Boarding had started at 1945 with groups 1 to 3. At 2005 we joined a long queue for the remaining 4 to 9 and were seated by 2025, fortunately with space in the overhead locker. Take off followed soon after and the first part of the flight was somewhat bouncy. Boggle and napping kept Eric occupied while Joyce had a date with Oppenheimer. The time passed relativly painlessly.
Arrival at Gatwick was also a little bumpy on approach and touchdown, and the weather, not surprisingly, was cool with rain.
There was no queue for the e-gates, which worked for both our passports and baggage reclaim flowed well, although our cases were among the last ones out. We were picked up at 0930, excellent work again by Clocktower cars, and the driver was most professional. We arrived home at just after 1000. There has been another casualty of travel, our day rucksack, which got us home, is also coming apart at the seams and Joyce does not think that tlc with a needle and thread will be enough to resuscitate it. While not as venerable as Eric’s footwear, it has given us valiant service over a good few years.
This is the last post for now. Eric hopes to resume on our next major trip. Many thanks to all who have read the posts.
A leisurely wake up for 0800, Dawn being snubbed today, and a leisurely breakfast. Eric and Joyce then changed for the beach and enquired about, wait for it, gentle reader, parasailing. The gentle readers who have been avidly following our exploits will remember that before the cruise, we contemplated taking part in this adventurous activity but decided against it as any accident would render the cruise difficult if not impossible. However, we had agreed that it was now or never so resolved to throw ourselves at the sky, dangling from a parasail, at the end of a piece of string tied to an accelerating speedboat. Eric really should have checked the travel insurance. We had not seen anyone involved in this activity during our brief foray to the beach last night, but it was windy and the sea a little rough. This morning seemed calmer, so we enquired at the hotel. Sucking his teeth the agent seemed unsure about doing it this morning, Eric is sure he muttered something about “the wrong sort of wind”, “the wrong sort of waves” or even “the wrong type of cloud” but suggested we enquire at the beach. Following this advice, we grabbed a shuttle to la playa and had a word with the towel guy, who seemed to know about all the local doings. A quick phone call, and we were told, “later, 2 hours”. We found a couple of recliners, trying to work out how to tell the time as neither had a watch.
In the interim, we watched the beach hucksters plying their trade. Photographs with monkeys, parrots, and even an iguana featured, as did local paintings, unidentified beauty treatments, Cuban cigars, and local carvings. A seller of the latter caught Eric and Joyce’s attention. Over the past two weeks, Joyce has been conducting a cat of the day beauty contest. In practice this event did not happen every day and when it did, often there was only one competitor, but today’s winner is a wooden carving of “a very Caribbean cat”, according to Joyce while Eric secretly wonders what it is on.
The other competition we have already mentioned is the wine of the day, conducted solely by Joyce. Eric hastens to reassure the gentle reader that he has not changed his lifelong drinking habits. The winner is the Zinfandel, closely pursued by the Merlot. Joyce hastens to add she never actually finished a single glass.
About 30 minutes later, the towel guy came to find us and handed us into the care of an operator. A speedboat came to the beach, and the adventure started with getting into the craft in the breaker zone. Although not producing huge waves, the sea was quite frisky. At full speed we bounced from wave crest to wave crest until we reached the parasail rig. Getting aboard this boat was also an adventure, but we were clearly in safe hands. We swopped with a previous parasailer and were fitted with the sit harnesses. Moving to the stern of the boat, we stood under the canopy for the harnesses to be clipped to the carry bar. As we again sat, the captain began to accelerate, and we were gently and gracefully lifted into the air until we were sat 60 feet above the sea. As we relaxed, the view was spectacular, and there was a real feeling that we were actually flying, though Eric could not think of any bird that flies sitting down. Out to sea we could see the breakers on the edge of the reef, beneath us the dark shadow of reef seperated by channels with a clear view to the sandy bed and inland towards the beach, with its perambulating population of sunseekers plus lounger lounging tanners and behind which were the resort hotels. We headed south for around 10 minutes then the boat turned, accelerated and stopped in its original position This was a deft manoeuvre, as it brought us into the wind, albeit at the expense of a very close look at the roof of a vessel moored at the nearby pier.
The instructions for our landing back on the boat came thick and fast, “stand up papa” being the most memorable. Despite the clear remit, Eric (and Joyce) spectacularly failed to comply and did a posterior landing, at the posterior of the boat, then struggled to stand on the rocking platform. With help, we both achieved vertical, were unhooked, and deharnessed by well practised hands.
As we were landing, another intrepid aeronaut joined the vessel, ready to take our place. Once he was airborne, we transferred back to the smaller tender, an interesting experience in the running sea, and were then whisked back to the strand. Deboating had echoes of Antarctic zodiacs, sit, slide and swing being the methodology, as Joyce clung to the sturdy crewman.
Eric and Joyce felt exhilarated by this experience, and Eric was again glad that Joyce had the talent and the care, to push him out of his comfort zone when necessary. It was a most memorable experience. Eric apologises to the gentle reader for the lack of photographic evidence of this feat (a feat to us, though Eric is sure that the gentle readers have participated in parasailing on many occasions). Eric had taken his GoPro wannabee and hopes that some of the pictures will be viewable, once he finds out how to download them.
We were back on the beach by 1100 and a drink and a lounge completed the morning. Eric was aware that it always takes far longer than you think to get ready to check out, and although that was not until 1330, the extra 90 minutes had made such a difference to our enjoyment of this last Caribbean morning, he thought returning to the hotel at 1200 was the right course. In the event this decision was validated, since we were at reception at 1325 to forgo our rights to a room.
Eric shed a little tear as he left the room as he was saying goodbye to some loyal friends, real foot soldiers, his sandals. Eric had bought these in December 2014 in Australia, on the round the world jolly, blogged about at the time. After 9 years of faultless service, the stitching around the sole had failed, and the failure assessed as irreparable. They owed Eric nothing, but he will miss their reliable presence on holidays. Sole mates indeed, they saw it through to the last day.
Having left luggage at left luggage, in secure storage, we enjoyed a last buffet lunch. Eric cogitated about the Paradisus Resort lifestyle and the art of cruising. They are seductively beautiful ways of travelling and passing time. Eric and Joyce have definitely enjoyed their fourth time in the Caribbean, and this first blue water cruise was a fabulous way to see much more of this fascinating corner of the world. We visited 14 islands in 14 days and thoroughly enjoyed the luxury of time pre- and post-cruise. It was the right decision, not just because of the direct flights but also because it took the pressure off travelling to and from the cruise.
Norwegian Cruise lines lived up to their reputation. The food was excellent (and plentiful), the level of service oustanding, and the care for the cruisers’ safety and enjoyment, noteworthy.
The resort is magnificent in its high canopied, marbled floored reception and dining areas, its large suites (the ensuite was as large as our whole cabin on the ship) with bedroom, lounge, kitchenette and large jacuzzied balcony, and the beautiful gardens and extensive swimming pools, the walkways paved with polished slabs of local coral limestone, the surface rich in the cross section detail of different corals.
While Eric has whinged about the change of itinerary and the failure in communication about transfers, he feels that overall, this has been an oustanding holiday. Eric and Joyce would travel with them again, given the right itinerary. North to Alaska mayhap?
At this point, Eric would like to issue his gentle readers a trigger warning. Eric’s figure is suffering from the all-inclusive nature of our holiday. While abstaining from alcohol and regarding himself modest in his appetites, unfortunately, at times, Oscar Wilde wins out, “I can resist everything but temptation.” Please, gentle reader, do not even try to imagine the outcome of this.
Apropos of this Eric and Joyce enjoyed a long leisurely lunch at the buffet, and then, true to form, Joyce enjoyed a last laze in the sun while Eric sat in the shade, trying to squeeze out a few words about a day with little happening. While the gentle reader might forgive the occasional prolixity, even rarer verbosity and almost nonexistent wordiness and perhaps a soupcon of hyperbole (Eric is sure that “Are you pulling our legs” is not the gentle readers’ response) they would not forgive a blank blog, without any words.
We changed into going home clothes just as our taxi arrived, earlier than expected and at 1655 set out to challenge the Punta Cana rush hour on the way to the airport. We arrived at 1725 and our transit through check in, security and passport control, e-readers do actually work, was slick and stress free, apart from missing that we had to remove shoes in security. In the lounge, we enjoyed a $6 coffee from Wendy’s, almost as much as Covent Garden.
Eric is posting this early. We are due to fly at 2025 so we continue to twiddle our thumbs, grateful to have got this far without any dramas.
After being royally cossetted over the past 14 days, the last morning comes as a rude awakening, they cannot wait to get rid of you quick enough as they need to get ready for the next tranche of guests.
When Eric and Joyce woke, just before the 0600 alarm, shades of ‘Daydream believer’, they found the ship docked in La Romana, Dominican Republic, back where they started. Believing what they had been told, breakfast starting at 0630, they left the cabin at 0620. Arriving on deck 11, they found it like Picadilly in the rush hour, with breakfast in full swing. Joining the queue, they decorated their plates with a few choice items and enjoyed their last on board breakfast.
The first hint of Dawn had been visible from the balcony, but Dawn seemed reluctant this morning, as did Joyce and Eric about leaving the ship. Over breakfast, soft light revealed more details of the cruise terminal, which was a hive of activity. There was a steady flow of coaches coming into the car park and luggage heading from the ship. Overall, sunrise was a very underwhelming affair. The show was lukewarm and, if truth be told, downright mundane, perhaps preparing us for our return to reality.
The disembarkation plan had divided passengers into different groups, depending on the degree of NCL involvement in onward travel. As we waited for the call for green labels, which we had attached to our luggage last night, we could see a steady stream of humanity heading towards the cruise terminal and immigration. Worrying about transfer to the hotel, Eric decided egress at 0720 would be acceptable and therefore headed for the gangway where he and Joyce entered the 6 circles of cruise disembarking hell.
Please believe, gentle reader, that Eric fully appreciates the difficulties of disembarking around 2,000 people in around 2 hours when it took 6 hours to get them aboard, but he feels there must be a better way. In the end, it depends on people acting as adults and cooperating with the timings laid down rather than doing their own thing as seemed to be happening here. Eric had hoped that one legacy for the colonies had been a thorough grounding in the ways of the queue although, sadly some people clearly did not get the memo.
Circle 1: Joining a queue of passengers on deck 4, just as green labels were called. It took 15 minutes to reach the gangplank as the queue was augmented on deck 3 by those using the lifts.
Circle 2:On reaching the ship security desk, Eric was refused passage and sent to see the purser, who had a desk back the way he had just come. Joyce was allowed to pass, and she found a seat to await Eric’s, hopefully, return. As Eric forged a path between two ranks of oncoming cruisers, all determined to make it ashore, he was trying to work out the summons. He knew he had not received an invoice delivered to the cabin, therefore he was not being dunned for debt, the only thing left was that the refund for the cancelled excursion was to be paid in cash. This proved to be the case, so Eric rejoined the queue for security a second time and, this time, made it through.
Circle 3: The queue for immigration was organised in Disney style returns and divided into whether a passenger was going to the airport or an hotel. Eric and Joyce, of course, joined the hotel queue. In the distance were the immigration officers in a series of desks. Eric now knows what Moses and the children of Israel must have felt like, to see the Promised Land, but taking 40 years to get there. Eric hoped that he would not be Moses in this incarnation of the experience. In reality, it took around 45 minutes to reach the desks, through the queuing system Eric credits Disney with designing. He has an irreverent thought, did Disney base this system on the queue for Manna in the wilderness? Having been separated into two, it turned out that both streams used the same desks in the end. Eric is wondering when it comes to being separated into sheep and goats, if both will use the same gate. Blue form accepted, passports checked and stamped, the exit sign was followed.
Circle 4: This led to the baggage area, with bags grouped in serried ranks according to label colour. Joyce’s case was quickly acquired, but Eric could not find his black holdall. With increasing frustration, he circled the columns of green labelled luggage three times, then went to brown and red, but there was no sign. Fearing the worst, Eric returned to the green and began puttering around another few times, until finally, tucked between two taller valises, he spied a familiar label and took possession of his thought lost baggage.
Circle 5: We then joined another queue to exit the terminal. Despite having our passports checked and stamped, we again had to verify our identity with the passport before gaining, what turned out to be illusory, freedom.
Circle 6: No more than 1 foot out of the gate, we joined a queue for transit. Nowhere had we seen reference to our hotel, which is in Punta Cana, but only to Punta Cana airport. Trusting that we were in good hands, we dutifully followed the line towards the distant coaches. Twice our voucher was photographed, three times we checked that this line was right for the hotel, three times we were told yes. Just before boarding, we asked once again, and an agent looked puzzled, checked with others, then took us out of the queue back to near the beginning, worrying we had now lost our place in the queue. We were relieved to join two other couples that we recognised and, our cases stowed on the back, we climbed aboard a minibus which took us the 78kms to the hotel.
We arrived at 1030, left our luggage with the porters, and checked in. The room was not ready until 1500, but we acquired the vital, nay magic, yellow string wrist bands, which give access to hotel services.
We sat in the cool of the lobby bar with a refreshing beverage then while Joyce sunbathed Eric let his muse of fire loose on cruise disembarkation, Dante would have been proud, especially as he outscored Eric.
Lunch followed, then a rest, with Eric enjoying a period of resting his eyes, in a nice shaded bower. Full of expectation and dewy eyed with excitement, we reported to reception to find out which room was to be ours for the night. Unfortunately it was not yet ready, “another twenty minutes or so”. In the interim Joyce went to Guest Services, to enquire about a pair of sunglasses mislaid here before the cruise. A trawl through the mug shots of lost and found items yielded no results. Joyce is glad she brought 3 pairs as she later broke a pair on the ship. While we had the attention of a member of staff, we enquired as to our transit arrangements. We had been told by NCL that a letter detailing the transfer would be waiting for us at the hotel, exactly what we had been told would happen on our arrival. History repeated itself there was no sign, nor knowledge, of a letter on either occasion. Guest Services kindly phoned the transport company they use, who, unsurprisingly, only spoke Spanish. He passed on names and flight details only to be told we were not on their list. Eric retreated nonplussed. Thankfully, as at the start of the holiday, the couple with the same arrangements had brought the necessary contact details and were eventually able to confirm pick up at 1700 tomorrow. Buoyed up by this bit of good news we returned to reception to receive the same mantra. We waited in the lobby for the statutory 20 minutes then Eric tried again, only to be told the same thing. Eric disconsolately sat down again and after a further 20 minutes Joyce took up the cudgels and miracle of miracles our room was finally ready. Joyce was succesful in negotiating a 90 minute extension to check out in compensation.
Returning to the porters we acquired our portmanteaux and were led to our room, not quite at the nethermost region of the complex. The time delay had scuppered our beach plans but we salvaged something by bouncing straight out again to catch the shuttle to the beach. After a complete tour of the multi centre resort, we finally wriggled our toes on the white sand.
We walked along the beach, paddling in the gentle surf. On our return journey the setting sun received some photographic attention. A drink and a lounge completed our beach time. Eric elected to abandon Joyce and to walk back to the hotel rather than buggying it. Joyce and a group of others waited for the shuttle but eventually gave up and started walking. Thankfully, although the buggy swept passed her, it did stop a little further on, allowing her to complete the second half of the journey in relative ease. Both Joyce and Eric admired the thin slice of moon high in the sky above the russet afterglow of sunset.
The balcony jacuzzi was pressed into service, followed by a buffet dinner. Eric is finding finding his land legs none too easy. He hopes an early night and a late morning will lead to him becoming fully grounded.
Eric’s covert extraction at 0555 from the cabin was a little more successful this morning, he only woke Joyce as he left, which he puts down to the flickering corridor light rather than any elephantine escapades on his part. After all, he had again dressed in the dark, hopping around on one leg to engage his shorts, without any change in Joyce’s rhythm of gentle sussurations.
The very slightest lightening of the eastern horizon greeted Eric as he stepped out on to desk 6. The ship was creeping its way to its berth in Road Town, Tortola in the British Virgin Islands, the reflected lights of the town flickering on the sea surface.
A steep ridge lay behind the town, all around the bay, and just off the stern, behind the ridge, there was a distinct sign of Dawn’s arrival as the light strengthened. Strato- and alto-cumulus clouds covered the sky, which was bathed in a pearly irridescence, brightening as Eric stood and watched. After an extensive search, Joyce succeeded in finding Eric on deck 6. As the day broke, the shore buildings emerged from the shadow of night, revealing more detail of the urban scene.
Although beautiful to watch the light display was muted compared to previous days, variations on the silvery theme, with only the slight blush of pinky orange painting some of the clouds. A hint of the sun’s position was given by a red flash through a cloud rent.
Thinking that we had seen the best, we went to breakfast. To their delight, the sun gave a pyrotechnic display through a large rift in the clouds, a coruscating display of red and orange with distinct sunbeams. A very special display which lasted only a few minutes.
Tortola is the largest of the 60 islands and cays that comprise the British Virgin Islands, a dependency of the UK. Discovered by Christopher Columbus and named Santa Ana, not Tortola (dove), its name evolved from the Dutch name, the home town of its original settlers. However, the Dutch could not make a success of the area, so it became the residence of such worthies as Blackbeard and Captains Kidd and Teach (Eric’s preferred style of education), the bretheren of the coast were the original Pirates of the Caribbean. Suppressed by the Royal Navy, the land was made available to British settlers who established plantations, especially sugar, based on slave labour. This was reinforced after the American War of Independence, when loyalists were resettled here, some of them bringing their slaves. As elsewhere, emancipation led to sugar plantations being uneconomic. Today, tourism and the benefits of running offshore banks support the economy and society.
As we headed ashore for our 0815 tour gather, we were held on deck 3 for the arrival of the Virgin Voyages vessel ‘Valiant Lady’, which we had encountered a few days ago. The jetty is narrow, so mooring operations took precedence over cruisers’ free movement. After a 10 minute delay, we were free to find our tour group. The ‘Tortola by land and sea’ tour was so popular they split us into two large groups, one doing the reverse itinerary, ‘Tortola by sea and land’. Being in the second group, we had the privilege of the first itinerary, which seems perfectly logical. Further divided, we were allocated the third naturally air-conditioned truck, with roll bars.
The topography is as unforgiving as Eric and Joyce had experienced before with very steep, serpentine roads with hairpins. Safe driving here is achieved by horn, and there seems to be a well understood honk code. The most important is when approaching a blind hairpin, one continuous blast.
The route took us north, along the ridge road, with gorgeous views of the Atlantic and Caribbean sides of the island. The driver paused at suitable locations for pictures and we enjoyed a 20 minute comfort stop, with gender equality for once, with queue for the single gents’ facility matching that of the ladies, an unusual sight.
Off the north coast we could see the island of Jost Van Dyke. Eric pondered on what the Dutch for ‘Chim chim chiminy chim chim cheree’ might be.
We passed a great deal of public art. On Tortola, this is mainly wall paintings of island life through the ages, yesterday on Sint Maarten it was statues.
We reached Pusser’s Landing and browsed the galleries and souvenir shops at this marina until the arrival of the boat, the C Breeze, which dropped its passengers, the first group from the Norwegian Sky.
Travelling south along the Drake Channel, we could see to our starboard side the US Virgin Islands, including St John’s, preserved for posterity by Laurence Rockefeller. We saw a number of the British Virgin Islands. Salt island, was named after its seasonal salt pan and then given to the family of salt harvesters by Queen Victoria, after they rescued 10 people from a complement of 190 when their ship broke in two then exploded as the cold sea water hit the boiler, as it sheltered from a category 5 hurricane, the family just had to pay her a small annual tax of salt.
Virgin Gorda, Peter and Norman Island were also viewed. The latter is credited as the inspiration of Robert Louis Stevenson’s ‘Treasure Island’. We viewd ‘ the Indians’, 4 sea stacks, and sailed into Pirate’s Bight, with its sandy beach.
On our return to the cruise terminal at 1245, we wandered the shopping mall and Eric attempted to photograph a flotilla of frigate birds. Our tally of wildlife today, mostly unphotographed, included a hawk, mongoose and turtle. Having obtained our last free gifts from a jeweller anxious for our custom, we headed for the ship. This had been a morning to remember, one of many over the past 14 days aboard and the ideal way to end our first blue water cruise on a real cruise liner. Tortola has the most beautiful and varied coastline, given that it is an archipelago, and it will remain long in our memories.
We were aboard at 1315 and partook of a light lunch. Eric maintains that a chicken salad constitutes ‘light’, especially without any carbs, but Joyce gently points out that the 2 sausages and slices of ham slightly tilt the balance towards heavy.
At 1405, while Joyce enjoyed the relative quiet of deck 12 for a sunbathe and to watch the ship leave port, Eric retired to the balcony. The ship reversed at just over Eric’s walking pace, as the ‘Valiant Lady’ slipped past him, while he walked to the lift, one of 34 lifts on the ship, 12 for public use. Once ensconced on the balcony, Eric began to write today’s brief (“Brief?” responds the savvy gentle reader, who has read some of Eric’s posts, ‘Who is he trying to kid?”) epistle. This task was interrupted by the need to photograph the beautiful coastline slipping past and the seabirds.
At 1535 Eric met Joyce in the jeweller for the last chance raffle. Last night Eric was one number away from a win, today it was Joyce’s turn to miss out by one. Drowning our sorrows in an icecream we returned to the cabin to contemplate the task of pouring everything back into our cases, not just what we brought but also the few (see gentle reader’s interjection above) items we had bought. Eric decided to contemplate the naval from the balcony, to enjoy it for a few more precious minutes. We are sailing almost due west, and Eric is trying to work out the best place for the final sunset photographs as we try for an early dinner.
The sunset photograph failed to materialise as the early dinner stretched a little. From what Eric could see from the restaurant window, it did not amount to much anyway. Eric would like to reassure the gentle reader that this is in no way sour grapes but an objective assessment.
Just before dinner, we passed the westernmost US Virgin Island to port and during, and after dinner, Puerto Rico to starboard. Today has been a day of multiple Caribbean islands, a very special day.
Our luggage had to be outside the cabin door by 2100, so the time after dinner was spent in packing, and it was completed by 2030.
We expect to be called to disembark at 0730 tomorrow, so we snuggled down, as soon as we could, for our last night on the ship.
Eric thinks he is now wise to Aurora’s wiles and is up at 0600. Unfortunately, despite yesterday’s excellent dress rehearsal when Joyce slumbered blissfully on despite Eric’s pre-dawn perambulations, today’s performance did not go as well, as hopping around on one leg to get into his shorts, he unfortunately awoke Joyce . She promptly went back to sleep and woke up later than she would have liked. This supports the old tradition that a poor dress rehearsal presages a good show, and vice versa.
Once on deck 6, Eric was presented with a view of Sint Maarten, and in the distance, in the predawn gloom, the silhouettes of a number of smaller islands to the east and south. Those to the south we had glimpsed from Brimstone Hill yesterday.
While not completely covering the sky, a solid phalanx of fair weather cumulus cloud stood guard over the eastern skies, where first light painted the sky cyan. A hint of orange could be seen, especially when enhanced by the technology of the camera. Eric was convinced that Dawn had again outwitted him by her clever positioning of cloud and islands, but these were but the stage set. As time passed, the orange became red, and the sun’s disc burst from behind the lower clouds, a magnificent sight and an oustanding performance.
Our meeting on the quayside was again 0815 and again we joined the end of a long queue of cruisers. This was a popular tour, with 3 full coachloads of keen tourists.
Our guide gave us the history of Sint Maarten, which, as with the other islands, began with the peaceful, agricultural Arawaks, from the Orinoco basin, who were removed from the island by the actions of the next S American people, the warlike Caribs. In this incarnation of the history, the Carib are described as cannibals, a designation denied thus far. The Dutch were the first European nation to settle here, attracted by the salt pans, giving access to the original white gold, salt. The Arawak had named St Maarten Soualiga island of salt. The Dutch brought in slaves to manually collect the salt from the natural salt flats. Later, the flats were paved with pebbles to help the collection process.
The island became the focus of struggles between the 4 naval powers of the early 17th century with colonial and resource exploitation ambitions, France, the Netherlands, Spain and Great Britain, and the island changed hands 16 times. In the mid 17th century Spain and Great Britain lost interest in the musical island game, as they had their own sources of salt, but France and the Netherlands kept at it, until, in the final seabattle Admiral Peter Stuyvesan, ‘Peg Leg Pete’, lost a leg to a French cannon ball which was so hot it cauterised the stump, sparing his life. However, losing a limb did distract him for a while, and the Dutch lost the battle. By this time both fleets were badly depleted and although the French won, they agreed to split the island with the Dutch, with the 1648 Treaty of Concordia, declaring peace on the island, no matter what happened elsewhere. This treaty has held, and the two regions continue to live in peace, giving rise to the description of the island as the Friendly Island. The border has no formal controls, and the only time free movement was not allowed was during Covid. The island is home to 140 nationalities and a full panoply of religions.
After salt, cotton, tobacco and sugar were grown in plantations, but today tourism is the driving force for the Dutch section, which is now independent from the Netherlands, along with St Barts and a number of smaller islands, including Saba, one of the islands visible from St Kitts. The French part of the island, on the other hand, is a Departement of France and receives direct assistance from the French government.
The split responsibilities means thst everything is duplicated two capitals and two airports, although, much the the chagrin of the French, only the Dutch airport is able to handle the larger jets, so Air France has to land there.
The most recent significant event was the double whammy of hurricane hits in 2017. Both category 5, despite the guided inventing a category 6 for the Saffir-Simpson scale. However, the devestation from the first, which destroyed much of the buildings and infrastructure and stripped much of the vegetation, was the result of tornadoes embedded in the hurricane. While not common, these phenomena have been known about for a long time and help explain the intensity of such storms.
The island has largely been rebuilt with resilient buildings and infrastructure.
The island has 38 beaches, and the Dutch part has exploited these for the drive for tourist income. It is a pretty island, with a mountainous interior, but without neither the altitude nor steepness of terrain of other islands. One feature observed as we drove were the iguana draped over sunbathed tree branches, catching the rays.
Our first stop was in the French capital, Marigot, where we enjoyed the products of a patisserie, a view of the marina and a row of local food outlets, their kitchens made from small containers, sent from France after the hurricanes. In the distance, on top of the hill, we could see Fort Louis.
Returning to the Dutch side, we crossed the Princess Julianna bridge for a catamaran cruise around Aimpson Bay, admiring the yachts and super-yachts and watching planes takes off from the international airport.
We returned to the ship at 1230 and, pausing only to change into swimwear, we hit the quay again to catch a water taxi to Philipsburg, the Dutch capital, although named after an Englishman.
A walk along Front Street allowed us to admire the old Courthouse and the RC church, surprisingly closed, and then the Museum also, given recent experience not surprisingly, closed (Saturday and Sunday). On our way, Joyce unerringly found us a homemade ice cream emporium. We both enjoyed two scoops.
A paddle on the white sand beach, followed by a swim, on one side of the jetty, then another paddle on the softer sand on the other side of the jetty completed our afternoon’s entertainment.
Back on the quayside, we found more fine iguana sunning themselves on the rip rap. Many different colours were represented, and these animals exuded languid arrogance as they lay on the rocks.
With only 15 minutes left to curfew, Joyce happily explored the free gift possibilities of the jewellers in the mall lining our approach to the ship. Mission accomplished, we joined the queue of last-minute returners, making our way for a drink and a snack. Joyce again went to explore the delights of the jacuzzi, while Eric prepared today’s account thus far.
On our bed we found instructions for our departure on Monday. It is hard to believe that the trip is almost over. We have got into a comfortable routine and have enjoyed being shown some of the highlights of a different island everday, with an introduction to its history and people, while seeing the diversity of lanscapes, human and natural, and the plethora of plant life.
The sunset tonight was a full production, with a wide range of colours of the red palette. Broken cloud added character to the scene, the sun descended as a full disc to the horizon, where a thin bank of cloud precluded the green flash.
We selected Crossings restaurant tonight, getting a seat straight away, sharing with a Canadian couple. Over a delicious meal, we shared cruising and general travel chit-chat, and Eric found himself explaining the richness of cricket.
We left the meal before dessert in order to be in time for the jewellery raffle, but once again, we were unsuccessful.
We then drowned our sorrows in crepes, completing our meal in the cafe. The boat is moving more than it has up until now, with the swimming pool sloshing dramatically from end to end. After another early morning an early bed is calling.
Eric’s duel with dawn, the capricious minx, was a honourable draw this morning. Awaking at 0604 with broken cloud and wait for it, gentle reader, no rain, Eric betook himself to his favourite spot, starboard midships deck 6, to await Dawn’s arrival. To do so Eric had to dress in almost total darkness, lit only by the faint green glow of the camera battery charger. Eric was very glad that he had left his clothes in a sensible place and order and that male underwear is relatively easy to orientate. Joyce was very impressed he had managed to dress and leave the cabin without disturbing her.
This time, Eric was well ahead of Dawn and enjoyed the colours of the incipient sunrise. True to form, Dawn had deviously placed Nevis’ mountain between her and him, so Eric was unable to capture her clamber above the horizon. However, pyrotechnics in the clouds reds and oranges made up for this. Finally, the sun peeked out in all its glory above the low cloud bank on the horizon, its tops bedecked with scarlet, orange, and silver, over a low part of Nevis. A beautiful sunrise.
While at breakfast, Eric watched us dock, followed quickly by a clipper and a Virgin Voyages vessel, who parked next to us. Liner envy warning, gentle reader, they have hammocks on their balconies, and it transpires from a conversation with a couple from this liner, no children.
Joyce had enjoyed a deep sleep and joined Eric later for breakfast then we returned to the cabin for final preparations for today’s excursion excurdion, which met at 0815 at the St Christopers’s (St Kitts as it is better known) cruise terminal. Leaving at 0805 we joined the end of a queue of fellow excursioners. Our group was split into two, and we were in the smaller half, which gave us a lot of room on the mini coach.
We were first taken for a trip through Basseterre. When first colonised, St Kitts was divided between the French and English, who found common cause in defeating the indigenous Carib population. Joint action, such as the massacre that gave Blood River its name, sustained an uneasy, sometimes violent truce, until relations in Europe dictated England taking action here, driving the French out.
As a result Basseterre owes a great deal of its layout to the French although the main square, where the slave market (where slaves were traded) and slave markets (trading in products from the slaves’ garden plots were traded), was renamed Pall Mall and, in 1983, Independence Square. On the Square, we passed the Georgian House, now offices, and the RC cathedral, which was open. A little further on, we saw the National Museum, closed for refurbishment, and the large Anglican church, just plain closed. It bears commenting that our attempts to find an open urban Anglican church have largely met with failure while, in contrast, the RC churches always seem open for business. What message is this sending?
While on the subject of churches, we have been impressed with the wide range of denominations available on the islands, with even the smallest village having a choice of places of worship, Baptist, Methodist, Moravian, being the most frequent.
Leaving the city, we passed along the coast, spotting the remnants of the sugar industry, which ended in 2006. Eric would like to put it on record that although he gave up the sugar element of “tea or coffee with his sugar” he does not take responsibility for the sugar industry failing here.
We passed the rusting remains of the last sugar factory and saw the remnants of plantations, isolated chimneys of sugar factories, and sugar windmill towers that date from an older phase of the industry. Also, on our route, we saw a new hotel built by the Chinese.
There seemed to be a great number more advertisements than we had seen elsewhere. Eric particularly liked painted on a well presented Guiness bar ‘let the good limes roll’.
Our first call was at the Fairview Great House, a restored plantation house, up a steep drive from the coast road. When Eric had booked the tour, he had read this as Guest House, not a major error as the house had a reincarnation as an hotel, before becoming a historic monument.
It was well presented with a great deal of interest, not least the original bath house, with a deep plunge pool into which lava blocks, heated in the sun, would be placed before the bath was bucket filled for the owner’s weekly (Saturday) bath. The whole family would use the water, according to their place in the pecking order, before the bath was emptied, again by buckets. The rooms were large and airy, surrounded by balconies overlooking beautiful gardens.
The house had an excellent exhibition on slavery, which was excellent, being balanced and informative. Unfortunately we did not have time to really do it justice.
Our next stop was Romney Manor, the home of Thomas Jefferson’s ancestor Samuel. The site of the house is now occupied by Caribelle Batik and is surrounded by tropical gardens.
On the way to this stop we drove along the Old Rum Road, a narrow, unmade and, as it turned out, one way track, which passed the Wainwright Plantation with its extensive stonework remnants of a sugar and rum factory. Eric was disappointed we were not stopping, here and, being on the wrong side of the coach, failed to take any photographs of this apparently fascinating site, hoping to get them on the way back, except it was one way.
Eric’s gentle readers will have been very well aware of and surprised at Eric’s silence on the subject of retail opportunities on the large number of tours enjoyed over the past days. Given Eric’s propensity to wax prolixly and lyrically on the very merest detail of travel experiences, this silence either means that Eric is suffering from writer’s block or they have not happened again until now. While I understand my gentle readers’ desire for the former, Eric has to report that actually the latter is correct. For an unprecedented run of agency organised tours, there has been no visit to a local producer of something or other, not alcohol, not food nor handicrafts, that is until today.
The Batik manufactory gives a quick demonstration of the proces and then lets the visitor loose in a well stocked gift shop. After a cursory wander past the well stocked shelves and clothing rails Eric and Joyce left to enjoy the gardens.
Separated from Joyce, do not fear gentle reader Joyce is innured to this experience by now, Eric passed the guide and made his way back to the bus, only to find the door locked, with the rest of the party onboard. Eric wandered back to find the guide, who was obviously looking for Eric, but with no luck. 10 minutes later, after waiting in a rain shower, the guide returned, and Eric regained the shelter of the bus.
Our next stop was Eric’s second bucket list site, on the bucket list since he read about it when planning the cruise. The gentle reader will, of course, remember that first on the list was to visit St Pierre and see Mt Pelee on Martinique, a long held dream so heartlessly crushed by NCL changing the itinerary, despite advertising themselves as the cruise line with whom to tick off your bucket list.
This site is Brimstone Hill, described as the Gibraltar of the West Indies, a series of fortifications built on and around to 800 foot summit of an andesite dome, looking north towards St Maarten and the smaller islands between. It has been preserved and partially reconstructed and is rightly a UNESCO world heritage site, as is Nelson’s dockyard.
The fortress is reached via a narrow, hairpin bent road, which passes through a series of narrow gates, just wide enough for the tourist mini coaches, one on a hairpin. Near the start of the road is a limekiln which supplied the mortar to cement the lava blocks together to create the sequence of gun platforms that ascend the seaward side of the hill to Fort George, the final defence, crowning the summit.
An interesting video introduces the site, and Fort George houses a museum, with far too much to take in given the short time we were there. The view is spectacular, over the Caribbean and the verdant mountain slopes to landward.
From here, retracing our route down the hill and spying a monkey introduced from West Africa, we drove back towards Basseterre, by passing it on a new road, to Frigate Bay, with its exclusive hotels and condominiums, some under construction by the Chinese.
Climbing to Timothy Hill, we had an excellent view of the golden sandy beaches of Frigate Bay and to the south we could see, on the west, the Atlantic, and on the east the Caribbean. Eric ignored the blandishments of the hucksters with their pet monkeys, offering to take a photograph of you with the monkey, much to Joyce’s relief.
Our return journey saw us pass through a thriving industrial and commercial area.
Dropped back at the cruise terminal at 1330, Eric and Joyce elected to have a walk around the centre of Basseterre. We visited Independence Square and admired the exterior of the Georgian House. As in other places we had visited, the older structures are built from stone, in this case, volcanic rock, while more recent buildings are constructed with blocks or timber. Corrugated iron is the roofing of choice.
Independence Square has a fine central fountain and pleasant walks under the shade of a number of large trees. Crossing the square, we visited the RC cathedral, a fine airy building from 1928 with no windows, simply shutters, which thankfully were open, allowing a cooling breeze into the interior. There is limited decoration but a fine apsidal chancel.
We decided to take a closer look at the closed Anglican Church and then walked down to the National Museum, admiring what we could see above the enclosing protective screens.
We walked back through the shopping area near the cruise terminal. Joyce remains tantalised by tanzanite and took little persuasion to be enticed into many of the large number of jewelry outlets, the free gift on offer, of course, had nothing to do with these visits. At one jeweller, Joyce tried on a 13 carat tanzanite bracelet, which looked good on her wrist. Given the price, Eric was more than a little relieved that Joyce decided that she probably would not wear it, no matter how good it looked. As we explored the world of bling and local souvenirs, the heavens opened, and for 20 minutes, the rain was torrential, one might even go as far as describing the downpour as tropical. Eric felt his investment in a large plastic bag, albeit a walking billboard for NCL was bearing fruit.
Tearing Joyce away from the jewellers, we returned to the ship at 1500 and enjoyed a snack lunch. While Eric blogged, Joyce sunbathed. The ship left its moorings at 1658 and Eric watched St Kitts shrink in the distance as he tapped this missive.
Our heading from St Kitts should be NNW, but given that it is so close, and we are due to dockbat 0800 tomorrow, the Captain has headed south instead. This has ruined Eric’s balcony viewpoint and instead forced him to his deck 6 perch, albeit without seats. Sunset tonight was again a washout, with a thick bank of cloud to the west. Cloud tops wrre tinged with orange but there was no sign of the sun, or his millinery, until at the very last moment, on the horizon, there was a flash of red. A few moments later it disappeared.
The evening’s entertainment was a feast of prestidigitation, comedy and juggling followed by a feast at Cagneys, our third specialist dining experience. Eric and Joyce both thoroughly enjoyed the Fillet Mignon and are thankful for elasticated trousers, the diet starts next week.
Even in a tropical paradise, nature cries, Eric thought as he strode out onto deck 6 into heavy rain. It had all started so well, in the dark cabin, up ahead of dawn, “got you this time”. However, dawn was off in a huff, her cohorts of special optical effects techs stood down, and no visual fireworks as heavy cloud obscured the sky. As Eric, in his teaching days, told the malcontents and miscreants, neerdowells and naughty boys, recalcitrants and rascals, “into each life some rain must fall, and I am a positive monsoon”.
While Joyce had come fully prepared with a waterproof, Eric regretted not packing one, blithely falling for the blue sky advertising pictures. He had forgotten the despair of the professional photographer on the Antarctica cruise, taking perfect pictures in the driving snow, telling us that the marketing department only wanted to use blue sky images. “Man up” Eric hears the gentle readers’ chorus, “skin is waterproof.” Eric concedes this fact but would respectfully point out that cotton is not, and an enforced wet t-shirt competition would not be suitable for those of a nervous disposition.
As Antigua slowly emerged from the mists, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast on deck, but under cover. The approach is beautiful, despite the downpour, but how much more beautiful it would have been in a clear sky dawn. The view has many of the elements of an English summer, sodden beaches and raindrops on the lens, but at a higher temperature.
Today’s tour was booked directly, well via Viator, with a local company, rather than using NCL. Antigua is Martinique’s replacement, and time will tell whether it plays as well. Secretly, Eric thinks the rain is a judgement for having missed Martinique. When we were sorting out excursions, NCL had few on offer, so we booked independently. Viator had been excellent on the round the world trip, so we had high hopes.
The Captain was clearly trained as a politician. At his ‘safe docking’ announcement, he described the weather as ‘overcast, with scattered showers’ as the rain continued to pour down outside and continued to do so all day.
Unusually, a storm from the west, i.e., the Caribbean Sea, was causing the diluvian delights.
At 0840, we headed for a sodden sojourn on Antigua. Thankfully, the liner had a stock of $3 ponchos. Eric zealously seized one and was grateful he had. The directions to our pick-up point were clear, and we were soon registered as prospective passengers. A short wait ensued before our transport arrived. It turned out we were the only ones on this tour, so we had the luxury of a dedicated driver and a people carrier to ourselves. The driver, Carllon, is the tour operator’s son, so we were in good hands.
As we drove away from the cruise terminal, along Long Street (shorter than the name suggests) out of St John’s we passed the Museum and the Anglican Cathedral, both ideal wet weather visits, potentially on our return. We passed the old cricket ground and the super new stadium, a gift of the Chinese. On a number of islands China has been distributing its largesse, an investment for what sort of future?
Apparently, in wet weather, Antiguans prefer to stay at home. Today, because of the rain, the schools were closed in case of flash flooding.
Our first visit was supposed to be to Betty’s Hope, the richest sugar plantation on the island. However, when we got to the gates, they were locked, ‘because of the rain’ we were told. We could see the sugar windmills and the walls of a reservoir, but nothing else. Elsewhere on the island, the mill towers, the remnants of a once thriving sugar industry, stand abandoned and forlorn, amidst forest, which has grown on abandoned plantation land.
The brightly painted houses seen throughout our travels are regularly redecorated around Christmas time, ahead of the New Year.
Our next stop was Devil’s Bridge, a natural bridge cut by the sea into the low limestone cliff, elsewhere well notched. The weather was kinder on this leg of the journey, as the rain had stopped
.
From here, we drove to English Harbour, known as Nelson’s dockyard. On the way, a short detour took us to a viewpoint overlooking the Antigua Yacht Club with some huge super yachts.
During the English colonisation of Antigua, it was first used as a hurricane refuge, then it had become a naval dockyard, helping to sustain the Royal Navy’s presence in the West Indies.
In 1784, a certain Captain Nelson was tasked with enforcing the Navigation Act, restricting trade in the white gold, sugar, to British vessels, a task at which he proved adept, which made him very unpopular with everyone. Although provided with a house onshore, he preferred to live on-board.
The dockyard is the centre of an extensive yachting industry and has been designated a UNESCO site. It has been restored, with some buildings used as a hotel, others as offices. The onsite museum contains a great deal of interest.
The entrance ticket allows access to Dow’s Hill interpretive centre, built at one of the forts defending the harbour. The 15-minute presentation was excellent, outlining the history of the island and the harbour.
Surely, there had to be more to see. ‘Don’t call me Shirley’. However, at Shirley Heights, there wascanother fort, on the cliffs overlooking the entrance to the harbour, the third point of interest. On the next headland, Eric Clapton has a house.
We then drove through the rainforest, spying a mongoose darting across the road. These animals were introduced to eliminate snakes from the plantations. We then drove along the west coast back to St John’s. A sequence of beautiful beaches and a number of exclusive resorts were seen.
On reentering the city, our driver took us through a number of residential streets, with small cabins and no gardens, in varying states of repair. City work is seen by many as a means to an end, allowing them eventially to move to the countryside for a more agrarian lifestyle.
Our driver dropped us at the Cathedral, which was open, largely because of a pending funeral. Built of limestone blocks its interior is of wood beautifully crafted, with stained glass in the apse. The rain seemed to be heavier than ever as we left its shelter.
Having celebrated access to the Cathedral, we had high hopes of the Museum, only to find it closed, because of the rain we concluded. It is ironic that the one attraction visitable in wet weather should be closed due to rain. Given that there were 4 cruise liners in port, plus two clipper yachts, a chance to earn some revenue had been missed.
Thwarted in our wish to extend our knowledge of the island, we plodded through the downpour back to the ship, stopping off to see the wares in a Chinese superstore, having heard they were undercutting the local traders.
Having dried off, we headed for lunch, Joyce favouring pizza, and Eric another hamburger in a bit of baguette followed by ice cream. We then returned to the cabin. There is something distinctly dastardly decadent, Eric thought, about lying on the bed, eating ice cream, and watching the rain. A note of caution to the grandchildren, do not try this at home.
We sailed a little early at 1650. Clearly, there was no issue with late returners today. People had gone ashore but did not seem to venture too far or for too long, not surprisingly given the persistent rain. An interesting reversing manoeuvre brought us into alignment for straight sailing, and we watched Antigua slip back into the mist.
A buffet dinner, an oustanding magic act, and no coconut in the raffle, completed the day.
For some unaccountable reason, Eric was awake at 0622. A peek through the window showed that we were still all at sea, so leaving Joyce to her slumbers Eric prepared himself to go to deck 6 and try to surprise dawn. However, dawn was not going to be caught out. Our heading was just N of E and the island of Dominica lay ahead of us, so she had plenty of scope to rise above the horizon unsupervised, behind the volcanic hills and a thick band of cloud. Eric enjoyed the play of sunlight highlighting the cloud tops and tantalisingly gleaming across a col, just below cloud base. The show being over, he returned to the cabin to find Joyce preparing for the day.
From the balcony, Eric spotted our old friend the Cost a Fortune heading to port. It turns out they snaffled the prime mooring, in the town centre, leaving us some distance out in the commercial port.
Eric went ahead for breakfast, sitting on the seaward side, hoping to spy any sign, however miniscule, of the dolphins and whales for which Dominica is famed. The gentle reader will not be surprised to learn that the denizens of the deep were having none of this appearing at the surface malarkey sob, sob.
The ship docked, port side being port side for the day.
Eric had resolved to let his disappointment over missing Martinique go, as the cruise was meeting all other expectations. However, not one to let a good whinge pass by he is still sore at Norwegian Cruise Lines for their late adjustment to the advertised schedule. Being a new man, is quite happy to emote, sob, sob.
After breakfast, we assiduously prepared for our tour, which promised a dip in a waterfall. Eric had an afternoon tour too, so we were a proper pair of hucksters, with our possessions tied anout us in the rucksack and the shoulder beach bag.
On reaching the quayside, we were cut out from the herd and sent to a far corner of the car park, well away from all the other happy cruisers joining their tour buses and cheery guides. We were met by a harassed member of the excursions team, who told us that the tour company had cancelled this particular excursion. Given Eric’s afternoon commitment, it proved impossible to find a suitable alternative, so we had to cancel, sob, sob.
Instead, we took the shuttle bus, 2$ for a twenty minute ride, into the centre of Roseau. The bus dropped us at the museum, directly opposite the Costa’s gangplank. The museum was small, but very informative about the history of Dominica, pre colonial, colonial and post colonial. This island seems to have enjoyed more self determination over the past 300 years than most and has given the descendants of the original inhabitants, the Kalingo, their own part of the island in the north. There are now around 6,000 living there. Although England finally won the island, breaking the series of French colonial islands, the French have left a deep legacy of language and place names, although the official language is English, they drive on the left and have a Westminster style government. In recent years, they have forged strong links with China, Venezuela and Cuba.
Behind the museum is the cobbled old market, now a mecca for souvenir hunters. It has been interesting to see the difference in souvenirs available island to island, and Dominica has provided some inspiration for gifts for grandchildren.
The centre of Roseau is little developed and many of the streets have the raised, cobbled, sidewalks and open drains of their colonial past. Larger block built buildings rub shoulders with smaller, traditional shacks. Colonial style verandahs lend (trigger warning gentle reader, anglocentric prejudice warning) an air of sophistication.
We then walked further into town, visiting the Methodist Church built in 1892. A simple construction, pleasantly decorated, with stained glass natural images of God’s creations.
Behind this church lies the RC cathedral. It is under renovation, although it took a complete circuit of the block to confirm it was totally protected against visits from marauding tourists.
From here, we walked up to Fort Young, now a hotel which incorporates the outer landward wall. Outside this is a powerful statue commemorating emancipation, and the sad ruins of an Anglican Church.
It was only a short stroll to the shuttle pick up point, via a jeweller, and we found a bus waiting, long enough to fill every seat. Eric amused himself by trying to take a people free picture of the Dominica sign. It is fascinating watching the poses adopted, both the subject and the photographer, the care with which the mobile phone camera is adjusted and the intense scrutiny of the resulting inage, before repeating the whole rigmarole. Everyone is a wannabe Patrick Lichfield or more likely David Bailey.
We were dropped back at the ship where another tourist market had appeared on the landward side of security. We took full advantage of this to look at other items we (in advance, sorry parents) thought might be suitable for grandchildren. Having insufficient funds to buy some items, we commisioned the stall holders to hold them for us. Once on the ship, Eric prepared for his upcoming visit to Trafalgar Falls and Champagne Reef, while Joyce gallantly went to pay for our planned purchases.
Eric’s tour met at 1245 so he left Joyce on board to lunch, sunbathe and swim while he joined the 30 other supplicant snorkellers. Split into two buses, nicely air conditioned, Eric’s supplemented by open windows, we set off for our excursion.
Dominica is vigorously volcanic, with 9 active volcanoes, and a landscape created by the continuous battle between volcanoes adding material to the island and the forces of erosion wearing them away. Our guide was proud that the island is the biggest, wettest and most mountainous of the Caribbean islands, although its boiing lake is only 2nd largest in the world, at 45 meters diameter.
It was soon proved that it was the most mountainous as the sinuous roads had longer and steeper road gradients than any yet experienced, so steep that the minicoach was scraping its tail on some corners.
We passed through the city, with a transit of the Botanic Gardens, which has suffered from the series of high magnitude hurricanes over the past 30 years, and then east into the heart of Dominica. The rivers seem more deeply incised into the volcanic rocks (most frequent being welded tuffs. Our guide was happy to show off the plethora of productive plants, given the rich soils from weathered volcanics ‘almost anything grows’.
Reaching the village of Trafalgar, we walked to see the Papa and Mama Falls. The longer Papa Falls comes from a lake, which is used for HEP, supplying 40% of the island’s electricity while the Mama Falls is fed by a river. This landscape is truly dynamic with hurricanes over the past century, triggering large rockfalls, which blocked the fumeroles and hot springs that used to be part of the landscape.
The beauty of this paired plunge admired, we returned to the buses and retraced our steps to the coast road, heading south. A short drive brought us to the Champagne reef visitor centre. Destroyed in the last major hurricane, there are plans for a replacement, as proudly illustrated on the hoardings, but this aspiration has yet to be realised, sob, sob.
Introduced to our snorkle guides and fitted with snorkel gear, including a buoyancy aid, we gingerly picked our way across the cobble beach to a steep scarp, up which the waves were pushing strong breakers, with obviously strong backwash. Although on the Caribbean side, the sea was very active.
We were assisted into the sea and then began a swim along the coast, offshore of the breaker zone. Initially, sand based, we soon passed over reef sections with soft corals, brain corals and a number of colourful fish. Eventually, we reached the Champagne reef where bubbles, from subterranean volcanic activity, made their way to the surface, a natural jacuzzi.
Having enjoyed this natural display and admired the fish, we made our way back along the coast to our starting point. It soon became apparent that the sea was rougher, and landing would not be easy.
The lead guide opted for assisted landing, one at a time. Given that Eric fell over when it was his turn, he was very grateful for the strong arms helping him up.
This had slowed things down and we rushed back to the buses as we were at risk of breaching the 1630 curfew. Despite our driver’s valiant efforts to find a traffic free route, we met jam after jam, making it back to the ship at 1640. Making the walk of shame back to the vessel was not that bad, we could hold our heads high as the gangplank was still down for us, it was not our fault.
Having sorted himself out, Eric met up with Joyce aft on deck 11. She then went for a ship’s jacuzzi, while Eric wrote the blog, watching for the sunset that failed to materialise, given the thick cloud cover.
We went to the Crossings restaurant at 1900, a little later than intended. No show tonight and arriving at the jeweller for the raffle at 2000 a challenge. Fortunately, they were able to seat us immediately and pollockless, the service was its usual slick best. We arrived a little breathless for the raffle, but again our ticket was not drawn, sob sob.
We then withdrew to the cabin for final blog polishing and publication.
Since our tour meeting time today is 0845, Eric did not set his alarm and awoke at 0643. Repairing to Deck 6 he was faced by a town. We had docked at Castries, St Lucia without the Captain telling him. The sun was working its magic behind a cloud, behind a hill, so not the best of photographic potential. With the starboard side of the ship to the quay it is of course the port side.
We were second in, behind a smaller liner, which was docked across the harbour. Clearly, the Captain had nipped in quick, hence the bow first approach, and snaffled the Elizabeth II mooring, closest to town and with the duty-free mall.
Over breakfast, Eric watched another cruise liner dock, executing a 180 degree turn to berth across the harbour from us. Eric casually looked across at the name and read Costa Fortune A very candid admission, he thought. A second look showed it to be Costa Fortuna, a little more subtle. This vessel has a water slide on its upper deck, which raises the question of liner envy. When docked with other vessels, there is clearly an assessment, albeit at a distance, of that ship’s pluses and minuses, the size of the balcony and its furniture, the state of its paintwork, its age (although paint covers a lot of imperfections) spring to mind. Overheard on an earlier quay, someone looking at another, perceived as superior liner, “of course we only chose this ship for the itinerary”.
Playing tag with Joyce for breakfast, who had been very clear that dawn was not on her agenda today, Eric sat on the balcony looking across the harbour and out to sea. A busy road was visible, with vehicles driving on left. “But wait’, I hear the gentle reader cry in shock, “St Lucia is French.” I only report as I find, gentle reader. In fact, the English came out on top at the end of the Napoleonic war, but the French roots are deep, surviving in place names and Creole.
Castries is a bustling town, with high-rise flats on the waterfront, large hotels, and towards the outskirts houses dotting the hillsides right to the top, nestling in lush vegetation.
St Lucia is a volcanic island, so we are back to a peaky landscape with mountain tops, ridges, and steep slopes. Little chance of a smooth ride here, Eric concluded, and, surprisingly, he was proved right.
We joined the end of the queue for our particular tour and were led to a fairly modern minicoach, internally rather than externally air conditioned. The process of parcelling out groups of people, then leading them to their work for the day, had historical precedent in this area, Eric thought. The last few seats available to us were at the back of the bus. It is interesting how age changes perspective. The young make a beeline for the rear seats, those of more mature years tend towards the front.
Our formidable guide took charge and rapidly put the male cohort on warning that she would accept no attitude from men pointing out that given that 70% of St Lucia’s population is female, the women on the coach had a lot of allies. Eric decided he would not like to cross this virago, if he had only listened to himself.
A quick historical introduction followed with the first settlers, the Arawak and Caribs, warring over their way of life. The Arawak were farmers, the Carib hunters, a very Esau and Isaac tale, as the Carib drove the Arawak out. The Dutch, French, and English followed with their own warring tendencies.
Our first point of interest was a transit of Fort Charlotte, built by the French but developed by the English. It is now part of the University of the West Indies. The students here all wear a uniform appropriate to their faculty. The oldest building is an 18th-century French powder magazine built in volcanic stone.
We drove out of Castries heading south. Although the roads are wider and, overall, in a better state of repair (not 4×4 territory), they wind something chronic. If serpentine describes the roads thus far travelled, the word of the day has to be hairpin. Who needs theme parks. Mind you, at least today’s driver drove around, rather than straight at potholes.
Excellent views of the harbour gave way to more confined views as the road made its way up and over sharp ridges and steeply down to deep valleys. With 38 rivers, St Lucia is well incised, although the size of some rivers has allowed wider valley floors than we have been used to, with settlements and field agriculture.
The first of these is the cul de sac, prone to flooding. Work to raise the road is ongoing, so the brand new bridge stands in isolated splendour as all traffic continues to use the old one.
We stopped at a viewpoint to see the splendour of the west coast. Eric put himself in the guide’s bad books by crossing the road to look at some geology. With no signs nor prior warning, he was admonished as ‘she was in charge’. At the next stop, she did have the courtesy to directly tell us not to cross the road. This stop was at a botanical garden, very peaceful and replete with plants and bible verses. A humming bird briefly entered the scene and was soon only a memory. Despite Eric keeping guard for 15 minutes, while the rest of the party were shown a wide selection of island fruits, many introduced from India by indentured workers after slavery was abolished, the bird failed to reappear there, only to pop up again in front of the rest of the party.
From here, we had a good view of Les Pitons, the twin peaks that are the symbol of St Lucia. These are volcanic plugs, and they have hiking trails to their summits. If only Eric had known
After this sylvan sojourn, we headed for Anse de Raye, a fishing village, where we pottered on the pier, sauntered on the sand, Joyce had a paddle and surveyed souvenirs.
Marigot was the next village we drove through, then a long switchback ride to La Soufriere through the margin of the tropical rain forest. Thickly vegetated, the trees benefit from the sun, volcanic soils, and 160 inches of rainfall per year. It took until 1956 for this road to be built. This year the wet season rainfall had been concentrated into January, when it rained every day and had triggered extensive and lage mudslides. We were glad we had chosen to travel in February.
Having driven through the village, we headed for “the drive in volcano.” La Soufriere village is built on a river that reaches the sea in a breach in the wall of the 12km diameter caldera, the collapsed remains of a volcanic cone. The caldera walls are clearly seen, rising several hundred feet above the relatively flat caldera floor. The last volcanic eruption was recorded in 1792. Inland of the village is the acid lava dome, and on the western side of this is the last remnant of volcanic activity, the sulphur springs.
As we approached, the smell of hydrogen sulphide became noticeable. After an introductory video, we went to the viewing platform for the geothermal field, with the active fumeroles bubbling like witches cauldrons, throwing gouts of black water high in the air, with associated curtains of steam.
From here, we retraced our steps, pausing for refreshments at a restaurant that gave excellent views of Les Pitons. The restaurant is perched on the caldera rim and benefits from the sea breezes. however, today, it was blowing a gale, not quite a hurricane, more than just refreshing.
Once back in Castries, we walked into town to find the cathedral. It was the end of the school day as we passed a large number of young people in a plethora of different uniforms. Education is not totally free here, and money is charged for what we would regard as essentials. Passing the Library, we traversed the park, celebrating St Lucia’s two Nobel Laureates, the physicist Sir William Arthur Lewis, and Derek Walcott the poet and author.
The cathedral was built in 1899 and is an iron frame with solid walls and a wooden roof. Its internal decorations are by local artists, and the stained glass shows scenes from St Mary’s life.
Up until today we have felt quite safe walking around towns but had to recalibrate when advised by a kindly passing teacher not to make our phones too obvious.
Our guide had commented that, to the uninitiated, fast spoken Creole can sound and look aggressive, but unless those talking are waving hands in each others’ faces, with flared nostrils and wide eyes, then it is just a chat. As we passed two under nose finger wagging, communicating, taxi drivers, we could see what she meant.
We walked back to the terminal at 1550 and found a jeweller, where Joyce found a tanzanite pendant she liked.
Back on board, Eric sat with his ice cream aft on deck 11, composing the blog and watching the ship’s departure. Initially reversing, the Captain did a neat three point turn so as to sail out of the harbour.
From the balcony, the sunset was passable, with some interesting effects through the clouds.
We ate in the Crossings restaurant where Eric pondered, as he ordered lemonade and Joycecordered wine, whether cruise lines should offer a teetotal discount on their drinks packages, as long as the user was certified by an archbishop and a doctor. Joyce’s main course choice of pollock posed preparation problems, slowing the meal down considerably. This meant that we only caught the last 15 minutes of the variety act in the theatre before ending the evening’s entertainment with another unsuccessful raffle at the jewellers. An early night followed.
Tomorrow was supposed to be Martinique, on the itinerary we signed up for. Looking at the course as shown on the information channel, we are travelling a long way west of the island, denying Eric even the merest chance of spying this bucket list destination, not least because it is at night.
Eric’s timing is slowly improving as nacreously nailed dawn was on a finger’s breadth above the horizon as he reached the vantage point on deck 6. This week, we will be travelling mostly north, so it is SDPS, starboard dawn, port sunset. The demure sun was veiled in wispy streaks of cloud, until becoming fully veiled by fair weather cumulus just above the horizon. As Eric ate breakfast, he enjoyed the light show as the sun played peepo from behind the clouds.
Eric is delighted to report that our time on the cruise equivalent of the naughty step has been served, and the buffet is self-service once more. On the subject of time and vittles Eric has found that breakfast at around 0640 is excellent as one’s fellow cruisers are few and far between and a quiet period of digestion and philosophical reflection can be achieved, sat ot one of the tables outside the restaurant with a clear view of the ocean, bird life and the new island rising steadily out of the water. Not wishing to shock you, gentle reader but Eric is not a great fan of the ear splitting din, live or piped that passeth for music these days, although at this time in the morning the background racket is thankfully muted.
As the detail of the island resolved itself, it became clear that the topography was more rolling, with gentler slopes, a contrast to the past two days. Barbados is the most southerly and easterly of the Caribbean islands, technically in the Atlantic. It lies at the boundary of the Caribbean and N American plate but is not volcanic. Rather, it is the result of the tectonic uplift of terrestrial sediments from S America, interleaved with marine sediments, by the resultant compressive forces at the boundary. This foundation formed a platform for coral reef terraces producing coral limestone, subject to uplift 3 more times to produce the skeleton of the present island, which is only 60,000 years old in its current configuration
Eric had arranged to meet Joyce at breakfast, but instead of sitting at our usual port side table, he had gone rogue and sat on the sunny starboard side. It was not until their paths crossed at the drinks station that they were reunited, finishing breakfast together.
Our tour this morning was due to meet at 0815 outside the Cruise Terminal. Following yesterday’s timings, we watched the slow motion, reverse park, docking process from our cabin. Bridgetown is a popular port, and 3 other liners were already docked when we shimmied into the last parking place. Looking towards the distant city and the distant terminal, 0815 began to look like a challenge. We left our cabin just after 0800, when safe docking was announced, and made our way down to deck 5, ready to descend the stairs to deck 3. Held in a queue (what Eric joined at this time yesterday did not really rate this soubriquet) until at 0825 we were cleared to leave.
Eric was comforted to think that if we were late, so were the vast mass of humanity streaming off the ship, which today, was on the starboard gangway, the result of the reverse parking. We took the free shuttle to the terminal and joined what best could be called organised chaos. Assigned a line and marked with a green armband we were led to the vehicle park and our charabanc for the morning.
As always, Eric strives for clarity and impartiality in his accounts of our travels and will readily admit that the term 4×4 and adventure in the title of the trip should have raised the teensiest warning flag. Given Eric and Joyce’s experience with an adventure river trip in New Zealand, they should have known better.
However, the die was cast, and we were ushered to our seats in the back of an open truck, 5 inward facing seats per side, equipped with padded roll bars. Joyce’s head can attest that this padding was not as effective as the operators thought, as we bounced and bumped around, moving in all three dimensions at once.
The trip was advertised as a scenic trip through the countryside of Barbados, with the aim of visiting Harrison’s cave. Leaving the urban purlieu on a well made highway, we turned off it on to minor roads, whose surfaces were, in many stretches, significantly worse than even some of Surrey’s roads.Our route certainly was through the countryside narrow lanes through wooded area, hamlets and villages (with fewer stilt houses as the slopes are gentler), fields and sugar cane. Horses are a passion here, and horsiculture was in evidence. The houses are again boldly painted and vary in construction from wooden clapboard single storey homes to block built multi-storey dwellings.
Given the state of the backroads and our driver’s propensity to drive as fast as he could, both round corners and straight at potholes, Eric thought that they definitely needed a 4×4 to traverse them. However, having seen the exterior of a plantation house and the ruins of associated processing buildings, including a dutch oven for the slave’s food, our driver suddenly took a sharp right turn off the tarmac road on to a dirt track through the cane fields, pursued by the two other trucks, on true Benny Hill style. It was here that Joyce collided with the bar as we jounced down the hill. Eric now understood the reason for the waiver we signed at the start, while Joyce thought that she could not really complain about the injury given her signature.
Breathing a sigh of relief and prising Joyce’s vice like grip off his arm, Eric relaxed as we hit the tarnac again, even potholes were better than that. However, the driver clearly had decided that this was not enough to merit the ‘Adventure’ tag for the tour and almost immediately repeated the exercise down another dirt track.
We made our first stop at H…. cliff, a superb viewpoint over the east coast and the Atlantic. The viewpoint is set on a mausoleum for local plantation owner families and is named after an unfortunate owner who, to punish his wife, wanted to destroy her favourite horse by clifficide. After repeated attempts, with the horse baulking at the rim of the precipice, he decided to blindfold it so it would not see the edge. Once he blindfolded the horse, he was determined to succeed, spurring it into such a gallop that he could not dismount in time. Both perished in the 700-foot fall.
It was at this stop, gentle reader, that Eric committed a cardinal error. His mind on other things he failed to assist Joyce in climbing down from the back of the truck (thinking the driver would help her) both leaving her to scramble down. There is no excuse for such heinous behaviour, which breaks all the rules in the diligent husband handbook. He has apologised and vowed to do better, although whether forgiveness will depend on tanzanite, remains to be seen.
At this point I fully understand the gentle reader’s confusion, what sort of name is H….? Eric had already confessed that his brain is full and that he does not remember information, useful and relevant or otherwise, as well as he used to (or thinks he used to). With only 300 minutes of iffy internet, which explains the paucity of pretty pictures to break up his stream of consciousness outpourings, he does not have Wikipedia at his fingertips as in days of yore, so he fears, gentle reader, that yore stuck with it.
“Ah but,” Eric hears the gentle reader’s reasonable retort, “you can take notes as you go.” Eric’s response, along the lines of the T-shirt “I am not arguing, just explaining why I’m right”, is to point out that hand writing or phone tapping in the back of a 4×4 speeding over potholes is not one of his skills.
More tarmac fillowed then a final hurtle through a section of forest, with the sides of the truck (and bits of passenger unprotected by the roll bars) lashed by protruding branches and fronds.
Clearly exhilerated by this demonstration of off-road prowess, our driver screeched to halt at a viewpoint overlooking the west coast and Bathsheba, the surfing centre of Barbados. The pause and the beautiful view allowed us to collect our scattered senses and also to check whether we were all in one piece.
A short drive brought us to the seaside and an opportunity to stretch our legs and admire the coast. The sandy beach was narrow, but just offshore, large limestone blocks had been notched at their base by the waves to produce spectacular mushroom blocks, one with a 2 metre overhang.
This tour came complete with refreshments, water, juice or rum punch. Eric and Joyce thought perhaps they ought to have served it at the beginning as an anaesthetic for the off-road bits. Instead, we had a paper cupful of refreshement just before leaving the beach. Joyce had not finished hers before we left, and within a couple of minutes, given the truck’s shimmy, came close to sharing it with her other passengers.
From the beach, we drove the backroads in towards the island’s centre and our goal, Harrison’s Caves.
Although known about since the 18th century, it was not until the 1979s these caves were explored and mapped. An ambitious plan ensued to turn them into a major tourist attraction, not as a traditional show cave, but as a cave visited seated on trailers, pulled by an electric tractor.
Tunnels were dug to facilitate this, giving visitors ‘windows’ into the key parts of the nearest 1km of the 3km system, leaving the rest untouched. Associated with this was a visitors centre, lift to the cave entrance, and a comprehensive range of adventure activities, including zip lines and a crawling entry to the caves.
We reached the attraction at 1135 for what we had been told was a 1200 tram tour, but this turned out to be 1220 once we had completed the online waiver, using the free wifi.
The time was not wasted as Eric was able to add some photographs to the earlier posts if the gentle reader would care to look back.
We enjoyed the tour, with its free shower from water drips, the impressive cathedral chamber, the underground waterfall and the statutory stalactites, stalagmites, flowstone, columns and curtains. Joyce has decided that if Eric insists on dragging her into caves, this is the way to do it.
Once the tour was over, we again emtrucked, with another cup of comfort, and hurtled our way back to the east coast via the exclusive golf resort with its millionaire villas. We return to the terminal at 1430, precluding a visit to the city, so Joyce decided she would likecsome tome to explore the jewellers and other shops in the terminal, allowing Eric, despite his blotted copybook, to return to the ship.
On board at 1500, Eric repaired to deck 11 for an ice cream and a late lunch, a beefburger sandwich, and a lemonade while he wrote the blog.
He joined Joyce in the cabin to watch departure at 1715. Last in first out seems to be the order of the day as we slowly sailed out of our mooring on a NW heading. Although feeling a little battered after the alliance of 4×4 and adventure, Eric and Joyce had both enjoyed the trip, especially the chance to see so much of the island in air conditioned comfort. Eric has decided that the back of an open truck gives the itinerant snapper a little more opportunity to capture the images, glimpsed so transiently, although telegraph poles still have the propensity to jump out and photobomb even the best composed image.
Tonight’s sunset, at 1800, followed a similar teasing pattern, almost a reverse dance of the seven veils, with the sun donning thicker bands of cloud as it descended and then peeping through a tiny slit.
We managed half-an-hour at the sunging show in the theatre tonight because we had other fish to fry, two raffles. The first at 1930 was in the Gift Shop, the second in the jewellers. Gentke readers will not be surprised that neither produced a winning outcome.
Dinner at La Cucina, the Italian restaurant, was delicious. We viewed the stary, starry night from our dark balcony and were silly enough to think the top deck would offer the full panoply of the heavens set before us on a celestial banquet. Dream on, the amount of light on a cruisr liner’s upper deck does nothing to enhance astronomy, reducing the sky to almost complete black. Somewhat disappointed we retired to bed
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