Dominica - The Indian River

We entered Dominican waters in the early afternoon, greeted by a bright yellow, red and blue boat with a smiling local welcoming us.  Lawrence "of Arabia" is part of the PAYS system here who provide yacht services like getting your laundry done, taking you on tours, and showing you to customs. 

After our warm welcome, Lawrence joins us again once we have anchored to offer further introductions and direct us to customs.  Within minutes another small boat pulls up offering grapefruit, mangos, bananas and coconuts.  We buy a few grapefruit and mangos for a pittance. The grapefruit is super sweet and the mangos deliciously ripe with juice that tastes of honey that runs down our chins.  I like Dominica immediately.

We organise to do the Indian River tour with Lawrence, who arrives bright and early the next morning to pick us up.  The Indian River is where parts of the Pirates of the Caribbean 2 movie was filmed, in particular where Calypso the witch lives in her haunted looking riverside abode.  We are again struck by how similar the rainforest here is to New Zealand.  We breathe in the familiar smell of wet earth and leaves which could be the Waitakere ranges, the Coromandel or Great Barrier.  

Lawrence rows us an hour up the river, no outboards are allowed to be used to preserve the peaceful sanctity of the river.  He points out exotic birds and plants as we go, his knowledge was extraordinary.  Gary quizzes him on coconuts, when to eat them, when to drink the juice, and how to climb a coconut palm.    I sit back and enjoy the ambiance.  As far as the boats can take you is a little jetty, the only sign of civilisation we have seen yet on the tour.  The Indian River Bar has a tree house feel, with chairs made out of tree logs.  It is surrounded by a garden with more exotic plants.  We hear the Bar is the place to go for jazz and reggae nights which I can imagine are fabulous.

Lawrence of Arabia

Views of Dominica on our way to the Indian River

Where the Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed

The Indian River Bar

We have been socialising with more cruisers and have had the privilege of partying with the locals.  I'll fill you in on this after we attend the Garden Party on Sunday.

Isle des Saintes

Alas we have been stranded in yet another idyllic bay, this time an anchorage on a little island called Ilet a Cabrit in the Isle des Saintes, without internet access.  Attempting not to be slaves to the internet, we have instead been snorkelling in the bay (which was described by another cruiser as snorkelling in a fish tank), reading, sunbathing, having BBQ’s with other cruisers ashore, and of course doing a bit of work on the boat – scrubbing, polishing and scraping the barnacles. 

Bourg Des Saintes from the top of the hill

The beach at Ilet a Cabrit

View from the fort at the top of the hill

Interesting inscription in the jail cell at the fort

We have been ashore on the “mainland” to Bourg Des Saintes, a much larger town than Deshaies but along the same lines.  Unfortunately, it has been a public holiday for the weekend and Monday, so we haven’t been able to enjoy the local spoils ashore. 

We are off to Dominca tomorrow, with a little hesitance.  The guidebook, while saying the place is beautiful, makes cautious remarks about locking the boat while you sleep, only using certain dinghy docks that are safe “most of the time”, and stressing that one must use the local guides.  Another cruiser, who loves Dominica, also warned that we should use local guides.  She recalled the time she went on a guided walk up to a waterfall, and the guide casually remarked that the blood stained patch of grass to one side of the path was where they knifed the Frenchman who was found wandering without a guide yesterday.   It might not have been as bad as it seems.  It appears that the Frenchman may have stumbled upon the local’s cannabis patch and helped himself.

I am keen to spend as little time in Dominica as possible, but Gary wants to do a guided tour of the Indian River through proper rainforest.  There are not many times in ones life when you have the opportunity to venture into the rainforest in such a beautiful place as Dominica.  We will feel the place out when we arrive and make our verdict then.

Wish us luck on our passage and entry into Dominica!

Guadeloupe – Deshaies

We awake every morning to the sound of the town bell ringing out the hour.  Sometimes we make an early trip into the township for “un Bagette et deux cafe crème”.  We stroll the quaint main street, with its many fruit and vege stalls and suss out what we might need to go with our bagette for lunch. 

One morning we make our way to the beautiful 56ft classic yacht to our new friend Susie whose personality is reflected in the yachts name “Spirited Lady”.  Gary is here to help with her Raymarine navigation instruments, but I am here to play with her two wonderful Spaniels and chat with the two Finish girls who are crewing on the boat for a few months.  Gary manages to fix the instrument issues and we are invited back for happy hour that night. 

We make our way into the town mid afternoon to get ourselves a bottle of the French wine to take along with us to happy hour.  The French islands in the Caribbean have interesting opening hours, in the morning from 7 until 1ish, then opening again at 4ish til late.  We think we have timed our trip right, at about 4.30 but hadn’t allowed for the fact that it was Sunday and the shops don’t open again for the afternoon. 

We make our way to the Spirited Lady not quite empty handed, only a few cans of Coke Zero, which are surprisingly well received by the Finish girls.  We have a wonderful night talking boats, living aboard, pets and hurricanes.  We decide to take the girls’ advice and head to the Pizza place for dinner that night.  The girls’ had been there the night before and had rave reviews.  We are asked to attempt to tell the pizza lady that we were sent by the three women who had visited the previous night and thought the pizza was wonderful.  Gary considers how he might say this in French.  He comes up with “Trois Frem, Tres Bein”.  We all laugh at how this could be taken much the wrong way. 

Another morning, we decide to visit the Jardin Botanique (Botanical Gardens).  After a failed attempt in bad French to ask the free shuttle to pick us up (it never arrived), we decide to walk.  It was only 1.5km, how hard could it be?  Well, straight uphill in the sauna that is the Caribbean, with a chest cold, it wasn’t the best idea.  But we made it, me only barely coughing and spluttering.   The walk up wasn’t all bad, I found a little ginger kitten under a car by the side of the road.  I attempted to coax it out, but it was too interested in chasing it’s imaginary friend under the car.  I tried with my best pleading eyes to ask Gary to let me keep it, but he cold-heartedly said no, and we left the little kitten to continue its adventures.

The Botanical Gardens weren’t too bad either.  As well as beautiful flowers, rock pools and waterfalls, there was also the odd bird.  

One morning, after our cafe crème, we headed up the river into the forest to attempt to find the waterfalls and rock pools.  We find many beautiful pools along the rushing river, but none that fit the guide book’s description.  We bathe in a pool under the rainforest awning nonetheless.  It could have easily been New Zealand, apart from the heat.  Gary attempts again the following day and after a further hour up the gorge than we had first attempted, he thinks he found it.

Sick in the Tropics

We haven't been up to many exciting adventures over the past week.  I have been sick.  I've had the flu, which has turned into a mighty cough.  Being sick in the Tropics is horrible.  Having a fever when it is already nearly 30 degrees is not much fun, nor is not being able to get out of bed when paradise awaits.

We did manage to make it over to Guadeloupe though, and from what we saw of it when signing into customs (customs being one of the computers in an internet cafe at one side of a souvenir  shop) it looks like it is going to be great.  

The guide books tell us there are waterfalls and thermal pools to walk to, rainforest and beaches.  So stay tuned.

I'm heading back to bed :(

Antigua - The Road Trip

Antigua was on my list of top 5 destinations on this boat trip.  I had dreamt of beachside boardwalks, old buildings renovated to their former glory, the tenants being wonderful restaurants and designer shops.  But I was wrong.

We rented a car, as we like to do, and explored the island.  Our game plan was to do a lap of the island, reaching the main centre, St Johns, for lunch.  The landscape here is beautiful.  Lush greenery growing up the slopes of the steep mountainsides.  We weave up winding roads and come across small groups of houses in various states of disrepair.  But the locals look genuinely happy, well dressed and impeccably groomed as they stroll their streets.  Local farmers tend to the banana plantations that seem to grow haphazardly at the roadside.  An old woman sits on her porch peeling vegetables, her hair wrapped in a colourful scarf that matches her dress.  Healthy looking herds of goats dash across the road every few kilometres.  We pass beaches on our way and occasionally find small older looking resorts, nothing compared to the riches we have seen in other places in the Caribbean. 

We reach St Johns around lunchtime.  The city is very built up, but not in the way I had expected.  The buildings have deteriorated and in dire need of maintenance.  Stands selling cheap clothing, plastic toys and vegetables are set up outside shops selling similar goods.  The town is busy and dirty.  We try to find a parking place, but are reluctant to leave the car double parked down a cramped alleyway, as other cars appear to be.  The town doesn't hold much appeal for us, so we continue to drive on.

We come to a cluster of hotel buildings along a beautiful beach, hoping to find somewhere for lunch.  While there is one hotel still operating and still well cared for, that can't be said for the others.  Grand buildings with white pillars and circular driveways have been battened up, moulding, and overgrown.  We come across an old casino, that I'm sure was once beautiful, with vines growing out the windows.

We have lunch at a beach side shack.  We were the only customers.  We continue on to Devils Bridge.  The burnt out, rusted out icecream trailer made for a good picture.

There used to be money here, that's for sure.  But it is gone now.  While Antigua was not was I was expecting, I can't say I have been disappointed.  The beaches are beautiful, the people even more so.  While the buildings seem down at heel, the feel of the place isn't necessarily the same.  The people seem to have re-claimed their country and are living a more relaxed, more traditional lifestyle, not so reliant on the tourists.  The people have pride in their country.  Groups of women and men are out in the morning picking up rubbish and trimming the trees by the roadside. 

In sum: good vibes, less riches.

Antigua - English Harbour

We spent only one day at St Kitts, the main highlight being the baby monkey in a diaper that we came upon in the main township.  It isn't as odd as it sounds, there are wild monkeys on the south side of the island, and it appears some locals take them as pets and have a trade exhibiting them to tourists.  

I saw the little monkey sitting on a local's shoulder, and must have looked interested.  He asked me if I would like to come and meet the little monkey.  Not usually one to fall for the tourist traps, I couldn't resist.  When he told the monkey to go meet me, it crawled down his arm and jumped onto mine.  It crawled right up to my chest for a cuddle and grabbed my finger and held on tight.  Very cute. Unfortunately, we didn't have our camera with us.

We left St Kitts at 5am the next morning to head to Antigua, another 10 hour journey.  The sea was calm and only a little 1.5metre swell rolled in.  We motored the first half watching the sun come up and the local fisherman pull up their Cray-pots.

The wind began to fill in with a big black cloud, and we had a fast sail the last half, touching 9 knts on occasion with only a 15knt breeze. 

We anchored in English Harbour, and headed to Nelson's Dockyard to check in.  Nelson's Dockyard is fantastic.  It is an old English settlement with stone buildings.  All the buildings have been restored and are in use, including the old pub and bakery.

That night, we headed to a harbour side restaurant for dinner - finally a meal that isn't Wahoo.  The restaurant opens out onto the harbour and has a dinghy dock for us to tie up at.  Astrud Gilberto is playing over the speakers.  We order dinner and watch the pelicans dive for fish just a few metres away.

Gary caught a fish...

I have mentioned from time to time about Gary fishing and catching this and that, but on this trip he has always caught fish that weren't the best eating fish.  Therefore, I have been relieved from the responsibility (mainly) of telling him he can't keep the fish to eat for dinner.

However, on our 10 hour voyage from St Barts to St Kitts Gary caught a fish.  Not just any fish.  He caught a Wahoo.  A BIG one.

I like fish, don't get me wrong, but the mess and the hassle can be tiresome.  But we are live aboards, and the fish we catch will become a vital part of our lifestyle.  So I let him keep the fish.

We had just reached St Kitts and turning down the western coast when something hit the line.  Gary jumps to attention and I grab the helm.  Gary yells various instructions at me "turn to port", "no, turn to starboard", "too far", "too fast", "quickly, the other way!", "take the jib down", "move the dinghy".  Finally the fish was close to the boat.  It was obviously a biggie.  "Its a Wahoo!!" Gary screams in delight.  After consulting our fish flashcard that we now stow on deck for easy access, I confirmed that yes, he had indeed caught a Wahoo.  It took off again, this time the other way, pulling another 50 metres off the reel in one hit.  But finally, Gary had tamed the fish and managed to pull it aboard.  Upon pulling the fish onboard, more instructions were yelled "get the camera", "get me a knife", "not that knife, the other knife", "get me the hammer", "get me the fishing book", "get me the cutting board". On and on it went, until finally the fish was filleted and the cockpit was a mess of blood and guts.  But Gary seemed happy.  

Then the inevitable question came..."we don't have any ice in the chilli bin, so can I put it in the fridge?".  My thoughts flew back to when Gary caught his first fish.  Thoughts of fish blood spilled through the fridge, bread smelling of fish - well EVERYTHING smelling of fish.  But I had no way out of it.  He was right, it needed to be put away in the cool.  This time it was my turn to yell instructions "put it in the snaplock containers", "no, not those containers, the other ones", "double bag the containers before you put it in the fridge".  

In my mind, the measure of a good fisherman, is not how many fish you catch, or how skilled you are at landing the catch or playing the fish, but being able to clean the boat so well that your better half can't tell that you caught a fish.  I, extremely helpfully, had already got out the deck cleaner, scrubbing brushes and sponges for Gary to clean up.  So when Gary emerged from below after putting the fish in the fridge, still with that damn smile whacked across his face, thinking that he could now sit back and relax, I was ready for him.  Into his hand outstretched towards the can of coke, I placed the scrubbing brush.  That, and the determined look on my face, informed him that it was not time to relax, it was time to clean up.  And clean up he did, as I sailed us all the way to Basseterre, another hours journey.  

So we have been eating fish for every meal for the last three days, after already off loading the majority of the fish to five other boats.  The fridge is still backed with fish, and Gary continues to clean the cockpit whenever I find a trace of fish guts. 

Gustavia – where the rich and famous come to shop

After my quick peek at Gustavia at check in, I was quite excited to have a look around the shops.  We headed over from Anse du Colombier in the dinghy and tied up at the dock for the day.  As we strolled the main street and alleyways, it was immediately apparent that we were underdressed.  Some of the shop names are common in the Caribbean - Louis Vuitton, Hermes, Bvlgari - but here it seemed different.  The shoppers were not like in Charlotte Amalie or Philipsburg who are straight off the cruise ship (fat, badly dressed and never without their fanny pack).  The women in St Barts are tall, svelte, and dressed in the latest designer threads.  My jandals were frowned upon by the women passing by who all wore high heels, or at the very least Louis Vuitton strappy flats.  We continued to stroll around the township, but didn’t dare walk into the designer shops, much to the relief of the emaciated shop assistants. 

The township is truly picturesque.  The architecture is wonderfully French, and only the best of the best materials have been used.  Even the old wrecks of houses here are beautiful.

The wealth began to make us feel uncomfortable.  It is such a stark contrast from the dying animals at Anegada or the fallen down houses of the locals throughout the islands we have been to.  Watching the women totter along the lanes with their big sunglasses and even bigger handbags was almost embarrassing. 

We had lunch out at one of the more affordable looking places.  The cheapest item on the menu was a burger at 20 Euro.  We had lunch regardless and tried to enjoy ourselves despite the price tag. 

We made a few phone calls home from one of the public wifi gazeboes that are studded along the waterfront, and finished our day out with a coconut gelato.

St Barts – Vive La France!

Vive La France, where the women sunbathe topless and the men wear their hair in ponytails.

We escaped “the Pond”, as we liked to call it, not a moment too soon.  Bored from too many days stuck on the boat, our finances exhausted from buying boat equipment, and my mysterious illness fixed up after a quick trip to the doctor, specialist, the hospital for a minor procedure – we were on our way!

As we exited the Pond, my spirits soared.  The water was once again crystal clear, turquoise and alive with fish.  We headed straight out of the harbour, onto the high seas once again towards St Barts.  The trip from St Martin to St Barts is not far, a mere 3 hour journey, and only moderately uncomfortable.  We saw two massive leatherback turtles on our voyage, but the main highlights had to be Gary catching three fish – two mackerel and one barracuda.   

We checked in at Port de Gustavia, then headed to a more sheltered anchorage – Anse du Colombier.  I awoke the next morning to paradise.  Turtles surfacing wherever you seemed to look, clear water, and a beautiful white sand beach.  We made our way early to the beach and bathed in the warm water and sunned ourselves on the white sand.  

The bay was once owned by the Rockerfellers.  Their beach house is still the only house in the bay.

The next day we donned our walking shoes, well our walking jandals, and conquered the walk from Anse du Colombier to Anse des Flamandes.  The walk is moderately challenging, but well worth it.  Along the beach at Anse des Flamandes each house is more breathtaking than the last.  The wealth here is unimaginable.  The junk piled at a street corner, included a Charles Eames dining chair.  We had planned to have lunch at Anse des Flamandes, but the only places to eat were the extremely fancy ones on the beach, too fancy to even ask to see the menu.  We made our way back to the boat happy but hungry.