The day for me began, as usual at 0630. I grind and brew a pot of coffee then do my daily check-in to the Caribbean Maritime Mobile Net at 0700 on 7.250 MHz. It’s a nice ritual to give net control George our weather report and to listen to the other regulars provide theirs –from Trinidad, to the ABC islands, to Puerto Rico. George then reads various marine forecasts, the weather synopsis, and the solar flux forecast (radio propagation stuff). I could get the same stuff over the wifi booster (in most harbors), but I am an old fart and enjoy the retro aspect of ham radio. (I’ve been a ham since 1969.) Pete gave me the ultimate “dis”, saying that ham was a notch below facebook on the useless drivel scale. Hey, at least I can “raise the mainland on the wireless”.
Customs and immigration is a strange thing (saying it politely). Pay fees, plus overtime on weekends. Complete big forms, making multiple copies with carbon paper. I thought they stopped making carbon paper when the IBM Selectric typewriter went extinct. The web-connected computer sits next to them on the desk, doing nothing. They copy the list of names into a huge leger book that looks like it came from the Gutenberg press in the 17th century. OK, I like nostalgic technology. But not if it means waiting, re-doing, re-copying, stamping, etc.
Like the books say, etiquette is very important. Shirts with collars, light pants and shoes are preferred. The Grenada customs agent was ranting to his fellow officer about the disrespect the earlier visitor from a 120’ power-yacht showed when he came into the office in a bathing suit and dropped his papers on the desk. They sent him off. The officer rambled back and forth between English and angry patois. (I think that was the local language.) Twenty minutes later, while I was still being processed, a very well dressed native Grenadian crew from that yacht returned to the officers. He carefully delivered a big envelope,offering apologies in island English and patois. The wrong was righted and off he went to his launch to the waiting yacht.
We encountered another drama when we checked out of Grenadian water at Hillsborough Caricaou. Though they open at 08:00, we knew better than to show up before ten. But after we cleared customs at 10:15, a frustrated French woman came in to report to the officers that she had been waiting for immigration to open for over two hours. That’s in a different building at a different location, of course. She told us that she lived on the island, and that because of Carnival, the immigration officer might decide to not show up until Wednesday. No one could reach her by phone. Anyway, Don and I enjoyed a papaya smoothie while looking out over the bay at our two boats, remarking how amazing it was to be here. When we passed customs, there she was, ready to stamp and hand-write forms.
One of the reasons that we were headed to Clifton Harbor on Union Island was to clear into the waters of St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Drop the Grenadian flag. Raise the “Q” flag (quarantine flag). Clear in. Raise the St. V. and Grenadines national flag. Clear out. Clear in. Clear out. Etc. Lots of flags. These locations nail down stops along the route and influence travel timing, where provisioning happens, and where time is wasted. There is a common currency in most of the Caribbean (the E.C. dollar), but there is no unification of customs and immigration. Maybe it’ll happen when the world supply of carbon paper is finally consumed.
The sailing has changed since southern Grenada. The anchorages in the Grenadines are exposed to the trades. So although reefs protect us from wave and swell, it seems to blow a constant 18 knots all night and morning, easing to about 15 knots during the day. Being in the constant wash of wind has a definite effect on sailors. It might be a more edgy awareness of sounds and motion, of the set of the anchor and the quality of the ground tackle, of weather and next-plans. It might be reminding us to stay tuned in.
Here in Union, we definitely see the appearance of growing mega yacht traffic. $million launches run by white shirt crews attend the obvious commanding owner or guest in the power seat. There are some huge-money haunts around here, like Mustique. Small islands are exclusive resorts. Europeans from the airport are dressed in fine white clothes and are followed by piles of ritzy luggage. Pleasure yacht density is definitely increased. It’s all good, interesting to see.
I finished my latest book, “Wherever You Go” by Joan Leegant. For the most part, it is beautifully written. Some of the passages are so gorgeous that I had to read them twice to make sure. It is a contemporary novel by (I think) a Boston area write (got a signed copy at New England Mobile Book Fair) about contemporary Jewish life in Israel, about settler extremism and secular self-doubt. It’s good read. Next I’m reading something on my Kindle Fire so that I don’t have to run the cabin light when I’m reading at night. Boat life permeates everything.
Pete made egg-in-the-hole for breakfast. I’m going ashore with Emily on a photograph hunt get a few provisions. After that we move ten miles or fewer to Tobago Keys or Mayreau... whichever seems best.
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