The British colonial legacy in the Lesser Antilles

From the former British colonies of Barbados and Grenada, we continued north to Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Saint Lucia and Dominica, also former British colonies. Less than 100 kms separates each island yet they differ markedly from each other.

St. Vincent and the Grenadines

We flew from Carriacou, Grenada to Saint Vincent in a 19-seat Twin Otter. The trip was meant to take 30-minutes. It took us over five hours. As we were on final approach to Saint Vincent, the American Airlines jet landing ahead of us blew a tire (or as the Saint Vincent’s media reported: “There was an explosion as the jet landed!”). We were diverted to the Grenadine island of Canouan. The tiny airport had technically cleared its last flight of the day but had to reopen for us. The airport manager (bless her heart, this was the highlight of her career) tried to order pizza from the only take-out restaurant on the island. The restaurant had run out of dough so our dinner was complimentary bags of chips and bottled water. After four hours the airport in Saint Vincent re-opened and we were cleared to take off.

The next day we had another hair-raising minivan ride into Kingstown, the capital. This one was so crowded that a schoolboy had to sit on Maria’s lap. The port was busy but most of the town is decaying. We explored the depressing streets and hiked up to the deserted Botanic Garden. Lunch was at a hole-in-the wall, locals-only cafe. The food was delicious and the owner was charming. We were probably the only tourists to have ever dined there.

Our hotel, the Blue Lagoon Marina, was about 20 minutes from downtown but might as well have been in another universe. It is not so much a hotel as a port for sailboat cruisers to stock up on supplies and do laundry. It was amusing to listen to the sailors blather on about winds and sails and all the other unintelligible stuff sailors talk about.

Bequia

The Grenadines Islands are more touristic than the “mainland” of Saint Vincent. The most famous island is Mustique. Our net worth (or lack thereof) disqualified us from Mustique, so instead we took a ferry to Bequia. Our scheduled ferry didn’t run. A mega-cruiseship was in port. They had booked out one entire ferry, causing the cancellation of the regularly scheduled sailing. The locals were not amused. Once our boat finally left, the 16 kms crossing was surprisingly rough. The competing reggae ghetto-blasters kept us distracted from the nauseating waves. The big attraction on Bequia is its beaches, in particular Princess Margaret beach, made famous by its namesake who liked to sunbathe there.

Saint Lucia

After our short stop in Saint Vincent, we took another mini-plane to Saint Lucia. The visit got off to an inauspicious start. We’d booked a rental car for a week. The agent took one look at George’s licence and said we couldn’t have the car. They don’t rent to drivers over 65. After much discussion and a call to his manager, they made an exception for us. Things didn’t get better.

The drive to our apartment in Anse La Raye should have taken 35 minutes. It took us two hours. Google Maps diverted us from the main road onto winding, narrow, potholed, steep 20% grade trails through dodgy neighbourhoods. After much doubling-back we finally made it to Anse La Ray – but not our apartment. We were in a remote neighbourhood built into a mountainside. There are no addresses. Booking.com’s GPS coordinates were wrong. We drove in circles as darkness set in. We were well and truly lost. It was only thanks to the help of two kind women guiding us that we finally found our apartment.

Anse La Raye traditionally survives on fishing, with some tourism. It has a lot of character. The houses and shops are small but colourful. The economy is struggling though. Unemployment is obviously an issue, especially for young males. They hang out in groups smoking weed and getting drunk. We had a lovely lunch at one of the few restaurants in town. The local drug lord was seated about 3 metres away blasting the street with his ghetto-blaster. That only lasted until the restaurant owner hooked up a 6’ high speaker with his own music, drowning out the dealer. We left before it got any more heated.

One of the main attractions on Saint Lucia is the Pitons, so much so that they appear on the country’s flag. The Pitons are two peaks rising out of the ocean. They were only 27 kms from our apartment. Google Maps optimistically suggested we could drive it in an hour. The road is notoriously bad. Much it remains unpaved, with minefields of potholes that are hard to avoid as you navigate the never-ending switchbacks.

Closer to the capital of Castries are some scenic marinas and a good hike to the summit of Pigeon Island National Park. The centre of Castries is a sad place. (Apologies to the people of Castries. The city no doubt has many redeeming qualities. We just didn’t stay long enough to find them.)

Dominica

The most memorable feature of Dominica is the friendliness of its people. The second most memorable feature is that the men all walk around carrying unsheathed cutlasses (oversized machetes). It is intimidating but they put the cutlasses to good use – clearing jungle, cleaning fish, butchering meat, opening beer bottles, you name it.

Dominica is a small, mountainous, country covered in lush green jungle. It is only 25 x 46 kms with few roads to get lost on. We drove 80% of the marked highways. The main highway along the west coast is in good condition. On the other hand, the roads crossing the island and along the east coast are steep, winding and narrow. So steep that at one point George wanted to turn around. Maria, who was driving, just geared down and whipped our underpowered rent-a-car to the top of the ridge.

The capital Roseau is still suffering the effects of Hurricane Maria in 2017. We heard some poignant stories from people who lived through it. The two main churches were gutted and remain boarded up. The fish and produce markets have seen better days. As with other islands there is a lot of visible poverty. Only the exceptional friendliness of the people makes up for the dismal state of the infrastructure.

Portsmouth

We spent most of our stay in the northern town of Portsmouth on Prince Rupert Bay. It is a scenic fishing town that goes to sleep in the evening and on Sundays. It was a perfect base to explore the northern and eastern coasts and the nearby Cabrits National Park.

Most days Portsmouth’s main street is lined with women selling the freshest and best vegetables we saw on our trip. The fish market was beside our apartment. We’d watched the fishing boats bringing in fresh fish most days. On the morning we went to buy some for dinner, there were no fish. We were told the fishermen were not having any luck. Later in the day we had a leisurely lunch in the nearby hamlet of Toucari. We watched two boats setting a big net in the bay, then hauling it in by hand. Once they stripped the net of its fish, one of the boats raced off towards Portsmouth.

We quickly paid our bill and headed back to town. The fish market was bustling. Word was out that the catch had come in. One boat had been lucky enough to haul in a massive marlin. The fishmongers were busy butchering it with their cutlasses. Coolers were overflowing with oily mackerel that locals were buying by the bushel. One fisherman had a bucket of hand-sized, colourful exotic fish he tried to sell us. Instead we opted for a two-pound redfish. The fisherman scaled, cleaned and filleted it with his cutlass. It was the best fish dinner we’ve ever had.

Seriously? Some things are not worth doing.

Two of the “must-do” things in Dominica are to bathe in the warm sulphur spring pools at Trafalgar Falls. The other is to swim under the falls at Titou Gorge.

At Trafalgar Falls a guide offered to lead us to the warm pool for $10 USD. We declined, then watched the group that had agreed to go with him panic as they realized that to get to the pool they had to climb up the falls. Even other Dominican tour guides shook their heads and said it was too dangerous.

Titou Gorge on the other hand looked like fun. The pool at the entrance to the gorge was placid. George pulled on his life jacket and dove in. Very soon the gorge narrowed. The current quickly gained strength. It had been raining regularly for the past few days so there was a lot of water rushing down. The last stretch into the pool under the waterfall was only about two metres wide. It was impossible to swim against the current. Getting through the gap required pulling hand-over-hand along a cable pinned into the rockface. George has swum under waterfalls before. He bailed and let the current swiftly spit him back out.