THE WAY BACK HOME

After more than three months in St Anne, Martinique, it was time to return to Grenada. We had bought our plane tickets back to Toronto for the end of April, and wanted to spend some time in St George's bay before that. We said good-bye to our friends Guylaine and Levent on the afternoon of March 14th, weighed anchor at Le Marin early in the next morning, and set sail towards Rodney Bay, St Lucia. It was a short and pleasent sail, going south is never a problem around these waters. The current seems to be favorable most of the time, the wind almost always.

We had not cleaned Ruyam II with feesh water for so long, that I wished to spend some time at the Rodney Bay marina, which had been cheaper than most we had seen so far. Last time we were there (early December), they had incredibly low rates, due to a promotion.

We reached the bay around noon, and went into the channel without delay. I called on VHF and the guy told us to proceed to a spot at the dock. When we got there, I looked and looked to no avail, there was nobody in sight to give us a hand.

Thankfully it was a very calm day, and Al was able to slowly slide by the finger dock, onto which I jumped down with the front line. This was the first time that I did such a thing, always having had people on the docks to receive the lines. Anyway, I jumped and tied Ruyam II, before she hit the dock.  It was good that I did not know in advance what I had to do, otherwise I would have got scared and maybe botch the affair. When our friends Buket and Ender of Istanbul yacht told us about their similar experiences in the marinas around Europe, we were quite surprised. Live and learn. However, I was not impressed with the IGY employees. Are they trying to change the culture around here.

Although we had stayed at this marina twice before, we had never explored the vicinity by boat. We had walked around and even taken a bus to Castries (capital city) at those times, but had neither seen the extent of the lagoon, nor the bay outside.

First mission was to get to the small village around the south end of the lagoon, which had a big shopping centre and American style grocery stores, one of them being Canadian IGA, as shown by Doyle in a detailed map. So we started in the general direction by dinghy, and surely saw the top of the shopping centre, and a small dinghy dock at the corner, almost obscured by the private docks of the villas/apartment complexes sorrounding the lagoon.

The dinghy dock was manned by an islander, who promised to take care of our dinghy (for a small fee of course), and helped us out. The dock was tied to an alley beside a restaurant, which lead to the European style village with many shops and restaurants. It seems that all the establishments there were catering to the inhabitants of the million dollar villas in the area. I saw an advertisement for a one bedroom apartment for sale, for over three hundred thousand US dollars. Thanks to them, it is possible to buy stale peppers, grapes and apples, as well as angus beef for exhorbitant prices at those grocery stores. We made a turn at the store and bought a few items. Unfortunately, nobody seems to go for the local produce or meats, which are available at the open market in Castries for a fraction of the prices, but an hour away by bus. This time we decided to buy from the neighbourhood, and did not venture there.

Same day, we also dealt with laundry and filling our propane gas bottles. There is one lady in the marina working for a company called Suds, which provides the service for both. As far as convenience goes, her services are good; same day pick up and delivery at the boat, but they do not come cheap. She charged more than Yvonne at Le Marin, Martinique. We paid 40 dollars for laundry and as much for two bottles of gas. We had not seen such prices in our three seasons around the Caribbean. Oh well, we know now where to avoid for the necessities of life. (Doyle thinks Rodney Bay is the place for any kind of work done on the boat. I beg to differ.)

I should make one correction however; on our way back from Dominica, we realized that a portion of the UV protection piece on our genoa was ripped, which had to be repaired before we could use it on the trip back to Grenada. The sail maker Ken at the marina was praised  by Doyle, so we asked him to take a look. He came and after seeing that it was a small job, reluctantly agreed to sew a new piece, saying something about the next morning. We had to ask him several times for an estimated price, which came out vague;  one or two ours of labour plus materials. He charges US  $45.00 per hour. Al thought that he was probably going to charge around US$150.00, and got prepared for it.

We waited around on the next day for him to show up. When in the afternoon Al went in to check, Ken  scolded him for not bringing the sail early in the morning to start the work. He argued that he would not be able to return the sail the next day. It meant staying one more day at the marina, but no matter, we were determined to make the most of it, and had a lot to do.  Apparently he expected us to bring down the sail and deliver it ourselves. Taking down the genoa is not that hard, so we managed to make a neat bundle, but delivering it was the problem. Our part of the marina had only one trolley when we asked for it. The guard told us to go to the section for mega yachts, and get one from there. Getting the trolley was our morning exercise. We never appreciated Port Louis marina in St George's until now, which Al finds pretentious, but they provide excellent service!

The next day, we donned our swimming suits and headed outside to the bay as our second mission. Doyle was talking about a yact club somewhere on the beach, and I wanted to check it out. We had seen several resorts side by side at the south side, with no place even to land our dinghy. It was interesting to note that the club was tucked in among the resorts, without having access from the sea! No dinghy dock or a piece of beach to land the dinghy, since the sea was roped out for the swimmers. So after making a tour by dinghy, we headed to the north side, and saw a dinghy dock at a complex called Landings. While tying there, we asked if we could have a bite to eat, and the guard welcomed us. The dinghy dock was next to the beach, from where the restaurant  was accessed through a small seating area, like a beach bar in front of the secluded restaurant. We sat there for a while until lunch time, went in the water, which seemed clean but full of weeds; we enjoyed the sun without attracting any attention from the servers, who were busy with the breakfast crowd.

It appeared that this place was an apartment complex rather than a resort, possibly a time share, which could be the reason for welcoming outsiders.

When lunch time came, a server strolled by and gave us menus. The clientele seems to be from US, prices in US dollars and US standards. Al had not brought his credit card, just some EC dollars, and it would not be enough to eat there for both of us. So we returned the menus and promised to come back some other time. Not likely, it is not worth paying money for bad food and bad service.

Last day before taking off, we did a lot of cleaning up, filled our water tanks. It appears that I used a lot of water, and it turned out that Rodney bay was selling their water like gold. We had not seen such an exhorbitant amount added to our bill. Al mentioned that the lady who calculated our bill remarked about our water usage. It seems that she made a mistake in her calculation, there was no way we could have used that much, but he did not argue and paid the bill. The last time we passed by the marina we were offered a reduced price due to a promotion, but when the time came to pay the bill, Al was charged the full price and some by the same lady. Beware! Unfortunately Al hates making a scene.

NEW FRIEND MARC AND CAP CHEVALIER

Right after we waved good-bye to Ender and Buket of Istanbul yacht, Al received an e mail from Marc, who is from Switzerland and a friend of Oguz, Al' s high school buddy, whom we had hosted earlier this year. Marc was interested in buying a sail boat, and had been corresponding about it with Al for a couple of times.

Marc advised in his message that he was currently in Grand Anse D'Arlet, but wished to meet with Al after looking at some yachts moored at Le Marin. He said he had rented a car, and could come wherever we wished in the afternoon. We were going to be at St Anne later that day, to wait for our laundress to bring back our stuff around 5:00 pm, so decided to spend some time at Le Rendevous restaurant which had free Wi-Fi, to do our internet while waiting for Marc.

Marc came, accompanied by Sy, a young sailor-to-be in his twenties, who worked formerly as crew to some mega yachts, but had recently mutinied with a group of mates and left the yacht owner stranded at some port, before coming to Martinique. Sy was also looking to buy some sort of a vessel to sail to Brazil,  in time for the World Cup. I talked to Sy while having drinks, and learned that working as a crew member on the yachts was lucrative and easy, since one lived free of charge on the boat year-round, and worked maybe a month's worth, when the owners, mostly of Russian origin, or his guests would grace it with their presence. However, after a few years, Sy became wary of being treated like a door knob by the owners, and decided to start learning how to sail by part-owning a cheap boat. I presumed that Marc might have contemplated getting Sy and his partner Valentine as crew when he bought his yacht, hence his association with Sy.

Marc related that his wife, after spending some weeks in Martinique in rented villas shared by their friends, returned to Switzerland recently, leaving Marc to fulfill his dream of buying a boat and sailing to St Vincent and the Grenadines. I thought the dream is not all that far fetched, it takes a couple of days to get there, and maybe a month to thoroughly exhaust the charms of the Grenadine islands. Then what? Being all alone on a boat does not seem attractive to me (I might be biased!).  Marc let us know that his wife was a very good woman, but did not share his enthusiasm of living aboard a boat in their retirement, rather having an appreciation of taking university courses to enhance her general knowledge. Everybody to their tastes!
After some probing we learned that Marc is an accomplished sailor, having owned a boat in Switzerland, going around the lakes. So he did not mind being single handed if need be. And since his ambition is not very deep, and long lasting, he was thinking of returning to his life back in Switzerland after a month or so, leaving the boat somewhere safe at the end of his adventure. I suppose he did not wish to think everything through beforehand, and take things as they would come. I don't know what he might do if he loved the life style.

After a chat for a couple of hours, I invited them to our boat the next evening, to continue our pleasent discourse. He expressed doubt, on account of the damned strike in France, by the union of oil workers. There was a shortage of gas, starting the previous week, which had even affected us, when we tried to fill our cooking gas bottle. Thankfully, we were able to find one of the last full bottles to exchange our empty one a couple of days before.

Anyway, Marc indicated that he was using his tank of gas, driving back and forth between his hotel at Anse D'Arlet, and Le Marin, where the boats and  brokers were. He said that it was imperative for him to find some gas (maybe at the black market) soon, since he was going to meet at the airport new friends arriving in two days.
He did come, in the company of Sy and Valentine. Sy is a young New Zealender, while Valentine is a baby faced French lad, who first thing apologized for being French (!), so we promised not to hold it against him.

Valentine was full of stories and ideas. It seemed that the two of them were looking to buy a boat with their combined savings, and reach Brazil, where Sy had some familial association, along with language skills. After Brazil, who knows, the world is their oyster. Isn't it nice to be young and care free?

We had some drinks and food, and a jolly good time! As Marc was supposed to drive back to Arlet, (an hour of winding mountain roads) he did not want to stay too late. When we asked about the source of his gas, while all the stations were still closed, he related that his yacht broker put him in touch with a previous boat owner, who had just sold his boat, but kept his extra jerry jug of diesel, just in case. It became a lucrative decision, having Marc pay double for its contents. However, he was extremely happy. Marc told me that he was prepared to pay 100 Euros if need be, so he did not think it to be expensive, just convenient. Everything is relative to need and dept of pockets.

Since he had  enough gas and more than half a day to burn until his friends' arrival the next day, he invited us to visit Cap Chevalier, at the south east coast of Martinique. As a matter of fact, not too far away from St Anne, directy to the east, over the hills. We had tried to visit the small community before, with our friends Levent and Guylaine on a Sunday. Major mistake, since it is a very popular destination for the local week-end crowd, the only narrow road leading to it was cramming with cars, as well as ambulance and police vehicles. It turned out that there had been a fatal drowning accident just then, and the road was blocked.
The day that Marc came was overcast, and a week day, so when we reached the park/beach of Cap Chevalier, there were only a couple of people para-skiing in the pool like confines of the shallow waters sorrounded by reefs. Unbeknownt to us, Marc was thinking of snorkelling around the reefs, and cool off. It was stuffy for a minute when the sun came out, then cold (with my standars) when disappeared, due to the constant unbridled east winds. Not my type of weather to swim. I was happy to walk along the beach, while Marc dipped his toes. Then it started to rain, so we took shelter in a beach bar, devoid of any customers.

It did not take too long for Marc to freeze his butt, and join us to get his car keys to change. Shortly therafter, we went on our way to explore the east coast some more, and turned south a bit. We were amazed to find a small community at the end of the road, comprised of a series of shuttered wooden stalls, which could probably cater to the fishermen; and a coin operated ice dispenser. The bay at the back drop however was amazing.

There was three separate small bays loosely connected, but so unexpedtedly calm and blue, that it was hard to beleive it was the east coast - nothing like the famous Cap Chevalier, altough almost touching its south corner. When I looked at the map, I realized that we had seen Baie Des Anglais. The same bay that our sailor friend Selcuk (the world traveller) had told us to explore by boat, instead of sitting on our bums at St Anne. Unfortunately the east winds never abated until now, and Doyle cautions sailors to refrain from tackling the narrow entrance to the bay if the winds were over 15 knots. So far that kind of weather did not present itself unfortunately. Next time I see Selcuk, I am going to say that we had seen the bay, how is not for him to know.

After a short time, Marc declared that he found the perfect boat, a 35 ft mono-hull, which had just arrived in Le Marin after completing a crossing (presumably Atlantic). Although it was an old boat, it was overhauled nicely, with essential parts, like engine, sails and lines renewed, wooden panels renovated etc. Marc indicated that after looking at the crap boats on the market, he saw the wisdom of snatching this one immediately.

Marc asked his son Nicholas (Nick) to come immediately, to accompany him on his trip to St Vincent, after his friends from Switzerland left Martinique.

 Marc and Nick had a wonderful two week sailing trip, around St Lucia and St Vincent, fulfilled his dream living in the "paradise", and was ready to sell his boat in Le Marin. I was dumbfounded to learn that he even found a buyer, two days after advertising for it. It turned out that the buyers had been thinking of buying the boat before Marc had seen it, but were not as quick to act as Marc. All in all, in a total of four weeks,  Marc was able to buy his dream boat, do his dream act, and  get rid of the boat  without spending any money. He is a smart dude, and also a very nice, laid back and gentle soul. Nick as well, so handsome, personable and warm, ready to embark on any adventure. I felt jealous about having a son sharing the dream of the father, and Marc expressed envy about our ability to live the life. We invited both of them to visit us next season, when they felt the oppression of the winter in Switzerland.

I also saw Sy separately, while spending time at the Le Marin marina one day, and learned that he and Valentine had bought a small boat, and were taking off to explore the lee bays of Martinique for a while. He decided that travelling to Brazil for the World Cup would be easier by plane, rather than taking the ardous route among the pirates and other dangers. We wished them well in their adventures.

It appears that Le Marin is a good place to buy or sell a boat!

SUNSET BAY RESORT AT BATALIE BEACH

Levent had inquired about good places in Dominica, and learned that the only restaurant not to be missed was owned by a Belgian couple in Batalie. We had never heard of it, but found it in the map. It was half-way between Roseau and Porstmouth, so we decided to make it a lunch stop on the way, moored to their ball.

First thing in the morning was to get water, so we asked Pancho to give us a hand getting tied to the pier of Drop Anchor. We had done that before, and it was a breeze to get water. We also had to buy bread, so we dragged Pancho from bed at 7:30, and moved over. While we were filling our tanks, Levent and Guylaine went to find fresh bread. They came back in no time, mentioning that there was only one type made at Sukie's bakery. We had our breakfast while tied at the pier, and got underway about an hour after.

While we were in the lee of the island, there was no need to set sail. Batalie beach was about two hours away, so it was a leisurely sail, motoring. Thanks to the GPS, we spotted the building obscured by vegetation, and came close to the corner of the small bay. There was one mono-hull anchored, as well as tied to a buoy from the side front. Immediately to its aft was a mooring ball. I called over VHF several times for help, but no answer. While trying to decide what to do, Al went ahead and approached the mooring ball. It was so close to the other boat that if I had missed we would bump into it. The sea was calm, so I did not miss, but I had my share of excitement for the day in the process.

The boats were swinging freely, so we thought tying ours to shore would be a good idea. Then we saw some long and different coloured lines lying at the stony beach. Al and Levent got the dinghy down, got to the beach and started bringing the longest looking one to Ruyam II. However it was not long enough, so I brought our long line, attached it to the aft cleat and gave it to Levent. The two hooked it through the line and tied it back to the boat. The lenght was just right! I hade a sigh of releif, seeing the other boat swinging away from us.

The water seemed clean, the weather hot; nobody can keep me away from swimming for long. Al was the first to get in, and mentioned that it was cold, due to a little spring flowing into the bay. That was it, Levent crossed his arms and said forget it. I swam around the boat, and felt the temperature changing in the water in different streaks. It appeared that cold fresh water was dispersing in the warmer sea, making it interesting, and very clean, since the little stream was coming from the wilderness of the rain forests at the back. The swim was wonderful, and I urged Guylaine to join me. Well she was not sorry for it, we swam almost an hour, around the boat and away.

When it was time to have lunch, we went ashore. We had asked Pancho to make a reservation, so it was imperative. The setting of the restaurant was nice but laid back, overlooking the bay through palm trees and flowers, but the menu was a disappointment. Too high prices for not much to eat. I ended up with fish soup, which I think was the only item worth its price. Guylaine did not like it, so switched with Levent's calaloo soup. As a parantheses, Martinique does not have caloo! When we mentioned that fact to the server, she could not beleive it, and Guylaine was intrigued.

Guylaine further asked for a cheese sandwich, the guys for hamburgers - all disasters, from presentation to taste. The worst was the toilet, although clean, it had no running water. That was it for me, I was disgusted, and made a show of washing Guylaine's hands with drinking water (she was the first to go). The owner came by a little later, and explained that they had a problem with their water pump, and her husband had been busy with the repairs. At least!

When I asked the server if we could spend the night there, she said they were full. Apparently they had 12 rooms. When we corrected that we wished to stay on our boat at the mooring ball, that was no problem and free of charge. So that was good.
Our dinner on bord RUYAM II was much better I tell you, with raki and such. Who needs to eat out. I have been weaned out of the restaurants in the Caribbean, if the place is decent, the prices are astronomical. The islanders try to cook for peanuts, but their taste in cooking is foreign to us. Martinique was the best, having the French cuisine as a guide. English cuisine is non existent, so the one developed in their islands is a hodg podge of tasteless greasy food. This is my opinion, others might differ.

Staying the night at Batalie Beach was pleasent. The next morning, we had no hurry to start, so three of us, Levent excepted, swam in the morning as well, and started around 10:00 am. We reached Portsmouth before noon, and got gelp from one of Cobra's guys to get his mooring. As a matter of fact, he was the only guy looking for customers, everybody else being busy partying on the last day of the carnival. Thank God it was over, any other life is a standstill while it is on!

When we asked to be taken to Indian River, Cobra's guy promised to come for us at 3:30 pm. Ample time to explore the Cabrits. All of us were tired from the sun or the earlier swim, climbing as far as Fort Shirley was more than enough.

The Cabrits national park is immense, covering a whole mountain at the north edge of the Portsmouth bay. The fort looks miniscule, situated at a third of the height of the mountain, overlooking the bay, so climbing the paved road was not that impressive.

Last time we were at Portsmouth, we had taken water from the cruise dock at the foot of the park. This time we saw a mega sailing yacht docked there. While the passengers were loitering around the decks, the crew (mostly Asian) were scattered around the small coffee shop, adjacent to the park interpretation centre. It had WiFi, and dozens of tiny young men were concentrating on a laptop or pad, as if their life depended on them. I guess the mega yacht had also stopped only to get water, since by the time we went back to Ruyam II, it was gone.

The small interpretation centre/museum at the base of the fort had a familiar feel - with good reason; Al showed me the plate commemorating its funding and architects as the Canadian government.

We returned to the boat five minutes before Cobra's guy came to pick us up with a pirogue, with three more people, two young men and a girl. All French, who had just returned from a sailing trip to Montreal, Que and back. When they saw our Ruyam II was registered in Montreal, they blurted it out.

We sped to the mouth of Indian River, which was not too far away from the anchorage. There we changed boats (motors are not allowed on the shallow river). Our rower was the same as the last time, and the ride was equally enchanting. I had never seen the type of trees anywhere in the world, and the variety of birds. Our guests liked what they saw,and took many pictures and videos. Money well spent!
We were looking forward to having a beer at Cobra's bar, at the end of the river; however the prices seemed outrageous, so we just sat there, waiting for the other group to finish their stroll. Our major mistake was not taking bug spray along; I was eaten alive, and had to keep moving around in the garden behind the bar. It is interesting that there were no mosquitos on the water, although the river is almost still, but the bugs were on land. To be on water is always a relief!

That concluded our excursion and the holiday of our guests. Poor things work so hard six days a week, and everyday that they close shop is lost revenue. They took advantage of the general holiday for the carnival, when they had to close for three days anyway, and made it a break. Having a personal service business without any helpers is a real trap. I had experienced it as well, before I started working for the Canadian government. I never lost sight of how lucky I had been in my later years to be able to retire from that job, which felt as play anyway. Going to work every morning was a celebration, until I was ready for retirement.

We spent one more day in Roseau, and started our passage back to St Pierre, Martinique. Although the wind was the right strenght and there were no waves, the swells hammered us. Moving around was impossible on the boat, so Guylaine slept, and I read for the first time, while Levent and Al sat at the helm. I found that reading was more soothing than watching the mountains of waves. Live and learn!

St Pierre anchorage was not as crowded the second time around, so anchoring was easy. We lazed around for the last night, and felt sad that it was over so soon. Since we had been on the move almost every day, the time passed very quickly.

Next morning we started early, sails full until the Arlets, but had to supplement with one or both of the engines. After we passed the Grand Anse D'Arlet, we lowered the sails, and revved the engines. The ride back to St Anne is beating against the wind and sea after turning the soutwest corner. The last time we were coming back from the Arlet, we had passed from the inside of Diamant Rock, but found the channel hard, with at least two knots of current against, which had slowed us considerably. This time we turned around the rock, but found out that it was almost the same lenght of time, since the way was longer. No way to win!

The trip from St Pierre to Le Marin was almost 6 hours, last portion of beating more than one third of the time. After getting water at the service dock at le marin, anchoring and lowering the dinghy to take our guests to the marina, across where they work and live, it was mid afternoon.

DOMINICA, THE SECOND TIME AROUND

Before we started out, Al had checked the recent updates on Doyle's website about Roesau, Dominica. The only thing we saw was a comment on Pancho, our guy, being erratic in his service. Doyle suggests using some other person for getting help, such as tying to a mooring ball,  getting water and cooking gas, or finding a taxi for land trips. When we read the update, I almost wrote to Cobra (Andrew O'Brion) of Portsmouth to ask, who had recommended Pancho to us for the first time; but decided to take our chances. The worst part was, that it was the carnival time in Dominica (as well as many other islands), and finding help or food would be a challenge.

When we neared the part of Rosau waterfront that we knew from before, I got to VHF and called Pancho. Thankfully he answered and told us to approach a blue motorboat, without much other guidance. While we were looking around, the Marine Security guy for the port (Maurice) on a big orange dinghy came close and offered to help. When we said Pancho was waiting for us, he first argued that Pancho did not have a boat, then signalled us to follow (everybody wants to sell their own mooring balls). When we reached the big motorboat on a moor, we saw that Maurice picked Pancho up from the shore, and brought him to a ball close by, waiting for us. When somebody hooks the lines, getting tied is no problem.

Pancho looked a bit tired and unwell. When we asked, he explained that he had been at the hospital for a couple of weeks, because of dengue fever and some other bacteria, which had entered his body through a cut on his feet while he walked in a muddy puddle. He said that he almost did not make it, but was getting better lately. He was his old giddy, lively self, full of jokes and laughter; but his eyes showed the strain he had gone through.

When we mentioned our wish of exploring the land the next day, he promised to help. We were quite tired from the crossing, and hungry (settled aroung 2:30 pm), so we ate and lazed around that afternoon.

The next morning, Monday (March 3rd), first thing was to register Ruyam II and crew to the port authority and customs. Dominica is the best among all the islands around here, people can clear in and out in one stroke, if  their stay would not exceed  two weeks. Al and Levent  took the dinghy and disappeared for a couple of hours, while Guylaine and I chatted leisurely.

After lunch, Pancho asked us what we wanted to do as sight seeing. When I said just the Gorge and Trafalgar falls, he urged us to get ready immediately (around 2:00 pm), since it was a lean day for the taxis (no cruise ships! ). I was a bit sceptical that we could make the rounds for the two places in daylight (sun coming down at 6:00 pm like clockwork), but he assured me that it was plenty of time.

We got our hiking boots and wet-shoes, put on swim suits under our garments and took little else, and got underway. Our driver was a nice islander (pity, can't remember his name), and took us to Gorge first. Since we had been there before, we wasted no time in getting ready and plunging into the pool, from where the swim on the small stream starts towards the roaring waterfall in the dept of the cave/corridor. It is kind of dark inside, with a little bit of light showing through the cracks. Actually, the stream seemed to have cut through the stone, leaving two extremely high walls, covered by vegetation at the top.

As soon as he set foot in the pool, Levent started complaining about the cold water, but we did not listen, and urged him on. Poor Guylaine had to follow, although not very happy abut the cold and the strenous swim against the immense current. Since it is dark, one does not feel the force of the water; and wonder about the reason for making such slow progress, but getting out of breath. Only after reaching the top, where the river drops down through the mountain wall in clear daylight, one realizes the enormity of the force. It is almost impossible to swim to the mouth, as the walls of the cave are wet and smooth, nowhere to cling. Guylaine appeared to have been out of breath getting there, and complained about not being able to take a rest, so we turned back without spending much time at the mouth. I so much love this experience that, their not sharing my enjoyment dampened my spirit a bit; but hey, everybody to their tastes. I guess we are more used to swimming in cold waters (Canadian lakes are cold!), Guylaine being a Martiniquian, Levent not having swam in Black sea in Turkey, were not as fit. Although they half-heartedly admitted that it was a unique experience, Levent especially, declared that if he had time to think, he would not have plunged ahead.

We assured them that next stop was going to warm their bones. Trafalgar has two water falls in the distance, one steaming hot full of sulphur, the other ice cold. As it happens, one gets to the hot stream first, which forms several pools on its rapid descent among big boulders. When one sees the orange tinged (because of the sulphur) stream, it is a matter of minutes to reach the first pool. We left our backpacks on the convenient ledge beside the pool, we sat in the shallow hot pool. Oh man! After freezing our butts and keeping our wet swim suits on for almost an hour, it was a treat. After spending half an hour wallowing in the hot (I mean steaming hot) water, and having a back massage under the miniscule waterfall, we saw other people started coming. The pool is not big enough to hold unrelated people, so we graciously gave way to the new group. It was quite tiring to stay in anyway, so we left at the right time. The others went to the cold pool, reached by hopping around large boulders going down, but I preferred staying with our bundles. When they came back, we saw that more people started streaming in. It was obvious that we had stolen the most convenient time slot to get there. It was a hit with our guests, so all was not lost after all. I am sure there are other places in Roseau equally nice, but these are my favorite. If we go again, we might try to explore the other places, but would not skip on the two!

When we returned, we felt quite beaten, and we had no bread left. Unfortunately, all the bakeries were working half time that day, and our driver could not  find any when we started the trip. We were back before 5:00 pm, so we suggested going to the nice hotel situated in Fort Young, not far from the jetty in front of the Marine Association. We took to the dinghy, and got to the jetty. Swells in Roseau are legendary, that jetty is high, long, narrow and scary, but handy. Al found an opening among the other dinghies, and alighted us. Guylaine and I walked to safety of the land, and looked back, to watch Levent and Al struggling with tying the dinghy, nose high up, to avoid swinging under.

We walked to Fort Young Hotel lobby, but the timing was off, the lobby and atrium bar were deserted, dinner not starting for a while. So we went out, and walked down the road to the side entrance to the hotel, to get to the Panderossa bar, situated on the second floor, overlooking the bay. The sun was warm when eye level, but the terrase where we sat was inviting. We checked the menu, and saw that prices were highly reasonable, for the limited (but ample) fare. We ate and drank, watched the sunset, and had a jolly good time.

Going back in the dark was a problem. First the narrow jetty, which looks like a high bridge. When we got to the end, we realized that there was a lower dock at the side, for the dinghies. Al descended into the dinghy, and brought it around to the lower area for us to embark. That was easy, although we had to compete with some incoming people, who did not want to part with their dinghy, and crowded the tiny platform.

We started our return trip in the dark. We had left the mooring light, as well as the light in the cock-pit on, but could not see any of them among the many boats moored around. We passed the dim lights on the shore, and kept going. Due to the carnival, the houses lining the shore were mostly dark, and Al was driving quite far from the shore, cutting across the bay.  We must have passed Ruyam II, obscure among the many boats, and approached another cluster of lights after a dark patch at the shore. I was convinced that she was back somewhere close to the string of houses, and urged Al to get near the shore, and check out the only sign of life on shore at the brightly lit building. When we came close we realized that the building was Ancorage Hotel, a little south of our place, we being right across Drop Anchor (restaurant/bar). It was a relief (as always) to reach our beloved Ruyam II.

ON THE WAY TO DOMINICA

When Levent mentioned his wish of taking a break from work during the Carnival in Martinique, and closing the kebab house for a week, we offered to take him and his wife Guylaine to Dominica. It is fun to have company,  as long as the weather is nice, otherwise the responsibility creates too much stress for me. Al checked the forecast over and over, and declared that the winds and waves were to be perfect for sailing during the first week of March.

Sailing from St Anne to St Pierre was a breeze, straight to the west until Diamant Rock, then turning north on the lee of the island for a short time (passing the Arlets) where the winds are erratic because of the high mountains and valleys , then getting hit by the strong but steady easterly winds of the large bay of Fort De France. First day, we did not turn the engines until almost reaching St Pierre around 2:00 pm.

Finding a place to anchor was another matter, since the bay is quite deep (40 ft plus) almost up to the beach. After trying for a couple of times among the packed boats lining the beach, we went to the south side, to snatch the last decent place to the dismay of an approaching mono-hull, and settled. It was a beautiful hot day, so all of us jumped into the water to cool off. While I was descending on the swim platform, I saw a jelly fish with four dark spots on its back, swimming by. I do not like jelly fish, period. I did not swim away from the platform, just did some exercises, while constantly checking the waters, ready to pull out. Then I felt a shock of burn on my arm, but could not see the cause of it. I presumed that it was a micro-organism, which occasionally hit us around these waters. I had felt spot-burnings in BVI and Mexico a few years back, but not recently, either in Grenada or St Anne.

Anyway, when I got out, I saw two circles forming on my inner arm, made of red dots.  Guylaine and Levent were snorkelling, and stayed in water longer than me and Al, who also felt a sting, but did not have any reaction. Poor Guylaine, she was the worst hit; her body showed a lot of stings, which looked like a series of diabolical pricks, itching like crazy. I ended up giving her several antihistamine tablets over the next few days. It seemed that whatever had stung us, was a woman-hater, not affecting the guys in the least. Swimming in St Pierre is out for me from now on!
The next morning around 7:30 am, we were ready to weigh anchor to start for Roseau, Dominica. As St Pierre is very close to the north edge of Martinique, we sailed into the open seas in no time. The wind was fine, but the easterly swells made the ride bumpy, hitting from the side. I hate going down to use the head while underway, the noise of the water hammering the hulls is unnerving, especially when the mountains of waves are above head, seen from the side window. The best place to sit is at the helm, it being the highest point , from where the waves look managable.

The crossing took about six hours, good sailing the whole time. Since Al was apprehensive about gusts, he had a reef on the main, but the angle was right, so we progressed with a decent speed.

BUKET AND ENDER AND THEIR YACHT "ISTANBUL"

Ender, his wife Buket and Ender's friend from BOGAZICI UNIVERSITY, Tugrul crossed the Atlantic in "15 days and 3 hours", and tied to the Le Marin marina a couple of days before. As soon as they reached land, Buket, who had not  been able to eat anything during the crossing due to her sea-sickness, urged them to find the Turkish kebab house called Nasrettin Hoca in Le Marin. Apparently they had read al the Turkish sailing guides before taking off in June from Marmaris, Turkey, and had been dying to eat a donair lunch. Buket later told me that they had walked all the way into the town and back, but could not find the said place, but came to Elite Kebab across the street from the marina to ask. When Buket saw the chicken donair turning, and Guylaine at the register, she made a derogatory remark in Turkish about her quality expectations, and  wanted to pursue the search; however Levent came out from the back and the rest was history. Buket also said that Levent was mentioned in  the Turkish guides, since both of the writers had been to Martinique, and met Levent, who has been living here for some time.

Ender indicated that the most valuable cargo of their 40 ft steel mono-hull Istanbul was 100 bottles of raki, which he graciously shares with his acquaintances. I think in Le Marin, five or six bottles evaporated, three of them on Ruyam II in a week.

After returning from Graande Anse, we directly went into Le Marin and anchored for a night, to get water and groceries. We went to see Levent of course, and met with the sailors and Tugrul's wife Leyla, who had flew to Martinique for a few days, and was going to return to Turkey with her husband. They were about to take off by the rental car for the airport, so we could only spend a few minutes.

A couple of days later, Levent called us to inform that Istanbul yacht was coming to St Anne to spend a few days. We were on the look out and spotted the Turkish flag a couple of hours later. It was dark green with yellow bands at the deck sides. They came and anchored right behind us. After a short time, I saw Buket pumping the dinghy on the front deck. Then they lowered the dinghy to water, and Ender tried to start the engine. After ten pulls, Al could not stand watching and went over to bring them to Ruyam II. They had not used their dinghy for almost five months, since they had spend time at the marinas in the Mediterrenean and Capo Verde etc.

Ender, who is full of stories, told us that they were thinking of sailing north up to the US east coast, visit their friends living in the Washington area, leave their yacht in Virginia for the summer, fly to Turkey and come back after the hurricane season. Then spend another year in the US / Caribbean or wherever that takes their fancy.

Buket mentioned, that all the guides that they had read never said anything about the hardships involved in making the Atlantic passage. She beleives that they were bending the truth, considering her own experience. I think she is the extreme case of suffering from sea-sickness, but she is brave enough to keep her husband company.

As well, she is a good sailor, having completed all the courses in Turkey. She seems to be able to endure short sails, with the help of the wrist-band, but could not lift her head during the long passage. She did not want to go any further into the Pasific ocean, so Ender changed his plans, and started to think about other solutions for bringing his yacht back to Turkey, like using the boat transport. Since we had thought about the issue for some time, and decided that we would never do the crossing, we had found while visiting Turkey, a company called Seven Stars, who had reasonable rates for transporting a yacht form New York, US to Istanbul or Izmir, Turkey. So we passed along the information to Ender.

Ender decided to get his dinghy outboard to be repaired before starting their voyage north. So we put the engine in our dinghy, and hosted them in Ruyam II for a night, which we spent anchored in Le Marin. On Saturday morning we called Levent to find a contact to do the repairs. Of course he had somebody, so he told us to come to his kebap house (Elite) and meet the mechanic.  In a couple of hours, the small Mercury engine was totally dismantled, cleaned from the particles that clogged the carburator and ready for use. Ender was quite happy with the cost as well, 50 some Euros. As in north America, France is a haven for mechanics, their hourly charges are astronomical.

GRAND ANSE D'ARLET

For the last two months we have been waiting for the storms to ease up. Every day, Al checks the app that shows the strenght of wind by a colour scheme, from very light gray (less than 5 knots) to red (hurricane). I remember our Norwegian friend Norton, who had showed the app to Al when we all were spending time at Fajardo, Puerto Rico. He was waiting for his wife and daughter to arrive from Norway; we, for our dear friends Deniz and Zeynep from Canada. As a matter of fact, they all came on the same night, our friends being  on a later plane. So when Norton could not find his family after the arrival of their plane, he came to us in panic for help.

Anyway, Norton showed us how to install the app, and said "do not sail when you see green! (20 - 25 knots)" Whenever we see green while checking , we remember him. And it had been solid green for the last two months. Enough is enough. We are kind of bored of being stationed at the shallows of St Anne, staring at the Bucanneer Beach. However, I have to admit that St Anne proved to be everything I had hoped for when I looked at the map of the Windward Islands. Its different shape protects this bay from northerly swells; the wind comes down to us with its full force, but the sea stays calmish (!), with small waves, which do not translate into rolling. As well, the water is relatively clean, albeit full of algae, which get stuck to my baby's bottom. However, we regularly wipe off the greenery with a cloth, so that they do not grow long and dense.

After so much rain and wind, the forecast promised some blue winds (15 - 20 knots), and we decided to take advantage by sailing a bit, up to the Arlets or beyond. Al briefly thought of going to Anse Mitan or Anse Alain , which are located at the south coast of the large bay of Fort De France, but I could see no point in it. The water is very dirty at the protected areas, and getting there a challenge, the wind being on the nose, after turning into the bay. We had observed during our visit on land that the small communities at those bays are geared toward tourists, who started to come in drones lately. It appears that major discounts on air travel from Europe are in effect, so mostly retired people are filling the vacation properties on the island. All in all, going further than Grand Anse D'Arlet seemed unnecessary, so we checked our map to estimate the arrival time.

We weighed anchor on January 22nd at 8:15 and went underway. Actually most of the course was visual, the first target being the Diamante rock, directly west of us, less than 8 miles away almost at the south west corner of Martinique. After that, the land itself protrudes a bit to the west, so the course to Arlets is slightly northwest.
The wind was mild but favorable and directly from our back, so we set the sail wing on wing, and reached the Diamante in less than two hours, and turned north, where wrap around winds picked up, and flew us, 7-8 knots for a while. It was quite exhilerating really, but did not last too long. It turned out to be a very pleasent ride.

We passed by first Petit Anse, a small bay where anchoring is not suggested, and Anse D'Arlet (also known as Petit Anse D'Arlet, confusing or what), then reached the Grand Anse. It was a beautiful day, the water a bit dark, due to most of the bay being deep. For that reason, the south portion was covered by mooring balls, no way of anchoring, and most of them were taken, since it is the most protected part. The easterly swells were somewhat reaching into the bay, and hitting the north portion, where also many balls were installed. The remaining anchorage in the middle was quite tiny, and I got prepared to pick up a ball. But no, Al wanted to anchor and got me quite worried, when wedged us between two mono-hulls, and backed up, almost to the anchor chains of two more. We were cosily surrounded by other boats, but thankfully not swinging too wildly. He claimed to have checked that we would clear all of them with a small margin, so we stayed. It was a good spot, not too far from the pier.


It was interesting to watch the resident turtle who was swimming around us in circles, taking a couple of breaths, and diving in afterwards for a long time.  I know that turtles eat jellyfish, so I am a bit apprehensive when I see them. However, I did not see a sign of any jellyfish there, so the turle must be feeding on some other stuff! Or maybe it ate them all so far.

First afternoon we swam and took it easy, but the next morning it was time to explore. Hoyle mentions that Anse D'Arlet was not far from Grand Anse on foot, so we put it to the test. We took off from the pier to the main road, which had some kind of a pavement at the side, and it was almost level, without any ups and downs. Al did not complain much, and we reached the turn-about at the intersection for Anse D'Arlet and Petit Anse in about half an hour. The sign indicated that Petit Anse was 3.5 kms from the intersection, so I figured that Arlet was not far. The road went right into the small town, which really was a short strip of shops and restaurants along the beach, and turned up into the hills to the east and south. Petit Anse being the next bay to the south, I wanted to check it out too, but first we had to stop for a drink (it was hot). We saw a sign on the road that a restaurant called Littoral was located at the hill 100 m away, which had "feet in the water" (in French of course, but I started to understand a lot, especially in writing). Intriguing, so we pushed a bit more, and saw that it was a very charming restaurant, open deck style on the water, with stairs going down to the beach for swimmers. Perfect stop for lunch, but the French do not start serving a minute before "midi" (12:00 sharp) and it was 10:30 am.

I ordered coffee, but the server decided that I was Spanish for some reason, and came back with half a page of a response in Spanish. When she saw our blank stares, she turned to body language, and brought the coffee after all. She wanted to know if we were planning to have lunch, and when we kind of said yes, she showed us a smaller table for two. People come and  reserve their tables for lunch, and go off to other pursuits in the meantime. So we did the same, and took to the road that was winding around the steep hill. We had about an hour to kill, so I thought we could go to the top of Petit Anse to have a peek down and come back. But Al started to complain after halfway, and the road was not safe at some places (nobody is expected to walk on mountain roads), so we turned back, went into the town and walked to the other side.

The main beach was at the nort side of the small bay, and everybody was there. The strip of beach bars and restaurants were full, and much cheaper than the place we reserved, but we returned, keeping our word. It was almost  time when we reached our table, and the view was great, with a lot of activity going on at the shallows below to keep us entertained. There was a nautical school next door, teaching teen-agers how to paddle double kayaks. They had a set course to go around and return backwards, racing with each other. They were having so much fun, it was a pleasure to watch.

Despite the food being mediocre but expensive, the restaurant get filled, and we had a good time looking around. On the way back, we passed by a boulangerie, and bought an amazing county (campagne) bread and returned to Grande Anse in no time.

That evening, while we were having dinner, our friend Levent from Le Marin called, and bragged about having an elaborate raki dinner with some Turkish sailors. We were curious, so promised to pass by Le Marin to meet them.