A Sail of Two Idiots (36 page)

Remember LESSON 26, Role playing? Can you imagine Melissa waking up on a strange boat she knew nothing about, without a dinghy she wouldn't have known how to use anyway, only to find that the boat had been deserted? She would have had no idea what happened, not known whether we were coming back, or how to get help other than yelling for it the next time someone anchored nearby. Scary!

Needless to say, we entered that sandbar location as an obstruction on our chartplotter (with a big red X through it).

We also moved to the next harbor to the north, Deep Bay (with a name like that, no sandbars right?). We were hopping north along the west coast because sea conditions were keeping us close to shore. Better to wean Melissa into the action anyway. Each hop, all motorsailing, was only 5 miles or so.

Once settled in, we thought we'd do some snorkeling on an old tug, but the rough waters hampered visibility. We climbed a nearby fort instead and took in the views. For our sundowner pleasure, we watched jumping fish and swimming turtles.

The next day we moved up to Dickenson Bay. We knew this location would be busier because the local Sandals resort meant Jet Skis and Hobie Cats, but we thought Melissa could use some excitement. How many days of just us lunatics could she take? We pumped up the kayak so she could get to and from shore, and life was full. She accidentally dunked herself only once before getting the hang of it. She also lost the paddle only that one time and got lucky when someone nearby saw it floating out to sea and retrieved it for her (gotta love the boater community).

The next stop was supposed to be Barbuda (about 35 miles north), or at least a sneak around the northern part of Antigua where all the reefs were, but sea conditions were not cooperating. Those pesky Christmas winds just wouldn't stop despite the fact that it was now February.

While we waited, we read; and while reading I ran across an article on “hashing.” No, not
that
kind of hash. I go into detail here because we have turned into die-hard hashers, and it's something I think everyone should try at least once. No, I'm
still
not talking about that kind of hash.

Turns out that in 1938 the good ol' Brits came up with a way to pass the time while they were—um—protecting Malaysia. They started a group called the Hash House Harriers (HHH), which combined socializing, working out (hiking and
running), and drinking. Chapters now exist all over the world. There are a few adults-only chapters, but for the most part they're mixed—young, old, local, expat, human, dog …

One such chapter was on Antigua! Each island does things a bit differently and at different intervals, but all have a hasher come get you if you tell them you're interested in going and don't have a ride. And that's what we did. We got a ride to the meeting place and, well, hashed/hiked. What's so great about this group is that you will get to go places you would never get to go normally, either for free or for a nominal fee (maybe $1). In this case, because some hashers wanted to go straight to a cricket match after the hike, our first hash took place around the cricket stadium and the airport. A bit unorthodox, even for them.

In order to make it special for HHH, however, the group organizers set it up so we could climb an observation tower not normally open to the public. We got a great view of the airport, stadium, and island before grabbing an Antiguan flag, provided just for us, and running back down. At the end of a hash, food and drinks are brought out and rituals performed. I won't detail them here, but it was a lot of fun. If you can't stand to hike, you can become an HHH groupie and just wait at the meeting point (the hikes begin and end in the same place) while enjoying your surroundings and chatting it up with your new friends. It's a great way to meet people, go to places you never would have found without this group, and get some exercise. Google HHH and find a group near you or near to where you plan to visit!

After waiting what seemed like forever for the weather to improve and realizing it wasn't going to happen anytime soon, we decided to head back south. Barbuda was just not in the cards and we still had a lot of the Caribbean to see before hurricane season kicked in. After making some short hops back down the coast, we finally had a little weather window to make the 55-mile leap south to Guadeloupe. Seas would be high, but the intervals between the waves were supposed to be long and the winds were expected to be 20 to 25 knots. Good enough.

We didn't know it at the time, but that sandbar had damaged our port-side keel (on the left side of the boat, the slightly deeper portion of our hull/bottom). It may have been sand, but we hit hard enough and often enough that a good-size chunk of it was whittled away. It looked as though a shark had taken a bite.

T
he forecasts were true, if not a bit underreported. We headed into the cut between Antigua and Guadeloupe (much wider than the cuts in the Bahamas) and found 10-foot seas and winds gusting to 27 knots. Ah, yes, Melissa's first sail. Why do I want to keep referring to her as “poor girl”? We had quite a ride, with waves ramming us from the rear port side. We'd go up a wave only to slide back down it sideways. Then ram, spin, straighten … uuup … But we went fast (despite our reefed sails).

We flew across the cut and were relieved to skedaddle behind Guadeloupe and its much desired protection from the waves. Although the island did block the seas, the winds unexpectedly shot up to over 35 knots. What the heck?! That was the first time
that
had happened. Normally, you get behind an island and lose the wind completely. Not here! In fact, the closer we got to our anchorage, Deshaies, the worse it got. Winds were gusting to 40 knots, just about pushing us backward. We had never anchored in conditions like that, but the harbor had good holding and before we knew it we were securely fastened to the seabed bottom. Whew!

I don't think Michael and Melissa could have gotten off the boat any faster. While they checked in and got their feet back under them, I remained on the boat to make sure it stayed put. We were reminded that this was a French island when we discovered that checking in was free!
Merci beaucoup
!

Time for some more hiking! Well, for Michael and me. Melissa was still sore from our hashing escapade the other day. The hike turned out to be a boulder scramble to a little waterfall. It was pretty, but after two hours we were relieved to find a road that would take us back to the dinghy dock. Maybe Melissa had the right idea.

Deshaies was a nice enough little town, but the weird, gusty winds were unnerving. Although we wanted to leave, we waited and waited as an infernal rain cloud loomed overhead. Weather gurus kept flip-flopping. Finally we couldn't take it anymore and headed down the west coast. Winds ranged from 6 to 29 knots and hit us from every direction, so we motored the whole distance.

We had been looking forward to snorkeling Pigeon Island, a Jacques-Yves Cousteau underwater park located about midway down the west coast (about 10 miles), and were pleasantly surprised to see a bunch of people snorkeling despite the weather. We were tied to a mooring and in the water quicker than you could say “octopus.” It was well worth the stop. If the waters are clear, jump in!

Our next anchorage was the southern tip of Guadeloupe's coast, Basse Terre, another 15 miles. Onshore was a nice produce market and a pretty church, but the cove was ugly, unprotected, and inaccessible to anything noteworthy. It felt like a ghetto, with graffiti everywhere and islanders hissing at us. Hissing? Translation please. Never mind. I don't want to know.

In desperate need of sleep, we longed for a protected anchorage and chose Pointe-a-Pitre, 33 miles to the east. Oh yeah, that was
much
better (apply sarcasm). Let's start with the good. It was protected. Now the bad. It was soooo ugly, loud, and commercial. Ugh. We immediately started calling it Port-o-Potty. I'd say that we were the crabbiest we'd ever been at this point. We had disliked every harbor we had been in for almost a week now, and we were tired and hungry. Grrrrr.

Let's see if we could tackle the hungry part. We were too tired to cook but were surrounded by nothing but ghetto. While I was trying to control a tantrum coming on, Michael noticed a nearby boat that belonged to a young couple we had last seen in the Dominican Republic. They had left in the middle of hurricane season months before and we thought they were long gone. Turns out that they had discovered that “they” were pregnant and were regrouping. They also directed us to some invisible restaurants behind a marina (Marina Bas du Fort) that could feed us. Aah, thank you.

The thought of dinghying all the way over to the marina and walking all the way to the restaurants put Michael in a permanent pout, so he stayed behind. Melissa and I were determined to find a pizza place, so we lowered the dinghy. I know, I know, we were in France, but pizza is cheap worldwide and we were in the land of the euro (ca ching).

Restaurant row turned out to be a hidden gem, with a setup much like the Marina Royale in Marigot, St. Martin (another nice spot). We never would have found it ourselves. Luck was on our side when a place was open, despite the early hour (Europeans aren't exactly known for their early-bird specials), and it served pizza. Our luck ran out when we ordered two sodas, started reviewing the menu, and the power went out.
Merde!

We hadn't ordered yet and we were starving! Plus I had planned on paying by credit card and had no cash. How to pay? We waited in the dark for 20 minutes and then asked if there was an ATM nearby (we had to find someone to translate this question). We could only hope that the machine was up and running despite the power outage, or we would have to wash our glasses to pay for our sodas. We lucked out, got some money, paid for our sodas, and walked across to the only restaurant that still had lights on.

Our luck ran out again when we ordered two beers this time, only to sit there in complete amazement when the lights went out in
that
restaurant but came on in the place we had just left. Is this some kind of Parisian joke? Ha ha—now give us some food!

We really did have to laugh at this point. We wandered back over to the other place, received and downed our pizza, and contentedly dinghied back to the boat. The boat next to the loading cranes. Did I mention that all the freighters came into Pointe-a-Pitre to load and off-load? This was a very industrialized port.

At this point, we knew Guadeloupe only by its anchorages and ports and were not impressed. It was time to rent a car for a couple of days and explore. The first day we dedicated to waterfalls, going to La Cascade aux Ecrevisses, which was an easy hike; and then to the first of three of the Carbet waterfalls. Carbet turned out to be a grueling four-hour, muddy, slippery trek that resulted in Melissa never hiking with us again. The next day we drove around the whole island for a more overall feel. Guadeloupe had a pretty interior but mostly ugly towns. To be fair, we missed the beautiful botanical gardens in Deshaies and a fun rum distillery tour, and weather did not permit us to explore the reefs to the north. But we decided that Guadeloupe was our least favorite island so far. Next?

Despite the pounding that
Jacumba
took, nothing, thank you.

T
he Iles des Saintes (Les Saintes) are several islands within the overseas department of Guadeloupe and 27 miles south of the big island. They might as well have been 1,500 miles away because they were so different. We anchored off the deserted island of Cabrit (quieter) and dinghied the 2½ miles over to the larger, populated island of Terre-de-Haut.
Mon cheri
.

We were in love. We had been transported to a beautiful suburb of Paris. It was like being on a movie set. There were narrow streets with cute little shops on both sides and a
boulangerie
(bakery) with the best French bread we had anywhere (before and since). Friends and family sat at sidewalk cafes, smoking, drinking, and gesticulating. People of all ages rode bicycles. Roads had signs! Families with prams and skipping children meandered to a beautiful public beach. It was so relaxing, so clean, so quaint, so unexpected, and so needed after the week we'd just had.