St. Lucia weather can be erratic. But a good kind of erratic. Rain and wind storms rarely last for more than 5 minutes; at least in May. "Hurricane Season" is probably a different story. But for now, the rain never really threatens to ruin the day. And so went another early St. Lucia morning: glaring sun, followed by heavy sun showers over and over.
We enjoyed some early morning coffee, and just relaxed. We had gotten an email from the Jus' Sail owner, who confirmed that we were booked for our sailing excursion later in the day. We were pretty happy about that, since we really hadn't made any other plans for the day. Now we had something to focus on.
I decided to run some hill-repeats on the hill right next to our villa. It was short, but offered a fair amount of resistance, in 3 sections: a short and steep incline, a leveling-off into a false flat, and then a longer incline, slowly increasing in grade percentage. There were other hills that I could've chosen as my workout, but this one offered the lowest probability of getting mauled by a dog. There were some other houses, a short way down the road that were being guarded by two very large and vocal Belgian Malinois dogs. They were eager to scare the shit out of me every time I ran by the house, threatening to squeeze through a small gap in the fence, and surely take a few bites. And even if those dogs didn't maul me, the mele they created drew other stray dogs in packs, rapidly increasing my chances for rabies.
There weren't many houses around, but one of the ones along the road, I found out was occupied. As I ran my 2nd repeat, a face popped out of the window and offered some words of encouragement. "Keep digging! Good job". It was a teenager wearing what looked to be a soccer jersey, cheering me on. He was probably a bit of a soccer player, and was excited to see someone getting a decent workout in. Even though I was only running for 20 minutes, it was incredibly tough. The heat and humidity seemed to be at their highest point for the day, and I was dripping sweat within the first few minutes of the workout. After losing a good amount of water weight, I did some more fake-ass yoga, and was ready to get the day started.
I wandered out to the supermarket to grab some ingredients for Lu to cook for us while we were away. I still couldn't find some of the things that she was talking about. I wasn't doing so hot at this whole grocery shopping thing.
We headed off to meet the Jus' Sail crew around 2:30, excited to get a fairly intimate tour of the surrounding areas. We met James, Pepsi and Herbie. All were incredibly friendly, and quite laid back. They knew that they were in charge of setting the tone for the trip, and they made sure that they were able to put people into a relaxed mood as soon as possible. We chatted a little bit, and then climbed on board the Good Expectation, one of 15 handmade wooden sailing sloops left in the world. At one point, there were hundreds, even thousands, but they were becoming endangered, if an inanimate object can be considered endangered. James had purchased this one, fixed it up and made some modifications to it to bring it into the new world of sailing while still managing to keep its soul intact.
James was a lifelong sailor, having started at the age of 6. He's been sailing since kindergarten. By the time he was 18, he was a sailing genius twice over.
Though he's been sailing for his entire life, he only purchased Good Expectation about 18 months prior. He's slowly been working on a business model that's been gestating for years upon years. And this is just the first phase. He mentioned to me that its been his lifelong dream to help re-introduce the youth of St. Lucia to water-related activities. Boating, fishing, even swimming seem to have become foreign ideas to some of the younger generation on St. Lucia, and James finds that fact shocking and saddening. They'd be missing out on so much by cutting water out of their youth experiences. And more scarily, they might not actively seek to defend the water and wildlife that surrounds their island. "How can you be expected to save something that you do not love or even know about", was a quote that he threw at me. We were not long into our trip ( I don't think we had even left the dock), and we were getting into some pretty heavy stuff. Clearly, James wasn't just a guy with a boat who wanted to make a few bucks. He had a much bigger plan.
We made small talk for a little while longer, and it turns out that he knows Jonathan, the kite-surfing enthusiast that we had met the other day. James has tried kite-surfing and knows the handful of people in that community. I suppose the world of tourism activities is a pretty small one, and everyone gets to know each other on St. Lucia. James seemed to have a handle on anything tourism-related on St. Lucia. Clearly he was embedding himself in the community, and was intent on making himself a public figure. It turns out that he holds a Master's Degree in Responsible Tourism, a thing I never knew existed. He explained responsible tourism as being able to strike a balance between introducing a lucrative industry into a country or culture without decimating either. It would be fairly easy to destroy part of the countryside, negotiate favorable tax terms with the government and plop down a grand resort. Sure, it would bring jobs and minor prosperity to the country, but it wouldn't truly be helping the country, at least not in the long-term. People should want to travel to a country to immerse themselves in the culture of the country, not just to see it as just another indistinguishable, albeit pristine, beach as devoid of culture as its sand would be of color.
Needless to say, James was not much a fan of Sandals. While the success story of the founder of Sandal's is something that no one can take issue with (it was started by a self-made man who had worked on Air Conditioning units, and bought a struggling hotel from one of his clients for $1), the actions of Sandal's are somewhat less inspiring. It turns out that while Sandal's does bring lots (and lots and lots) of money, by way of rich white people, to the island, it does very little to build anything sustainable, from the country's standpoint. Sandal's negotiated for decades of tax exemption from the government, so really, the only palpable thing that Sandal's provides to St. Lucia is jobs. Which is great, yes. Jobs are jobs. But this doesn't help build the country. There is no investment in infrastructure, or education, or anything really. And only so many people can go on to climb the corporate ladder of Hospitality. Sandal's does the occasional PR publicity stunt of donating computers to a classroom, to claim that they're invested in the future of St. Lucia, but that's just a single drop in what would otherwise be an overflowing bucket, had Sandal's agreed to pay taxes.
Back to the actual sailboat ride. Pepsi, ever gracious, offered us drinks the minute we stepped onto the boat. I was comfortable with water, but Maggie went straight for the rum punch, sprinkled with fresh nutmeg. We began our journey out of the marina, and already felt like we had spent our entire lives living on sailboats. On our way out, James pointed out a rather large boat sitting in the marina, and noted that it belongs to a Russian oligarch who had most of his money in Cyprus when the financial crisis hit the small island country. All of a sudden, that large boat was not used, or cleaned, as regularly as it one had been. "Some people tend to overstretch themselves", was James' simple but insightful reaction to the whole issue.
Once we hit the open water, James offered me the chance to take the helm and learn a little bit about sailing. I had expressed some interested earlier in our conversations, and he had made a note of it. He was offering his sailing wisdom to me, helping me steer the boat simply, but efficiently, down the western coast of the island. It was easy. But of course, anything is easy when a 30-year veteran is 3 feet away from you, offering guidance. He made sailing seem like a natural extension of human capabilities. It was like walking, only more soothing. I learned about wind gusts, and wind angles, and rules of the sea, both written and unwritten. If you're close to a fishing pot, always go upwind, since the pots themselves will tend to be downwind of their buoys.
We sailed and chatted, sailed and chatted. James had been everywhere, done everything. We briefly bonded as fellow rowers, and talked a little bit about traveling the Eastern United States. A place that James found remarkably beautiful. Whether or not he was just feeding me a line was irrelevant. The East Coast is beautiful, just not in a Caribbean type way. The Green Mountains, the White Mountains, the Adirondacks are wonderful areas, and though they're in our backyard, they should be appreciated as if they were foreign, tropical destinations.
He pointed out some of the mega resorts that dotted, or rather, blotted, the island. He referred to the Windjammer as "that big white monstrosity over there". And he mentioned that Marriott had plans to buy and build and buy and build, but the recession hit, and they had to scale back on their takeover of the island. To which James was pleased.
When we had gotten far enough down the coast, James gave me instructions for what to do in order to tack. Which is really just a fancy (not that fancy) word for "turn". We had to turn the boat around. Which, in fairness, deserves its own word, because turning a sailboat is not as easy as turning a car. You are at the wind's mercy. If you try turning when the wind is not quite ready for you (or you're not quite ready for the wind), you can become effectively stuck in the water, motionless, hoping for another gust to get you going. Wind typically blows in one direction, during any stretch of time, so to move in the opposite direction is not a simple task. For a lifelong sailor, perhaps it is, but in general, it takes some skill. James and crew did it effortlessly. I followed my instructions, which were to switch seats, and pull on the helm, and we were turned around, heading back from where we started.
Pepsi offered us some snacks. Some local fruits and nuts, served in wooden bowls on a wooden serving tray. She knew that we were probably feeling a bit hungry, and also wanted to give us some energy for the snorkeling that we'd soon be doing. Maggie and I and the other couple began snacking.
Oh, right. There was another couple with us on the boat as well. James and crew were so good at making you feel welcome that you never felt that you were splitting their attention with other people. We were sharing the boat with Hugh and Honesty, and their 2-year-old Annabelle. Yes, her name was Honesty. A lovely British couple who were just truly good people. They had worked in some truly devastating places, and worked hard to implement programs to build infrastructure and health systems where they needed it the most. Hugh's list of previous places of work read like a decorated military veteran: Iraq, Afghanistan, Kosovo, South Africa, and several more. They were now stationed in the Barbados while Honesty worked on her Master's degree, and Hugh completed a 3-year post with Divid, working to implement some very important responsible tourism ideas along with climate change programs in the southern Caribbean islands. He mentioned that money and aid were coming into the islands from many directions: The US, the UK, some places in Europe. And he was in charge of directing the money to the right places and to make sure the programs that received that money progressed. He and James really hit it off, and even collaborated, albeit for a minute, on how to re-introduce coral to the shores of St. Lucia. This was another of James' goals. He wanted to start a coral farm, then plant the coral in a protected area, which would let it grow and multiply, attracting fish, and would eventually lead to the enhancement of sustainable fishing. As long as the initial coral area was protected, it could allow for the continuous rejuvenation of adjacent areas, which could be used for fishing, education, etc.
We were outclassed, to say the least. James was running a business with the goal of improving youth culture, Hugh was implementing wealth creation programs in otherwise third-world countries. Maggie and I were Capitalistic Americans, climbing the ladders in Advertising and Software. I grasped at the only straw I had, and mentioned that I had a friend in the DRC who was working on improving education for women, in some tough areas. For a second, they saw me as one of their own, and became interested. "Where is she stationed?". "What entity is funding her work?" Cursory questions to which I didn't have any answers. I fumbled through my answers, and then quickly retracted into my non-philanthropic shell. Hugh began talking about the poor state that the DRC was in, and that, if he recalled correctly, was the worst country in the world when it came to rape. "Stunning amounts of rape. Just stunning". I never would have thought to use the word 'stunning' to describe the volume of rape that occurs in a country, but dry and British Hugh was able to pull it off. He went on: "Not just women, but men. And boys. Truly stunning, the amount of rape there". Maybe he belabored the point to let us know just how out of our element we were. But Hugh and Honesty and James and Pepsi were ever-gracious, as most British people are, and we never once fell out of place. Well, except during the whole rape conversation.
Hugh kindly turned the conversation back to us, inquiring as to how we were enjoying our honeymoon, and that we made a wonderful decision to come to St. Lucia. We told him that we were having a great time, and in an attempt to win a gracious-off, we fired the focus back onto he and Honesty. "Where did you spend your honeymoon?" They had gone to Morocco, an "absolutely stunning part of the world". I let it go. Maybe "stunning" is just his go-to word. It wasn't long before James was able to pipe back into the conversation and mention that there's a resort in Morocco that is a shining example of Responsible Tourism. He had read about it in a case study while getting his Master's degree. Hugh and James bonded a little more about travel, responsible tourism, and other soul-enriching topics.
We finally arrived a somewhat hidden cove, where we'd park for a bit to do some snorkeling. I was still at the helm, so I slowly guided the boat around some rocks, as James instructed me to do. When I relinquished my position to James (that's how it works, right? If I don't give up my post, everyone has to listen to me since I'm the captain?), Herbie offered some kind words, telling me that I was a natural, and that I should continue sailing after we leave. I knew it was a stock line that he probably tells everyone, but the sincerity with which he said it made it seem that he truly believed that I had a long and prosperous future in the field of sailing.
We dropped anchor, and Pepsi magically furnished snorkeling gear for everyone. They also had lifejackets and swimming gear for little Annabelle. Jus' Sail was truly prepared for just about everything. We jumped ship, and swam around. The snorkeling wasn't world class (I wouldn't even know what world class snorkeling is anyway), but it was peaceful, and secluded. Which is more than can be said for some of the more popular, touristy snorkeling areas in proximity the giant Sandals. We saw some shiny fish, and some sea urchins, and some phallic-looking coral. Penisus Coralus, I believe is the scientific name. We hovered in the water until we were ready to climb back on board. At which point the crew offered us a fresh water shower to get the salt off of us. We politely declined. I kind of like having the salt-water grit on my body for a little while after a good ocean swim. Hugh and Honesty obliged in the shower, making us feel a little bit like uncultured grunts that liked to live in their own, or at least the ocean's, filth. No worries. There was enough grace to go around.
We pulled up the anchor (there's a term for that, right?) and began the short trip home. But not before a quick torrential downpour forced us all to get cozy in the cockpit of the boat. It was not a problem, though, as there was a sturdy canvas canopy that James and Herbie were able to quickly unravel to shield us from the heavy rains. We sat and chatted comfortably for a few minutes, not even worrying about getting wet. This must have happened 1000 times before, and the crew were prepared for it; almost expected it. When the rains stopped, they rolled the canvas back up, and went along as if nothing had happened.
The trip was nearing it's end, but not before Pepsi emerged one final time from the hull with a tray of black cake and spiced rum. Apparently the combination is a bit of a tradition in the Caribbean somewhere. We were eager to believe whatever she told us, if it led to cake and rum. We enjoyed the cake, and the spot of rum, and sank even lower into our chairs.
We pulled into the marina area, making a steady course for our slip when a jet ski blew past us, and crossed in front, mere feet from the bow. James didn't break course, but showed obvious discontent for the actions of such a careless jet-skier. He was particularly miffed because the kid on the jet-ski was a young local. One of the people he was trying to help with his grand vision. They lacked respect for the water, and its rules. He wanted to rid the area of that kind of activity, and bring about an air of respect for the ocean. He mentioned a recent death of a somewhat high-ranking French official which was a result of careless boating. A boat had wandered into an area that was clearly marked as a snorkeling and swimming area, and the poor Frenchman was essentially sliced in half by the boat's motors.
The British have a way of telling depressing stories without them ending on a depressing note. There's a matter-of-factness about their storytelling. They don't tell it to elicit feelings of sadness and depression. They simply tell the story in the context of a bigger, more important vision. And this vision is ultimately a positive thing, so the taste that's left in your mouth isn't one of sadness, but one of hope. Hope that the narrative can be revised to have happier outcomes in the future.
We parted ways with the gracious Brits, and headed back to our villa. We spent a quiet night eating some delicious pre-made food, and called it a night.
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