Grenada Dramas

Friday 31^st July, Port Louis Marina, St. George's, Grenada.

Well now just because we haven't been crossing oceans in the last few weeks doesn't mean there hasn't been any excitement. Talk about ups and downs, it's enough to make you want to flee back to sea where life is simple.

Facing the awful PCR swabs.

So the first spanner in the works was...now what shall we call it...a “technical issue” with Karl's PCR test meaning we might be stuck in quarantine for an indefinite period and I was in danger of missing my flight back to Australia. We decided this was worth going into battle over and after a brief but concentrated campaign Karl was allowed to repeat the test. Meanwhile we enjoyed the lovely quarantine anchorage, caught up on sleep and tried (with only moderate success) to let the fact sink in that we we'd made it all the way to the Caribbean. 

Anchored between St. George's and Grand Anse

Then, just when there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel, another blow. The reopening of the airport was postponed and my flight was cancelled. Sooooo demoralising. After such an effort in the previous couple of months, so much work battling against what seemed outrageous odds to get the satphone delivered, find a job, find a border that was open, cross an ocean and actually get here in time for the (ambitiously timed) flight and then it was all for nothing! Some days, you just wonder why you even bother trying.

(It's ok, that was the low point, it gets better after this.)

Desperate for a stretch of the legs I walked up and down and up and down the quarantine dock.

We sort of managed to pick up our spirits after that, at least we didn't feel under pressure to try to actually achieve anything at that point. Makes life simpler. Waiting for the result of Karl's second PCR reignited my exam-result PTSD but this time around he passed. Yay! We got the result one Saturday morning during a lazy breakfast and leapt immediately into the dinghy to get ashore and clear in before someone changed their mind. The tactic worked, we were in, we were ashore! A very relieved couple of sailors headed straight (well, wobbled a bit on our sealegs to be honest) to the bar to sample the local Carib which tasted pretty good at the time (the novelty has since faded). By happy coincidence Umnyama had just arrived at the quarantine dock so we were able to have a quick masked and distanced chat – so weird to see them not in St. Helena. The next day we moved into the marina and settled Gráinne in. 

We're hooked up to power, hooked up to internet, have unlimited water, can just step off the boat and walk around, the galley doesn't move anymore, Karl's running the icemaker like crazy and don't even get me started on the marina showers. Ah, the showers. Hot water and cold air-conditioning. I know, I know, I'm single-handedly melting a glacier a day but trust me, there is nothing so satisfying after all these months as locking yourself in aircon and having a long, hot shower.

On board excitement

For when you just can't face another Carib

And then we turned our attention to trying to figure out exactly what we were going to do next. This was our “limbo” phase, almost even more so than on St. Helena. The plan had been for me to fly home and for Karl to put Gráinne safely in a boatyard and then join me. Now here we were, stranded and broke in Grenada in the middle of hurricane season. If we put Gráinne in a boatyard (probably the safest place for her in a hurricane) we would have to pay for the yard and for rent ashore. Ouch. If we stayed aboard her at anchor (rent-free!) there'd be major panic stations every time a storm threatened. So we decided on a compromise: accept we're here for the whole season and book into the marina. Thus leading on to our “penniless and penny-pinching” phase.

The dogs at this local clearly not finding my company stimulating

We've been gently exploring the south side of Grenada, just the places within cycling distance. And now that the full fleet has arrived we've been able to catch up with the crews of Pauline Claire, Umnyama, Valentina and Mirniy Okean. Aventyr were here the first day we came ashore but managed to get an early flight out. St. George's is a nice little spot, a bit of bustle (except on Sundays when it's completely dead) and some colonial buildings around the original old harbour. 

Looking across from the marina to the port and St. George's

Looking across at the fort and St. George's from a hill above the marina

A typical contrast of local cottage and very swish resort hotel

They have very big and colourful caterpillers.

The south coast has a series of sheltered bays with pretty beaches, marinas and beach bars. The supermarkets and chandlery are wildly exciting after St. Helena – truckloads of fruit and veggies and every boat-gadget imaginable. People are selling mangoes, limes and eggs on the side of the road. The vibe is a nicely balanced mix of relaxed-island-time and a switched-on-industrious approach to life. Locals are very open and friendly and (apart from trying to sell Karl cannabis and/or women at every opportunity) not trying to take advantage of tourists. Grenada's been covid-free since the middle of May but is still enforcing distancing, mask-wearing, temperature-checking, contact tracing and hand sanitising which has been a whole different world for us. Masked security guards spray masked customers with hand sanitiser at the door of the supermarkets. Entering a restaurant or bar means donning your mask, giving your name and contact details, having your temperature taken and having your hands sprayed with sanitiser. But this has not deterred us! It turns out Grenada does have a microbrewery, hurrah. And some excellent beers too with a definite leaning toward dark ales and stouts and a throwing caution to the wind attitude to alcohol content.

Morne Rouge bay, one of several on the south coast

Of course we almost had a hurricane. Well, we had a storm that was apparently very difficult to forecast and looked very threatening for a long time prompting everyone in the marina to batten down the hatches and everyone at anchor to squeeze into the marina for protection. It was quite the flurry of excitement for a few days and suddenly the marina was all hustle and bustle. But in the end, thankfully, it was a non-event. Religious weather-watching is definitely going to be part of the next few months.

Not what you want to see on the weather forecast (not for the first time)

Officials seemed to be taking the storm seriously, or maybe they just wanted the day off.

It did blow in the biggest, most disgusting moth I've ever seen (the one on the left)

So what next? Well, just as I'd come to terms with staying here for probably the next 12 months, Flight Centre found me some flights. So now it's back to plan A. I (hopefully) fly back to Brisbane via Barbados, London and Doha in the middle of August and (fingers crossed) work on the Gold Coast from September to December with the aim of being back here in time for Christmas. There'll be some more quarantining in my future. Karl, meanwhile, will stay here with Gráinne and the other womenless sailors who'll be “taking care of him” for me.

Karl's view for the rest of the summer

Now I have ten days (plus six in Barbados) to soak up the summer heat, cheap rum and endless idleness before facing a Queensland winter and a 40 hour week.

Strange times indeed