(Note: don't forget you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.)
This chapter is written from Marbella, the boat out of the water in Trinidad. We had to come for Emily's graduation and also to catch up with family and friends and deal with a year's worth of accumulated administrative issues.
After leaving Sarah and baby in Friendship Bay, Bequia, we intended to stay in that lovely, secluded bay for a few days to do a little maintenance and get the last chapter out, but were forced out when the direction of the sea swell changed and the anchorage became impossibly uncomfortable.
Rounding the southern end of Bequia with Port Elizabeth in the distance. A very pleasant short sail.
Port Elizabeth, though anything but secluded, is pretty and also very convenient, being a bustling centre for the charter yacht industry that has rather spoiled the Caribbean, from our selfish point of view, at least. Gone are the deserted anchorages and sleepy little villages that we remember from thirty years ago. There are yachts and commercial enterprises serving them everywhere. Many anchorages are now forbidden, ostensibly to protect the coral from damage by yacht anchors, but coincidentally there is often an expensive new marina nearby. Also, we rather miss the camaraderie between yachting people, finding little in common with city businesspeople on a week's sailing holiday. Still, the industry has done wonders for the previously almost nonexistent economies of these tiny little island countries, which, I suppose, is not a bad thing. Progress.
But, as I said, it can be convenient if you just need to sit at anchor for a few days to get things done. Among other things there is a very good internet cafe, and, after our work there, a very pleasant bar on the beach to refresh ourselves with a cool rum punch.
A fisherman came alongside one day with a boatful of fish and lobsters. Marie found these fish, which were still alive, much to beautiful to eat, but couldn't resist a pair of lobsters.
From there we sailed to Canouan. The anchorage is nice, though crowded and ashore there is a very nice beach hotel.
We found an Italian restaurant run by Germans where we had the best shore meal we had had in the islands. Particularly notable was the architecture, which had been done by a team brought from South America in their style but with German thoroughness. Quite spectacular.
The nice thing about this area, and why it is such a popular spot for charter yacht holidays is that there are dozens of little islands and any number of lovely places to drop anchor, usually only two or three hours of wonderfully scenic sailing between them. Our morning's sail took us to an anchorage inside a coral reef. The approach was rather hair-raising, although in the end, not difficult. We were having difficulty identifying landmarks and the water, crystal clear, was quite obviously full of coral heads. We were decades out of practice at gauging the depth of water by eye and the depth sounder was not working properly to give us a calibration.
Once there, you sail up to the reef as close as you dare, and drop your anchor. Beyond the reef is nothing but open Atlantic but behind the reef, perfectly calm water. We enjoyed exploring the reef with mask, fins and snorkel but even just swimming in that clear, coral-filtered water is a delight and when you come out you feel really rejuvenated.
Leaving, we negotiated a pass through the reef with much more aplomb than the previous day. The old instincts were coming back.
Continuing on south, next stop was Union Is., where we had to clear customs for Grenada. It's a sleepy, nowhere sort of a place but it has an airport and therefore customs. It has the usual (for these parts) busy anchorage and the seagulls expect to be fed. There is a tiny island on the reef where there is a yachts only bar, accessible only by dinghy.
Just over a mile (nautical mile, a bit less than 2 km.) away is Palm Island, where there is a posh resort hotel. The guests arrive at the airport, are taken to the dock, where they met by a fancy motor boat which ferries them to the hotel.
Next day we went visit Palm Island. The trip was so short that it was not even worth hoisting the sails. The place is lovely, with deep-drifted pale pink coral sand and palm trees, very groomed.
With thoughts of a drink ashore and possibly even lunch, we landed the dinghy and strolled under the palms. Coconut palms, of course, but with no coconuts in sight. They are removed so as not to endanger the heads of the guests. A waiter passed by bearing a tray of cool drinks and offered us one. We thought it wise to decline. Shortly afterward appeared a security guard. More discriminating than the waiter, he knew scruffy yacht people when he saw them and rather brusquely ordered us off the premises. Our protestations that we were looking for the bar were ignored. Having been recently in far posher Mustique, where we were made to feel welcome, we found this attitude irritating.
Still, they don't own the whole island, so we had a good walk all round it. Walking along a beautiful stretch of deserted beach, we could see something ahead, which, as we approached, seemed like a hallucination: a wedding cake on a table set for two. As we stood marvelling, a young man appeared, dressed as a waiter, obviously much amused by our astonishment. He explained that a wealthy couple were getting married in the hotel and that was where they wanted their cake. Not only that, but the hotel was going to set up a bed on the beach for them to spend their wedding night. How romantic, we thought, imagining blowing sand and mosquitoes.
A little further on, we encountered the dismasted, sunken remains of a brand new yacht, probably chartered, obviously very recently wrecked on the reef. "There, but for the grace of God..."
An easy two hours sailing the next day brought us to Carriacou. What can I say about Carriacou that I haven't said before about these islands? We never tire of clear water and palm-fringed coral sand beaches, but I can't keep saying the same thing.
These tiny little island countries, each with its national government and flag (and UN representation) are hard to take seriously. This charmingly naive coat of arms suggests that they don´t take themselves too seriously. The one of Trinidad is far more serious. But what to make of this one, also found in Trinidad? I don't think it's a joke.
In the absence of much national consciousness in the ex-British islands, black consciousness reigns, typified by the Rastafarian movement. These would be all right if they hadn't adopted cannabis as their sacred herb. Most of them are permanently stoned and, thus, not very useful or reliable. Like Samson, they don't believe in cutting their hair, wearing it either as dreadlocks or in a sort of bag.
We liked this house. The one we saw on Bequia is more typical.
And, of course, the birth rate being high, there is a large youth population. They try to motivate them in the right direction. Judging by the number of AIDS programs in all the islands, this is another big problem.
A fast six hour's sailing took us to an anchorage on the south coast of Grenada. We elected to sail down the windward (Atlantic) side of the island since the breeze was not strong that day. Given modern navigation aids and a manoeuvrable vessel, the trip presented no great hazards, but the coast is strewn with rocks and reefs extending quite a distance from the land and there is a two knot current which means that you come across these always sooner than you expect. This current also sets you onshore. That coast must have had an evil reputation in the old days.
We anchored in St.David's Harbour, one of many delightful little bays on the south coast and since we were immediately taken by Grenada, we stayed a week. The harbour has a very friendly boatyard where quite a few yachts lay up for the hurricane season. We were tempted to change our plans and do the same. Our engine had been running roughly for some time but I had saved opening it up until I was somewhere where I could get parts or expert advice if necessary. It turned out to be something simple, a small worn part, but who knows how long we might have been stuck awaiting a replacement. I talked to a very friendly New Zealand mechanic and showed him the part.
"Oh, no worries mate," he said. "I've got an old broken down Perkins out back. I'll have one of the boys take it off for you. Come and see me tomorrow." Next day I had my part and when I asked what I owed him he said "Ah, you can buy me a beer." I soon had the engine purring again.
We hired a car to explore the island. It was perhaps the most hair-raising driving of my life. The roads are so narrow that there is often no room for two cars to pass. Most of the traffic consists of hurtling mini-bus taxis. I was quite terrified, holding up lines of beeping cars behind me as I trundled along absolutely as fast as I dared. Mercifully, the traffic was light.
Grenada calls itself The Spice Island. Nutmeg, mace, allspice, cinnamon, cloves and ginger all grow in profusion, as does chocolate.
Here the women are separating mace from nutmeg. We saw chocolate being grown and processed,
but were fifty years too late to see sugar and rum being made in this ruin not far from our anchorage.
Christophene is a common vegetable here.
It looks like a sort of squash and cooked it's like a cross between potato and cucumber. In our wanderings we found it growing. We wondered what was this vine which seemed to cover everything. Looking closer we found that they had spread a net supported on sticks.
There is a new modern airport, built by the Cubans. We stopped at the old, abandoned landing strip which has the mouldering remains of Russian aircraft, their faded markings still visible.
They call this the bamboo cathedral. When the wind blows it makes an amazing creaking clacking music.
While we were looking at the bamboo a soldier came stumbling out of the bush. We had seen others like him some distance down the road, moving athletically. This one seemed to have been having a rough time. Marie spoke to him. He was on an orienteering exercise and showed her his map. It was obvious that he was lost and heading the wrong way but we decided not to interfere.
The capital city is St. George's. It's a very pretty place built around a deep bay that is actually a blown-out volcanic crater.
The volcano is not entirely dead. Very occasionally the water in the bay boils, they say. The little inter-island trading ships (still called schooners, although they have had the rigging cut down and powerful engines installed) come right into the middle of town to unload their cargo. 
Time was pressing and it was time to get on to Trinidad. We made an overnight passage, aiming to arrive off the north coast in the morning to have all day to negotiate the entrance into the Gulf of Paria and find our boatyard in daylight.
It was a lovely misty morning as we closed the coast. We were just coming up to the entrance when suddenly the wind died and a strong current began to set us back the way we came. No problem: that's what engines are for--when they start. With navigation lights, computer and refrigerator all night, the battery was flat. Well, no problem, as the sun comes up, we'll get some wind and we can sail in, we thought. Didn't work. We sailed all day and just about got to where we had been in the morning. Finally, I had to swallow my pride and radio the boatyard for a tow.
An ignominious arrival. The boat deposited us at an anchorage in Chaguaramas Bay in front of the boatyard.
We had to wait a couple of days before we could be hauled out. Then we brought the boat into a special slip,
a big blue travelling crane drove over us, passed straps under the hull, lifted us out like a toy boat
and trundled off carrying her to the parking area.
We liked the atmosphere here. There are some two hundred yachts from all over the world and everybody busily painting, scraping, rigging. The yard people are very friendly and helpful, if not always very efficient. There is a good bar-restaurant, which is the social centre. One day they held a spearfishing competition. This was the winner.
(The one on the left) Later there was music including a steel drum, more properly known as a pan.
This instrument is a great Caribbean invention. It is made from the cut off top of an oil barrel and the top surface is heated and peened with a hammer to form roughly circular domains, each of which sounds a musical note when struck.
The last time I was in the Caribbean, steel band music was everywhere. Now it seems to have been largely driven out by awful, highly amplified rap music. It's sad. Steel band music was a valuable bit of home-grown Caribbean culture.
We had thought that by arriving in Trinidad so early we would have time to tour the island before getting down to work. But time seems to flow at a different rhythm there and things take at least twice as long as they should. It took right up to the morning of our departure to get everything done.
Busy though we were,
we did make two visits to Port of Spain, the capital. Getting around, as in many of the islands, is easy. There is a public bus system which is so infrequent and unreliable that nobody uses it. Little privately-owned minibuses are everywhere. They officially seat about a dozen people but we have seen as many as twenty squashed in. They are cheap, you never have to wait long for one and if you have a load of shopping and speak nicely to the driver he will often drive you to your door. One wonders why that wouldn't work in our world instead of the publically-run dinosaur buses that clog city streets, usually empty.One of the minibuses has been organised to come to the boatyard at eight o'clock every Monday morning to take people to a big market. We went once. It´s a riot of noise and colour.
Port of Spain is big and obviously affluent, as evidenced by the new buildings that are going up.
But very much a third world city for all that. 
It must have been lovely back in colonial days, as evidenced by these houses. 
They were once on the edge of a big park, 
but now separated from it by a busy road.
This is the president's residence.
There is a wealthy suburb above the town with a good breeze and nice views.Trinidad's population is almost exactly half African, half Asian Indian. After the end of slavery there was still a need for cheap labour, so Indians were brought in under an indenture programme. Indians being traders and businesspeople by their very nature, they have come to dominate the economy, to the resentment of the blacks. This Indian shop sells an enormous variety of fabrics. These are for Carnival. We missed Carnival this year, but preparing for the next one is a year-long industry.
Well, it was time to leave. Here we are, all painted and ready to continue the voyage in August.
