Earlier in the season the systems formed off the African coast every couple of days and came rolling across the ocean straight at us here in Grenada, then usually at or before a few hundred miles off they’d skew northwards, turn into tropical storms/hurricanes and blast someone else instead of us. I felt like a skittle in a bowling alley that knew the guy playing couldn’t bowl for nuts, but concerned that he might fluke one. Still we had so much advance warning that we could always run south out of the way.
Later in the year, like now, the systems don’t get organized until they are close to our longitude. On Thursday night we got word that some bad weather was heading our way, on Friday morning tropical storm Tomas was born, predicted to hit us about midnight, with some of the more panicky forecasts predicting we were to be hit by six in the evening. So no time to run, just dig in wherever you are. As it happened we had come into a marina to do some work. So I had a half dozen unfinished jobs about the boat, on deck, on the pontoon. We had to stow everything.
I would have preferred to be at anchor. Then all I’d have had to do was put out all my anchors and clear the decks. At home the marinas are built of sturdy stuff inside of nice strong harbours, here not all of them are so sturdy, and this one is just in the bay, no harbour. In 2004, Ivan, a category 3 hurricane, sent this entire marina into the mangroves. However Tomas is a far cry from a category 3 hurricane, and we are fortunate in that there is no boat beside us, so we were able to tie to marina fingers on either side of us. I quadrupled my lines, 2 warps and 2 springs out of each of the four corners of the boat, and a few more lines besides. I was pretty knackered by the time we’d finished clearing away all the half done jobs, and I was in bed sleeping like a baby by 8.
And then the weather came! Or more correctly it didn’t! At least not to us. Sure, Barbados got hammered, but here, well it went all grey, and there were quite a few showers on Saturday. The weather gurus were astonished that we were reporting flat calm, no wind at all when they had predicted 40+ knots, gusting to 60. However they assured us of winds of 20 to 40 knots Saturday night. Well they were consistent : Wrong again! Another eerily calm night. It’s a strange feeling, to be within a hare’s breath of this monster, it smashing another country to pieces a short distance away, while we cower under a rock hoping it won’t come for us.
Another strange thing, my own sentiments, shared by just about everyone I talk to. Relief certainly, but tinged with an almost disappointing anticlimax. I mean we spent all day Friday building up our fortifications, psyching ourselves up for a life and death struggle against one of Natures worst tantrums, and then nothing! I mean there I was, looking forward to a lifetime of boring every dinner party with how I tackled hurricane Tomas when he was only a mere lad of a tropical storm. And then the little fucker didn’t show up!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Pictures
So, I've finally gotten the finger out and downloaded Picasso to post my pics online. See http://picasaweb.google.com/103937943251204013492
Grenada
Grenada is a small Caribbean country of only about 100,000 people, with as many again living abroad, and whose remittances home make up a sizable portion of the countries income, echoes there of our own Irish economy of just a half century ago and before.
The people here are either descended from the African slaves brought here before the early part of the 19th century to work the sugar cane industry, or from Indian indentured workers (people who were sold into slavery by their own families or even sold themselves for their families benefit) to do the same work after "slavery" was abolished here in the 1820s.
But this is a country that stimulates the senses and emotions like no other I have been to. The beauty of its deep green jungles, spectacular waterfalls, a city of uncannily small but charming buildings, spice markets, and everywhere, even six years later, the sadness of the still evident destruction of Ivan, a category 3 hurricane that struck here in September 2004.
For Boaters, the most sheltered anchorages are in the many bays on its salamander shaped south coast. These deeply indented inlets are protected by land on three sides, and at the mouth by a zig-zag of reefs that require your full attention on entry and exit. Another advantage is the proximity to the capital, St Georges, at EC$2.50 each way (approx US$0.85/ €0.65), the twenty minute ride in buses that come every few minutes, make the city very accessible. The twenty minutes is provided that the driver doesn't decide he hasn't enough passengers, otherwise you can spend a further twenty minutes cruising the by-roads in search of more passengers. In this latter event, one adopts a Caribbean "Don't worry" mentality.
The capital St Georges is crowded around a double natural harbour, consisting of the city centre Carenage and the now almost completely marinafied Lagoon. Prior to Ivan the cruise ships came right into the Carenage, with its multitude of tiny spice shops and markets. Indeed another sad reminder of the hurricane is the new cruise ship dock outside the harbour and its shopping malls, together having all the character of an airport departure lounge. What an awful pity just a fraction of the money could not have been spent on the Carenage, which has instead been left to decline, with “Rum runner” tour boats attracting lowest common denominator tourists with deafening music that murders this beautiful place.
But Grenada's greatest asset is undoubtedly its people. On checking in to Grenada, the young customs officer told us they had the lowest crime in the Caribbean. What an understatement! A cruiser here recently came on the early morning VHF network to tell how his lost wallet had been returned to him, complete with contents!
Other examples of the bona fides of the locals friendliness are obvious as you walk around any of the towns. Zebra crossings are plentiful, and if you attempt to cross at them the first car will immediately stop. More, if you attempt to cross where there is no pedestrian crossing, they'll still stop for you.
There is a lady called Jan Pascal, who runs a "reading group" on Saturday mornings for kids that have fallen behind. The class is in Mount Airy about 6 or 7 miles outside of St Georges in the surrounding hills. By and large these are not backward children, but possibly through inadequacies of the education system or a cultural lack of emphasis on education, they were left behind. Sometime in the past a relationship developed between this group and the sailing community, and a busload of us go up there every Saturday to help the kids with the three Rs.
While teenagers are as they are anywhere in the world, I can't help but being struck by their good manners and politeness.
Recently, I was making slow progress in the mid-morning heat climbing the steep hill from the chandlers to my bus stop, where a bus was patiently waiting. When I got to within earshot, I called my destination, “Woburn”. “Sorry, next bus” came the reply and the bus went on. A taxi leaving the adjacent station called to me, “you going to Woburn?” Now my budget does not stretch to taxis when there's a perfectly good bus service, so I declined, a little irritated at the hussle. The taxi man's next words left me both charmed and ashamed as he said, “No man, I'm just going home for lunch, I can drop you, no charge”. His name was Rock, and I took him up on his offer.
The following afternoon, I left Catherine in St Georges, agreeing to meet up in Woburn. I took the opportunity while I was waiting for her to have a cool beer in Nimrod's rum shop, where pretty soon I was engaged in conversation with Nimrod and the only other customer, Rollo. Rollo not only insisted on buying me beer, but made it difficult for me to return the compliment. Our conversation covered quite some breadth, from the quality of beer brands to my anecdote about the generous taxi man, to his job on a very glamorous looking 60 foot ketch moored in the marina. My new friend's generosity was not restricted to me, Catherine on her arrival receiving the same treatment.
As we finally left, I confess a little unsteadily on my part, Rollo called after me, “Hey man, you know your friend Rock, the taxi man?” and without waiting for an answer, “He's my brother!”
I have only today installed picasso, Google's picture sharing program, and I have used it to post pictures from Mt Airy, and many other places in Grenada (and from previously in our adventure). Check it out on;
http://picasaweb.google.com/103937943251204013492
The people here are either descended from the African slaves brought here before the early part of the 19th century to work the sugar cane industry, or from Indian indentured workers (people who were sold into slavery by their own families or even sold themselves for their families benefit) to do the same work after "slavery" was abolished here in the 1820s.
But this is a country that stimulates the senses and emotions like no other I have been to. The beauty of its deep green jungles, spectacular waterfalls, a city of uncannily small but charming buildings, spice markets, and everywhere, even six years later, the sadness of the still evident destruction of Ivan, a category 3 hurricane that struck here in September 2004.
For Boaters, the most sheltered anchorages are in the many bays on its salamander shaped south coast. These deeply indented inlets are protected by land on three sides, and at the mouth by a zig-zag of reefs that require your full attention on entry and exit. Another advantage is the proximity to the capital, St Georges, at EC$2.50 each way (approx US$0.85/ €0.65), the twenty minute ride in buses that come every few minutes, make the city very accessible. The twenty minutes is provided that the driver doesn't decide he hasn't enough passengers, otherwise you can spend a further twenty minutes cruising the by-roads in search of more passengers. In this latter event, one adopts a Caribbean "Don't worry" mentality.
The capital St Georges is crowded around a double natural harbour, consisting of the city centre Carenage and the now almost completely marinafied Lagoon. Prior to Ivan the cruise ships came right into the Carenage, with its multitude of tiny spice shops and markets. Indeed another sad reminder of the hurricane is the new cruise ship dock outside the harbour and its shopping malls, together having all the character of an airport departure lounge. What an awful pity just a fraction of the money could not have been spent on the Carenage, which has instead been left to decline, with “Rum runner” tour boats attracting lowest common denominator tourists with deafening music that murders this beautiful place.
But Grenada's greatest asset is undoubtedly its people. On checking in to Grenada, the young customs officer told us they had the lowest crime in the Caribbean. What an understatement! A cruiser here recently came on the early morning VHF network to tell how his lost wallet had been returned to him, complete with contents!
Other examples of the bona fides of the locals friendliness are obvious as you walk around any of the towns. Zebra crossings are plentiful, and if you attempt to cross at them the first car will immediately stop. More, if you attempt to cross where there is no pedestrian crossing, they'll still stop for you.
There is a lady called Jan Pascal, who runs a "reading group" on Saturday mornings for kids that have fallen behind. The class is in Mount Airy about 6 or 7 miles outside of St Georges in the surrounding hills. By and large these are not backward children, but possibly through inadequacies of the education system or a cultural lack of emphasis on education, they were left behind. Sometime in the past a relationship developed between this group and the sailing community, and a busload of us go up there every Saturday to help the kids with the three Rs.
While teenagers are as they are anywhere in the world, I can't help but being struck by their good manners and politeness.
Recently, I was making slow progress in the mid-morning heat climbing the steep hill from the chandlers to my bus stop, where a bus was patiently waiting. When I got to within earshot, I called my destination, “Woburn”. “Sorry, next bus” came the reply and the bus went on. A taxi leaving the adjacent station called to me, “you going to Woburn?” Now my budget does not stretch to taxis when there's a perfectly good bus service, so I declined, a little irritated at the hussle. The taxi man's next words left me both charmed and ashamed as he said, “No man, I'm just going home for lunch, I can drop you, no charge”. His name was Rock, and I took him up on his offer.
The following afternoon, I left Catherine in St Georges, agreeing to meet up in Woburn. I took the opportunity while I was waiting for her to have a cool beer in Nimrod's rum shop, where pretty soon I was engaged in conversation with Nimrod and the only other customer, Rollo. Rollo not only insisted on buying me beer, but made it difficult for me to return the compliment. Our conversation covered quite some breadth, from the quality of beer brands to my anecdote about the generous taxi man, to his job on a very glamorous looking 60 foot ketch moored in the marina. My new friend's generosity was not restricted to me, Catherine on her arrival receiving the same treatment.
As we finally left, I confess a little unsteadily on my part, Rollo called after me, “Hey man, you know your friend Rock, the taxi man?” and without waiting for an answer, “He's my brother!”
I have only today installed picasso, Google's picture sharing program, and I have used it to post pictures from Mt Airy, and many other places in Grenada (and from previously in our adventure). Check it out on;
http://picasaweb.google.com/103937943251204013492
the dreaded Dengue
It was late July. We had the boat stocked up and were waiting for a decent forecast to head for Venezuela, but there had been no wind now for about a week. Then Catherine had been unwell over Wednesday night and she was no better Thursday, so we decided that she'd visit the doctor on Friday. Going to bed, I dismissed the beginnings of a headache I was feeling as the result of the stresses of the day. Neither of us slept well, and my headache got progressively worse, by morning there were two of us for the Doc, and he was quick to confirm our fears that we both had Dengue.
He gave us a prescription, each tablet contained 500mg paracetamol and 30 mg codeine, take one or two up to four times daily. Outside the pharmacy we both gobbled up two tablets each like bold children.
We normally do our week's shopping on Friday, so we forced ourselves around the supermarket, the drugs effective against the headache, but combined with the fever to turn us into zombies. For most of it we shouldn't have bothered, Catherine had already lost her appetite, and I was losing mine, I managed a small meal on Friday and Saturday before the nausea took hold.
I'm not sure when the headache went away, but by Sunday I was too nauseous to notice. The nausea and fever continued all week, while at the same time I went through a few days constipation, followed by a few days of diarrhea. I found that lying down the nausea abated some, and taking two of the tablets every six hours ensured that I was asleep, or at least not conscious, for a good 15 hours a day.
By Monday, the trip from bed to heads, a journey of perhaps 20 feet, I found impossible without a five minute lie down rest en route. By Wednesday we were getting concerned at our lack of nutritional input. I had been managing a glass of orange juice every day, but Catherine's diet was 100% water, the only things we thought we might be able to stomach, chicken broth and toast, meant a couple of minutes standing in the galley. By Thursday, taking it in turns we were able to do this. Chicken noodle cup of soup, diluted by 50%, and a slice of toast, heavily buttered, after fasting for a week I've got to have a few credits in the cholesterol bank!
On Friday, a neighbouring boat offered to do some shopping for us, although we needed little more than bread for toast and chicken noodle cuppa-soups, we were very grateful, neither of us was up to a trip to the shop. Over the weekend we progressed to eating boiled eggs (spooned out of their shells into a cup, with cholesterolly suicidal amounts of butter, yum! – I was never really responsible with credit).
On Tuesday we ventured out on the dinghy, just as far as the Marina at Calvigny, perhaps a half a mile dinghy ride. By the time we got there we were exhausted, but after a mineral and a rest in the big comfy chairs by the pool we were sufficiently restored to contemplate a light lunch, our first real meal in almost two weeks.
By the next Friday, two weeks after we had gotten sick, we were fit enough to do our own shopping, Today, four weeks on, we were still not quite back to normal, tiring easily and are still feeling a bit lethargic, but getting better all the time.
Although we got one of the less dangerous strains, Dengue fever is still one nasty disease, we had the bad luck to both get it at the same time. Perhaps the infecting mossies are hunting in packs!
He gave us a prescription, each tablet contained 500mg paracetamol and 30 mg codeine, take one or two up to four times daily. Outside the pharmacy we both gobbled up two tablets each like bold children.
We normally do our week's shopping on Friday, so we forced ourselves around the supermarket, the drugs effective against the headache, but combined with the fever to turn us into zombies. For most of it we shouldn't have bothered, Catherine had already lost her appetite, and I was losing mine, I managed a small meal on Friday and Saturday before the nausea took hold.
I'm not sure when the headache went away, but by Sunday I was too nauseous to notice. The nausea and fever continued all week, while at the same time I went through a few days constipation, followed by a few days of diarrhea. I found that lying down the nausea abated some, and taking two of the tablets every six hours ensured that I was asleep, or at least not conscious, for a good 15 hours a day.
By Monday, the trip from bed to heads, a journey of perhaps 20 feet, I found impossible without a five minute lie down rest en route. By Wednesday we were getting concerned at our lack of nutritional input. I had been managing a glass of orange juice every day, but Catherine's diet was 100% water, the only things we thought we might be able to stomach, chicken broth and toast, meant a couple of minutes standing in the galley. By Thursday, taking it in turns we were able to do this. Chicken noodle cup of soup, diluted by 50%, and a slice of toast, heavily buttered, after fasting for a week I've got to have a few credits in the cholesterol bank!
On Friday, a neighbouring boat offered to do some shopping for us, although we needed little more than bread for toast and chicken noodle cuppa-soups, we were very grateful, neither of us was up to a trip to the shop. Over the weekend we progressed to eating boiled eggs (spooned out of their shells into a cup, with cholesterolly suicidal amounts of butter, yum! – I was never really responsible with credit).
On Tuesday we ventured out on the dinghy, just as far as the Marina at Calvigny, perhaps a half a mile dinghy ride. By the time we got there we were exhausted, but after a mineral and a rest in the big comfy chairs by the pool we were sufficiently restored to contemplate a light lunch, our first real meal in almost two weeks.
By the next Friday, two weeks after we had gotten sick, we were fit enough to do our own shopping, Today, four weeks on, we were still not quite back to normal, tiring easily and are still feeling a bit lethargic, but getting better all the time.
Although we got one of the less dangerous strains, Dengue fever is still one nasty disease, we had the bad luck to both get it at the same time. Perhaps the infecting mossies are hunting in packs!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)