Stranded in Just Another Paradise
Sunday 29th November, anchored off Hillsborough, Carriacou, Grenada.
It's a grey, showery morning. A perfect day to stop procrastinating and attempt my first man-blog since my last traumatic attempt in Uruguay many the year past.
So, to recap, Little Wifey is merrily earning away in Australia, no doubt whistling as she works, while I have to suffer the hardship of the abandoned widower. Although admittedly I'm not scraping through an 18th century Nantucket winter...
Well, Kara left and had her own adventure getting home. Saying goodbye at the airport was one of the least fun experiences I've had. She wasn't too worried for me though, she knew the boat was well stocked with chocolate. For my part, I was worried I might turn into a sausage.
And what have I been doing with myself all this time?
Things started out well and I established a nice routine, getting up at 6am for a jog into town along the old waterfront, where fishermen sell straight off the boats, and then climb the hill up to the fort for a view over the harbour looking towards Port Louis and south along the coast. Over brekkie I'd catch up on news and then study some french and write a french diary which I'd send to Kara for correction. Next I'd devote a few hours to learning a new web technology and afternoons were for boat work, capping the day off with an ocean swim. It was all so civilised. Then I made friends.
It started with rugby. A request in the Grenada Cruiser's Information page for players of any age or ability to join a touch footie game. ANY age or ability? That's me on both counts!
A quick message to the organiser and a short while later I was helping her setup for the first game. Attendance was excellent with representation from all the great rugby nations, in particular, South Africans seemed to leech from every nook and cranny of the island like the zombies in Michael Jackson's Thriller. And there were Americans, but what can you do?
My lift to the rugby, Flora and David (bad influence #1), said we'd stay for a couple of drinks after the rugby for cruiser's open mic night in the iconic Nimrod's Rum Shack conveniently located within staggering distance of the pitch.
Of course a couple became a few and a few became quite a few and a couple of friends became quite a few friends. Sailors are open, friendly, generous people, so it was easy.
I knew I'd met my kind of people when on the way back to our boats in the marina Flora declared, "oh, you have to have a nightcap. We always have a nightcap". My kind of people.
And then we were in Thomas' Bar (bad influence #2). Actually just a normal boat, but with a glowing neon "bar" sign hanging off the back, a friendly Norwegian host and interminable house music which we all say polite things about. Because, hey, bar!
More people were met and fun times had. Special people, like the Canadian who laughed like a flock of seagulls and could eat beer cans.
I didn't jog the following morning.
This isn't Thomas of course, this is Max, the rugby organiser and an excellent barmaid.
But of course, the boat never lets up. Kara always says that the boat is the gift that keeps giving because every time something breaks we have the opportunity to learn something. She's a bit more buddist than me that way. As for me, Dear Boat, I know everything, please stop breaking.
But Kara was barely out the door and the boat gave me the gift of a blocked head (toilet). Maybe something to do with the new sausage diet?
Followers of the blog will know that we sailed here with a few other boats from St Helena; Slow Flight, Valentina, Mirniy Okean, Umnyama, Heaven's Door and, our honorary member, Pauline Claire who was actually stuck in Ascension while we were in St Helena.
We had some great get-togethers, finishing off the last of Jem's St Helenian gin on Heaven's Door, barbequing on Grainne Mhaol, bowling for Max's birthday, cricket and football on the beach, pizza nights on Valentina, the hash run where I stole Céline's kids and a few bars and restaurants might have been frequented.
Dick and Monique were hauled out and staying ashore, so let me satiate my roast cravings in their kitchen. In fact they were staying in the same place as Kara will be quarantining in for Christmas, so she'll be able to cook roasts in air conditioned comfort to her hearts content.
A memorable tradition was born on Rob's boat when I saw he had hung the mother of all marine bbqs on his aft deck. "Right, we're having a bbq night", I declared. I dutifully prepared enough food for two, but then Carlito from Valentina turned up and he wouldn't go away. Grand, we'll stretch what we have. Then a Russian turned up and he wouldn't go away. Grand we'll stretch it even further.
In all fairness, Carlito furnished us with an endless supply of his much vaunted zero-degree beer and the Russian, well, he had some interesting conspiracy theories.
Henceforth Boyz Monday Night Bbq was born. A safe place for men to talk about their feelings and drink Rob's whiskey.
And then the reefer (refrigerator) broke.
Warning. This bit is really, really boring. Honestly, just skip it.
Well, maybe it was always a little broken. Just before we left Australia we suspected a slow refrigerant leak and had it topped up. But the guy who topped it up said something like "maaate, your low-side pressure is is waaay too high mate. I reckon you've got marine growth in your condenser coil loop thingy". When contacted, the manufacturer claimed haughtily that this wasn't possible because the thingy is copper and dry most of the time for the given duty cycle. Then they changed their mind and said, ok maybe. But I said "maaaate, me behs cold 'nuff, I'm goin' sailin'".
And so we went. Then we got to the Caribbean, 30 degrees water temperature and "me beh" wasn't cold anymore.
In fact the cold plates were more like moist damp plates. I reverted to my refrigerant leak theory, but the low-side just wouldn't suck in the top-up. Consultation with the local technicians and the manufacturer pointed to a stuck expansion valve thingy, which I ordered in from the US.
That didn't fix it. I was pretty frustrated now because it wasn't a cheap thingy and on top of that, the import agent recommended by the local refrigeration company neglected to do the paperwork to avoid the import duty for a yacht in transit, making it more expensive still.
And to make it worse still, the technician dethreaded one of the thingy's tubes on installation and had to weld it in place, meaning I couldn't return it to the manufacturer. Aaaarrrggghhhh!
Now the manufacturer reckoned that the compressor was leaking refrigerant past the piston head.
But I'd had enough of throwing money at theories and an old refrigeration system.
So, then it all became clear. Like many the yachty has discovered, do everything yourself.
I ordered a new modern system (consumes less peak power, but has to run more often) from the US and became my own import agent, which involved nothing more complicated than going to Customs & Excise to do some paperwork and get some stamps, going to Fed Ex, do some paperwork and get some stamps, going to the Post Office, pay a fee, do some paperwork and get some stamps, return to Fed Ex, do some paperwork, get some stamps, pay a surprise fee and get your thing. Easy.
Then I cut, hacked, drilled, wrenched, heaved, bent and cursed the old system out of the boat and installed the new one.
Extreme warning now. These videos are concussion-inducing boring. They exist only to prove to Kara that sometimes I did some work.
We also had a spin on Ananda, a beautiful Swan Something-Or-Other. Thomas captured the sail on one his vlogs, although there's only the briefest glimpse of myself because I don't look good in a bikini.
One of the best things I did was hire a scooter on a long-term rental. Even though I had my folding bike deployed and ready to go, it just didn't cut it to explore the further reaches of this mountainous island.
Buzzing around the island dodging chickens and goats with a fixed smile on my face became one of my favourite things to do.
The Grenadians are such a friendly, welcoming people. I had a great day in the small town of Duquesne when my scooter broke town. It took hours for the mechanic to arrive, but in the meantime I got to know the proprietress of the local bar, a customer who used to work with Virgin Records UK, helped local fishermen haul their boat up the beach, had a local try to fix the bike, another deliver me lunch from their bbq and saw 2000 year old petroglyphs that I would have missed otherwise. It felt like the community took me under their wing for a day and all because I had the good enough fortune for my scooter to break down.
My favourite Grenadian salutation is simply "yeah mon", which seems to simply mean "hey". A stranger standing in a doorway sheltering from the rain might shout it to you as you cycle by soaked to the skin in a downpour.
If a man steps out of a bush with a machete, looks at you and says "white man", it's a greeting.
The dude who sells fruit on the dock opposite the supermarket might say, "hey bicycle man, what happened your bike? I got a couple of free mangos for you". And he will really give you free mangos and expect nothing else.
The guy who sells fruit by the marina entrance could say "one love" at the conclusion of your transaction. Beats Coles any day.
Sometimes, rarely, things can get a little strange, like the time a woman shouted at me while I was jogging "tell 'im to stop doin' dat fockin' witchcraft, tell 'im!". But if ever I see that fellow doing witchcraft, I WILL tell him.
Grenadian rules.
Waterfalls hikes are a big thing here. Some are more remote than others. I've actually only done one with Rob, Dick and Monique, I'm saving up the rest to share with Kara when she gets back here.
And then there were weekends.
No matter what the problem on your boat, membership of the Grenada Cool Kids Club (sounds like play school, in some ways it was) required sacrosanct respect for the weekends. "Sunday Funday" was to be held in particular reverence.
One Friday evening I was cycling back from bbq night with friends in the yacht club, when I encountered a couple in bikinis by my boat, one of them a dude. "There's a bikini party on Thomas' boat!" they exclaimed. Right. There's that bad influence again. Nothing to be done but tuck a couple of tennis balls in the right place and join them.
Other memorable weekend events were the "tri on a trimaran" a selection of interesting "sports" events on a trimaran, Sunday arvos in The Aquarium, late night bowling, sessions in the Be Free Bar with Kettle Bomb (a strong, bitter cocktail that I would serve in our kettle), parties on the Lighthouse Boat, anything that happened at The Villa, cricket afternoons and an island circumnavigation.
I also organised a small spanish speaking group; an El Salvadorean, a South African, a Chinese and myself. The theme was that each would cook a native dish and for the first meeting I did an Irish breakfast, there was even black pudding and Barry's tea. The El Salvadorean did pizza. Now I've never been to El Salvador but something doesn't smell right...
And there was more work. So many little things to keep me on my toes.
We also organised a sailing trip up to the island of Carriacou, a day sail north of Grenada.
I sailed up with Clive on a Lagoon 42 and moored with the fleet at Sandy Island where we passed a wonderful evening barbequing on the island. The next day we moved across to anchor off Hillsborough and pass some time at the Paradise Club and Snaggs in good company.
Then November came and it was decreed "let there be no more hurricanes in the Caribbean". Well, feck it, I thought, there goes my excuse to live in comfort, endless power and water, fast wifi and air-conditioned loos. And so, I decreed, it's time to get out of the marina and much panic ensued.
Boat tasks that could only (or at least comfortably) be completed in the marina became a priority. The reefer installation was completed and the topsides were cleaned.
Friendly hands helped me warp the boat around for departure and cast off the lines.
Then I was anchored out for the first time since Kara and I berthed the boat all those months ago. In fact, it was the first time I had ever driven the boat any distance solo.
It was magical being at anchor again. The first evening I just threw a couple of cushions on deck, put on some music and lay on my back looking at the stars.
So the only little thing left to do was scrub my bottom which had got a little hairy in the marina. In Mooloolaba I'd just donned scuba gear and braved the bull sharks, but I've since become quite proficient in the stingy art of snorkelling your boat clean. Although it did take a few days and my knuckles have seen better times.
I then set off on my first ever solo sail. Getting the sails up and set was bloody hard work. Maximum respect to solo sailors. There was no shortage of wind, even in the lee of Grenada and I had a very satisfying beat all the way to Carriacou.
So now I'm in Carriacou and have taken on a near hermit like existence. I've deployed my folding bike ashore and have commenced exploring. I've buzzed across in the dinghy to Sandy and Mabouya islands, anchoring Doris for the first time ever and enjoying the snorkelling. I'll be doing some hiking shortly too.
Against the backdrop of the last few weeks, has been the sadness of friends moving on.
With the end of hurricane season, boats are free to continue their journeys.
Slow Flight is back in the USVIs. Mirniy Okean is through the Panana Canal and already in the Pacific. Valentina left their boat in Curaçao and are home in South Africa. Heaven's Door is Panama Canal bound.
Myself and Umnyama here in Carriacou represent the last of the old St Helenian fleet still together. Next week they'll be leaving for Barbados and then sail north for Florida to sell their boat.
And that'll be it, the fellowship is broken!
I'll sail back to Grenada to be reunited with Kara for Christmas. And of course, Rob on Pauline Claire will still be about. He's unlikely to sail for Panama until about February next year. I'll be eyeing up his bbq.
I've had my last game of rugby and most of the friends I've made here have scattered to various islands or boats as crew.
We're now more than half way around the World and have plenty of adventure still in front of us.
I can't wait for Kara to come back and for it to begin all over again. We've changed our original pre-Covid plans and won't be venturing to the Pacific next year. Instead we'll see as much of the Caribbean as restrictions allow and resume our westward journey the following season.
As soon as she's safely on the boat and her head stops spinning, we'll set off on fresh explorations.
Adventure is out there!
Yay, go Roundy!
ReplyDeleteTerrible Australian accent, it's beee-ah miyte, BEE-AH.
I didn't think Australian accent could get any worse...
DeleteAlso, awesome adventure tales 🐨
DeleteI've said it before and I say it again: you are NEVER going to work in an office again, Karlito.
ReplyDelete