Le Marin, Martinique

Thursday, March 12, 2009

The boat next to us in Rodney Bay North, a 35' Fontaine Pajot Tobago cat, sports a Canadian flag, and her home port is St Johns NB, so I thought I would say hello and enquire after the haul out facilites in New Brunswick. They tell me there are none at all for cats. They purchased their boat in Martinique in 2004 and sailed her home to do a refit. It involved finding a makeshift trailer and a farmer with a tractor to haul her somewhere up the St John river.
On arrival in Canada they were greeted by the revenuers, who felt entitled to a 25% levy on the boat for coming into Canadian waters. They enjoyed the trip up through the inland waterway, but found she was wet inside all the way North from Cape Hatteras. Too much condensation in the colder waters. They took her North and went South again twice before swearing it off as a bad job. They took the Bermuda route and hated the run South again in November, way too cold.
So my thoughts of coming North this summer are in disarray. Grenada seems to be a better idea. My main concern is the six month limit I can stay out of the country without losing my health care coverage.

Anyway, we also discussed the situation in Martinique and the possible window to go north on the morrow. They were dubious, wind still supposed to have a lot of North in it; supposed to be light, I ventured. Now I have doubts about leaving for Martinique. Strike still on and the wind not ideal. The next window won't open until sometime next week. Its a bit disconcerting.

In the morning, the dawn brings very light wind from the SE. That's unexpected. I eye the fleet and fret, Alicia still in bed. Chris Parker comes on and says we should expect NE winds 14 knots. If we go right now, we might hang onto this SE wind for a few hours and get well on our way to Martinique before being headed. At that point, it will only blow 14 knts and we can motor in. I wake her up and we set off, leaving the customs man without a visit. Does he really care?

The wind holds well and we can make Le Marin in a tight reach. A squall nine miles from Martinique breaks the wind and we are left with the NE wind predicted, but not the 14 knots. Its blowing a steady 20 and more, so our motor in is a bit of a slog. Fortunately not far to go and we make Le Marin by 2:30 pm. Customs is closed, but my Volvo-Penta dealer has my replacement bolt for the starboard engine (its a stud, actually) ordered at great cost a month before. The job to install this stud will be really interesting, I am sure you will all want to hear about it in some detail. I need to be ensconced somewhere with reliable help close at hand should it go awry. That would be Antigua, I think.


This morning, I went in to clear and talked with the customs lady. The strike ends officially on Saturday morning. Stores are opening up, but the grocery stores have exhausted their supplies. The containers are sitting on the docks unopened and it will take a few weeks to clear the goods through the port into the stores. No cheese, no butter, none of the sausages and things from France we find attractive about Martinique. The baker is still baking baguettes and the fruit and vegetable markets are open for business. There is undoubtedly no wine to be had.

We have made a leg up on our journey to Antigua. The weather and the North swell block us from moving North beyond Martinique until Monday, so we will poke around Anse d'Arlets and Fort de France before moving up to St Pierre on Sunday, ready to dash for Dominica as soon as the swell goes down. All of next week is supposed to be good for North bound vessels, so we may keep moving all week. We will keep an eye on things and let you all know as the situation unfolds.
Meanwhile, the Designer has been hogging the computer, preparing her submission to her Indian manufacturer. The St. Lucia Computer World failed to install virus protection on the ship's main computer, although they spent a goodly amount of time trying and charged me withal, so we are limited to a single machine and she has been working hard on it all day. We remain internet free, though tantalisingly close to making a connection. So this will be posted at a cafe when next we venture ashore.

Bon courage mes amis, the determined will prevail.

Anse d'Arlet

Friday, March 13, 2009

Another gorgeous Friday the thirteenth. Isn't that something. We pottered around this morning, I into Le Marin to see if I could find out more about internet antennae for boats, Alicia doing her laundry. I received lots of directions to a small computer store which was rumoured to carry specialised gear for yachties, but despite a lot of walking up and down, no luck. I did find a grocery store open, a small chinese run establishment with a burnt out sign; they had a green pepper, which I bought, sesame oil, which we have had great difficulty finding and which the Artist requires as a staple food, and good cheap french wine. So the hike was worthwhile.

After a quick lunch we cleared decks for a foray in to the fuel dock for fuel and water. We gorged on the plentiful cheap water. Filled tanks and all the jerry jugs, then washed down the cockpit with lots and lots of fresh water. These spots are like hens teeth, and we made the most of it.

Sated and languid, we motored out of the bay and set sail for Pointe du Diamond, ten miles distant. The air was very clear, and the wind strong on our starboard quarter. At first only the genoa was needed to push us along at a steady 5.5 knots on a flat sea. Very pleasant with all hatches wide open. As we made distance from the protection of the eastern peninsula, the sea became bigger and the wind diminished a bit. We set the main and needed to pay a bit more attention. St Lucia was clear as a bell 22 miles to the South. As we rounded Pointe du Diamand, we could make out Dominica 50 miles distant to the NW. Its rare that the air is so clear.

Anse d'Arlet is set in the second bay up from Pointe du Diamand. We arrived at about 5:00 pm, anchored, reanchored, and after a swin to check the set of the anchor in the clear deep water, settled down to the business of rum and chips with the Artist's ad hoc salsa. We set the sunscreen curtains in the cockpit to cut the glare of the setting sun. They made little difference, but provide a sense of privacy and create an outdoor room in the cockpit which is a bit of fun. A small boat with three fishermen aboard came by to suggest we move down the anchorage a way because they are going to net the bay at 5:30 in the morning. We did, anchoring again.

Dinner was the Artist's latest creation, Pasta Anse d'Arlets (my bent for naming dishes by the geography involved); english translation, Pasta Ants on a Log (the Artists's reference to the raisins and celery in the dish).

I have taken a moment to update the the blog, not expecting an interent connection and, by gum, there's a real humdinger of a signal coming out of the Spot Coffee shop on the shore. Of course, there is no way to set up the login and password without a visit to the cafe. Too late for that now, perhaps in the morning.

Sayonara for now, it is getting to be bedtime.

Saturday, March 14, 2009.

We have been into the lovely little town of Anse d'Arlet and found the Cyber Base in a steel box prefab building next to the school. We buy 3 hours for 9 Euro. A and I climbed to the top of Bas Morne after a beer and a pizza pie. It is very steep and quite high, despite being "Bas".

Back aboard, I fire up the Aspire One and get going, only to find that the Cyber Base, although connected to Django is no longer connected to the world at large. Worse, I cannot get to the server to log off and preserve my time investment. Huff and puff! This is our modern society for you, all bombast and promise but very little substance. Well the connection comes and goes, leaving me feeling pressed to complete the most urgent tasks, communication with children, two of whom are in difficult situations.

I believe I can post now, lets give it a try...

Nope, false alarm. I think I am getting about 20% of what I have paid for, so annoying.

Rodney Bay North

Saturday, March 7, 2009

We are tucked up in the North end of the bay. The wind is cool and gusty out of the NNE, the swell curves in behind the point and tries to cast us up onto the beach. It comes in on our beam. We are fortunate to be on a cat. The monohulls are being thrown about, rolling through sixty degrees. Rodney Bay is no longer an attractive anchorage. All the boats have crowded up into this corner, hoping for a quieter time.

Last night was disturbed by rising wind and sea, down at the other end of the bay, my preferred hang out. The internet works down there. I was jolted up by the "runk rnk rnk" of anchor pulling loose from rock. We dragged a only bit, but clearly needed to rethink this position. What had been a quiet anchorage, protected by the shoreline, was now a lee shore with the wind whistling down the bay, kicking up a chop on top of the swell coming in from the Caribbean Sea.

Our intention yesterday was to bring aboard water and fuel and leave for Martinique. The wind was still ok for making western Martinique, but it was moving north and would trap us in that strike torn wasteland for up to a week. While the weather did for our plans to leave, we were still out of water, and I needed to tell customs about our changed plans, so in I went with Boffo to check out the situation before bringing Django alongside the fuel dock. Customs was packed with Martiniquais trying to get home before being shut out by the north wind, so that was postponed. The fuel dock still had no access to water and another long line of boats was waiting to fuel up, so I elected to fill up with jerry jugs from a standpipe in the boatyard, after paying for the mandatory minimum of 100 gallons.

The sun was hot and the standpipe slow. By lunch I had done two loads, or about 40 gallons. On my third trip in, the water had been turned off to the yard altogether. Lots of shrugs and mumbled references to this being St. Lucia and all.

We finally hooked up with water in the marina and completed the job. The customs office cleared out by 4:30 and the exhausted customs man told the exhausted me I could come back when we were ready to leave. In the evening, we fired up the barbeque and did for the loin of pork, marinated in soy sauce and ginger and skewered with garlic slivers, taking advantage of the last of the mild weather. Mashed pumpkin with butter and black pepper rounded out the feast.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Last night was much better, Django's motion easier and more comfortable. This morning the wind has veered more easterly, bringing the swell more astern. I have not managed an internet connection since moving across the bay and "Rainy Day", as well as being unhearable, does not transmit on Sundays. The earlier forecoasts showed the wind staying NNE until Tuesday at the earliest. The large storm south of Bermuda which is the cause of this mess may have dissipated earlier than expected. We live in hope. Later we will take the little Acer Aspire One laptop in to the "Jambe de Bois" and find out what's going on. We need a walk up the steep slopes of the park as well. The ship's aging Compaq Presario is in the shop being de-virused, and should be ready tomorrow. A and I took the bus to the Computer World shop half way between Rodney Bay and Castries on Friday, once we had determined that sailing was not in the cards for a while.

The Designer is making strides forward on the new collection. Its down to the detailed specs. She has been in contact with her man in India who will make up the samples. "Style Bermuda" has been onto her on Facebook, asking for a second interview. The editor will email her the questions.
I have done all the fixing and preparing and shopping, and now am devouring books and working on the guitar. I am interested by the rythm of life aboard Django, ruled by the weather, from busy and active to slow and restful, if somewhat disturbed by the moan of the wind and the roll of the swell. When the weather is poor, we tend to stay aboard with the boats all drawn up, in case we have to move in a hurry.

Having finished Margaret Atwood's "Moral Disorder", I am between books. Out with the guitar, then, and to work.

Break Break, Weather No Good

Thursday, March 5, 2009

I have managed to get a look at the weather on the internet. So much for not hearing "Rainy Day".

The wind is going North, starting tomorrow and getting worse Saturday through next week. We could make Martinique tomorrow, but then we would be stuck in a country with no services at all. For the geographically challenged, we want to go to the North. The wind coming from there makes it impossible. Not a good situation, so I think we will scrub for a week.

Then it will be a dash for Antigua. How fun!

Will keep you all advised. I know you are on the edge of your seats.

Rodney Bay

Thursday, March 5, 2009

The sun is setting and there is a curtain of rain on either side of Django, but clear up ahead, so our hatches are open as I enjoy a preprandial. The Artist has made some friends on the beach and is off with both kayaks, one in tow. Our preparations and renewals are complete. We have stocked up with food, including a lovely whole fresh pork loin I found in the supermarket today. There is a Cross designed trimaran in fornt of us, pulled in this afternoon, big and roomy with an acka to acka hard roof and a large wheel house centrally. Looks very comfortable. She is registered in the Turks and Caicos so I thought I would approach and ask after Tim Ainley, a multihull enthusiast whom we knew as children, who settle in the Turks and Caicos Islands. The owner and his wife are French, and have no connections to the Turks other than the boat registry. They warned me off Martinique. No food available, thugs roaming the streets of Fort de France looting and pillaging, not a place to spend any time. But I have an email from the Volvo dealer in Le Marin. She has the wickedly expensive bolt I ordered for the starboard engine. We need to move on in any case, headed for Antigua by the end off the month, whence I shall take a couple of weeks to go home and do taxes for Mum and ex-Dad, as well as my own. We are very well stocked, the only issue will be bread.

In the morning we will water up and top up the fuel with duty free stock only available once the boat is cleared out by customs. I did that this afternoon.

One of the highlights of this week was my discovery of Bruce Chatwin as a writer. I read "The Songlines", set as a travelogue in central Australia, and examining the nature of the aboriginal view of the world and creation through song. Bruce Chatwin seems to have an encyclopedic knowledge, and has shown some really original thought in the book. Very readable and fascinating. I will read his other works. There has been time for guitar and swimming as well. I like Rodney Bay.

The plan for post Antigua is taking shape. I think we will take the boat North this summer, first to Bermuda, than over to the East Coast, hopefully Canada to get past the problems which crop up if we stay out of the country for more than six months. I shall be looking for crew for the long passages to and from Bermuda if anyone is interested (Whit?). Alicia has arranged a position teaching for the summer in Bermuda, we will leave her off there before continuing North. I hve dreamed of bring Django into Bermuda to see old friends again.

Alicia has returned aboard with more horror stories about Guadeloupe. Rioting in the streets, say the rumours. I will have to check my internet news source. In any case we will head for Les Saintes, a small archipelago South of Martinique populated largely by descendants of Brittany fishermen, there being no plantation history on the islands. From there we will keep to the outports, avoiding Pointe a Pitre and the urban areas. After that its the longish crossing to Antigua.

Before we water up in the morning, we need to retrieve the second kayak, which the Artist has lent to her friends. They will meet at 8:00 to say goodbye. This perhaps a blessing, as she will get up at the same time as I do and we will be ready to go at a reasonable hour. The weather report has been difficult to hear, Chris Parker is on holiday in the Bahamas and a new guy out of North Carolina is filling in. His boat name is "Rainy Day". "Rainy Day, Rainy Day" bleat the cruisers trying to get his attention and not hearing his reply. "Relay, relay" call the ones who can.

The wi fi internet connection, which has served us so well in Rodney Bay, has given up the ghost. Where there were once several stations transmitting a signal, now there are none. It seems to be a problem at my end, which I have solved by shutting down the software driver and restarting it. "Woila", the stations all show up again, and we are connected.

Now for the post.

Boffo Does a Bunk, inter alia

Monday, March 2, 2009

La Jambe de Bois on a Sunday evening has great jazz. The artist and I, in anticipation of her birthday today, made our way across the Rodney Bay to dine at this very cool, artsy, fartsy little restuarant in the park. No good going in daylight as they will hit you for 13.50 each to enter the park. After 5:30, the park closes and the access is free. We had forgotten that Sunday was jazz night. The place was packed and we sat down to share a table with a local couple, she Jamaican, he St Lucian, who had spent 40 years in England in the hair dressing business and retired back to St. Lucia, quite well off, it seems. This was to be Alicia's birthday outing, one day premature, since we had little to eat aboard.

The group was young and hungry, full of energy, playing jazz classic's. Their mentor, music prof, was in the crowd and sat in for a few numbers. Really good.

So we enjoyed a very reasonably priced dinner, company and music, all ending about 10, and made for the dock to catch a ride back to Django in Boffo. Wouldn't you know it, Boffo had been out and about while we dined. She was no longer attached to her stainless wire lead, but was lying, shamefaced, further down the dock with her oars in the oarlocks. Now how had she managed to shed her leash, so painstakingly locked to the eyebolt running through her bow? Well now, don't you know that eye bolt turned out to be an eye nut! It had turned itself off the bolt and remained securely locked to the wire, while Boffo made her escape. Why she returned, I don't know, but there she was, tame and quiet, having had a bit of freedom to explore on her own.

Non the worse for her adventure, she happily rode us home to Django, across Rodney Bay.

Today was another day of maintenance. Top up all six batteries, using the mirror to spot the levels in the after batteries, newly installed in Grenada. This chore needs to be done once a month. I wonder why we never worry about this in our cars. The boat needs it regularly.

I met a couple from Canada who came by with some tax questions. I was able to help. They have been all over, living outside the country without a worry about health care and all that. They simply pay as they go, deducting their expenses from there meager income. He has not a lot of money, living on a pension, and pays little tax. Last year they took the boat to Europe. They like to summer in Venezuela, outside the hurricane box.

My prononcements about the strike in Martinique have been haunting me, so I spent some time this afternoon looking into the matter on the internet. Most of my knowledge heretofor was based on talking with other yachties and direct experience of the situation in Martinique. The press coverage reveals a more complicated story. The basic grievance goes back a long way. The elite in Martinique and Guadeloupe are descendants of the plantation owners, white and rich. They continue to own most of the means of production and all the large retail establishments. The grievance has a strong racial overtone. The strikers want a higher minimum wage for all and reduced prices for basic neccessities. The strike organisers are using very strong initimidation tactics, there are a lot of comments distancing the writers from the strikers, but there is strong sympathy for the basic idea that the blacks continue to live in a down trodden state, in a situation supported largely by the French state. The strike has spread from Guadeloupe to Martinique to Reunion and speculation has it that it will spread to the French Pacific islands as well.

My first impressions remain convincing, that these islands are receiving large gobs of state money, but this seems to be spent in a sense of appeasement for past wrongs, and the black Martiniquais have a very strong sense that they are entitled to it and more.

The bottom has been scrubbed. A good 45 minutes a day of hard work under water. Its pretty good exercise. We will go fast now, once we get the repaired sails out of the loft, hopefully tomorrow. That about does the maintenance, for now, and I have had time for a good bit of guitar work as well. Rodney Bay is pretty good. The grocery store has real steaks, not frozen, marbled and tasty. It must be the luxury condos around the bay that provide the demand, because this is the only place we have found in the Caribbean that has decent meat. Tonight, for her birthday party, the Designer and I enjoyed a lovely barbeque of steak, onion, whole garlic and green pepper, followed by a layered salad and carrot cake with not so bad, very cheap, Argentinian red wine. She is agitating to go ashore to hear the band as I write this. Been there and done that before and I am in no hurry to accomodate. Last time, I sustained serious injury.

Rodney Bay Maintenance and Reflection

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Whunk Bang, Whuk boom, Bong, Whuck bang..... The mainsail is out of the mast and the roller for which it normally provides a pad and a muffle is free to bonk around inside the mast. For those who don't know the sound, you need only imagine a thirty five foot hollow vertical aluminum post, swaying back and forth, with a 2 inch aluminum pole rising the length of it bouncing around inside. We have made great strides in damping out this dementing distraction, bringing it down from a full throated whang bang to a relatively quiet, if constant, reminder that the mainsail is in the sail loft until Tuesday (and if you believe that, I have bridge you might be interested in buying). The genoa is in as well, both sails much the worse for wear following our high energy sails of the past few weeks.
The Designer has been hard at it, banging out a series of dresses and accessories to be featured in a self published catalogue. She reminds me of several highlights I missed in our story of the non-cruise through the Grenadines. On reflection, we had some pretty interesting times, dear reader, which I know you really would like to read about. There may be some photos we can show as well, if you are ready.



The first thing to come to mind is the small whaling boat we encountered as we skirted a squall on the way across to Beqia at the end of our long haul South. There was this very small boat, three men aboard, outboard on the transom and harpoon gun mounted on the bow. They were moving in tight circles and it took us a bit to figure out they were hunting whales. As we passed them, we came upon the whales themselves, a large pod of pilot whales. Fortunately for the whales, there was a good distance between them and the whalers.


I have been hard at the maintenance today, replacing the two cleats pulled of the stern by Boffo. Pack the grease cups for the steering cable and work the grease into the system. Muck about with Cetric's wiring input. This is deep in the bowels of Django, and is inscrutable. The wires go in, that much I have determined with some certainty. How they attach, or how to get at the attaching mechanism is still beyond me. The mucking about has had some effect and Cetric is responding with alacrity, though for how long is not clear.



The cleats have been replaced. If I were an obsessive type, I would be displeased by the slight cant of the starboard one. My mind was elsewhere when I marked the holes; on Whit, as a matter of fact. He emailed to say that I may be suffering from some debility or dementia following the unfortunate evening in Rodney Bay when I incurred serious injury ferrying him and KMH ashore in the middle of the night to have a drink at the bar. Shortly after getting Whit's email, I remarked that our ship's computer suffers from a nasty virus. The Artist says its because we have been using memory sticks in the internet cafes, and picked one up there. I am not so sure, hence the distraction resulting in Django's askew stern cleat.

In Bequia, we walked out to the turtle farm and took lots of pictures, but they all disappeared mysteriously. We stopped at a coconut grove by the sea and your scribe spent a good long time bashing away on a fallen nut to provide some sustenance for his two children. Sharp rocks, stone walls, conch shells all provided little in the way of damage to the damn nut. Success came eventually and we all gnawed away on coconut sitting on the beach. The next day, we met a talking billygoat over by Friendship Bay. He was being led along the road, hobbled, by a young boy and stopped to call his son who munched grass down the slope... "Come on, Kenneth" he bleated.

Despite two dinghy runs for water in Soufriere, we are out again, and most all of yesterday afternoon was dedicated to the refill. The fuel dock inside the lagoon would be our first choice, but there is a line up stretching back outside into the anchorage. These are all French registered yachts from Martinique. Both Martinique and Guadeloupe are locked down in a general strike, apparantly in protest for increases in the subsidised price of food. It has been going on for over two months in Guadeloupe, and, I suppose, 2-3 weeks in Martinique. I'll not comment on the politics.. oh,all right, if you insist.. from an ignorant outsiders perspective, one finds little to no services offered to boaters anywhere outside Le Marin. There is none of the small enterprise of boat boys, fruit men, laundry and water delivery that one finds in the other islands. Everyone seems to be very well fed, the roads are excellent, and all the solid teak docks have acknowledgements to the generosity of the European Community. Apparantly, large sums are being transferred from Europe to these Islands to keep the populace fat and happy. France has taken steps to reduce the drain a bit. The people will not stand for it and have walked out en masse. It is reminiscent of the situation in Quebec, where the public service unions have successfully thwarted rationalisation attempts by more than one government. Beware the government and the tax payor when a sufficiently large proportion of the populace is sucking contentedly on government benificence.


Back to the fuel dock in Rodney Bay, the water hose has gone missing. I think they have taken it away because it slows down the sale of fuel to the multitude of Martiniquais refugees.
The next possiblity is the marina. I round up a man who sets up a hose and lets me make four trips back and forth to Django. Seven hundred and twenty pounds of fresh water heaved up on deck and poured in to the tanks later, we have more or less a full load and its past RP o'clock (not that there's much in the way of RP aboard Django these days).


Django's bottom is dirty, wanting a good scrubbing. Despite an aching back (no peace for the wicked), I have one quarter completed this afternoon. We will be here long enough to finish the job before our sails come back from the loft. Perhaps the thuck bonk of the mast will have faded into the unconscious by then. In the meantime, Chris Parker says the weather will be fine during the whole while.

Cruising the Grenadines, not

Tuesday Feb 17 Pick up Jordy

I can't believe a week has passed since arriving in Rodney Bay. We did laundry and stocked up for ten days with my son, 21 year old Jordan, arriving from Halifax to Vieux Fort on Feb 17 to join the Artist and I for a trip through the Grenadines. It is rather all consuming, fretting about how to comunicate, to get transport arranged to pick him up and deliver him to Soufriere, further down the coast and then to arrive comfortably in advance of his arrival and find a decent mooring to hold onto.

In the event, all went very smoothly, if exhaustingly. After a full power race into Jalousie, between the Pitons, between Django and two other mooring aspirants to pick up the last available mooring, we were ensconced in the stunning setting a full day in advance of hs arrival, We were still 2 miles away from the dock at Soufriere and the last arrangement to fall into place was transport into the town dock and back. We met Michel who picked up the mooring for us and promised to be boatside at 3 pm the next day to ferry us in. How much? What you think is right, man, he said. Sounded good to me. Still I fretted. The cell phone remained on all day and, sure enough, fifteen minutes after scheduled landing of the aircraft at Vieux Fort, the cell phone came to life with Jordan needing the name of the boat and where we were, to get past the naturally inquisitive immigration official at the airport. So he had made it this far. Notable relief.

Still I fretted that Michel would forget, or get a better job, or whatever would result in his not arriving, so I launched Boffo, got the engine aboard and loaded her essential gear. Unlike KMH, the Artist feels no need to participate in the tribulations involved in launching Boffo, so I am able to practice the solo approach to the problem over and again, perfecting my engine lob into the water and my mighty heave getting it back aboard all by myself.

At exactly three minutes before three, our agreed rendezvous, Michel rounded the Petit Piton and came alongside. A and I boarded, ships papers carefully stowed in my napsack for the clearance out of St Lucia, and we headed off to Soufriere to pick up Jordan. I figured we would be early, but as we approached the dock, there he was, getting out of the taxi. Lambert, the driver I had set up, was not there. His father had died suddenly. No wonder I fretted. But his cousin filled in and there was Jordan, broken hand all bandaged up, but otherwise ready to go. With his passport in hand, I was ready to run the gauntlet of customs and immigration clearance to permit us to leave St. Lucia for St. Vincent and the Grenadines.

Customs was a breeze, then off to the police station for immigration. The man was out, so we hung about waiting. After a while of this we went off to buy a cabbage and some carrots and bread. Checking again, no man. So then we went for a beer and Jordan had a fruit salad. In the middle of this eating anf drinking my fretful feelings retturned and I went back and found that although in, there was now a line up to see the man. So wait did I. It seemed like a very long time, In fact, it was probably longer than that. I made friends with the skipper of the 70 ft yacht moored next to us. A private yacht, pristine, with a very old man aboard, maybe the owner? The skipper says he has guests aboard about two weeks each month. He married the chef, but she is stuck in the US waiting out the Green Card mandatory stay. Finally, I was out of there and we were on our way out past the Petit Piton to our stunning resting spot between the Pitons. We had the first steak I have found in the Caribbean, barbequed nicely, the wind abating just for the occasion.

Next day I unhitched at 6:30 am and set out for Bequia, two islands down. The kids kept there beds until we cleared the lee of St. Lucia and were into the large seas of the St. Vincent Passage. They regretted not having risen early for a decent breakfast and were decidedly green through the morning. The wind was light, never over fifteen knots and abaft the beam, so not very fast for Django.

The passage to Beqia took a good nine and half hours, and Jordan and I were somewhat burnt by the end of it. Another gauntlet of officialdom to run on arrival. I was taken aback by the increase in fees to visit St. Vincent. I had to pay EC$275 for the three of us. To add insult to injury, the mooring fee seems to have skyrocketed as well. The harbour in Bequia is full. The recession seems to have passed over the boat people. There are more and more, and they seem happy to pay the hefty levies here. So this is not a recommended stop for those on a close budget. More later, I am ready for my bunk.

Break Break

This is coming to you from the relative sanctuary of Soufriere Bay, St. Lucia. The date is Feb 25, I believe. We have endured a full week of 30 knot winds and squalls. Bequia was lovely, we walked all about and, between rain showers, had a good time being together and exploring the island. We were stuck there for three days due to weather. Finally on Saturday, we determined to try to make Mustique, at least, our plan for a trip through the Grenadines in tatters. There was a 9 ft swell out of the North compounding the 25-30 ENE wind and big sea. We tucked down past the point outside Admiralty Bay, and back up under the lee of Isle au Quatre. Then out into the open sea for the 6 mile crossing to Mustique. Tumultuous seas! Very strong wind, but we were well reefed and Django responded with grace. Jordy steered, and although not a sailor, has a knack for getting the best out Django going to weather. His plaster half cast suffered a bit from the salt spray.

Mustique was a bust. The prices are through the roof. I was completely insulted to be asked to pay EC$42 (US$16) for a loaf of bread and three croissants. Our mooring was close to being untenable, we rocked and rolled and the dinghy crashed about. I couldn't get away fast enough. The only good news is that we missed the Harbour Master and were not priveleged to learn what they charge for the mooring fee.

So Sunday we made the run due North to Kingstown, barely skirting the wicked rocks on the NE tip of Bequia. Django was hard on the steady 30 knot wind and we motor sailed past the point to give us a bit more pointing ability. We gave Django yet another dousing of salt water. The seas past the point defy description, confused, steep and jagged. We managed to dislodge everything not bolted down. Catching up the dinghy painter in the prop on arrival behind Young Island crowned an eventful crossing.

Next day we explored Kingstown, cleared out at customs (another EC$35 fee) and immigration, bought a large (3 lb) tail of Dorado at the fish market for less than our loaf of bread in Mustique, and ate lunch in the lovely restaurant in the little hotel above Basil's Bar. This restaurant is great, not pricey but well presented and friendly, full of the local business lunch crowd. My advice to the cruiser world, avoid the Grenadines in high season.

I heard the weather report on the radio in a store in Kingstown. Small craft warning and heavy surge warning until Thursday. We need to leave Tuesday or Wednesday at the latest to get Jordie back to St Lucia for his flight home. The taxi driver at Young Island dock tells us we should leave at 4 am to catch the early calm. Chris Parker calls for 28-35 knots overnight dimishing to 20-25 during the day, with squall coverage diminishing later in the morning and returning more on Wednesday. We make Hobson's choice and opt for a Tuesday departure, 46 miles to Souffiere, St Lucia.

It rained through much of the night, and dawn brought a strong squall. I breakfasted as the wind calmed down, and by our 7 am departure, the wind was fairly light behind us. We made our way gently up the lee of St. Vincent under power, raising sail as we approached the north end of the island. We had 18-20 knots at a good angle as we approached the open sea, but a large squall obliterated our view of the situation outside. As the squall came down, we reduced sail in anticipation of 30 plus wind. When the wind and rain arrived, the wind spiked at 38 knots, all as we emerged into the open sea and encountered the 12-15 foot swell. Once the squall passed the wind settled down to a steady 30 knots and we slogged to as close to the wind as we could to make the NNE course into St. Lucia. This was as hard going as we had encountered so far.

Not to cow the reader with details of interminable struggle and dousings, we skip to 12 miles off St Lucia, inside the lee, making for land under power, the wind having mercifully disappeared, leaving a sea as mixed up as chopped egg, leaping and ducking, forming holes and towers, through which Django dipped and yawed toward Soufriere Bay, and our mooring by the Bat Cave.

Today we will walk again, if the rain lets up, up to the souffiere and around the botanical garden. Our water is down to the last cupful, so part of the day will be spent ferrying jerry jugs. Eddie, the boat boy, has offered to do it for us, but he has a knack for charging WAY TOO MUCH money, so his services will not be required. I think people coming down here must leave their brains at home, allowing these fellows to rinse their wallets clean.

Tomorrow, Jordy gets on his plane and Django will make her way back to Rodney Bay, free anchorage, free internet, good groceries, water, marine supply store. There are a number of repairs to do. As the wag pronounced, while your cruising in 30 knot winds, your boat is breaking.

It is a truism that while cruising, one can define either a time or a place to meet a cruising boat, but not both. Working to a set schedule results in having to sail in poor conditions. We have experienced this in spades.