Our visit to Grenada has started off on a bad foot.  After much discussion we decided to go to the Grenada Yacht Club, as recommended by the arrogant American, which proved to be very well disguised in the dark.  When we eventually tracked it down and climbed the uninviting stairs, we were diverted, renovations in progress apparently, down a back passage and ended up in an empty bar.  A woman, on the telephone, curtly told us that they were closed for dinner and when asked for suggestions where we might possibly eat instead, brusquely told us about the exotic sounding Tropicana “straight on, two minutes down the road” in the direction that she flapped her hand.  We followed her flap and immediately had to make a left or right choice and half frightened to death a poor girl scurrying along by asking her.  We found it eventually and indeed it was open with a not so lovely outlook over the busy main road.  The choice of food was very local and we ended up with roast pork, Bob, steamed fish, that could not be named, me, with rice and peas, macaroni cheese (why do they always serve this in the Caribbean?) callaloo, plantains and salad accompanied by four ancient stainless steel pots of indeterminate sauces one of which might have been ketchup.  Bob wasn’t very happy by this point and we ate rapidly, left and had a somewhat sulky early night.  At least he is enjoying the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

This morning we ventured in to St George again in order to do a bit of sightseeing.  We docked the dinghy in a ghost town.  Apparently it was their Corpus Christi holiday and by tradition everyone had rushed out to the country side to celebrate.  We wandered up the hill to the top of the fort and finding it closed, we wandered down again where a chatty chap called Roger attached himself to us and started giving us a walking tour up and down the steep hills which Roger claimed was the reason for the fitness and longevity of Grenadians.  It transformed our understanding of the place as he pointed out the churches and parliament destroyed in the 2004 hurricane and still yet to be repaired, the school rebuilt by The Vatican, the stadium built for them by the Chinese with “no strings attached, the graveyard where Maurice Bishop has a statue because his body was never found after he and his political cohorts were shot.  We then had lunch in the only cafe that was open in the whole town, a Caribbean buffet, Bob wasn’t particularly happy but we managed to pay off and lose our persistent guide, We wandered back to boat and immediately weighed anchor and set off round the corner to Prickly Bay a very boaty place and pleasantly sheltered.  We went ashore to book dinner, choosing a hotel because they will still be open despite the public holiday, and are looking forward to something delicious.  Ironically the restaurant is a Gary Rhodes establishment, but that can’t be helped and he isn’t a bad cook.  At least it will give us a chance to get away from the boat where we are being serenaded by a rather boring Frenchman, its better than the karaoke but not much.