Answers to the questions you may be thinking:
Do you ever work?
-If you’ll recall, I worked over the holidays. Well, not on the actual holidays, but on the surrounding days. I work a lot. And then I take a lot of vacation.
If it makes you feel any better, I did get pangs of guilt, especially during the most amazing moments of the trip, when I’d find myself thinking, ‘I can’t believe I’m snorkeling, seeing these exotic, colorful fish, while my teammates are working to get two reports out the door.’ And then I’d get over it.
Actually, when I first got the wedding invitation, and figured out that I could get there and back on miles, I thought, ‘okay, how can I go to the wedding and miss the least possible amount of work, i.e. spend the least amount of time possible in St. Lucia.’ And then I caught myself in that thought and snapped out of it, and decided to go for five days.
How come you won the vacation lottery?
-Cuz I won the friend lottery. I have great friends. They’re fun and they initiate fun trips.
As your mom would say, didn’t Heather and Tom and their families get sick of you?
-Perhaps, but they continued to put up with my overbearing presence, out of politeness if nothing else, as mom would say.
How did you coordinate without cell phones?
-It worked out, partly because Soufriere is kind of a small city. I had no idea, upon arrival on the island, what I would do with myself that evening or the following day (I arrived on Friday afternoon and the wedding was Saturday evening), but when I checked into my hotel, the receptionist conveyed a message, from Heather, that she’d pick me up outside the hotel for dinner.
My hotel was downtown, across from the main square and main church (and yes, the church bells in the morning did get annoying). You couldn’t really go to many places without driving past it. I’d read a handful of reviews, some glowing, some less so—there were complaints about city noise (bad the first night—but no traveler with half a brain leaves home without earplugs—and actually non-existent for most of my stay), and there were some warnings about the ‘seedy’ location, which I rightly took with a grain of salt. Nothing about that area was seedy—it was just… urban Caribbean. Newsflash: outside the polished resorts of the Caribbean live some very poor people. There wasn’t a day that Soufriere didn’t remind me of Bluefields in one way or another, although it was less depressed.
On Saturday, we yachted over to Ti Kaye, where we snorkeled before leisurely sailing back. It was beautiful, and I took a few pictures of the sea and the overlooking villages and cliffs, but most turned out pretty blah. It was great. Heather, at one point, said, ‘This is the life.’ I again felt bad about not being at work, even though it was Saturday, because I had a feeling my team was working anyway… but once again, I got over it.
We sailed back to Soufriere, where the captain and crew (of one/two total) pointed out the boat that was used in “Pirates of the Caribbean,” which was filmed in nearby St. Vincent and the Grenadines. After cleaning up, I headed outside to wait for my ride. Not renting a car in St Lucia was the best decision ever—not that I would have even thought about it if I’d realized at the time that they drive on the left, or that the roads are so bad. I’d planned to take taxis, which I did to and from the airport, but the rest of the time, someone from Heather’s or Tom’s family would swing by to pick me up.
I had a little bit of time before the wedding to clean up and have lunch, so I stopped into Camille's for an okay roti (a massive wrap). Not unusually, the kitchen was elsewhere--in this case, upstairs--but there was a bar in the restaurant. On the shelves, next to all the neatly arranged alcohol, was a handwritten sign that said 'Viagra Sold Here.'
I'm glad I wasn't staying in one of the places with iffy plumbing or water supply, because it was hot and humid enough, and we were active enough, that I just wanted to shower all the time. It was kind of futile, because you'd want to shower five minutes after getting out of the shower, but it was still nice to shower.
Heather invited us to come early and hang out while she got ready. Crystals, where she was staying and where the wedding would be, offers great views of the Pitons—the two volcanos that define the St Lucian landscape (the southern part of it, anyway)—and the other surrounding mountains. You couldn’t turn your head without seeing something beautiful. I went out on their balcony and took some pictures before coming in to offer my share of moral support.
Not much was needed—Heather was anything but bridezilla.
Heather: Am I wearing too much lipstick?
A., others: Not at all.
As someone who doesn’t usually wear makeup, when I do actually put it on it always feels excessive, so I knew where she was coming from.
Heather: It seems like I’m wearing a lot of makeup. Do I look like a prostitute?
A., others: Not at all.
Later
A.: I’m having similar thoughts with this dress. All this cleavage makes me wonder if I look like a prostitute.
Jessica: You guys are so cute! Have you seen what prostitutes look like these days?
We ventured out on the deck to where the wedding would take place. The pitons loomed in the background. The scenery was beautiful. The musicians started playing their steel drums. Heather and Tom were married, pictures were taken, great local food was served.
The following morning, I walked over to the botanical garden and waterfall/sulphur baths (not to be confused with the famed Sulphur Springs at the drive-in volcano, which Tom’s sisters had explored and deemed a tourist trap—not that the diamond waterfall wasn’t one, but it was walking distance and not a bad way to spend the morning). Soufriere is actually named for the sulphur in the area. I walked back downtown, unsure of my plans for the afternoon, and popped into the Wine and Coffee Shop.
The WCS was started, about a month ago, by a Danish woman whose Italian husband ran a wine cooperative in Italy. He’s still associated with it, and they import the wine and sell it along with—you guessed it, coffee—as well as this habit-forming banana bread made by a local woman. Bananas are very big in St Lucia—it wasn’t fruit season when we were there, but bananas are always in season. I think I mentioned the banana ketchup that you find in stores and restaurants. Other local foods—those I saw at the market on Saturday morning, as well as on restaurant menus—include sweet potatoes, eggplant, green beans, yucca and pumpkin.
I’d heard about the WCS—it’s low-profit, in the sense that it’s partly there to employ local youth—and decided to pop in and maybe check my e-mail. Joel, aka Doggie, greeted me: “Hey—you’re with Kyle and Kim!” (Tom’s sisters). Soufriere was quite the small town. I chatted with Doggie and Beverly over some coffee and banana bread, and started reading the paper online when Mark, Tom’s brother, popped in. He was already best buds with the coffee shop crew. He told me that the family was heading to the botanical garden then (I’d just gone)a and would later head up to Anse Chastenet—a nicer beach than the one downtown—and that someone or other would pick me at the Hummingbird on the way in an hour or two. And so I factored in Caribbean time and brought my New Yorker—the travel issue, as it were—and lo and behold, Tom and Heather drove by and collected me.
Anse Chastenet was lovely. We spent the afternoon there and discussed dinner plans. The folks at Crystals had kitchens and would make appetizers. Mark, a New Jersey native who takes his pizza very seriously, had tried and loved a local pizza place the day before and suggested we revisit it. I’d get the wine, from Lila and co. Chris, Heather’s brother, would join us.
The pizza place was awesome. I wish I’d taken my camera. It’s basically in an alley—well, the walk up to it is, and the bakery, brick ovens and all, was in the back of the building. It too had opened only recently, and business was booming. All evening, people were coming in and ordering pizza. We ordered nine pies and went over to the wine shop to hang out and chat while we waited.
Hours later, the pizza was ready and wine picked up, and we were on our way. Now, the ride to Crystals is not exactly smooth. The other day, I’d bought some eggs to bring up and Tom insisted that I hold them rather than stick them in the back.
Mark: Hang on, I’m going to go fast. I can’t stop thinking about that pizza.
It was like an amusement park ride.
We had dinner and wine and s’mores, and looked up at the stars. I can’t remember the last time I saw so many stars, and so clearly visible. What I could guarantee—and I wasn’t the only person to point this out—was that it was the first time in my life I was looking at the stars without freezing my ass off. It was awesome.
The next day, we went yachting and snorkeling again. I saw even more amazing, exotic fish, and, it being Monday, felt a bit guilty about not being at work. Afterward we had lunch at Fedo’s—a poorly kept secret as an amazing local-food restaurant—where who came in but the pizza guy from last night. Small town, I tell you.
Afterward, Heather’s dad, who is quite the photographer, said he would drive around and take pictures, particularly to Canaries, a town we passed on the water on the way to Ti Kaye. Heather’s aunt Barbara and I opted to join him (another popular activity undertaken that afternoon was napping). We dropped off Heather’s mom, and Barbara and I enjoyed the Crystals scenery while we waited for Heather’s dad to get the camera equipment he needed. I saw Chris and co. coming up the hill and stepped up on a rock to get out of the way. Thirty seconds or so later, I felt a burning sensation at my feet and looked down to see my shoes and feet covered in reddish-black spots. I was being attacked by fire ants. I jumped down and started shaking them off my feet. Barbara thought fast and also shook them off my shoes. It was quite the adrenaline rush.
The ride to Canaries took us past some very scenic views. The town itself reminded me a lot of Bluefields. I bought some plantains from some women on the street—I wondered afterward whether John and Barbara thought that was sketchy—and we walked around the town. The locals looked bewildered at the thought of tourists there. We were fascinated by the recurring contrast of decrepit and refurbished: run-down, boarded up houses next to freshly painted ones with gorgeous mosaic-tiled steps. Just as we were about to leave, we saw some local fishermen drop off a couple of large dorados. They were more than happy to pose for pictures.
Dinner that night was much more subdued—even the kids (Heather’s nephews) were exhausted. The stars were just as beautiful, though.
The next morning, Heather, Tom, Barbara, Jessica (Barbara’s daughter/Heather’s cousin) and I set out to hike Gros Piton. Gros Piton is taller than its Petit neighbor, but also wider, and thus less steep, and unlike Petit Piton, summitable without ropes or other special equipment. Nonetheless, it was a bitch to climb. The first half-hour wasn’t bad, but then it was like climbing really steep stairs for an hour and a half, and the hike down was like climbing down really steep stairs. It was rough; our legs were shaking and we were exhausted. Worth it, though—amazing views from both the north and south faces.
After the hike, Heather and Tom dropped us off at Jalousie beach, which I would easily describe as the most beautiful I’d seen on the island, and took off for their date night. They’d been graciously entertaining family throughout their wedding week and opted for some downtime. I, meanwhile, was enjoying my status as an honorary family member, and continued to hang out with the family, the rest of which showed up to Jalousie shortly afterward. Barbara snorkeled there and said it was amazing. I hadn’t brought my gear, and though she’d offered to loan hers, I was enjoying just treading water and taking in the surrounding cliffs and mountains. Later, we all paparazzi’ed a heron that landed on the beach for an afternoon stroll.
That evening we had a tasty dinner at Mago, where Barbara and Jessica were staying. They served a ginger pumpkin soup, which Crystals had also served at the reception following the wedding—it was excellent. I had reacted wearily to the news of peanut butter flan for dessert, but it was actually delicious.
It was kind of interesting to go around to all these different places—it was like a tour of the accommodations in southern St. Lucia. I have to say that I liked mine—the budget option—the best. I hadn’t even sprung for a room with a view, but that was an option. The hotel was certainly downtown, and it lacked the views and privacy of some of the other places, but the room was actually the nicest I’d seen, and the one with the most functional air conditioning. The folks at Crystals loved their views and their kitchens—and the suites were beautiful and creatively designed—but plumbing problems abounded and the rooms never really got cool enough (i.e. not oppressively hot). The rooms at Mago were open—they overlooked Soufriere, with the Pitons in the background—but didn’t keep out the bugs or noise. The Hummingbird, where Mark stayed, was okay—sure, it offered beach access, but it wasn’t the nicest beach (and I could walk there in five minutes from my hotel, anyway). All beaches on the island are public, so you can access the one at Jalousie, for example, without paying the $600-$900-per-night price tag. Another friend of Heather’s stayed near the airport at an all-inclusive resort, and apart from attending the wedding and dinner the night before, didn’t join in on any activities. She basically stayed at the resort and did water aerobics and stuff. I ran into her later, when we were both waiting for connecting flights out of Miami. She said she wouldn’t go back to St. Lucia; after all, there were many beautiful coastlines in the world—why go back to a really poor island? Fair enough—while I don’t particularly agree with that assessment, nor validate it coming from someone who barely left her resort, I wouldn’t take it upon myself to roll my eyes and fear for the future of my country. Except that she’s in the foreign service.
I’ve never done the all-inclusive thing, perhaps because my parents have and hated it. They hated feeling tied down to the resort, when they were there to explore. I wouldn’t want impetus to stay put rather than get out; nor do I need impetus to eat all I can. Wendy, Chris’s wife was saying that she can see how an all-inclusive place would pay for itself (and St. Lucia is not cheap), and that’s nothing to sneeze at. But I’d decided, especially since my flight was practically free and hotel relatively inexpensive, that I’d rather spend money and see as much as possible of what St. Lucia had to offer than save money and see less.
Which was a good thing, because for a while I was concerned that Wednesday’s rainforest hike would cost me. And it would have been worth it.
Heather and co. were going on a rainforest hike on Wednesday—the day of my flight out—but weren’t sure what time they’d get back, so I opted not to go with them. I’d planned on leaving Soufriere around noon that day to get to the airport at 1pm for a 3pm flight, as recommended. I did want something to do on Wednesday morning, and I really wanted to see the rainforest. And I knew that Lila had also taken to organizing tours around the island. As it happened, they were going to Enbas Saut rainforest on Wednesday morning, and she was sure they’d be back by 11am or 11:30. After all, she’d made lunch reservations at Fedo’s for the other people on the tour—three Americans living on a sailboat in Mexico and sailing around the West Indies. So I signed on.
I was a little concerned when we didn’t get going until 10am (meeting time was 9:30), and increasingly so as it became clear that there’s no way we’d be back in time. My stuff was still in the hotel—I’d wanted to shower upon returning, so I didn’t check out—and the hotel could charge me for an extra night if I wasn’t out by noon. There was also the issue of missing my flight. So you see how these things could have added up. But I didn’t miss my flight, and the hotel didn’t charge me—Lila sensed my anxiety, reassured me that I had time to get to the airport and offered to go in and reason with reception—but she didn’t need to. They dropped me at the hotel around 1pm, and she said she’d go in and talk to reception after she dropped the others at the restaurant. I ran in, showered, grabbed my stuff, checked out, ran to the bank to get cash for the cab to the airport, and hopped in that cab. I felt bad about not waiting for Lila but I figured she’d understand. I do need to write her, thank her, and send her the picture of her and Vanelle at the waterfall. Anyway, the cabdriver booked it and I got to the airport at 2pm. There was no line whatsoever—probably because everyone else had gone through an hour ago—and I had just enough time to get through, wolf down a sandwich, and board. I couldn’t have been happier that I’d spent the morning hiking in the rainforest rather than sitting at the airport. Nonetheless, it was a bit stressful.
The rainforest hike wasn’t nearly as strenuous as the trail at Gros Piton, but it was hardly a leisurely stroll. It was pleasant, because it was in the shade, and the surrounding flora made for a beautiful hike. The waterfall at the base was amazing—the color of the rock face, made shiny from the water and red from the sun, was stunning. I took many pictures, but I doubt any managed to capture that deep red color. It was beautiful.
On the way back up, Vanelle talked about the flora. He pointed out an incense plant, as used in Catholic churches around the island, and also showed us an oily tree whose sticks could be used as torches should one be stuck in the rainforest after dark. He named the various lilies and orchids, and showed us a cacao plant—and cracked open its pod and offered the contents for a tasting. The pulp surrounding the bean was quite tasty, with a citrus flavor. That’s what’s removed, sometimes by people’s feet, before the bean on the inside is fermented and roasted. The views around the trail were beautiful, too, as was the drive back, during which a discussion took place that was not dissimilar to others I’d heard during the course of the trip: how happy everyone was that Obama was president. And these are not fiercely political nor partisan people. Lila said the election was very closely followed on the island, as well as the entire Caribbean region, and that people were ecstatic. Chris, the cab driver who took me to the airport, also noted the phenomenon.
The flight to Miami was just under four hours, and we got there minutes too late for me to catch an earlier flight to DC, but the three-hour wait for my flight wasn’t bad. I made some phone calls and reflected on the trip. I called my roommate to ask if everything was okay, which it was, and he insisted on picking me up at the airport (I would get in after midnight, minutes too late to catch the last metro train to my stop). It was very nice of him.
I told my mom that, she thought it was too nice; I rolled my eyes. He’s just a nice person. I called her from the airport as well—she’d wanted me to call her upon arrival in St. Lucia and I told her that I wouldn’t. Her ‘but you could get a sim card’ was met with my ‘but I’m not going to so you’re just going to have to assume that I’m fine.’ This time—i.e., in Miami, on my way home—she asked me how much the trip cost. I shuddered. Mom’s ‘how much was that?’ is really one of my least favorite car games. This time around, though, she was interested for a better reason, i.e. because she was thinking of going, not because she was stalking my finances. I think… because I told her how much I think it cost me, qualifying with the fact that I used miles for the flight, and she asked how much it would cost if one purchased a ticket. It was very hard to say: I got a great price for the hotel, largely because I was comfortable staying downtown and because whatever-you-want-to-call-the-global-economic-downturn has lowered hotel prices around the island. Activities on the island are expensive: they know they can gauge tourists, and even the hikes are made to cost quite a bit, whether by entry fees or requiring guides. We all did get sick of the constant haggling, at which I’ve never been very good. I do appreciate that some of the high prices are aimed at job creation and sustainable development. So I can’t put a price tag on my experience or estimate what it would cost someone else. And even though the island is beautiful, a bit part of the reason that the trip was so much fun, as with the Galapagos, is that I was there with my friends. I’ve not been to other Caribbean island nations, although I’ve been to Caribbean parts of Panama and Nicaragua, and they, too, were beautiful, so I can’t tell you how St. Lucia compares to, say, Belize, or either set of Virgin Islands. All I can tell you is that St. Lucia is beautiful, the trip was fun and amazing, and my friends are awesome.
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