Antigua and Isle de Saintes

After spending so long in Antigua we had to hurry to get down out of the hurricane belt, so we moved quite quickly through the next few countries.

The next island south of Antigua is Guadeloupe, which is the administrative centre of the French territories in the Caribbean. Having left Antigua without complete ships documentation we could not go there. The prevailing wisdom was that anywhere else was OK, but avoid Guadeloupe, and this was verified in the cruising guide.
We had also just heard that a cruising yacht had been blown up by locals, who robbed them, cut their gas lines and somehow ignited the gas. They were caught and were about to go on trial for murder. Tensions were high there, so it was no great loss.
Based on all this we considered avoiding the place altogether, but in the end we decided to stop overnight under a yellow flag, avoid the trouble spots, and not check in. If the officials came we were stopping for emergency repairs.
The sail, for a change, was downwind! We checked out at the picturesque customs facility at English Harbour, payed our port fees ($5 per day), and sailed out the heads. Instead of the brisk cross wind we expected there was a lovely offshore north easterly on a calm sea. After the upwind slog to get here it finally felt like we had turned the corner. The West Indies are shaped like a bow, and now we could sail down the lower limb.
Our track took us back towards Montserrat, and we could see smoke coming from the volcano, which reflected occasional flashes of yellow light. It was quite an awe inspiring sight.
As usual the wind strengthened during the day, and by mid afternoon we were level with the north end of Guadeloupe. We sailed south a little more and pulled into the bay, just north of the town of Deshaies. The bay was similar to Montserrat, with steep green hills falling straight into the sea, and a village nestled in a river valley between them. We anchored and set about doing as little as possible. The sun set and fishermen motored past, their wide smiles belied their reputation.
We woke to a clear day and set off for Isles de Saintes. While French islands they were quite famous for their welcoming attitude (and relaxed view of red tape). Sailing past Guadeloupe was beautiful, and we regretted that we couldn’t take more time there.
We crossed the channel to le Saintes, and anchored off a little island away from the main town, only about 20meters from shore, and went for a snorkel. We swam ashore and explored the island, meeting some of the locals fishing off the beach.
I had my new 15hp dinghy motor, so we decided to take the dinghy the two miles to the main town the next day. Hardly anyone spoke English, and our French seemed to be very amusing to them. For the last month or so we had done about a half our of French off a CD course we had, and we thought we were getting quite good. I also remembered back to Australia, where a Frenchman would never deign to try to speak English with an English or Australian accent, so why should we try to sound exactly like them? The answer, of course, is that French is a language of vowel sounds, with consonants coming a distant second in importance, so if you don’t get them right they don’t understand you. Unlike Aussie, where ya kn skip any bldy vowls yer loik. Oh well. The village was pretty and we walked all over it for something to do. We had a few phone calls to make so I got to ask ‘Ou est la Poste’, then try to decipher the rapid fire response.

Dominica

The next island was a big one- Dominica. We had read in the cruising guide that this was another home of the Boat Boy, aggressive guys that provided services to visiting yachties. We were not disappointed. We were still 5 miles offshore when a guy in a fast pirogue rocked up yelling ‘I am Cobra, you need anything, call me!’. He looked awfully serious, and I was almost tempted to deliberately avoid him. I am glad we didn’t, he was great.
Cobra was a big black guy with dreads, and was the president of the ‘Indian River Guides Association’, the boat boys organisation. The core industry was tours up the local river. Alison and I took the trip with him. It was beautiful. Cobra had learnt the proper names for all of the plants and was expert in seeing the well hidden fauna. We went into the jungle to pick some mangos, and he invited us to dinner for jungle crabs.
We anchored in Prince Rupert Bay behind Voyager, a Valiant we had met before with Ron and Jodi on board. Ron had sailed her around the world once already, and I spent a lot of time drinking his beer and picking his brains. We went to dinner at Cobra’s girlfriend’s house together. It was a great night and introduced us to the local food. The birds-eye chillies were so hot that you took a slice and just stirred it in the crab sauce until it was hot enough. Our hostess was the daughter of the last prime minister of the country. A couple of days later we took a mountain tour with them. Dominica is the lushest of the islands in the West Indies. We drove into the jungle and hiked down to a stream with a set of rapids. It was beautiful there. The walk back out was hot and steep, so we stopped for a beer at a local store. A great day. Driving down the mountain again we could see a waterfall that fell onto the pristine beach. I imagined sailing down there and tying the boat up for a while, but it was on the windward side of the island. Later when we got back to the boat I investigated it, but the sail there would be difficult. When Al and I sail back on out trip around the world I will try to get there again, and anchor in that bay.
It was time to do some shopping, and we had fun walking around the village of Portsmouth. There was a small supermarket and a number of small stores selling bread, fruit and basic provisions. Everyone was really friendly. It was obvious this area was off the tourist path, and the only travellers that came here were on yachts.
That night two of the boats, including our friends on Voyager, were robbed. We were just behind them. Jodi woke in the night and saw a shape. She screamed for them to get out and they ran.
The thief was pretty brave, because all of the American boats have guns. Alison and I don’t. We have a motion detector alarm that we set each night, hoping that if it goes off it will scare the intruder away. I keep a machete handy too, but our piracy plan is to cower in the corner saying ‘Please do not hurt us!, Take it’. Some yachties buy inserts for their flare guns that take a 38 cartridge, or buy flare guns that fire 12 gauge shotgun shells. We don’t bother. In December that year the death of Peter Blake on the Amazon demonstrated that having a gun can get you killed, so we are sticking with our policy. I think I would prefer to lose property than shoot someone.
The following morning we heard that the police had found the thieves, and let the boys into the cell for some home grown justice. They beat them up then let them go. Everyone knew that if a place got a reputation for crime then their livelihoods were threatened.
Voyager were pretty keen to move on after this and I can’t say I blame them, so we said goodbye as they sailed off to Martinique. As we watched them leave we realized that it was time for us to move on too. We couldn’t think of anything to do tomorrow, and the cyclone season was looming. We left the next day.

Martinique.

After the country atmosphere of Dominica we were a bit intimidated by the prospect of Martinique, which had an actual city. Again we were concerned with our lack of proper documentation. We were looking forward to the French food and shopping, though. We sailed down the leeward side of Dominica, then another brisk 20 mile sail across the channel and we were there. Our first stop was St Pierre, a town that in 1902 was inundated by volcanic dust from an eruption of Mt Pelee, with massive loss of life, over 29,000 dead.
We anchored on a narrow sand shelf near the shore. Our stern hung over the drop off into about a thousand feet of water. The shore was volcanic grey-brown dust. The town of St Pierre covered the hillsides which then rose up to the mountains behind them. In contrast to Dominica the earth looked scorched. On the narrow beach there were dozens of brightly painted fishing pirogues.
We went in to town to check in the next day. The gendarmes were not there, so we filled in the forms and took a walk around the town. We visited the museum. It was a bit depressing to see the artefacts that had been preserved by the volcanic dust, and evoked images of the lives of all the people who died. We went back to customs to check in. They did not check our documents, so we figured we were legal.
In the afternoon the breeze off the shore picked up. We sat in the cockpit reading, when a boat drifted by. A local boat had dragged its anchor, which now hung straight down in the deep water. We jumped in the dinghy and pushed it back in to shallower water, just outside a dive boat unloading passengers. The divemaster looked up and started swimming out to me. It was his boat. Once he was safely on board and got the engine running we left him to it.
During this time we started bumping into the same group of boats all the time. As usual we noted other couples around our age, and started introducing ourselves. We met a couple in an Island Packet, Matt and Heather, this way. We were to continue to meet them all around the Caribbean, and do a lot of diving with them in Bonaire, but at this stage we were on waving terms.
Our next stop was Anse Mitan, a white sandy bay opposite the city of Fort-de-France. This end of the island was lush, and the city foreshore was very French in character with wide boulevards and green parks. There was a big fort near the water, hence the name. I checked in properly with the ‘Duane’ (customs) officials there, and they quizzed me closely about my boat papers. Again, I thought having survived the process meant that we had permission to stay with our existing papers.
We spent about a week there, shopping in the city for clothes and other things we needed for the boat, and enjoying the food and bars. An Australian boat was anchored next to us, and when the guy on it saw our flag he beckoned me over for a beer. We talked about his travels for a while, then I mentioned that I had problems checking in. He was really concerned, and told me that a friend of his had been initially charged with not having ships papers a few months ago here. The initial fine was 15,000 Euros! He appealed and got it reduced to 9,000 Euros, but it was still more than he had and he ended up selling his boat to pay the fine. Apparently the people who police the documentation of visiting ships were very active, and were not the same as those who check you in. I had heard enough. We left the following morning.