Bequia

At 7 square miles, Bequia (pronounced beck-way) is the largest of a string of islands referred to as the Grenadines – and along with the island of St Vincent – makes up the country of St Vincent and the Grenadines. The pace is slow and friendly, the water is warm, clear and turquoise, the hills are lush with vegetation, palm trees sway in the breeze, the beaches beckon and boats of every size bob in the harbour. The sound of the conch horn on shore signals the arrival of fresh fish and the town is littered with small shops and markets offering everything from colourful batiks, handmade model boats and jewelry made from shells, coconuts and whalebone to every kind of tropical fruit and vegetable imaginable. Bequia is the quintessential Caribbean island. It is the brochure come to life.

We were heading straight from St Martin to Grenada seeking refuge in the more southern latitudes from the approaching hurricane season and skipping all the islands in between – at least for now. We’d left St Martin late in the afternoon on Thursday June 6^th and had a good passage.

We made good progress for the first couple of days. Doug spotted some whales in the distance one day and the next day we spent about 2 hours surrounded by a pod of dolphins that must have consisted of close to a hundred. I took a video but it didn’t even come close to doing them justice. They swam just under the surface of the water in formation leaping out when waves crested, racing against the boat and each other.

The fourth day was squally. We spent the better part of the afternoon taking sail in and putting it out again as we moved between squalls. Each squall pushed us back north and between each one we’d regain our ground south so that by the end of the afternoon we’d maybe managed to travel about a mile in the right direction. The last of the line of squalls was a doozie. We saw it coming and it was big so we decided to heave to. Good job we did as the wind topped out at 40 knots. The boat sat quite comfortably while the rain came sideways. If you stuck your head out around the dodger to try to see you couldn’t keep your eyes open. The rain pelted your skin like sleet.

On Monday morning as we were just coming out of the shadow of St Vincent, Doug heard s/v Vivace calling another boat on the VHF. We hadn’t seen Dave and Leslie since they left Puerto Rico, so Doug hailed them on the radio and in short order they convinced us to change course and join them in Bequia.

Since arriving in Bequia we have become social butterflies. Dave and Leslie invited us to the ‘sundowner’ on the beach which introduced us to a new ‘gang’ of cruisers...and as the days roll by and boats come and go the ‘circle’ of friends sometimes grows and sometimes shrinks but rarely does it stay the same for long.

We were ‘folded’ into a group of 10 (so 12 including us) which then shrunk to 8, then 6, then 4...then 6 and then 4 again, but a different 4...and now a new batch of boats has arrived bringing with it cruisers we haven’t seen since Fajardo and George Town...a subset of whom are also friend of the other last remaining couple in the previous group...and along with the ‘long lost’ friends comes their circle of friends and again the group balloons. This nebulous social circle has lead to our inclusion in numerous sundowners – on the beach or in one cockpit or another (including our own). We’ve been out for dinners, lunches, drinks and group hikes. This is aside from our own exploration of the island, a walk to the turtle sanctuary and the old sugar plantation and some snorkelling.

In between social events and exploration we have been experimenting with local fruits and vegetables...passion fruit, prickly pear (which makes a wonderful drink they call ‘soursop’), plum rose (a fruit that tastes like roses smell), coconut, plantains and breadfruit – both roasted and fresh.

So far the only boat job we’ve managed to complete is the job of making the list of boat jobs which - of course – is a list that you can never actually complete.

I remember someone asking me what I’d do to keep myself busy if I retired so young. Wouldn’t I get bored without a job? Well if this is what it’s like to be bored I hope I die of boredom...a very long time from now

St Martin

We spent a little over a month in St Martin. We didn’t intend to...it just happened.  Somehow it seemed more like we ‘lived’ there rather than visited... probably because most of our there were consumed by the boat.

 

It started with customs.

We arrived , anchored and “put the boat to bed”...that is sail covers on and lashed, electronics off and screen covers on, lee cloth down and sea berth dismantled, v-berth cleared out, etc, etc.

Next we unpack the dinghy and wrestle the salty bag into a garbage bag so it doesn’t spread salt all over the quarter berth, inflate the dinghy, find the dinghy plug and install it, attach a painter (rope to tie the dinghy to the boat – I have no idea why they call it a painter), set up the hoist and lowered it into the water. After that came the outboard...attach it to the davit and lower it onto the dinghy...then the gas can, gas hose, paddles and bailer...attach all the parts, lock the outboard and gas can to the dinghy and make sure we’ve got the lock and chain (and keys) for locking the dinghy to the dock.

Now for us...collect the paperwork for clearing customs, money, camera, cell phone and load them into a dry bag. Then put on something somewhat presentable – or what we call “going to town” clothes – and don’t forget to throw some shoes (read flip-flops) into the dinghy but first you have to find where you stowed them four days ago...and lastly...don’t forget the garbage.

Now load ourselves and all the stuff into the dinghy, start the outboard and head to shore. The trick now is to try not to get soaked by the spray made as the dinghy hits the chop in the harbour while trying to reconcile where the guide book said the dinghy dock was to what we can see.

We were on the French side of St Martin, so we headed for the marina (always a good source of information) unloaded ourselves and our stuff, locked up the dinghy and headed down the dock. We found out where to dump the garbage and got directions to customs...and off we went. We dropped the garbage in the dumpsters and headed for the customs office at the ferry terminal.

The sign on the door said, “knock and wait”.

Hmmm...okay...so we knock...and waited. Nothing. Did we knock loud enough? What time is it? Are they open? Yep...3 PM and the door says they are open until 4 PM. Do we knock again? Knock harder? We don’t want to piss them off...so we wait unsure of what to do...shifting our weight from foot to foot, looking at each other hoping for some kind of a ‘sign’. Nothing. So we knock again – louder, harder, and more persistently. Silence. We wait. Then we think we see a bit of movement. Yes...yes someone is there. He’s unlocking the door. He sticks his head out and says, “my colleague is at an important meeting. You’ll have to come back tomorrow”.

What? Oh...okay...and in the meantime we are still under quarantine...can we go to town? “Sure” he says. “Enjoy yourselves, no worries...just be sure to come back in the morning”. And with the clunk of the deadbolt he’s gone again.

No point standing on the sidewalk looking bewildered. Might as well grab a beer somewhere and do a bit of exploring and then head back to the boat. Not a total loss but our main objective has not been accomplished. This one job has eaten up the afternoon and will consume the morning and by the time we explore a bit more, find a bank and buy a few groceries tomorrow afternoon will be shot too.

It seemed that every job, large or small, we tried to do while we were in St Martin went this way...which is how a week or two stretched into over a month. Not to say spending a month in St Martin was a bad thing...but it did have its pros and cons.

On the downside, there is a lot of theft. Almost daily there were reports of a stolen dinghy, outboard or bicycle...usually from a dock in town but there were occasions where items were stolen while the owners were ashore or dinghies that were liberated at night while they slept. Rarely was anything ever recovered or the thieves ever caught and the local authorities - underfunded and under staffed - seemed helpless to do anything about it. The constant refrain was ‘lock it or lose it’ but the unspoken subtext was lock it next to something that looks more enticing than what you have and hope the thieves take it instead of yours.

When cruise ships were in there were multiple groups of day trippers, in herds as big as 25, in dinghies or on sea-doos, each with 2 passengers flying through the anchorage single file out around the headland...and a few hours later back again...leaving wakes and cutting in front of anchored boats close enough to snag anchor rode and making navigating your dinghy through the already busy harbour even more of a challenge. But the day trippers were nothing compared to the private water taxies that ran big power boats between St Marten, Anguilla  and St Barts. Their wakes would send anything left on a flat surface flying.

On the plus side...St Martin is duty-free so it’s a shopper’s heaven. For us this meant boat parts and bits and provisioning rather than clothes and jewelry. There are hundreds of bars and restaurants, and especially on the French side there was a distinct European feel. It was easy to imagine the cafe you were sitting in was in France, not the Caribbean. There are buses to get you anywhere that’s too far to walk and beautiful beaches...and on the Dutch side, to celebrate Queen Beatrix’s birthday they had a Carnival – complete with the parade, costumes and incredibly loud music. There is also a fairly large cruising community so there were lots of opportunities to socialize.

What we considered the downside would not affect a ‘land-based’ visit to St Martin, but from a cruising point of view we were left with mixed feelings. We’ve been there and we’ve seen most of the highlights so next time around we may just give it a pass.

Isla de Culebra

A juice stand: "Open Some Days - Closed Others"

Our next stop was Culebra, one of the Spanish Virgin Islands just 17 nautical miles east of Fajardo. We had been to Culebra twice already by ferry – once with my parents and once with Doug`s `boys`- so we had experienced the island as `day tourists` which by necessity or design follows a somewhat structured itinerary that goes something like this...

Get up at 6  AM and get a ride over to the ferry dock because someone in the group (that would be me) has to be in line before 7 AM in order to get tickets from the limited (about 300) number available...and it has to be before 7 AM because the package tour outfits buy tickets in blocks (and pay someone to be first in line) and you can`t pre-purchase tickets...you can only get tickets for that day`s ferry – so late arrivals miss out. Then whoever dropped you off goes back for the rest of the group and brings them and all of your snorkelling and beach gear, parks the car and hopefully brings you a coffee from the bar on the corner (who are doing a booming business for 7 AM) and maybe a fresh homemade donut from the guy selling them out of the back of his truck. 
 

The ticket office is supposed to open at 7:30, but that`s ``island time``...so don`t expect punctuality. While you wait in line you will be offered a map of the island and given the low down on a Jeep rental. There are a few ways to travel the island – jeep, golf cart, minivan/bus, taxi, bicycle or on foot. You choose based on your budget as the best beach and best snorkelling are – of course – at the opposite end of the island from the ferry dock and while the distance from ferry to beach is only about 3 km, but with your time on the island limited its better spent on the beach.

So the ticket window opens. The line moves quickly and even with the less than punctual opening you have tickets in hand just before 8 AM. Now you and your group get in line to board the ferry (which isn`t in yet). This is a very long line that starts inside the terminal (in the shade) and winds its way out and along the street (in the already blazing sun). If you are quick you might be lucky enough to end up in line inside the terminal, but you won`t get there without tickets (no groups holding a spot in line while they wait for the person with the tickets – another good reason to be in line early).

The ferry arrives and everyone boards. Most people seem to head for the upper deck, but this is a speed ferry which covers the 17 nm from dock to doc in 45 minutes as a speed that tops out around 25 knots. That`s windy...so we take a seat inside. The trip is a little `bumpy` even on the calmest of days and this keeps the crew busy cleaning up after those that succumb to sea sickness.

The ferry arrives at the dock on Culebra and the unsuspecting hoard disembarks only to find themselves trapped between a line of shops on one side and the ferry terminal on the other and face to face with a frenzied mob of hawkers all offering the `best` deal on whatever mode of transportation they represent blocking the only escape route. It’s nothing short of chaos.

Within minutes small groups of 4 to 8 corralled tourists are whisked away on golf carts and in minivans to fill out the necessary forms at the actual location of the rental outfit they chose, leaving friends and loved ones behind clutching bags and assorted beach gear as there is only room for the credit card holders in the transports to the rental places. Meanwhile those not renting something are herded onto buses heading for the beach. If you are quick you can dash into the bakery and pick up some pastries for later – while they last - and then rejoin the bands of bewildered friends and loved ones clutching beach gear and examining maps trying to sort out from where their credit card holder might emerge and the best place to stand in order to be able to jump in or on the vehicle and make a quick escape.

After about 20 minutes the first of the parade of colourful jeeps (ours was orange) and golf carts begins...drivers anxiously scanning the crowd for their group...groups straining to make out the identity of the drivers. Faces light up with recognition, voices are raised as people dart about loading themselves and their gear into vehicles while dodging oncoming vehicles with drivers more focused on scanning the crowd for their group than the road in front of them. A steady rhythm of anticipation, recognition, scurrying, loading and escaping plays out until the last group is whisked away and the street settles back into its normal sleepy pace.

The parade of vehicles streams north to Playa Flamenco, consistently voted one of the world`s best beaches. On arrival, groups vie for spots on the beach. The sand is bright white and as fine as baking flour. The water is turquoise and azure, clear and warm...perfect for swimming. Finding a spot with some shade is like winning the lottery. If you aren`t that lucky then you`d best slather on some more sun block.

If you get hungry there are snack kiosks with a wide variety of exorbitantly priced food.

When all this gets boring, hop in the vehicle and motor over to Playa Tamarindo and snorkel with the turtles grazing in the sea grass or head out to the spectacular coral reef and be entertained by its many colourful residents.

Around 4 PM the mornings rhythm starts again in reverse...although somewhat less frenzied, as groups load their stuff into their vehicles, drop the group and gear off near the ferry terminal, return the vehicle to the rental outfit and get driven back to the ferry dock to be reunited with their group and wait to board the ferry. The tourist hoard, now exhausted by sun and fun, sprawl wherever they can find shade, enjoying a beer, a fancy fruit drink or an ice cream.

The ferry loads and leaves by 5 PM. The crew is again kept busy by those prone to sea sickness. Exhausted revelers nap. The ferry arrives back in Fajardo at 5:45 and again the hoard disembarks and heads for the parking lot.

Again there is a process. One person gets in line to pay for parking...and this is where you are grateful that you were smart enough to put the parking ticket in your wallet (or wish to God you had) so you can get directly in line rather that jog back to the car to retrieve it off the dash and then jog back to the now lengthy line...while the rest of the group heads for the car and loads the gear. With encoded ticket in hand you drive for the exit, where inevitably one driver is holding up the line at the exit barrier because he hasn`t paid for parking and had the ticket encoded yet. When the shouting subsides and the issue is resolved, once again the line of vehicles, each in turn, inserts their ticket into the machine triggering the barrier to rise signalling the end to their day trip to Culebra.


We did this twice!

By boat, Culebra was a completely different experience.

The short trip to Culebra was tough – against the wind and strong currents it`s a long bumpy ride. We were glad we decided against sailing our guests over to Culebra. They would not have enjoyed the trip – at least not the one on the way there.

First we anchored off Melones Beach for a couple of days and snorkelled the reefs. Then we moved to anchor off Carlos Rosario Beach for a few more days and snorkelled the reefs. Next we moved around and anchored in Ensenada Honda – the harbour tucked up inside and surrounded by the island...and town. We stayed for a week and enjoyed the laid-back pace of town – especially before and after the daily onslaught of day-trippers. It`s as if the island itself lets out a big sigh of relief when the ferry leaves in the afternoon...or maybe is the collective sigh of the residents.
 

We filled our days with a bit of provisioning, filling the water tank, looking for a weather window, sorting out `clear out` procedures with customs, wandering the island and watching the `tourists`. As the week rolled to a close our weather window opened. We cleared out the day before departure and at first light headed out of the bay and turned our bow east – directly into the wind and current – for a slow slog to St Martin...uphill all the way.