the lee of the island. Luckily, we couldn't
really see what we were plugging into until dawn. By then we were off Rodney
Bay, where we made our landfall after the crossing, and Martinique was only 20
miles away. We enjoyed a couple of misty-eyed moments as we remembered the epic
journey in the company of Will and Graham.
The weather still hadn't finished with us, and we
had to sail through more squalls before we could even see the outline of
Martinique ahead. We reflected on what Andy and Celia would have made of the
conditions. On balance, it seems fortunate that they left us before we had the
chance to find out.
Naturally enough, the island being one of France's
overseas departments, we started to conjure up images of moules frites, steaming
cafes au lait and pains au chocolat. Alex counselled caution, in case I was
building myself up for culinary disappointment, but to no avail - there's only
so much jerk chicken a man can eat. In fact, we could well be in a warmer, more
exotic part of the Cote d'Azur. France has gone out of its way to assimilate the
island, so even the local waitresses have that delightfully French,
what-do-you-want-huh? attitude that characterises the nation's service
industries. Moules frites were indeed on the menu, but we indulged ourselves
with steak and shellfish, no doubt imported from France at vast
cost.
Meanwhile, we're taking our time to sort out a few
boat related issues, chief among which is the outboard, which still resolutely
refuses to start after its brief dunking two weeks ago. The problem came to a
head today when we were rowing in to the shore from our anchorage in the huge
Cul-de-sac du Marin on Martinique. The standard tropical wind got up to about 20
knots, which proved near impossible to row against. Then, at a crucial juncture,
the skipper foolishly dropped an oar in the drink, obliging First Mate Biffle to
leap into the water fully dressed and recover the lost implement. All the locals
seem to have zippy engines which they belt around the bay with, often standing
up as they go. We (for which read: Alex) on the other hand have been wandering
about the town dripping wet since the oar incident.
Editor's note: In reference to the last blog post,
please note that we have been surviving very well on the bewildering away of
delicious fresh fruit here and are not missing tinned lentils at
all.
Rasta in Bequia - the best mangoes yet
Coral snake - in fact a relative of the moray
eel
Our first St Vincent anchorage - abandoned Petit
Byahaut
... and the second spot in Layou
Kingstown - selling maize
In the Caribbean's oldest botanical
gardens
Rum punch with the Pirates of the Caribbean -
Wallalibou bay
Sunset behind the palms
Goodbye to Andy and Celia
Hello to George in Chateaubelair
Chateaubelair
Waterfalls and lush greenery
|