Dateline: February 8, 2014

Every once in a while the universe will send you a gratifying confirmation that you are not a complete idiot, (or at least that you have taken the right fork in the road, just this one time). We got one of these delightful cosmic messages at the airport in Antigua upon departure to St. Kitts-Nevis when we learned that our fellow Dominica-bound LIAT passengers were still holed up at El Cheapo Airport Hotel waiting for the weather to calm. Three days later! (Thank you, Jesus! for giving us the good sense to stuff Dominica entirely and loll about at our final destos an extra day each instead.) Note: everything you will hear about Dominica is positive, and fans of the island border on fanaticism when describing the pristine, unspoiled natural beauty of the place. Unfortunately we were told that it is a fairly common occurrence that you can’t get there due to prohibitive wind conditions, so bear that in mind when making your travel plans. (It remains the least developed of all the Caribbean isles, perhaps for good reason.)

Feeling smug (because we managed to retain our wheelies again as carry-ons) we approached the gate (now very, very, very early for our flight to St. Kitts-Nevis) where a gorgeous young man in a starched white shirt and creased black trousers approached and inquired politely if we were Mr. and Mrs. Soandso. Not one to miss out on an opportunity I replied, “That depends. Would we want to be them?” Yes, it turns out, we would. The Soandsos were meeting their private jet captain (the handsome child who looked a lot like Justin Timberlake, now that I think about it) for their charter flight. Ah, so that is how the “other half” lives (and avoids the inconveniences of public transit and Economy class). Oh well. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s private Learjet, eh?

The final leg of our Caribbean adventure, the dual-island nation of St. Kitts-Nevis is the smallest country in the Americas, both in terms of size and population. Together about 53,000 inhabitants populate these tiny islands which are separated by a narrow – two mile – ocean channel that takes about 45 minutes to cross by public ferry. (I’m sure the Soansos take the chopper over – five minutes, tops.) The rest of us will need to know that the international airport is on St. Kitts and it has daily service in and out to both Miami and New York. British Air also flies in a couple times a week from London. (Probably why a goodly percentage of our fellow tourist types on St. Kitts were from England.)

Like the other Caribbean countries we visited this one has the archeological remnants of an early “archaic” people who never got around to making ceramic eating utensils or planting crops. These primativos disappeared, nobody knows why, but eventually a more “evolved” society of agriculturalists moved in about the same time Christianity was getting going on the other side of the globe. As elsewhere in these parts, these guys (Arawak Indians) were ousted rather violently by the Caribs who themselves got a “hi-bye” from the Spanish in the late 1400s. (Columbus claimed the islands for Spain without any kind of permanent settlement. St. Kitts is actually the short form of St. Christopher.) Next up the French and British passed St. Kitts-Nevis back and forth for several centuries.

The colonial period of course meant slavery in a very big way, first, for St. Kitts’ brief and unsuccessful foray into tobacco exportation. (Tobacco was an instant failure; they simply couldn’t compete with Virginia in the States, even WITH slaves!) When tobacco cultivation gave way to sugar, the island became a monoculture producing nothing else for more than 350 years and dominating the agricultural picture until 2005 when the government owned Sugar Corp finally gave up the ghost. Today tourism is the economic mainstay. The majority of the current population on St. Kitts and Nevis are descendants of those early African slaves.

You can still circumnavigate the island on the centuries-old train tracks that moved the sugar cane from the fields, if that’s your thing, and, because a lot of the old plantation manors were bought and renovated as Inns and Hotels, you can opt for the luxury of staying at one of those instead of the big resorts like Marriott on St. Kitts or the Four Seasons on Nevis. We chose the former and we were really glad we did.

A little bit about our digs: Ottley’s Plantation Inn is owned and operated by an extended family of Americans who originally hail from somewhere in the Northeast. Perhaps they consult the January/February weather temperatures from “home” each morning and that is why they are so relentlessly cheerful, but a nicer more welcoming bunch of expat Yanks will be hard to locate anywhere. They had me at the “welcoming fresh fruit punch” at check in. Once an 18th century sugar plantation, the inn currently sits at the heart of 35 acres of sloping mountainside, completely surrounded by rain forest. A network of nature trails immediately adjacent to the main house offer glimpses of monkeys and more flora than would please a world class botanist. Marty, one of the principles, leads daily afternoon hikes and provides informative lectures to any comers. Like the love child of Carl Sagan and Bill Nye, the science guy, Marty’s love of all things Ottley’s Plantation make a simple walk through the forest a highlight of your day. I would say, to my utter amazement, I was captivated by his guided tour. (But, do put on the deet. Mosquitos galore.)

The main house is restored but not in a fussy way that inhibits your comfort. You don’t get the sense that the joint is a museum, it’s more like a step back in time to a truly gracious and welcoming hospitality. Our spacious room on the first floor looked out over the sweeping lawn down to the pool and restaurant pavilion and beyond that all the way to the sea. Just past the restaurant there are a number of newer stand-alone bungalows, each with its own private plunge pool and nothing but forest to interrupt your view down to the ocean. (These were obviously newer construction and beautiful and private but we wanted the “old plantation” factor that the main house provided.) Honeymooners might opt for privacy, though.

You are a good shuttle ride (provided once each day) down to the nearest beach, or into the town of Basseterre (where the ferry will take you over to Nevis) and there is rumored to be decent golf on the island. We somehow never felt the need to chase a tiny white ball around on acres of green manicured lawn, so on this we cannot accurately comment. Lots of our fellow tourists rented cars but, be forewarned, this is a place of dicey mountain roads and citizens who insist on driving on the wrong side of the road. Driving here is not an enterprise for the faint of heart.

Up at Ottley’s, other than the nature trails, there isn’t much to do other than bask in the sloth of utter relaxation, lie by the (quite nice and big enough to do laps) swimming pool, or get a massage up in the rainforest “spa” pavilion. The website boasts a tennis court, but, you wouldn’t see Roger Federer playing on it. And, we did have some laughs using the croquet set that you can check out from reception, but, I suspect that nobody goes to Ottley’s for the lawn sports. It looked as if there were some evidence of a nightlife in Basseterre, and there’s none at the inn, so be ready to pay for a taxi or manage the drive if you must do karaoke.

Otherwise, the restaurant on the premises suited us fine for 3 dinners, one lunch, and 3 brekkies. I would even say it was some of the best food in all of our Caribbean travels and definitely the nicest ambience. A perfectly decent wine selection and not outrageous, too. The only downer was the big table of loud, obnoxious Americans who had come up for dinner (on a junket) from the Marriott, on our last night there. (But you can hardly hold the establishment responsible for them. It did make us really happy that we hadn’t STAYED at the big M though. That much I will say.) I’d go back in a heartbeat to St. Kitts and Ottley’s but maybe next time I’d spend a night or two over on Nevis and I’d have Justin Timberlake fly me over.

Dateline: February 3, 2014

Bound for the relatively unspoiled island of Dominica on another, (delayed by several hours) LIAT flight, we learned first hand the true meaning of the location, “Windward Islands”. What it means is, you will not be served any beverages, either alcoholic or non, (no matter how much you beg), you WILL stay in your seat and keep your seatbelt firmly snugged against your tummy, no trips to the tiny potty closet, (no matter how badly you have to go), and you will never actually get to Dominica, (although not for lack of trying on the part of the intrepid cockpit crew). You have to give them points for persistence. Three aborted attempts to land the aircraft before at last throwing in the towel and heading to Antigua instead makes for a truly thrilling late afternoon and evening. (As close as I have ever come to actually using the airsick bag.)

At the airport we avoided waiting in the long queue for the vouchers provided by LIAT for accommodations by just going directly to our lodgings at the Admirals Inn at Nelson’s Dockyard a couple days early. (I’m sure the “free” hotel was lovely, and I’m sure the “complimentary” meals were scrumptious, and I do have some regrets about missing out on Dominica, but, I can be decisive when fate tells me to be.)

Antigua is the main island of the nation of two islands known collectively as Antigua and Barbuda. Antigua means “ancient” and Christopher Columbus gets credit for bestowing this name on the place. (He also named Dominica, Spanish for “Sunday” because it was a Sunday when he first caught sight of the place, or so the story goes.) There is evidence that the Native Arawak people populated Antigua from as early as 1100 AD and the usual struggles between this native group and the Caribs from Venezuela dominate the island’s history until the Europeans arrived in the fifteenth century. The first significant settlement of Europeans didn’t take hold until the mid 1600s when the British moved in and started cultivating sugar. The Brits of course needed labor but the native population succumbed pretty early on to diseases that they had no immunity from so the plantation types had to import slaves from Africa. It is an interesting little factoid that at one point on Antigua a majority of the slave labor force was imported from Ireland. True. The history of the colonization of Antigua is pretty similar to most of the other Caribbean island nations except for a particularly gruesome period of torture and mayhem, even murder on the part of the slave owners. We could detect not even a smidgeon of racial tension or lingering hostility. I guess all is forgiven and folks have moved on. (Oddly, the very ground upon which dozens upon dozens of slaves were burned at the stake is now the Antiguan Recreation Grounds. Say, what?!) Eventually, as everybody knows, the notion that human beings should be bought and sold as chattel and executed at whim, became increasingly unpopular, (even in England) and by the mid 1800s slavery was completely abolished.

I was kind of amazed at the naval museum in the area known as Nelson’s Dockyard, (a shout out to Horatio Lord Nelson who was rumored to be kind of a prissy dick) which houses a lot of artifacts from the period when the British used this harbor to repair sailing vessels. The entire boatyard is remarkably well preserved and currently houses a lot of quaint shops, and restaurants including the Inn itself (where we stayed) and a great bakery just steps away out the back door.

Today the restaurant in the Admirals Inn commands the torch lit patio space in between the Inn proper and the harbor. The lobby and bar occupy the first level and the second level houses the rooms. Ours looked down on the patio and the harbor beyond. As soon as we arrived, we chucked our bags into the room, splashed a little water on our travel-weary faces and ran down to catch a late dinner. The food was great. Fresh fish and perfectly steamed vegies. Good warm bread and a nice bottle of vino. The cares of the day rapidly receded and became, (obviously) just another amusing story in our LIAT Airlines collection.

We took a daylong tour which covered the entire island (87km in circumference), and visited the site of another significant historical locale, the fort where the Brits watched the American rebel supply ships sail past during the Revolutionary War. Also on the day’s itinerary was a cliff top view down to the drug and alcohol rehab facility owned (in part) by Eric Clapton, The Crossroads Centre. Can I make it known here and now that if I ever do need rehab, THAT is where I want to go? It looks like a mighty fine location to get sober. They say that old Slowhand, (when he’s on the island), bumps about like any old geezer and even sometimes shows up at local pubs to “sit in”. We did not see him, nor were we invited to tea at the clinic. Next, time, E.

There’s a great gallery full of island-made art and kitschy souvenirs just a couple blocks down the main road from the hotel and there’s a super little diner in the “mall” on the same road. The owner has “rooms to let” for the itinerant little army that moves about the Caribbean to crew on the gorgeous yachts that are attracted to English Harbor. In my next life that looks like it could be a fun way to kill a decade as long as I can get the patch for seasickness. It’s easy to kill an afternoon just gawking at the rich people and their boats.

Be aware that there’s no usable beach at the Inn; you have to get shuttled over by one of the hotel’s staff to the beach across the harbor in a little tiny dinghy, but that was actually a fun excursion. Don’t miss the hike (easy but wear shoes not flip flops) past the yacht harbor up the hill to the remainders of the fort. Miraculously, we had the whole place to ourselves. (I guess only the plebes partake of the sweat inducing exercise. Nary a yachty was spotted even though we could have literally thrown a rock onto a half dozen one-percenter decks from the top of the climb, (had we been spiteful).

We had a spectacular dinner (with a great bottle of wine from a stunning wine collection) at Hamilton’s Bistro while pretending to be rich and famous.

The only advice I might extend to others regarding Antigua is, you’re going to hear a LOT about some place called OJ’s, supposedly a “must do” kind of place. I found it to be over priced and over hyped and I was really sorry that we wasted our money and our time finding it and eating there. There’s better. But, then again, the beach there was spectacular, so if you’re a location/view-over-food kind of traveler, forget everything I just said.

Next desto: St. Kitts and Nevis. Two islands, one country.

Dateline: January 27

Re: The aforementioned Liat airlines. “Liat” in the native Carib language means, “Hurry up and wait, and by the way, your luggage won’t be there when you get there”.

Of course not, but you could be tempted to believe.

Having fears in Barbados that our “lost” luggage would never catch up with us while we island hopped all over the Caribbean, that it would just bounce from island to island in hot pursuit, you can imagine our relief when, (just a few hours before we had to leave for the airport by cab), our bags were delivered to our room.

I was steely eyed when we checked in for our flight to St. Lucia. There was no way in hell I was going to check my wheelie. It was going to be a carry on from that point on. The desk crew could see the madness in my eyes. That’s probably when they confessed that our bags were never lost at all. They had merely been removed before departure because apparently a large party of over-weight last minute Barbadian passengers had checked in, requiring the removal of a lot of weight in the form of passenger baggage. Seriously?

What to say, but, wtf?

Somehow (US$10.) we convinced the girls at check in that our wheelies were “carry-ons” and we proceeded to our gate where many, (many) happy hours were spent waiting for our next sky adventure on Liat Air, the very short flight from Barbados to St. Lucia.

Can I tell you, I’ve been on a number of “diverted” flights in my day. It can be disconcerting. But, I have never experienced anything like the “Day of Diversion” that this day was. Check the map for a full appreciation of this story. Barbados to St. Lucia is an incredibly short distance with nothing but a tiny bit of sea in between. When the captain comes over the PA and announces that instead of landing in Castries, on St. Lucia you will instead be doubling back to St. Vincent because your flight isn’t absolutely full, and there are a few passengers back there headed to St. Lucia – Okay, Okay, what’s one more landing and takeoff? It’s still all good, right? Because YOUR luggage is over your head and you are almost giddy with that knowledge. Now, everybody buckle up and here we go….St. Lucia! No, not quite yet. Again the captain over the P.A. Again with the announcement that we are bound for an unscheduled island. Again we get diverted. This time to Martinique. The same drill. Nobody gets off. A whole bunch of people desperate to make a connecting Virgin flight to get back to London get on. They brought with them an air of panic. That is precisely when the gentleman to our left glanced out the window only to notice that his luggage (and his golf clubs) were being removed from the back of our plane to accommodate the baggage belonging to the “limeys”. (His word, not mine. Don’t shoot the story teller.) As he was a rather fit young man, (looked like he could have been a line-backer), I might have taken his enthusiastic objections a bit more seriously if I was that flight attendant. For one tense minute I thought they would come to blows. But, in the end of those exchanges, everybody knows: the airline has the upper hand. The large, athletic looking gentleman finally capitulated, collapsed back into his seat and watched his golf clubs sadly motor back to the terminal, presumably to spend at least part of his golfing vaykay without him. I felt his pain. Pablo, on the other hand was perversely amused and I had to elbow him in the ribs when he started to laugh out loud. (Everybody knows for certainty that one would surely get thrown off a flight for clocking a member of the flight crew, but who knows what might come of passenger on passenger violence when the laughing geezeer in 14C starts smugly reporting that all of his personal effects are safely in the overhead, Sucker!)

The important thing is, (and I repeat, Liat is world renowned for the safety records of their pilots), we arrived intact (and bonus: with our all of our personal effects in hand). The airport on St. Lucia is in Castries which is about an hour’s drive north from where we stayed, up in the mountains near Soufriere. Most tourists arrive in St. Lucia on the big cruise boats to disembark for either a quickie island tour or a shopping day-trip in Castries, the largest town, pretty big as Caribbean cities go, and home to about one third of the island’s entire population.

The auto tours will take in the rustic attractions like the drive-in volcano and the national park. If you’re “off the boat” I recommend taking in one of those driving tours as the shopping in Castries is just another typical Rue du Crapola. Soufriere, on the other hand is small and quaint, without the influx from the boat to contend with. You get a much better feel for the island and her unique people there. Just outside the town of Soufriere is the Botanical garden which is worth the visit. (Guided tours are available by docents within the park, but this is not really necessary. The garden is well annotated throughout and unless you are working on your dissertation in botany, you’ll be pleased with the amount of information.

Our hotel, La Haut Plantation, was smaller than some of the really huge, much-touted resorts on St. Lucia but everything about it was superb. They offer accommodations in a broad price range, but don’t skimp. Our room (US$300/night) was possibly one of the best views we’ve ever had – in the world. Our large private deck extended out over lush tropical forest with a magnificent unobstructed and close up view of the Pitons, the twin mountains that make this place famous. The room was enormous. The owner’s house is a short walk down a dirt road and guests of the plantation are invited to swim in the big infinity pool just outside its doors in the shadow of the Pitons.

The restaurant is quite good, reasonable in price but limited in selection; the wine list is a tad short, but you WILL survive, and a few days and nights, maybe 3 is sufficient for this locale.

You can’t walk into Soufriere from La Haut, you need to take the shuttle, but the town is walk-able and interesting once you get there. If you are lucky, (we were) there will be a wedding going on in the big Catholic church in town. The celebration put me in mind of something I saw once in New Orleans and that probably is because the folks here have some of the very same cultural influences: French, African and Indo Carib. Almost everybody on the island is Roman Catholic but when you get folks talking you will find that many practice “ancient African” rituals on the side. We stopped for some liquid refreshment on our way back to the shuttle pick up and our bartender told us that you can purchase a hex for just few measly dollars, and Lord, it was mighty tempting, though I ultimately passed, fearful that the karma bus would get us on that windy road back to Castries.

They say Oprah has a home on St. Lucia and if she does she’s a smart cookie. It is unspoiled and beautiful. The people are fine company. I would say avoid Castries and the daily influx of cruisers but otherwise, this island is a gem.

Next desto: not Dominica as scheduled but instead, Antigua. But that’s another long story featuring Liat Airlines. Meanwhile, we still wish you were here.

Dateline: January 20

Today we leave Grenada for the island of Barbados. First, one must not depart Grenada without mentioning the brilliant young Olympian, Kirani James. Failing to do so could result in significant fines. (Nah, not really, but kind of.) In fact the airport in Grenada has the distinct appearance of a Kirani James National Shrine. Or, since Kirani James memorabilia of every possible variety is on sale in the airport gift shops, you could easily mistake the location for the Kirani James National Shopping Mall.

Fans of the Olympics will remember this young sprinter for taking the Gold in London in the 400 meter. They say that thousands lined the streets of Grenada for his homecoming and that upon his arrival the Prime Minister Tillman Thomas announced Mr. James would be bequeathed government bonds totaling up to EC500,000, (US$250,000), a commemorative stamp be crafted in his honor, a new stadium be named for him, and that he would be appointed a tourism ambassador. Kirani James’ gold medal is the first Olympic medal for Grenada of any color in any sport. And, he is some kind of F A S T. To say he is worshipped like a small-g god here is a vast understatement. Grenada LOVES Kirani. The way we used to love Lance. And, Michael Phelps. (Let’s just hope KJ doesn’t get caught with the excellent ganja rumored to be plentiful among the islands hereabouts.)

So, on to Barbados. Via LIAT airlines. This was our first LIAT flight so we made the mistake of checking our wheelies. (We did NOT do that again.) Here’s the thing about LIAT. The pilots have the best cumulative safety record of any international airline. That’s the good news. The bad news is…well, here’s my sad story:

The Grantley Adams International Airport on Barbados underwent a massive $100 mil renovation sometime in the last decade, so it is lovely, but not lovely enough to offset the pissedoffedness one experiences when one’s luggage does not arrive with one. (Or, two, as was our case.) You know the drill. You land and you go to baggage claim and stand around awaiting the arrival of your bag, while, one by one, every other passenger pulls their luggage from the carousel and goes their merry way until it is only you, (and your traveling companion), dejectedly watching the empty carousel go round and round. It always takes a while for you to admit the truth. Is it just my imagination that the lucky people who get their bags glance smugly over at you in the exact same way that the popular kids used to look at you when they got asked to dance at the seventh grade social center sock hops while you were left “unchosen” to your own devices in the designated wallflower section of the gym? I don’t know why, but it is personally humiliating when an airline loses my baggage. (Perhaps I should take this up with my therapist the next time I go into therapy.) Whatever. It takes forever and then some to find the appropriate airline personnel to whom you must report lost luggage, and even when you do they always act as if this has never, in the history of aviation, happened before. Another hour to fill out the necessary paperwork. It is only in the taxi as you motor on to your hotel (sans personal effects) do you realize that you are in Barbados for godsakes without even one clean pair of underpants, never mind your frigging bathing suit. (Or, your Lady Schick, or your tweezers, which hirsute, AARP aged women will know is an item, along with your 10X magnifying purse mirror, you do not want to be without for even 24 hours. Seriously, who knew that menopause would bring on the facial hair with such vengeance? Two days of negligent depilation and I can give Pancho Villa a run for his money. But, this is all TMI, I am sure.) Onward.

Barbados, as Caribbean destinations go, is known as a charming sovereign island nation. European discovery is credited to the Spanish in the mid 1600s and alternatively to the Portuguese in some accounts, but it was settled (the last go around) by British colonialists and therefore, “Ba-jans” drive on the left side of the road and they all speak with a quaint British-tinged accent. The population enjoys a nearly 100% literacy rate and as a nation they spend almost 7% of the GDP on education. (Higher than the U.S. slightly in both stats.)

December through May marks the “dry season” when rainfall is lowest and accommodation prices are highest. June through November then is the “wet season” with a wide rainfall average that spans between 40 and 90 inches annually. The reported average temps don’t vary all that much, ranging between 70 degrees F and 88, although I last visited Barbados during the month of August when the daytime temps were over a sweltering hundred degrees. On our current trip, in January, the heart of the dry season, it was “cloudy with a chance of” the entire time and it poured down rain on us en-route to town so take those weather designations with a grain of (sea) salt.

Once upon a time, prior to the 1970s, (when I last visited), Barbados’ national economy was dependent on sugar cane. The development of tourism, (some say “over-development”) has long since eclipsed any agricultural product and has also mightily changed the look and feel of the place. It is really, REALLY developed now. In 1975 you could walk along the main roads and count the passing cars. These days the road into Bridgetown is a heavily trafficked thoroughfare and you couldn’t pay me to walk that road. (Better to hop into a “route taxi” called a “ZR or Zed R” by the locals, but be forewarned: The ZR drivers in Barbados do not know the meaning of the word “no”. If someone is at a bus stop, the driver WILL stop to pick them up no matter how full the vehicle. You might be expected to travel some distance with a brand new BFF sitting VERY close, even in your lap. I encourage you to view this as an opportunity for one of those rare olfactory cultural exchanges as the ZRs are dirt cheap and a private taxi will cost ten times the price at the least.)

Even though the island is outside the major hurricane threat zone, you should be made aware that Barbados is one of the most densely populated islands in the world, and as such they are forever battling the attendant problems of surrounding seawater contamination and the kind of interior island pollution that affects the quality of the drinking water aquifers. Geologically speaking, this island is the by-product of the kind of tectonic influences that created the abundant surrounding coral reefs. The reefs are home to at least four sea turtle species, but the human sewage factor is always threatening devastation. Over-fishing is also a problem. So, in short, mankind, with his insatiable seafood appetites and glutinous consumption, not to mention his incessant pooping, is currently the most problematic of all known environmental threats to idyllic life on Barbados.

We stayed at one of the typical conference oriented hotel resorts. Not terrible, but not memorable either. (Or, maybe I would have viewed it better if our luggage had been delivered to the hotel as promised which didn’t happen until just before we had to leave for the airport to island hop over to St. Lucia two days later.) In the meantime, we shopped Broad Street and Swan Street for cheap interim bathing suits so we could at least put in a modicum of (overcast) beach time. (Also, a surprisingly professional tweezers and a razor so I could remove the most conspicuous of my superfluous body hairs, thank you, Jesus!) The shopping district is a busy, hectic place with lots of upscale shops and street vendors alike. (Plus, one excellent beauty supply store.) We walked around and took in the swell boats in the harbor, had a lovely exchange with the sales girls in the department store and ate some empty calories in the form of nothing I can even recall.

Sadly, in conclusion, regarding the “tropical paradise” of Barbados, our missing luggage, plus the crap weather, in addition to a nagging sense of disappointment that the island has been all but ruined by development — somehow all of this combined to kind of shut the door on the place. I don’t think I’ll ever return. Maybe it’s just me, but when the “birthplace of Rihanna”, the “oldest Jewish Synagogue in the Americas” and the “world class Kensington Oval cricket stadium” are at the top of the list of cultural highlights of a place…just, meh. But, then you might be a Jewish, cricket playing Rihanna fan, so don’t go by me. If you’re in the hood, it’s super easy to hop over to Barbados from any number of Caribbean islands. You should go see for yourself.

Oh, and one last fun faq: according to our hotel’s tourist guide, the actual etymological origins of the word “Barbados” translates as “the bearded ones” which supposedly refers to the Spanish (or Portuguese) visitors in the sixteenth century. (Oh, the irony!) My advice? Just between us (girls), if you do fly LIAT, don’t check your wheelie, or at least remember to pack your personal hygiene gear in your carry on. Maybe your bathing costume and a spare underpants too. I wish somebody had told me. Meanwhile…our next desto: St. Lucia.

Dateline: December 28

When someone of the American persuasion tells you that they are taking a cruise, what they typically mean is that they are getting on board some gigantic facsimile of the Love Boat. My earnest suspicions are that most Americans like to take cruises because a) they are a bit lazy; they want to go to distant locations without all the hassles of traveling, b) the food, and c) the food. Which, let’s all be honest, is grotesquely plentiful on cruise ships. The really big boats have that going for them, and if you don’t care all that much about the quality of the food, you’ll be (you’ll pardon the expression) in pig heaven. They also have features like pools and casinos and theaters and nightclubs and spas and 24 hour a day bars, just in case you hanker for a little drinkie at 5 a.m.

This is decidedly NOT how we cruised the Caribbean. An alternative way to go, (and our way, it turned out), is to sail the Caribbean aboard one of the teeny-tiny sailboats, (ours was a scant 103 linear feet in length) sometimes called a “tall ship”. “Tall ship” because these boats are REAL sailboats and they actually have big tall masts and genuine sails that unfurl quite majestically as you skim over the azure seas at whatever the velocity of the current wind dictates, in case you have a secret inner Kennedy, which I do. Now THAT is sailing! (Contrasted with the floating cities of the “royal” variety which I think of as sort of floating Hometown Buffets writ large.)

Confession: a small, misanthropic part of me always wanted to buck the over-rated, so called, “normal” trend, skip all expected conventions, and live on board a sailboat year round. Meet “Ben”, the young skipper of the Diamant, our noble sailing vessel and home for one glorious week. (Note: Ben is not the skipper’s real name, but as he is a ringer for Ben Affleck, he was and will forever be “Ben” to me. I don’t even remember his real name.) When he is not commanding the helm of the Diamant, Ben and his young bride live that alternate fantasy reality to my super standard, play by the rules, white picket fence, mortgage, mini van, soccer mom history, on board their own, similarly sized sailboat. Ben and Mrs. Ben have a baby, too. While most people (6 cabins = 12 passengers) were occupied with the usual activities afforded by sailing, i.e. lying about the deck in various forms of utter relaxation, I queried the young captain incessantly. “Do you ever feel claustrophobic with such limited space?” “How much does it cost to buy a sailboat like this?” “How do you keep the baby from falling into the sea?” “What do your parents think about your lifestyle?” “How does one go from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor to the open seas of the West Indies?” And, on and on. I’m sure he was sick of me but he was gracious. And, who knew? Lake Michigan is an excellent training ground for a young, tall-ship skipper.

Do I recommend this kind of cruise? Absolutely! Here’s our itinerary aboard the Island Windjammers’ Diamant:

12/28 – Set sail out of the port in Grenada after a brief introduction to our fellow passengers. On a boat this tiny, traveling with ten total strangers could be just god awful. Thankfully, our worst travelling companions were charmingly “unique”, even entertaining. Only one of the five couples besides us (two of our shipmates were single guys), had zero sailing experience. Every body else had a number of trips like this one under the belt, and one couple were sailboat owners themselves who had only recently sailed all the way to Australia from San Diego, just the two of them. We had only enough time to get an orientation and the standard safety lecture before heading out to the general vicinity of Carriacou. Carriacou is the largest island of the Grenadines but tiny at only about 13 square miles. Population estimates are around 4500. Tourism literature tells you that the primary industry of Carriacou is “boat building, fishing and seafaring” but nobody we found could tell us exactly what “seafaring” means. A few people snickered when I asked, so it might be illegal. First lesson: Contrary to intuition, Crocs are not the preferred foot apparel on a sailing vessel. (Slippery little mo-fos will be the death of you on a wet surface.) Second lesson: Apply the patch for seasickness at least several hours prior to embarkation. (You will not make this mistake twice.)

12/29 Salt Whistle Bay near Carriacou to Tobago Cays: There are four hands on board in addition to the chef, plus the captain, meaning that the service personnel to passenger ratio is one to two. Somehow this ratio translates into a general feeling of pampering and, if not splendor, at least comfort. The food is quite good although how a single person can consistently pump meals for twelve people out of a kitchen the size of a phone booth is nothing short of a miracle. We ate indoors for breakfast always and also for lunch if the crew didn’t bring lunch over to whatever island we were snorkeling on by launch in the form of a picnic. Dinners were served al fresco up on the aft deck. A cooler stocked with all manner of beverages, available 24/7 = happy sailors.

12/30 Tobago Cays are part of the Grenadines, an archipelago of five tiny islands half way between Grenada and St. Vincent. The islands are uninhabited and the surrounding sea is designated as a National Marine Park. About 20% of the 50,000 cruise ship visitors that make it to the Grenadines also get to the Cays. Approximately 3,000 yachts shelter there overnight each year and then you’ve got your day trippers from nearby resorts. This area is highly trafficked, kind of like a combination of Sea World and the Indianapolis 500 for boats.

12/31 New Years eve on Bequia. First we went ashore for an island tour (including the Old Hegg Turtle Sanctuary) and a delicious lobster dinner (see Coco’s in the trip notes) to celebrate the new year. Then back to our home on the seas to watch the fireworks being shot off the beach in Bequia town and also from the decks of a few of our neighboring moored yachts. This was a unique way to ring in the new year.

1/1 Doubling back and heading to Grenada we stopped at a tiny Sandy Island known for excellent snorkeling, and it was. There was not a shade tree to be found however so almost everyone got a little too much Vitamin D, if you know what I mean.

1/2 Back to Grenada to sleep on board in the port one final night before disembarkation.

So, what’s the take-away? The Island Windjammers got it goin’ on. They run a tight ship, literally, so there’s nothing to complain about. Good personnel, a great overall experience in one of the most beautiful locations in the tropics. In fact, look up island paradise in the dictionary and there’s probably a picture of the beach at Chatham Bay on Union Island. The resort there was not yet up and running, but it will be shortly and THAT would be a spectacular location for a honeymoon, although $$$$$. (We paid US$20.00 for a bowl of conch chowder, albeit the best damn conch chowder in the history of conch chowders worldwide.)

In sum, these kinds of cruises are for fit people, (not Diana Nyad fit but you do have to be able to climb in and out of the launch which is how you get over to the islands). I surmise that the majority of people who take this particular kind of cruise are those who are interested in prolonged snorkeling ventures. Cultural visits are at a minimum and 90% of your meals are on board, so you won’t be frequenting many island dining establishments. (The Grenadines are really tiny so you probably aren’t missing much in those categories anyway.) But, if you ever wanted to know what it feels like to be Jackie O aboard her yacht for a week, this is definitely the way to sample that without having to sell your first born.

Next desto, Barbados, where it is rumored that Jackie O spent some quality time for reals back in the day.