After a day fraught with struggling with Elise’s high blood sugar (thank you Egelston ER doctors) and uncertainty if we could even get her to camp and make this trip at all, we finally delivered her, with blood glucose in target range, to another camp family, breathed a huge sigh of relief, and turned our focus to preparing to unwind together. I felt like a zombie, and was glad I had packed most items the day before. It was that mindset of, I have enough, if I haven’t packed it, I don’t need it, that I always reach close to departure.
The flight, once finally underway after long periods of waiting and rolling slowly down the taxiways, was, though a long four hours, blessedly uneventful. Below us, just a few fluffy clouds and the deep blue sea. Finally an island came into view, which Tom made to be Martinique. Shortly we were seeing the coast of St. Lucia as we began our descent. We had read the Pitons would be visible from our side of the plane. We had missed them last trip, so we readied the camera. Planes were stacked to land and we had to circle the southern tip of the island. Suddenly, there they were, larger and more impressive than I expected, in contrast to the surrounding terrain, mountainous in its own right. My heart soared.
After more waiting we deplaned onto the steamy tarmac. Then came the real delay: immigration. Forty-five minutes more and we were driving (on the left!) away from the airport and towards our vacation at long last. Navigating the curving, sometimes mountainous (but thankfully well-paved) east coast road took concentration on my part, which precluded me from taking in some of the gorgeous views, so when there appeared an overlook that also offered the possibility of drink and maybe even food, I pulled off.
It was a high bluff overlooking the most picturesque cove, far below, with a little jagged island outcropping of its own, and the small town of Dennery. The most prominent structure was a large Spanish mission style church, but what caught my eye was a pair of horses galloping alongside the waves on the beach. It was only about 50 yards long, but for the next 30 minutes, they cantered, one behind the other, back and forth. It was such a treat to see, and I longed to be astride. It took me back to Morocco, of all places, circa 1972, when I was the one galloping up and down the beach, bareback on an Arabian stallion, behind an Arab boy I didn’t know, without even a bridle(!) but just a rope halter. Flat out, dead run. The most reckless and thrilling experience of my life, bar none.
After a lunch of chicken kebabs and kingfish cooked open air on a half-barrel grill like we saw on the streets of Beijing, we continued on to Marigot Bay. When we finally arrived, unpacked the car, and got our first glimpse of the cove… instant recognition! We were back. A small ferry launch carried us across the water to our lodgings, the Marigot Beach Club and Dive Resort. By then it was nearing sunset. The hotel, open air bar, restaurant, and pool hall were mostly deserted, this being low season, which suited us just fine.
A Brit seated at the bar greeted us and we correctly assumed he was the David, the owner. The place impressed us as charming and unique, definitely not a big chain style resort, but a well-maintained and beautiful independent of an earlier era. The grounds are lush and tropical, studded with towering coconut palms, fruit intact. Terra cotta tile pathways and stairways terrace the steep hillside and lead to the accommodations. Our studio apartment was about 1/3 the way up, and the view of the cove is well-worth the climb. For the cottages above us, a funicular labors slowly up a vertical track. One day we plan to hike to the very top for the best vistas of all.
After getting our bags into the rooms, we walked out on one of the several docks to watch the sun set. As darkness descended we were treated to the starriest sky I’ve ever seen. It’s like being right inside of the milky way! You can see stars behind the stars, they’re absolutely dense, and extend to the high horizons that surround Marigot Bay. Breathtaking!
Heavy downpours came and went through the night. As is always the case, sleep for me was interrupted by having to adjust and readjust the AC, and trying to find comfort on a too-firm mattress and pillow—but I’m not complaining. These problems will sort themselves. We’re both perfectly content to be here at last.
Tom was up and out early Monday morning in search of sustenance. He took the launch to the small grocery in the arcade on the other shore and returned with a couple of delicious raisin buns. Since no-one seems to offer decaf (neither coffer nor Coke) I settled for hi-test java. Zippety doo-dah day.
As it happens, Monday was a religious holiday, one of the seven Catholic high holy days, perhaps Anunciation(?) Day. Most businesses were shut in the Bay so we opted to drive to the capital, Castries. The duty-free shops and craft and produce markets we remembered from last visit were closed, but we found a bank ATM and supermarket where we picked up some East Caribbean currency and a few provisions for the week. When we arrived back in MB it was raining, so we sat waiting it out in the car and used ginger snaps to scoop out pistachio ice cream. Great flavor combination!
