Without even stopping for lunch, Kendall and I pack up our snorkeling ear, grab my kayak paddle and his fishing line, and head out for a Sunday afternoon on the sea. We walk across the narrow dirt road from our house and scramble down the dusty hill to the secluded beach, three minutes from our front porch. While I climb into the single, blue Riot kayak and paddle out to the reefs, Guana walks along the rocky shoreline to find the perfect spot for fishing. We are parallel to each other and I wave my paddle in greeting. He waves back. All is well in green guana land.
This is my absolute favorite way to spend an afternoon in Carriacou. While Guana fishes, for what hopefully will be our dinner, I kayak surf the waves. When I get tired of that, I don mask, snorkel and fins and dive underwater to explore. The reefs around Carriacou are teaming with sea life. I see parrot fish, sergeant majors, squid, conch (lambi) nestled on the bottom of the sea floor, oh, and is that a shark?
Yes, indeed, that large fish is a nurse shark. I know they are pretty quiet fish that do not bother humans, but a shark is a shark, right? I climb back into that kayak mighty quick. I giggle to myself. I continue snorkeling, but this time from the safety of my kayak. Basically, I stick my masked face in the water while my body is ensconced in the relative safety of my blue plastic wedge.
I love the brain coral and the mighty rocks underwater. I see schools of fish, pretty blue and yellow ones, black ones with white polka dots, tons of tiny silver fish that they call sprat and which, when caught by the dozens in a net, make great fish cakes. Alas, Guana does not catch anything. He says his bait is crabby. Or was that crappy. But we have a ball. We exchange spots and he takes to the kayak, while I lie on some burnt orange rocks with my hat pulled low and I read a book, as he kayaks around the calm waters with the sun casting a red-orange and pink glow all over the sea. A tiny bananaquit flits in the tree tops above me. I am blissfully content. Ok, we have no fish for dinner, and I am getting mighty hungry and thirsty, but life is good. It is definitely irie.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Hiking at Sabazan Beach, Carriacou, May 11, 2008 (Sunday morning)
Happy Mother’s Day! Another gorgeous day in paradise. The haziness of last week has long worn off, and the sun is shining through cloudless skies giving the sea and sky an impressive clarity that is almost blinding in their beauty. How I do love to rave over the Caribbean’s precious and free commodity. I never get tired of gazing at the sea on days like this. I can quite literally just lean up against a coconut tree and not move for hours as I contemplate how Van Gogh would paint this Caribbean sea and sun with his swirls of blues and yellows.
Kendall, whose nickname is Guana and I use them interchangeably, has decided that we are taking the entire day off (yippee!) from working on our www.greenguana.com site and we are heading off into the wilderness. In this case, it is to Carriacou’s south side. A hiking trip. Cool. We eat a hot breakfast of fresh, homemade wheat bakes (which he makes himself!) and cheese and tea with lots of brown sugar and lime, then pack up bottles of water and head off. I know there will be a beach somewhere around, so I put on a bathing suit under my shorts and tank top.
Guana, on the other hand, wears rugged cargo shorts with lots of pockets (thank the lord!) so I can give him my water bottle to stick in one of his many pockets. I am such a spoiled baby. I wonder if he’ll ever figure it out and one day leave me with all the gear to carry. I bank on his traditional island man mentality of being the strong “man” in charge, only when it suits me. I also bank on him not reading these blog entries. He’s so busy designing web sites for his web business that I expect that he’s only posting these blogs and not actually reading them.
Okay, we drive up to Six Roads in Carriacou and pick one of the six dirt roads that meander out from the hexagonal crossroads. The road we choose is taking us to Sabazon Beach, a lovely deserted area, but sadly, it also takes us first past the unsightly island “dump” where the garbage is placed in an unseemly and dangerous “mess!” I close my eyes as we go past because I cannot stand to see the stray papers flying about and I wish with all my heart that the Grenada government would figure out a better way to dispose of the island’s trash in this modern age. Alas, a future project for me to work on.
We quickly past the dump and continue rocking and rolling along the rutted dirt road, where cattle wander freely and we have to lean out the car windows to shoo them off the road. We are playing a Bob Marley CD and singing along to One Love, as a compromise since I am not into Guana’s loud, heavy bass-driving Jamaican dancehall music and he does not want to hear my Trini soca. Never mind, we can each play whatever we want when we are cooking. That is the house rule, “whoever cooks gets to jam whatever he or she wants.” So far, that works fine for me. But when Guana is cooking, I am usually working and I am easily distracted (ADHD victim and all), so he has to wear headphones! Oh, stop feeling sorry for him. I have a serious disorder!
We get to Sabazon Beach and park the jeep. Then we walk down the beach and hike up a dirt path that crosses over several medium size hills of scrub vegetation. This part of the island is very dry and cactuses abound, along with other prickly bushes and branches which Guana expertly chops away with his machete as we hike along. When, after seeing nothing but dry land and prickly bushes for about fifteen minutes, we climb along a ridge and break through the brush, with the help of Guana and his machete, there before us is the expansive glorious Caribbean Sea. From up here we peer over the cliff edge to the reefs below and we can see rocks and coral and fish and off shore islands and I am simply dazzled by the beauty of it all. See the pics for yourself.
Guana makes me perch near the edge of the cliff for pictures and then makes me climb up on a dry rotting branch to take more pictures and I almost fall off, well, actually I tumble off, and we laugh and giggle at how much fun everything is and we have yet to meet another person anywhere on the beach or on our hike. Doesn’t anyone else want to enjoy this beauty, or do they all take it for granted?
Guana tells me stories of how when he was a boy, he and many other children would come here every day in the summer holidays to fish and climb rocks and cook over firewood on the beach and the water was even bluer he says because the soil wasn’t eroding into the sea as it is now, and how it was the best of times. I could only imagine the screams and laughter of children playing on the rocks below. Right now, it is utterly silent except for the sound of the sea splashing against the rocks.
We hike further along for about half and hour, until we reach a large grassy pasture where we sit and relax enjoying the panoramic view of Carriacou. From where we are, we can see all the way to Windward and there is Petit Martinique and Petit St. Vincent (PSV) across the sea. And then, right near the village of Mt. Pleasant (which is in a valley actually!), we see a small deserted, blue water, white sand beach. It is a beach we have never been to as yet. In fact, I am sure I have never even seen it before. And it sits next to a pretty patch of land. Guana and I speculate that maybe we can purchase it for the site of our Green Guana cottages, which we aspire to own and run one day to welcome guests from all around the world to the splendors of our island.
That is the topic of conversation as we hike back to Sabazon Beach. As soon as we get to the beach, I take off shorts, tank top, and sneakers and jump in with the craving of a starved woman for a cooling dip. The water is fantastic and I become one with the waves. This beach, unlike Paradise Beach, actually has real waves. I start body surfing, and soon I am screaming at the top of my lungs as the waves gather me along in their power and dash me onto the sandy shore as if I were a small rock. I drag myself out of the surf and head back out again, ducking under waves until the right one comes along to surf it in again. I am deposited belly first flapping unceremoniously at Guana’s feet and I look up to see he is holding a towel with a “time to go” look on his face. “One more, one more,” I beg. But it doesn’t really matter, because I am happy knowing that I actually live right here, where I can always get one more wave if I want.
Kendall, whose nickname is Guana and I use them interchangeably, has decided that we are taking the entire day off (yippee!) from working on our www.greenguana.com site and we are heading off into the wilderness. In this case, it is to Carriacou’s south side. A hiking trip. Cool. We eat a hot breakfast of fresh, homemade wheat bakes (which he makes himself!) and cheese and tea with lots of brown sugar and lime, then pack up bottles of water and head off. I know there will be a beach somewhere around, so I put on a bathing suit under my shorts and tank top.
Guana, on the other hand, wears rugged cargo shorts with lots of pockets (thank the lord!) so I can give him my water bottle to stick in one of his many pockets. I am such a spoiled baby. I wonder if he’ll ever figure it out and one day leave me with all the gear to carry. I bank on his traditional island man mentality of being the strong “man” in charge, only when it suits me. I also bank on him not reading these blog entries. He’s so busy designing web sites for his web business that I expect that he’s only posting these blogs and not actually reading them.
Okay, we drive up to Six Roads in Carriacou and pick one of the six dirt roads that meander out from the hexagonal crossroads. The road we choose is taking us to Sabazon Beach, a lovely deserted area, but sadly, it also takes us first past the unsightly island “dump” where the garbage is placed in an unseemly and dangerous “mess!” I close my eyes as we go past because I cannot stand to see the stray papers flying about and I wish with all my heart that the Grenada government would figure out a better way to dispose of the island’s trash in this modern age. Alas, a future project for me to work on.
We quickly past the dump and continue rocking and rolling along the rutted dirt road, where cattle wander freely and we have to lean out the car windows to shoo them off the road. We are playing a Bob Marley CD and singing along to One Love, as a compromise since I am not into Guana’s loud, heavy bass-driving Jamaican dancehall music and he does not want to hear my Trini soca. Never mind, we can each play whatever we want when we are cooking. That is the house rule, “whoever cooks gets to jam whatever he or she wants.” So far, that works fine for me. But when Guana is cooking, I am usually working and I am easily distracted (ADHD victim and all), so he has to wear headphones! Oh, stop feeling sorry for him. I have a serious disorder!
We get to Sabazon Beach and park the jeep. Then we walk down the beach and hike up a dirt path that crosses over several medium size hills of scrub vegetation. This part of the island is very dry and cactuses abound, along with other prickly bushes and branches which Guana expertly chops away with his machete as we hike along. When, after seeing nothing but dry land and prickly bushes for about fifteen minutes, we climb along a ridge and break through the brush, with the help of Guana and his machete, there before us is the expansive glorious Caribbean Sea. From up here we peer over the cliff edge to the reefs below and we can see rocks and coral and fish and off shore islands and I am simply dazzled by the beauty of it all. See the pics for yourself.
Guana makes me perch near the edge of the cliff for pictures and then makes me climb up on a dry rotting branch to take more pictures and I almost fall off, well, actually I tumble off, and we laugh and giggle at how much fun everything is and we have yet to meet another person anywhere on the beach or on our hike. Doesn’t anyone else want to enjoy this beauty, or do they all take it for granted?
Guana tells me stories of how when he was a boy, he and many other children would come here every day in the summer holidays to fish and climb rocks and cook over firewood on the beach and the water was even bluer he says because the soil wasn’t eroding into the sea as it is now, and how it was the best of times. I could only imagine the screams and laughter of children playing on the rocks below. Right now, it is utterly silent except for the sound of the sea splashing against the rocks.
We hike further along for about half and hour, until we reach a large grassy pasture where we sit and relax enjoying the panoramic view of Carriacou. From where we are, we can see all the way to Windward and there is Petit Martinique and Petit St. Vincent (PSV) across the sea. And then, right near the village of Mt. Pleasant (which is in a valley actually!), we see a small deserted, blue water, white sand beach. It is a beach we have never been to as yet. In fact, I am sure I have never even seen it before. And it sits next to a pretty patch of land. Guana and I speculate that maybe we can purchase it for the site of our Green Guana cottages, which we aspire to own and run one day to welcome guests from all around the world to the splendors of our island.
That is the topic of conversation as we hike back to Sabazon Beach. As soon as we get to the beach, I take off shorts, tank top, and sneakers and jump in with the craving of a starved woman for a cooling dip. The water is fantastic and I become one with the waves. This beach, unlike Paradise Beach, actually has real waves. I start body surfing, and soon I am screaming at the top of my lungs as the waves gather me along in their power and dash me onto the sandy shore as if I were a small rock. I drag myself out of the surf and head back out again, ducking under waves until the right one comes along to surf it in again. I am deposited belly first flapping unceremoniously at Guana’s feet and I look up to see he is holding a towel with a “time to go” look on his face. “One more, one more,” I beg. But it doesn’t really matter, because I am happy knowing that I actually live right here, where I can always get one more wave if I want.
Green Roof Inn, Happy Hour & Dinner, May 10, 2008 (Saturday Evening)
Kendall and I decide to stop at The Green Roof Inn for a glass of wine and a sunset viewing. We drive past this restaurant/inn right outside the main town of Hillsborough, Carriacou every single day and never go in. A high, white wooden fence encloses the Victorian-style, gingerbread trimmed inn in a shroud of privacy and exclusiveness. But as soon as we swing through the gate, we see that this guesthouse, owned and operated by a young Swedish couple, is just a simple, Zen-like retreat. There are wooden platforms and comfy couches, big cushions and hammocks strewn in a lackadaisical manner that evokes an easy, living space. Indeed, the Inn is home to the couple and their two children, an eleven-year-old blond island boy and a new baby.
Guana and I sip glasses of wine, a Sauvignon blanc for me and a Cabernet sauvignon for him. The view is stunning. We can see Union Island to our right and Hillsborough harbor to our left. We watch as a trio of catamarans tie together to form a big party raft and another catamaran shows up and asks to join in.
The staff at the Green Roof Inn restaurant consists of island women who have worked there since they were teenagers. Lesley Anne, the chef, started as a waiter ten years ago. Susan is a bubbly, know-it-all, with a contagious smile and super-friendly manner. It is because of their inviting personalities, and the appeal of the tables set with simple linens, place mats and checkered cloth napkins with fresh picked flowers from the garden, that we ask to reserve a table for two for later. Both Susan and Lesley Anne know Kendall since they all went to high school together, so they giggle and tease in that “I’ve known you all my life” way. I share a recipe for a lime pie crust with Lesley Anne and we are soon bonding over cooking tips.
Kendall and I finish our glasses of wine, and head home to get ready. We decide it will be a special night for us. A romantic dinner for two and a chance to experience a new menu on our little island where we always believe we have seen it all until we unexpectedly stumble onto a new place, beach or people. The simplicity of just going somewhere new on Carriacou means we are singing and dancing to Bob Marley’s Jammin’ as we prepare for the evening out.
And we are not disappointed. The dinner is fabulous. We get our small table for two overlooking the harbor. Lights shine from masts of yachts anchored nearby. I order the grilled tuna with pine nuts and Kendall orders the pork nicoise with cognac sauce. The plates arrive and the food is presented in attractive expert stacks constructed with wedge potatoes on the bottom, then alternating with hefty portions of tuna and pork along with sliced carrots and green peppers as colorful trim. A side bowl of rice to share and a fresh green salad with ruby red tomatoes as well as a bread basket round out the meal for a satisfying good time. Although I order the tuna, I cannot help but sample Kendall’s pork nicoise. The cognac sauce is excellent, while the pork is a bit over-salted. I order the tuna medium and it is served medium well, but still delicious.
I have noticed a trend at many Caribbean restaurants to cook their entrees “more” than it would be done in the States. So, a “medium-well” steak is “well done,” and a “medium” steak is cooked “medium-well.” Just adjust your requests accordingly and all will be fine. Remember, you could always get it cooked more, if needed.
Dessert is out of this world. Lesley Anne’s chocolate tart (a rich chocolate cake) with a cinnamon ice cream is so mouth-watering, that poor Kendall, who orders it, barely gets a bite in, before I switch plates with him, passing over my austere lime pie to dig into his voluptuous dessert. Our waiter, Susan, takes pity on him and kindly reverses the plates, telling Kendall to eat up, to my chagrin. Hrmpf! But I’m writing a BLOG! I need to eat everything. Yeah, right, nice excuse, Miss Piggy! Check it out at www.greenroofinn.com.
Guana and I sip glasses of wine, a Sauvignon blanc for me and a Cabernet sauvignon for him. The view is stunning. We can see Union Island to our right and Hillsborough harbor to our left. We watch as a trio of catamarans tie together to form a big party raft and another catamaran shows up and asks to join in.
The staff at the Green Roof Inn restaurant consists of island women who have worked there since they were teenagers. Lesley Anne, the chef, started as a waiter ten years ago. Susan is a bubbly, know-it-all, with a contagious smile and super-friendly manner. It is because of their inviting personalities, and the appeal of the tables set with simple linens, place mats and checkered cloth napkins with fresh picked flowers from the garden, that we ask to reserve a table for two for later. Both Susan and Lesley Anne know Kendall since they all went to high school together, so they giggle and tease in that “I’ve known you all my life” way. I share a recipe for a lime pie crust with Lesley Anne and we are soon bonding over cooking tips.
Kendall and I finish our glasses of wine, and head home to get ready. We decide it will be a special night for us. A romantic dinner for two and a chance to experience a new menu on our little island where we always believe we have seen it all until we unexpectedly stumble onto a new place, beach or people. The simplicity of just going somewhere new on Carriacou means we are singing and dancing to Bob Marley’s Jammin’ as we prepare for the evening out.
And we are not disappointed. The dinner is fabulous. We get our small table for two overlooking the harbor. Lights shine from masts of yachts anchored nearby. I order the grilled tuna with pine nuts and Kendall orders the pork nicoise with cognac sauce. The plates arrive and the food is presented in attractive expert stacks constructed with wedge potatoes on the bottom, then alternating with hefty portions of tuna and pork along with sliced carrots and green peppers as colorful trim. A side bowl of rice to share and a fresh green salad with ruby red tomatoes as well as a bread basket round out the meal for a satisfying good time. Although I order the tuna, I cannot help but sample Kendall’s pork nicoise. The cognac sauce is excellent, while the pork is a bit over-salted. I order the tuna medium and it is served medium well, but still delicious.
I have noticed a trend at many Caribbean restaurants to cook their entrees “more” than it would be done in the States. So, a “medium-well” steak is “well done,” and a “medium” steak is cooked “medium-well.” Just adjust your requests accordingly and all will be fine. Remember, you could always get it cooked more, if needed.
Dessert is out of this world. Lesley Anne’s chocolate tart (a rich chocolate cake) with a cinnamon ice cream is so mouth-watering, that poor Kendall, who orders it, barely gets a bite in, before I switch plates with him, passing over my austere lime pie to dig into his voluptuous dessert. Our waiter, Susan, takes pity on him and kindly reverses the plates, telling Kendall to eat up, to my chagrin. Hrmpf! But I’m writing a BLOG! I need to eat everything. Yeah, right, nice excuse, Miss Piggy! Check it out at www.greenroofinn.com.
Paradise Beach, Saturday May 10, 2008, 12:30 p.m.
This Caribbean dry season is bone dry. Not a drop of rain and I am beginning to get concerned about the level of water in our cistern.
Today the sun shines like nobody’s business and the sea is a blinding combination of blues and greens. I leave Kendall at home working on the www.greenguana.com web site and drive to Paradise Beach for a swim and a delicious hot island lunch at the Hardwood Bar. On my way, I see goats, donkeys and cows at various spots in the road. When I first started driving here, I was afraid I would hit a cow or a goat, but these animals stroll across the roadway as calm as can be. All I have to do is drive at a moderate speed and keep an eye out. They don’t go dashing across the pathway at all. In fact, nothing moves fast here. Except maybe rumors. Gossiping or being a “maco” (minding other people’s business) is a big hobby.
Anyway, the baby goats are adorable. They frolic after their mothers, and I am always marveling to Kendall at how cute and tiny they are and how I want to bundle them up and take them home for a cuddle. I cannot complain about driving in Carriacou at all. It is splendidly relaxing, especially since the only traffic I have to be concerned about is a stray goat.
So, here I am on Paradise Beach, sitting on a wooden bar stool next to a sheltering almond tree and enjoying a lunch of fried kingfish, rice, coleslaw and a glass of Diet Coke with lime. I am reveling in that “on my own” feeling for all of an hour before I call Kendall on the cell phone and ask him if he wants to go driving around Carriacou with me, to take pictures of the beaches for our site. He say, No, without hesitation. He’s busy working, he says. Something about Guana’s no-nonsense seriousness and straightforwardness makes everyone else’s flirty-flirty manner seem so trivial and inconsequential. Including mine. Hrrmpf!
Okay, so I am suffering, sitting on this gorgeous beach, watching Sandy Island shimmer across the sparkling blue water. What the heck! I run into the water, arms spread wide, embracing the freedom of life in the lovely Caribbean. I dive in, the water is cool and a perfect temperature. I lie on my back and float looking at the shockingly blue sky. Heaven—that is what it is. Sometimes, I cannot help but feel that my life is missing absolutely nothing. I smile as I float with the gentle currents. It really does not get much better than this. Not for me, at least.
Today the sun shines like nobody’s business and the sea is a blinding combination of blues and greens. I leave Kendall at home working on the www.greenguana.com web site and drive to Paradise Beach for a swim and a delicious hot island lunch at the Hardwood Bar. On my way, I see goats, donkeys and cows at various spots in the road. When I first started driving here, I was afraid I would hit a cow or a goat, but these animals stroll across the roadway as calm as can be. All I have to do is drive at a moderate speed and keep an eye out. They don’t go dashing across the pathway at all. In fact, nothing moves fast here. Except maybe rumors. Gossiping or being a “maco” (minding other people’s business) is a big hobby.
Anyway, the baby goats are adorable. They frolic after their mothers, and I am always marveling to Kendall at how cute and tiny they are and how I want to bundle them up and take them home for a cuddle. I cannot complain about driving in Carriacou at all. It is splendidly relaxing, especially since the only traffic I have to be concerned about is a stray goat.
So, here I am on Paradise Beach, sitting on a wooden bar stool next to a sheltering almond tree and enjoying a lunch of fried kingfish, rice, coleslaw and a glass of Diet Coke with lime. I am reveling in that “on my own” feeling for all of an hour before I call Kendall on the cell phone and ask him if he wants to go driving around Carriacou with me, to take pictures of the beaches for our site. He say, No, without hesitation. He’s busy working, he says. Something about Guana’s no-nonsense seriousness and straightforwardness makes everyone else’s flirty-flirty manner seem so trivial and inconsequential. Including mine. Hrrmpf!
Okay, so I am suffering, sitting on this gorgeous beach, watching Sandy Island shimmer across the sparkling blue water. What the heck! I run into the water, arms spread wide, embracing the freedom of life in the lovely Caribbean. I dive in, the water is cool and a perfect temperature. I lie on my back and float looking at the shockingly blue sky. Heaven—that is what it is. Sometimes, I cannot help but feel that my life is missing absolutely nothing. I smile as I float with the gentle currents. It really does not get much better than this. Not for me, at least.
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