GRENADA TRIP REPORT: April 1-10, 2006
Part 1
If It’s Not One Thing…The first time we went to Grenada, back in 1992, it was a snap. We hopped on a jet at BWI, stopped in San Juan, then stayed on that same jet all the way down to Point Salines – with its lovely, long, Communist-built runway (the one that contributed to all that fuss by the U.S. Navy back in 1983). We’d arrive in the early afternoon.
That routing is now history. For reasons only surmised at by Grenadians, American Airlines has become significantly more punitive in its scheduling of flights. Sure, you can get to SJU the same morning you left home, but now you get to cool your heels there til at least 6 p.m., before you hop on AA’s only flight to GND, an American Eagle prop plane, and spend two-and-a-half long hours droning over a dark Caribbean Sea, arriving at nearly 9 p.m. Not even the pleasure of a daylight landfall.
Not content that this was enough, we compounded our own misery by having the audacity to book our trip using frequent flier miles. Which meant that instead of flying directly to SJU (punishment enough), we got a fly to the worst airport in the Americas –- MIA -- first (on a 6 a.m. flight, no less) -– then to SJU, then finally to GND.
This time, at least, events conspired to ensure that we wouldn’t have to worry about how to fill the resulting 4 hour layover. Caffeine-spiked on the
café Cubano I had for “brunch” at MIA, I was jazzed to watch San Juan’s beautiful harbor and El Morro fort as we made our descent into SJU. But just a few feet above the runway, the plane made an abrupt ascent and started circling back around. Sheepishly, the pilot got on the intercom and announced that iguanas on the runway prevented our landing. Rick and I looked at each other with knowing smiles, while both of us imagined Captain Jack Sparrow slurring “Welcome to the Caribbean, love.”
A second attempt to land followed. By now, the rain showers over the airport had turned into a torrential downpour. Fifty feet above the runway – I could count the coconuts on the palm trees! – we popped back up again. This time, the pilot explained, the rain had rendered visibility nil. We would circle around for a few minutes to make another attempt. Alas, the third try was much like the second: close but no touchdown. Unfortunately, we were out of fuel now. So, rather than risk another failed attempt, we had to set down and refuel at an alternate airport. Mayaguez, we wondered? Aguadilla? St. Thomas, even? Wrong. We were on our way to St. Croix where, incidentally, the weather was perfect.
By now, people were getting airsick. And the lavs were getting nasty. And folks – especially those whose final destination was STX but were not allowed off the plane – were getting testy. I was cool with it because we had an endless layover to consume AND I figured that if this is my one “Typhoon Tonya Event”* for this trip, it’s not as bad as these things go, and I might as well get it over with.
After about an hour of refueling and messing about with paperwork, we finally left St. Croix bound for SJU. The weather had not improved much over the airport, but it was good enough to finally land. At this point, we had enough time to collect our travel companion Emily at the bar (she had flown USAirways to SJU before the weather arrived), grab a hot dog and empanada at a snack bar, and get to our Eagle departure gate. We arrived at GND on time.
On our return trip – which began at the ungodly hour of 7:30 -- we avoided the endless SJU layover by simply planning an overnight in San Juan, which is always a pleasure for us. We arrived just around 10 a.m., and were pleased to find our room at the Ritz Carlton was ready for us. We enjoyed the middle of the day strolling around beautiful Old San Juan and having a fabulous ceviche (and sangria, and Medalla, and mojito …) lunch at trendy Aguaviva. A lazy afternoon lolling on cushioned loungers in front of the hotel (with attendants bearing washcloths and papaya snacks), followed by dinner at Metropol, helped ease our transition back home the next day.
(* For those not in the know, I am nicknamed “Typhoon Tonya” because of the various weather and travel disasters that bedevil my journeys. Many of them are described on my webpage at
Island Time. I don’t know, however, what my travel insurance carrier calls me, other than, perhaps “Oh, Her Again.”)
Part 2
True Blue, and Green, and Yellow, and Pink…Last time we were in Grenada, which was in December of 2000, we’d started and ended a Moorings crewed charter with our parents in Grenada. Our last night aboard the boat was spent in True Blue Bay. The bay is an especially pretty and cozy one, lined with attractive flower-festooned homes and anchored by a small resort which managed to be colorful without being garish. Our crew, Mick and Charlotte Forster (who we ran into on this trip, incidentally), spoke warmly of the owners of the resort, as well as the couple who were running a small yacht charter operation.
When planning this trip – which would include a stay on land as well as a bareboat sail – I was inspired by my memories of the last trip to choose True Blue. And, with the Moorings having closed their Grenada operation in Secret Harbour, we chose Horizon Yacht Charters to sail with. Alas, once we finally arrived in Grenada this time around, it was dark – and late – so we didn’t do much more than find some food and drink and get ourselves to bed. Rick and I were assigned to a True Blue room (and we had a Bay View room after our sail), while Emily got an Indigo room.
Morning revealed a brilliant land- and sea- scape, as the weather was clear and sunny, the way it would be throughout our trip. Mick and Charlotte reported that this “dry season” had been a fairly wet one, so the vegetation was especially lush – even on the coastal peninsulas, which are significantly drier than the rainy interior. The brilliant colors of the resort – blues and yellows and oranges – were enhanced by green plants and rioting blossoms everywhere. Every breeze brought a waft of floral scent. Gorgeous.
Though this was our fourth visit to Grenada, our more recent travels have been to the Out Islands of the Bahamas. In contrast to Grenada, these are low, limestone islands which support limited plant life. The water colors of the Bahamas are unparalleled, but the landscape – though austerely beautiful – is limited to a handful of colors: the blue of the sea, the white of the sand, and the green of the casuarinas, sea grapes and palms. Our eyes had the pleasant task of adjusting to the extravagance of color on Grenada.
It’s not just color which is extravagant in Grenada. It’s also the richness in cuisine which is coaxed out of fertile-ness of the land and the bounty of the sea. To eat well in other Caribbean locales is often a question of what comes in on the last mail boat or supply plane. Not so here. We ate extremely well here – both when eating out and when provisioning our boat -- focusing on local food. Some dining highlights include:
-- True Blue’s restaurant is a colorful deck suspended over the water; the railings are lined with fairy lights, creating a magical ambiance for evening dinners. Most mornings, we enjoyed our included breakfast here, which included fresh-squeezed soursop juice, fresh-baked banana and other breads, local jams and jellies, and on some mornings scrambled eggs, french toast with nutmeg syrup, or pancakes. Dinner was a more elaborate affair, and we thoroughly enjoyed the creole and curried preparations of seafood and meat.
-- Coconuts is a long-time favorite restaurant. Located on the beach on Grand Anse, few things in life are better than grabbing a table in the sand, digging your toes in, and diving into a fantastic island meal. We had a lunch there, as well as dinner on our last night. Our lunch was somewhat disappointing, though I will admit to having something of a hangover, which may have had a role in my assessment of lunch. As a lover of callaloo, I ordered that for lunch, together with a fish sandwich. The callaloo seemed a bit under-flavored (even pepper sauce didn’t help) – the most disappointing offering of the week, and my “fish sandwich” was a club type preparation with a meager filling of fish salad/paste. As well, the atmosphere was not ideal, as there were loads of cruise ship daytrippers about, attracting the attendant glut of vendors and hangers-on.
Dinner was a different matter altogether, a perfect cap to a great week. We started with a table on the beach (the sunset was a stunner), but at the same moment, a cloud of flying ants decided to hatch, encouraged by the overnight rain. We moved ourselves indoors and enjoyed a great dinner, starting with awesome pumpkin soup, moving on to fish creole and lobster, accompanied by sweet potatoes or christophene au gratin, and finishing with nutmeg ice cream. Yummy!
-- Sur La Mer: no visit to Morne Rouge is complete without a lunch at Sur La Mer. Since it was Sunday, the menu was somewhat limited, but you’ve gotta love any place which welcomes grubby, sandy and underdressed beachgoers with a friendly attitude, cold drinks and fresh food. Rick made the poor decision of ordering a burger (he wanted a fish sandwich, but it wasn’t on the menu), but I enjoyed creole chicken and Emily had grilled fish. We finished our visit by trying to find an appropriate mixer to go with the inevitable Westerhall (or was it Clarke’s Court?) rum, and the lady at the bar produced tasty Angostura bitter lemon-lime soda. Like Ting, a new favorite.
-- The Aquarium: The Aquarium is the most attractive restaurant we visited in Grenada. And that’s not a small thing to say, since there are many beautiful places to have a meal. Situated on Pink Gin Beach and carved into the side of a rocky cliff, it’s hard to believe you’re in the shadow of the airport here. High vaulted ceilings, a view open to the beach, lush plantings, and water features make this a special spot. The food is delicious as well, focusing naturally on seafood. Unfortunately, while our service was excellent to start, by the end of our meal, our waitress disappeared and we – yawning and struggling to stay awake – ended up having to hunt down our check. I understand “island time.” I even enjoy the enforced slowing-down which results. But sometimes it goes too far.
-- Red Crab: Remembered from our first trip to Grenada way back when, I looked forward to re-visiting the Red Crab when we were anchored in Prickly Bay. It took a little doing this way, as we had to traverse a good distance by dinghy and then tie the dink up to a tree on the beach, and then make the short hike over. But it was worth it for what I thought was the best meal of our trip. Great callaloo and great curried lambie.
-- La Sagesse: We had lunch here when anchored in St. David’s harbour (they kindly sent a van for us), and Rick and I had lunch here on our last day while exploring. La Sagesse is a signature Grenadian experience. Located on a curving grey-black sand bay bordered by regiments of tall palms, the restaurant places you within hearing of the surf, right among the sea grapes. La Sagesse wins the prize for the trip’s best callaloo, as well as tasty fish sandwiches and a creole fish wrap.
Our experience with boat provisions proved similarly bountiful. Because we didn’t want to spend our precious vacation time grocery shopping, we opted for custom provisioning with Horizon. Unlike some Caribbean destinations where food selection is sparse, Grenadian food shopping is a much more rewarding experience, especially when it comes to produce. The rich soil gives life to super-sized vegetables – a coil of 18 inch long green beans give testament to that! Yet no flavor is sacrificed for size, as the tomatoes we got were the sweetest I’d had since summer. In a land of endless summer, this should be no surprise.
Of course, the landscape and food are only some of the “color” provided by this amazing island. True Blue Bay Resort is but one example of boldly colored architecture. While the homes of the richer denizens on some of the southwestern peninsulas wear tasteful pastel coats of paint, homes of the islanders wear vibrant colors proudly – a bold counterpoint against all that lush green-ness of the landscape. And market time in Grenville is a cacophonous explosion of color, sound, and motion. Yet, the different-complected faces of all the friendly people we encountered bore one striking similarity: the openness of their smiles.
It was heartening to note that recovery from Hurricane Ivan’s devastating effects is ongoing. The plant life is filling in, though it’s common to see barren trees, beheaded palms, or buildings in need of repair. The island looks nothing like the pictures following the storm, and a newcomer would probably not notice much amiss. Having been here before, we noticed things missing or in transition, and know that complete recovery will take many years. But at this point, no potential visitor should feel any trepidation about making the trip.
Part 3
Sailing AwayAs long-time charterers in the Caribbean, we like to combine sails in tried-and-true locations (e.g. BVI, Abacos) with journeys to more off-the-beaten path locales (e.g. Belize). We’d sailed from, and to, Grenada before, in connection with Grenadines charters. This time, the quest for a different experience, together with a real desire to spend more time on land in Grenada, but limited by available vacation time, led us to decide on a 4-day charter along the south coast of Grenada. While 4 days would have given us enough time to make the crossing to Carriacou and beyond, we’d have ended up spending more time sailing (and that’s pretty rough sailing, as anyone who has made that passage can attest), and less time exploring. Instead, this would be – in Chesapeake vernacular – “gunkholing” along a coast few charterers ever get to explore.
With Moorings having left the market, our only choice was Horizon Yacht Charters, based at True Blue. This was no hardship, as Horizon has an excellent reputation, which our experience bore out. From initial communication to check-out, things went smoothly.
Our boat was a Beneteau 413 named “Dancing Bare.” It was about 5 years old and had the markings of a one-time Moorings boat. The boat was in good shape cosmetically, and all systems functioned in a manner that demonstrated good, timely maintenance (though the waterline scum, endemic in this part of the world, didn’t bear much scrutiny). With 3 cabins and 2 heads, the 3 of us had plenty of room to spread out, and we used one of the cabins as our “garage.” I’m especially fond of the in-line galley arrangement, which allows two galley wenches to work together.
The forward cabin – with its settee and larger head – is clearly intended to be the “owner’s cabin.” However, Rick (the captain) and I ceded it to Emily since there was no way that two tall people could fit comfortably in the bunk. Although the aft head was quite small, we never used it for showering, preferring instead to use the well-tested and effective saltwater-and-dish-soap method off the stern, followed a freshwater rinse on the swim step. With our parsimonious use of water, we never even switched over to our second 25-gallon tank.
We were given our boat briefing at the dock and onboard by Kurt. This was followed by a chart briefing by Bernadette at True Blue’s restaurant. Rick and I had already studied Chris Doyle’s indispensable cruising guide to the Windward Islands, which was supplemented by the Imray-Iolaire chart of Grenada. At last, one of the guys from the base helped us out of the slip (the water is very shallow, and the tides had been especially low in recent days), hopped on the getaway boat, and we were on our way.
Given the hour (i.e., lunchtime and we’re HUNGRY) and the relatively brief hop to our destination, we motored. These are NOT waters for smooth sailing. Once out of the relative protection of the various bays that make up Grenada’s south coast, you are in open ocean. Under settled conditions, this means 3-6 foot seas coming from a mostly southerly direction, while the wind is a firm 10-25 knots coming from the east. As well, the seas are mined with unmarked (though well-charted) hazards, including small rock outcroppings that are obscured by heavy seas (but can be identified by the constantly breaking seas in their vicinity), so navigational vigilance is required.
An easy way to picture Grenada’s south coast is to imagine a very large left foot pointing south. The big toe is the southwesternmost point of Grenada, Point Salines, where the airport is located. The other toes – albeit fairly deformed ones (and a few too many of them!) – are the various peninsulas, while the spaces between those toes are the various bays. In addition to being bounded by land and many islets, the bays are hemmed in by shoals and coral reefs. Fortunately, the 3 bays we would anchor in have a few navigational markers, though many are missing and the remaining ones – especially the green ones – can be difficult to spot in heavy seas until you are fairly close to them.
Our first destination was Clarke’s Court Bay, which is bounded by Hog and Calivigny Islands. Although there is a large marina at the head of the bay, and a resort development that looks like a green-roofed version of Virgin Gorda’s Bitter End Yacht Club is under construction on Calivigny Island (which is consequently considered off-limits), this area is lightly developed and very quiet. We tucked into a small cove in the lee of the east side of the bay, in about 25 feet of water (our depth sounder, like the Imray-Iolaire chart, was marked in meters), where we would be without company all night.
After a quick lunch (Emily and I proved to be efficient galley mates) and time to let the anchor and lunch and a few Caribs settle, we took off in the dinghy to Hog Island, which is uninhabited. The small windward beach we landed on was not as pretty in person as it appeared from a distance and was – as windward beaches tend to be – littered with flotsam and jetsam. Nevertheless, we spent a good time exploring it, splashing around in the water, and enjoying the sun. By late afternoon we were back on board, settling into our routine of saltwater baths, cocktails and nibbles, watching the spectacular sunset, and dinner (grilled pork loin, potatoes and those extra-long green beans). Frighteningly enough, more than an entire bottle of Westerhall rum disappeared that evening.
Unfortunately, sleep was a non-starter, as it would be every night. Despite the relative protection of the bays, the swell sneaks in and results in a steady, but not rhythmic, roll. The wind, too, doesn’t settle completely at night. The rolling, and the concomitant splashing of waves, smacking of dinghies, thumping of decks, and clanging of halyards and sheets, does not invite a nice long night of rest. But I’d rather be not sleeping on a boat in a beautiful anchorage that not sleeping somewhere else!
We were up early to catch the Cruiser’s Net on VHF channel 68. In addition to news and weather, this morning’s broadcast reported that the dome of Montserrat’s Soufriere Hills volcano had grown alarmingly and that perhaps another eruption was in the offing. Rick and I exchanged knowing glances. We’d been in the BVI a few years ago during a major eruption of the volcano, and a couple hundred miles away, it deposited a layer of ash on our decks, disrupted flights, and in a chain reaction, caused yet another Typhoon Tonya Event that had us missing connections and spending an unplanned night in Puerto Rico. Would we have a repeat? Thankfully, no.
Off the hook, we hoisted a reefed mainsail and slightly shortened jib and headed east for St. David’s Harbour. The seas and winds had increased a bit, but by late morning, after a few long tacks, we were dropping our sails and making our way into the harbour. Yet another pretty bay off the beaten charter boat path. The east side of the bay is the home of the upscale Bel Air Plantation resort. The head of the bay is the Grenada Marine yard. Though the boatyard is a working marina, it’s industrial look was softened by a beautiful wooden boat under repair, a small, dark sand beach, and attractive wooden buildings, including the J’s Flambeau restaurant and bar. The west side of the bay is a rocky point, separating the main part of the bay from a beach, and has heavy vegetation.
After letting the anchor settle in about 8 meters of water, we went ashore and arranged for transport to La Sagesse for lunch and beach time (more on La Sagesse later). By late afternoon, we settled in to the bar at J’s Flambeau where first beers, then rum drinks, were poured. The proprietor soon discovered our fondness for rum and poured a few samples of new-to-us libations, including Clarke’s Court lemon, and Clarke’s Court Old Grog. Rick was pleased to find himself a new sipping rum in the Old Grog – and luckily, they have a U.S. distributor so that, with the wangling of a few favors from friends and relatives in Chicago, we’ll be able to get it at home. Although we didn’t plan to stay for dinner (kingfish steaks on board), we hung around long enough to convince the chef to cook up some lobster for us, which we shared as an appetizer before going back to our boat.
Another restless night followed, with worse swell than the night before. But the next morning dawned clear and bright. Rick and I decided to explore the beach on the west side of the outcropping. Somehow, we managed to pick our way through reef and shoal and landed without incident. Our eyes feasted on a scene that barely appeared Caribbean. The sand here was black. The vegetation so luxuriant that I was reminded of the scenery of southeast Asia. A river flowed into the bay. And a dozen men hauled in a giant fishing net, their communal effort yielding a great haul.
Alas, our departure by dinghy was not nearly as graceful as our entry. With the sun now in front of us instead of at our backs, it was much harder to see the hazards. We quickly found ourselves in breaking waves (get outta there fast! – not a good place for a small inflatable dinghy), and didn’t spot a large rock in time to avoid hitting it. Luckily, a rigid bottomed dinghy is a rugged thing and no harm was done, except perhaps to our seamanlike pride. We finally made it out, and soon thereafter hauled anchor.
Our last night’s destination was L’anse Aux Epines (Prickly Bay) – a downwind (west) sail. With plenty of wind, we rolled out only the jib. In flat seas, this would have been a screaming run; in 4 foot beam seas, we were not so lucky. Rather than taking a more direct course, we pointed a bit further south so as to take the seas more directly and stay in deeper water. Upon arrival, we found a dozen new channel markers to usher us in, like an honor guard at a wedding.
Prickly Bay is Cruiser Central. Many insurance policies covering boats plying the Caribbean require those boats to be south of 12 degrees north latitude during hurricane season (June through November); the 12th parallel runs right through Prickly Bay. With plenty of marine services, a relatively protected anchorage, and a comely locale, Prickly Bay is a magnet for cruisers not only during hurricane season, but throughout the year. Hence, on arrival, we found dozens of cruising boats already anchored here, in a variety of sizes, shapes and conditions, but all bearing the gear that allows a fellow sailor to recognize them as long-range voyagers.
We picked our way through the boats already anchored to find a likely spot. Unfortunately, our first attempt was a bust, as instead of catching firm sand, we’d snagged a rusty old anchor instead. I chose another spot and we were set.
Prickly Bay is quintessentially Caribbean. The water here is the turquoise blue of tourist brochures, and the beach has creamy sand lined with palms and sea grapes. On the hills above the bay are perched artfully designed villas, and a handful of tony resorts line the shore. We chose the Calabash resort, on the beach, as our base for the afternoon, spending some time on the sand and some time at the bar (they mix a lethal rum punch here – be warned). Despite the large population of boats, the beach is quiet and laid-back. Later, after baths and boat drinks, we came back ashore for our dinner at the Red Crab.
Our final day on the boat was taken up with a few minimal boat chores and more quality beach time, this time in front of Prickly Bay Cottages, where our dinghy caught the fancy of some young English boys who thought it a “rocket boat” (if they only knew how far 10-15 horsepower via outboard WON’T take you…). But after lunch, it was time to return
Dancing Bare back to Horizon.
As we entered True Blue Bay, we dutifully radio-ed Horizon, tied fenders onto lifelines, and readied docklines. Our docking skipper soon boarded and took over the helm (though perhaps a bit precipitously, as he had a very close – perhaps fatally close – encounter with a mooring ball). As we approached the dock, battling wind and dwindling depth, the boat lost forward motion, and then backward motion, and despite a last ditch effort to drop the anchor, we were soon aground. Without any previous hint of trouble, the transmission had de-coupled from the prop shaft (I’m not sure if I’m getting this technical stuff right). Soon, the cavalry arrived, and a pair of high-powered dinghies pulled us off the bottom and helped push and pull us safely into our slip. Nothing like a little drama to end the sailing portion of our trip!
Part 4
What if the Garden of Eden Had Beaches?Thus far, the image I’m painting of Grenada is of tropical lushness, with supersized vegetation and extravagant blooms. Indeed, many of the island’s attractions are decidedly green – in color if not idealism. Take for example Grand Etang, where we managed to sneak in a visit before rains came (and had to cut it short because we left the top down on our Samurai). Driving across the island, our breath was taken away by the ferns and vines clinging tenaciously to hillsides. By rampant bamboo. By the petite houses, strewn across the valleys like multi-colored dice to land next to heavily-laden banana trees. And that’s just the drive over.
Grand Etang is a volcanic crater lake, reposing in the midst of Grenada’s rain forest. The lake has an air of mystery about it. No one swims in it. No one canoes on it. No one fishes it. You just walk around it and gape, on trails covered in nutmeg shells. Sure, I could do with a little less of the cruise ship crowds hanging around the parking area and giving the resident vendors their
raison d’etre. But aside from that, it’s a remarkably pristine site.
But while Grand Etang is wet – with low-hanging clouds covering the mountaintops -- the fringes of Grenada are drier, especially the southwestern side of the island. And the variety of ecosystems is part of what makes this island so remarkable, for not only is there verdant rainforest and active geology, but there are some pretty great beaches as well. And if you know anything about me, it’s all about the beaches!!
Our beach adventures on Grenada started on Morne Rouge, which had been my favorite spot on the island. Tucked just one bay south of emblematic Grand Anse, it’s smaller and quieter. High green hills surround it; sea grapes, palms and white sand fringe it; and clear blue water fills it. With just a handful of guest accommodations (Mariposa and Gem, among them) and one small, very casual restaurant (Sur La Mer), it’s a wonderfully mellow spot. On the Sunday that we were there, it had a slightly more active vibe, as that is when the Grenadians typically enjoy their beaches as well. So in addition to a handful of visitors, there were Grenadian families bringing their picnics and music to add to the scenery.
However, midday we were forced to cue the “Jaws” music … dun dun dun dun dun dun … as a hideous yellow catamaran, it’s decks full, made the turn into the bay. Sure enough, the cruise ship daytrippers had arrived, and not only did they crowd the sand, but they drove the beach vendors out of hiding as well. We had selected a prime spot near a sea grape tree in the middle of the beach to enjoy our day. Not only did that lousy catamaran anchor right in front of us, but the cruise ship people, drawn to each other by some inexplicable magnetic force, plopped on the sand in clots all around us. The pretty view was spoiled; the island vibe queered. But a little Carib (readily available from beach vendors) has the ability to salve a lot of ills. And lucky for us, the daytrippers left, while we got to stay as long as we wanted and didn’t feel constrained by the “we already paid for it on the ship” attitude which evidently prevents these visitors from taking advantage of all the lovely food and drink available on the beach (like lunch at Sur La Mer). Until the second boat came…
The good news is that there is we rarely saw more than one ship calling per day in Grenada, and they were smaller ones at that. Some days, there were none. The intrusions were seldom very lengthy. And we knew where to go to get away from them (and had the means to do it).
One beach to get away from it all was Pink Gin Beach, which we visited for the first time on this trip. Located just west of the airport, the beach is hemmed in by coral and therefore not accessible to booze-cruise daytrips. We parked at the Aquarium restaurant, walked down to the beach, and picked a likely spot near the sea grapes. The sand here is a mixture of salt and pepper colored sand – mostly salt. The water has a dozen dazzling shades of blue. And off in the distance to the north, you can see St. George’s harbor. It was a lovely spot to spend the morning, alternately dozing in the sand or splashing around in the sea. We’d hoped to have lunch at the Aquarium, but since it was Monday, it was closed, so we hit the road looking for lunch.
Old habits led us to Grand Anse Beach and Coconuts for lunch. Here is a busier beach, the most popular on the island and perhaps the loveliest. Stretching for a couple of miles along the western coast, it’s a creamy strand of sand punctuated with a handful of resorts. Yet, even when everyone is here – meaning the vendors, guests staying on-island, Grenadians enjoying the beach, and even some cruise ship daytrippers – it’s easy to find a spot to call your own without feeling crowded. I’ve heard complaints about the vendors here, but I’ve never known them to be a problem. A definitive “no, thank you” sends them on their way, but they are good for a chat if you are feeling so inclined. And if you’re in the mood to buy, they are gracious and appreciative of your business.
Ultimately, a new favorite beach emerged over the course of my travels, supplanting the previously preferred Morne Rouge. La Sagesse, on the southeastern coast of Grenada, climbed to the top of the rankings. We visited when anchored in St. David’s Harbour, and then Rick and I returned on our last full day on the island.
Protected by two imposing headlands, La Sagesse avoids the brunt of the Atlantic surf. Yet the surf is playful enough to allow for a bit of body-surfing, as well as the sound of waves washing ashore. The half-moon shaped beach is mostly grey sand, with stands of tall palm trees edging the shore, and a clear river emptying into the bay. If you’d been here before Hurricane Ivan, you would notice the loss of trees and vegetation, but a new visitor would nevertheless be struck by the South Pacific feel of the beach. The beach is never empty of people, as there is a small hotel there, and evident appeal among the people who live here. But it’s quiet and large enough so that you can feel quite isolated if you choose. And the restaurant at the La Sagesse hotel is one of my favorites – blessed as it is with its spectacular location and a talented chef. And if cruise ship guests come here, they don’t come in packs.
Part 5
Winding UpAs we headed home after our week on Grenada, we used our visit in San Juan as a transition back to our hectic urban lives. San Juan was a place we used to dread (as a necessary evil waypoint on our route elsewhere), but now seek out. Yet the reasons we so enjoy San Juan in its own right – the sophistication of its hotels, the cutting-edge cuisine, the stylish San Juañeros – paint a contrast to the qualities that make Grenada so special.
San Juan and Grenada share similar geography, climate and perhaps some history. But while San Juan is very much a large Latin American city, charging ahead, there is something wonderfully old-fashioned about Grenada. The way people are welcoming and give you the benefit of their trust without you having to earn it. The way the food stays firmly-rooted in indigenous ingredients and long-standing traditions. The hotels that are true to island aesthetics without overtaking the landscape. The way nature – in all of its fury AND glory -- is, above all, the boss here.
I’m so gratified to see that Grenada is slowly-but-surely recovering from the ravages of Hurricane Ivan. I was happy to do my little bit to contribute economically. I won’t hesitate to continue recommending Grenada as a destination to those whom I sense will appreciate it. And I’ll be sure to return someday. Until then, I’ll have to make do with spinach in my approximation of callaloo soup …
