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Neill March 15, 2001
Hello world. Margarita is happily independent at
anchor in Clifton on Union Island in the Southern Grenadines. It is one
more gorgeous place in the Grenadines. A bit spoiled with a dirty little
town, very jaded by tourists, and too many charter yachts. Would have been
great back about 100 yrs ago. But there is a reason that these places are full
of tourists: turquoise water, great snorkeling and wind surfing, perfect
weather. We spent a few days of post-Bequia decompression in the Tobago
Cays. They are about as close as you can get to the Caribbean paradise out
here. It is a group of 4 little islands, not more than ¼ of a mile long,
surrounded by Horseshoe Reef. The bottom is sand. A wide expanse of
shallow (10’) water with great holding for the anchor. You can watch it
settle down into the sand. The reef stops the big seas from getting in,
even though it is below water. So there is some chop from the very
constant wind, but really it is very sheltered. There were over 70 boats
the first day there, all anchored in about ¼ square mile area. “There
is a reason. . .” We saw the windsurfing hotdogs out there so got our
old Oldsmobile of a board out and had a go. Ouch. We are slowly
learning, too slowly, that when the wind is strong enough for the hot dogs we
should sit and watch. A real lesson in humiliation. Especially with
all of the anchored boats to navigate around. We did have a couple of good days
when the wind was down a bit. Typically it is blowing 15 kts here all the
time. There are periods of 20-25 (when the hotdogs come out) and we had a
couple of blows over 30 with torrential rain. But the 15 kt easterly
wind is unbelievably consistent. Our alternative energy sources (wind and
solar) are making more than we can use, even with the computers in full use for
work and school. (That would be different if our refrigeration was not on
the blink.)
Bequia is a place that we will always remember, for
several reasons. The stress of the engine repair was constant. Every
couple of days we had a significant disappointment. For 7 of 8 weeks.
Everything from bad communication to clashing personalities, wrong parts
ordered, a difficult oddball engine, to mistakes. It is still hard to
imagine how it took 8 weeks, but it did and our schedule is now toast. We
made some fun contacts there. The second mechanic, Fixman, and his two
island guys turned out to be a lot of fun. Which is good because we spent
a lot of time with them. He is from Norway, sailed here 18 years ago, wrecked
his boat on a reef, spent a year salvaging it, ran a charter business for 10
years and then sold it to become Fixman. His partner is a Scots woman who
runs the business very very well. She does things like check on schedules,
follow up on parts orders, communicate with clients and basically keeps the
place running. This is not a very “island” way to run things, and it was a
great relief to work with them. His “lads” were a hoot. They
talked in their fast, incomprehensible island speech. Ask me a question
then wait then “You didn’t understand?” Every time. It would
go on and on. Long conversations with me saying after each sentence
“Cheyanne, I have absolutely no idea what you just said.” Lots of
laughs. Then after the final final fix, he called on the radio to see if
Perky was still happy. Perfectly clear normal English. “Who is
this!?” I asked. “Cheyanne.” “But I can understand you
perfectly, what are you doing?” “I always talk dis way wid radio.”
After 5 weeks or so of hilarious miscommunication. Another great set of
connections was the fresh produce market. A typical open air market, just
a roof over a space about 40’ by 20’ full of tables and sellers. Difference
here is that all of the sellers, save one woman named Princess, are rastafarians.
Dreadlocks, lots of red and yellow, wollen hats, and lots of ganga smoking.
They come from “the mainland”, St Vincent, a one hour ferry ride away and
the capitol of the country. They get their veggies from there where the
volcanic soil and plentiful rain makes for great growing. Some of the Bequians
don’t like them, and some tourists find them too agressive, but they are a lot
of fun once you get to know them, very compassionate and full of soul.
Initially, they seem to gang up on you, putting things in your bag that you
don’t want. You don’t trust the prices and the whole scene is a bit
unnerving. We stuck with Princess (the only woman) initially.
“Princess, how you put up wid dese boys?” (chameleon-speak, a Neill
compulsion) “Ooo, they bad.” So we kept to her. But every day
the others, maybe 10 in all, would come up and ask if we were buying from them
today. “No, we like Princess.” Slowly, they chipped away at us.
When Princess didn’t have something we bought from one of them. Still choosing
one that we liked. Typical western shopper’s loyalty, find a seller you
like and stick to them. They get to know you and your likes and you get to
know their prices etc. But every day, the others still asked.
Sometimes a bit hurt: “Bok Choy [my name from early on, as we bought a lot of
it and always entered the place with a call “Hey, you fellas got any bok choy
today?”]. Bok Choy, you never buy from me. How about some lettuce
today?” It turns out, and we only figured this out on the last day or
two, that they want you to buy a little from each. They are friends, for
the most part, and are each looking for a little sale, not the whole pile. Why
don’t they just pool the stuff and sell as a group? Not sure. The
main guy, sort of a father figure, Ras, turned over the bok choy concession to
another, Mr. Time, at the end. “You get your bok choy from Mr Time
now.” We still bought other stuff from Ras, but got our bok choy from a very
happy Mr Time. Then there was Moses, the ladies man that reportedly made
some cash on the side from the tourist ladies. Another one, Firm, asked if
Bronwen was my daughter. “Don even tink about it, mon,” I said.
“Bok Choy, I could give you a farm of bok choy, tractors and everyting.
You never need buy another bunch of bok choy for the rest of your days.”
And Roots, he was very interested in Douglas. Took a shine to him from the
get go. Some mornings he would ask for him and I’d explain that Douglas
and I were best apart that day. He would lecture me on parenting, “You
got to jus be his fren, mon. Play wid him. I know you, Bok Choy, you
get all fired up and stuff, you gotta chill wid him.” Not just a little
bit of truth there. When we first thought we were leaving, after 6 weeks or so,
we went to say goodbye and it was very sad. Said we’d be back in 10
years or so. Moses asked for my watch as a present to remember me.
“Moses, you should give me something!” So the guy in back, lying with
his head in his pile of grapefruit (too much early morning ganga) gave me two
grapefruit. Then Ras did the same, “See you in 10 years.” We said
goodbye to all of them and then to our friends at our favorite store (a very
sweet older couple) and then a guy we met at the Thursday night “jump up”
dance who I gave an old computer bag to. (“Lots of compartments, great for de
Customs man at de airport!” He said. Hope I removed all of my name
tags.) Three days later we were back (the new rear seal in the engine was
leaking, wrong part). Ras stopped his sales pitch to a group of yachties
and came bouncing over. “[Mr] Time told me you were here, but I told him
‘No, dey say 10 years mon. Mus be more engine troubles.’” With
a huge smile. “Oh yeah, Ras, we got more troubles.” “Dats ok,
it jus isn’t time to go now. Settle in, it will come.” This was
when we really hit our stride, a very slow stride, in Bequia. We just let
it happen. Laughed when we heard the latest problem getting parts,
and discussed with the locals, and Fixman, how we were certainly avoiding some
bad karma out there by being delayed in Bequia. Roots got to know Douglas
better. Really wants him to come back and be a true Rasta. Hmmm.
On our last shop there we loaded up with lots of veggies and were just hanging
out with them for a bit before leaving. A white couple came over and asked
“Excuse me, you shop here often? Good, can you help us, we bought a few
bags of stuff and they want to charge EC$400! [about US$160]. Does that
seem right to you?” Of course it was a ludicrous question, it depends on
what you buy. But that wasn’t the point really. We understood, she
got nervous that they were being ripped off. The fellas got rightly
agitated that she didn’t trust them. Two crew from a big expensive
yacht. “I understand you gotta check, but still I don’t understand why
they don’t trust us,” said Roots. They told me to go and look at the
bags. (I will never learn to stay out of these things.) The bags
were full and there were at least EC$150 of pinapples alone. I reported
back. They asked the guys about what we bought and what we paid. But
we pay as we go, a little from here and a little from there, paying each guy.
Moses jumped in “But these folks come here all de time. They get a
special discount, they’re our friends.” We left for our dinghy with
lots of great calls and good wishes from the fellas and Princess.
So that was Bequia. We will definitely return one
day. It is a special place down here. Beautiful and well managed.
People have jobs, the men are working (even if they spend a bit too much time
smoking ganga) for the most part and there is a good attitude about the yachties
and tourists. They get a lot of mid size cruise ships in because they keep
it clean, it is safe and they are friendly. Other islands could learn a
lot.
Now we are looking at our schedule and our lives.
Do we want to rush back up the west coast(very tough sail) over the next 3
months and get home(?) find a town, a school, a house and get ready for school
in September? Staying out another year is not as easy as it sounds.
Margarita is much smaller than she used to be. The kid’s cabin is
starting to get the feel of a bedroom in the Walton’s house. Imagine
sharing your small space with brother and sister in your teen years. No
doors to close. Just put on the Walkman and close your eyes. Luckily
we all seem to have the same feelings about staying out and going home, so the
discussions are good.
Thanks for listening and we’ll keep you informed.
Neill and the Margaritas Union Island, Grenadines
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