Christmas, 2009 - We could have stayed on Carriacou for weeks, but
we wanted to keep exploring other islands in the Grenadines chain.
These islands are all within just a few miles of each other, lined up like
pearls on a necklace, with each one nearly touching the next. However,
because they are owned by different countries, there is no easy ferry
system to get between them. Both Grenada and St. Vincent & The
Grenadines (SVG) have ferries for their own islands, but the link
between Grenada and SVG is -- well -- quaint. Oddly, Carriacou Island
(in Grenada) and Union Island (in SVG) are practically within yelling
distance of each other, but the "ferry" goes just twice a week and is an
informal, rickety affair.
The ferry was to
leave sometime in
the morning, but
we were advised to get to the docks in Hillsborough early so we could
tell the captain our intentions. When we arrived, there was a cargo boat
at the dock that had just come in from St. Martin. Among other cargo,
this boat was transporting a car which was strapped down on deck. The
boat had experienced some bad weather en route, and the captain and
his mates were shaking their heads about what a wild ride it had been.
Our ferry was on
the opposite side
of the dock. We
clamored aboard
but soon realized
it wasn't going to be leaving until all the goods it was transporting to
Union had been loaded on board. A truck rolled up and unloaded a
bunch of boxes into the hold of the boat. Thinking we'd be leaving
soon, we got back on the boat only to find out the truck had to make
another trip to get more goods. We got off and walked around town,
waiting. Finally, some three hours later, near 2:00 p.m., the truck
returned and the remaining goods were loaded onto our boat. All this
for a half-hour trip between two neighboring islands!
We climbed back aboard and found a seat on the bench inside. There
were a handful of locals on the ferry and five of us foreigners, a Finnish
couple, a Brit and ourselves. The diesel fumes in the cabin were
intense, so several folks climbed out to sit on the foredeck. It was a little
crowded up there, so Mark and I hung out the side door and watched
the waves go by.
We got talking with an enterprising young fellow on board from the island
of St. Vincent. He made brooms out of bamboo and took advantage of
the slightly varying economies on each island for his business. He would
circle the islands, ferry-hopping, so he could do his shopping on
Carriacou, where goods are cheapest, and sell his brooms on Bequia,
where chic tourists drive prices the highest. After doing a loop of the islands he would come home to the island of St. Vincent
with full shopping bags and cash in his pocket to boot. After telling us about his
broom business he had a few questions for us about President Obama, whom he
greatly admired, wanting to know how much money he made as president and
whether he was guaranteed a second term in office.
As we approached Union Island, the captain stood on deck, anchor in hand,
preparing for our docking. The Carriacou ferry doesn't go to the main town docks
on Union Island, and tiny Ashton harbor, where we pulled in, didn't have a soul in
sight. Once docked, the captain huddled us foreigners together and took all our
passports. We exchanged nervous glances when a taxi van showed up and we
were instructed to get in. After a brief, bumpy ride we were delivered to customs
and immigration and were eventually reunited with our passports. Whew.
We had heard various
rumors about Union
Island, ranging from "it's
dangerous" to "the people are wonderful," so we had no idea what to
expect. Despite repeated emails to various tourist outfits and small
hotels on the island, I had also not been able to get any solid
information about where to stay or what it might cost. However, one
look at the Clifton Hotel smack in the center of the main harbor town
convinced us to stay there. The hotel was clean and tidy, and it was
right in the middle of all the action. Perfect!
As an added bonus, the woman who had originally built
the hotel (as an extension of her home) back in the
1960's had just died, and her entire extended family was
visiting Union Island to mourn her passing and celebrate
Christmas. The family spanned three generations,
several continents and many countries, so 64 little
cousins from the UK, US, Canada and many Caribbean
islands were all running around the hotel in their Sunday
finest, getting to know each other. The new family
matriarch (and proprietor of the hotel) was as warm and
friendly as could be, and we settled right in.
The town of Clifton is just a block or two of walking streets along the harbor. The town
square (or triangle) is lined with brightly painted open air store shacks. Being Christmas
Eve, the whole area was hopping.
Soon the big ferry boat (and mail boat) "MV
Barracuda" arrived on its twice weekly jaunt from St.
Vincent and unloaded a wave of passengers. Most
were friends and family arriving to celebrate
Christmas with loved ones on Union Island, and the
reunions were loud and excited. The streets were
filled with laughter, and as darkness came the
parties started. We discovered that being smack in
the middle of the action meant just that: a band
started up right outside our window, and soon
everything in our room was rattling to a driving
Caribbean beat.
Eventually, near dawn, the party ended. Yikes, and Merry Christmas!
We snuck out to get a look at the town in the morning light. The harbor
was packed with sailboats tugging at their anchors in a brisk morning
breeze, but there weren't too many signs of life out there. Walking along
a little path that lines the waterfront we came to the Anchorage Yacht
Club. This beautiful resort was also snoozing on Christmas morning.
As we walked, we came across two locals who were just
finishing off their night of revelry. Down in a saltwater pool we
saw some fish taking a break on the sand.
This resort is very popular
among sailboat cruisers, and
we soon found ourselves
lined up on the picnic table
benches setting up our
laptop to take advantage of
the free wi-fi, right alongside
all the sailors. Some were
using Skype to call home
with Christmas greetings,
and others were emailing
photos of their adventures home to loved ones. The phone calls were a sing-song of many
different languages, as most of the cruisers were European. We made our Christmas calls
too, gazing out at the boats bobbing in the harbor and enjoying the warm Caribbean breeze
on our cheeks as we talked.
When we returned to the little town
square we were surprised that the
shops were opening up. Most families here enjoy their Christmas
celebrations later in the day, so the shops were open for a few hours in
the morning.
I wandered into one, looking for a nice banana for
breakfast. The shopkeeper suddenly reached up
and plucked a banana from a bunch, picked out
some golden apples and star fruit and handed them
all to me. I reached around for my wallet but she
waved me off. "Merry Christmas" she said warmly.
We were enchanted by the entire island. Walking up and over the hill to
the beaches on the other side, we got a little confused at one point and
asked a guy walking the other way for directions. He turned around and
walked with us for a quarter mile until we got ourselves back onto the right road, making absolutely sure we were headed the
right way. How much more friendly and hospitable could people be?
A resort on the other side of the island glistened in the sun, the quintessential Caribbean holiday spot. A local fellow came by
and started chatting with us, explaining that the developer had torn out the native mangroves to "improve" the white sandy
perfection of his piece of beach. But that had caused terrible erosion on the other mile or so of beach in the other direction,
and 100 feet of sugary white sand beach had been sucked into the sea for that entire expanse, leaving a thin strip of white
crushed coral where the sand had been. We could hear the tinkle of the coral and rock as each wave drew back from the
eroded beach. What had once been a prime public swimming beach was now unusable for that purpose.
Nearby was a sign pointing out the location of a future
national park, and not far from that was a pile of
conch shells (an endangered species) whose
contents were long gone. Enjoying these islands
without destroying them, loving them without loving
them to death, is a delicate and tricky business for
tourists, developers and the tourism industry alike.
On a lighter note, we found the Caribbean whimsy alive
and well on a sign in a shop: "Is there life after death?
Truspass and you will find out."
In a search for a snorkeling spot we
took a path through some palms
and found a delightful place to cool
off and check out the underwater
world. Up on a hill someone had
painted holiday greetings in front of
their house.
Back at the hotel two
champagne flutes were
waiting for us. Our stay at
the hotel had put us over
our budget, so the
glasses became our
dishes for a cool dinner of
canned baked beans. It
was a classy presentation
for the simplest Christmas
dinner I can remember.
But what an awesome Christmas it was. Next morning we got up
bright and early to journey on to our next Grenadine island destination,
Bequia Island in the country of St. Vincent & The Grenadines.