We left Tobago Cays on the 31st for Carriacou(pronounced carry-koo), still part of the Grenadines but owned by Grenada(pronounced grenayda). Stopping briefly at Union Island for groceries and customs, then Hillsborough, Carriacou for customs, we proceeded to Tyrrel Bay and dropped anchor in the afternoon. We enjoyed cold beer and looked for the elusive green flash as we watched the sun sink into the sea for the last time in 2004. In darkness, we managed to dinghy into the modest village of Harvey Vale and find the Lambi(Conch) Queen restaurant, the happening spot on Old Year’s Night.
Live steel drum music accompanied our sampling of island drinks, while a curious mix of locals and Europeans danced in the street. Seeing a French couple sitting in the street for lack of a table, we invited them to sit with us. Francois, a mountain and skiing guide in France, told us how he was sailing solo around the world on his 24-foot boat, his wife being in the area for a brief visit. We had a nice dinner and enjoyed talking about sailing, equipment failures, and whatever else we could talk about over the driving drums twenty feet away.
Repairing to the boat, we opened a bottle of fine champagne and a box of high-class chocolates, struggling to stay awake until midnight. We made it, wished each other happiness in the new year, watched the flares being set off by yachties and bonfires being lit by locals, and went to bed. The initial plan called for a day of relaxation on January 1, but the anchorage proved uncomfortably rolly so we set off for St. George’s, Grenada.
We braced ourselves for the damage caused by hurricanes a few months before, which we had heard hit Grenada particularly viciously. Sadly, the destruction far exceeded our expectations. Every place of business that hadn’t been destroyed was closed for New Year’s Day and there were almost no people at all to be seen, lending a ghostly air to the entire city. Of the people we did see, one followed us for a block begging, one shouted some deranged words at us, and one flicked a lit cigarette at us. It was a disappointing welcome to a place we had high hopes for.
After a dinner of chicken, rice, and cabbage, we sat outside in the cockpit and anxiously watched the catamaran anchored next to us. The owners had either left the boat with their anchor dragging or put out so long an anchor line that their boat was now swinging into other boats and coming near us. While we monitored this situation, a 112-foot sailboat came gliding in through the blackness, bow thrusters stirring the water as it dodged between comparatively tiny boats. The vessel turned out to be a charter(www.teosimeon.com) based in Parma, Italy, with five older but clearly wealthy French couples aboard drinking and making merry. Unable to find room elsewhere, they anchored right next to us, eventually swinging so close that we decided to raft up with each other.
For our trouble, they gave us a tankfull of badly needed water and a bottle of fine Italian wine. Aaron and I celebrated the full tank of water with Cuban cigars. While we enjoyed them on the foredeck, we were invited over for a drink by the Frenchwomen. Strangely, we were led downstairs through the opulent living room to the crew’s galley, where we chatted with a couple members of the crew about sailing in the Mediterranean.
Eventually, a couple of the French women came down because they were concerned that they had invited us over and “didn’t know us better yet.” Whether they were half-in-the-bag or merely elated to be sailing around on such a boat couldn’t be determined. Bizarrely, they seemed to have a thing for Aaron and I, and they kept asking one of the crew if he saw their husbands coming.
One of them, Marie, apparently made herself something of a celebrity on Old Year’s Night, which they spent on the nearby island of Mustique. Mustique is essentially an island of the rich and famous, whose inhabitants include Mick Jagger and David Bowie. They wanted to know why Americans don’t like the French, and French women in particular. Aaron and I had no answer.
Eventually, it was getting late enough and weird enough to take our leave, and we climbed down to our boat, admitting to each other that the whole situation was well worth a tank of water and a bottle of wine.