12-02.583N
061-45.378W
Anchored, off Ross Point
St. Georges, Grenada
Saturday, May 31
Where should I start: Cricket, The Chocolate Factory, The Island Tour,
Rotary, new friends with Indianapolis connections, our debacle leaving the
lagoon? Let's try cricket.
Yesterday, Chichi and John became Cricket fans, having seen the exposition
match between the world champion Australians and the more than competent
West Indies team. What a hoot, but, it took a while to know when to
hoot. Arriving about 11 a.m., we did not begin to understand the game
until at least 1 p.m., about the time the Australian inning ended, and everyone
took an hour for lunch. When they came back, The West Indies was up
to bat, with the need to score 252 runs during 50 overs. (An over is
6 balls bowled.) They did it. They beat the Ausies, and the town went wild.
John was ready to leave about 3 p.m., but wiser heads prevailed, and we saw
an exciting conclusion, one of the best conclusions in sports, with the winning
runs scored at the end, with hardly 9 balls left.
Don't try to learn this game from television. Don't try from a book.
Go to a match, and ask the people around you to explain. They
will. They love it.
(This match was televised to Australia, to all the West Indies Islands, and
probably a few other places as well, a true world audience. Lots of
fun.)
The Grenada Chocolate Factory near Grenville is only four years old. Our
day long trip there was sweet in every way. We went with friends Joan
and Rune, and Joan's children Jeff and Joyce. From the outside, the factory
looks like a private home, but inside we were shown the oven, the mixer,
the molds, the solar power system, and an entrepreneur with a big smile.
Our previous trip inland was with Henri's Safari Tours. The driver
was Ernest, and our companions were Anne and Jochen Schwitzer, plus Mark,
a producer of television shows for The History Channel and others. On
this trip, we saw the nutmeg cooperative, and were told that Grenada is second
only to Indonesia in nutmeg production. Ever since, John has used nutmeg
to enhance the famous "Guy Punch." During a stop at the water falls,
Chichi leaped to the pool from about twenty feet, twice--she is nuts. Another
stop at a rum distillery resulted in a purchase, 80 proof--Chichi is nuts.
The famous Guy Punch was served on board to new friends Steve and Rene'
Slack, from Indianapolis. Their boat is Shiraz. She, like Pachamama,
declares Indianapolis as the hail port. Through them we met former
Indianapolis residents Alan and Cindy O'Neil. Small world.
John attended two Rotary meetings. During the first, a member described
accounting as practiced in The W.I. During the second, members stood
to give opinions about a proposed new labor act that apparently would provide
jail sentences for persons who withhold their labor. Some said "draconian."
Others said, "employers need help."
We anchored five nights "around the corner," at Mt. Hartman Bay on Grenada's
south coast. Just a pleasant and quiet interlude. After Germania
left for Trinidad, we returned to the lagoon, but we dragged anchor five
to ten feet every day, causing all sorts of consternation. On trying
to leave to find a new spot,. our anchor caught the anchor of a neighboring
boat, causing us to pull that boat off anchor, and to collide with it and
one other boat. A call for help brought three dinghies. We got
untangled in about 10 harrowing minutes, then decided to go out to Ross point,
a location of fewer boats and better holding. The debacle killed our
day, leaving us only with a desire to read.
We sail to Trinidad tomorrow night, apparently with an east wind of 15 to
20, and seas of 4 to 6, almost ideal for a course of 180.
Transportation in The West Indies
is the best.
Dozens of small vans, each able to carry at least 17 persons, traverse the
roads of almost every island. Each van is independently owned, and
the owner works only when he wants to. The vans leave central points
when they are full. Then, they let people off, and take on new passengers,
anywhere along the way.
If you have lots of groceries, or you are carrying a baby, or if you might
need to walk up a steep incline, the bus will take you there, no questions
asked. Buses even convert to private taxis under certain circumstances,
because they are not married to a schedule.
We never waited more than 10 minutes for the next van. Why do they
do it so much better than we?
12-02.696N
061-44.862W
Anchored
St. George's Lagoon, Grenada
Sunday, May 11 (Mothers' Day)
Our first experience in Grenada was "clearing in" at Hillsborough, Curiacou.
This was our most complicated clearance into a new country, but one
of the quickest.
Grenada requires visits to four offices: Immigration, customs, one
I forget, and the port authority, each asking for a separate sheet of paper
with identical information. Each office handled us smoothy, with courtesy,
and the job was done in twenty minutes. The clearance officers, and
the police officers watching, were the best looking, best dressed we have
seen anywhere in the Caribbean. We left Hillsborough around noon for
the more quiet and attractive anchorage in Tyrell Bay, three miles south,
around the corner. A quieter town we have not seen. By Friday
morning, however, we were ready to leave, with a certain emptiness or dissatisfaction
that arises in towns having little to show and little to do. We have
learned to blame ourselves for these reactions. We recognize that we
have failed to involve ourselves with the local people, and to make new friends.
But fortune was just around the corner.
About 4 p.m. Friday, with our minds totally committed to organizing the
next day's departure, Sherwyn showed up on his pirogue. He politely
asked if we would like to enjoy happy hour and a meal at Lambi's, near the
beach, and to hear a steel band. We called Germania on 16, and the
four of us agreed to go.
At first, Lambi's seemed ordinary in a positive way, a small bar and restaurant,
on the beach, with an excellent view, and with potentially good conversations
with other boaters, especially a couple from Holland sitting near us. With
rums punch under our belts, we passed the time enthusiastically wondering
whether the music would start, it now being 7:45, 45 minutes after the advertised
start time. We all expected the loud, march like rhythms of a
typical steel band. Quietly, without fanfare or pompous introduction,
we heard the soft notes of a universal favorite: Beethoven's "Moonlight
Sonata." The place went quiet. Within minutes, everyone knew we were
listening to a virtuoso, a man with instinctive musical skill, backed effectively
by an unobtrusive drummer. The sound was neither loud nor regimented.
It was stylized, romantic, with the right mix of tunes, from the classics,
to "Down the Way," to "Matilda," to almost anything requested. He sang,
he talked. He told us that his steel drum can handle every note on the
piano, all the sharps, all the flats, and he proved it over and over again.
Two hands. Two drums. Two mallets in each hand. Ten
feet from our table. Inches from our hearts. Never have we been
so close, never have we been so intimate, with a world class musician. His
audience was perhaps 25 persons, some on the porch, others on the road, some
on the beach. Some say that the best music is in Trinidad, with steel
drum bands having as many as 100 musicians, but we cannot imagine a better
more intimate encounter than Friday at Lambi's. (And we do not know the musician's
name. How dumb.)
We should have left Tyrell Bay at 8 a.m., but we could not raise our tender,
"Pachi." The wind was too strong, making the lifting a potentially dangerous
project, and we could not tow her because a flip would be worse. We
waited for a better moment, and we were able to leave about 11:30, arriving
at the north end of Grenada about 1. All was well until a bad instruction
by John caused us to back wind, to tack out of control, and to unintentionally
head back toward Curiacou. Then, as we tacked, we found that the port
stay sail sheet was underneath lines we tied to secure "Pachi." Yuk.
Every mistake in judgment calls forth another mistake just waiting
to bring grief. We recovered. No problem, mon. We dropped
anchor here about 4 p.m., and went straight to a bottle of wine, and to a
fine beef steak dinner, a Chichi original, another work of art.
A taxi driver on channel sixteen told us that mass commences at either 8:30
or 9. We walked up the hill, not certain which church was which, and
we passed The Freedom Community Church in a school like building called a
cultural center. Chichi asked "which way to church?" The response:
"right here, right now, please come in." Together with perhaps
40 locals, and no boaters, we sang His Praises, listened to a parishioner
deliver a common sense, down to each message about mothers, and received the
warmth of this congregation. "Warmth" is weak. At various points
in the service, we met every parishioner. We never have felt so welcome.
Our boat project list is becoming enormous: fix nicks in the varnish,
climb the mast to install a TV antenna and to figure out why we do not get
an accurate wind speed, wash the boat, shine the stainless, refill the water
tanks, fix the weather fax (probably the antenna or connection thereto), service
the five winches, design and install an audio line from the SSB to the computer,
and more.
12-32.098N
061-23.226W
Anchored
Between Petit St. Vincent and Petite Martinique
Tuesday, May 6
Union Island, about 45 minutes south of The Tobago Cays, is the current
residence of colorful characters like Hans Youngman and De Roseman.
Hans, friend of Anne and Jochen Schweitzer, is an opera singer-computer
specialist who regaled us with music from La Traviata and other operas while
also assisting John in establishing weather fax and slow scan television capabilities
on the ship's computer. With the purchase of a couple of connectors,
John will be able to see weather charts and satellite images, some transmitted
by professional weather bureaus, others by ham radio operators such as George.
Hans is alone now, waiting for his wife to return from Germany. Among
his projects are installation and maintenance of computers at the airport,
several hotels and several internet cafes. He studied opera as a young
man, and enjoys entertaining his friends. Roseman is a Union Islander,
educated in St. Vincent, as well as at City College in New York. He
runs an internet cafe as well as a bus and taxi service. He took John,
Jochen, Anne and Chichi on an excellent tour of the island.
John asked Chichi: what was the highlight of our few days in Union
Island? Her answer: Sunday church. She went to the 9:30
service, and was received warmly by some 15 parishioners who both hugged
her and asked her to tell the congregation about herself and her visit to
Union Island. In the absence of a priest, three women conducted the
service, albeit without communion which may be rendered only by a priest.
The Schweitzers and Guys are sailing together now, and we both arrived
yesterday at this anchorage. Following drinks last night on Pachamama,
both couples had serious problems, but not permanent.
About 7 p.m., Chichi took a tumble in the cockpit, hitting her head on
the step up to the companionway. She probably had a minor concussion,
and she will be sore with a big bump on the head and tenderness down her
left side. She slept continuously until 1 p.m. today, with the help
of Tylenol and Codeine. All seems well now, but she is headed for
bed at 7 p.m.
Meanwhile, we learned this morning of a potential tragedy aboard Germania.
Anne took their dog Billy Boy to a nightly walk along the beach. Several
dogs attacked Billy Boy. Anne was bitten when she broke it up. Billy Boy
is fine but Anne has a multi colored arm and cannot sleep well.. Strange:
two boats, four friends, two first mates hurt at about the same moment.