Travels with the 'Laughing Cow'.

Kite Notes from A Broad - 2001

2010-06-11T09:05:00.000-07:00

I just found some old articles I wrote for a Kite Magazine, online in cyberspace, and am going to try to move them over here. Haven't figured out how to transfer the pictures yet... so here are the links.

https://www.kitelife.com/magazine/issue24/notes_from_a_broad/content.php

http://www.bootsnall.com/articles/01-08/kite-tails-from-a-broad.html

http://www.sailing-diving-guatemala.com/VancouverSun.htm

Carriacou and back to Grenada

2010-02-14T19:14:00.000-08:00

Caribbean Misadventures #12: Carriacou
I really like Carriacou. I spent the past two days just wandering around town, and checking things out. There’s not a whole lot here, which is probably why I like it.
I like the guest house where I am staying. My room has a double bed, bathroom, safe, tv and air conditioning all for about $30 a night. There is a shared kitchen with a huge fridge and gas stove, but a bit light on cutlery and stuff. When i return (and I will) I will pack some stuff to use. However, it's adequate to my needs right now, as I don’t really cook. I really appreciate having the fridge. There is also a wonderful cooler that provides ice cold drinking water. There’s huge porches in the front and back. Yesterday I met the Prime Minister’s press secretary, who was picking up his underwear that was hanging on the clothesline out my room on the porch. We had a great conversation until he had to leave to take part in the celebrations.

Yesterday they celebrated Independence day, and there was a ‘grand’ parade, with the police marching band that came over on the boat with me from Grenada, the school drum corps, and every school child in Carriacou, marched in their school uniform, into the stadium.

Just about everyone, adults and children, were all dressed in bright red yellow and green outfits, the colours of their flag or were wearing eye blinding plaids in the same colours. There were buntings and flags all over the place, and when I finally got into the stadium, the marchers were all lined up with a show of the military in front of a canopied viewing stand. The prime minister and his minions were seated under a large tent. He had come over on same the boat that I was on, and was supposed to stay at my guest house, but there weren’t enough rooms, because the police band was staying there. So they put him up somewhere else.

The show of military force was, I think, representative of the size of the island. With six army, six navy, and six marines standing at attention throughout the three hour ordeal. Their numbers seemed in proportion to the size of the island. I stayed until the speeches started and then I fled. Political speeches are the same the world over.

The locals speak a patois that is completely unintelligible to me,but they do speak English as well. People at the hotel are friendly, and I have met all sorts of interesting travellers. Jackie is from England, and is married to Yves, who is French. They are down here for several months, spending a few weeks at a time at various islands - Union Island, Petite Martinique, and several other of the Grenadines. They have been a font of information re island hopping. There seems to be a good number of people who come here for several months in the winter. I think I wouldn’t mind being one of them…

Today, I finished a sketch of some of the buildings, and took a bus to Paradise Beach, a lovely beach about five minutes from town. There are beaches all along the front street of the town, but they tend to be a bit dirty, so with dozens of beaches to choose from, why not choose a clean one?? . There was no one there when I arrived. Lovely sand, and beautiful green Caribbean clear water. I had the beach to myself, but was joined by another older German women who has been coming here for 35 years. When she left, I was joined by an American/Granadian, who was visiting his mother. He introduced to me to what initially looked to be just another beach bum, but turned out to be a member of the opposition in Parliament, who been the Minister of Foreign Affairs in the just defeated government.

I had lunch in the little snackette, and grabbed another bus to the next town in Tyrell bay. It'a a yachttie place that is being developed into a port. It was not so nice, with too many boats, and a slightly trashy beach. So I flagged another bus, that took me on a roundabout trip through the countryside, and back to town in time for a snack and a nap. A well spent day.

I have been without internet for a few days . There was some sort of screw up on Carriacou with the provider. I was logged in, but I couldnt connect. My new friends Yves and Jackie tried their best to fix it, but Yves only managed to slightly screw up my mouse pad. No problem, because i prefer to use the real mouse. My last morning in Carriacou, I did a little of everything. After breakfast on the balcony, I went to the top floor front balcony and did a sketch of the main street. Then I headed to the beach, for a swim and another sketch. I headed back to my room to shower, change, and check out. By then it was lunch time, so off to my favorite restaurant for Lambi roti (conch), a couple of beers and another drawing. Too soon it was time to catch the ferry back to St George's

I left Carriacou on the three thirty ferry, grabbed a bus, and was delivered to the gates of the Granada Beach Club Resort... the one I bid on and won on SkyAuction.

I think I am the only customer ever to arrive by bus, on foot, at the gate of this resort. The ancient gate keeper was a bit confused, but walked me up to the posh reception area where I checked in. I was taken to my room by an even more ancient 'bell boy'. I felt guilty that he was dragging my small wheelie, but then I have to remember that I am probably older than he is anyway! The room was amazingly standard North American hotel mode. It was bigger than the whole 'cottage' that I stayed in at the Caribbean Cottages last week. It has two double beds, a huge tv, a bathroom with a tub, and lots of towels and soaps and stuff. I have a balcony, and a noisy, old fashioned air conditioner. There is a DESK and bedside lamps. I have concluded that bedside lamps are the ultimate in total luxury! And the internet works!!!

I heard some thumpa thump music outside, so i checked with the desk and found out that since it is Independence weekend, there is a beach party going on in front of the resort. So off I went to check it out. The resort is 'fenced in from the beach with an unimposing picket fence and 'guarded' by a couple of laid back uniformed men, so first I had to find the gate leading out to the beach. There were tons of people and tents and food stalls and a reggae band belting it out - people eating, dancing etc. As I looked over the fence at the festivities, I was picked up by a former Grenadian women and family who were visiting from their home in the Channel Islands and was invited to join them. They treated me to beer and fish and chips! She is travelling with her son, and two funny old English geezer types who are friends of hers. She was visiting her older son who lived in Grenada.

Hillsborough Carriacou

2010-02-14T18:25:00.000-08:00

February 2, 2010
Caribbean Misadventures#11: Moving On...St. John's to Hillsborough

Bright and early this morning, I packed up yet again, threw out a few more clothes and still had trouble closing the bag. I swear that heat and humidity cause clothes to expand, therefore necessitating the abandonment of all but bare essentials by the end of the trip. I did pick up a few little gifts yesterday in the market, but they weren't really that big.

Walked down the steep hill to the main road, and flagged down a bus. The bus dropped me off beside the Osprey, a large catamaran ferry that would take me to my final island - Carriacou. The boat slowly filled up, and then an official looking car arrived with important looking people dressed in suits, and wearing the little Independence day rosettes in their lapels. It turns out the Prime Minister, and his entourage of 'Important People' were on board.

Carriacou celebrates Independence day a day earlier than the rest of Grenada, so tomorrow should be full of parades, and marching bands, and school presentations in the school grounds around the corner from where I am staying. Drums and tubas and other instruments were loaded into the hold and many bright, cheerful young men boarded, and it turned out that they were the police marching band. They quickly started distributing rum and cokes (this was at 9 am) in front of an official looking policeman, who didn't seem to be bothered by it. Smiles all round as we set sail

Leaving my gear inside, I went up top, where I met a most interesting oldie travelling alone. He was from Bermuda, and had been the head of the gov't conservation dept or some such. He was a serious birder, and was heading out to join up a boat/birder expedition that was sailing up the islands looking for endangered birds... very interesting person, with a nephew in Victoria that i have to phone when I get home.

It was a nice, albeit kinda rough trip, and as we landed we were engulfed by a torrential, but brief tropical squall. Soaking wet, I walked the hundred feet or so from the dock to where I was staying - Ades Dream Place. For about $30 a night I have a small room, a/c, TV, bathroom, shared kitchen, WiFi, and the worse decor I have ever experienced. But its nice and clean and central and there is a shared kitchen. Just outside my room is a lovely large balcony, where i can sit and have my breakfast.

Met several other budget travellers who have also fallen in love with island on first sight! Hillsborough, the only town, is small, but not too small with lots of grocery stores. I am in the middle of town, across the street from the beach- albeit not the cleanest, because it is in middle of town, but quite manageable in a pinch. I took a long walk to the end of town on one side and came back down the back lanes. Tomorrow I will go the other way, before the excitement begins with the bands and such. I am now sitting on a lovely quiet balcony, overlooking their excuse for mountains (hills, in my book) at the back of the guest house. There are lots of school kids in uniforms walking home from school.

You can see Union Island from here....hmmmm maybe i will head over there for the day, or over to the Tobago Keys.... hard to decide....

Caribbean Misadventures #10.

2010-02-14T10:23:00.001-08:00

Caribbean Misadventures #10: Tala's birthday party

Today was a good day. I headed to St George's and the bus, instead of taking me to the depot, headed up up UP to the top of the town, where the semi ruined churches are. Not only had their roofs been torn off in the tornado, but the stained glass windows, and chunks of stone. I had been wanting to go up there, but it is an incredibly steep climb. I must've taken a different bus, for which i was greatful. I wandered around the top, through the interesting streets, and as I headed down, stopped for an hour or so to do a sketch...

It was outside a day care, and I could hear the little voices chanting their abc's. Then a door opened in a shabby house across from me, and an elderly man with a guitar headed to the day care. He stopped to talk with me when he returned, about an hour later. He goes to sing with the children, and he is also a story teller.

I wandered down through the narrow, shabby streets, past houses that have never recovered from hurricane Ivan, past house/shops selling everything from food to car parts, and eventually found myself in the market this time I felt OK, so I did some shopping for some fresh fruit and veggies. Walking these narrow streets... in fact it flatters them to call them streets... they are narrow, wiggly, twisty lanes that were never built for mini busses and big SUVs, which is what everyone seems to drive... drivers give you a little 'beep', and you have to squeeze yourself against a building or fence or badly parked car so they can get by

I returned for my mid day nap, with thoughts of heading to the nearby beach for an hour or two, but the thought of the climb back up to my little cabin deterred me. My hostess invited me to a birthday party dinner bbq for Tala, the resident artist, gardener, cook, and general handyman who fulfills all the many duties that her rasta boyfriend dosen't. Boyfriend's job seems to be to sit around and look sullen, and occassionally encourage their son to be a wild thing. So I painted up a little card for him -because he is really a sweet man. Then I headed down for dinner...

It was quite a weird party. There were five or six of her italian friends, one with rasta locks and two beige kids, a pair of newly arrived italian women, and some others. There was the birthday boys ex partner who brought his sons, and her recent baby, with someone else. There was a clutch of glowering young Granadian men, sitting sullenly on the porch. The birthday boy was in the kitchen cooking up his Granadian specialty, called an 'oil down'. It was a bloody awful like a stew like mess, with everything but the kitchen sink in it - chicken, beef, conch, fish, veggies, chunks of corn on the cob, bread fruit, dumplings, carrots. and I dunno what else. Huge plates were served up. It was grotesquely unappealing, but had to be tackled. I 'shared' my plate with someone else, and left most of it.

The women had brought about half a dozenn little boy children all around five years old, who were allowed to run maniacally around, screaming yelling, pounding the floor, and that, combined with top volume rasta music and non stop Italian finally drove me to my room, where I am now... they are still at it!!!Those kids were totally wired, I have never seen anything so out of control in my life! I swear they were all on speed! The mothers totally ignored them, and babbled on in Italian.

I leave tomorrow for some quiet time on the smaller island of Carriacou...

Grenada.

2010-02-12T15:41:00.000-08:00

January 30, 2010, Saturday.

Caribbean Misadventures # 9 sniffles in paradise

Sometimes life sucks - even in paradise. Can there be anything worse than being stuck inside on a gorgeous sunny day in the Caribbean with a raging headache, a sniffly nose, and lousy tv? As I sit here, I am facing a sort of jungle of glorious green plants from my second story balcony, and in the distance... well not that far ... across the street and a block down.... the ocean (cough cough) filled with lovely boats, as there is a regatta this weekend.

I tried, I really really tried to get out and about early this morning. I took the bus to town, as the weekly market was on. I guess it would have been interesting, but all the smells and noises made me feel much worse. I contemplated climbing the gazillion steps up to the top of this huge hill to see the old fort... and then thought better of it. Everything interesting necessitates a climb, so I just started walking along the sea level waterfront, called the carenage, back towards where I am staying.

Out of a day of lemons, I managed to make a bit of lemonade. I made lots of pleasant stops in the shade and people watched. I could of taken the bus, but it was more interesting to walk. The traffic is horrendous, and non stop. Sidewalks are semi existant, and when they are not there, you walk on the narrow road, dodging cars. While they drive on the left, like the Brits, that dosen't mean there is any consistancy. They will stop suddenly on either side of the road, facing the wrong way if they choose to. Busses honk as they approach you, and if you want them to stop, you just flag them down. To get out of town, you walk through this one way tunnel, that goes under the 'mountain' on which sits the fort. There is no sidewalk in the tunnel, so you hug the wall and hope you don't meet anyone coming the other way. Sometimes the busses stop in the middle of the tunnel to let people off!!

Last night (Friday) was a bit of circus. My rasta hostess (she has meter long blondish dreds) said she would take me in the car to the pharmacy and to the grocery store to get antihistamines and a few other things. So off we went, with rasta boyfriend, and their four year old son who never stops squealing, yelling, talking, jumping. My head wasn't into it. We stopped at the pharmacy, but before we went for groceries (cough cough) they decided they wanted to pick up some bbq chicken for dinner. Now this wasn't a simple matter, because when we stopped at their favorite guy, who was roasting chicken pieces on a spit made out of an old oil drum, it wasn't ready yet. It was friday night and the roads were busy, but we went on an around the island tour looking for another 'good' chicken man. This took nearly two hours of twisty turny roads, traffic jams, and mexican stand offs. I was not feeling my perkiest. Finally we found some Jamaican Jerk chicken that was acceptable, and headed waaaay back to town to the supermarket.

She shopped, I picked up a few things, and (stops to get a tylenol)... and then we head home, with rasta man whining and begging and cajoling for money to go out with the boys or something.. A marital tiff ensues in the front seat. He'd already tried to co opt the change I was due from the chicken had given the money to buy. She finally dropped him off, and told him not to 'smoke' too much (ganja), and we got home. I had earlier made some instant chicken egg drop soup for dinner, so I picked up my book and headed for bed. I slept badly, as a result wasn't really feeling like traipsing around town today, but forced myself to. I have regretfully concluded that I simply have to wait this damn cold out. I have time. However, I am going to try and walk down to the closest beach sometimes this afternoon (if my head ache goes away)

This isn't fair... I shortened this holiday to four weeks, cos I usually get hit with something nasty in week five and this is only week THREE for god's sake. Resident (probably flea bitten ) little cat has taken up residence behind my computer on the table.

sunday...I recieved some good advice from tt friends last night... booze is good for colds. So I cracked open my nice bottle of barbados rum, and finished up my evening with rum and coke. It definitely worked, as I felt better this morning, so I hopped on a bus and headed to the beach. Grand Anse is a huge lovely beach, with fine white sand... but to tell the truth, I think i preferred the beach in Barbados. For one thing, it was closer! I am now brown as I will ever get, without the necessity of doing the rotissery thing on the beach. I just brown so easily.

I found a shady spot and spent the morning chatting with a boatie family from the u.s. They had been living and sailing down here for four years with two kids., 11 and 9. Bright, lovely kids. I went with them to the yacht club where there was a craft show, and then had some lunch.

I saw this lovely little blue restaurant, and decided have a beer, and maybe a bite to eat. I was the only one there, and was served by a good looking, lisping, gay fellow whose accented English I had a hard time understanding. I learned from this experience to ask for a menu in the future. He asked me if I wanted a 'full plate' or buffet. I figured a full plate sounded good, so I ordered it. Well dish after dish after dish of different things appeared. I had ordered the house special!! every dish different. There was no way I could eat it all, and when the bill came, I didn't have enough money with me! I told them what I had, emptied my wallet, and they smiled and said ok, even giving me a 'doggie' box to take the stuff i couldnt eat home... and then when i said I didn't even have money left for the bus, they gave me back five EC dollars!!!!

Barbados and Grenada

2010-02-12T15:21:00.001-08:00

January 29, 2010

Caribbean misadventures #7 and #8: Barbados and Grenada

Well, folks, I am thinking my old 'get up and go' has 'got up and went'. I seem to be turning into a slothful, lazy, sun worshipping slug and trying to get over the guilt of not rushing about, planning to do this and that, going for long walks etc etc. I thoroughly enjoyed my five days in Barbados, and wish i had planned for longer. When I left the boat, and took a cab to this small sort of village called St. Laurence Gap. The road from the cruise port, through the city of Bridgetown, and towards the airport on the other side is totally lined on one side bybeaches and resorts and on the other side by shops and more resorts and rental apartments. The streets are mostly inhabitied by aging men and women in shorts and bright floral outfits, shopping or just walking somewhere. The place I was staying seemed to be inhabited by scandanavian kite surfers and McGill Univ. oceonographic students. It was called the Rio Guest House, and was clean, fresh, and only $40 a night.

I met the only other female there at the time, a yound Dominican woman, who was studying medicine in the US. We spent a very interesting afternoon together, going up to Oistin, a nearby fishing village for lunch and a beer. It was fascinating talking about her experiences as a black West Indian going to an all black university in Louisianna. The americans accused her of 'talking white' because she didn't sound like a 'southern black' and they couldnt understand why she didn't refer to herself as Afro American, but as West Indian . Since most West Indians also have Carib ancestors as well, they don't see themself as 'African' anything.

The Gap, as it's called, is a U shaped dip off the main hiway, about a mile or two long, also with lots of resorts beach side, but with little traffic, a lot of inexpensive restaurants, and not much else. My little guesthouse cum hostel was across the street from a posh resort, but all I had to do was to cross the street, walk through, past their restaurant and pool, and I was on this magnificent beach. At this end it wasn't crowded, so I had a few wonderfrul days of painting and beach browsing. I think there is a rule in Barbados that they don't let you off the plane unless you are over fifty, or accompanying your grandchildren! There were very few kids at all. You could rent an umbrella and chair. This was weird for me, because I have never been on a beach like this before. Each hotel had their own coloured towels, so if you claimed an empty chair, and didn't have the right coloured towel, a polite young man would come and see if you were either at the hotel, or wanted to rent the chair. I was so discovered, but the nice young man told me not to bother paying and let me have the lounger.

http://www.photoblog.com/kitegypsy/2010/01/27/beach-at-st-laurence-gap.html

The water is fantastic, clear and warm, and its fun to 'jump' the breakers. I havent really done that before - that and 'body surfing'.' It was refreshing to see that I wasn't the fattest, oldest, out of shape body on the beach and that the plumper more filled in womens bodies definitely tan and age better than the skinny types, who end up looking like over tanned dried up leather!! Sun worshipping is the thing here, people roast all day, gently turning themselves over as if they were impaled on a rotisserie! I liked going down early in the morning, and watching the 'beach walkers'... people marching resolutely up and down the length of the beach for their morning exercise, before jumping in to cool off.

I did get off the beach for day or so, and went into Bridgegown by bus where i spent time in the old synagogue and museum. The downtown has two definite parts: the non busy shopping streets full of small shops and snackettes, and the Broad street is wall to wall 'duty free' shops selling outrageously expensive jewellery and luxury items... these streets are full of cruise people...ladies in shorts, well coiffed hair, dripping too much jewellery already, and their 'tagalong' hubbies, clutching their wallets.

http://www.photoblog.com/kitegypsy/2010/01/28/bridgetown-barbados-on-the-way-to-the-bus.html

http://www.photoblog.com/kitegypsy/2010/01/26/for-chossid-and-webs-and-stav.html

http://www.photoblog.com/kitegypsy/2010/01/29/bye-bye-barbados.html

One of the things I really liked about the beach there, and the place generally, was the constant, comfortable breeze, which made it very pleasant, even tho it was pretty hot. Five days was maybe two days short. I wish I had a few days more. But I had booked my flight to Grenada on a five oclock flight. The plane touched down in Tobago, and then I was at the final stop... Grenada
at last. I had been planning this trip for over thirty years, and I finally made it!

Grenada
I had arranged for a cab to pick me up and take me to a place I found on line. It is self catering, so we stopped at a giant shopping centre so that i could pick up some food. It's sort of out of town, between the city of St. Georges, and the famous Grand Anse Beach. I booked a one bedroom, self catering small, cottage, but it wasn't vacant yet, so she put me into this HUGE three bedroom bungalow for one night. Free WiFi again. I am lost wandering around, and can never find the right light switches. Right now, i am on the balcony, looking over to the water, where a freighter is anchored, and a number of small sail boats.

http://www.photoblog.com/kitegypsy/2010/01/30/grenada-and-resident-cat.html

The place is owned by a fortiesh Italian rasta lady and her partner and small son. There was a small dinner party going on on the porch with the other guests, and I was invited to join them. An american couple, two german medical students doing internships here, and an italian woamn, who is leaving today, and i will be getting her small cottage. I am always anxious and unsure if i have made the right moverevery time I move on, so i will see if this place works for me. There are lizard thinggies in the trees and skittering over the floor - pleasant little things. There's lots of greenery, but not as big gardens as i was expecting, but relaxing, for sure. Basically I need a quiet place for a few days to recover from this damn cold.

I was much happier when I moved to the smaller cottage, and the next day, I found a small market, picked up some instant chicken soup to feed my cold.

Grenada, Tobago and Barbados

2010-02-12T14:33:00.000-08:00

January 21, 2010

Caribbean Misadventures#6: escape to Barbados

Well, I am back living with the proletariat, in St. Laurence Gap in Barbados.... ohhhhh how far, the cossetted, the indulged, over fed, and waited upon, has fallen!!!! From the mighty overstaffed, overfed Windsurf, by taxi out to the edges of the Bridgetown to a small tightly populated beach community of guesthouses and hostels!.... My room in the guesthouse is tiny, with a spartan single bed, no towels of course (I did bring my own) and a shared bathroom shower across the hall. It's bright and white, and there is a little balcony off to the side, and the beach is across the street, through the lobby of the posh hotel. I haven't even checked it out yet. It is sunday, and the city sleeps.
http://www.photoblog.com/kitegypsy/2010/02/08/barbados-bored-british-chip-eaters.html

The small self contained 'suite' downstairs, has a little kitchen, and seems to be inhabited by a slew of kite surfer dudes, comes the rather overpowerintgly greasy smell of frying bacon. I couldnt even eat breakfast this morning before leaving the boat. I tend to be uptight and nervous on the day I have to shift from one place to another, so I just wasn't into food. I forced myself to eat a bit of fruit and bread and a touch of their rather lousy coffee. I am glad to be back using my own instant starbuckis..... mmmmmmmmmmmmmm as i sit here, with the door open, there is a lovely crossbreeze. Too bad i can't leave the door open at night. I really was tired of the a/c, and prefer fresh air and a good fan. However, I could do without the frying bacon smell.This is such a luxury to have wifi, and it is quite efficient and fast here, better than in Antigua.

Yesterday, we left Kingstown, in St. Vincent - not really a place I would choose to go back to. Interesting with its cobbled streets, open drains, hodge podge of new and old buildings, rabid traffic and strange back alleys, but not as pleasant or interesting as Rousseau... which has all that, but I definitely like much more. I returned to the boat and watched people gorge on lunch, had a small nibble, changed into my bathing suit and again hit the deck with a book. This could become habit forming. That seems to be what a lot of people do on a cruise. They lay around in various parts of the boat, snoozing, reading, or just being anti social. The boat is very uninspiring when it comes to doing any drawing. there is a bland 'sameness' of uniformed professionally polite staff and a profusion of prone pairs of varying sizes and shapes sunworshipping in regulated rows of matching blue loungers. So decided to join them for the rest of the afternoon, interspersed with a wallow or two in the miniscule pool. While there are two hot tubs, I cannot for the life of me figure out why one would want to sit in a hot tub on a hot day with other hot sweating strangers. Couples seem to love it though, and diligently set up their timer on their cameras so that they can photograph themselves smiling with their arms around each other and the caribbean glistening in the background.

The day ended with another over the top dinner... dinner is about five courses. They lay down a little spoon with a tiny bit of 'something' savory to start with, then you must choose an hors douvre, then a soup, then a salad, then a main and then a dessert. It's just too much in this hot weather. The food is uniformly north american/european fare, and nothing that even vaguely comes from the islands except perhaps the occassional mango or pineapple. They don't even carry the local island beers, which annoys the hell out of me because I like island beers. I tend to go to bed early, because I just cant get into the evening 'club' scene, with the really old fifties and sixties music, bad comedian, and contrived entertainment....

Friday we sailed into St. George's in Genada. We berthed at a very modern, fancy pier. It looks like a very attractive port city, and I signed up for a 'river tubing' experience. The drive through the city and mountains was the best part of the trip. I had a good positive feel about the place. The tubing was ok, but the river wasn't very high, so it was less exciting than it could have been, and I hated being trussed up in a life jacket and helmet. After lunch back on the boat, I went looking for the Lazy Lagoon, a guesthouse I was hoping to stay at when I returned. The town looked interesting as I walked along the harbour, but it looked like it was further away than i thought, so I grabbed a taxi.

It proved to be a true misadventure, and he took me miles out of the way, down, wrong roads, and miles and miles beyond where i knew it out to be. I showed him a map, but I don't think he knew how to read a map. Miles out of town, and heading down an obscure dirt road, I finally made him ask someone, and we had to backtrack to where i thought it was in the first place. And of course it was there. So I made arrangements to stay there when I return to Granada for a week.

Back to the ship for more sun and wallowing.... I no longer know where I fit in in this cruising world. I am definitely NOT a cruiser. I have tried that twice now, and it dosen't fit. No matter how small the boat, cruising appears to be a couple thing. Couples and cocktails and fifth rate cabaret acts. The people I have met have been cordial, friendly and some even mildly interesting. They are surprisingly well travelled, but only in a cruising context. It is interesting how the heirarchy of snobbery runs in the travel world. There are the backpackers who sneer at people who stay in fancy hotels and take tours, and in the cruise world, it is the small cruise ship people who sneer at the monster ships that carry thousands. My experience and style of travel is so far removed from them they can barely conceptualize it.

However, travelling is all pabout having new and interesting experiences, and this has been one of them. It IS nice to be cossetted and pampered at times... but it began to pall after a couple of days, and i really wanted some simple street food, a local beer, and no concerns about what to wear to dinner that night. The women appeared to have a different fancy dress for every meal, the men an unending supply of some sort of Hawaiian shirts. Our last day on the boat was spent in Charlotteville, Tobago, and I really loved this little village. I had signed up for snorkelling, so we got on a mini bus and headed to a lovely beach where we boarded a small boat.

http://www.photoblog.com/kitegypsy/2010/01/25/chorlotteville-tobago.html

We snorkelled of a reef, and it was ok. I have had better snorkelling experiences, but it was a pleasant outing. I then spent some time wandering in the town, and I really liked it. It is a fishing village, and there was some big cricket match going on on the green, so I sat and watched for a while with an Engish couple who made no effort to try and explain it, as they knew it would be useless. Back to the boat for our final dinner and speeches from the capitan, who was funnier than the british comedian, and then packing and bed, as we have to be up early for customs. I was hoping to connect with Tracy, a young american who was travelling with her parents, as she was interested in staying over in Barbadoes for a few more days if she could arrange the air flight home, but missed her, so after leaving the boat, I taxied off with a Brit couple, and here I am in the Rio Guesthouse in St. Laurence Gap, Barbados. It's a pleasant, clean, white building, owned a run by four cousins from England, whose families were originally from Jamaica. There is a common kitchen with a fridge and stove

A nice breeze, my computer is working and I'm beginning to get a bit hungry. I will have to go out and find my own dinner for a change. Which wasn't difficult. There was a nice restaraunt around the corner, and when I ordered a rum punch, I found that it was two for the price of one... which was nice. I had a nice, simple chicken sandwich for dinner.

St. Vincent and St. Lucia

2010-02-12T14:07:00.000-08:00

January 21, 2010

Caribbean misadventures #5: Cruising....

If it's Thursday, I must be in St Vincent... Kingstown to be exact. I find it difficult to separate one day from another. Did we tender in or were we docked at the pier? I think we were docked, so Char and Eileen and I walked into town. It was noisy, dingy, busy little port town, but not particularily architeturally interesting, like Rousseau. There are lots of arcade like stone 'walk throughs' interspersed with shabby modern buildings... There are lots of shops and restaraunts, accessed through dark alleys and between dingy buildings. Many are located on the second floor. We found a small coffee snack shop called The Bounty, run by an expat Canadian on the second floor of such a building. She kindly offered a lot of good information re the town, so we wandered to the market, found my chocolate turds and spices, and then i found an internet cafe, so we split up.

I headed back to The Bounty for lunch... patties and a salad, and then returned to the boat to lounge and wallow in the pool again.

It's sometimes is hard to keep track of where you are. Yesterday it was ST Lucia. and the day before was Dominica. Yesterday I decided to take my first 'off ship' tour, finally getting closer to the water on a catamaran trip to the Pitons. We anchored into a bay near Pigeon Island, and then transferred to the Catamaran. It was a lovely day trip down to the Pitons, two volcanic peaks to the south of Castries the main city. On our return, we disembarked to a small beach that had been 'reserved' for our ship, where the ship had set up a huge over the top barbecue.... but it was good

With all this food in your face all the time - as much as you want, and whatever you want, I am eating less and less. I can't believe how much some people can pack away in this hot weather. But the bbq was a nice end to the day, and I swam off the beach for a bit. I was going to try out the kayaks, but i chickened out. I returned to the ship to freshen up, and make a birthday card for Eileen, whose birthday it was tonight. Eileen is not really a well person, and has a 'manageable' cancer. She retired early, and is using up her savings travelling and doing the things she has always wante to do. I really admire her spirit and her sense of adventure. We had a nice dinner in the 'mediterranean' restaraunt and then I went to bed with a bad mystery.

I'm afraid my missives are a bit boring but nothing much happens when you are on a cruise. I can observe, and read, and sketch a bit but this one island a day is pretty annoying. I am looking forward to five days in barbados, even if I never leave the guest house. I am enviably sun tanned at this point, and hopefully won't peel because i will probably be darker by the time I leave

I am thinking i ought to start promoting myself to cruise lines - lessons in illustrated journals. Even regular cruisers get pretty bored and the afternoons can be long. If I could do this without having to pay for the cruise.... i could get used to it!

Dominica and Bequai

2010-02-11T16:58:00.000-08:00

January 19, 2010

Caribbean Misadventure #4: The WindSurf Experience.

The biggest misadventure so far today is the excruciatingly slow internet. While it is possible to use the internet on the boat, it is ridiculously expensive, so I had to wait til we were on an island. Monday, Bequai was the first island we stopped at, and I headed straight to a drugstore to pick up something to for the sand flea bites. Then I wandered down to the Frangipani, where I stayed two years ago, through the town, stopped and used the internet to check mail, and back to the boat where i spent the day wallowing in the pool and reading

Tuesday, and we have sailed overnight to Dominica and it is as nice as I remember it. Not everyone would see it as 'nice'. It is cluttered, and noisy and the music is always playing, and the cars are almost wider than the cobblestone streets. It's kinda dingy and dirty, if you are bothered by those things, but the people are really smiley and friendly and wandering the windy streets in the horrendous humidity and heat, I have to smile.

I wandered down to one of my favorite places... the Carnegie Library, down on the beach and sat in the shade of the trees and chatted with a medical stdent from Nigeria. A bucnch of uniformed school girls arrived, and hung over the balcony, flirting with him. Then I wandered down to my favorite cafe...the Cornerstone cafe, and was delighted to find that the waitress remembered 'the painter lady'...

It wasn't the same yesterday in Bequai, a place a really loved. I saw too many changes that didn't settle well with me. Yes, these are small developing countries, and I cannot begrudge them growth and development, but Bequia seems to be going the way of the sleek and fast. Here in Roussea, even the new buildings look old. Some of the shops have changed, and there seems to be a lot more of them. In any case, I wandered around a bit, and went to the bank for MORE money. I do not like dealing in u.s. cash when I travel anywhere but the U.S. It may seem strange, but to me it's kind of disrespectful. And besides, I like the young queen on the EC bills

This whole 'cruising' thing is really weird for me, and i have to admit that is what I am on a CRUISE, something I swore I would never do. I am reasonably sure I am the only single person on the ship. It's all couples or small clumps of women friends. Mostly americans, and quite a few east coast canadians, a smattering of Brits. I am finally finding my way around the boat. The windows in my stateroom have blackout curtains, so I cannot even awake with the sun rising... Tonight I will leave them open. Every night when I return to go to bed, it is laid out, and there are a couple of chocolate mints there for me. There is a stocked bar, a fridge, a fuzzy white bathrobe, always a bucket of ice, tv with cd's in the library as well as books. I am not doing many of the 'land tours', only the ones that include water.

We are ferried to shore by a small boat, and it runs all day, so when it gets too hot, i
I return to the ship, have lunch, change to my bathing suit and have a bit of a wallow in the very small swimming pool. I have talked to a few couples, but typically, they clutch together, and prefer to join up with couples. Today, a woman I have seen before sat down beside me on one of the deck lounges. We got to chatting, and she is travelling with her partner of 35 years (she's gay). we had a nice conversation, and it turned out we were all eating at the seafood deck restaurant that evening, so I joined them there. It was a bit windy, but nice and refeshing to sit and eat outdoors.

Now about the food. People seem to think it is good, but I have to wonder where they usually eat when they are home. The presentation is always wonderful. It LOOKS good, but quite frankly, I find the descriptions tastier than the actual food itself. Its all kinda typical western middle of the road restaraunt fare dressed up to look first class, if you know what I mean. Nothing is made to oreder, so it's all precooked and reheated. The crew appears to be mainly Indonesian, and they are very good, polite, quick to fullfill your every request. It makes me feel like a plantation princess or something. With all the passengers (and I mean ALL) being white, upper middle class couples over 50, and with nearly all the workers of a 'different colour', there is absolutely nothing vaguely carribean on the ship at all. It could be generically anyplace in the world. The only difference between a Windstar boat in Dominica and one in Tahiti would be the land tours. It kinda creeps me out.

After dinner, there is always a show, which tonight was a stand up comedian. He was a British 8th rate, straight out of the fifties, clean as a whistle (except for the occassional poop or fart joke) comedian, balding with a paunch, and a 'comic' wardrobe.(mismatched flourescent socks. He was embarassingly bad, but people seemed to like him.... yawn...off to bed.

The next morning, I headed to breakfast where I discovered strawberry and cottage cheese crepes - anglo blintzes, I think. There is an overloaded buffet every morning at 6 a. m. and breakfast to order at 7. Buffets always stump me - too many decisions to make that early in the morning. Or at 7 you can order waffles, eggs, pancakes or whatever you want. I will stick with these crepes every day I think. I am trying to get a grip on the experience, but at times i find it all rather frustrating. We only sail at night, so there is no real sailing experience except for the bit in the morning as we pull into yet another port. The summer camp kinda aspect of the activities etc etc reall turns my stomach, and at times I feel very alone, but I am used to that.

Will i ever do anything like this again? I don't think so....Chalk it up to it is a different experience, and - I am resignedly experiencing it...

Montserrat

2010-02-11T16:37:00.000-08:00

Caribbean misadventures #3: Under the Volcano...

When it turned out that I couldn't get a refund on my ticket to Montserrat, I decided to make it a day trip instead. Of course they stuck me with another fifty bucks for changing the reservation, but at this point, what the hell - I wont likely be this way again. So I got up bright and early, grabbed a bus to the central depot in town, then waited forty five minutes for the airport bus. I followed some airport workers in, and with trouble located my teeny tiny airport check in. Security was the usual hassle. Altho I do not see the point of asking someone to take off their flip flops so they must stand barefoot on a nasty mat full of unmentionable things. Once through, it was ok. The airline's check in clerk herself came to escort the three passengers to a waiting van that drove up to the six seater plane on the furthest side of the tarmac.

The post pubescent looking, crew cut, blond pilot opened the door, and off we went, towards the smoking island. Customs weren't there when we arrived. They slowly arrived and in minutes I was in Montserrat's empty, echoing airport... The pilot and officials disappears, as did the other two passengers. I spotted a taxi, and tried to negotiate for a tour. U am rotten at negotiating, and inevitably pay too much, but he was the only taxi in sight. He was a lovely older gentleman who wasn't really much into being a tour guide, but definitely did his best to show me Montserrat in two hours.

Its a lovely island, the side that is still inhabited. It is separated from the volcanic two thirds by kind of a mountain range. Once we crossed that range, I could feel myself having trouble with breathing, so I hauled out my 'Darth Vadar' mask and I was alright. It is an amazing sight to see. We could only go so far, as roads are closed down that go into the active volcano area, but people are still living in ash covered houses, surrounded by grey, ash covered trees with grey leaves.

There were beautiful homes and estates, and you can see them in the distance, all abandonded. We stopped by a friend of Joseph's and she gave me a taste of the guava jellies she made for sale. On the way to the airport, he stopped at his home and picked up some mangoes for me! Two hours later, I was back at the airport, and tweny minutes after that, going through immigration, back in Antigua. It was a long hot walk to the bus stop, and two busses later back, I was stripped naked, and eating those mangoes the only way it makes sense to eat them.... naked and right before a shower. Tomorrow i am heading to Barbuda, the sister island to Antigua.

Antigua

2010-02-11T16:19:00.000-08:00

January 13/2010
Caribbean Misadventure#2: busy doing nothing

I spent my first few days just wandering around English Harbour, sketching, visiting a couple of the beaches. As the song goes 'I'm busy doing nothing, working the whole day through, trying to find lots of things not to do.' That's about it, so far in Antigua. I decided to go to the main and only city of St. John's for the day, to pick up a few things and check it out. I was there about thirty years ago, and remember it as a smallish, bumbling kind of place. Well no more... its now a bustling busy, commerical centre. I did my banking, picked up a few things at the pharmacy and market and headed back to English Harbour.

The buses are easy and affordable, people are friendly, and easy to talk to, however the vision of men, young and old, with the waist of their pants deliberately 'hanging' below their butt crack is amusing and speculative. They seem to have adapted, and as their pants slide to their knees, in imminent danger of tripping them up, the hand reaches out and there is an automatic hoisting up. That and the very casual open zipper crotch adjustment seems to be common here. On the female side I feel right at home as there are ever so many nice, plump O/S women, young AND old.

Despite English Harbour/Falmouth Harbour being the centre for mainly British Boaties, and a key tourist site for the day trippers from the big cruise ships, I like it here - except for the non stop boom box noise from the bar. But there is no escape from that in the Caribbean so you learn to live with it, or put on your own ipod to drown it out. The local beer is good, and i eat mostly at 'snackettes' or pick up street food. However I do enjoy going out for a half decent dinner. It's not cheap, but you can get a decent meal and beer for about 20-25 bucks. I figure my expenses, with the room included are less than 100 bucks a day, which is definitely over what I normally spend, but it is the Caribbean in hi season.

I met a nice English woman, who is waiting for her husband's boat to arrive from Portugal. We get together to do things sometimes, and generally have dinner together. Mornings I head for the beach. Afternoons? Maybe a nap, reading, sketching, then dinner and bed. Definitely hard to take. On friday I will head to Barbuda for a couple of days, and then on to Barbados.

I had planned to spend a few days in Montserrat, but my hostess emailed me to say that the the air was not good, and given that I have asthma, it would not be wise. I found out this morning that the air fare to Montserrat is non refundable, but good for a year...HAH..... not likely I will be this way soon again, but I did come up with a brilliant idea. I will fly there tomorrow morning, for a few hours, grab a taxi for a fast look see, and return on the only return flight at around noon. I have my hi tech asthma mask with me, so I will wear it. Since the ticket is paid for, why not? Of course there is always rebooking fees....sigh.... they getcha coming and going...this is proving to be very very expensive. I am looking forward to a week on the boat where I won't have to spend money (maybe).

Caribbean Misadventures #1: Our Brave New World

2010-02-11T15:48:00.000-08:00

Brave New World #1 ;
Net Books
My brave new world started this year when I picked up a little Acer notebook computer, thinking it might come in handy when travelling. Of course it took me nearly a year to fiigure out how to use it, and I am still in the dark about a lot of stuff, but I think I have the basics. It turned out that a lot of places I plan to stay have Wifi (free internet connections) so I decided to pack this little baby on the trip, and see how it went. I was able to download the appropriate LP chapters for the islands I am visiting for a few bucks. My Acer weighs less than the equivalent lp book and isn't much bigger.

Brave New World #2
Photoblog-
Last year I joined a number of other travellers and wannabe travellers in posting five photos every day on Photoblog365, with the intention of posting every day for a year. Now it has become an obsession. I have noticed my photography has improved with the daily posts. I also enjoy following friends all over the world through their daily photos. So I am now posting my tavel 'diary' daily on photoblog complete with drawings, when applicable. Sometimes it is easier to post a link to them here in my blog than posting photos.

Brave New World#4:
New Airplane boarding rules
I had the delightful experience of having to go through the increased customs vetting experience in Toronto, and aside from having to arrive three hours early, at three am for a 6 am flight, it went smoothly. The RCMP, who were doing the body searches, did it with humour and grace. The worst thing was not really knowing what you could or could not take on. They said NO BACKPACKS - no day packs even, so at the last minute, in toronto, I had to make packing adjustments that were a pain. Then I arrived at the airport to find that day packs WERE being allowed. I was thoroghly pissed off!!

The irony was, that after all my shopping around for the perfect carryon luggage, in the end, I couldnt even carry on my day pack. The other irony was when I had to change planes in Miami, the Merkins were all hauling the biggest damn carryons I have ever seen, and jamming them into the overhead bins. It turns out that Canada turned on the MOST stringent boarding rules in the world.

Brave New World#5:
computers when you travel
Well it seems like the Acer or Apple netbook (depends on how rich you are) is becoming a staple piece of travel gear. Wifi is widely available, and Internet cafes are not as numerous as they used to be. Here in Antigua, it costs fifty cents a minute and theyh are pretty sterile places. Aside from the money, as a single traveller, I enjoy my connections with home.

Right now, it is about 7 am, I have used my immersion heater to boil up the water for a cup of coffee in my travel thermos (that new Starbucks instant stuff is quite adequate for travel), am sitting in my nightie, listening to the cocks crowing outside and enjoying a quiet moment before the day begins, and I am checking mail online. While I am a friendly person, and enjoy chatting with others, etc., there is lots of alone time when reading a book or washing your undies is not what you want to do, and the computer can be your friend - like right now..

Best Laid plans......

2010-02-11T15:23:00.000-08:00

Just before 2009 ended, my travel plans for this winter almost went belly up. I had planned to treat myself to a two week Tall Ship trip, sailing through the Caribbean islands, however the ship went into recievership last month, and the trip fell through. I was lucky, and got my money back. I tried to find another sailing experience - but there was nothing at a price i could afford Even the one day sailing trip to Montserrat from Antigua was not available in the time I had. So with no other sailing options in sight, I scrambled on line to find another boat that was NOT a giant cruise ship.

http://www.photoblog.com/kitegypsy/2010/01/18/the-effing-big-cruise-shipwindsurf.html

Air travel for this trip had been framed around the boat thing, with a week to spare at each end, and since the tickets were all air miles, it wouldn't be easy to change or replace them in high season. On top of everything, the new luggage limitations are driving me mad BUT BUT BUT..... through the magic of the internet i found a sort of sailing ship, the WindSurf on sale for an affordable price, for one week. It's sailing half the route, more or less the same as the original plan, but out of Barbados instead of Antigua. It means some adjustments, but I booked it.

So on Tuesday I fly to Toronto, then on to Antigua for a week staying in a guesthouse in Falmouth Harbour...After a few days on Antigua, I am heading to Montserrat (the volcanic island) for three days. Yesterday I discovered a lovely guesthouse, and if I stay three days, I can have one of the deluxe rooms for $45 a night!!! If I am lucky, the ferry to Montserrat will still be running. It seems to come and go and while it operated during xmas, apparently there is no assurance it will continue. It's not really sailing, but what the hell. We know that you gotta go with the flow when you travel!!!

There are three flights a day, on a small plane. for back up in case the ferry isnt in operation. Then back to Antigua for a couple of days. I will then fly to Barbados to board the ship. This is going to be interesting. I have never travelled first class before in my life! I fear I am about to lose my backpacking status on this trip....oh well... at my age i guess i can handle a few small luxuries. I found a really inexpensive room in the Rio GuestHouse, in St Laurence Gap, so when I get off the boat, I plan to spend a week in Barbadoes.

Again there are rumours online of a new ferry boat that should have started operating in October connecting some of these islands. I live in hope that it actually exists, otherwise I will have to fly again, unless something else sea worthy turns up. I will end up in Grenada and neighbouring islands for about a week .... and then home.....A true islo-maniacs idea of heaven!

Dominica, 2005 - Goodbye to Dominica

2009-02-01T09:32:00.000-08:00

Carnival Day 2
The city is throbbing with the bass boom of the speakers on the giant sound trucks. The floor of the house vibrates, and as the paraders pass by, the trucks exude overlapping sounds. Some restaurants and shops also have big speakers out front, and they compete for sound space. Nothing is clear anymore, except for the heat. You have to shout to be heard in conversation in the house.

Michael, my new Austrian friend and I went for dinner, but just as we finished we heard the bands starting up again, so we headed out to the street. We joined a group behind a giant flatbed truck and the biggest speakers I have ever seen, creeping up the street.

The DJ stood on top and exhorted the crowd. He was surrounded by men who cleared the overhead wires as the truck crept down the streets. Densely packed, gyrating bodies move in unison in front and behind the truck and believe it or not, I am part of it. As the beat consumes our bodies, the dj shouts and everyone raises their hands waving a bright coloured sweat cloth in response.

An hour or so was as much as this 65 year old body could do to keep up with a fit, skinny 32 year old Austrian runner, so I headed home and to bed. Next morning I was stiff as a board, but it was worth it - I guess.

It was the last night of Carnival, and time to pack, and get ready to head to St. Lucia. The next day was spent tidying up and saying goodbye to new friends… and I was off in a very small plane to Castries, St. Lucia.

Travels in Dominica, 2005 - Carnival, day 1

2009-02-01T07:54:00.000-08:00

Carnival!!!!!!

Four o’clock this morning it started! The sounds of drumming, singing and dancing gradually increased in amplification until it seemed as if it was right beneath my window! Forcing myself out of bed, I crept to the balcony, peered into the dark street and saw the revelers slowly snaking up the next street over. I could see a small band gyrating and snaking through the city towards the cathedral.

I went back to bed.

About half an hour later, a second group, slightly larger, taking slightly longer passed by. I didn’t get out of bed this time.

The drums of the third group forced me to dress, and head onto the balcony.

The fourth group, at about five a.m., got me down and jumping in the streets.

These aren’t exactly bands, but are groups of manic men hypnotically pounding on drums and they danced down the street. Sometime they are accompanied by women blowing on strange looking home made horns. The mouthpiece is a trumpet like instrument through which they blow, and it is attached to a long pipe or piece of pvc where the strange sound comes out.. Sometimes the drums are accompanied by people with loud whistles blown in a repetitive rhythm. Everyone shuffles and twists down the street en masse. Some people are dressed up in uniforms from their companies, some in nightshirts, some with motorcycle masks, some in costumes or in decoratively slit t shirts. Everyone has a cup of rum punch or a beer, and everyone shuffles along to the beat.

By 7 am, the bands have stopped. Now music from giant speakers start, and every one is still shuffling along. Home to rest, and it will start again around noon.

Dancing in the Streets:

I got out of bed (again) and headed out for breakfast and to get a good spot to watch the costume parade of bands. It was already hot as hell outside, but the parades were supposed to start at 10 a.m. I decided to watch the parade from my favorite internet café which is on the main drag and treated myself to breakfast. They have a raised front stoop where I could watch the parade, and feel safe. This is important, since I am a bit claustrophobic in large crowds and it was going to be a long hot day. Of course, this being the Caribbean, the parade didn’t really start until about noon.

The parade circles through Roseau's main streets in spurts, picking up people as it travels. Some people were in costume, some not but everyone was singing and dancing. After doing a circuit they rest for an hour or so, cool off with lots of beer and chicken and then circle the town again. It’s an 'everyone' celebration. Ancient ladies dressed to kill in baby doll clothes, children made up in full sparkly costumes, men dressed as women and women barely dressed at all. As the day progressed the groups got larger and more ornate. Large groups of people from the same neighbourhood or club, dressed in matching, brightly coloured costumes danced down the street together.

Booths are set up on the street corners, selling fried chicken, beer and rum punch. I have often wondered, with all the Mcdonalds and Kentucky Fried places in the world selling white meat nuggets and breasts, what did they do with the dark meat??? the legs and thighs, which I actually prefer! Well they send them to Dominica. I have yet to see any white meat chicken on sale here. Chicken is the staple food. They eat fried chicken for breakfast, for lunch, for snacks and for supper.

As the day progressed, everyone became drunker and happier. People carried their own glasses to be refilled as soon as it was empty. It was a gigantic block party, and everyone was very friendly, however by afternoon it was sweltering. The parades stopped for a couple of hours as the participants took time off to recoup and regroup for the evenings main event.

Travels in Dominica, 2005 - Beach Time

2009-01-31T21:59:00.000-08:00

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.

Travels in Dominica, 2005 - Keeping Busy

2009-01-31T20:06:00.000-08:00

Pre Carnival Parade

The actual carnival doesn't start until next week, but today there was a parade planned, so along with the French couple, I went down to take a look. Lots of people milling around, but nothing started on time and the structure of the parade was distinctly casual.But nothing happened.Several bands and people with amazing costumes were standing around doing not much for about 45 minutes. People meandered into these groups from the sidelines, also dressed in costumes or carrying instruments. Meanwhile there was a battle of the bands happening from the three bands already congregated there. It was a cacophony of Caribbean rhythm as they all played at the same time, the huge drums being played by one big fellow dominated and overwhelmed. He passionately abused it with a drumstick duct taped to his hand and wrists. Sweat poured from his body, as he drummed non stop.

Cracks, almost sounding like gun shots, and there were the ‘whip snappers’ again, wielding long black whips, snapping them on the ground. Unlike the 'whip snappers' in Guadeloupe who were dressed in layers of banana leaves, these men were all dressed in black, covered from head to foot with lampblack or shoe polish, wearing nothing but a loin cloth. Groups of bizarrely masked creatures danced in the streets. They wore tall, conical hats and danced like dervishes. An amazing lady of massive girth appeared, wearing not much, but what little there was glittered and shook all over the place. Even her well worn sneakers were covered with sequins and glittering fake jewels.

After an hour of waiting around, the parade finally got under way. There were flag waving teams marching to the pounding beat of Caribbean rhythms. Gigantic sound trucks belted out ear shattering music, and there were endless princesses ensconced on convertibles or mopeds competing for various titles, including Queen of the Carnival. The beer companies had their own floats and the beer flowed freely. Everyone was very, very happy. My new French friends followed the parade to the end, and I doubt if I will see them tonight.

Once the costumed part of the parade was finished, there were only so much I could take of pubescent princesses sitting on the back of pickup tracks that I could take. It went on and on and on and I finally had to escape as I had a strong hunch that my eardrums would be permanently damaged. I retreated to a quiet boring night at the guesthouse -which I don’t mind. The days are full, I am quite happy to relax with my feet up, watch bad movies on tv, and finish a painting.

Champagne Beach

I joined the French couple for a day trip to Champagne Beach. Dominica does not have good sand beaches, but we were told there this was a good snorkelling beach. It's called Champagne Beach because of hot gasses from underground volcanic vents that cause the water to bubble like champagne. Flora made sandwiches, Matt bought fruit from the market, and I provided bread and cheese.

We walked to the centre of town to catch a mini van bus. We waited for more passengers, and then cruised around town picking up people until it was full. Generally, navigating around the town in a car is unnecessary because you can get anywhere faster by walking. The tiny one way lanes are very narrow and when two cars have to pass, clearance can often be measured in millimeters.

We were dropped off in the middle of nowhere. We climbed down a path to a rock strewn beach that was being pounded by gigantic breakers. I guess different cultures have different ideas of what makes up a 'good' beach. This was not too promising from our point of view, however we found a spot clear of rocks, covered with fine black sand and settled in.

We were joined shortly by a group of French tourists. I put on my new snorkelling gear, and headed out to see what could be seen. The water was pleasant and warm, and I swam for a while, but because of the waves the water was too murky and visibility was poor. I didn't realize how difficult it would be getting out of the water. Every time I tried to climb out, I was knocked down by the waves and pulled back by the undertow. I was tiring when I was hit by a HUGE wave, pulled under and tossed onto the rocks.

I didn't panic, but when I came up for air, I saw the French coming to the rescue from all directions! I was grateful for the help, as the undertow was really strong. I didn't realize until I got back to the guesthouse that I had a black eye from where my goggles had been hit when i was being tossed about. The right side of my body was black and blue, and I lost a small silver ring.

That did it for the day. We had our picnic and headed back to the road, where we sat in the shade and ate large, sweet island grapefruits. We flagged down a bus, and returned to town. I showered, and pounds of sand fell out of my hair, ears, armpits and various other orifices. I dressed in fresh clothes and went out to find dinner.

Roseau really closes down after five pm. By six it is dark and the streets are deserted. It is sometimes difficult to find a restaurant open for dinner. The hotel restaurants are always open, but expensive. Staying in a guest house with kitchen privileges has definite advantages.

Travels in Dominica, 2005 - Reflections 2

2009-01-31T16:00:00.000-08:00

Reflections 2
Walking through the town is always interesting, because I almost 'know' it by this time. I recognize some of the shops, and I discover new ones, ones that I hadn't looked past the darkened door into yet. This seems to be a country of small shops - shops inside of shops, and shops outside of shops. Sometimes there are peddlers of fresh fruits and veggies sitting on the doorsteps and the streets are lined with sellers of spices, snacks, fruits, clothing and what have you.

I have been reading a wonderful book of short stories by a local writer, and I think I am beginning to better understand the world of Dominica, their culture and their relationship to the world around. When I finish this book, there are several more by local authours that I want to read. Perhaps I will join their wonderful, oceanside Carnegie library (I can do that) and just borrow them. The shelves of the bookstores are well stocked with local writers. Local people seen amazed that I buy and read the biweekly newspaper. I love it. The headlines are all about local events, and there is no worldly international stuff in at all - except as it might apply to Dominica. And believe me, there is not much in the world that applies to Dominica!!!

I am convinced that hair styling has reached a new, high art form in Dominica. I now understand why there are all those hair salons. I have never seen so many diverse , intricate, and amazing hair styles as I have seen here; braided, twisted, pouffed out, dreads contained in a gigantic two foot high crocheted hats, two and three foot long dreads flying in the breeze on passing bicyclists. Little girls with twists of ribbon brightly entwined in their hair, babies with little cherry sized pom poms of hair on their tiny heads. It goes on forever.

The school kids are a delight. Every morning. I stand on the balcony and watch them head to school. Every school has a different coloured uniform, but they all seem to have a variation of white or brightly coloured shirt, dark pants or skirt, and super white sneakers. The older girls are gorgeous. They seem to be mostly very tall, willowy slim, with heads held high, they have a walk that would knock any guy dead. Their whole bodies exude adolescent sexuality as they walk in giggling groups of three and four down the streets. The school boys are more conservative. Their hair is not complex, but is short cropped, almost shaved. While at school, their heads are contained by the rules. As soon as they leave school, they let it grow, and the heads of the recent graduates explode into dreads or sculpted or shaved concoctions that are a constant wonder.

The food here is not that good or interesting. The local specialties seems to be things like pigs snout and salted fish -neither of which I care to try. You can get fresh fish, and there is always chicken. But the chicken is always drumsticks. I asked someone if they had chicken farms here, and he said no, they import from Trinidad. It seems strange, because you would think that in this climate they could produce almost anything they need. I think all the breasts and thighs are exported to richer countries. I haven’t seen any big farms, but then I haven’t been to the interior yet. Maybe tomorrow.

And then, maybe not.

This is definitely NOT a place for a high energy person. There appears to be little night life in the main city, restaurants mostly close at 5, and life seems to be quite home based. Music is the biggest thing, and it pulses through the city from the doors of the houses and shops and the boom boxes carried down the streets. Music becomes totally encompassing during the Carnival festival from when bands that cruise the streets day and night. If you like to hike, climb, explore the outdoors, and people watch, it is a great place to be. Since I do not depend on pristine white beaches or wild night life to provide the highlight of a vacation, I am very happy here....

Travels in Dominica - Cartwheel Cafe

2009-01-31T15:49:00.000-08:00

Reflections
There are special pleasures in staying in one place for a month or more. There is no hurry to 'do' things, to go here and there, to make sure you have seen all the 'sights'. One of the special things about staying in one place for a longer period, is the opportunity to spend time just sitting around and listening to people tell their stories.

Today I had nothing planned. I rarely do. I got up, organized my daypack, washed some clothes and threw out some others. I made breakfast, sat on the balcony and painted the city rooftops. The waterfront was dominated by a massive Holland America cruise ship berthed in the harbour. When I finished, I wandered down to my favorite restaurant for a lunch of grilled fish in garlic ginger sauce, vegetables, rice and a couple of beers.

The waterfront itself is a marriage of new and old. Many of the newer buildings are built on the foundations of earlier structures. The tiny Cartwheel Café is tucked into the foundations of an old warehouse. The walls are constructed from boulders, brought over as ballast on early sailing ships. In many places the walls are three feet deep, and this means a cool, un air conditioned interior. The windows have heavy wooden shutters to protect it from the summer storms. Open only for breakfast and lunch, it is run by the owner Jacqui, descended from a French family, who were amongst the original settlers of Dominica. They own many of the old buildings in Roseau, and are activly trying to maintain the heritage buildings. Reading about the well maintained architecture was what attracted me to this charming island.Dominica has had a chequered history. In the battles for ownership of the Caribbean islands, ownership has bounced back and forth between England and France. The English won, and as a result, while English is spoken, there is a veneer of French panache that is delightful.

The Cartwheel Cafe
.The waterfront itself is a marriage of new and old. Many of the newer buildings are built on the foundations of earlier structures. The tiny Cartwheel Café is tucked into the foundations of an old warehouse. The walls are constructed from boulders, brought over as ballast on early sailing ships.

In many places the walls are three feet deep, and this means a cool, un air conditioned interior. The windows have heavy wooden shutters to protect it from the summer storms. Open only for breakfast and lunch, it is run by the owner Jacqui, descended from a French family, who were amongst the original settlers of Dominica. They own many of the old buildings in Roseau, and are activly trying to maintain the heritage buildings. Reading about the well maintained architecture was what attracted me to this charming island.

Dominica has had a chequered history. In the battles for ownership of the Caribbean islands, ownership has bounced back and forth between England and France. The English won, and as a result, while English is spoken, there is a veneer of French panache that is delightful.

Wandering aimlessly through the town leads me to discover all sorts of surprises. The Library is one of them. Built at the turn of the century, with funding from the American Carnegie foundation, it sits in a seaside garden, with wide porches and benches for contemplative reading. The road from the library leads down to the main street that runs the length of the waterfront. Modern and new, it is the berth for visiting cruise ships. These giant people carriers extend from one end of the town to the other. There is only room for one of these giant boats to berth at a time.

There are special pleasures in staying in one place for a month or more. There is no hurry to 'do' things, to go here and there, to make sure you have seen all the 'sights'. One of the special things about staying in one place for a longer period, is the opportunity to spend time just sitting around and listening to people tell their stories.

Today I had nothing planned. I rarely do. I got up, organized my daypack, washed some clothes and threw out some others. I made breakfast, sat on the balcony and painted the city rooftops. The waterfront was dominated by a massive Holland America cruise ship berthed in the harbour. When I finished, I wandered down to my favorite restaurant for a lunch of grilled fish in garlic ginger sauce, vegetables, rice and a couple of beers.The waterfront itself is a marriage of new and old. Many of the newer buildings are built on the foundations of earlier structures. The tiny Cartwheel Café is tucked into the foundations of an old warehouse. The walls are constructed from boulders, brought over as ballast on early sailing ships. In many places the walls are three feet deep, and this means a cool, un air conditioned interior. The windows have heavy wooden shutters to protect it from the summer storms. Open only for breakfast and lunch, it is run by the owner Jacqui, descended from a French family, who were amongst the original settlers of Dominica. They own many of the old buildings in Roseau, and are activly trying to maintain the heritage buildings. Reading about the well maintained architecture was what attracted me to this charming island.Dominica has had a chequered history. In the battles for ownership of the Caribbean islands, ownership has bounced back and forth between England and France. The English won, and as a result, while English is spoken, there is a veneer of French panache that is delightful.

Travels in Dominica, 2005 - Scott's Head

2009-01-31T15:37:00.000-08:00

Mountains, Beaches and Oceans.
Yesterday the plan was to hike to the highest waterfalls in Dominica. The Europeans hired a guide, and asked me to come. I kept asking whether it was high, and if there much climbing. Of course the guide said ‘not high, very easy’, however based on past experience, I decided not to take a chance. I decided to go with them to the village of Laudat, where the trail started, and sit and paint.

We got to Laudat, after a hair raising trip via many switchbacks on a narrow road through the jungle. Only it really wasn't a village, but a scattering of huts housing about 200 souls. The bus would not return for four hours, so I there wasn't much else to do but to join the climb. The guide lied. Need I say more? It was not only straight up for 45 minutes, but we had to climb stair like logs, wade through streams, creep along precipices, and slog through the jungle mud, through the mountain mist and rain.

I was not a happy camper. I struggled valiantly, but my knee began to give out, my breathing faltered, and water poured out of my body in streams. We met park rangers, and they kindly cut me a walking stick Not thinking I would be hiking, I had left mine at the hotel. This enabled me to continue, but my tether reached its end when I discovered that to get to the water fall we had to go DOWN to a valley, which meant I would then have to go UP again to get out.

I told them to go ahead, sat down, wrote in my journal, and slowly, slowly, slowly made my way back along a trail that was steeper and more treacherous than I remembered. I was shaking by the time I reached to a point where I could stop and wait for them. And on the 30 min trek to the road, they were all busy planning the NEXT day's hike to Boiling Lake. I made plans to do something else.

The next day, after they left, I spent a leisurely morning finishing a sketch and then flagged down a bus to Scott's Head. It was a lovely drive south, passing interesting villages hanging on the mountainsides on one side of the highway, and perched on stilts hanging over the ocean on the other. Scott's Head is located on the southermost point of the island. The village is one of those bucolic picturesque fishing villages and I will definitely return. I walked down a long rocky spit, sat down with the Atlantic on one side of me, and the Caribbean on the other and painted all afternoon. There is a small beach, and decent snorkelling, although I wasn’t prepared to swim today. I ate lunch at a small waterside cafe, and headed back to the guesthouse for a shower.

The hikers returned and reported that Boiling Lake had stopped boiling. I had missed nothing. Tomorrow, I may accompany Marina up north to Portsmouth.

Travels in Dominica, 2005 - Arrival in Roseau

2009-01-31T15:33:00.000-08:00

Guadaloupe to Dominica
My luggage finally arrived, but too late to catch the ferry that afternoon. So I spent another night in Port au Prince. The ferry is a hovercraft catamaran, nothing like the ferries am accustomed to. Seating was like on an airplane, and there was very little room to sit outside. The speed of the hovercraft made being outside unpleasant, so I sat on an uncomfortable, preformed plastic chair for most of the two hour trip. The boat was full of French tourists and Dominicans returning home.

We disembarked in Roseau, and lined up for customs and immigration - but there were no officials at the desks to meet us, so we couldn't enter the country. They didn't show up for another 45 minutes. Standing in line with friendly locals, I had a lesson in current politics. There was an election coming up, and there was a very noisy rally last night, probably attended by the immigrations officers. The parties were: the 'blues' (socialists), the 'Reds' (communists of course), and the Greens (right wing conservatives). The customs and immigration officials probably slept in or decided to work to rule. No one seemed bothered by their absence.

The officials finally turned up, rather grumpy and sleepy eyed. I entered with no problem, and took a taxi to Ma Bass Guest House for what I knew would be a short ride that I would probably be overcharged for. It was, and I was, but the driver did carry my pack up three flights of stairs for me.

The town is a cluttered, crowded hodge podge of narrow streets better suited to horses and carriages than four wheel drives. They are lined with well preserved 19th century stone houses. Roseau has been lucky in escaping the fires, tornadoes and wars that have devastated most Caribbean cities.

Ma Bass is a friendly, garrulous Creole woman who runs the four story Guest House with an iron hand. The first two floors are a general store and meeting place for her family and church members. The church plays a big part in Ma's life. 'Bas', her husband is a retired cabinet maker who built the Guest House and much of the furniture. He smiles a lot, speaks little, and lets her rule the roost, but he opens up and loves to chat when she is not around. The crowded, small General Store on the ground level sells everything from groceries and brassieres to farming tools. I was welcomed with an ice cold home made sorrel drink and left to cool off on the balcony.

There are only 8 rooms, so you get to know the other guests quickly. My room was small, and very simple, but clean, had a fan, and a bathroom across the hall. When I arrived there were six other guests: a man from Florida, another from Texas, a Danish couple and a dread locked Frenchman with his girlfriend. There is a small living room on each floor with a tv, a communal kitchen and a balcony where you can sit and watch the world go by. The rooms were very reasonable at $25 a night.

A Day in Roseau
I wake every morning to the roosters crowing. It starts with one, and soon he is joined by dozens of others. This morning symphony is punctuated by barking dogs. It is pre festival time, and the boom boxes are going day and night, the same insidious song is played over and over again. I find out that it is one of the songs that is competing in the festival for the top award. Pretty soon, it is implanted in my brain, and I am humming it all day, and moving to its beat.

I spent the first two days wandering the streets and getting my bearings, finally settling on a door step of a doctor’s office to paint a complex shabby old house. As I sat there, an older woman stopped to see what I was doing, and told me the house was over a hundred years old. The house is still lived in, but was patched and pasted together with a gaudy mixture of styles and materials - linoleum, corrugated iron, boulders, and shingles.

This set a pattern for my days in Roseau - wandering the streets, stopping to paint and interesting building, shopping in the market or in one of the two ‘super markets’. I enjoy wandering the streets of this town. It is lively and friendly. I pass the same shops and vendors and sometimes get a smile of recognition since they recognize I am NOT from a visiting ship. By virtue of having been in Roseau for over a week, I ‘belong here’ and I am longer hassled by the touts.

The town has hair dressing salons and barbershops on every block. The hairdressers hang over the railings of the balconies and chat with each other. When a customer appears, she is often served by the hairdresser and five or six ‘assistants’. This is necessary in order to complete the complex braided hair creations in a working day. The barbers congregate with friends beside vibrating boom boxes. Music from loudspeakers, placed in front of nearly all the shops starts at about 10:30 and goes non stop for twelve hours. Occasionally a truck with a bullhorn passes by blaring political speeches. There will be an election in a week or two, and all the parties are out campaigning.

Travels in Dominica, 2005 - Guadeloupe

2009-01-31T15:31:00.000-08:00

Point a Pitre
There is something about waking up stark naked in a strange country, with a small day pack as your only luggage, that lends a certain insecurity to the day. I arrived in Port a Pitre Saturday night after 24 hours of travel encompassing four time zones and four plane changes sans luggage et sans Francais. As we waited for our luggage to appear, we were entertained by a great four piece jazz bad welcoming us to the new air conditioned airport. The music was interrupted several times by a persistent announcements. It took several repeats before I realized that hidden in the incomprehensible (to me) French was my name. A kindly Quebecoise translated, and directed me to the dreaded baggage claim desk where I was told both my bags hadn't made the flight. They would arrive, I was told, maybe by noon on Sunday.

Before leaving, I had searched for a cheap hotel for my overnight stay, but could only come up with one hotel downtown, close to the ferry dock. The taxi took me to the John Perse hotel and it turned out to be rather tacky, and vastly overpriced. There was a balcony and a fan, but far too expensive. Point a Pitre is an overnight stop for many travellers - some travelling on to Domincia, and some boarding a cruise ship, so travellers are a 'captive market'. They did do an excellent French breakfast, with my favorite croissants. I spent a hot and muggy night (naked) and then had to dress the next day in my 'winter clothes' that I had already worn for over 24 hours.

I spent the morning wandering the hot and humid streets. It's a shabby little port town, covered in graffiti, but tucked here and there were a few interesting older buildings trimmed with cut metal gingerbread trim. Returning to the hotel for lunch I chatted with two French doctors who were working at the local hospital. I was so engrossed, I forgot to ask about my luggage, which had arrived. As a result, I missed the two o'clock ferry. So I changed, and continued to investigate the town. There wasn't much to see.

That evening, I heard what sounded like firecrackers outside the hotel. This was accompanied by a loud, pulsing drum beat. Looking over the balcony, I saw a gyrating, wild looking parade of young people wearing bizarre sugar cane leaf capes, and cracking long whips which sounded like firecrackers. Behind them was a troupe of dancers, covered in costumes made fron banana leaves that flapped as they danced with cow horn head dresses on their heads. They were followed by a band. I grabbed my camera and dashed downstairs and joined them dancing to the wild music in the streets. Apparently these parades happen every Sunday before Carnival. In the end, I was glad I missed my boat.

From the beginning.....

2008-12-10T17:11:00.001-08:00

Air Letter From England, 1961

I get stuck when I write down the places. I can't remember where I went in what years. I have to go to my recent photo albums and read the dates on my photos. Then I remembered it's not just the photos. There are the letter and postcards I wrote when I first left home to travel back in 1961. Those were the days when airmail was an expensive way to communicate - we wrote tight little letters on pale blue, tissue thin, pre-stamped 'aerograms' Each country had their own design, and I delighted in putting as much as I could on its foldup, one sheet page. Long distance phone calls cost a fortune and mothers went mad worrying about their 21 year old daughters wandering aimlessly through Europe on their own, clutching the latest travel guide 'Europe on $5 a Day' to their breasts. And in those post war days it was possible to exist... to eat and sleep and tour around for even less than that.

My solution to 'mother angst' was simple: I would send her a postcard every day. She would recieve them several weeks later, but they would be coming more or less consistently, thus allaying her worst fears. Unfortunately, had I been kidnapped by white slavers, this would hardly be current, but it kept her off my back. My mother, a classic packrat, saved every postcard, and every letter. I found them when I was visiting Winnipeg and rummaging through some old boxes. I was delighted to recall the adventures of the novice traveller.
The challenge is, is to remember where and when, But these early letters express the beginning of what became my dromomania and islomania.

Blogging...

2008-12-09T07:27:00.000-08:00

'Blog'
What a weird bobbly word that is! Until a few days ago, I had heard the word, and knew what it meant, and had even ventured into viewing a few. But it wasn't until I was incapacitated and housebound that I discovered how addictive and self indulgent this can be! I had been looking for a way to record my travels that included some of the sketches, and this week I had the enforced time and leisure to figure it out. It wasn't easy. I rate just above 'luddite' when it comes to doing anything more than Googling, checking mail and using my Publisher programme. It wasn't until five years after I had bought it that I was able to properly use that programme, and now it is the foundation of my card producing, poster producing, and sign producing life!

So I decided to try and list places and years... not so easy as senility sets in:
Tahiti, 2008

Churchill, Man. 2007

Ghana, Burkina Faso, Mali, Senegal, 2007

Dominica, St. Lucia, Barbadoes, St. Vincent and the Grenadines, 2005

El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, 2003

Curacao, Panama, Cocos Islands/C.R., Galapagos/Ecuador, Easter Island/Chile, Bolivia, Peru, 2001

Colombia, 2001

Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, 1999

Mongolia, 1998
China kite festivals, 1997

Australia, kite festivals 1997

China kite festival, 1996

Kite Festivals, Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Texas, B.C., Alberta, Sask., Manitoba 1990-2000

New Zealand, 1984/85

Cozumel, Mexico 1983

West Coast of U.S. to Baja, Mexico 1982

Antigua and Barbuda, Guadaloupe, 1981

New Zealand 1979/80

Hong Kong, Thailand, Nepal, India, Kashmir, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, Turkey, Greece, Egypt, England 1977

Tours, France - French Immersion 1975

Paris, France - Art History 1974

England, Holland, Germany, Poland, Russia, Czechoslovakia, Belgium, France, Spain, Portugal 1977

Mexico 1965

England, Denmark, Holland, France, Luxembourg, East & West Germany, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Israel, Yugoslavia, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland 1961/62

WHEW!

I am exhausted!

The challenge is, is to remember where and when, But these early letters express the beginning of what became my dromophobia, an islomania.

Rangiroa and the Journeys End

2008-12-08T19:55:00.000-08:00

November 12, 2008
A full day of sailing on the open Pacific - endless ocean, endless sky. We are a dot in the middle of the Pacific, slowly moving to another archipelago... the Tuamotos. Rangiroa is the largest atoll in the world. A magnificent, jewel like lagoon, circled by a ring of land with the still clear waters of the atoll on the inside, the very active Pacific on the outside. We entered though a narrow channel, anchored in the middle, and we boarded the barge to go ashore. It was a small, but adequate beach, and all the lucky ones quickly donned their diving or snorkelling gear and headed into the water. Since I could not swim, I was looking forward to the promised trip in a 'glass bottomed boat'. However a large nasty zillion person cruise ship had 'stolen' our previously booked excursion!

A visit to a pearl farm had been arranged, and the drive took us along a road that often had the lagoon on one side and the ocean on the other. The pearl farm was interesting, and of course there was a shop where we could purchase indvidual pearls or finished jewellery. I finally got the single pearl stud that I was looking for, and we returned to the beach where we had a picnic lunch.

We were on the last leg of the journey, back to Papeete. That night at dinner there was a special dance performance by members of the crew in the dining room as we sadly said goodby to many newfound friends.

We arrived back in Papeete around breakfast time. Goodbyes were said, luggage scooped up, taxis hailed, and Sophie, Pierette and I headed back to the Ahitea Lodge. Our original plan was to stay there overnight, and head to Moorea the next day. Pierette was leaving at 11 that night, and she came to leave her luggage with us, and to accompany me to the hospital to have my leg checked by a surgeon.

We didn't have to wait long at the hospital. The surgeon came, looked, and told me I had to head home for surgery and a skin graft. We left the hospital, went straight to the Air Tahiti office, booked the flight, and returned to the Ahitea where we tried to use the phone to call my insurance company.

And the rest can be read, back at the beginning this blog.

Farewell to the Marquesas

2008-12-08T17:25:00.000-08:00

November 12, 2008

Sadly we had to leave these magic islands. I stood on the deck and watched them disappear as I sketched as their craggy peaks fading into the mists. People came up to the top deck, wearing their flowered 'crowns' or leis, leaned over the edge and tossed them into the wake.

While I would have loved to bring my lovely bright green leaf 'crown' home, I knew it would never get past the eagle eyes of customs at LAX, so I joined them, and tossed it overboard, with the wish of a speedy return.

Nuka Hiva, again...

2008-12-08T10:50:00.000-08:00

November 11/2008

We return to Nuka Hiva for a brief stay, as the Aranui picked up the now empty containers, and goods to be sold back in Papeete. The bus tookus to town, and dropped us off by the craft shops. Today is a holiday, we call it Rememberance Day in Canada, and everything but the craft stalls were closed down. Many stayed on board, and others chose to walk to town, so I was able to go into the markets pretty much on my own. But just as I was making up my mind to buy something, the hordes arrived. In the end, I preferred to sit outside and sketch the old jail.

I was quickly surrounded by kids, and after 'tattooing' them all with Canadian flag tattoos that I always carry with me, I was finally left in peace. Except for a charming young man named Gustav, who was 7 years old, and proudly counted to ten for me in English. He and his small cousin were delightful, and we engaged in rudimentary 'two year old' (me) French conversation. This was our last stop in the Marquesas. I wish I had more time to spend on this island, as there were many places we passed in the bus that warranted visiting.

We returned to the ship, and set sail back towards Tahiti. We sailed all afternoon, and all the next day. It is always great to be able to lie in the sun, read trashy novels and dip occassionally in the pool.... except of course I had to stay dry (sigh).

It was on the evening visit to the doctor that I found out that things were not going well with my leg, and that I would have to see a surgeon in Papeete. Sophie and I had made contingency plans for the remaining two weeks that took into account that I might not be able to swim, but I was having serious concerns about my ability to continue.

Ua Huka

2008-12-06T20:27:00.000-08:00

It was pouring rain as we entered 'Invisible Bay'. Aptly named, the bay is accessed through a narrow space between towering cliffs that the Aranui3 could not sail through. The ship anchored outside the entrance to the bay. We got up early to watch an amazing maenuevre as the whaleboat sailed first to the left and then to the right, trailing massive cables attached to ship that they attached to permanent 'stakes' embedded the rock walls in order to stabilize the ship so it could be unloaded.

It was a difficult, but thankfully dry landing. Islanders were waiting with leis and/or beautiful seed necklaces for everyone. It had become a given that there were always flowers to tuck behind our ears at every landing, but the necklaces were something new.

The fleet of 4x4's were waiting and took us up to a small museum (and shop of course). Many of the drivers were women, as were the musicians. This island has a history of a matriarchical society, and the recently retired mayor of over twenty years was a woman. According to the French lecturer, while this is one of the most remote islands, it has been the best managed.

Again, according to him, the economy of this island has been badly battered by international exploitation. Copra had been the main export, until the marketers and health food types 'discovered' the magic of the 'Noni' fruit. Touted to be the end all cure of everything, a large Amercian investor encouraged growing and farming of this fruit for production and sale via a pyramid like sales campaign in the U.S. The island had a growth in its economy that allowed it to build better roads and facilities, but it proved to be too expensive to raise the product in French Polynesia. So the seed, and business was moved to South East Asia, leaving the islanders with little more than the poorly paying copra to sustain their economy. The visits of the Aranui, with its approximate 200 tourists contributes a lot to maintaining the economics of the island. In addition, these islands are famous for their large, beautiful wood carvings that they regularily ship back to Papeete to sell.

The island is also known for its freely roaming wild horses and goats. Unfortunately, free roaming grazers have seriously depleted the undergrowth, and the islanders are now actively engaged in reforestation. There was an opportunity for passengers to continue by horseback, and many did, meeting up with us at the next stop which was an arboretum. It had been raining, and there were sporadic showers. The paths were slippery and muddy, so I chose to stay behind and sketch some of the tikis that resided at the entrance to the gardens - one with and one without a penis. Church people don't like penises, and in the past had the habit of chopping them off!

This is definitely my favorite island. It seems different from the others - perhaps due to the matriarchy! It is very bare in parts, but the reforestation has been successfull, and there seems to be a balance of lush greenery with the more arid parts.

Everyone arrives back at the entrance with muddy feet, and slightly damp. We head off again through some amazing hair pin curves, and many stunning viewpoints to the town of Hane for another excellent buffet lunch. After lunch, we visit several craft stores. The vehicles disgorge another feeding frenzy of shoppers into the small buildings and I am again totally overwhelmed. Despite seeing several small items that I might want to buy, the clutching and grabbing and constant babble rendered me powerless to spend money. I gave up, and waited outside.

We then headed to beach, where we would be returning to the ship by whale boat. It was definitely a wet loading, and despite wrapping my leg up, the bandages got wet. It was one of those boardings where the giant polynesian sailors grabbed you and tossed you on board... rather scary!

I had the dressing changed, and then dressed up in my new pareau, lovely crown of leaves that I had recieved earlier in the day, my temporary tattoo, and headed to the Polynesian evening.
This is the main 'gala' of the voyage, held out on the deck around the pool. Everyone is encouraged to 'dress Polynesian' and since by this time we all seem to own at least one pareau or, for the men, a wildly flowered shirt, it isn't difficult. It is an evening of good food, drinks, lots of entertainment by the staff, but after a long day, I didn't stay til the end, and headed to bed early.

Tahuata

2008-12-06T19:42:00.000-08:00

Nov.10, Sunday: Tahuata
Dry, easy landing, and a short walk to the small town. The island has a small population of about 650, and no air strip or regular connection to the nearest main centre in Hiva Oa. Small private boats do the trips daily, and it is sometimes possible to get a ride over in them. It is the smallest of the Marquesan islands. It was the island of first contact between the Polynesians and the Europeans, back in 1595 (Mendana)

Since it is Sunday, everyone is heading for the Catholic church, mainly for the singing. The town is a pleasant place, with a small stream running through it. I pass a small, simple wooden church on the way to the Catholic church, but when we get there, I am totally overimpressed with its size and pomposity! The Vatican provided the money, and it is built of concrete, covered in rock, built to last a zillion years. It overlooks and almost overpowers the small village.

People slowly arrived for services, the women in white muu muus, flowers in their hair. In the background I could hear the children singing in Sunday School. Most of the people from the ship arrived, and entered the church. Some were turned away for being dressed inappropriately, despite being reminded to dress respectfully. All I can think about is the small, modest little Protestant chapel down the road. So I headed back down the road to sketch it.

I had barely started when it started to rain. A group of women sitting nearby motioned me to join them out of the rain, and I limped over. It turns out they are the craft vendors, and they invited me into the traditionally built building where they had tables of their wares set up. For a change I was the only customer! I was able to look at the carvings at leisure and without 'the hordes'. I quickly spotted what I wanted: a pair of carved bone earrings, with a tiki, combined with the traditional fish hook design.

The rain stopped, so I returned to finish the picture. As I worked I was joined by parishoners leaving the Protestant Church, including the Minister. They laughed and pointed to the people sitting in front of the church, included in the drawing. Francoise, the French lecturer came by with his wife and they talked to the minister, translating for me. The small church is old, and riddled with termites, and it will soon be torn down for a new one. The minister is happy I am painting it, and I will send him a copy of the picture.

When services end at the Catholic church, we return to the ship. They have off loaded the cargo for this village, so we sailed to Hapatoni where we had lunch. As we walked up to the place where we will be eating, there was a long line of tables with large and small wood and bone carvings. Everything was so tempting, but either too large, or too expensive. Sophie succumbed and found a pair of bone earrings. Each table was being swarmed, and I felt very happy that I made my purchase for the day.

There were all kinds of small finger foods and goodies waiting for us, and another wonderful lunch, this time provided from the ship. The men put on the best performance I had seen so far, but most people were charmed by a five year old who held centre stage whenever it was empty.

Some people headed off for a hike, but Sophie and I returned to the ship. I found a lovely private, quiet spot away from everyone up on the stardeck. I stayed up there, and watched an amazing sunset before heading to the obligatory 'information meeting' with 'The Hun'.

The Hun was a tall grinning German young man, whose English really wasn't up to presenting the next day's programme. Every third word was 'yah', used like those maddening people who fill their sentences with 'like' or 'fuck'. His presentations were done with a huge grin and lots of hand waving. He was well meaning, but rather ineffectual and sometimes maddening.

Hiva Oa

2008-12-05T11:43:00.000-08:00

Nov. 8/08
We returned to Hiva Oa. Places are beginning to blur together, but I think we landed at a different place. We boarded the four wheel drives and headed up to an archeological site where there are some significant tiki ruins. They stood on pae paes almost covered by the jungle's growth. They appeared be sprung full grown from the earth, not made by man. I sat and started to paint them, when the French guide and group surrounded me. The English lecture was being given further away, so I decided to stay in the midst of the French and was able to paint in relative peace... since I didn't understand a word he said.

A large, massive ovoid Tiki was of the Butterfly Princess. She was much beloved of her sculptor husband and when she died in childbirth, he sculpted this massive piece to commemorate her.

We visited another, lesser site where the last ruler was buried, and while some walked, I of course went to the beach by car, where nearly everyone (except me) went swimming. I wished I had my kite in my pack, because there was a nice spot to fly it, but instead I retreated to the sketchbook again.

Sitting quietly by myself, one of the Germans who had walked down came by, stopped and gave me a nice neck/back massage. I really missed the opportunities to do some walking, past the homes and through the countryside, but it would not have been wise. I was 'willing' my leg to heal as fast as possible. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

Spent the afternoon chatting with new friends, finishing sketches, and fending off nasty European types who looked over my shoulder at the open sketchbook as I worked, and photographed my pictures!!!

Fata Hiva

2008-12-05T11:02:00.000-08:00

Nov. 7/08
It looked like a pretty rough landing, and since I do enjoy my time alone on board, I decided not to go ashore this morning to the village of Omoa. This is one of the most remote and smallest islands, and there is no air strip. It is only visited by the Aranui3, yachties, and a small catamaran that runs twice a week from Hiva Oa. This island recently revived the art of making tapa cloth, from mulberry, banyan or breadfruit bark. There are only about 650 inhabitants. Passengers had the opportunity to take a 16k hike from the first village to the second village or return to the ship and sail there to pick up the hikers. Sophie was smart and returned to the ship.

While they were in the village, I painted the towering cliffs, and watched the sailors transferring huge shipments onto barges that were then ferried to shore. These men are amazingly skilled, many covered from head to foot with beautiful blue Marquesan tattoos.It was a short stop, and on their return we sailed to the next town of Hanavave, located on the Bay of Virgins. Originally this was called the Bay of Vierges, (which means Bay of Penises). This was changed by the church people to the more 'presentable' present name.
It was an easy landing, and the crafts people were waiting. I wandered a bit away from the hordes, and found a woman with a small table of interesting carvings hidden behind a building. I found a lovely, carved hair pick with a black pearl on it for Haley, and was tempted by a hand painted pareau, but managed to refrain. Another dance perfomance, this time by the children, who were dressed to the nines with floweres, leaf/grass skirts and shells....

And then hustle, hustle back to the ship for dinner. That night a real treat. We had a Mexican/Polyesian buffet!! We got to make our own fajitas! Beer would have been better than wine. Poor me... no wine, because I am on antibiotics three times a day... I have cheated a bit, if only to counteract the taste of the nasty French medicines! The antibiotics were in a powder form, and had to be mixed with water, and they were awful!

Fakarava and Ua Poa and Feeding Frenzies....

2008-12-04T13:03:00.000-08:00

Nov. 3/08
We arrived at Fakarava, the first island, at 8 am. Fakarava is the second largest island in the Tuamotu archipelago. We were told it would be a dry landing, which meant I needn't worry about wrapping up my bandaged leg. But I wrapped it up anyway. I became quite adept at various wrapping styles: the saranwrap wrap: the white garbage bag wrap: and my personal favorite, a bathing cap with a hole cut in the top for my foot, tied up with some long balloons that I had in my backpack.

Most of the islands do not have docksides adequate for the freighter to land beside, so we go ashore in the 'barge' which looks like a ww.2 PT troop landing thing. There are rows of wooden seats, and we go down a ladder/stair outside the ship to get into it, as it bobs alongside. When we get to shore, the front drops down and aided by the sailors, we leap out... sometimes dry, sometimes wet. And sometimes if we are to disembark beside a dock, there are steps inside so we clamber up onto the dock from the barge. There are always a pair of giant tatoo-ed Polynesian sailors on either side to help you up, or in some cases haul you up, and in extreme cases, lift you and toss you up!!!

This day, we landed at a small beach clearing, where there were about half a dozen vendors selling shell jewellery and black pearls. Since this island has a lagoon, many people, including Sophie, head off for some snorkelling. As it is Sunday, Pierette and I head slowly up the road to the Catholic church - her for the service, me for the singing. We found the small, stone church, but as it was very hot inside, I chose to sit on the stone wall surrounding the church, and listened to the beautiful singing, while painting in my sketchbook.

Women and children slowly approached, dressed in Sunday best wearing flowered or beautiful white 'muu-muus', their heads crowned with circlets of fresh flowers. Nearly everyone had flowers in their hair. Two mothers with small babes sat beside me on the wall, and I sketched them both. I wandered away from the services, down to the beach where others from the ship were swimming. More painting as I enviously watched the swimmers, I and ended up back where the vendors were. There was a small band playing, so I sketched some more, before boarding the barge and heading back on board for lunch.

We then sailed on towards the Marquesas. People lay out soaking up the sun, swam in the small pool, spent time in the bar, took books out of the library, shopped in the store... just a generally laid back day. A word about the meals, which were excellent...albeit a bit too much fish of every kind and description. All French style, and meals were accompanied by wine.

Nov. 4/08
We woke up the next morning to mist over the peaks of Ua Poa. Unlike the other archipelagos of French Polynesia, the Marquesas are mountainous, probably more recently emerged from the ocean bottom. The craggy, tower like 'piton' peaks are quite distinctive. It is the only island with towering volcanic plugs like those seen in Moorea and Bora Bora. These treeless, misty phallic peaks loomed into sight as we were sitting down for breakfast, and I quickly caught them in my sketchbook.

It was a hellishly hot day, but a dry landing, as the ship was able to tie up at the recently (1988) built port. The air was redolant with the smell of limes, which we were either loading or unloading, because of course the main point of our stops was commercial. We heard there was an internet (one) at the post office. I tried it, managed to post something to the LonelyPlanet, but none of my emails went through. We then plodded through the heat to yet another church. My walking wasn't quite up to snuff, so it was pretty tedious.

Despite the heat, a number of people chose to go on a 40minute hike to a cross (viewpoint) on top of a bump of a small 'mountain'. This led to a number of emergency calls to the poor doctor, and a trip to the local hospital for an Elderhostel man, who tripped, bashed his head and broke a finger. Another woman collapsed from the heat. Another group were given wrong directions, and ended up trudging though the heat fruitlessly. I am so glad I am 'crippled' and am not even tempted to do these hikes in this heat!

The Catholic church/religion is pretty big out here. The churches are full of wonderfully carved altars and statues done by local artists. It was cool inside, so I hauled out the sketchbook again. We met up with the rest of the travellers at a the Tenai Pae Pae - a flat, large stone platform that had housed previous religious sites, where there was a dance performance. Lots of fluid moves by the women, and lots of grunts and lunges from the men.

We were then driven to a huge outdoor buffet lunch at Tat Rosalie's restaurant. The thing I hated most about the whole trip was this 'mass eating' with 150 of my 'closest, most intimate friends', whether it was in the ship's dining room, or at one of the island feasts. I like a quiet conversation at meals - and sometimes I don't like to talk at all. Sometimes I like to sit and read when I eat. This constant mass eating ritual drove me nuts. With that many yammering people you can't hear yourself think or even converse with the people at your own table without shouting. I especially hated it when we had buffets. The Germans, in particular, would descend on the tables with their cameras for food porn photo ops.... snapping picutres like mad of the loaded platters of food!!

The food at these outdoor buffets was pretty good and interesting... from pit roasted pig, to poisson cru, to something made with 'poi' - sort of a sweet gelatinous stuff. But 'dining' it wasn't. These mass feedings might be fine for people accustomed to group travel... but not me! YUCK. I would have killed to just have dinner with a few of my new friends without being surrounded by a multilingual cacophany.

We returned to the ship, and sailed to another village where the freighter was unloading frieght. There was an opportunity to go ashore, but I chose to stay on board, as it was wet landing and it looked a bit rough. It was really nice having the boat almost to myself. From reports it was a pleasant small village, where they sold something that was unique to the island, called 'flower stones', stones with crystals that looked like flowers, and hats woven from leaves. Another hike for those who were still standing to a coprah platrform, another catholic church. Again,I enjoyed being by myself, and watching the freight being unloaded .

There were lots of activities on board, none of which I participated in. You could learn how to dance and singTahitian style, have a lesson on how to tie your pareau, lectures on history and culture and movies. In the evening there was music in the lounge and bar and entertainment by the staff I had seen the first day. To be honest, by 9 oclock, when dinner was over, I was just as happy to settle with down in the privacy of our cabin with a book.

Sophie and I would often host our friends in the cabin for a pre dinner drink and nibbles.... a quiet time for friendly conversation before facing the noisy dining room.

Boarding the Aranui3

2008-12-04T10:55:00.000-08:00

Nov. 1/08
After the trauma of the first day in Papeete, day two was pretty uneventful. I stayed at the pension, ogled the pool, and just took it easy. Sophie went to town, poked around picked up pharmaceuticals for me and instead of going down to the waterfront for dinner at one of the famous restaurant vans and eating by the harbour, we had mediocre deli and ate beside the pool.
Next morning right after breakfast the cab came, and we headed for the Aranui3. The sparkling white freighter was swarming with giant Polynesian tattooed stevedores loading everything from yellow Caterpillar tractors to huge refrigerator containers. They were loading trucks, cars, equipment, food and of course, passengers. Cabs full of passengers slowly trickled up to the ship. People had been arriving since early that morning from France, Germany and LA. I hauled on my rather heavy day pack, and started up the angled, steep gangplank, lost my balance... and promptly tripped!!! I managed to save the injured leg from further injury but incurred some massive bruises on my arm and forehead. Sophie threatened me with dire consequences if I fell one more time. I bravely charged up and into the ship, which much to my relief, had an elevator.

Our stateroom was on the lowest deck, but this was a good thing, as there is less swinging and swaying down there. It was small, but well designed, with twin beds, lots of storage, a desk, and bathroom/shower. We unpacked and went exploring. We checked out the small but lovely swimming pool - which i couldn't use - and the small well stocked shop where you could buy everything from Tahitian designed pareaus and other clothes to Chocolate Tim Tam biscuits from Australia! There was a good selection of books about Tahiti in three languages.

I heard music from the lounge beside the shop, so I peered into the lounge, and there was a group of Polynesians with drums performing and singing. They were terrific, and they turned out to be various members of the crew - purser, wait persons, stevedores, sailors - They all seemed to have dual roles. I did a quick sketch, until I heard we were about to leave port. I rushed (sort of) an upper deck and did a sketch of the harbour in Papeete. There was free welcoming punch, so I had a drink as we left the harbour, headed out to the Marquessas.

The first day at sea was spent familiarizing ourselves with our new environment and checking out what would become '150 of our closest and dearest friends'. It quickly became apparent that English speakers were in the minority- I figure there were about 25. There was an Elderhostel group of ten Americans, who were closely shepherded by their leader, and got 'enriched' lectures and 'special' extra cultural excursions . No great loss as far as i was concerned, since I skipped most of the lectures anyway. I had done extensive reading beforehand, and was happy for the 'alone time' when the others were being talked at.

There was a smattering of Canadians, a couple of independent Americans, a few rich Brits who were all in first class, and a couple of aussies. When it came to our daily program lecture, the Danish three and lone Italian hung out with the English speakers. The few Swiss waffled between the French and German lectures.

However there was one thing that 95% of us had in common! we were all Oldies! This was a geriatric special!! I doubt if there were even a dozen passengers under thirty, and the majority were well over fifty. It soon also became apparent that there was something else we all had in common. This was probably the most well travelled group of people I have ever met. Virtually everyone we met and talked to had travelled extensively. The Aranui trip is not a 'common' type of cruise experience, and it seemed to attract an adventurous, interesting lot of people.

This did not suit the couple from Quebec city. I think they were expecting a more 'cruise' type experience, and this was very casual low key freighter travel. There was a robust and hearty Bavarian Group, sponsored by some Bavarian radio station. Then there was a French Group, that included a coven of skinny, giggling French widows, who seemed to travel together in a pack. One of their members also had injured her leg, so they seemed to have a special affinity for me, often trapping me in the elevator smiling and twittering at me in French, no matter how many times I told them (in my only French sentence) that I did not speak or understand French.

Some of the larger groups had large reserved tables and they always ate together. Other groups of friends attempted to 'reserve' certain tables for every meal. It became our goal in life to confound them by constantly changing tables.... which did bother one rather unpleasant French group of friends who could bepretty obnoxious and rude.

Initially, Sophie and I sat at a table for four, where we were joined by two independent women travellers- not together, but both from Montreal - Pierette and Jacquie. On the second day we decided to invade a table for eight, and picked up Joyce and Connie, from Washington and Oregon. I guess you could say this was our 'posse'. It turned out we had all booked through Eldertreks! I guess like minded people attract each other. We would have different people joining our table for eight every night, and that was great. We did attract the English speakers, but because of the Quebecoise, we met many bilingual couples as well. These independent travellers were the most interesting and friendly people on board.

One of the 'stars' at every meal was 'the Italian woman'. She was an incredibly tanned, attractive woman of indeterminate age who wore a different stunning outfit of floating resort wear and matching jewellery to every meal. She looked Cote D'Azur, but was travelling in 'steerage' in the dorms. Her lipsticked red, large white toothed smile could knock you dead! She caused some consternation amongst some North Americans because of her semi nude sun bathing (no top) She would come (late) to the English meetings and could be counted on to be a bit controversial. It turns out she was a grandmother, and a travel writer -at least that is what she said. She took miles of videos, smoked non stop, hung out with the crew and consistently looked amazing.

The other superstar of every meal was Joel, the maitre d'. We didn't realize he was more than a server till later in the voyage. We did know he worked twice as hard at serving than anyone else, and dressed better and prettier and much flashier than most of the women servers. The women servers were gorgeous. Tall, with long black hair, wearing different pareo outfits at every meal. There wore different fresh flowers in their hair every day, and incredible shell jewellery. But Joel was even more spectacular, with his matching floral shirts and knee length pareaus, necklaces and flowers and flower wreaths on in his head. He had a different outfit, every night for two weeks.

I quickly made friends with the doctor, since I was seeing him every other day. He was great looking, about forty ish, silver haired, retired French army doctor. His English wasn't great, so when I needed complex information, Pierette would accompany me and do the translation. He was travelling with an amazing black African woman who now lives in Paris where she has a small specialty jewellery shop. She is from Ghana, near Burkina Faso, and specializes in Tuareg jewellery. The doctor met her when he was working there. The doctor just travels and does fill in work all over the world, and travels several times a year on the Aranui 3. He had his fair share of injuries to take care of. Me. the French woman, the man with coral infections, the Elderhostel guy who broke a finger, the poor German lady with horrible bronchitis, and various and sundry other ailments.

After a full day at sea, we reached our first island - Faka Rava, a part of the Tuamoto archipelago. Faka Rava is the second largest atoll in the Tuamotus. About five hundred people live here. It has a small recently built air strip, and a few black pearl farms. There is a lagoon for snorkelling and diving.

Lounging in LAX

2008-12-04T10:18:00.000-08:00

Oct. 30/08
It's hot and humid. I am pretty bored, sitting in Starbucks. Starbucks is the only restaurant/coffee place on this level of this huge, domestic arrivals building, and I am waiting for Sophie. I have a three or four hour wait, so I am people watching.

Leaning over, talking intently to each other is a flipflop wearing, yuppy surfer dude and his lady. Dressed in expensive resort casual, they look like they spend a lot time with a plastic surgeon and on the tanning bed.

Then there is the mid Western looking couple in their matching plaid shirts, and matching on board wheelie luggage. They look like they are about to join a cruise or tour group to the Grand Canyon.

People walk around with phones attached to their ears that look like large cellphone parasitic insects boring into their heads.

A group of late teens have commandeered two tables, and are almost invisible behind a mountain of luggage, backpacks and surfboards, playing with their phones, listening to their ipods, using their small computers.

Occasionally I am approached by a sprightly retiree with a fancy hat and blazer, provided by LA tourism or airport authority or something, asking if I need help.

We all sit for hours waiting, waiting, waiting.

Sophie's flight finally arrives and we grab a couple of trolleys and walk to the next terminal. By this time we were starving, and we figured LAX would be best for Mexican food, and we were right. We had to wait until 8 pm to check in.

As the line snaked up to the checkout counter, I could not help but notice a very distinctive white haird woman, dressed in bright, colourful prints, pushing a trolley overloaded with luggage, boxes, and a huge collapsed down dog carrier. I don't know why.... but I asked: 'Are you Barb?' And she said: 'Yes'

I had never met Barb, but I 'knew' her from the online Tahiti Forum. She spends a lot of time in Moorea, and is very helpful for people planning trips. I remembered her story about a dog she had befriended, and it all clicked together. The dog cage was so that she could take the dog back to Arizona with her this time. We got her phone number, and plan to contact her when we get to Moorea.

The flight was uneventful, the seats unusually uncomfortable. A car was waiting for us on arrival to take us to the Ahitea Lodge, with turned out to be in a quiet residential area not far from the centre. Our room wasn't ready, so I sketched and swam, Sophie went to town. When she returned, I headed to town to pick up lunch and had 'The Accident'.

Tahiti.... From the beginning.

2008-12-04T09:37:00.000-08:00

October 27/08

It seems like the lead up to this trip was nothing but a foretelling of the disaster yet to come. For a week or so, prior to leaving, my bursitis had been acting up so I was happy I had decided to leave the backpack behind. However I was still having problems dealing with the new luggage. I had been carrying that backpack, and the same accessories for over ten years. Change isn't easy to someone who is in a constant search for the 'perfect' piece of luggage.

Two days before leaving, I set out with Zoe the Wonder Dog (ZTWD) for Saltspring Island, where she was to stay for the month I was gone. The Venerable VW Van had been taunting me with some strange burps and hiccups, but I ignored them.

When it was time to board the ferry, the van just wouldn't start. DEAD. Not even turning over. All the cars passed me, boarded. Realizing I was on a slope, I let it roll, and got it to turn over. But I feared that once I was on the ferry, it wouldn't start again, so I decided to head home, borrow a car to take the dog over. I got within blocks of home, when I had to stop at a red light. It died again. Called the Automobile club, got towed home, met friends on the way who loaned me a car to get ZTWD to the island, rushed like hell there and back, and left the van in the garage until I got back.

October 29/08
The next day, I made it out of Victoria without too much trouble. However it turns out the new roller luggage that I thought was carry on size, isn't, so I will have to trust it will arrive at LAX. It was an uneventful flight, the usual WestJet serving of mini bag of pretzels and a glass of tomato juice for 'dinner'. Tomato juice is my saviour on these foodless flights. On arrival, I called the hotel for the 'courtesy pickup', which turned out to be a taxi.

The motel (not hotel) is over ten minutes, and half of Calgary away from the airport, and has seen better days. They call it the Airport Best Western, but it is nowhere near the airport, nowhere near 'Best', but I guess it can be called 'Western' because it is in Calgary. The staff is all 'Eastern', I believe Thai. The restaurant is Thai, but all I really wanted was a normal meat and potatoes dinner. We were out in the middle of nowhere, so without a car, that really wasn't possible. So I ended up having a drippy hamburger, while struggling with an over fancy, totally non absorbent, synthetic, tacky Thai brocade napkin.

The desk clerks, were friendly and nice. The room was tiny and its decor reminded me of hotels I have stayed in in China and SEA. It is a totally non smoking hotel, but the room was overheated and stuffy. Thank god the it was old enough that the windows opened. Of course the bed was covered with the ubiquitous quilted, ugly, synthetic horror of a bed spread, full of god knows what kind of dirty germs and what not, and probably has not been cleaned in years. It is amazing what kind of accommodation we will put up with when we are travelling, but will not tolerate at home!! For my Best Western buck, I wanted a pristine, cold, sterile, antiseptic NA hotel experience!!!

The spread was immediately dumped on the floor, leaving clean, nice white sheets and a paper thin blanket. Thank god for the body sized pashmina shawl that I always travel with. I couldn't be bothered calling for another blanket - and so to bed...

I am struggling with my choices of luggage. At this point think that I have made all sorts of mistakes. This is the first time in many years that I have have abandoned the back pack and its 'partner' day pack, and small shoulder bag. Everything is 'new' and different and of course i am having trouble adjusting and finding things.

Breakfast was included, in one of those truly awful 'buffet' rooms. A long counter full of nasty, just about stale white sugar coated 'stuff''. There was even a 'do it yourself' waffle thinggy. The room was full of businessmen talking to themselves on their cellphones/blackberries/iphones.

I had a bad English muffin and rotten coffee.

Cab arrived to take me to the airport, wearing one of those phones on his ears, and talked non stop in Punjabi all the way.

Onward to LAX... pray for my luggage

Tripping in Tahiti

2008-12-03T20:37:00.000-08:00

THE ACCIDENT:

I am a clumsy person. I know I am a clumsy person. my knees bear witness to over 60 years of trips, falls and scrapes. But this time is wasn’t my fault!!!

Sophie and I arrived in Papeete at about 6 am, but our room wasn’t ready. So we sat out on the patio, by the small pool, in the lovely garden. Sophie decided to go to town. I stayed behind to sketch and have a swim. When she returned, I went to town to pick up some information, go to the market and get some lunch for us. It was very very hot and humid, and as I left the market, I contemplated taking a taxi back to the pension. As I stepped up to a curb, both my legs were seized with cramps, and I crashed to the ground.

I have no idea what exactly happened but I had a huge tear on my right shin. I sat there in shock, as people gathered, a woman called an ambulance, and an English speaking man, who turned out to be a doctor, got me to lie down, and checked for broken bones. The ambulance came, took me to the hospital emergency room, where I only had to wait about ten minutes before being wheeled into a small surgery. An English speaking nurse and doctor appeared, told me I was going to get stitches and stayed by me through the worst, which was the needles for the freezing.

I had them call Sophie at the pension, and two hours later I was stitched up with 8 internal and 30 external stitches. The good news was that it wasn’t broken, and that since the freighter had a doctor on board, I was good to go… he could change the dressings every two days. So I was released with a prescription for antibiotics and painkillers and dressings for the wound.Poor Sophie had been sitting in Emergency, knowing nothing. They finally let her come in, we called a cab and returned to the pension, where our lovely poolside room was ready.

I was not in pain, and was walking comfortably, so I just took it easy that day and the next before boarding the boat. Sophie found a super marche and bought a roll of saran wrap and masking tape and plastic bags so I would be able to wrap up the bandage when I showered and we forged ahead..

This is merely a health update. Trip reports will follow. Despite the injury the trip on the Aranui was fantastic. So I couldn’t hike… big deal.. Instead I sat around and filled my sketchbook. The hardest thing to deal with was that I couldn’t swim, and it was so damned hot. The Marquesas are not known for their beaches. Like Dominica they are volcanic islands. Other island groups in French Polynesia are known for their idyllic lagoons, snorkeling, diving etc. but not the Marquesas, so I did not feel totally deprived.

The French medical system produces the best looking doctors and male nurses in the world. This I discovered in the hospital, and it was further affirmed when I met the doctor on the ship. While his English wasn’t the greatest, it was adequate for the job of changing the dressing every two days. After ten days, he took out every other stitch, but he was having some concerns about the state of the wound. The evening before I got off the boat he was supposed to take out the rest, but he didn’t, and he told me that the wound was necrotic (I now had Pierette, from Montreal accompanying me on my visits providing translation services) and he wanted me to see a surgeon at the hospital as soon as I got off the boat.

We got off the boat on Friday morning, checked back into the pension, and Pierette and I headed to the hospital. More good looking French doctors, and I finished my French medical experience with a consult from a nice surgeon who told me to pack it in and get right home. I would need some simple surgery to clean up the wound and probably a skin graft. The nurse phoned Air Tahiti, made reservations for us to leave that night. Sophie insisted on leaving with me. Pierette and I met her at the Air Tahiti office to pay for the changes, but they were unable to confirm an onward flight to Victoria. All Air Canada flights were booked and they couldn’t access Westjet… so we said we would chance it in LA to get a flight onward.

LAX is a piece of cake if you can navigate it with a wheelchair and a garrulous Venezuelan-American attendant! We eased through customs and security, changed buildings, and headed for the Westjet counter because I knew their one flight a day left in three hours;. We flashed our French medical emergency letters from the doctor (which of course they couldn’t read since the counter staff were Americans) and they really came through, getting me on a full flight, with an up front aisle seat. We flew to Calgary, another three hour layover, and then to Victoria, arriving at about ten pm. Patricia took me directly to the Royal Jubilee Hospital.

Saturday night is not a good time to land in emergency, but after they took care of all the drunken fight injuries, it only took two hours before I was seen, the wound cleaned, and i was admitted. They are waiting for the infection to go (I am on intravenous antibiotics) which may be a day or two more. Then surgery for the skin graft and then I will have to have my leg ‘suspended’ for about a week while the graft takes. I might have to stay in hospital, since my house might be too difficult to manage, and I haven’t really got anyone to take care of me…. AAAAARRRGGGHHHH …. And if I am stuck here, there will be no internet to amuse me!!!! No mail to read and answer!!! I will go stark raving mad. It was bad enough in the Marquesas…it is so isolated there that there just ISN”T any internet on most of the islands.

I ended staying in hosptial for about two weeks, before being sent home with a wheelchair and instructions to keep my leg suspended, and turn up for dressing changes twice a week.