Grenada

The "Isle of Spice", slightly smaller than the Isle of Wight, was fought over by the French and English throughout the 17th. & 18th. centuries. When the English first set foot on the island on All Fools Day 1609 the indigenous Carib Indians gave them such a rough reception that less than a year later the survivors abandoned their tentative settlement and sailed back home for a more peaceful life. Thirty years later the French arrived but they were compelled to leave even more hastily. They returned with a heavier force and managed to buy the island for a few hatchets, knives, beads and two bottles of brandy. When the Caribs realised they had been tricked they reverted to killing every white man they saw so the French fought back and with their greater fire power won the battle. The few remaining Caribs committed suicide by leaping off a cliff. In the mid 18th. century the tug of war between the French & English commenced with the English winning the day in 1783.

Although this was my first day in the Caribbean I did not intend to take it easy to recover from the flight instead I booked myself on an excursion entitled "Hike to Seven Sisters". Although it was described as a hike I had fond imaginings of it being a gentle amble through the rain forest. I could not have been more wrong. Our guide, Alan, drove us to the highest point on the island where we were each instructed to choose a sturdy, knotted, tree branch to act as a walking stick. We then set off through the fields to the rain forest where we began our descent down - and down - and down - and down. There were a dozen of us and most were in reasonable condition but there was one elderly gentleman who had rather weak legs and who was blind in one eye. Why on earth his wife had booked this trip is a complete mystery because I would guess that even a gentle amble would have been a challenge for him! Our sticks were essential in giving us balance as we made our descent, slipping and stumbling on the wet mountain steps. Oh yes, I have forgotten to mention that it was pouring with rain! We could not complain as Grenada has been suffering from the most dreadful drought and this was the first rain they had seen in months. We jested that it took the
British to bring the rain. Eventually we reached the bottom of the mountain path and were greeted by the sight of two crystal clear mountain pools nestling beneath a waterfall. Several of our number stripped off and jumped in - I contented myself with sitting on a rock at the waters edge. After a brief rest we had to climb back up the same path that we had descended by - there was no handy lift or escalator hidden in the depths of the forest!

Alan had a wealth of knowledge on the local fruits and herbs and seemed to know of something to cure each and every ache and ill. He would slash a small branch from a tree, strip the outer bark and present us with fresh cinnamon sticks. He shook a tree and cut a fruit apart to show us the soft inside of fresh nutmeg. We only know it as a dried up nut that is grated but here the soft fruit is used for jelly, jam and syrup. He even had us eating Begonia flowers and I must say that they tasted really good.

After our energetic hike we went on to Grand Etang Lake which is cupped in the crater of a long dead volcano. Alan broke some stale bread and threw it into the water and all of sudden there was a frenzy as fish of every shape and size came to feed. The easiest to spot were the huge golden carp but as our eyes adjusted we could make out hundreds of silvery shapes darting here there and everywhere. Then there was a brief stop at a wayside cafe where we sampled the local rum punch before heading back to the ship.

In the afternoon I went off in search of ancient British graves and memorial inscriptions. From research that I had conducted prior to the trip I knew that the old Scottish Presbyterian Church and the Anglican Church of St. George were the places to head for. The view from my balcony looked out toward the town and there on the hill I could see the tower of the Scots Kirk and a little to the left a church that I took to be St. George. Once on the quayside I was faced with a choice of several narrow looking streets all of which seemed to head off in the right direction but which to take was a bit of a mystery. As I was contemplating I noticed a group of local gentleman - one was obviously a soldier as he was a giant of a man dressed in camouflage khaki. The others appeared to be policemen. I enquired the way and the soldier, who towered over me, kindly pointed out the correct street and gave me exact instructions on where to turn. Off I set on one of my mini solo adventures. As I was striding along I was conscience of a voice which seemed to be calling to me. I could not make out the words but turned around to see a lanky male (as black as the proverbial ace of spades) sprawled in a deck chair in the shade of a tree. I called out "good afternoon" and he took a second take and said "Oh you are English - I thought you were German!" - no wonder I had not instantly recognised the words he called to me.

When I reached the Scots Kirk I was absolutely gutted to find that all that remained was the tower and three walls. The main gate was firmly padlocked and a notice informed me that US $1 million was needed for the restoration project. Apparently Hurrican Ivan had devastated the town in 2004 and the old church had virtually been destroyed. I climbed up an embankment and peered over the walls of the churchyard and took some photos. It was obviously going to be impossible to get any inscriptions from here. I carried on to St. Georges and found a similar situation although here at least I was able to enter. I wandered inside the roofless church and was saddened at the utter devastation. But then, on the walls I noticed plaques. All around the inner walls were memorials to those who had played a part in the history of the island. They had not been destroyed, although they were in a dreadful condition and very difficult to read. I photographed them all and came to know a Lieutenant in the 71st. Highland Regiment who had died of yellow fever in 1844 at the age of 24; the young wife of the Surgeon to the Forces who died, aged 27, in 1813; and the memorial to the officers and privates of HM Forces who had lost their lives during the rebellions of 1795 & 1796. So my journey had not been in vain. I did have a few inscriptions and I hoped to follow up on these and find out a little more about the lives of these lost souls when I get back home to London.

As I returned along the same narrow streets I again passed the tall lanky guy who was taking his siesta in the shade of the tree. He wanted to know where I had been and what I had seen. As I was no longer in a rush I stopped and chatted with him. It turned out that he was one of many self employed tour guides. He told me that normally he would be at the quayside greeting tourists and touting for custom but this afternoon he just didn't have the energy and had collapsed in a chair. When I had originally wandered by he had thought of chasing after me to sell a local tour but I was walking too fast so he had let me go. I have found in the past that walking briskly with an air of knowing where one is going does have a tendency to deter locals. The fact that I don't normally have a clue where I am going is beside the point !! This guy did not look as if he was any kind of threat to me and I was happy to chat. When he heard I was interested in the churches he pulled some photos from his pocket and showed me pictures of the Cathedral shortly after the hurrican had hit. He told me that the Cathedral was being restored but that work on restoring the two churches was probably many years away. I waved him goodbye and made my way back to the ship.

I still had an hour to spare and mooched around the shops and stalls at the quayside. Most were selling a lot of tourist tat at extortionate prices but I did buy some Nutmeg jam and Nutmeg syrup. Then, quite by chance, I stumbled across a lady who was selling handmade glass and sterling silver jewellery. The pieces were really modern and eye catching. Maria had been born in Warsaw and had studied art first at Warsaw University and then in Rajastan, India (another of my very favourite places). Some of her pieces of stained glass adorn Alexandra Palace in London, Caius College in Cambridge and she is even responsible for the Pharaoh heads on the Egyptian escalator in Harrods. In 2000 Maria moved her studio from London to Grenada which is where I found her nodding off to sleep at her stall at the quayside. She jumped to her feet a little bit dazed and I felt dreadful for having disturbed her siesta. Having said that I was entranced by every single piece of jewellery she had on display. After a very enjoyable 20 minutes I purchased an absolutely stunning black and silver bracelet.

Back on the ship I relaxed on the balcony with a cup of tea and reflected on my day. I felt sadness at the destruction wrought by Hurrican Ivan but I had been touched by the kindness and gentleness of the local people. Suddenly the unmistakable beat of steel drums and the sound of Caribbean reggae music floated through the air. I looked over the balcony to find passengers from the Rum Runner tour returning to the ship on their catamaran. There was no doubting that they had consumed an awful lot of the local rum for there was one hell of a party going on down below. They swayed to the beat of the drums waving their arms in the air. I waved back from my balcony - and thanked my lucky stars that I had not chosen that particular tour !!!

We glided out of the harbour at sunset and set course for St. Lucia.