Saturday, January 31, 2009

Travels in Dominica, 2005 - Beach Time

Moro Beach
Sunday was absolutely wonderful. I joined up with some new people at the guesthouse to spend the day at a black sand beach in ‘Moro’, about a half hour's drive from Roseau. It was a truly international multilingual group. There was a French couple. He spoke excellent English. She spoke only French and Italian – which was good, because there was Marina, the Italian, who spoke good English and Italian, but little French. And I spoke only English, with a smattering of French. You can see that this was an interesting confabulatory day!! Especially when we all sat down together to consult and compare our travel 'bibles' the Lonely Planet, published in three different languages. Since it was Sunday, there no bus transport. Busses were on the road, but they had been booked to take campaigning Dominicans to various political meetings. So we hired a cab for the day to take us to this small, black sand beach, where we settled in for the day.

The water was amazing, beautiful, warm, and Marina and I were in and out all day. We all took separate wanderings to dry off, and I settled down to paint a fisherman's hut and boats. We took a break for lunch and a beer or two, and then more people watching and swimming. It being Sunday, there were lots of families down, with huge picnics and lots of small children who were absolutely delightful. The day ended and when the cab picked us up, and delivered us back to Ma Bass’, suitably sated with sun.

I had picked up a few groceries earlier, and planned to do omelettes for Marina and me, but when we met in the kitchen at about 6, the power was out in the whole city. Apparently this is not uncommon. So we all donned our little head flashlights, lit the gas stove, and managed to pull dinner together.

Roseau is truly dead on Sundays. Religion is important on the island, and there are huge Catholic and Anglican Cathedrals as well as many large and small Protestant Churches. In the evenings, sometimes I am serenaded by wonderful singling wafting from a small evangelical meeting somewhere in the neighbourhood. Ma Bass is determined to take me to church this coming Sunday. She is some sort of southern Baptist. If the music and singing is good, I might consider it.

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