Monday, December 1 – Wednesday, December 3, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

I’ve been working to catch up on emails, financial stuff, etc.  Loads to do still.  Jeff picked up the membrane, got the watermaker working again.

Thursday, December 4, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

We’d booked onto an island tour today with Cutty, the taxi driver who caters to the cruisers.  Along with eight others, we headed out Grand Anse Valley Road, quickly ascending into the lush green hills, where Cutty drew our attention to the small wooden homes on the hillside.  These were squatters on government property, and this was the start of a very informative day, Cutty taking every opportunity to point out and name the uses for the local flora.  He stopped to show us sorrél (different from our sorrel), the plant leaf that locals boil with sugar, cinnamon and cloves to make a pretty red Christmas beverage.  This being the Caribbean, they often add a little rum to it, and traditionally serve it with cake and perhaps ginger beer.

We saw vines of sweet potatoes, yellow-flowering wild coffee, castor beans (used to make castor oil), pigeon peas, star fruit, rosemary, almonds, papaya (called pawpaw here), breadfruit (brought by the infamous Captain Bly from Tahiti and cooked in the same manner as potatoes), sour sop (used as a fruit and the leaves are crushed and rubbed on the skin to repel mosquitoes), loofa trees, the loofas looking like zucchinis hanging from the branches (they are eaten like cucumbers when green, used to exfoliate skin when dry).  Around many of the homes we saw one or two sheep grazing; we all thought they were goats because they had hair, not wool; Cutty explained that if the tails point down, they’re sheep; tails point up, they’re goats.  OH, didn’t know that! J 

At the top of Morne Jalouxe (Jealous Mountain) in a well-to-do neighborhood, we could see the Caribbean and the Atlantic Ocean at the same time, stunning views in both directions.  We also caught sight of the former military headquarters, the building that Americans targeted in their 1983 “rescue” but missed, hitting the psychiatric hospital in error.  Also still plainly visible was damage from Hurricane Ivan in September 2004.  Grenada had been free from hurricanes for so long, it was considered safe anchorage for boaters, but Ivan changed all that.  Forty people were killed, including five cruisers.  It hit hardest on the southern half of the island, and Emily, a lesser-storm in 2005 hit the northern half.  Cutty pointed out “Ivan houses,” which are wooden pre-fab homes built on the island with funds donated from the U.S., England, and Canada (Colin Powell committed the U.S. to $40 million).  There were also a few “Janet houses,” pre-fab wooden houses that were sent from Venezuela after the named hurricane in 1955.  They are distinguished by their unusual combination of tongue and groove siding, running perpendicular on the bottom portion, and parallel on the upper section.  They are still inhabited, and most of them actually survived the recent hurricanes.

Descending the hill, we continued our botany tour: Ylang-ylang, fragrant leaves used to make perfume; noni, a popular “health juice” now - locals put the kong-toy-looking fruit into water, let it ferment, and drink a teaspoon a day (reminds me of Kumbocha tea so popular a decade ago); mandarin oranges, the leaves used to make tea to help with sore throat, always an ODD number of leaves used; mahogany, it’s fruit burned in place of charcoal in grills; cedar, for boat-building; calaloo, who’s root is dashim, a starchy side dish, and leaves used in stews.  Cutty mentioned that you can’t simply steam calaloo leaves - they have to be boiled down or it’s like eating fiberglass.  Can you imagine the experimentation it took to figure that out?!?

We passed by the nutmeg processing plant, no longer operating because 90% of the nutmeg trees were damaged in hurricane Ivan.  We could see the results as we drove down the roads, the trees misshapen and bearing little fruit, a stark contrast to the full, Christmas-tree shaped branches of the healthy trees loaded with golden orbs.  (They’re ready to harvest when they split open.)

At Beaulieu (Beautiful Place) we stopped at a road-side spice stand, where Cutty showed us the harvested nutmegs with their red interior nut, the outer husk of which is mace.  He cut the bark off a cinnamon tree for us to inhale its heady scent, explaining that the tree must be cut down in order to harvest the spice, but the trees only take three years to grow back.  The leaves are cooked with porridge for seasoning – nothing wasted.  He showed us “Grenada saffron,” which we know as turmeric; the roots, looking like large orange caterpillars, are grated for seasoning, but are also rubbed on the skin to protect against cancer.  We saw bamboo; avocado trees; aloe plants; grapefruit trees, who’s crushed leaves gave off a wonderful citrus aroma; coffee plants; banana trees; cilantro, called shadow bene; coco pods hanging from the trunks and branches of the trees.  Cutty opened a pod and pulled out the raw beans for us to suck on; they tasted like a sweet walnut.  He showed us mimosa, with delicate leaves that close up when touched.  Slave owners used to plant them around the slave quarters so they could tell in which direction run-away slaves went.  Cutty continued our education, showing us lemongrass, used for tea and soup; guava, it’s sweet, pink interior similar to a fig but the seeds are harder; clove, good for toothaches; garlic bush; Job’s tears; poinsettias; golden apples, though they’re not really apples; they are perfectly round, with sour, inedible skin; inside the fruit is sweet and juicy, with a fibrous seed.  The locals use this fruit to make wine.  We saw Traveler Palms and calabash trees, the fruit of which cannot be eaten but is used to make bowls and craft items.  He picked leaves from the sandpaper bush - yes they felt just like the name implies.   I bought a necklace made from all the different dried spices to put in my hanging locker, hopefully filling it with their lovely aroma.  I also picked up some fresh cinnamon and nutmeg oil, supposedly good to relieve the pain of arthritis and the itching of insect bites – we’ll see!

At Annandale Falls we got our first taste of high tourism, something we could have done without.  The minute our bus arrived in the parking lot, we were assaulted by vendors selling all manner of kitch, people singing and playing musical instruments for tips; there was a donation box for the Annandale Jumpers Association, the young men who jump from the falls, expecting you to pay them for any photos you take.  The falls were pretty, but clearly this is a cruise-ship shore excursion stop, not our scene.

In Grand Etang Rain Forest, the bark of the eucalyptus trees was bright green and copper-colored orange, like the madronna trees back home.   Ferns and pines covered the mountains, and the air was cool and sweet smelling.  The beautiful, still, Crater Lake there provides fresh water for the entire southern side of the island.  Cutty honked his horn and an ancient-looking Mona monkey came scampering through the trees and up the guard-rail.  Dubbed “Lover Boy,” he’s friendly enough to let you pet him, unlike the other, more aggressive monkeys that came looking for banana hand-outs.

Grenada is all mountains, there’s very few flat valleys that we could see, so we spent the day driving up and down.  At the base of this particular mountain, we passed over a new bridge, donated by the Japanese government.  In return for the donation, Grenada had to support the Japanese in their U.N. bid to continue whaling.  Too bad.  Attesting to the variety of plants and trees on this island paradise, Cutty showed us the bread nut tree, which is different from breadfruit; it’s fruit is prickly on the outside, and it’s boiled, roasted, then eaten like nuts.  Cutty picked a cashew nut fruit for us to inspect up close; the fruit looks like a red pimento pepper growing upside down; at the tip of it is the curved husk of the nut.  When fully red, the delicious fruit is juicy and yellow inside, but the nut is toxic until it’s roasted for at least five minutes.  Though the trees bear fruit year round, they are most prolific in April.  Still, only one nut per fruit means you have to pick a WHOLE LOT to get a pound of nuts!

The plantations here are a mix of products, usually at least one of the seven types of bananas, cocoa, sugar cane, nutmeg, fruits, vegetables, and spices.  While the chocolate factory was no longer giving tours, we stopped at Belmont Estate, the cocoa source for both Grenada Chocolate Company and Green & Black Organic Chocolate in the U.K., among others.  With over 400 acres planted, they export 100,000 pounds of cocoa beans annually.  Cocoa trees are well aerated so they did not suffer damage in Hurricane Ivan.  Though the cocoa pods can grow on the trunks as well as the branches, the trees can reach up to seven feet tall, so they are harvested by hand using long poles with machetes attached to the end.  Once removed from the pods, the beans are fermented for nine days, then take eight days to dry before being shipped.  We tasted the 60% and 71% Grenada Chocolate bars, and though they were nice and fresh, I didn’t find the flavor to be as multi-faceted as my favorite, Scharffenberger.

Lunch was at the River Rum distillery – so-so food but beautiful view.  Thankfully, it was BEFORE the tour, otherwise we would have all been looped!  Established in 1785, this is the oldest distillery on the island, still utilizing the original water wheel and machinery, which were pretty cool.  They weren’t processing at the time we were there, but they do try to make a batch daily, as it’s a relatively short process.  The sugar cane is cut by hand, loaded on carts, brought to the mill, placed on a conveyor belt and moved to the crusher.  A worker stands at the end of the crusher to make sure each piece of cane is sufficiently squeezed; if not, it goes through again.  We trod through piles of chaff from the crushed cane, spongy and yeasty smelling.  If there is not enough cane to make a full batch, they can use molasses, which is a by-product of refining sugar cane.  The juice is pumped to huge, metal boiling pots where it cooks down for a couple of hours, depending on the sugar concentration; for example, in the dry season they need to boil it longer.  From there it’s pumped to the fermenting vats, which originally were wood but now are concrete tanks.  The higher the ambient temperature, the faster the fermentation; they don’t add anything, it just bubbles away on its own, and when the bubbling stops, it’s done.  It looked like brown muck, and smelled of that vegetative fermenting odor.  After eight days maximum, it’s pumped to the distillery.  They use wood to fire the kettles because the cane chaff burns too quickly.  At this point it’s about 10% alcohol; by the time it runs through the first condenser, then into the water-cooled second condenser it reaches 75-80% alcohol.  The whole distillery process only takes about three hours, faster for the subsequent batches because the kettles are already hot.  It’s tested to make sure it has reached the minimum requirements; if not, it goes back through the process again.  Once ready, it’s pumped into underground tanks and locked to await inspection and certification by a government official.  Then it’s bottled, capped, and labeled by hand; white lightening ready to make your head blitz.  They don’t do any caramelized-barrel dark rums, only the white, and a rum punch.  Our guide Patsy let us sample all we wanted, but a little went a LONG way!  River owns about 100 acres of sugar cane, produces 15,000 gallons annually, and does not export.

Heading down to the east side of the island, we crossed over the old airstrip.  We had seen a number of old, vine-covered military vehicles (Russian and Cuban) alongside the road, and here were the relics of an air Cuba plane and the bullet-riddled private plane of some political dignitary.  These were the real reason for the U.S. invasion in 1983 – the U.S. accusing Grenada of constructing facilities to aid a Soviet-Cuban military build-up in the Caribbean and assisting communists in transporting weapons to Central American insurgents.  Cutty said most of the Grenadian people were happy when America intervened.  The country had only gained its independence from Britain on February 7, 1974, but a revolutionary faction under Maurice Bishop took over on March 13, 1979 and overthrew the government.  Bishop then suspended the constitution and banned all other political parties and elections.   That’s when the country became aligned with Cuba, Russia, and other communist governments.   Once the site of a military battle, now the old airport runway is used for drag racing, a popular sport here.

The people of Grenada still have close ties to the U.S., Britain, and Canada.  Every year, October through December, each family can receive two barrels of goods, duty free.  They have their family members or friends in foreign countries fill the barrels with whatever they want – clothing, electronics, dry goods, hardware, you name it – all duty free.  The blue plastic barrels that are seen all over the island come from the U.K., while Canada and the U.S. send cardboard barrels.  Merry Christmas from the Grenadian government!

The government also has a “de-bushing” program three times a year.  People who need work can register and work, cleaning weeds from the roadsides for a maximum of six weeks.  The program is run around Easter, in August before school starts, and again in December, to help people earn money for school and Christmas.

The children here must be in school to age 14; after that, it’s optional.  They all wear uniforms, which the parents have to buy, along with their books, so school can be a financial burden for some families.  In the upper grades, the kids have to wear neck ties with their crisp white shirts, and the girls wear calf-length pleated skirts; they all look so nice – none of those baggy, droopy pants and skimpy skirts like we see in U.S. high schools.

With only 95,000 total residents, Grenada is divided into parishes, like counties, each bearing a saint’s name.  St. Andrew’s is known as the bread basket of the island, and St. David’s, which we entered on the way back to the marinas, seems to be the hotbed of revolution.  There is no actual town there, but all three of the country’s revolutions were started in that parish.  Interestingly, they were all on the same dates, 3/13/1795, 3/13/1951, and 3/13/1979.  We stopped at La Sagesse Bay, site of another revolt.  The property had been owned by a wealthy Brit, who closed off public access to the beach. The locals become incensed, kidnapped him, tied him to an almond tree on the property, and flooded onto the beach; police had to rescue the frightened land owner.  After that incident, all beaches became public property by government decree in 1971.  The land owner’s former home is now a lovely hotel, and the beach is one of Grenada’s treasures.

Passing over another bridge, there were half a dozen pairs of jeans hanging from the bridge; the locals use the river underneath it to wash their laundry!  At one house by the road there was a group of men gathered at a table, on top of which was a struggling, over-turned turtle; Cutty said it was a Hawksbill, dinner for the evening.  He offered to stop so we could watch the butchering process, but not one of us could stomach that sight!  With all the “save-the-turtles” efforts, we just couldn’t be witness to that slaughter.  Even though it’s on the Endangered Species List, Grenada allows open season on turtles March through November, so the turtle was caught illegally.  What a shame.

That scene put a damper on all our moods, and was the only negative on an other-wise delightful and informative day. 

Friday, December 5, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada, 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

I am SO TOTALLY JAZZED!!!!!  Today I did something I never in a million years thought I would ever do!!!  I’m still feeling the high!!!

With eight other people, we boarded Cutty’s mini bus for a hike to the Seven Sisters Waterfalls.  We’d seen one of them on the island tour yesterday; today we were going to the other six.  We arrived at the park entrance, paid our fee, and were each given a sturdy walking stick, which came in quite handy on the muddy rain forest trail.  Though a bit slippery, the trail down was easy enough, with beautiful views of the mountainsides; it lead us to the base of the 5^th and longest of the falls, and the top of the 6^th falls.  Someone asked, “How deep is it?”  “……………………………………………deep enough.”  That’s where we separated – the daring from the safe.  That’s where I made my decision to move into the realm of thrill-seekers.

There were four us who were going to jump the falls, with a young guide named David.  He told us to take our shoes off; I followed him up the steep, vine-covered trail.  At first it was rocky, and my tender feet immediately protested.  Then it became mucky – so deep in some places I slipped in up to my calves, the mud gooshing between my toes, making a sucking sound as it tried to hold my foot in when I lifted it.  Not being accustomed to going barefoot, the sensation initially bothered me, but within a few minutes I relaxed into it and enjoyed the raw, wild experience.  This trail was no walk-in-the-park!  We had to use vines, rocks, tree trunks to leverage ourselves, scrambling on our butt at times, employing long unused leg muscles to push ourselves up.  I’d removed my watch, so couldn’t tell how long the hike took, though I can’t imagine it was more than 30 minutes.

The trail opened out onto the top of the first falls; muddy and sweaty, we surveyed the pounding water in front of us, no one daring to speak, all of us lost in apprehension.  Only 8 or 10 feet and too shallow to jump, we climbed down the side of the first falls and waded through the brisk, rumbling water to the top of the second falls.  From here, my memory is a blur.  I was so focused on the jumps, nothing else registered.  There was a roar in my head the whole time; I felt nothing except the water rushing past my skin, my feet on the slippery rocks.

David would crouch at the top of each falls and throw a rock down it.  “That’s where you need to land! Don’t go too far from that spot because there’s rocks.  Land on your back; don’t go feet first, it’s too shallow.  Land on your back!”  Counter to every instinct in my body, I jumped, trying to land on my back, but managing only butt first.  David was already below, treading water; as we plunged down, he pulled each of us up to the surface to keep us from hitting rocks, but I’d hit too far to the left and banged my thigh on a rock.  It hurt.  For a moment I was afraid of what was to come.  For a moment I considered going back.  But there WAS NO GOING BACK from this point!  We all had to keep going.  I flung all thoughts from my mind, focused on what David was telling us.

At another section we had to wade through the receiving pool into a narrow sluice.  David anchored himself on one side of the massive boulders lining the passage, the water tumbling through up to his waist.  “Feel through the water.  Put your foot where my foot is.”  My arched back was plastered to the boulder, arms stretched out in each direction, trying to hang on to slippery crevices.  My left foot inched to his, water pummeling my body.  I froze for a moment, uncertain how to make the next move, afraid to release my tentative hold.  David commanded!  “Bring your other foot here!”  He kept repeating it.  I made the move, willing myself to stick to the boulder.  He led me through a few more steps this way, to the opening of the sluice and a calm pool.  I waited while he repeated the maneuver with the other jumpers.

We made more jumps, each time David tossing a rock down to show us where to land.  When we got to falls number five, he told us we could dive.  I don’t know how to dive, and wasn’t about to try it now.  David instructed me to jump from a different location, but I had to be sure to propel myself out to miss the rocks below.  “Don’t slip on the rocks jumping off.  Land feet first, feet first!”  Oh Lordy!  I stood there, looking down, fighting the panic rising up from my stomach.  I switched off all thought.  I jumped!!! 

No one had ever explained to me how to jump from high places.  Never any reason to.  I remember back in high school, there was always some kid who jumped into the river from a bridge or something and broke his neck, his back, did some sort of serious damage.  That’s why I’d never done it myself; always too afraid of hurting myself.  No one had ever explained to me how gravity pushes free-flowing limbs up on the way down.  Stands to reason that it would, just like your hair flies up when you jump down.  But there was no reasoning in my brain that moment.  There was NOTHING in my brain that moment – it had shut down.  The second I felt my feet leave the rock, it was as if time stopped; I heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing.  The hard impact with the water reverberated up my spine, stung my arms.  I’d landed on my butt, legs straight out in front of me, arms out to the side, nothing like the sleek shaft I should have been.  I plunged down, the water cocooning my head, my brain scanning my body for damage.  I popped up to the surface.  HURRAY!!!!  I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!  I CAN’T BELIEVE IT DID IT!!!!!!! 

I swam out of the way to let the other jumpers go.  Garry came behind me; he had the same problem as I did, holding his limbs down, but landed completely flat on his back.  He hurt.  Jim had gone first, Jeff aced it.  David was last, doing a swan dive down the roughly 35 foot drop. All of us were so pumped, we couldn’t stop grinning.  Our hiking mates congratulated us all, wanting to know all about the sensations.  But we still had one more jump to make – this one a shorter drop, but difficult in that we had to jump OUT to get away from the rocks. David instructed us to land in a ball.  We jumped! 

I was last.  I didn’t want to get out of the water – it was so cool, and I was so THRILLED, I just couldn’t bear to return to an “average” hike.  Jeff said I didn’t stop talking about it for an hour.  I just couldn’t believe I’d done something so completely foreign to my former life.  Even just writing this log, my heart has been pounding in my chest.

On the hike back up to the park entrance, I started to feel drained, extremely tired.  I realized I’d been running the past hour on sheer adrenaline, and now it was draining.  Still, I’m sure my grin was ear-to-ear, my step jaunty.  To everyone we passed on the trail back I crowed, “I JUMPED!!!”

What a day!  What an experience!  I conquered my fear – I’m on top of the world!!!

Saturday, December 6, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

The weirdest thing happened to me last night.  We had the fan running and for some reason, in my half-awake, half asleep state, the sound reminded me of the water falling, and I had a panic attack!!!  My heart was racing, and my mind kept focusing on all the things that COULD have happened – all the bad things I couldn’t think about during the jumps because the adrenaline was propelling me forward.  I couldn’t calm myself; it was like delayed reaction or something.  I’ve never experienced anything like that – OR like the jumps!

We’re both a little stiff and slow-moving today, but I’m STILL jazzed about yesterday!  Worked on projects all day.

Sunday, December 7, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

The resort here has two pools that we can use, and we’ve been wanting to take a splash ever since we got here.  Today was going to be the day, but somehow the day got away from us.  Jeff worked on something outside, and I did laundry all day by hand because the cost anywhere on the island is roughly $12 per load.  I’ll have to bite the bullet for the sheets and towels, but for our quick-dry clothing, hand washing is fine. 

Monday, December 8, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Since we’re at a dock, we decided to start back with a walking program to get some exercise.  We walked through a neighborhood of nice homes, somewhat sluggish after going two months without steady exercise, but at least we’ve gotten started again.  The weather conditions have been lovely though a bit moist – water 84º, air 84º, humidity 84º.

Worked on projects the rest of the day.  Jeff toted our Yamaha outboard engine to the repair shop.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Our morning walk unexpectedly turned into a half-day hike.  We’d headed down the road that goes to the main city, St. George, stopping when I spotted a computer accessories and repair store.  I’d been wanting another mouse, as all mine had died over the course of the voyage.  They had them – expensive, but what else is new.  We also stopped at the repair shop to check on the progress on our outboard; not finished yet, but ready tomorrow.

It was on the way back that we made our mistake.  We’d been told that to ship our wind transducer out of the country, we would need to complete customs form.  We thought we’d stop at the customs office in Prickly Bay; after all, we walk by the head of the bay each time we go to our marina.  But the customs office is on the eastern side of the bay; what we didn’t realize was just how long that road is to get to that side of the bay.  We walked almost two hours, through construction sites, industrial businesses, and upscale homes, before we found the narrow, shady road leading down to the bay.  The customs officer was very friendly, but told us we should have called; a phone call would have saved us the walk because we don’t need a form.  Ah well, more exercise for us. 

There’s a little mini-mart there, so we bought some fruit, cheese, nuts and a muffin to snack on.  We didn’t realize how famished and energy depleted we were until we started eating; our peanut butter energy bar breakfast had worn off long before!  With our legs already stiffening up, we weren’t keen on walking back.  Jeff flagged down a couple who’d just arrived on the dinghy dock and asked if they would give us a ride across the bay so we could walk the short distance between Prickly Bay and True Blue Bay.  They were kind enough to do so.  On the way over, the guy asked in an almost sneering tone, “What are you doing in True Blue Bay?”  We told him we liked it because it was quiet, there weren’t dinghies buzzing by the boat all day, the marina staff was friendly, it’s easy access to the main road, etc.  “Yah, but you’re away from all the social stuff.”  Of course, we didn’t see it that way since we’re in contact by radio every morning on the cruisers’ net.  When we got to the dinghy dock at the head of Prickly Bay, there were so many dinghies tied to the dock, we had to climb over FOUR dinghies just to get to the dock.  I think we made a good choice in True Blue Resort.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

This morning we had a visit from Donna on Quercas, one of the cruisers I’d met in Trinidad.  She and her husband are on a mooring ball here in True Blue Bay, for the very same reasons we’re here – we like to be away from the crowds.  It’s nice to know we’re not the only oddballs.  In fact, we find now that we’re on the eastern side of the Caribbean, no one tells us we’re going “the wrong way” because it doesn’t make any difference.  Boats are always going north or south between the islands; you can sail in the lee of the islands without problem, and once we get up to the Virgins to turn westerly, I suspect we’ll actually have the wind at our back.  Also, there are very few overnight passages like on the western coast.

We’re loving it here in Grenada so much, we’ll have to TEAR ourselves away. We just notified the marina that we’ll be staying a month – plus we get in and out privileges so we’ll probably anchor at each of the bays for a few days just to get a feel for the scenery, then come back in.  So far, all the cruisers we’ve spoken with say this is the nicest island – the people are super friendly and relaxed, there’s not much crime, and it’s less expensive than the rest.  From what they say, the further north you go, the less friendly the islanders and the more expensive the goods and services.  So we figure we’ll take our time and enjoy this while we’re here, then go a little faster after we get past the Grenadines.

We continue to work on projects, though at a much more relaxed pace. J  Jeff picked up the outboard and it works fine.

Thursday, December 11, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

We did our 90-minute walk this morning, heading to the Salines Airport.  We passed a memorial erected by the Grenadian people to commemorate and express their gratitude to the United States for Operation “Urgent Fury.”  I think this is the first country we’ve been to that actually appreciates Americans!  In fact, October 25^th is a national holiday in Grenada, called Thanksgiving Day, to commemorate this event.

The 89% humidity really got to me on our walk – that and the steep hill we climbed.  All day I was feeling queasy, headachy, drained, chilled; just rested most of the day.

Friday, December 12, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

“Welcome to Gouyave” the arch over the road proclaimed.  The painted fish in the center of the sign stood for the town’s claim as the “fish capital of Grenada.”  This was their famous Friday Night Fish Fry.  Cutty’s friend Chris parked the van and pointed the way, though we could hear the music to lead us.  The town closes off some of the streets for the weekly event, food vendors lining each side.  It had been a 45 minute ride to the town, so we were starving by the time we got there.  With Debbie and Michael from Deva, we let our nose tell us where to stop. 

The first vendor we hit was grilling kabobs of shrimp and yellow fin tuna; we downed one in no time.  Sauntering down the street, we stopped to survey each vendor’s offerings; we had to ask what everything was, because most of it were things we’d never seen before.  We ate fish cakes (delicious!), which are seasoned, breaded fish filets, deep fried; fish pie (take it or leave it), a chopped fish mixture enveloped in a pastry dough, looking much like an empanada, deep fried; deep fried breadfruit (AWESOME), cut into wedges like potatoes; fry bake, simple bread dough balls that are deep fried; stir fry shrimp – the only other dish that wasn’t deep fried.   

They had every kind of fish preparation you could imagine, along with every Caribbean preparation for the ubiquitous “provisions” as they call them, the starchy vegetables like plantains, dashims, bananas, sweet potatoes, breadfruits.  I also bought tamarind balls, tamarind partially cooked and coated with sugar – a sweet/sour taste sensation; and guava cheese, the fruit cooked down to a paste and coated with sugar.  Of course, not usually consuming so many fried foods, we were quickly feeling the effects; I was dying for a salad! 

One booth had the representatives from Clark’s Court Rum, offering free samples of all their products.  I wasn’t too fond of any of them, with the exception of a lemon rum that had a floral/vanilla flavor, but I think the two guys in the booth had been sampling their own product all night long!

We spent the later part of our outing listing to the live music, and awesome group of young people on steel pans.  There were about 20 in the group, each of them with two drums, all of them moving in lively rhythm to the beat.  Another group was composed of 10 or 12 bongo drummers putting out some terrific beats.  Various single musicians were also drumming along the streets.

We also chatted with a local guy about life on the island – actually gave him the rest of our breadfruit chips because we couldn’t eat them all.  When we were walking in the True Blue neighborhood, I’d seen graffiti on an abandoned house, “Crips,” “Bloods.”  I asked him about that, curious to know whether there were actual gangs here or if the kids were just imitating.  Boy, that got him going!  He ranted for 10 minutes about what “idiots” those kids are, trying to be like the bad boys they see on cable tv.  I didn’t think the Grenadan life-style would foster such gangs, and he confirmed that.  Funny, on the way home, I saw a teenage boy with droopy satin basketball-type shorts, satin tank, baseball hat turned sideways, gold chain hanging from his neck, big white Nikes.  He was trying so hard to look cool, but he was SO obviously done up he only looked silly.  Probably the locals thought so too. J

Saturday, December 13, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Last week I had asked Cutty about doing something related to local foods; he suggested we do an “oil down” at his house.  I had NO CLUE what he was talking about, but I was game. 

He needed 10 people minimum to make it worth his while to drive to the marinas and back; over the course of the week we got a total of 15 adventurous souls to join us.  Cutty and Chris picked us up around 12:30, driving us up the mountain to the beautiful Lara Lands area.  We pulled up to a small, roadside neighborhood cantina next to a modest home; our hosts Kenny, Andy, and Miss Ruby welcomed us and immediately put us to work.

Oil Down is the national dish of Grenada, prepared in as many variations are there are cooks.  It’s basically a highly seasoned stew of provisions (starchy root vegetables) and some sort of meat.  In this case, they used pig snouts and tails, chicken wings, and lord only knows what else was in that bowl of marinated meat.  On the top goes some flour & water rolled dollops of dough meant to be dumplings.  Cooked over an open fire, when it starts out, the ingredients are floating in a tasty liquid; by the time it’s done cooking, the liquid has been absorbed by the vegetables and is almost down to the bottom of the pot, resembling oil – hence the name, the “oil” goes down in the pot.  Andy explained that really, the BEST oil-down is made by men. J  It’s a guy thing.

The whole process takes about four hours, and once it’s in the pot, there’s not much to do but hang around and wait, which was why the canteen was handy.  Beers and rum all around, we got to know each other, visited with the family, petted the dogs, walked the property – all called “lyming”, which means “hanging out.”  A produce vendor stopped by, his truck loaded with fresh goods, so we even got to do a little shopping while we were waiting. 

About 19:00, the oil was down; Cutty pulled the cauldron off the fire, dished up a HUGE portion and handed it to me, since I was the organizer.  My first taste of oil-down; delicious.  But even sharing it with Jeff, I still couldn’t eat much; though tasty, the starchy vegetables sat on my stomach like a rock.  We’d all brought desserts to share, but all I could eat was a bite of the sour cream cake I brought, a bite of a brownie. 

By 20:30 it was time to say good-bye to our hosts.  Everyone raved about the great time they had, and what a unique opportunity is was to experience life like a local!

Eileen on Appleseeds took notes; here’s how to make Oil-Down:

Take a swig of rum, preferably Rivers. Grate fresh coconut and saffron. (Takes about an hour with 8 people.) Peel breadfruit, ripe green bananas & pumpkin. (Get locals to help with this). Go to nearest callaloo bush & pick 1/2 dozen leaves. Take another swig Rivers rum. 8-9 garlic cloves, 1 very, very small onion. Green papaya, 2 carrots, string beans, ketsup, 1 Tbsp. "Complete Seasoning."

Slaughter pig & cut off pig snout and tail. (Definitely need a hefty gulp of rum at this point.) Marinate in "Green Sauce" along with boring old chicken.

 

Get yourself a massive black cauldron & start up fire, making sure that lady from up the driveway does not drive over your pot while backing her car up. (Another swig or maybe the driver needs one.)  Arrange breadfruit in bottom of pot, add bananas along the side of pot. Alternate layers of meat mixture & vegetables. Meat is in the middle of the pot, garlic over meat, more breadfruit, string beans, pumpkin. Pack the pot. Fill to brim. Carrots on top. Last, but not least, mix grated coconut & saffron with water, stir, hand squeeze, (the bigger the hands, the better), removing compressed pulp balls. Strain liquid into cauldron, & repeat this process until cauldron is full within 2 inches from top. And for gods sake, have some more rum - you deserve it. Remember always...."if you want good oil down, it's a man thing!"

 

Cook about 2 hours until the oil goes down into the pot.

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday, December 14, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

We spent the day being total vacationers – no chores, no projects; we even spent a few hours at the pool and had cocktails in the evening before dinner.  Ahhh, this is the life!

 

Monday, December 15, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Even though it’s 91% humidity today, I did a little better on our walk; I think I’m getting more acclimated.  More hand-washing laundry, continued to work on catching up the log/website.  Johnny’s Sailmaker picked up our jib to sew repairs.  We put out a call on the net to see if anyone’s interested in an historical tour with Cutty.  Got enough takers, we’re set for Friday.

 

Tuesday, December 16, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

There are more cruising boats in the bay now, on mooring balls, a French catamaran on the dock.  The hotel seems to have more guests, and the dive shop right here on the dock is taking groups out in two boats every day.  With schools on winter break, the tourist industry is getting a much-needed injection.

 

Wednesday, December 17, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

We’ve added push-ups, bar-dips, and leg lunges to our walking routine.  It’s amazing how quickly muscles go; three months of hanging around on a boat, rarely hitting land really takes its toll.

 

Thursday, December 18, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

It’s been raining in short bursts all this week, but this morning we had a bonafide downpour.  The day was grey when we left on our walk, so we made sure to close the hatches before leaving the boat.  We happened to be on the St. George University campus when it hit, doing the Rocky thing up long flights of stairs.  We ducked under a bus stop, along with two construction workers who were also waiting out the rain.  We did our push-ups, bar dips, lunges, stretches, and STILL it was pouring; we waited.  One of the guys had an I-pod or something that was playing the corniest country-western versions of Christmas songs.  Something about the whole scene cracked me up: Caribbean island, beautiful scenery, waiting under a bus stop, rain pouring down, listening to country-western Christmas songs?!?!

 

Friday, December 19, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

 

Today was our tour of the island’s historical sites. Our first stop was at a 17^th century building, one of the oldest structures on the island, a block from the waterfront in the capital city, St. George. The bricks used to construct the building came from England as ballast in the holds of ships bringing goods to the islands.  Originally built as a jail and other uses, it now houses the National Museum, which is only a few rooms of eclectic displays with hand-written signs: a pathetic collection of brown, crumbling butterflies pinned to a board; photos of an Italian cruise liner that caught fire in the harbor and sank in 1961; slave restraining implements (by 1753 the island population consisted of 262 Caucasians, 179 “colored,” and 11,911 slaves); Marie Antoinette’s bath tub (she was from one of the Caribbean islands.)

 

Not far from the museum, on a point overlooking the carenage and the harbor is Fort George, built in 1705 by the British, but of course, also used by the French when they occupied the island.  We walked down a steep, un-lit ramped tunnel to the outer walls of the fort, where there were tiny windows in the 4-foot-thick walls through which guns could be fired; we tried to imagine the narrow space filled with smoke from the firing arms, and the smell of gunpowder and sweating men in wool uniforms.  As beautiful as the island is today, I can’t help but think the undeveloped, mosquito infested land must have been sheer misery for the soldiers stationed here.   The dilapidated buildings inside the fort grounds are still in use, as housing and classrooms for the police academy recruits.  But the most interesting aspect of the fort was a major event that took place here in modern day.  It was October 19, 1983; Cutty was a young man, just starting his taxi business.  He was in his van, waiting in the parking lot.  The building right in front of him was a simple, two-story structure housing offices, a balcony running the length of the upper floor offices just like a motel.  It was in the far, upper floor office that Maurice Bishop, the leader of the revolution, had been taken to “negotiate” with this captors.  According to Cutty, even though he erred in not allowing elections, he was very popular with the islanders, but had been captured and imprisoned by Communist sympathizers.  Cutty saw men with weapons swarming the building; he saw them pull Maurice Bishop and eight others out of the room; he saw them line the captives up against the wall; he saw them executed, point blank.  People were screaming and running every which way, trying to get away, some to the top of the parapet; with no place left to go, they were pushed to their deaths by those crowding behind them.  Cutty jumped out of his van and ran too, down the rampart towards the street, as fast and as far as he could go.  He was witness to one of the most historic events of the island!

 

We made a stop at the botanical Bay Gardens, where with our guide we crunched over paths strewn with nutmeg shells (which also happen to be used in the bottom of BBQ grills to add flavoring.)  We saw gorgeous tropical flowers; koi; Chinese bamboo, used to make fishing rods; dreadlock croton plants with curly, colorful leaves; fingernail bromeliads, green with sharp pink tips; the phallic-looking pasta ginger, which we squeezed to get a milky juice from the tip (I have NO idea how it got it’s name!)  We tasted sour sop, also known as guanabana in South America, and sucked on juicy, raw sugarcane.

 

   

Lunch was a buffet at La Sagesse Restaurant, in the ruins of a 1771 rum distillery.  Proprietor Jack, who purchased the property in 1997, explained that it had been the home of La Sagesee Rum, producer of fine rum available only to the elite Caribbean planters.  In the lower level, Jack had photos of modern Granadian historical events; he was quite interesting to listen to as he got on the topic of politics, but his Caribbean accent was so heavy he was difficult to understand.  He had artifacts he’d collected in a mish-mash display, an American GI helmet next to a 19XX food grinder next to a few old coins, a 400-year-old urn passed down through his family, a post card, etc.  I think my dad’s collection of old stuff would rival this, but at least Jack’s could be seen. J   Jack showed us the underground rum storage tanks, where in 1983 the invading Americans caught hiding Cubans, the last two on the island.

 

Mount Hartman Rum was our next stop, but the guy scheduled to give us a tour wasn’t in.  We wandered around the grounds, the most picturesque ruins I’ve seen: rolling hills of grass, lush vegetation growing over the old walls and machinery.  It must have been a huge operation in its day because there were two enormous water wheels still standing.  They still sell Mt. Hartman rum here, but they buy the rum from Trinidad in bulk, then blend, age, and bottle it here.  We were able to taste a few of their offerings, which were quite smooth.  Jeff even bought a bottle for later consumption.  Just before we left, a truck pulled up, similar to an ice-cream truck in the states, selling pure cane juice popsicles.  They were surprisingly good, not as sweet as you’d imagine.

 

Unfortunately our day did not allow time to get to the north side of the island to see the slave holding area or the “Carib’s Leap,” where the Amerindians jumped to their deaths to avoid being captured by the French.  Another day, another tour.

 

Saturday, December 20, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Hearing so much about the Spice Market, we couldn’t leave Grenada without making a stop at the famed site.  We rode the bus to St. George, getting off a block from the outdoor market.  Saturday is supposedly their biggest day, all the vendors there in full force to capture the cruise ship trade.  As we got off the bus, a young man by the name of Roger greeted us, walking along with us in an “unofficial guide” capacity.  We really didn’t need his help, but of course, there was no getting rid of him politely once he glommed onto us.  I decided to just let him show us around. 

 

The streets and aisles between the booths were crowded with shoppers and vendors hawking their goods.  I love shopping at markets like this, but it’s a double-edged sword – I hate the noise and crowds!  In addition to the spice vendors, there were produce vendors and people selling household goods and clothing, similar to the mercados in Central America and Mexico.  The spice vendors all had the same goods, pre-packaged plastic bags of ground cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, turmeric, and curry; some also had lovely big bay leaves, peppercorns, and bottles of vanilla, nutmeg syrup and nutmeg jelly.  Roger took us to one spice vendor who he said had the best deals.  It didn’t seem like anyone was haggling, prices seemed set, so it was just as easy to buy from her as any others.  After selecting my spices, she kindly threw in a parting gift of a bag of turmeric and one of chocolate balls, which the locals grate into warm milk and sugar for hot cocoa. 

 

Roger didn’t have any favorites of the produce vendors, so it was a matter of choosing the best-looking products.  I bought lots of nice things, including items that were not available in the grocery store, such as bok choy and avocadoes.  Shopping bags now bulging, we walked a few blocks down the waterfront to the fish market; unfortunately, all they had at the moment was barracuda and tuna, neither of which we were in the mood for, so we left, fishless.

 

Lugging our bags onto the crowded Number 1 bus, we stopped at Grand Anse Spice Island Mall to finish our provisioning.  But first, we needed to get some lunch – it’s never a good idea to grocery shop on an empty stomach.  I was loathe to eat “food court” fare, but to my surprise, we both had a good meal at the Grill Master, topped off with a freshly-squeezed sour sop smoothie – ultra delicious!  I’ve been so captivated by this beautiful island, I bought a book on the history of Grenada while Jeff tasted wines at the wine shop, then we finished our shopping at the IGA grocery store.  Naturally, we had WAY too many bags to load onto a bus, so we had to cab it back.  That actually turned into a blessing, as we had to drive around to four different stores before we found eggs.  The IGA was out, as were the other large supermarkets; the checker told us that eggs are scarce this time of year because everyone does so much baking; they wouldn’t get re-stocked until after the first of the year! Fortunately, we found the mini mart at Prickly Bay still had some; we bought a full flat.

 

Sunday, December 21 – Monday, December 22, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Along with eight other cruisers, we hired Cutty to take us to Grenville on the east side of the island for a Christmas concert.  It was conducted by Valerie Daniel, a professional opera singer and instructor, and her students.  It was held in the Catholic Church, and while the pews were uncomfortable, the acoustics were phenomenal, amplifying the beautiful sounds. Valerie has an incredibly rich voice, and two of her students were pretty good, but the third one in particular was quite interesting.  Her name was Trish; she looked to be in her 70’s, stood about five feet tall, and was almost as wide.  Her first aria was a solo, accompanied by a young Cuban violinist and a pianist.  She started the first stanza, and her voice cracked; she stopped; they all began again from the top, and once more she stopped at the first line, hanging her had abashedly.  There was utter silence in the church; she muttered to the violinist “You’ll have to continue without me.”  To her credit, the violinist waited patiently, encouraging Trish to continue; the audience hung on every moment, waiting, WILLING her not to give up.  It seemed like an eternity.  Trish started again, this time gaining confidence as she climbed the upper reaches of the aria, but when she hit the crescendo note, we were astounded at the sound that came out of her mouth!  She was pitch perfect, clear, loud, beautiful!  If I closed my eyes to just listen to her voice, I would have pictured a much younger woman; I don’t know how on earth she managed to keep such a tremendous voice into her “golden years.”  When she finished, she hung her head shyly, a tiny smile on her lips; the applause was thunderous!  We were cheering her courage, her modest demeanor, her incredible voice, and the spirit of the season.

 

There was also an acoustic guitarist in the program, notable for the great passion in his playing and his beautiful rendition of traditional Christmas tunes.  My romantic Jeff even got a little misty-eyed from the beauty of his performance.

 

After the performance, Cutty took us to a restaurant in town for dinner.  As very few restaurants are open on Sundays, he’d made special arrangements for us, so we were the only diners.  Had we not been with him, we NEVER would have found this place.  It was in a seedy-looking section, though not much different from the way the whole town looked.  We gingerly picked our way through puddles of water in a stinky, dimly-lit alley; behind the dilapidated building we climbed a rickety staircase to a dark, wooden-floored room with peeling wall paint and greasy, oil-cloth covered tables.  We ordered directly from the menu (versus a buffet or limited selection); since we’d left the marina at 15:00 hours for the long ride to Grenville and it was after 19:30 by the time the concert ended, we were all famished; dinner seemed to take forever.  Somehow, the server messed up and shorted the order; I was going to split a dish with another woman, but when it was all served up, we were the only ones without food.  On top of that, they didn’t have any more of what we’d ordered, so we had to choose something else from the menu.  Of course, by the time our meal arrived, the others had finished eating and were ready to go.  We had to bolt our food down; I couldn’t eat much of it anyway – the chicken was so gristly and greasy all I could handle was a couple bites.  That was close to 22:00 when we finished up; with the long ride back, we didn’t get to bed until almost midnight.  But I couldn’t sleep; my stomach was NOT happy!

 

The next day, we set off on our power walk as usual, but my stomach was still so queasy I had to stop and go back to the boat.  Jeff continued on a good run, but all day I stayed in bed, nibbling soda crackers and drinking lots of water, waiting for my stomach to settle.  Good thing we weren’t passage-making that day!

 

Tuesday, December 23, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

I prepped food all day for Christmas dinner, Jeff called Johnny’s Sail Loft to check on the progress with our sail.  They’ve had it over a week now, plenty of time to repair it; they had the Sunbrella in stock, and just needed to sew a new strip on the outer edge to replace what had frayed.  They said “Monday,” but that may be our last day here. “Okay, Saturday.”  I have my doubts…….

 

The humidity has been 100% lately, so most days we have short bursts of rain throughout the day.

 

Wednesday, December 24, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

On the radio net this morning, someone asked where to find eggs, as all the stores were out.  I volunteered to spare some if anyone was really desperate; Jeff said, “Nobody’s going to come all the way over here for a couple eggs!”  How wrong he was!  Obviously he’s not a cook!  When you need eggs for holiday baking, nothing else will do.  I DID have a relieved baker take me up on my offer.  J  She walked over from Prickly Bay to pick up four eggs, promising to bring me some Hazelnut Biscotti in exchange.  Fair deal!

 

I was tired from working in the galley all day again today, but Wednesday is 2-for-1 night at The Movie Palace.  Ever since we watched portions of the new James Bond movie being filmed in Panama, we’ve been wanting to see the finished product.  To our good fortune, it was playing at The Movie Palace!

 

Being Christmas Eve, we figured we’d be the only people in the theater.  WRONG!!!  The parking lot was mobbed, music blasting.  The movie was supposed to start at 19:00 hours, so we arrived about 15 minutes early; but even that was GMT – Grenada Maybe Time.  It didn’t begin rolling until 20 minutes after the hour, and even at 22:00 hours, people were still clomping in; the theater was packed.  But the thing that got me was, they were all talking throughout the movie – to each other, on their cell phones, laughing out loud.  We actually had trouble following the plot because we couldn’t hear the dialog!  What’s the point of paying for a movie if you’re not going to watch it???  Maybe I’m just getting too old. L

 

On the walk back, we stopped at one busy corner to view the lighted Christmas display.  The business was at the op of a small hill, and they had tiers of lights all the way up, with moving, lighted reindeer lining the base; quite festive. There were people wearing white, fur-trimmed red Santa hats – so out of place here, but comically touching.  Almost everyone we passed on the street wished us a Merry Christmas or happy holiday.  What we thought was going to be a quiet evening ended up doing the most to put us in the Christmas spirit. J

 

Thursday, December 25, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

I’d made my pumpkin and mince pies yesterday, but there was no room in the refrigerator for them, so I just covered them well and left them on the counter.  To my horror, when I stepped into the galley in the morning, the pumpkin pie was COVERED with tiny ants!  Oh!  It made my skin crawl!  The mince was okay, but there was no rescuing the pumpkin.  Jeff opened the trash bin, overturned the pie plate, and there went all my hard work.  Fortunately, I had more pumpkin and evaporated milk on hand, and was able to make another pie before dinner.  I was just disappointed because the ultra low-fat whole wheat crust I make is tough the first day, and always softens nicely by the second day.

 

The wind kept blowing out the grill, so I had to roast the turkey breast instead, but it still came out fine, and even though our dining time was delayed, everyone enjoyed the meal.  Our guests for the afternoon were Steve and Hope on the sailing vessel Starshine, and Steve’s nephew Wren, who happens to live in Anacortes, WA – our mainland ferry landing from San Juan Island!  It’s good to have friends all over the place! 

 

Merry Christmas to all our friends, both near and far!

 

Friday, December 26, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Grenada being a former British colony, they celebrate Boxing Day as a national holiday, just like in the U.K.  I looked the term up on Wikipedia; there were several versions of how the tradition got started, almost all of which involved “the haves” giving goods, food, clothing, money, etc. to “the have nots” in some sort of box.  So here in Grenada, December 25^th AND 26^th are the holiday. 

 

To celebrate, some cruisers organized a pot luck at Whisper Cove Marina; about 20 of us chipped in  to hire busses to take us there, where roughly 50 people gathered.  It was a fun afternoon, with the usual assortment of pasta, rice, and potato salads, but someone brought sliced lunch meats and roast turkey, so that was nice.  (I brought tuna/caper stuffed roasted pimento peppers drizzled with balsamic glaze.)  If you go to http://djkphotos.smugmug.com/, click on Caribbean and you’ll find a photos from the Boxing Day pot luck and a good shot of me.

 

While there, we met a Canadian delivery captain based out of Vancouver Island, who told us one of his favorite passages was doing a portion of the great loop through the Erie Canal and down he Mississippi River.  We were under the impression that our draft was too deep and our mast too high to do that, but he took a boat through that was every bit as deep and tall as ours is.  The more he talked, the more excited we got about it; that may just be our next cruise!  Plus, now we have another person to visit on Vancouver Island.  I’ll say it again, “it’s good to have friends all over the world!” 

 

Saturday, December 27, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

I’m getting cabin fever.  I just did NOT want to be cooped up down here today.  We took the bus to the Grand Anse shopping center, to a hair stylist that had been recommended to me.  Sandra was trained in the States, and cuts hair while dry instead of wet, supposedly resulting in a better cut.  She got me right in without an appointment, gave a quick efficient cut for $35 EC (about $13 US), that actually wasn’t a bad cut.  But the problem was the same as I always encounter: she pulled the hair straight to cut it, but didn’t allow for the shrinkage when it curls up.  I told her I wanted it at my jaw-line when dry, and ended up with the longest part at the middle of my ears!  It looks a little dorky right now, and is hard to get used to, but it will grow.  Probably a month from now it’ll be great.  The other good thing about it is I won’t need another haircut for awhile! J

 

We hopped on another bus to St. George and got off at the Carenage.  The shops are only open half days on Saturdays, so the streets were pretty quiet, which actually made it nice to walk around and view the sights.  We walked several hours along the water front, heading back to Grand Anse, sweating profusely. One more bus ride back to the Prickly Bay area, in time for cocktails before Christmas dinner left-overs. J

 

The busses in Grenada are pretty cool; they’re 15-17 passenger vans, all clearly marked with their route number, inexpensive (about $1 US), and plentiful.  There’s always one coming by every few minutes.  The driver honks his horn at people on the street, in effect asking if they want a ride; then there’s the door man: he opens the door for passengers, collects the money, and tells the driver when passengers want to get off.  If you ask, often they’ll take you right to your destination for a small extra fee, if it’s not too far off their route.  Great system.  You can go all the way around the island by bus. 

 

Johnny’s didn’t bring our sail, Henry’s didn’t pick up our laundry.  Why am I not surprised????

 

Sunday, December 28, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

We hung by the pool today, reading, writing, relaxing.  Boy, it’s going to be hard to leave this place!  I read a disturbing article in The Compass, a local monthly newspaper for tourists and cruisers:

 

“On Saturday 8 November, the US-flagged yachts s/v Chill and s/v I’Lean were anchored for the night at Isla Borracha, an offshore island near Puerto La Cruz (Venezuela.)  Cruisers Ken and Cathy Peters and Steve and Gloria Davis had gathered aboard I’Lean to discuss their plans for the following day.

 

“At about sunset, they saw three men in a pirogue approach Chill and shouted over that there was no one on board.  The men then came to I’Lean and asked for water, which they were given.  Guns came out on the pirogue, and 55-year-old Ken was shot twice, and apparently killed instantly.  Steve was shot once and wounded in the thigh.  Gloria retrieved a gun from below which Steve fired at the pirogue and the three attackers sped off.  Gloria then called a MAYDAY on the VHF and, since they were only a few miles from the marina in Puerto La Cruz, the incident received immediate attention.

 

“The Coast Guard arrived about an hour later, put a soldier on I’Lean to assist Cathy and Gloria to take the boat to Bahia Redonda marina.  Steve was able to move Chill to the marina on his own.  Steve was taken to hospital upon arrival and Ken’s body was removed from I’Lean, which tied alongside at the Coast Guard dock.  All have been questioned by the police and reports submitted.  The American Embassy had a representative on site within a couple of hours.”

 

THAT’S WHY we didn’t want to stop in Venezuela!!!

 

Monday, December 29, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

On our power walk this morning, we stopped by Johnny’s Sail loft.  “It will be ready today at 3:30.”  Right……..by the end of the day, it was “9:30 tomorrow morning.”  Right.

 

The dock is looking pretty empty here.  With the exception of two, all the charter boats have gone out.  I felt sorry for them – earlier in the week, two of the boats actually returned to the dock; the weather and sea conditions were so bad, all aboard kept getting sea sick.  I’m sure they planned well in advance and were excited about their tropical holiday cruise, and here they spend their precious vacation time being sea sick!  We cruisers are incredibly fortunate to have the luxury of waiting for good weather conditions to make passages.

 

The weather is calming down later this week; we’d planned on leaving Thursday, but have encountered problems.  The water-maker stopped working  - AGAIN!!!!  (How many times is it now – I’ve lost count?!?!)  I hoisted Jeff up the mast to install the new wind transducer; it didn’t fix the problem!  Now he’s got two major issues to get settled before we leave.  Who knows how long it will take?  The good thing is we love it here!

 

Tuesday, December 30, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Last night we took the bus to Mona Lisa, an Italian restaurant outside of St. George recommended by other cruisers.  It’s a clean little outdoor restaurant, on a hillside overlooking a well-trimmed garden.  With lovely linens and soft lighting, the ambiance was beautiful, but the food was even better!  The chef and owner, Oliver, explained that they don’t have a printed menu as he just cooks what he finds fresh in the market that morning.  He had two appetizers – fried English cheddar and tuna tartar; two paste – spaghetti with octopus and house-made calaloo raviol; (the ravioli dough was house-made, but the spaghetti was not - couldn't find enough eggs in the market!); two entrees – local, fresh beef tenderloin and braised chicken; two wines from Chile, a white and a red.  We tried EVERYTHING!  And it was ALL exquisite!  It’s a good thing we hadn’t discovered this restaurant earlier in our stay or we would have been eating here every week.  Surprisingly, there was only one other table that night.  Oliver told us he’d been struggling because the tourists don’t come since the hotels are now offering all-inclusive deals, and the St. George U. students are all gone for the winter break.  It must be heart-breaking to cook such delicious food and have no one show up to eat it.  What the heck do they do with the leftovers?  How can you plan?  I would NEVER want to own a restaurant, that’s for sure!!!!

 

We lingered over our meal, Oliver giving us complimentary Limoncello digestive.  By the time we got out of there, it was almost 9:30; Oliver had offered to call a cab for us, but we said we would take the bus; he said they’ll be scarce this time of day, and stop running at 10:00.  Boy, he was right on that one!  Only a few busses passed by, all loaded with passengers.  We ended up walking all the way home.  It took us about an hour and 15 minutes – not a bad walk, and a good way to work off dinner.

 

We didn’t do our power walk this morning, because we didn’t want to miss Johnny.  He finally showed up a little before noon.  Good thing we did our walking last night!

Henry brought our finished laundry.  We both worked on projects today.

 

Wednesday, December 31, 2008, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W

Jeff got the watermaker working yesterday; near as we could figure, there was a build-up in the pressure, possibly caused by blockage at the exit holes.  We have fenders lining the swim platform to protect from bumping the dock – there’s a tremendous surge here, but it’s not uncomfortable because we’re facing into it.  Anyway, the fenders may have caused some pressure build-up; but it’s working.  For now.

 

The wind transducer, well that’s another problem.  I hoisted Jeff up the mast again today (he has no fear of heights – could have played a role in City of Angels).  He took a new cable up with him, to see if that’s the problem.  Sure enough, with the new cable, we got a wind speed reading.  More checking and through process of elimination, he realized the problem is somewhere inside the mast.  Oh brother! L  A call to our electrician in the States revealed the cable cannot be removed from the mast, nor can a new one be run down without pulling the mast.  His suggestion was to check all the connections at the top of the mast; if one is corroded, move it to one of the un-used wires in the existing 7-strand cable.  Tomorrow’s project.

 

Happy New Year, All!!

 

Thursday, January 1 – Thursday, January 8, 2009, True Blue Marina, Grenada 12˚00.03N, 61˚46.17W . 

This has been a busy week, filled with our walks, projects, and typical cruiser doings, i.e. business and tasks that at home would take an hour, and here take all day.  The new wind directional indicator we ordered came into the St. George DHL office.  I told Jeff to call and find out what he needed to bring to the office to pick the part up.  He did, but when we got there, we found he had been given incorrect information.  He’d been told he could get the proper paperwork stamped off at the St. George customs office down the street, but evidently they’d changed their policy; you now had to get the stamp in the customs office in which you checked into the country.  That meant a bus ride and long walk back to the east side of Prickly Bay to customs, another walk up to the main highway to pick up a bus back to St. George and the DHL office.  See what I mean about simple tasks being all day affairs?  While Jeff did that, I provisioned.  This being a small island, most of the goods in the stores are imported.  Shipments have been delayed for weeks now, presumably because of the rough weather.  Consequently, the dairy shelves were empty – literally empty – yards and yards of labeled shelves with not a thing on them.  I managed to pick up a couple containers of yogurt, and though they are only three days from their sell-by date, yogurt usually keeps a long time so they should be okay.  No fresh milk; very little cheese; no eggs, in fact, they’re still hard to find anywhere on the island.  I lucked out though in one sense – the bus I climbed aboard took me all the way to the True Blue Resort for $7 EC (~$2.60US) versus $35 EC (~13.20 US) cab fare.

 

The busses (actually 15-17 passenger vans) are a good deal here.  They’re all privately owned, so each one is different, but they all have the route number clearly marked on the front windshield.  In case you missed that, their license plates all start with “H.”  One bus we were in had a DVD screen set up so the passengers could watch the music videos of the tunes that were blasting from the speakers.  Besides the “H,” I think loud music is requisite.

                                                           

There’s music everywhere on this island – steel pan, drums, singing; even just walking down the street, people will often be singing.  There are also lots of produce vendors on the streets, each selling what appear to be the fruits of their private gardens; often it’s much nicer than what can be found in the grocery stores.  They have make-shift stands of wooden crates, or use a blanket spread out on the road or their car hood.  I haven’t yet mentioned the rum shops, which can be every quarter mile along the highway, or every other door-front in town. They’re tiny bars with two or three tables and a few stools at the bar, where you can sit and have a quick shot of rum, or hang out all evening long – limin’.

 

We strolled through the shopping mall at the cruise ship dock, hoping to find a sporting goods store to replace my water bottle.  We did find the store, but only plastic water bottles.  Interesting sight: in the Latin American countries, the manequins all have enormous round breasts like cataloupes; here the chests are normal, but they have are huge round bubble butts.  Interesting what features symbolize attractiveness in different cultures.  Why don’t male manequins have exagerated parts?????

 

I tried a Roti, a Caribbean specialty.  Whether they’re all like the one I had remains to be seen; what I was served was basically a wrap: provisions (breadfruit, dasheen, sweet potato, potato, etc.), cabbage, green beans, carrots cooked to mush in a light curry, then wrapped in thin dough and plopped on a plate.  It’s so big you have to use a knife and fork; you can’t pick it up like a wrap or a burrito.  I ordered the vegetarian version, but they also come in chicken, beef and lambi (conch).  It was okay, not something I’d put at the top of my list of favorites.

 

I made one last stop at the spice/produce market, which was not nearly as crowded midweek, so much more pleasant to shop at.  The streets around the square were cleared of vendors and their umbrellas; the more permanent wooden stands with the week-day vendors filled the square, their colorful produce and bags of spices stacked in enticing display.  I bought a few vegetables, and a big bag of whole cloves to put in my hanging lockers, hopefully to dispel the dank, musty odor.  Since last season’s excessive heat destroyed the elastic in my skirts and exercise shorts, I visited the fabric store across from the market.  Like most of the older stores, this concrete structure was dimly lit but cool inside, with wooden shelves running the length of the walls on each side, from waist-high to ceiling, glass-topped sales counters in front of them.  Almost all the bolts of cloth and all the notions were behind the counters; you have to ask a sales clerk to pull out the bolt for your inspection (she has to climb a ladder to reach the upper bolts), or tell her what notions you needed, such as a white 9” zipper; she then opens one of dozens of little wooden drawers on the wall behind the counter, under all the stacks of cloth.  Zippers were at one counter, elastic at another, and at each counter there were two or three clerks, each handling different products; you paid for your purchases at yet another counter.  Depending on what you need, you might end up waiting in line six different times – and hopefully they have everything you need to go with that fabric you picked out, or god-forbid, you’d end up at square one again.  I was looking for muslin to make a pillow cover, trying to describe it to the sales clerks.  “No, we don’t have that.”  I ended up finding it in a center aisle, not behind a counter; when I took it to a clerk to cut the length, I asked what they call it: “Domestic.”  Oh!  Why didn’t I think of that? 

 

We’ve noticed so many incidences where there are five times as many people doing a job as necessary.  In the hardware store, there’s a clerk for each aisle, and the products in that aisle are ALL they handle.  In yard maintenance, instead of one guy with a power mower and clipping catcher, there will be two guys using weed whackers, two guys raking the cuttings, and two guys bagging the cutting piles.  The construction yards will have a dozen workers standing around when it appears only a third are actually doing something.  (Off the subject here, but I get a kick out of the guys with Rasta locks piled high on their head under a knit cap, a hard hat precariously perched atop.  Ya gotta follow da rules, mon!) 

 

At first glance, the repetition of workers seems like a cumbersome waste, then you realize, it’s the country’s way of keeping people employed.  They may not make a lot, but at least they have something coming in.  Grenada’s unemployment rate is around 18%.  I’m surprised that with that high a rate, there’s not more crime, which seems a testament to the solid upbringing and values of the citizens, though petty crime does seem to be on the rise.  There were recent reports of pick pockets in the downtown area where the cruise ships disgorge their passengers, and one cruiser reported that someone tried to steal her purse.  I accidentally left my fanny pack/water bottle holder in the parking lot at True Blue.  When I went back for it the next day, the pack had been rifled through, and the stainless steel water bottle with neoprene slipcover was gone.  Not surprising, actually.

 

The downfall of the U.S. economy has reverberated globally; American tourists can’t afford to go or buy, and those businesses that rely on tourist dollars are suffering.  At the Horizon Yacht Charter docks, almost all the boats were back in by January 3^rd; the dock was full again, and stayed that way.  Hotels are now offering all-inclusive rates, so restaurants aren’t getting as much business because what few tourists come now eat exclusively at the hotels.  Taxi drivers, street vendors, they all feel the crunch.

 

Back on the boat, I hoisted Jeff up the mast at least three more times.  By running new cable down the mast behind the sail track, he was able to get the wind transducer working; unfortunately he was unable to run it inside the mast because the existing cable was too jammed in there to allow a clear drop; the mast would have to be removed to run any new wiring, hence the outside track.

 

One evening with Steve and Hope from Starshine, we had dinner at Le Phare Bleu Marina and Resort.  They have an old light ship (a ship with a light house on it) that’s been converted to a fine-dining restaurant.  We also joined them on Starshine another evening for cocktails and tapas.  Steve is the cook, and he does quite a tasty job of it; that evening turned out to be one of our most fun times on the island!

 

Over the weeks we’d been chatting with a St. George medical student who lives in one of the True Blue Resort villas while she’s attending school.  She told us about a great hike to Mt. Qua Qua, and a massage therapy program at the St. George clinic on Grand Anse beach.  The massage technicians are all blind; evidently their sense of touch and body awareness if so heightened, they give a terrific massage – and for only $40 US!  I was hoping to do both before we left, but we just ran out of time.  Our weather window was originally Saturday and Sunday, but when we checked Thursday’s report, it had shifted to Thursday and Friday.  We had to scramble t get everything wrapped up, and Musetta tidied and ready to sail again.

 

Truth be told, we really didn’t want to leave.  We have been thoroughly captivated by this island and its people.  So much so that I bought a book, “Grenada: A History of Its People,” by Beverly A. Steele.  She’s written it in easy-reading style, almost as gripping as a novel.  I loved reading about all the places we’d been visiting, and discovered there are so many more historical sites I would have liked to visit.  I’ll just HAVE to come back – that’s all there is to it!

 

The book also made more clear the events leading to the assassination of Morris Bishop that our taxi driver, Cutty, witnessed, and the U.S. invasion, or “intervention” as the Grenadians call it.  The country had been under the tyrannical rule of Eric Matthew Gairy, Grenada’s first premier and first Prime Minister.  He had started out as a very effective trade union leader, gradually gaining popularity and becoming more powerful.  He taught people to fight for their rights against the elite class, which included blacks, colored, and whites, and roundly garnered the peoples’ votes to put him in office.  During this time of Gairy’s organization of the island’s labor force, the island was in extreme turmoil, the economy suffering again.  No longer a profitable venture, the island had become more trouble than it was worth, so the British granted full independence to Grenada in 1974, amid this serious strife.  Once there was no longer any form of government to answer to, Gairy seemed to have lost sight of the ideals he originally preached, becoming a strong-arm oppressor worse than the ruling class was.  Gairy employed “police aids,” called The Mongoose Gang, to physically run down and beat up anyone who opposed him.  He acquired estates by “acquisition;” basically he offered to buy the estates of his enemies at half their value; when the owners refused, he seized them through government shenanigans.  After 30 years of his rule, the populace of Grenada was finally getting disillusioned and fed up with their tarnished leader.  Along came Morris Bishop, a young lawyer of middle-class family, educated in England, and returning with the Marxist ideology that was so popular on college campuses in the 70’s.  With his cohorts, he founded a new political party, which eventually joined with others to become the New Jewel Movement.  The group also absorbed the new Black Power movement in Grenada.  According to Steele, “Marxist principles would now be in an unholy marriage with race hatred, and the enemy of the working class was for the first time in Grenada identified with light-skinned people.”

 

Understandably, under such oppression as the Gairy government imposed, Bishop’s popularity soared rapidly.  But the people didn’t comprehend that democracy, as they understood it, was not a part of Bishop’s agenda.  While Gairy was in the U.S. on business, Bishop staged an armed coup on March 13, 1979; Bishop and the People’s Revolutionary Government now controlled the island.  Those who were armed became the National Liberation Army.  The people rejoiced to finally be free of Gairy’s tyranny; they believed Bishop would usher the island back to prosperity.

 

In the early months of the PRG, Bishop attempted to make the social and infrastructure improvements he’d promised, including the construction of an international airport at Point Salines to enhance the tourist industry.  Monetary aid came in from the Soviet Bloc, Venezuela, the European Economic Community, Libya, and mostly Cuba.  Cuba’s support also included arms and ammunition, along with military instructors and up to 800 Cuban troops.  Arms also came in from The Soviet Union, East Germany, North Korea, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria and other communist countries.  Military camps were established all over the island.  The PRG hid the massive arms build-up in Grenada from the locals, and as much as possible from the rest of the world, but could not completely hide the fact that Grenada was rapidly becoming an arms depot.

 

The U.S. issued a statement detailing their concern about the rapid build-up of arms and the construction of the large-capacity airport, pointing out that 30% of the oil consumed in the U.S. was transported from Africa through the Tobago Passage near Grenada.  If Grenada were to become a communist state, this would be a major threat to the U.S. oil supply.  The country would also be in position to supply arms and troops to other Caribbean islands should communist revolutionaries attempt to gain control.  Bishop’s response was to crack down on any one who might counter his revolution. He began to imprison with out trial anyone who opposed the PRG.  The NLA started doing armed “practice” maneuvers in the city streets, in hotel hallways, and overrunning the island.  U.S. citizens and other tourists were warned of the dangers in Grenada, and eventually stopped coming.  By 1983 the economy had collapsed, and the cost of living rose steeply.  The PRG’s programs were a failure, and the support of the populace began to wane.

 

To counter this, the PRG’s tactics became even more repressive.  No elections were held; all newspapers were shut down; no radio broadcasts from outside the country could be transmitted, and they controlled the only radio broadcast station in the country, now named Radio Free Grenada.  They started teaching Marxist principles in schools, enrolled high school students in the militia and taught them to handle and fire weapons; religious teaching were relegated to once a week and had to have revolutionary themes.  Repressive laws were passed, and persons detained could have no recourse; prisoners were subjected to health and sanitation violations, beatings, and even torture.  After a year under the PRG’s tyranny, the people began to realize they’d been duped.

 

In the beginning of 1983 the leadership of the PRG began to splinter: the communist hard liners, headed by Bernard and Phyllis Coard, against Morris Bishop and his supporters, the “social democrats.” After an assassination attempt on Bishop and a series of meetings and negotiations between the two factions broke down, Bishop was placed under house arrest.  But even though the PRG had let down the populace, they still believed in Bishop the man, as their revolutionary hero.  Pro-Bishop demonstrations began across the island and the people began to take action to free Bishop.

 

On October 19, 1983, masses of people of all ages and from all walks of life streamed into St. George.  Over 10,000 swarmed in the market square; the leaders of the group streamed into the house where bishop was being held, found him emaciated, half clothed, tied to a bed.  They were going to take him to the Market Square to address the people, but he was too weak, requesting instead to go to Fort George where he could tape record a broadcast.  Soldiers at the fort were asked to relinquish their arms, and they complied.  The armory was opened, and weapons distributed to those in the crowd of Bishop-supporters who’d had training.  In response, the Coards ordered an assault on Fort George.  The heavily armed personnel carriers thundered up the hill to Fort George, blocking the only entrance.  It is still not clear who fired the first shot, but firing went on for seven to 10 minutes.  People scattered in all directions, some jumping over the 40-foot-high walls of the fort, falling to their death, but cushioning the falls of those coming behind them.  Some people hid in the tunnels, only to be rounded up later and shot by the PRA.  When the shooting stopped, Bishop and his supporters in the room went outside to surrender; Bishop said he did not want anymore people killed on his account.  They were lined up against the wall in the inner courtyard; the next burst of gunfire heard was their execution.

 

Coards forces ordered the people at Market Square to disperse; the entire island was placed on curfew – anyone seen outside would be shot.  They ordered a hasty and massive effort to clean up and cover up all traces of the slaughter at Fort George.  During this time, Ronald Reagan met with the chairman of the OECS (Organization of the Eastern Caribbean States) and the prime ministers of all the OECS nations and Barbados.  A formal request for assistance was issued to the U.S.; on October 25^th the U.S. invaded Grenada, with support by military and police from Barbados and the OECS.  The PRA and Cuban soldiers battled the invaders for four days.  With the latest technology, the U.S. destroyed key targets including the radio station and PRA barracks.  But to draw fire away from the main PRA camp, soldiers dressed the patients at the neighboring mental hospital in uniforms and ran up the PRA flag; the U.S. took the bait, and bombed the mental hospital.  The patients became casualties of war.

 

Steele writes, “Almost the entire population welcomed the U.S. marines and airborne divisions that arrived in Grenada. The advent of the Americans saved the lives of many…..the immediate effect of the invasion of Grenada was to cut short the suffering and the trauma of the people of Grenada.”

 

When the fighting stopped, all Cubans were instructed to go to the Cuban embassy for asylum and deportation.  The Coards and their supporters were captured (none of them had participated in the fighting.)  Within a week, Grenadians could go back to work.  Daily detonations of ammunition stockpiles were carried out.  Gradually peace was restored.  The U.S. spent 37 million on construction projects alone for the rehabilitation of Grenada, plus compensation was paid to any person who’s property had been damaged during the invasion; any one who’d been injured was flown to military hospitals; they offered scholarships in U.S. schools to all Grenadian students in Cuba; U.S. experts advised on the economy, police and security matters, and international relations.  In November 1983 an interim Advisory Council was established to govern until elections could be held.  Grenada went to the polls on December 3, 1984 and a new government under the National Party took over.  The country finally found leaders in Herbert Blaize, followed by Nicolas Braithwaite, whose goal was the true welfare of the county.

 

Eric Gairy returned from the United States and died in 1997.  The Coards and 12 of their supporters were sentenced to death by hanging, the others sentenced to life imprisonment without possibility of parole.  The bodies of Morris Bishop and his supporters were never found, reportedly burned by the PRA; a bust of Bishop stands as a memorial in the cemetery on Hospital Hill, where Gairy is buried.