Dominica : Island Tour

Our third full day in Dominica was unplanned but much appreciated. Kat was supposed to sail north with us but had classes until Friday, so we delayed our departure a day so she could come along. Then at Trafalgar we had met the lovely Roberta and her fiance Al who had also been waiting on a ride there. It turned out Al was a tour guide and he had offered to drive us around the island to see some of the sights farther away. We started out the day driving down to the south end of Dominica to Scotts Head - a large bluff at the end of a tiny peninsula which extended out at the very tip of the island. On one side of this little strip of sand and rocks there lay the windward side of the island and the Atlantic Ocean with waves crashing on the rocks. On the leeward side there was the placid calm and pale blues of reef and shoal and sheltered harbor in the Caribbean Sea.

Next we followed the western coastline and went back through Roseau stopping at the local farmer's market along the way. We were quite impressed. The prices were incredibly reasonable and the variety was astounding for such a small island. We were used to the Bequia market - but Bequia had no fresh water on the island. They collected rain water and so farming was not big there. Most of the produce came on the ferry from St Vincent. Dominica has more than 20 rivers - plenty of fresh water - and you could find almost anything you could think of at the market. Besides all the normal fruits and vegetables that you might see in any grocery store in America, they had more exotic things like sugar cane, guava and passion fruit, noni berries, dasheen, sugar apples, fresh or dried sorrel, fresh cilantro and nutmeg, huckleberries, truckloads of coconuts still in their outer shells being cut open with machetes as they were bought, and a hoard of other strangely shaped fruits, vegetables, herbs and tubers of varying colors and sizes which I could not put a name to. Along with our usual fare we bought our first breadfruit, determined to figure out how to cook and eat it.


We continued north all the way to Portsmouth and took a boat ride on the Indian River. It was named so because the original Carib Indians had settled along its shores before the European settlers had pushed them east. The river was narrow, deep, and very still, surrounded by mangrove shrubbery stretching right to the water's edge with yellow wild hibiscus blossoms hanging over our heads. Tall trees crouched at the water line stretching up to meet overhead so that we moved through a cathedral like tunnel. The roots of the trees traced along the surface of the water all looped and twined, rippled and serpentine, in amazingly intricate patterns. Because the water was so still it reflected back these patterns perfectly leaving an ethereal sort of quality to the air as we drifted silently by in our wooden boat poled along by our dreadlocked young guide named "Mosquito." It was like floating through the art gallery of one who paints with trees. There was no sound but the many small birds flitting and chirping through the vegetation. At one point we heard a parrot making its monkey squawking noise before it flew off through the canopy. Eventually we reached the farthest point a boat could move upriver and got out to visit a little cabana bar with grass huts and jungle flora everywhere. Cobra was the rastaman behind the bar who insisted that we try some of their local punches, like the peanut punch or coconut punch, which they had concocted from local fruits and spices right there in the back room. I tried the peanut punch. It was quite good - and extremely potent. Still haven't quite gotten used to the idea of having a bit of rum at any time of day. Sam and I were both feeling a bit "befuddled" for a while.


The next place we stopped was at the Carib territories on the east side of the island. As the Europeans continued to settle the island, the Carib's got pushed out of more and more of their settled areas and migrated to this place to go on quietly living in their usual fashion. Eventually the territory was deemed to be theirs by right. It was quite a lovely area on the windward side of the island at the top of great cliffs overlooking the waves pounding the rocks. There was a small village built there as a historical museum of sorts. They had reconstructions of all the different types of structures the Carib Indians would have built and what their functions were, and examples of the boats they carved. There were lovely lizards everywhere and a sweet waterfall that you could sit right at the top of looking out through a cut of land onto the frothy breakers.

It was getting late as we headed for the emerald pool. The light was waning fast while we picked our way along the approach trail down into a ravine and then part way up the other side. In a small circular clearing, where a cliff dropped from above, a delicate little falls poured out from the greenery as if from a spout or a funnel as opposed to a free flowing stream. It showered down into a round pool at its base behind which a cave cut back into the cliff above. There were bats circling the clearing and buzzing these strange humans stumbling about in the woods in the near dark. I imagine in the daytime with sunlight filtering down through all that greenery surrounding that bowl shaped glen - the pool must sparkle emerald indeed. We'd have to try it next time in the daylight.

Our last stop for the day was at Al's house, where Roberta had prepared for us a meal of typical local foods. She had cooked salted codfish stir fried together with cabbage and greens, and boiled green bananas which tasted a lot like potatoes. To drink we had juice made from the sorrel petals which we had seen at the market. It was bright red and tasted a lot like hibiscus, very sweet and refreshing like a berry juice. It was the first time we had seen tv in a long time and the democratic debate in Texas between Hillary Clinton and Barak O'Bama was waging in the background as we talked long into the night.

The next morning Roberta and Al came with us as we sailed out of Roseau. Kat got hung up in meetings and unfortunately couldn't come along. We had a pleasant sail up the coast of Dominica and just for fun - as there was little wind - we threw the bosun's chair out on a halyard on the lee side of the sail. It was an idea I had mentioned to the guys when I had first met them in Bequia one day while we were trying to think of exciting, fun, and slightly dangerous activities to fill our days. When I had first sailed in the Bahamas years ago, we had dropped the bosun's chair off the boom while under power with the boom swung wide, and then dragged a person sitting in the chair through the waves. Well , while I had been away, Sam and Francis had perfected this idea and used a halyard off the mast so it could be done under sail with a lot more swing. I climbed into the bosun's chair and swung out into space. If the boat was heeled over you would drag through the water, which was fun if you got just a dip but if there were several waves in a row you tended to chop through them and at speed the water is NOT THAT SOFT. However when we pulled the boat out of its heel you could spin out into space and perform all kinds of aerial acrobatics, spinning about, leaning back to stare up at the sky while dragging your fingers through the water, hanging upside down, or just swinging out from the boat pretty high up in the air. Occasionally you would swing back towards the boat then push off to swing yourself out again. It was ten tons of fun, I can tell you. Almost like flying. I was out there for 20 minutes and never wanted to stop. We'd be doing that again for sure.


For a while as we sailed towards Portsmouth we were sailing almost into the wind and Sam covered my view of all the instruments. "Don't rely on those. You have to feel the boat and steer by the wind." When you're close hauled and heeled over you are running along the edge of the wind. You need to feel the hull with your feet and when it starts to settle that means you are getting too close to the wind and need to veer down a bit until you are heeling again. This slightly weaving motion is how you keep making ground without losing speed on this point of sailing. So, for the next hour I steered along that edge of wind without the help of instruments, trying to feel the wind on my face and the movement of the hull under my feet and the way the wind pulled the sails... When we reached Portsmouth, we managed the tricky maneuver of putting the dinghy together without anchoring and then Sam ran Al and Roberta into shore with the dinghy while I drove the Zenaida around the harbor until he got back. Then we took the engine off the dinghy again and headed back out to sea. It was so smoothly done that we attracted the attention of the local coast guard who probably thought we were smugglers transporting illegals into the country. They circled us for a while trying to look intimidating but I guess they decided we didn't look very guilty because eventually they headed back to their harbor without contacting us. The passage to the Saintes was relatively uneventful and we had another succesful anchoring in an extremely rolly harbor. We spent the whole night rocking and rolling as if we were under way with waves at the beam.

One thing I have neglected to mention in all my story telling is the cooking. Since Francis was the one doing all the cooking when I arrived, I ended up taking on that task as well when I replaced him. Which means that I have been cooking several meals a day since he left. This may not seem like a big deal to some, but for those that know me well - you know I haven't cooked 5 meals in the last year. I don't COOK. Half the time I don't even eat. I know HOW - and on several occasions have put together huge meals for Christmas or Thanksgiving serving 20 or more people with 12 different dishes. But with just me, and moving around so much, I never cared enough about it to bother. Well, I have cooked more meals in the last week than in my whole life combined. Somehow being faced with a limited supply of ingredients, a lack of recipes and a captive audience, so to speak, has forced me to be creative and come up with new and interesting ways to combine our staples (ie: eggs, potatoes, onions, rice, peppers, tomatoes, pasta, beans, cheese, and bread) into a variety of concoctions that don't too closely resemble each other. We only rarely have meat because we don't want to waste the extra power of turning on the freezer which just sucks down the juice - and in the fridge it doesnt keep for long. We do have a growing variety of spices in stock and some other interesting ingredients like bamboo shoots and coconut milk to add to our potential. I've also been playing with bits of local greenery and color to add garnishes and make the meal into an art project which seems to be the only way I can find the fun in something which generally seems like work to me. Strangely enough, I actually enjoy looking through the fridge and cupboards to see what random ingredients we have available and racking my brain to see what I can create with what is there. Definitely a first for me. But something that's been long in coming. The 2 dishes I have posted here are the result of my experiment with breadfruit. The first is cheesy scrambled eggs with breadfruit home fries. The other is a Chinese style dish that I used to make when I lived in Tibet. Again I substituted breadfruit for potatoes and made breadfruit, peppers, and onions stir fried with Hoisin Sauce and a dish called gan bian dou jiao or chili fried green beans.


As I write this, we have left the Saintes behind and we are motor-sailing along the west coast of Guadeloupe. There is little wind and it's a bit overcast, which means the autopilot can handle the driving but it could be a long dull day unless the wind picks up. Not sure yet where we're heading for tonight. Just have to be in Antigua by tomorrow evening. Signing off from the leeward islands and sending sunshine and exotic breezes your way!