After an incredibly windy and rainy night, I woke up exhausted, unable to sleep for all sorts of reasons: Sporadic fits of dog-barking (strays and house-kept alike) which seemed to be part of some decentralized doggie orchestra, the somewhat more persistent chirps and buzzes of all of the local birds, and leaves and rain smacking up against the side of the house as large wind gusts blew through the area. But there was hope. We had purchased coffee the day before, and caffeine was just a short brew away. I got up, covered in only slightly fewer mosquito bites than the night before (we were starting to get the hang of this whole open-air-so-you-need-to-use-a-mosquito-net-which-will-get-stained-with-blood-as-you-frantically-try-to-kill-the-mosquitos-that-made-it-into-the-net situation). We made some coffee, and shortly after, it began to smoke around the on/off switch, since some coffee had leaked into the bottom portion. We worried that our convenient, coffee drinking days were over, but the water just had to burn off.
After a quick breakfast, we were off to check out Pigeon Point State Park, which was only a couple miles away. And, as we would learn, directly next to the Sandals Grande St. Lucian. There's a loss of wonder any time a beautiful national park is directly attached to a Sandals. And even more so when you learn that the State Park used to be an island, but a causeway was built in the 70's to connect the island to the mainland, and Sandals was built on said causeway. Brilliant move by Sandals ("We'll just create the land, and plop the buildings down). We paid our entrance fee to the park, and took a look around. It was beautiful. A very hilly island with two main peaks at either end, both seemingly steep, but both very much hike-able.
We scuttled over to the first beach, only steps from the entrance, and planted our things down. We were ready to give our pasty white bodies a dose of Serotonin. Again, another beautiful beach. The landscape wasn't unlike Reduit Beach (sailboats, lush mountains), but the beach itself was smaller, and more crescent shaped. The water seemed bluer, though. And two-toned, presumably where the depths and floor coverings changed. We laid for a while, and were soon greeted by a local businessman-come-hustler, who had his own boat and would drive around to various beaches selling fruits and beers, and generally being a friendly local who would give you the full St. Lucian experience. We knew he was a hustler because he was wearing literal proof: His shirt read "Every Day I'm Hustling". We had been early to the beach, so we were really the only potential customers for this guy (who told me his name, but it escapes me). We made small talk, and he tried to sell us some food, but 1) we weren't very hungry 2) I'm a cheap-ass and 3) we didn't feel like drinking booze at 10am.
He made his way over to some other folks, and then eventually returned to us, just to talk and kill time (but ultimately to hover around us and make a sale). We talked about Boston and the bombings, about his wife in Chicago, about the local folk music (quadrille) that he didn't care too much for, since it was really for old folks, and any young St. Lucian enjoyed the kind of music you'd expect them to: reggae, american hip-hop, and whatnot. He hovered and explained that he was waiting for the cruise tour to come in, which he was excited for because it was an American cruise. He said he loved Americans. When I asked why, he was totally honest: "I'll be straight up with you, they just pay for shit. The Europeans, they argue and want to barter and try to beat you down to save $1, but the Americans don't want to be bothered with all of that. They just pay and are done with it". Fair enough, he was honest. I asked him if he preferred to be paid in Eastern Caribbean or US dollars, thinking maybe its more of a pain in the ass if he wanted to convert one or the other, but he said, "Money is fucking money, man. I'll take whatever you're willing to give me". Okay, still doing the honesty thing. But man, he cursed a lot for such a laid back guy.
We scuttled over to the first beach, only steps from the entrance, and planted our things down. We were ready to give our pasty white bodies a dose of Serotonin. Again, another beautiful beach. The landscape wasn't unlike Reduit Beach (sailboats, lush mountains), but the beach itself was smaller, and more crescent shaped. The water seemed bluer, though. And two-toned, presumably where the depths and floor coverings changed. We laid for a while, and were soon greeted by a local businessman-come-hustler, who had his own boat and would drive around to various beaches selling fruits and beers, and generally being a friendly local who would give you the full St. Lucian experience. We knew he was a hustler because he was wearing literal proof: His shirt read "Every Day I'm Hustling". We had been early to the beach, so we were really the only potential customers for this guy (who told me his name, but it escapes me). We made small talk, and he tried to sell us some food, but 1) we weren't very hungry 2) I'm a cheap-ass and 3) we didn't feel like drinking booze at 10am.
He made his way over to some other folks, and then eventually returned to us, just to talk and kill time (but ultimately to hover around us and make a sale). We talked about Boston and the bombings, about his wife in Chicago, about the local folk music (quadrille) that he didn't care too much for, since it was really for old folks, and any young St. Lucian enjoyed the kind of music you'd expect them to: reggae, american hip-hop, and whatnot. He hovered and explained that he was waiting for the cruise tour to come in, which he was excited for because it was an American cruise. He said he loved Americans. When I asked why, he was totally honest: "I'll be straight up with you, they just pay for shit. The Europeans, they argue and want to barter and try to beat you down to save $1, but the Americans don't want to be bothered with all of that. They just pay and are done with it". Fair enough, he was honest. I asked him if he preferred to be paid in Eastern Caribbean or US dollars, thinking maybe its more of a pain in the ass if he wanted to convert one or the other, but he said, "Money is fucking money, man. I'll take whatever you're willing to give me". Okay, still doing the honesty thing. But man, he cursed a lot for such a laid back guy.
By this point, Maggie was done with this guy's hovering. She was ready to pay a few bucks to get him out of our hair. We grabbed what ended up being a $10 pineapple from him (even though they're not local) and he cut it up and gave it to us. It did hit the spot, if not expensively (Maggie: Well, he was right. I did "just pay for shit").
Maggie decided to go for a swim to cool off a bit, and I chatted with our new friend some more (buying the pineapple did not achieve its goal of getting him to scatter). He tried to sell me some beer, but I told him I couldn't drink when it was so hot. He tried to convince me that the heat was the best time to drink, but I really just didn't want a beer. I think he got the point. He wandered off a little while later.
Maggie decided to go for a swim to cool off a bit, and I chatted with our new friend some more (buying the pineapple did not achieve its goal of getting him to scatter). He tried to sell me some beer, but I told him I couldn't drink when it was so hot. He tried to convince me that the heat was the best time to drink, but I really just didn't want a beer. I think he got the point. He wandered off a little while later.
I went for a swim, and Maggie snapped some pictures. bath water. it was perfect. We laid around some more, then decided to check out the rest of the island. We were getting hungry too, and we knew there was a restaurant on the (not really an) island (anymore). We watched some of the local sunbathers play a game of water balloon toss, then headed off in the direction of the restaurant. We came across Jambe de Bois (The Wooden Leg) a few minutes later, and sat down.
"White Peeeople!" was a recurring jingle I began singing and would continue to sing any time we stumbled into an area that was filled with predominantly non-locals. In case you're wondering what the jingle sounds like, think of the 80's commercial for CrossFire, that little two-player silver marble shooting game. That was my melody. I don't know why.
We looked at the fairly standard menu of ham-and-cheese sandwiches and potato wedges, and finally came across a dish that was unrecognizable, but that we had heard of as being a classic St. Lucian dish: Roti. They weren't too expensive, so we each grabbed one, along with some fruity drinks. They came out after 15 minutes or so, and were absolutely delicious. It was like fish curry burrito (Maggie's was vegetable, but same idea). Fish and potatoes and curry and maybe some other spices and sauces wrapped up in a thin tortilla-like wrap and served hot. Tasty, filling, cheap and authentic. A very good choice.
The folks around us had all stayed safe with their more American dishes ("The potato wedges are good, Marie", proclaimed an older, male-pattern-baldnessy white guy to his wife who was sitting next to him, though he bellowed his approval as if she were sitting at the opposite end of the restaurant.) Another older couple next to us were intrigued enough that they asked us what we had gotten. They were curious, but not adventurous enough to order them. They were cute. Off the boat for the day on one of the cruises, and taking in the sites. They were a pleasant couple from outside of Columbus Ohio ("The panhandle", which apparently includes Western PA/ Pittsburgh area. I was unaware that the U.S. had a panhandle other than Florida, let alone a completely landlocked one.) We chatted, and, as friendly mid-westerners and older people are want to do, we chatted... and chatted... and chatted. So much so, that about 10 minutes into the conversation, we were learning about the gentleman's recent battle with kidney stones. We rolled with it, and took his advice about staying hydrated, as dehydration is a major factor in the forming of kidney stones ("because once they crystallize and form, there's no turning back. They are there to stay". Clearly, prevention is key). After his wife stopped him, realizing that we were receiving a full bowel history from her husband, they were on their way, and we stayed to finish our now slightly less appetizing Roti (but they were so delicious that we still devoured them).
"White Peeeople!" was a recurring jingle I began singing and would continue to sing any time we stumbled into an area that was filled with predominantly non-locals. In case you're wondering what the jingle sounds like, think of the 80's commercial for CrossFire, that little two-player silver marble shooting game. That was my melody. I don't know why.
We looked at the fairly standard menu of ham-and-cheese sandwiches and potato wedges, and finally came across a dish that was unrecognizable, but that we had heard of as being a classic St. Lucian dish: Roti. They weren't too expensive, so we each grabbed one, along with some fruity drinks. They came out after 15 minutes or so, and were absolutely delicious. It was like fish curry burrito (Maggie's was vegetable, but same idea). Fish and potatoes and curry and maybe some other spices and sauces wrapped up in a thin tortilla-like wrap and served hot. Tasty, filling, cheap and authentic. A very good choice.
The folks around us had all stayed safe with their more American dishes ("The potato wedges are good, Marie", proclaimed an older, male-pattern-baldnessy white guy to his wife who was sitting next to him, though he bellowed his approval as if she were sitting at the opposite end of the restaurant.) Another older couple next to us were intrigued enough that they asked us what we had gotten. They were curious, but not adventurous enough to order them. They were cute. Off the boat for the day on one of the cruises, and taking in the sites. They were a pleasant couple from outside of Columbus Ohio ("The panhandle", which apparently includes Western PA/ Pittsburgh area. I was unaware that the U.S. had a panhandle other than Florida, let alone a completely landlocked one.) We chatted, and, as friendly mid-westerners and older people are want to do, we chatted... and chatted... and chatted. So much so, that about 10 minutes into the conversation, we were learning about the gentleman's recent battle with kidney stones. We rolled with it, and took his advice about staying hydrated, as dehydration is a major factor in the forming of kidney stones ("because once they crystallize and form, there's no turning back. They are there to stay". Clearly, prevention is key). After his wife stopped him, realizing that we were receiving a full bowel history from her husband, they were on their way, and we stayed to finish our now slightly less appetizing Roti (but they were so delicious that we still devoured them).
We made our way around the island, passing only a few other tourists. We walked/hiked our way up to the first peak of the island, which was part of Fort Rodney, an important stronghold/lookout area for the British back when France and England would regularly fight over the island like two overbearing men, jealously trying to one-up the other in an effort to win over the beautiful lady. And the island, an indecisive princess, sometimes choosing one, sometimes choosing the other before declaring the whole thing a stupid game and claiming her sovereignty in 1979, free to do whatever she wanted, with whomever she wanted (Maggie: JUST like on Beverly Hills 90210 when Brandon and Dylan were fighting over Kelly and after a 3 month cliffhanger where we were all wondering which guy she was gonna choose, she was all "I choose myself!" UGH. God, what a drama queen!...Sorry, what were you talking about again?? Oh right, Fort Rodney...)
A few old cannons sat atop the first peak, bearing some sort of British Royal Emblem, and pointing out to sea, now peacefully pointing visitors in the direction of gorgeous vistas of both the Caribbean and Atlantic.
A few old cannons sat atop the first peak, bearing some sort of British Royal Emblem, and pointing out to sea, now peacefully pointing visitors in the direction of gorgeous vistas of both the Caribbean and Atlantic.
We then headed to the other side of the island to climb/walk the other peak. It's a small island, and the peaks were not formidable, so we just decided to climb both of them. This peak was slightly higher, and gave better views than the first peak. It was a little more bare, no forts or cannons atop it (the other peak was North-facing, and maybe a little broader, so it lent itself more to military advantage. I guess.
We climbed down, checked out some of the other historical structures on the island, and then made our way back to our house. We were a little sun-tired, and decided to spend the rest of the day at the house, sunbathing and swimming. We had a nice quiet dinner of leftovers (I think), and though we were recovering, we were still adjusting. I passed out very early, and Maggie was not far behind. Hopefully tomorrow we'd be fully refreshed.
No comments:
Post a Comment