Avast Me Hearties!

Leaving behind the dusting of snow and -10C temps in Toronto, arriving in St Lucia was a world away. Flying in past the impressive Pitons (Grand and Petit) — a spectacular rainbow peeking from between the two. Just a slight delay as the working staircase broke down and a new one located. The door was flung wide and a cornucopia of aromas permeated the cabin … warm damp earth, exotic flowers, jet fuel and hot tarmac. A dozen or so ground crew stood, perched or lounged in the shade waiting for the hold to open – their fluorescent Hi-Vis vests almost dazzling in the brilliant sunshine … one fellow had the most magnificent set of ‘dreads’ (oh for a handy camera).

Immigration and customs were a breeze … a thoroughly organized information desk located our names, and contacted our taxi driver (Bradley) … who showed up mere minutes later… handed us a chilled bottle of water and we set off for the hour’s drive into Soufriere. Stretches of wickedly narrow twisting roads … streams of pedestrians and stray dogs … lush vegetation … and more speed bumps than you could shake a stick at (keeps traffic to a respectable rate). Vehicles of every description — the whole gamut from gleaming modern SUVs to rattling, exhaust-belching trucks with a full complement of workers in the back (apparently a practice just as illegal here as in Canada).

Rounding a corner, there lay Soufriere bay … a carpet of multi-coloured houses tumbled down the hillsides … and vessels of every description were anchored or pulled up on the sand. Million-dollar ocean-going trimarans bobbed companionably beside brightly painted fishing boats which also doubled as tourist transport (for a price) to resort beaches along the coast. It’s quite obvious that tourism is a mainstay and perhaps suffering at the moment. Younger individuals robustly hustled for trade … offering taxi service, boat tours, hand-made necklaces and guided tours all in the same breath.

The Church Street Guest House was located … as one would imagine … on Church Street — the main thoroughfare through town, and just steps from the Catholic church and town square. Our suite boasted a magnificent 4-poster bed, complete with mosquito netting … a tiny kitchenette with microwave, toaster, coffee maker — all piled haphazardly but only able to be plugged in one at a time. Mysteriously, the fridge had a European plug which didn’t fit any of the UK outlets and with no adaptor to be found despite Martha … the cleaning lady/manager’s industrious hunting. We had a spare, so plugged it in (must remember to take it with us).

All the streets have rainwater gullies or channels to accommodate the run-off from sudden downpours … one needs to be careful NOT to misstep while negotiating some of the creative bridges. A precipitous two foot drop could do some serious damage.

The two smallish grocery stores were surprisingly well stocked… Masseys slightly more so than Allain’s. We soon had milk, cereal, water, coffee (I had brought filters, tea and sugar), bread, cheese, a chunk of something that looked suspiciously like Spam and, most importantly, two bottles of Piton Lager … winner of international accolades since 1972. Darkness descends at 6 o’clock, and since neither of us felt adventuresome enough to venture forth in search of dinner, we downed the beers (they were indeed excellent), made a sandwich and fell into bed … not before inserting earplugs to dampen the staggering output of volume of chiming tree frogs and roosters in every back yard. They worked!

Coffee and cereal got us going in the morning. Twenty-eight degrees C, and climbing. Rows of fishing boats, their owners sitting in the shade. Lines of washing strung along the beach to dry … wild chickens scratching industriously — their clutches of fluff-balls chicks peep, peep, peeping … and hundreds of cats. Friendly greetings everywhere … “Mornin” … “How ya doin?” … “Enjoy da Island”. Stalls with local produce … dark green plantains, earthy mounds of manioc roots and potatoes, pale green christophines (like mini marrows), tomatoes, huge nobbily lemons, fingers of fresh turmeric and interesting-looking blends of spices … these will have to wait until we get back after our boat trip. Instead we settled on some perfectly ripe bananas, which we ate sitting on some rocks under a palm tree.

A delightful lunch … vegetarian Creole. St. Lucian style bouillabaisse in coconut shell bowls, breadfruit bites (balls of breadfruit deep fried), curry, spinach and chickpea pastries, slices of cooked plantain – sweet and delicious … and a fresh salad of cucumber, tomatoes, onion and black olives with a wonderful oil, spice and cinnamon dressing. I can’t see we’ll be needing dinner after this.