St. Lucia

Monday, October 31st
Happy Halloween!!!
Amazing Amazon
Day 7
M/S Regatta
Castries, St. Lucia
Windward Islands
Lesser Antilles
West Indies
Arriving: 9:00 AM
Departing: 5:00 PM
50% Chance of Rain - 85 Degrees

St. Lucia is the "Helen of the West Indies." It is dripping wet deep green, lush with rain forests and banana plantations. The topography is closer to vertical than horizontal. An independent member of the Commonwealth since 1979, the island is part of the British Realm, but it's roots are French Creole. We are docked at Pointe Seraphine in Castries, the capital and commercial hub of the island. The city wraps around the harbor and boasts two buildings exceeding five stories.

Disembarking the ship, we stopped for beach towels and cold bottles of water for a day of fun and sun. We joined our guide, birthday girl Natasha, and boarded the 65 foot catamaran Jus Tango just down the pier from Regatta. Plenty of room, covered seats and open deck, restrooms, a bar, and trampoline nets spanning the pontoons up front for riding the waves. It's a 50-50 day, pockets of mist and peaks at the sun, but it's already a scorcher. We lathered on the sunscreen and donned our sunhats. We were a sight, looking the part of the pale tourist. I glistened in my black and bejeweled "High Maintenance" cap and Tres was strapped into his Discovery Chanel safari hat with the sunshade lowered in the back. High style. The crew raised the main sail, but Jus Tango puttered down the coast of the island on motor power. Tres was the first to venture out onto the bow and into the nets. The view up and out was pretty cool, the breeze and the spray both above and below. I struck a pose on the fantail.

Down island, a sharp turn to port reveals the picturesque hidden sapphire gem, Marigot Bay. The movie "Doctor Doolittle" was shot on location here. Well protected from land and sea, with boat rentals and a swimming beach, it's a water sports playground.

Our own marine sanctuary awaited, the tranquil cove of Anse Cochon. Jus Tango tied up a few feet from the beach and lowered her treacherous swim step into the water.

Time to get wet. The beach, not white, but soft and sandy, was deserted. There was a small "resort" at the far end that was "off limits" to us, but the bay was ours to explore. Not exactly crystal clear and shimmering blue, the water was warm while still refreshing and salty buoyant. I floated along just off the beach and Tres took off to swim laps. With goggles on, breath held, and looking down, it was pretty dead. Not a sign of life to be seen. On the other side of the boat, where a rocky hillside met the water, Tres found some coral and swam with the fishes. Not the Great Barrier Reef, but always nice to have company.

The US has the Grand Tetons, St. Lucia has the Grand Pitons, the symbols of the island. Rising more than 2,500 feet above sea level, the taller Petit Piton and the wider Gros Piton guard the entrance to the harbor at Soufriere.

After one last bow ride, with the cruise almost over, Tres turned to return to the stern. The wind at his back, the strap of his hat at the front, he made a gallant grab, but the hat was gone. Floating, top up, a gift to the gods. Embarrassed and dejected, hapless and hatless, he looked around for witnesses. "Oh well, at least no one saw." But the Captain sees all. The Jus Tango slowed and reversed course, a deckhand at the ready with a long-handled broom, the hat was plucked from the sea. He rinsed it off and gave it back to its grateful owner. Tres gave him a hearty thanks, and a tip, and came back to his seat to dab the hat dry. The Oceania beach towels are over-sized, soft and plush. When the deckhand came by to check on the hat, he asked if he might have the towel for a souvenir. Seriously, he asked for the towel. "Of course. Absolutely. No problem. The least I can do." So, we would return to the ship that afternoon one towel short, but two hats strong. Added bonus: the wet hat was a cool washcloth to the forehead, a refreshing reminder of good fortune. We have been shaken down for tips by Gypsies in Florence and by a cop in Egypt, and now, for a towel, by a deckhand in St. Lucia. How cool is that???

Docked at Soufriere, we transferred to ground transportation for the remainder of the day, a Toyota mini-bus-van considerably less ship shape, fresh, and roomy than the catamaran had been. Out of town and up the hill, lunch was served at an "historic estate...where you will dine on Caribbean delicacies in old plantation ambiance." Maybe a quibble here or there with the tour description, but Morne Coubaril Estate is certainly historic. Three large, open-sided dining huts were set with rustic, handmade tables and chairs, cats lurking underfoot, termites eating through the roof above. The buffet was very nice: banana salad, breadfruit, red beans, rice, barbecued chicken, and fried jackfish. For dessert, carrot cake that was far more cake than carrot. A taste of the islands and we didn't get sick.

Full from lunch, time for some aroma therapy. "Sulphur Springs, the world's only drive-in volcano, where you can drive right into the crater and see the pools of bubbling mud." Rotten eggs, they say, but it was more than that. Salt in the wound of the rotting flesh. Something savory. Maybe we were just thinking of lunch, but it called to mind red beans and rice. Rotten eggs, red beans and rice. Interesting, but not exactly nice to look at, down several flights of stairs, and back up several more, we arrived at the top of the mountain and thought, "This is it?" The Sulphur Springs tour guide took a survey of home states in the crowd. When we called out Washington, he said, "Ah, yes, Washington State. Mt. St. Helens." A connection made, a volcanic bond forged.

Last stop, the Diamond Botanical Gardens and Waterfall. Just inside the gates, the clouds opened up, not the mist of the morning, but gallon buckets of crocodile tears. We took refuge in a shelter to wait out the worst of it. A meandering path led up the hill through wilderness groomed and tamed. Still more jungle than garden, but no less lovely. At the top, the waterfall.

The drive back to Castries, up and down the winding coastal road, took us by the Cul de Sac and Roseau banana plantations and the fishing villages of Canaries and Anse-La-Raye. Looking forward to birthday drinks with her girlfriends, Natasha skipped two photo stops, driving around the other two vans on our tour as they stopped for pictures. Tres was fuming, camera at the ready with no pictures to take. Still, it was one of the best tours we have taken.

Admittedly the sample size is small, but it seems to us that island poverty in the Caribbean follows a Southerly course. The closer we come to the equator, the more desperate the conditions. And we still have a long way to go.