international travel: part 2

Upon my return to the Gardens, I knock on Kadri’s door and invite her over for fruit salad. Kadri accepts. As I slice oranges, paw-paw and bananas I learn that Kadri arrived in Saint Lucia on a 75-foot boat, which made landfall in Marigot Bay. She was a member of a crew that sailed from Lanzarote, a Canarian island with a Sahara Desert climate tempered by trade winds, seventy-seven miles off the West African coastline. Kadri is from from Tallin, Estonia, where she served as an IT manager for Skype. Kadri heads back to her room and I walk to Island Breeze, where the DJ (I later learned was Sammy’s son Sherwinn) played house music to a packed house of locals.

The next morning Kadri and I walk down to the Reef. I order a blended fruit punch sans alcohol and Kadri orders breakfast and a strawberry milkshake. After awhile we relocate on a quiet stretch of beach. I let her know of my intention to take a long swim. The swim takes me from the Reef, with its exquisite view of Maria Major Island to where the sandy beach ends below a cluster of homes south of Vieux Fort. Walking onto the beach, I site a continuous stretch of travel-worn plastic bottles. One might reasonably conclude that these synthetic bottles had traveled by a strong current from islands to the south.

I ran back down the beach to where Kadri was reading a book, while soaking up the West Indies sun. We walk back to the Reef to seek some shade. Kadri walks back to the Gardens.

I walk back down the beach toward Vieux Fort. Suddenly, two locals ride horses onto the beach. I retrace the equestrian trail in reverse to stables at the edge of town. Just past the stables, I sight Sammy’s fast food restaurant. Hungry and dehydrated, I walk upstairs to the restaurant with a porch view of the soccer stadium and order a marlin dish served with provisions and a ginger beer in a refillable glass bottle produced by Pitons, the local brewery. I hear a man call out my name. Much to my luck it is Sammy. My encounter with Sammy provides me with an opportunity to retrieve my sunglasses I had dropped onto the floor of the back seat of his vehicle the night before. Sammy advises me that the political rally will take awhile to coalesce.

After devouring my meal and slurping down my ginger beer, I walk on narrow city streets toward Independence Square. On both sides of the streets are open concrete channels emitting a foul smell and littered with plastic bottles. I wonder if these channels may be a source for the synthetic bottles on the nearby beach.

As I approach the square, I meet a Haitian, who has relocated to Saint Lucia. The street is set up for the rally, but few are in the streets. My new friend and I walk around in search of a beer. We eventually settle on Sammy’s restaurant, where he gets a Pitons and I pick up another ginger beer. When we walk back to Independence Square and I am introduced to one person after another. Finally I am introduced to the new Prime Minister Kenny Anthony. I ask him about bicycling and he says one of his campaign promises was to build a velodrome. As we speak, Sammy walks up and exclaims: “You’ve already met the Prime Minister!” At night sets in, the light pollution from 1960’s style cobra street lights becomes ever apparent. The rally, hosted by the Labor Party, is long and loud, punctuated by repetitive chanting: “a rouge, a rouge!”

Upon my return to the Gardens, I knock on Kadri’s door and we catch up on our hours apart. I learn more about her work at Skype and her penchant for travel. We make plans for breakfast at the Reef the next morning.

On Monday morning, I wake up early. As I walk out my door, a female guest house resident, dressed for work at a resort, walks to her car parked on the street. As I begin my walk down to the beach, I encounter a healthy, elderly couple from Trinidad & Tobago. We walk together. At the Reef, we speak with Tommy, the kite surfing instructor. Tommy says the calm weather is giving way to strong winds ideal for kitesurfing. Tommy recommends the beach at Labourie for swimming; its calm waters would be appealing to my Trinidadian friends. The Trinidadian couple set out to complete their walk to Vieux Fort, where they will catch a bus to Sulfur Springs, hot springs just south of Soufriere. I go for a swim, the water is pleasant, though more turbulent than the day before.

After my swim, I jog back to the guest house. I say hello to Kadri, who is reading her book. Looking outside the back window of my room, I see a couple of men picking beans. The maid informs me, one of them is Sherwinn, Sammy’s son. After a shower and packing, I prepare a small fruit salad for Kadri and I. Sammy offers to give Kadri & I a ride to the Reef. I pay the balance of my bill at the Airport. At the beach, Kadri orders breakfast and I order a fruit punch smoothie and a Danish pastry filled with chocolate. After introducing Kadri to a number of people, we lay down on the beach to catch some sun. I say good bye to Kadri. I walk to the road and much to my surprise a jitney stops to pick me up to take me to the bus stop in Vieux Fort.

international travel: part 1

As the jitney bus with green license plates pulls out of Vieux Fort, Saint Lucia, it passes by the Reef, a kite surfing hotspot where you can take lessons with Tommy, an Italian instructor with a surfer persona and Rastafarian dreadlocks. The bus swings by Hewonorra International Airport and the hill-climbing begins. There are a few mansions, some recently built, some under construction with lots of open space in between and sometimes distant views of the Atlantic Ocean. We pass by a few boutique banana plantations. Except for me, the 15 people on the bus are locals. The driver is aggressive; he takes corners hard and fast, but slows as we pass through the village of Micoud. Climbing the hill out of Micoud, we pass by commercially-sized banana plantations. A series of steep ascents and descents and the bus rolls to its final stop in Castries, the capital city. I make a quick transfer to another jitney bound for Rodney Bay. There are at least nine women and girls on the bus. The road is flatter and more urbanized.

I arrived at the International Airport on a bright, mild mid-December Saturday afternoon at the close of 2011. I approached a Saint Lucian, a PhD student in public policy at the University of Georgia at Athens, for directions to Hewonorra Gardens, the guest house I had booked for two nights. She thought it was past a yellow building and Skyview Inn. On her advice I asked a second person, who gave me specific directions. I walked down the Airport road. Walking to the main road was a bit disorienting as British rules of the road apply on the island. On the main road I speak with a European nurse who invites me to a grand opening party at Island Breeze, a bar located on the beach next to the Reef. I turn onto a side road. As I walk into the driveway of the 2-story lime green building, I encounter the owner, Sammy Brice speaking on his cell phone. Its 5 p.m. I introduce myself; he’s a bit surprised, but offers me a ride into town to buy some food. I suggest a ride to the beach, as sunlight for a swim is waning. I briefly meet Kadri, another house guest as Sammy checks me into my room, or suite (a bedroom, living room and kitchen). He informs me that the new Prime Minister stayed in my room while campaigning for the post that he won on November 30th.

As I get into Sammy’s vehicle, I see my name printed out on a large piece of paper. Sammy’s intention was to meet me at the Airport, but my flight arrived early! I learn that Sammy and his sons lived in both Norwalk and Stamford before returning to St. Lucia for the better weather. As we drive down, Sammy warns me to use one of the lockers at the Reef. Theft is a potential problem, he explains. At the Reef, I quickly meet Jolene, the owner, a tall, slender European women with a tomboy look. Jolene, an emigre from the Netherlands, sets me up with a locker for five dollars (U.S.) Its 5:30 p.m. She explains that sunset is a quick affair, so I take an abbreviated swim. Walking back to Hewonorra Gardens under a dark sky, I warily take notice of a vehicle parked on the side of the road. The driver swings the car by me, rolls down the window and says to me “you’re safe.” Its Sammy and a woman; he offers me a ride to Super J’s, the grocery store. On the drive into town, Sammy asks me where I am from in Connecticut and informs me that he lived in Norwalk and Stamford. He lets me know about and invites me to a “thank you” rally organized by the Prime Minister’s supporters scheduled for Sunday at 5 p.m.

I peruse the produce section. The produce is divided by two labels: LP (local produce) and IP (imported produce). I opt for the much less expensive local produce: bananas, paw-paw (papaya), grapefruit and oranges and a wine bottle-sized Parisian cranberry-apple spritzer.