We had an early rise because the sun was pouring through the windows. We were still exhausted from the trip, and didn't feel well-rested. Also, we had no coffee. It was going to be a long morning.
We first met with Diane, a prospect of the new generation of St. Lucians. She surely had earned a degree in hospitality management from the local community college, and was putting it to very good use- personally meeting with us to answer any questions we had about the house, restaurants, nightlife, or St. Lucia in general. After a conversation filled with numerous cell phone interruptions (maybe she skipped the class where they teach you not to take other customers' calls in front of clients), she was on her way. We had asked her about Castries, and she basically told us not to go, since I'm guessing its not super tourist-friendly. Some places are fine for tourists to encroach on; others, not so much.
We first met with Diane, a prospect of the new generation of St. Lucians. She surely had earned a degree in hospitality management from the local community college, and was putting it to very good use- personally meeting with us to answer any questions we had about the house, restaurants, nightlife, or St. Lucia in general. After a conversation filled with numerous cell phone interruptions (maybe she skipped the class where they teach you not to take other customers' calls in front of clients), she was on her way. We had asked her about Castries, and she basically told us not to go, since I'm guessing its not super tourist-friendly. Some places are fine for tourists to encroach on; others, not so much.
We decided to orient ourselves with Rodney Bay, the closest little area that had a supermarket, bars, restaurants and beaches. It didn't take long, as Rodney Bay is not that big of an area. We grabbed some much needed caffeine (in the form of comically large cappuccino mugs) at a local coffee shop. It was only 10am, but it was hot. Hot drinks were a bad choice. But our need for caffeine superseded our need for general comfort, so we slugged down the coffee and continued on our way. We headed up to the St. Lucia Yacht Club, which looked partially run down but was, in fact, a fully functioning boat club. Funny thing about St. Lucia properties: Some buildings are in decent shape, and even very nice, but the areas immediately around the buildings tend to be totally uncared for. There's no concept of overall appearance. It's a miniaturization of the broad theme of St. Lucia as a whole: If you focus on certain things, all is rosy; but when you look around and notice the surrounding areas and the details, you get a much clearer picture of St. Lucia.
We walked back to our car along the beach, scoping out a few bars along the way. Reduit Beach truly was beautiful: Long and narrow, dotted with yachts moored in the water, and those lush, green volcanic mountain structures rounding out the horizon. Aside from the occasional local salesman (i.e., guy selling chair rentals, towels, etc.), it was a very serene experience. I gotta give the guys credit, though. They're hustling, trying to make some cash. It's not really very different than the Fudgy Wudgy men down at the Jersey Shore: You make money by getting yourself out there and working your ass off to get in front of as many people as possible.
We headed back to the car, but not before being greeted by a man who claimed to be head of security at the hotel we were staying at. I was quickly able to figure out that he wasn't actually the head of security there, or probably anywhere. He rambled on about a cricket match and needing money, then pulling out a tennis ball, all of which confused the hell out of me. All except the needing money part. I kindly dismissed him and we continued on our way. Different city, different technique, same panhandler.
We grabbed some more groceries (now that we were a little more situated, and realized that things weren't 3 times as expensive as back home), and also went to look for some dramamine, in case we thought that a forthcoming sailing trip might make one of us (Maggie) seasick. The local drug store didn't seem to have any, so I asked the Pharmacist if they had any motion sickness medication. Like a pharmacist from the 60's (70's? 80's? i don't know), he opened up a bottle and rationed out 4 separate pills into a tiny ziplock bag (which cost EC$0.86 by the way), and wrote instructions on how to take them. Wow, St. Lucia is like a baby America: Budding slowly, and though spurred by tourism rather than by rampant greed of riches from gold and oil, still headed in the direction of a nation that can sustain itself. It's just about 40 years behind. Give or take a decade.
Come to think of it, everything seems like you might imagine America if the technology was 50 years out of date. Crumbling, ill-conceived and repaired roads, still-tight regulations on OTC drugs, and mostly local restaurants with only a few recognizable chains (Jared must've made it down to St. Lucia, Subway is here!). Though, with all of the walking that St. Lucians do, mostly up and down strenuous hills, I hardly think Subway's core tenet of "eating fresh" to lose weight is something the average St. Lucian thinks about. For the American tourist though, its familiar food in an unfamiliar place. I'm sure we'll cave and stop there at least once on this trip. I've been eating nothing but Subway for lunch for the past 2 months and I've got a hankering just thinking about it. I'm sure a savvy American could make a good living introducing St. Lucia to any number of new innovations that have hit the U.S. in the past 20 years. No need to re-invent the wheel, just bring the wheel somewhere they haven't seen it yet (Maggie: So, we're gonna move here and open a Dunkin?)
Come to think of it, everything seems like you might imagine America if the technology was 50 years out of date. Crumbling, ill-conceived and repaired roads, still-tight regulations on OTC drugs, and mostly local restaurants with only a few recognizable chains (Jared must've made it down to St. Lucia, Subway is here!). Though, with all of the walking that St. Lucians do, mostly up and down strenuous hills, I hardly think Subway's core tenet of "eating fresh" to lose weight is something the average St. Lucian thinks about. For the American tourist though, its familiar food in an unfamiliar place. I'm sure we'll cave and stop there at least once on this trip. I've been eating nothing but Subway for lunch for the past 2 months and I've got a hankering just thinking about it. I'm sure a savvy American could make a good living introducing St. Lucia to any number of new innovations that have hit the U.S. in the past 20 years. No need to re-invent the wheel, just bring the wheel somewhere they haven't seen it yet (Maggie: So, we're gonna move here and open a Dunkin?)
We headed back to our place, unpacked our groceries, and hung around by the pool for a bit. Lu gave us some rum punch that she had made for us, but had forgotten to give to us the day before. We had a few sips, and it was delicious. She taught me how to say "It's strong" (ee foh, or something like that, phonetically, at least). Too much and I'd be "Sooh" (drunk). I offered to give her a ride to her bus stop when she was ready to go. It's a bitch of a walk up and down the hills, and a good mile, at least. Sure, everyone's got a commute, but why make her walk if she doesn't need to.
I got back just in time to let Timothy, the pool guy in to clean the pool. He was wearing some baggy Lakers shorts, was bald with some manicured facial hair, and looked like a pretty big dude. Again, St. Lucians are a generally fit bunch: walking miles uphill to get to work to do hard manual labor in the Caribbean sun is a sure way to keep the weight off. I offered him some rum punch, which he accepted and we drank. "Bon Sante", which I think means "to your health". He brought in some mangoes for us (probably a move orchestrated by the management company), which ended up being very very good.
After he took off, I decided I wanted to try to get some exercise in, and maybe explore the immediate area. I knew I wasn't going to go far, but wanted to get at least 20 minutes of running in. Maybe some hill repeats. The hills, they are everywhere, so it would not be tough to find a section to run over and over. I explored a little bit and found a few other houses in the area that are probably rental units, along with some other houses that are in various stages of construction, including the totally-stopped-with-no-intention-of-completing-it stage. I also came across a pack of stray dogs, or rather, they came across me. I was scared shitless for a second, until I realized that they were more startled to see me than I was of them. I ran in their direction, and they all scrambled. This isn't unique to the area where we're staying; stray dogs are everywhere. They mostly stay out of the way, but occasionally they wander into the street and force you to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting them. Horses, too. They're less frequent, but it's not unusual to come around a corner and see a few horses grazing near the road, sometimes crossing the road slowly and without care for the giant metal machines hurling themselves around at 60 kph. We've only been on the island for 36 hours, and I've almost hit a dog and a horse. Let's hope we can keep a clean St. Lucian driving record.
I finished off my workout with some fake-ass yoga (Trademark) by the pool, and cooled off with a quick swim. It was just about time to get ready to head back to Rodney Bay, but just for a drink. We had leftovers from Lu that we wanted to finish up. After some quick showering, we headed on back to Rodney Bay.
Spinnakers was our first destination. It's basically in the center of the long stretch of Reduit Beach, and offers a nice panorama for sea, sand and mountains. We sat at the completely empty bar, which was surrounded by the nearly completely empty restaurant. Sure it was a Tuesday, but it was prime dinner/drinking time. Where was everybody? No matter, we'll make nice with the bartender and get the good info.
Or not.
The bartenders were nice, and we made a few attempts to get the conversation going (I ordered a bartender's special, letting him make one of his own concoctions), but they just seemed disinterested. They were pleasant enough, but maybe they were exhausted from dealing with tourists and didn't care to make friends with anybody. They weren't mixologists who wanted nothing more than to talk about the craft of making drinks. No, they were employees, trying to quietly make it through their shift and head on home after what was looking to be a slow and therefore, low-income, evening.
We headed out of the bar, chatting about David Foster Wallace's article about cruise ships, and how they were a floating duality of extravagance and misery. Extravagance for the passengers, whose all-inclusive packages gave them everything they'd ever need at any hour. Misery for Wallace, who sees beyond the extravagance into the probable misery of the lower-level crew, most of whom were separated from their families for most of the year, sending their earnings home so they could keep them afloat from afar. (Maggie: Our conversations are not normally this cultured. In fact, 90% of them revolve around miscellaneous body functions and/or what cute/evil thing the cat is doing at that very moment).
On the way back, we saw some police on mini-motorcycles zip on by, mostly just making their presence felt. We drove by some of the other bars, but they were equally as empty. We decided to head back to the house, but not before checking out Gros Islet proper. We turned down the main avenue, and instantly felt like we were in the ghetto, despite the lively Steel Drum band practicing their routines on the corner. I think we were in the ghetto, but really, this is just what some parts of St. Lucia were: tiny, lopsided shacks all packed in close to each other; people and dogs freely wandering around the tiny, drainage-ditch flanked streets, with loud music pouring from the 6-seater restaurants into the streets. This was the place of the Gros Islet Friday Street Jam, and surely was safe, but without some calibration, could definitely seem a little rough.
We headed back to the house, and, still exhausted from the flight and the day's activities, called it a night.
Oh yeah. They spell it "tyres" instead of "tires".
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