Chronicles of a Shoemaker's Daughter

New Year, New Look, but deep down inside, still the same old me!

2012-01-10T09:15:00.002-05:00

Happy 2012! I hope this year brings peace and abundance to us all. 2011 was an intense year for many of us. All I can say, is I am glad it is over, and I look forward to new beginnings. Happily for me, the end of the old year coincided with the conclusion of late-in-life journey through grad school. I completed my final course, associated assignments, and 3 month research/policy internship mere days before Christmas. Pheeewww! I am glad that part of my life is over!

DISCLAIMER: I also want to post a disclaimer here ... the previous few posts are NOT NEW. Before I put my blog on hold last fall, I was messing with formats - and one or two old posts jumped forward. Today, I was once again trying to experiment with formats, and while hiding and bringing back some old posts, they got saved under today's date. Oops! I don't know how to fix that!!

In the weeks to come, I will have to look at how to put things back in order. I may even explain my ongoing ambivalence about blogging, and why I keep disappearing and coming back! And no, it is not because I enjoy being an international woman of mystery!

In the meantime, I am playing around with a brand-new, funky format - I hope you all enjoy it! I find it fun, but a bit confusing. Just click on the headings on the top left, and you can browse around the whole blog in a variety of ways. Actually kind of fun. But, since I have about 17 months of lost income, plus tuition and a bunch of financial hits to make up for, I am off to work ... and will come back later to see what I can do about cleaning up my blogosphere mess!

Now, if I can only figure out how to showcase my photos in a better, more artistic, balanced way!

Addendum - 12:00pm: THE EXPERIMENT IS OVER! I was just informed that the new "Dynmaic Views" format on Blogger is not supported by mobile devices, so I have switched back to something simpler. God forbid one of my three or four readers should not be able to access my blogs by BB or IPhone! So, please disregard the directions in the last paragraph, as there are no headings on the top left to click on. So, for now, enjoy some of my old posts, and I'll keep on trying to figure out whether to switch platforms or just learn to be a better Blogger user - all for your viewing and reading pleasure!

Back by "popular" demand!

2012-01-10T08:38:00.000-05:00

I was very touched by the number of requests not to stop my mad ramblings on this blog. You guys are all too sweet. It has been quite a long time since I've been here, but I am back ... at least for now. I am quite certain I had a final chapter to the Anguilla story, but somewhere along the line, I forgot to post it. I have many excuses, but do you honestly want me to go into all that detail? Suffice to say, that I have been on a very long "journey" of another kind. Life changes, transitions, personal evolution - call it what you will, but making changes is exhausting, and at times, also vested with that "bite-you-in-the-ass" quality that gets harder and harder to recover from as you get older.

I'll be back to talk about all my "life changes" over the last year (or more) ...
And I will definitely dig up the last of that trip report from last year. I seem to be on a writing spree lately, and the creative juices seem to be flowing again. One of the things that really got in the way of writing, was this medication that I was taking last year to deal with chronic pain. I was already in the throws of major writing block, but the meds effectively shut down that part of my brain that some might call the ADHD centre, but which has been so much a part of my personality as long as I can remember. I began to really become alarmed when I lost my passion for writing, my passion for observing and being delighted by the randomness of life, and my passion for social justice. It was the latter that really began to worry me, because I became a Social Worker, not so much to "therapize" (yes, I know that is not a real word) people, but because of my social justice leanings and need to challenge the status quo. So, when the meds no longer proved effective for the pain, I weaned myself off them, started back on my healthy eating journey, complete with all kinds of trendy supplements like the Omegas, the ABC's & D's (sounds a bit like alphabet soup, eh? Add vitamin E to the Omegas and you'll have Greek alphabet soup. Look it up ... I don't come up with these lame funnies on my own!) and ...voila(!!)after about a month, that crazy brain-wave activity that I used to channel into (among other activities) writing, was back!! And here I am, wondering where to start. So, I have meditated on it a while ...

And since folks have asked what I have been up to lately ... I WILL be back. But, I'll start slow ... baby steps, right? With a recent challenge in my next post, and work backwards ... In the meantime, I'm off to dig up last year's trip report to finish the Anguilla saga. Stay tuned ....

To keep you on the edge of your seat, I include herewith a few photos of what this year's Toronto winter wonderland looks like.

ok ... maybe only one picture for now ... I seem to be struggling with the upload feature over here.

At long last ... what happened the next day in Anguilla

2012-01-10T08:31:00.000-05:00

Well, I did finally track down some of my own photos that I did managed to snap before my camera and a big wave had a show-down on Rendezvous Bay ...

My internet keeps cutting out every time I try to upload ... somehow the snow storm, which was really a non-event here in Toronto, has affected some of the cable systems around my neighbourhood. Eventually, there should be more than one photo here. ;o]

So, today - Thursday, February 3, 2011 - the internet gods have smiles ever so slightly, and they have let me upload a few more photos ...

Most were taken around Meads Bay, near the Frangipani Hotel and Straw Hat Restaurant. One or two are from Upper Shoal Bay East, near Gwen's Reggae Grill ... I think ...

Nevis is Nice

2011-09-18T09:02:00.001-04:00

These photos were taken around my cottage at Oualie Beach Resort - not so much a resort, but more a collection of ginger-bread cottages on a nice stretch of beach with shallow, warm waters, a pier for boating and water-sport activities, an in-house sea-creature attraction-educational facility-"turtle-camp", and a terrifically laid-back and funky, yet decidedly, old-world Caribbean restaurant and bar. On day one, check-in was early and I decided to forego the plans to tour around Nevis for the day and drop in on old friends around Pinney's Beach, because I could not tear myself away from this place and the haunting view of St. Kitts's South East Peninsula across the narrows! It seems like a long time ago now, but it was spring, 2009! Much has changed in my life since then, and this is still where I'd rather be!

Conscious travel ...

2011-09-18T09:00:00.009-04:00

Well, I sort of lied in an earlier blog post. I said I wasn't going anywhere this year, but I did in fact, sneak away in April after all. It was a working vacation, but it still took me back through St. Martin and on to St. Kitts ... yes ... again!

Not sure when, or if I'll be able to post that trip report, but I must admit, it was an interesting trip. I have remained silent, not knowing how to describe my experience this time. Well, I wasn't so silent on a certain travel forum, and I also kept a detailed journal of my trip. So, I'll say this much for now: The Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis is changing. Rapidly. Oh, perhaps on the surface the twin island paradise may still seem like a relatively "undiscovered" couple of pearls on a delicate chain of small islands in the West Indies, but many of us know the other side: crime is rampant, developers are carving up the landscape and the cost of living is skyrocketing.

I can no longer be naive enough to keep coming back here gushing over the serenity, beauty and bounty, when I keep being confronted with and conflicted by the truth. Yes, I have seen the seamy underbelly of the beast and I don't like it one bit. That doesn't mean I am not going back, however. It just means that I am not one of those travellers who can bury her head in the sand, and just go sailing, sunning and eating her way through a visit to the islands. Most of the crime is youth-gang related and, as such, most of it doesn't really impact tourists. And that is why I feel so conflicted.

The week that I was in St. Kitts there were three murders. One of the victims was the son of the Commissioner of Police. How's that for a message to the cops? Since, most of my social work career has been in direct practice with youth, and I was working while I was visiting, I couldn't escape the parallels between what is going on in the Federation, and my own experiences with disaffected youth.

How powerless it makes me feel to see the marginalized youth of the Federation embrace American-style criminality, and gangster rules of respect, while well-meaning (?) business people keep saying things like "well, at least the tourists aren't being shot!" Seriously? Like one life is worth more than another. Hmmm, well, I have more to say, but I will leave things right here for now.

I think I need to put more thought into what to do with this blog. I feel like posting lots of thoughts about social justice, sustainable development and the state of my favourite travel destinations, but I am not sure if this is the place to do it. Maybe I'll skim off the last few posts and put them elsewhere, while I keep all the light and fluffy stuff right here. Yes, maybe I shall do that!

Hiccups and announcements ...

2011-09-06T15:16:00.003-04:00

This blog seems to be experiencing a bit of a hiccup - - while trying to experiment with different formats, some of my old posts were transported forward to the present date (or a few days ago, at least). Not sure what happened.

This leads me to my announcement ... you see, the reason for all this experimenting, is that I have finally decided to launch the other blog ... the one I mentioned about 2 years ago that would be focussed on well-being, among other, more specific topics. For now, there is not much on it. The initial focus will be on food allergies and sensitivities, gluten-free "trial and error" living, and the occasional foray into a recipe or two, interspersed with (what I hope will be) some helpful information on coping with chronic health "hiccups."

So, without further dawdling, here it is the link Confessions of a Reluctant Health Nut

Do take some time to come visit me there in the future ... hope to see you there!!

There is no Greater Love than the Love of Food ... and ... Beaches

2011-09-05T14:27:00.001-04:00

OK, so let's wrap this up. All I can say is that I had some great meals and some meals that did not quite live up to the hype, when I was in Anguilla. Sand Bar not only lived up to the hype, but I liked it SO much, that I went back a second time, even though there were so many other places I had hoped to visit during my short 4 day stay. But I just HAD to sample whatever menu offerings I left behind the first night.

It isn't just the fact that the chef is Canadian, and formerly from one of the chi-chi hotels in Anguilla, or that her husband who also doubles as the bar-tender offers weary lone travelers a true Anguillian welcome, or the teriffic sunsets, or the reasonable pricing ... No, I think it's just the way that all these elements somehow weave together to provide a very real and relaxed experience. This place is not stuffy in the least, nor is it a beach shack. Yet it is right on the beach! I think if I lived in Anguilla, this would be my after-work hang-out. I liked it that much. Seriously I must have really liked it, since over the space of 2 nights, I sampled the following:

->The freshest of salads made with local greens, with a light, tangy dressing
->Chicken livers, with watermelon (sounds awful, but it was dee-lish!)
->Spicy fries with a dipping sauce (mayo-based, I think)
->A goat-cheese, fruity coulis (cranberry? balsamic something-something?) french bread combo with a bunch of other stuff ... it was a year ago, and my memory is fading ... but, oh me, oh my, was it ever yum, umm, yummie!!
->Chicken Satay & Lemongrass skewers
->Roasted carrots with sesame seeds and a gossamer-light honey glaze -> Saltfish with creamy potatoes and green onion ...

And a couple of mojitos ... sigh.

After my second visit, I wandered down the beach and spent a bit of time at Elvis' Beach Bar. Noooo, silly .... not the Graceland Elvis, the Anguilla Grassland Elvis! I was to have met up with a couple whom I met the previous evening at SandBar. Not sure if I was early or late, but I never did see them there. Elvis provided a great welcome, and some entertaining stories while I waited ... and waited. I began to feel conspicuous, however, as there were a bunch of folks ... locals, ex-pats, frequent sojourners, who all seemed to know each other, at the other end of the funky boat-shaped beach bar ... who all kept staring at me. Hmmm, well y'all could have been a little friendlier (if any of you are reading this!) Nobody, but nobody even made an effort to be nice ... in fact, when I did try to strike up a convo with a mid-age couple, they sort of wandered away. So, I made a quick check of my hair in my compact mirror - just checking to make sure that my hair hadn't re-arranged itself back into the Ed Grimley "cone" of "geekiness." Nope, everything looked OK, and my makeup seemed subtle and lipstick just the right hue to offset the tan that was slowly taking hold. So, when I couldn't take the lonliness and cold ambience any longer (aside from Elvis - he was a gentleman and a real character, at that!), and seeing no sign of my new friends, I left. Went back to Sandbar for a nightcap, where I was welcomed warmly by staff and patrons. Seriously, by now I felt that I had family here.

The next day, when I woke up, I figured out what the folks at Elvis's might have been put off by ... I had somehow developed the most bizarre sunburn on my legs ... it didn't hurt, but the front of both shins looked like they had been scalded with boiling oil. They looked like they had been splashed, red, pink, angry orange. Uneven, rorshach-like matching patterns on both legs. Those gambs must have been quite a sight, last night - contrasted every so effectively by my ivory capris and pewter-toned Brazilian rubber flip-flops (sustainability-correct flip-flops, because they are made from recycled tires, and they come with a certificate of authenticity that say so!) Well, I had a good laugh (where are those travel-pals when you need someone to giggle with?) ... and I readied myself to head over to DaVida, where I hoped to spend part of my last day in Anguilla. I took those rorshach-patterned limbs with me to St. Kitts for the second week of my holiday. Took forever to clear up and made for interesting coversation, like ... "Oh my gawd! What the hell happened to your leeeeeggggs?!"

Reflecting back on my visit to Elvis ... I think those folks were just a tad snooty. And that is OK with me. After all, Anguilla attracts a lot of moneyed snobs, right? You can't expect perfection, right? From the beaches, maybe. But from people? Nope. Never gonna happen.

So, Wednesday there were some threatening rain clouds in the sky, and they followed me all the way to DaVida on Crocus Bay. Now I actually found the road to this place easy to identify from the main road, as it is paved and I passed it about a thousand times on that first day of driving. I even drove it for a brief 1/8 of a mile to check out a little plaza that day. This morning, what I didn't realize was that there is steep hill that you have to negotiate to actually get to Crocus Bay. Steep-up, and steep-down. Hey, I thought this island was flat!?! This steep hill goes through a residential neighbourhood with narrow road and various autos parked in all sorts of configurations, and road construction ... oh my! Made it through and as I descended toward the beach, I knew it was worth the ninety seconds of "white-nuckle-ing"! Too bad it started to rain in earnest. This place is stunning, with a great, welcoming parking lot, beautiful landscaping, gorgeous wooden decking that forms part of both the open air restaurant and bar. So, to get out of the rain, I ducked into a shop and had a lovely conversation with the lady who runs it and some repeat visitors from the U.S. Mid-west. See? Everyone was friendly here! Definitely going back next time.
Remembering that someone told me when it rains on one side of Anguilla the sun is surely shining on the other, I dashed between raindrops to my little auto, and attempted to follow the sun. I landed myself at Bankie Banx Dune Preserve. Very funky place. It was lunch time. I was a bit early, so had my choice of tables. Ordered a rum punch and pretended to read my book, while all along I people-watched, as families slowly made there way along the beach from the hotel in the distance (why can't I remember which one? Cap Juluca? Cuisinart? Rich Folks R Us?) ...
The rum punch was excellent and potent. The Carib cold. I got a little woozy from mixing my drinks so I ordered lunch - a chicken mango salad. And I have to say this was unequivocally the worst salad I have ever had in my life. Seriously. It tased like it was from an amusement park concession stand. The nice could see my distress, I suppose, because he kept coming over to ask if I was OK. I just didn't have the heart or the energy, being too relaxed and feeling the effects of the rum in my veins, to complain. So I very surreptitiously feed bits of chicken to a stray puppy that had sidled up to the edge of the rail on the beach side from my table. Naturally, I emerged from my food let-down a bit of a hero to the newbie family at the next table, because they thought it was SO nice and brave of me to feed a stray pup. I am glad I didn't complain. But seriously, the chicken tasted bland and boiled. The mango was from a can, and the dressing overpowering over wilted romain. A real let-down compared to my lunch at Trattoria Tramonto. And my tab was only with a few dollars difference. As an aside, I have been reading lately about beach erosion at the Dune, and I think it was evident even last April. The beach didn't quite look as I had recalled it in photos, there was a drop-off only a few feet from the bottom of the stairs to the sea. And another aside, I was sent with a message for Bankie, but he was off-island and my visit was a few short weeks after his big Moonsplash festival ... so I wonder if his place was experiencing a sort of post-festival "hangover"? Whatever it was, as far as beach bars go, I was a bit disappointed. That said, I'll bet dollars-to-Tim-Hortons-donuts that this place must be a blast at night. I don't know, but it was just "missing" something the Wednesday that I visited.
In retrospect, I should have gone to Smokey's on the Cove or to FerryBoat Inn for a nice burger, as these were also on my list ... ah well, I never did make to these two spots. More for next time, I guess. And who knows when that will be? Sniff, sniff ... sigh ...
Well, I also wanted to talk about my leaving day and the bizarre breakfast experience, and harrowing ride I took with the car rental lady, as she escorted me to the ferry ... but it all makes me want to go back NOW ... even the bad stuff is not so bad, eh? Funny, but not nearly what I would define as bad. Unless you expect to get coffee and pastries at a French bistro for breakfast, but when you get there, the guy tells you there is no coffee because the Italian "steam machine is "broke down" ... so you ask for tea. Nope. No hot water due to same broke down machine! What, they don't have a kettle? Apparently not. A sauce-pan to boil water? Nope again. Sensing touristic disappointment, waiter dude says they'll make me whatever I want. So, I look at the menu and order fresh orange juice for starters. Guess what? No such animal available today. So, I get bottled Snapple. I ask for French Toast ... strike out again. No egg bread, which is what they usually make it with. Then a thought occurs to waiter dude ... they can slice up some baguette that is normally reserved for continental breakfast ... you know, the kind? It comes with coffee?! That beverage that they couldn't serve due to equipment breakdown. Well, the french-baguette-toast was indeed delicious. Not crazy about the orange Snapple, though. And the car ride with Madame-long-nails? Holy crap ... she almost propelled me right off the peer ...
I really wish I was exaggerating, but the first part of my last morning was really that bizarre! Which only made Anguilla all the more endeering to me. It may cater to the well-heeled, particular, pretentious ... it may have next to perfect beaches ...but it is just "flawed" enough to make it just the right spot for a return visit by Calamity-Jill!
Yep, I can still hear those roosters crowing, just a few feet behind La Vue. And see those goats and island dogs that liked to block my way on the roads ... and smell the sea ... and hear its swooshing waves ... All that's missing are those pesky vervet monkeys that are all over my other favourite isles!! And gosh, am I ever loving those $29 flip-flops from Irie Life, just the funkiest little shop right next to La Vue! But honestly? I can't wait to go back just to sleep on one of those beaches again ... and to eat my way around the island. I'll have to stay a few weeks, though ... because I plan to make SandBar a regular stop ... and I have to hit up all those places I missed, including weekend BBQ stands! Oh ... so much food, so little vacation budget!

What happens in Anguilla stays in Anguilla ...

2011-09-05T13:50:00.004-04:00

Unless of course you write about it.

Well it's confirmed - I am not taking any southward bound vacations this spring. So now, Anguilla and the rest of the Caribbean are consuming my every thought. Under pressure of unrealistic deadlines, what do I do? Go on the hunt for unfinished trip reports. Here is what I was able to find so far ... my goodness, am I ever long winded! This is only the first 2 - 3 days - imagine if I had stayeda full week!

Dinner my first night, was at Tasty’s, and it was indeed, tasty. Except for the fact that I was a) tired from partying at the family reunion/wedding in Toronto the night before, and b) belatedly reeling from the rough crossing between St. Maarten/St. Martin and Anguilla: I seemed to be experiencing delayed sea-sickness. My meal of Stewed Chicken with rice and the freshest veggies I have ever tasted, was nicely packed up and I was sent home with what seemed like enough food for the next 3 daysworth of lunches, dinners or midnight snacks. The portion size was really, really generous. And I had a nice big bottle of French fizzy water to go, as well - the name of which escapes me right now, but which went down mighty fine with a few slices of lemon from the local market, and orange slices courtesy of La Vue’s breakfast buffet.The next morning, I awoke refreshed, enjoyed the simple continental breakfast that La Vue provides in the lobby area.

I took my coffee to the side garden and enjoyed the view of Road Bay/Sandy Ground, from way above and pondered how the heck to get down there, either on foot or by car ... and I let the heat and fresh air work its magic. By the time I headed into the Valley, still bright and early, to pick up my rental car, magic time was over and I was sweating like a construction worker! And I pretty much didn’t stop sweating for the duration of my stay. I think the week prior was much cooler, by

all reports, but the temps began rising over night, seemingly as soon and I landed. Ha! Imagine that?! My arrival sparked a heat-wave!

Can’t recall for the life of me, where I rented the car, but anyway, a minor mixup - a booking mistake on my part, resulted in the delivery of a car with manual transmission, whereas I thought I had booked automatic. In the time it took to get a tiny, brand-new, microwave-sized, microwave-named automobile ready for me, I was able to go across the road to top-up my Lime cell phone. One good thing about Lime, is that their phones roam all over the Caribbean, with reasonable rates, so I didn’t have to bother with getting a local SIM card and just kept my old SKN number, for the few outbound calls I had to make. Much cheaper than using my own phone to call home.

When I went back to finish car paperwork, the lady in charge informed me that she worked out a special rate for me, and indeed, I only paid a few dollars more than the special internet rate for the original booking. She did expect a favour in return - I was asked if I could drive her elderly sister to work ... or, at least to the next round-about. So, I complied, happy to return the kindness ... but was frankly, a bit nervous: not really knowing my way around Anguilla, and not really feeling comfy with right-side steering wheel. It was a bit of a comedy of errors trying to figure out where to pull over when the car-rental lady’s sister pointed out an empty field, and said “I get out right there ...” I still think she got nervous about my driving and lack of familiarity with Anguilla, and took the first opportunity to bail from my car!

And thus began MsJilly’s/Vervet’s driving adventures in Anguilla. After a quick stop back at LaVue - I headed west to quickly check out a few things - like the Malliouhana (still pretty much looks th

e same as 21 years ago from outside at least - ok maybe with more mature and lush flora and fauna, but still the same.) OK, this part of the island looked easy enough to negotiate, so I turned around and headed east in search of Shoal Bay, and the many (?) beach bars I had read about. Ultimately, I had planned to end up at Gwen’s for lunch. So, I drove and drove and drove, heading straight, and keeping to what I thought was the left, and somehow ended up going around to Island Harbour. Then when I turned around, I still somehow messed up, and ended up driving past the airport at least twice, and through The Valley at least twice, and stopped at some intersection with lights from every conceivable direction.

I did learn one or two things about driving in Anguilla:
1. It is only easy if you know what you are doing.
2. The map isn’t really helpful because, I don’t

know about you, but I can’t drive and use a map at the same time.
3. I needed a navigator, both for the map and to laugh with ... it’s just no fun making silly mistakes when you have nobody beside you in the pax seat to laugh at you.
4. If you’re driving from North Hill towards Shoal Bay East, if you can see St. Martin/Sint Maarten across the sea, you are going the wrong way.
5. There are lots of little grocery stores in Anguilla, and they were all, and I mean all, out out high SPF tanning lotion, and mosquito milk.
6. When you go to Anguilla the week after Bankie’s Moonsplash festivities, the shelves seem to be devoid of tanning lotions, mosquito repellent and I won’t even hazzard to guess what else!

7. Getting lost is h

alf the fun. I now know my way around every nook and cranny of that island!

I finally made to Gwens hungry, and exhausted from driving! I ordered the ribs, and a Carib. For dessert, another Carib. I must admit, I was a bit disappointed in the meal, possibly because it was late in the day for lunch, but the ribs seemed a bit dry and bland, and the pasta salad was definitely overcooked. Maybe I had been oversold, and led to over-anticipate because of all the hype on all the forums?! But ya know what? Who the heck cares ?! ... Because, I was there for the beach, the beach and more beach ... and oh my goodness, what a beach! And I got to see beaches I hadn’t planned to

see, while trying to find the one I wanted to see!
Once

I was sufficiently fed and watered, I took a long walk along the beach and was again thoroughly confused, as I could not locate or recognize the establishments I had read about on the travel forums. I realized later that Shoal Bay and Shoal Bay East are not the same place, and that it is a loooong walk around the point to get from one to the other. I think. No worries, I headed back to Gwen's generally vicinity, and had a swim, a snooze, and another Carib to replace lost fluids due to the constant sweating! I had a quick chat with Gwen and her husband, and also with a flirtatious local scam artist. What fun! A definite “must return” kind of place. My meal and three beer were so inexpensive, that I thought perhaps there was a mistake on the bill!

That evening, I stayed in and supped on a veritable feast of left-over stew chicken from Tasty’s. This is eve

n better served as leftover fare, the next day. Veggies still firm, not overcooked and the flavours have time to meld. Dessert was a local West-Indian style pastry/bun, which I picked up at one of the many grocery shops that I stumbled into earlier that day. I christened the brand new coffee maker in the room and tried to make Vietnamese-style coffee with condensed milk, and the fresh supply of Columbian from the Dominican Republic, which the Hughes' kindly left in the fridge for me.

Tuesday was another hot, beautifully cloudless day. Perfect morning for my West End adventure. Breakfast was at Straw Hat. I had met the manager and chef the day before, and they were very welcoming and cordial. Nice conversation, terrific breakfast of their signature quiche, from my seat at a table facing the sea! Then, the fellow who looks after the chairs for Straw Hat set up an umbrella and two chairs for me. When I protested that I was fine without the second lounger, he responded with a “well you never know who might come by to visit ...” Knowing that Meads Bay often attracts

celebrities, I perched myself gracefully upon my my lounger, waiting for Sting, Liam, Denzel ... but, alas I just used the second chair to house my bo

ok, beach bag, and extra towel. Nobody came by to visit :(It was very quiet on Meads Bay. So I decided to take a nap. Isn't that what everyone does after breakfast? It's hard work eating all that good food! I fell asleep to the sound of the waves lapping on the shore and woke about 2 hours later! Great! Just in time to drive around and look for somewhere to have a light lunch.

My drive took me first to Rendevous Bay. I parked and began walking the beach. Now, I had not taken many pictures up until now, because I thought I would do one more d rive around the island later in the week and take some snaps of all the places I had stumbled across during yesterday’s driving session, in addition to photos of the places I had seen intentionally. So,

as I pondered where tomorrow’s drive would take, me I took my camera out to get a few shots of Rendezvous. Karma had different plans for me, so as soon as I resolved to start shooting, a gigantic rogue wave rolled into shore and drenched both me and my cheapo, but reliable little HP. That was the end of my photographic tour of Anguilla ... over before it even really started.

Back in the car and off I went. Did I mention it was really hot? So hot, that my thoroughly soaked clothes were dry in record time. My short funky haircut dried even faster. Note to self: leave t

he expensive hair products at home - they seem to have a chemical reaction when exposed to Anguilla salt air. My hair was standing on end - sort of like Ed Grimley. But I didn't know this at the time. And thus, I made my grand entrance at Trattoria Tramonto. The place where all the stars come to lunch... where the walls are lined with photos of the owners and staff, taken with the likes of the Clintons, Robert De Niro, Snookie (OK, maybe not Snookie, but you get my drift, right?) All said and done, a very casual looking setting greeted me. Worn wood, shutters and mostly lots of open air, not too many walls. Almost a large, rambling shack really. Love at first sight for me. I think this is my latest favourite place among all my favourite places on earth. And that is saying something ... not because I am a food snob, but because there is really no shortage of great Italian food in my life, so I don't go out of my way to seek out Italian restaurants when I travel. But I just instantly felt at home here. First of all, the setting is just so peaceful and post-card perfect, with just enough (not too tall, not too scruffy) palm trees for natural shade on the beach, great sand for walking on, the most beautiful hues reflecting off the waters, and a killer view of St. Martin. What more can a gal ask for? Oh, yeah ... a working camera! No such luck.

Aside from the aforementioned natural beauty and ambience of the setting, what made this place special (and I haven’t even mentioned the food yet) was the absolute graciousness of the staff. It was quite late for lunch (I think there is now a pattern developing here) ... but a charming waitress made sure I was aware of all the special, and she didn’t even flinch or bat an eye-lass at my Ed Grimley up-doo.

So, from simply wanting a bottle of mineral water, and a nice place to sit while I figured out what to do about the camera, I ended up ordering a fabulous salad - baby arugula, baby spinach topped with wild boar prosciutto and shavings of the most delicious artisinal parmiggiano. I wish I had written down the exact description of this salad. It was YUM! On the side, they serve a little plate of bite-size pieces of fresh focaccia, just like my mamma makes! Naturally, I had to get a glass of white wine to go with this impromptu feast. Nicely chilled, it went down like lemonade - but with the added benefit of provoking a wee buzz. Two cappuccinos later, I was ready to hit the road. Recently, I ran across my visa statement, and I saw the finally tally for that lunch - YIKES! But it was worth every penny. Food - spectacular. Setting and service - priceless!

Later that day, I vowed to eat a light dinner ... or perhaps no dinner. Then I went down to Sandy Ground/Road Bay and ended up at SandBar. Sidled up to the bar, ordered a gin a tonic. And the next thing you know I am chatting with some ex-pats and first time visitors. Then I run into the journalists from the “channel crossing.” I enjoyed a wonderful sunset, great company and apparently ... three quarters of the tapas menu!

OK, back to my day job ... and my bottomless pit of academic assignments ... more later.

Update from "Guarda La Yarda" - Nonna C's Canning Factory

2011-09-05T10:24:00.018-04:00

Over the next few weeks I am hoping to clean up my blog, delete forever the blogs that I started but will never finish or even attempt to follow through, and finally learn how to post photos artistically and effectively. I am even toying with the idea of moving away from Blogger and going elsewhere to host my blog, as I move away from travel stories (interspersed with a few rants here and there) to a whole other set of themes.

In the meantime, I thought I would share a few photos from late summer in Guarda La Yarda. Like any self-respecting transplanted Italian, my mother, at age 82 and struggling with health issues, still insists on maintaining a vegetable and flower garden. In the fall, she and my father (who suffers from macular degeneration and insists that he is now completely blind, therefore unable to assist in chores) set up their makeshift factory in the garage, order a few bushels of field tomatoes to supplement the back-yard harvest (a necessity to them, since the kitchen garden is a mere shadow of what it used to be in the days before dad lost his eye-sight, and ultimately any interest in keeping a vegetable garden)from reliable (read Italian) source, and toil away to produce dozens upon dozens of jars of the freshest sauce imaginable. I always say I will never can my own tomatoes, but I must admit that the product that is lovingly housed in mamma's jars is far, far superior than anything to be found on store shelves .... even that passata that comes right from the Campania hills.

The Bucket List - Revisited and Revised

2011-08-16T16:50:00.013-04:00

... or ... "phew, I got these out of the way ... so what's next?"

My friends and I always made these lists, long before the movie. We often played a sort of game that involved writing your own obituary, or coming up with a list of things you might want to be remembered for. Some of the things on my list seemed well, sort of boring or perhaps a little bland, while others seemed well nigh impossible. But, I am happy to report, that I have managed, over the course of 25 years, to strike some of the entries off my list. It was only when I realized that in fact, I had managed, between long "dry spells" to get to quite a few of my bucket goals, that I really began to understand the power of writing things down and visualizing the results.

So here is an incomplete run-down of a few goals that I can safely strike from the list:

1. Learn to type (seriously, I was over 30 when I learned to type without looking at the keys!)

2. Live in the Caribbean for a year (well the actual job lasted a full 12 months, but I travelled back and forth from Canada to St. Kitts and Nevis several times, so maybe my cumulative time on island was more like 7 months. I think it still counts, right?! If not, no problemo, I'll just go back and wrap this one up a little tighter.)

3. Get over my fear of flying (see #2 - hmm, you're not suggesting that this fear is what led to the demise of my short-lived tropical live/work adventure?)

4. Visit London and Paris, and throw in a return to Rome (still not over fear of flying when I did this.)

5. Have a chat with Mona Lisa while accomplishing #4

6. Get over my fear of driving (yep, I actually learned to drive around the same time I learned to type. Sad, but true.)

7. Go back to school for Social Work degree

8. Buy a house (single females are still underrepresented in the housing market)

9. Go back to school yet again for Graduate Social Work degree (MSW)

10. Sell the dam house and start travelling again!

11. Get braces and fix that painful bite once and for all (and get a beautiful smile in the process! Hopefully, a beautiful smile - the result are yet to be determined as braces only went on a few months ago!!)

12. Go back to St. Kitts after 16 year absence, for my big "milestone" birthday (Ok, who am I kidding keeping it a secret - it was the Big 5-OH!) .

I'll stop here for now. Number 11 was a few years ago. I am now coming up to a "half milestone" in a few months, and I am definitely feeling the urge to celebrate. Except, I am not sure where I will go or what I actually want to do to mark the occassion. I may put off this celebration for 6 months and pull out all the celebratory stops next June when I go to my graduation ceremony. Why they make us wait so long, I just don't know. We'll be done with internship in early December, so it seems like such a long wait to collect that diploma. Why can't they just confer it by mail in February - a Valentines Diploma! Certainly that scroll will have much more significance for me than roses and chocolates. Or have a separate off-campus ceremony. If my classes were several hundred miles away from the school, why can't they do the ceremony where the classes were actually held? Besides, the University of Windsor is in, well, Windsor. With no disrespect meant towards the citizens of that lovely town, it really is not where I envision doing my big semi-milestone birthday - slash - graduation celebration. Seriously, if you were in my shoes, would you really want to spend this momentous ocassion in the city above Detroit?

Hmmm, as I look at what to modify, delete from and add to my bucket list, a thought occurs -- I have never actually attended any of my graduation ceremonies. Not high school. Not university -- for either of my first two degrees. So, perhaps this is as good a place as any to start my new and improved bucket list - either #12 on this page ... or #1 on my yet to be accomplished page ... Go to my grad school grad!! Since I will be joining the mere 2 percent of the population who successfully complete their masters degrees, I believe I have much to celebrate.

At a time when others are thinking of early retirement, I am launching the second half of my second career (and you thought I did that 2 years ago when I quit my job and started my own business, huh?!)

But you know what is really pressing on my mind today? Just like so many younger folks, my big worry right now is: 1) will I find the right shoes to wear under those gawd-awful robes?

And 2) more importantly, will my braces come off on time for the graduation ceremony?

And when I am stuck at home ... I head out to an old standby ... Welcome to "Guarda La Yarda"

2011-08-16T15:01:00.019-04:00

Also known as, "doo, doo, doo, lookin' out my back door ..."

It is hard to believe that I had a hand in helping all these little beauties along.

And when I remember, I do pause and give thanks to the heavens, because as sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, winter is right around the corner. And the chair that I usually occupy during Guarda La Yarda season, will look something like this:

And let me be clear, this was NOT shot in B&W and was not photo-shopped or digitally altered in any way. Some winter days are just THAT gloomy ... and cold ... brrrrrrr .....

When I am tempted to pout, I know it must be time to head out, because August in TO is the time to ...

2011-08-16T09:59:00.039-04:00

Summers in Canada are never long enough for my taste.

So, even as I continue to remain swamped with work that is costing me money instead of making me money, I take a deep breath, count my blessings and get the heck out there to enjoy a mini stay-cation or two!

Here are a few scenes from the Toronto Caribana parade, and a few more photos from the Harbourfront a few days later

This one must be a sort of Halloween Mas ... or maybe it's just a colourful tropical arachnid! So, why did I suddenly feel the urger to call Ghost Busters?!

This next shot is my favourite - I call it Boats 'n' Floats ...

And then, a few days later, we headed out to the Harbourfront. My friend was late, so while I waited I tried to take a few shots with my new blackberry. I miss my old cheapo HP camera. It was my first digital camera, but it took such nice photos. I still don't mind these so much ... and I am sure that I will treasure the summer remembrances when winter rolls around ... which we all know is a certainty around these here parts!

Yes, indeed - for those of you who are not from around here, those are our very own islands in the backgroud, Toronto Island, Wards Island and Centre Island. Ok, maybe not as exotic as a tropical island, but in the summer, I quite like them. They are kind of flat though ... sorta like Anguilla!!

My stay-cation interludes were only for a few hours on each of two days of a three-day long weekend, but I must admit, getting out did the trick, because I definitely felt refreshed when I went back to tackle my mountains of work on the Tuesday!

My life ... these shoes ...

2011-07-16T08:57:00.023-04:00

My shoes don't fit any more. Literally. I still wear the same size, but somehow my old shoes don't seem to fit. Ironically, my whole life seems to be playing out much like the lack of fit between my footwear and my aging peasant feet.

What a great metaphor. I suppose I could go out and just buy a bunch of new shoes. Or I can stop and reflect on what is really going on with my feet. Is this a temporary situation? Or something that I must take more seriously? In reflecting on footwear and where my feet have taken me over the last few years, I have also been reflecting on my life journey. My choices over the last 6 years have forever altered not just the direction of my life, but also who I am fundamentally, as a person. But, you know that old say, "watch out what you wish for?" As I grow closer to achieving my goals, I have been plagued by a lack of fit between myself and parts of my environment. I am struggling with "fitting in" in certain scenarios. Much like many of my teenage clients, I suppose. In my physical environment, I have become a champion purger because unless my space is zen-like and free of clutter and dust, I grow restless. I throw away unimportant things weekly - old clothes, magazines, entire rooms of furniture, miscellaneous bric-a-brac. In my personal life, purging has come at a price. I resisted it too long, and holding on has had its consequences. I hold on to friendships much like I hold on to shoes that no longer fit.

Purging things is easier than purging relationships. My heart hurts when relationships flounder. Perhaps I need to deal with people the way I deal with books. I used to have a tremendous library. Now I give away my books as soon as I have read them. True, I do keep one or two because I need them for work, or because I may want to read them again, but mostly, I move them on. I cannot bear to throw them in the dust bin, as I believe books have a soul. Placing them in the garbage heap would be like hurting a helpless living being. Besides, I always hope that books that I love will go on to give someone else the same pleasure and delight I felt when reading them. Maybe this is also a good way to look a friendships. We come into each others lives, meet certain needs, share affection, trials, tribulations ... but sometimes, friendships are not meant to last forever. I find it comforting to believe that I can stop mourning the loss of a dear friend, if I re-frame the situation as one of moving on so that someone else can enjoy their time with a new friend. Sort of like "sharing the love" without having to stay in the dysfunctional part of the love. Hmmm ... I have to work this one out a bit more, but I think it might not be a bad way of learning to let go. Sometimes we just have to let go.

And realizing that I treat books with more respect than I have often treated some treasured friendships brings me to another dilemma. I have been unconsciously purging my relationships lately, perhaps because deep-down I knew it had to be done. But, you know, that is never a good way to go through life. Unconscious acts, much like road rage, sometimes are really acts of misplaced emotion; cowardly acts requiring dramatic space on life's stage in order to play out. A conscious and "present" approach to life (and in my case, confronting and dealing with those friendships that simply "don't work" any more) is really what works better for most people. But attaining the wisdom to operationalize such a revelation is never easy (well, maybe it is for some people, but lately, it hasn't been so for me). So, rather than graciously walking away from situations that may no longer be serving either party well, I have been acting like the proverbial "bull in a china shop." I suppose we are all entitled to our bad days and bad behaviours, but I find myself wondering how I reached this point. When did I stop being gracious? It seems to have coincided with the slow evolution of my foot deformities. Having spent the better part of the last year trying to earn the long post-poned masters degree seems to have set wheels in motion that I hadn't counted on. Rather than temper me and bring me to a place of peace, I find myself questioning my role in the lives of others, and their role in my life.

And here is where it gets interesting. I actually like myself better now. I even like my feet better because I actually can walk longer distances than I could when I was thirty. With the right footwear of course. So, I guess I have answered my question. If I want to honour my feet, it is time to move the old shoes to the dust bin, and replace them with nice new ones with room for my feet to make themselves at home. I still have far to go on my journey and I need limbs that will sustain me. As for my friendships, it makes me so sad to realize I could have been more gracious in distancing myself from those that were hurtful, negative or simply had floundered as we all changed over time. Selfishly perhaps, I have resolved that friendships that no longer nourish me or benefit from my attempts at nourishing them, have to be placed in a different space priority-wise. I need to do this to know that I am moving forward, and to make room for new friendships to evolve. One last glance back makes me realize that I don't want to change who I am. In realizing that I stand alone in my new shoes, I suppose I wanted to feel as though others were standing with me. But my journey is not theirs. In trying to be a better person, in many ways I have failed miserably. So I am going to stop trying. The best I can do, I finally realize, is simply strive to be a more authentic me.

So with a new book under my arm and comfy shoes on my feet, I mourn the loss of some treasured objects, a few worn and beloved pairs of shoes, and I mourn more deeply the loss of some treasured friendships. All the while, looking forward with excitement and anticipation toward this next phase of my journey .... and welcoming with a slightly bruised but open heart, my new travel companions.

What happens when an old dog tries to learn new tricks?

2011-05-23T16:32:00.019-04:00

Dear Mr. Murphy:

I used to scoff at your laws. Now I have one simple request - can you please stop collaborating with Ms. Karma? I need a little break to get me through this deadline! Cheers, from me and my Mac ...

I am sending a plea out to the universe to get me through this week ... and through these next few months. How much new learning can this middle-aged brain really deal with? Well, that question is being put to the test in some serious ways. I suddenly feel so much more tech-savy today than I did a mere 6 month ago. But, I have paid for it in stress and sweat. Going back to grad school at age 50+ is already challenging enough, but I wasn't counting on all sorts of technological hiccups. When my reliable PC decided to implode during my final assignment for my first course last October, I decided to invest in a MacBook Pro. But first, I resorted to my little laptop PC to get me to Christmas. The plan was to purchase a new laptop after the holidays. And then course number 2 wrapped up and the laptop started to sputter. So, I had to make a quick decision.

I based my purchase decision on some strategic research - I consulted my Facebook friends and then went to every living relative under the age of 30 to elicit some opinions on what I should buy to get me through the second phase of my new self-employment venture, and equally important, to get me through this academic year. After all, they are the "Apple Family" generation, right? They were born with IPods instead of silver spoons in their mouths, no? Well, I figured they know more than I do about this stuff. And everyone said Mac! Fearing the inevitable learning curve, I tried to at least pretend that I felt undaunted ... and I plunked down my emergency credit card on a MacBook Pro.

It took a while, but eventually I adapted. Then, the unthinkable happened! Unthinkable, unless your are me, evidently. Because if something "gonna broke-it down" as my papa says, it would be something in my posession. Yes, folks, my Mac crashed! What? It must be me, right? I am doing something wrong! Either that, or I emit some sort of radioactive or magnetic frequency that causes electronic equipment to go bonkers! I mean, just last month, I set off a bunch of alarms while going through security at the Miami airport. Then they made me go stand in a glass booth for punishment. Took me a while to realize that I was going through the body-scanner. It was the stiffled laughs and condescending smirks on the faces of the young security staff that finally clued me in. The least they could do is give me a copy of my x-ray (kinda like expectant parents get a copy of their baby-scan, no?) - so I could see what they found so amusing!

But, back to the Mac issue -- Everybody I know has never had a problem with their Macs. So, I really wasn't prepared for what has transpired over the last 5 days. Long story and many grey hairs later, within 4 days, the Apple Genius Bar has restored my MacBook back to its original glory. It took 4 days instead of weeks or months, as would have been the case had I invested in a Dell or other equally efficient PC. Apple service is indeed as efficient and awesome as everyone said. It is just that I was hoping that I wouldn't have to put their Genius Bar (cute name, huh?) to the test so early in my relationship with Mr. Mac. And as an added bonus, despite having to negotiate a series of checkpoints, and mini-interviews, I was allowed to go stand at the vast desk, resplendent with state-of-the art, 19-year-old diagnostic professionals! At least they didn't make me go through a body-scan!

And still, I missed a very important deadline, which means that now I am scrambling to pull my research materials together in some coherent fashion, so that the professors, when they compare notes don't think I am a complete "Complaining Connie." You see, I have had some sort of technology issue with each and every one of the 6 course I have been enrolled in since last fall. I am sure the MSW faculty are starting to detect a pattern.

Can any one adult send the same e-mail 6 times to 6 different professors and still have any shred of credibility:

"Dear Professor, PhD,

May I please have a deadline extension? The computer ate my homework!

Signed: Calamity Jill, MSW in waiting ... and waiting ... and waiting ..."

Travels of a different kind ...

2011-05-21T13:38:00.049-04:00

Hey Calamity Jill, what did you spill? Calamity Jill ... is what a friend of mine sings to the tune of the Beatles classic, "Bungalow Bill." She sings it every time I tell a story of my latest mishap or misadventure. My life is really not extraordinary in any way, but I do seem to have a knack for spilling things, stumbling, walking into walls, breaking things and parking my car in places where it is bound to get bumped, scratched and bruised. I have come to the conclusion that I am not so much clumsy, as easily distracted. In fact, I am writing today, as a way of distracting myself from what I really should be doing, which is completing a research proposal.

I think if I were to write the "real-life trip report" to describe the everyday course of my life over the last couple of years, it should be entitled "Travels of a different kind." These funny, typo-filled stories that I have been placing on this blog are really not a very accurate reflection of what goes on in my life on a day-to-day basis. I am sure that the same is true for anyone who writes stories that others might read. Yet, my little stories, as badly written as they are, contain nothing but truth. Perhaps not "truth" in the scientific sense, but personal honesty. I approach my everyday life the same way. I am a stickler for truth and "genuineness" in everything I do. And this very quality is what gets me in trouble at times. Sometimes, I just say too much (or not enough, although this second scenario occurs less and less frequently as I grow older.) I am constantly compelled to "spill my guts" at every opportunity. It is as if I flatter myself that anyone, or everyone is interested in my opinion or my expertise all the time! "Genuineness" or too much "up-frontness" are not a qualities which are rewarded, either in my personal life or in my professional life - with one exception - my clients seem to thrive when I deal with them in an honest, genuine, unaffected manner. But I can't "spill my guts" to my clients, can I? So, I will spill them here, instead.

What is so "different" about my journey? I am single, never married, no kids - for starters. I dropped out of post-secondary school twice. I go back to school every 10 years or so. I have had at least 2 careers (both low-paying) and many jobs. I bought my own home on one measly income, without the help of a spouse or partner. I am a loner. With a very sociable streak. Feminism said I was allowed to do all this, yet I constantly feel that I live my life not so much outside-the-box, but outside the middle-class Toronto norm. So what compelled me to make an "inside-the-box" traditional, stereotypical Italian immigrant decision 6 years ago?

I am not going to write a humorous "essay" about how guilt and family obligation won out. Or how, suddenly the need to respect my family's cultural values began occupying every inch of my consciousness. Or how my undiagnosed ADD or honest-to-a-fault personality gets me into all kinds of interesting jams, like accepting my family's offer to share households without really thinking things through. The offer came out of left field on a day that I had a personal crisis on my mind, and before you know it, I had accepted without really hearing what was being proposed. Nope. I will not speak of any of those things. I just want to say that I have realized that sometimes the "real" travelling is that journey that happens when we either find ourselves rapidly shifting or being forced by circumstance to stay put somewhere. Often, decisions are made that force us to reflect inward and make some decisions based on what we uncover when we are running in place or travelling the inner journey.

Less than 10 years after I became "mortgage-poor" (which was followed rapidly by a health crisis, and resulting decision to find a less stressful and lower-paying job, which of course, made the mortgage that much harder to live with) I sold my modest little home and moved back in with my aging parents. They needed my help. It was supposed to be a temporary situation. A few years later, I realized that we are helping each other, and that they look after me as much as I look after them. Yet, I haven't quite spilled my guts to them and acknowledged that this temporary situation has actually been life-altering for me. Definitely a journey of a different kind.

Nor do I feel that I have "spilled" anything worth keeping when I reflect on my lifelong series of changes and moves - either the change of homes, or the change of workplaces, or within workplaces- I regret little when I consider what I have allowed to scatter in the winds, what I have thrown away, broken, lost or just plain left behind. If there have been costs to the changes that I am experiencing, they have so far, been costs that I am glad to incur.

Many people had tried to dissuade me from moving in with the folks. For a variety of reasons. For me, it was the right decision. In light of events that I never could have predicted at the the time, I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I had stayed in my own house in Brampton. Life with the parents has not been without its challenges, but living with reduced expenses is what has allowed me to start looking at how I want to live the next 15 or 20 years of my life. And yes, in stepping into a traditional care-giving role, I realize that most people have it wrong in our society - I have not lost any parts of myself in this "journey of a different kind" ... indeed, I have gained so much. Yes, I have stress, but most of it comes from dealing with all the challenges that came with the economic downturn and losing a whack of money. Is my life boring? In the last 6 years I have sold a house, packed up and moved without much help, then taken on a new workplace role, then relocated a youth drop-in-centre with little help. Then the non-profit organization that I worked for chose to deal with a shrinking funding dollar in a less than strategic way. So, in effect, I was promoted, then I was demoted. Finally, I was pushed out of a job. So, I was forced to admit that I was under-qualified despite 15 years of experience and many accolades, to compete with fresh graduates with masters degrees. Last year, I became self-employed. Then I went back to grad school to finish my masters degree in social work. At the age of 54, I toy with the idea of doing a PhD in the future.

And then there is my life outside my career (or my real life, if you will). Hmmm, well, in those same 6 years, I have taken at least seven trips to the Caribbean. I have watched my nephew grow from tiny baby to wise and funny first-grader. I lost 50% of my life savings (read here, all the money from the sale of my townhouse) thanks to an unscrupulous financial advisor who disguised his dishonesty behind the veil of the financial crash back in 2008. I have struggled yet again with health. I have taken writing courses, coaching course, counselling courses. I have written this blog. I became addicted to travel forums, I learned how to travel well on the cheap. I learned how to build a beautiful green lawn and how to kill grubs with nematodes. I have watched my car which was one month old when I moved, get 3 dented doors, a smashed back bumper, a smashed front bumper which keeps getting smashed despite repairs, so now I am leaving it that way. As a reminder that I am fine, even if the car is a bit battered. As for the housing situation - I have been my parents' taxi-driver, secretary, property manager, case manager, translator, cultural interpreter and crisis intervention worker with the medical community. And because I know you are, deep down inside just dying to ask - I am still single. Men find me too "difficult" to stick around too long. I think I simply won't "settle" for less than I deserve. And I have lost a few friends. I have re-engaged with long-lost friends. I have made some dear new friends.

In the interest of total honesty, I will say here and now that I doubt that any of this would have happened had I not decided to accept the challenge that I faced 6 years ago. In making that one decision, I have experienced many calamities, big and small, funny and not so funny. But I suddenly find myself secure in the knowledge that inspite of my bumbling, often unfocussed approach to re-shaping my life, I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Still 6 months away from that MSW. Re-building my career while many of my friends and cohorts prepare to retire. And trying to remember exactly what my mom wanted me to pick up from the grocer on the way home from the office.

They don't yodel in Campania ...

2011-02-20T16:03:00.032-05:00

... but they make the world's most heavenly cheese. And that is something to sing about!

I went to my favourite cheese store today. While I waited for for my meagre order of Chevre Noir and my latest "sheep-cheese from Quebec" discovery, I was distracted by a sign that said they had "fresh" Mozzarella di Buffala direct from Campania. Well, since my folks are from Campania, and I have such distinct memories of meeting the creatures that produce the milk that makes "real mozzarella" so special ... I had to have me some. In case you don't know, a buffala is a female water buffalo. How did these beauties that resemble oxen more than they resemble bison, get to the mountains north of Naples? Rumour has it they were shipped to the Roman Empire from Egypt during the reign of Cleopatra.

I love this cheese shop, because every time I go there, it triggers another set of long-lost memories and images that I have managed to bury deep in my sub-conscious. So this afternoon, as I try to brace myself for another possible snow storm (I am silently reciting a litany: dear God, please let it miss us, please let it miss us, please ...) I am warmed by memories of my eight-year old self, running wild through acres of chestnut groves along a mountainside just north of the village of my mother's birth, with my cousin who looked after nonno's milk-goat; of witnessing my first live birth - baby piglets, all tiny, pink and squeeling; and of drives down the mountain along hairpin curves, and suddenly rounding one particular curve and the valley opened up in full view, with the river (perhaps the Garigliano, but I am not quite sure right now) running the length of the valley. From the passenger side of the car, I would marvel at the magnificently large "cattle" grazing lazily along its banks. So many of them. They had these wonderful sweeping horns that looked like a mass of gleaming chestnut hair, lacquered and parted in the middle. I asked my mammina what they were. She said they gave milk which was turned into fresh cheese. Well this baffled me, because they didn't look anything like the cows we have here at home. Almost twice the size, definitely twice as beautiful. And I couldn't imagine them allowing themselves to be milked. They seemed so peaceful and gracefully regal and somehow "above" their actual station as beast that feed us humans. . And peaceful. Years later, I found out we come from the "mozzarella capital of the world" and that those lovely creatures I had so admired along the river of my childhood dreams, are producing milk that is worth almost as much as an ounce of gold!

Apparently, our region has another natural wonder that is worthy of a seat on the stock exchange ... the old home base is apparently also the porcini-mushroom capital of the world! They even have a yearly festival to celebrate this treasured fungus!!

I'm not sure if the have a "Buffala Gals" festival, but they really should ...

If it ain't broke ... break it!

2011-02-09T13:36:00.016-05:00

I wanted to post a photo of something that happened in St. Kitts. But it seems to have gone to computer chip heaven along with some of my missing Anguilla photos. So, after I left Anguilla, I met up with my friends, "Mr. & Mrs. _eh," in St. Martin, and we flew to St. Kitts on one those wonderful LIAT puddle-jumpers. I rented a car there too. Then I proceeded to do my very best to break it. I even had a "mug-shot" of the evidence ... me holding a piece of what was left of the license plate after I plowed into a low wall, in the hotel parking area. Unfortunately, the photo was taken with my Samsung Ace phone, which died recently, before I remembered to retrieve my photos. With a dead camera, you would think I would have ensured that my phone-photos were well saved, backed up, whatever. But NO!

Anyway, I guess today, I started thinking about my weird "equipment karma", that seems to extend all the way from kars to cell phones, to PC's. And I can't believe that I managed to drive all over Anguilla with no mishaps (aside from driving around in circles, which was actually quite a pleasant experiece), but when I reached St. Kitts, where I had all manner of friends around me, I managed to do about $500 damage to a lovely rental car ... AND, as luck (?) would have it, it was the same car that I had rented a few years earlier. The one whose keys I managed to lose on a beach in Nevis. Ah, but that is a story for another time. I need to finish up with Anguilla first.

Still, a thought keeps niggling at me ... what was the car rental fellow thinking when he let me rent the same vehicle? Didn't he know if it ain't broke, MsJilly will find a way to break it? Thank goodness for insurance. And plastic bumpers. Not so much the plastic licence plates. If they were like the ones here at home, I would have saved the insurance about $40. That sucker snapped right in half!

So the photo I have included here is not of the vehicle I have the karmic relationship with, but of a different kind of karma kar ...

... this is the last thing I saw, right before midnight on the day of a milestone birthday, during a different trip to St. Kitts. It had been a long an interesting day, full of ups and downs ... but it certainly ended on a high note. And I have the photographic proof!

Only in Toronto ...

2011-02-05T15:04:00.052-05:00

This past week's snow storm was a non-event, here in Toronto. Oh sure, we had a few days of bitter, biting cold. The kindthat causes the extremites to seize up and fall off, if not properly wrapped in mitts, layers of socks, scarves and the like. And oh yes, it did snow, but in the days preceding the arrival of said snow-fall, the media played it up as the storm of the century. An apocalyptic, disastrous weather pattern, that would surely shut down the city. And boy, were we ready! School boards called a snow day for the first time in over a decade, the snow plows and salt trucks were out in full force, and those who didn't trust their bosses to close up the shop, put in for a bit of lieu time or a vacation day. Well boys and girls, the big bad winter storm didn't live up to the hype. And I feel nothing but the utmost respect for my friends and family who live south of the border, because they actually were treated miserably by the same weather system before it took a nap along the highway north to Canada. Since I am not what you could call a "winter person", I've spent the last few days sending out prayers of thanks for having dodged another bullet this year. At this rate, I may not even need to reward myself for surving winter with my usual early spring south-bound holiday!

In my world these days, being thankful does doesn't necessarily mean that I successfully maintain a sunny disposition or run around practicing mindfulness or stress reduction. The thankfulness mode only took me so far ... and then, this morning I awoke feeling stressed, miserable and resentful. Mostly because the non-event still played havoc with my weekly routines, and I didn't get to finish my grocery rounds when I had planned to. So, I found myself this gloomy, sun-less Saturday morning, doing the rounds of the grocery and specialty food shops. Please understand, that I never, ever shop on Saturdays. It's too time-consuming, and too crowded in the stores for my liking. And too easy to loose my 81-year old mother in the crowds. She really panics when she looses sight of me in the aisles. I'm sort of like a light-house beacon, or the mama duck on whom the ducklings imprint; in our case, role reversal has rendered mom the baby duck, and caused me to start waddling!

Of course, everyone else who typically shops mid-week, joined me along with the usual stressed-out Saturday brigade. So the stores were a zoo. Mom decided to drop out after the second grocery store, and I drove her home, as I continued on, determined to find some palatable gluten free bread and crackers, along with some good quality sheep and goat cheese. I don't do well with dairy, but I seem to be fine with a nice Manchego from Spain or some good organic French Chevre Noir. Followed by latest obsession - some nice Sicilian red wine.

All this leads me to today's sunny "only in Toronto moment" ...

I am quite certain that this could only happen here - my search for good quality sheep cheese brought me back to a gourmet shop, owned by second and thirdgeneration Albanians. At least, I think they're Albanian ... with names like Fatos, Afrim and Ibraim ... What I do know is that they run a fantastic business, right from the pages of a "slow food, artisinal cuisine" magazine. Yet, they aren't snooty in the least, like I imagine their southern California counterparts might be.

So, I walk in and they were playing old Italian tunes, in French, on a Portuguese language radio station!

Suddenly the sun started shining, I felt warmer and I couldn't remember why I was so miserable just a few minutes earlier.

Only in Toronto!

What did I leave with?"Vento d'Estate" (Summer Wind) from Tuscany, a big smile on my face, and some nostalgic memories triggered by the music ... Priceless!

I never did make it to the wine store, though.

Jilly Vervet's Adventure in Anguilla - Parts I & II

2010-06-10T10:25:00.074-04:00

Edited and pictures added February 1, 2011.
It has been quite some time since I have posted anything on this blog, largely because I haven't decided whether to keep it going, shut it down or let it morph into something else. Life changes have taken over, and although writing here proved good therapy while I was preparing for the career shifting, now that the changes are in full swing, much of my computer time is spent building my business and trying to figure out how to market counselling and coaching services without loosing track of my personal philosphies and integrity. Ah, but this is a topic for another time. Today however, I'm here to talk about my recent trip to Anguilla! So without further dawdling, here it is (at least in part, and for now, minus photos, for the most part, which is also a subject for another time ...) Update - February 1, 2011: I have finally uploaded some photos ...

PART I - GETTING THERE:
For Canadians, especially those of us living in Southern Ontario, WestJet flies direct into the Caribbean. So, it is an excellent alternative to those flights that require transferring flight through American hub airports like Miami or Atlanta or, yikes(!) Newark. WestJet took me direct from Toronto to St. Martin/Sint Maarten on Sunday, April 18th. Smooth flight, leaving Toronto (YYZ in "airportese") at the very civilized hour of 10:30am. This is SUCH a luxury, as most flights I have taken into the Caribbean in the past seem to leave around 6:00am; which means getting to the airport between 3:00am and 4:00am. .
I was at a big wedding the day before, which doubled as a family reunion, and I was thrilled that I didn’t have to worry about missing the last part of the celebration to be home early to rest up before my flight … I got to eat, drink a little (maybe a titch more than a little, but hey who's measuring), I danced; and when the party ended, I was still able to get a few hours of shut-eye before heading off to the airport Another bonus - luckily for me, the YYZ is close to home. WestJet has three flights a week into St. Martin/Sint Maarten (SXM in airport code) during busy season, and once a week after the end of April. After a nice in-air snooze, and lots of orange juice and coffee, we landed in SXM at 2:45pm. And, oh what a landing.

SXM has to have one of the more exciting landing strips in the world. Planes fly right over one of the busiest beaches on the island, to the runway across the street from said beach, where vacationers, rather than recoiling from the noise and fumes, line the shoreline and brave loosing their belongings in the jet blast, to watch the planes come in for a landing, just feet over their heads.
I encountered no issues retrieving my suitcase, which was carry-on size, but which sadly was about 3 pounds overweight, which meant I couldn't carry it aboard. So much for my plan … and my self-delusion. I can no longer fool myself into believing my bathroom scale is accurate! In retrospect, had I known I would have to check my bag, I could have packed so much more stuff, like my cute shoes for those times when flip-flops just won’t do!
I remembered the advice on the Anguilla travel forum, the latest on-line travel forum, besides Trip Advisor, and that other forum - the one for that other island y'all have heard about ad-nauseum.

Since I checked this Anguilla forum regularly, I was armed with current information, including the recent introduction of a new procedure at this airport - the new immigration booth specifically for passengers “in transit.” So I headed straight toward the wall on my left, as instructed on the forum … and the booth was closed! Dang!! And, and the other line-ups were already filling up quickly, so I stopped an airport employee who was walking by, and politely asked what gives with the un-staffed booth. She said the booth should have been open, so she got on her walkie-talkie and in no time at all an immigration officer opened up the booth, and I sped through. Wooo hooo … I was liking this so far!!

A brief observation about the airport … I was pleasantly surprised.
I haven’t been to St. Maarten in about 20 years, and since I have read on-line, numerous complaints over the last few months, I wasn’t sure what to expect - so I was prepared for the worst. In fact, I had a positive experience both arriving and leaving SXM. This is a pretty efficient, large(ish) airport, nicely air-conditioned and with enough decent places to get food and refreshments, at least compared to the little airport I remember (and compared to airports on neighbouring islands like Antigua and St. Kitts, to name but two.) So, I guess the complainers must be spoiled rich folks who travel on private planes and have handlers and private security whiz them through airport. Seriously, I don't get what all the complaints are about ... ah well, maybe I just got lucky and we landed at a good time on a good day ... so I said a quick prayer in gratitude.

I was booked on a 4:00pm, "VIP" shuttle service to get over to Anguilla, about a 30 minute ride from SXM across the channel that separates these two islands. I could have taken the public ferry from the Marigot harbour on the French side of the island, but that would have involved taking a cab and dealing with my own luggage ... and with the Fibromyalgia acting up like crazy this damp, gloomy winter, I opted for one of several semi-private services that leave from the harbour closer to the airport - GB Express. !
In total it only cost me $20 more for the round trip ... money well spent for a total reduction in "hassle-stress." When I went outside, a young lady(the "greeter" whose name I have now forgotten – memory is not what it was in my younger days …) was already there rounding up the GB passengers, in a friendly and efficient manner. Now this is where it gets funny. She was looking for 7 Canadians who were on my flight, but they were nowhere to be found. It appears they were held up retrieving baggage, and then in the long line-ups, as they were not aware of the “transfer” line. It turns out these seven Canadians were travel and life-style writers who work for various publications and media outlets. I thought it was great that I knew some “secrets” about getting to my destination hassle-free that they didn’t! When they were finally rounded up and we all introduced ourselves, I felt just a tiny bit smug, as they had seen me on the plane and couldn’t figure out how I got out so fast! Obviously these writers were not doing their travel research on the Anguilla Forum!

Another little mystery was solved when I was at the dock waiting to board GB Express. While in conversation with the writers, a couple of them told me they thought I was with their group. You see, when we were exiting the plane earlier that day, one of the flight attendants patted me on the shoulder, as she said her much practiced "goodbyes" to the de-planing passengers, and she then said to me, smiling warmly, "enjoy your time working in Anguilla."
I thought it was a strange thing to say, as we had not spoken on the plane, and so I chalked it up to a case of mistaken identity ... maybe she thought I was an ex-pat or something ... Later, in conversation with the writers, it dawned on me that she thought I was a writer ... teehee!! So, I asked the professional writers if being a closet writer who posts lengthy trip reports counts? They said "no, but good try, Jilly!"

We still managed to leave SXM on time, and I was grateful for the fact that GB handle the luggage, and exit details -- passports were rounded up when we reached the dock (a five-minute ride from the airport,) and handed back when we boarded the boat. Everything was easy-peasy. Well, easy-peasy, until I realized that the GB Express craft was a 16-pax speed-boat … pretty nice actually, but I am a bit afraid of “smaller” boats … OK, I’m afraid of fast boats too!
Catamarans are more my style! For some reason, I ended up sitting right in the back right-hand corner, where the view was magnificent as we traversed the two bays, in the “no-wake” zone, but which became terrifying for me when we went out onto the open water. It became evident quite quickly that the conditions were very, very choppy that day. As the nose of the boat reached upward toward the clouds, the back seemed inches from the choppy water. I had nothing to hold onto back there, as the waves and spray rose up beside and behind me to what looked like heights of 30 feet or more! OK, I know I am exaggerating, but I can’t swim and I was too embarrassed to ask for a life jacket! LOL. So, I held onto my seat-cushion with all my might, and I am sure that my face was as white as my knuckles, because a few fellow passengers asked me if I was OK and even offered to change seats with me … but I was frozen in place with my smile also frozen firmly in place. In truth I stubbornly refused to show how scared I was for fear of embarrassing myself in front of the writers. I didn’t relish the thought of seeing myself described as “that crazy, scaredy-cat lady” on the boat in a future travel story in the Toronto Star or in a Toronto Life magazine article!
So I bravely stayed put until we reached Blowing Point, where I immediately jumped off the boat … and then it hit me … the Anguilla vibe … laid back, slow and deliciously “old-school” Caribbean. The difference in atmosphere and pace between SXM and AXA can be felt the second you reach the harbour. And the view back toward St. Martin just breathtaking and made all the more lovely across the water, too far to see the traffic jams and over-crowding, just green mountains jutting out of the sea, and closer to me, a few sailing vessels and a ferry or two bobbing on the waves … picture-perfect …
and I felt my muscles, cramped from the flight and nerves rattled by the exhilarating channel crossing, slowly relax … and I couldn’t stop grinning, because I was in Anguilla at last!

Then I had another moment of panic … I ended up being the last of the 16 GB pax to go through the customs and immigration booth. I think the writers had a “handler” from Viceroy meeting them as they disappeared in short order. The rest of the pax were returning residents and so they beat me to the booth too. Anyway, my shoulder-bag that contained my lap-top was no-where to be found. Hmmm, the crew from the boat had taken it through with the luggage, but it was not with my suitcase in the little alcove with the other passengers’ luggage. I almost cried at this point, and several Anguillan travelers offered to assist me, but then I noticed someone come back through the entrance with the bag and they placed in on the bench … at which point I heaved a huge sigh of relief. The immigration officer just smiled at me and said, “see, you are in Anguilla now … nobody steals tourist belongings here.” Yes, I was definitely in Anguilla! It seems the crew had taken my bag along with the writers’ things as they boarded their van for the Viceroy, but quickly realized their error and came right back to make things good! Oh yes, I was already in love with this little island and it’s citizens!

STAYING THERE
I have always wanted to spend some time in Anguilla, but the last time I looked into it, was unable to find anything to fit my budget. I guess I didn’t look hard enough! In any event, I actually had choices, this time! And I must have changed my mind a dozen times before I finally settled on La Vue. .It was absolutely the right choice for me! Now it might not be for everyone, especially those of you who must have a beach right outside the door, but I found it to be ideally situated as a home-base for exploring the island – quite central to both east and west end (though west end is much easier to negotiate for a newbie like me, but that is a whole other story!)

La Vue does have a wonderful view from the front lobby area, the side garden and especially from the balconies of the upstairs units, overlooking Road Bay and Sandy Ground. Perfect for sunrise or sunset viewing from their balconies, or just gazing at the bay any time of day with the boats bobbing on the water, with the sun reflecting back off the sea like tiny shards of mirror and miniature prisms.
Alas, I had a studio unit, on the main floor at the back of the building. So, no view for me! But I am not complaining, because it fit my budget and the room has side door walk-out, so you can wander over to the lovely garden that overlooks the same incredible view.
And the owners are building a bar and outdoor kitchen, which will be ready next year, just steps away from this room … stumbling distance to my bed! The room itself is like an oversized bachelor apartment. Bathroom as soon as you walk in on the left. Directly in front, the “bedroom” area with a comfy king-size platform bed, two night stands, a large mirrored armoir-style closet ... and across from the foot of the bed, a spacious dresser with the t.v. directly on top.

OK, this is not Viceroy quality furnishings, but all very well built. On the other size of the room, an nice open kitchen with full-size fridge, island counter dividing it from the sitting area, a few comfy stools around the counter. The sitting area has two nice rattan tub chairs with cushions and a small coffee table. And there is space left over in case they need to put an extra bed (single) in the room. Bottom line, the room is equipped with everything a traveler might need, from hair dryer, to iron and board to kitchen utensils. Oh, and upon checking in, I discovered a full tin of coffee in the room and a stack of filters. They also stock a large bottle of water in the fridge for arriving guests. Excellent touches for this price range. Most importantly for me, as I actually did have to do some work while I was away (how did that flight attendant know?!) -- there was free in-room wifi, and it was very reliable. As for the continental breakfast which was served in the lobby, it seems to strike the right balance – enough selection of juices, sliced fruits, muffins, banana bread and croissants, without killing your appetite if you decide to have breakfast out.

I can’t say enough about the owners and the staff. Kirk and Joylynn made me feel so welcome – on my first night, they even drove me and picked me up from Tasty’s where I had my first Anguilla dinner! These folks really know how to take care of their guests. The room was always impeccably clean and the housekeeper (Winielle sp?) would go out of her way to provide extra beach towels or anything else for the room. Sharon at the desk offered to make reservations, car rental arrangements, phone calls, etc. in the event that I needed such assistance. They all seemed to strike the right balance between friendliness and helpfulness, without being too intrusive. Which proves that guest service is not about “you get what you pay for” but about hosts who have a passion for the work and a commitment to doing right by their vision.
Kirk has stated emphatically that he is committed to keeping prices affordable and service and amenities at a level that he has come to expect when he travels.

I would definitely stay here again! I was very happy here and really missed this room, especially the kitchen, free wifi and king-size bed, during the second portion of my vacation which was spent on St. Kitts I also miss my morning beach walks along Road Bay/Sandy Ground, when I had the beach to myself, and could admire the boats and the spectacular colours of the water without feeling that I was missing something by not being on Meads Bay or Shoal Bay or anywhere else …

In concluding this portion of my Anguilla reflection, I think for a longer stay, I would want a room with a view … or perhaps I might split my stay between a property on a beach for a week and the same room at La Vue for a second week … decisions, decisions …
February 1, 2011. Disclaimer/appology: Dear readers, please note that the current photos, except for the one of the conch shell are not mine. I have downloaded them from various places on the internet. If one of them is yours, please accept my sincerest appologies for borrowing it ... and my sincerest compliments for the lovely images that captured my imagination enough to be selected to illustrate my words. Also please accept my heartfelt thanks for not copyrighting your images, or I would have been out of luck, because while in Anguilla, my camera was drowned by a rogue wave, while walking the beach on day 2 of my trip. It was beyond resuscitation, so I came home with precious few images as a reminder or proof that I had even ventured out of my own country! xxoo

10 things that make me smile ...

2009-09-13T16:26:00.006-04:00

....

10 THINGS THAT MAKE ME SMILE:

1. Puppies - they need you, they love you, they're grateful, they're playful, they are in-the-moment.
2. Rainbows - a miracle of God ... mother nature ... and science
3. The smell of freshly baked bread
4. Babies - what is not to love? They are cute, they smell great, and they need you, love you, & let you love them back
5. Sunny mornings after a day of rain - the entire universe seems cleansed and pure
6. Being with certain friends, after a long absence ... or just seeing them, even if I was just with them yesterday
7. Good food - especially that first bite of a treat or meal that I've been looking forward to, perhaps even salivating in anticipation ... or ... the first bite of something new that is just SO good, I wonder why I've never tried it before!
8. Certain songs or pieces of music
9. Three-year-olds - They are curious, chatterboxes, with keen insights and explanations for just about everything as they explore the world around them ... and still love you and will let you love them in return.
10. Traveling to a favorite place - that first moment, when the object (or destination) of my desire comes into view, whether it is first seen from a car, driving down the road, or from an airplane window, or from across the water ... nothing beats that "aha" feeling when I first lay eyes on my favorite place!

Oh ... and one more ... dolphins ... they make me smile because they look like they are always smiling ... and with their homes being at risk and tourism freaks coralling them into pens, where they are confined to small areas, get fed the same diet every day, and can never be free again, so that travellers can "swim with the dolphins" ... well, I wonder what a lot of them actually have to smile about?

I guess dolphins are good role-models, aren't they?!

Too little time for too much nice ...

2009-06-28T10:41:00.008-04:00

... is how I would describe my all too brief stay in Nevis this year. Photos to follow, but today, I think I will post this text, more as a habit-builder, as I promised I would post an update once a week, Not sure if adding photos later counts as an update ... but there you have it ... the photos are arriving later.

When I think of my few days on that little sombrero-shaped island with the crown of clouds that dominates its mountain-peak, all I can think is:

Nevis, ah Nevis! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways ... you are the yang to St. Kitts' yin. The calming antidote to the excitement that St. Kitts offers visitors. Pretty, confident, sleepy and serene ...

I had secured 2 rooms at Oualie Beach for a 3 night stay in Nevis. The goal was total R&R ... and an opportunity to get to know Nevis a bit better. I ended up checking out a day early so that my friend "Vincent" could spend his last night on St. Kitts before catching his plane back north on May 30th - but that is a whole other story! Suffice to say, Vince felt it was important to party on the Frigate Bay strip the night before take-off. Me, I could have ... and should have sent him back on his own, and extended my stay in Nevis for a few more nights. Ah well, maybe next trip will be the one that keeps me in Nevis a bit longer.

Getting there is half the fun! The Sea Bridge car ferry leaves from Major's Bay at the foot of the South East Peninsula on St. Kitts and crosses the narrows about once an hour in one direction or another, to Cades Bay on Nevis. This is the shortest route between the two islands. What makes it fun is trying to back your car onto the ferry - I always ask one of the guys who works on the boat to do it for me. And then, watching what else/who else will be driving across with you. A note to the scaredy-cats out there: the 11:00 a.m. Sea Bridge always has a fully loaded oil tanker truck on it! Just watching the driver and ferry workers back this monster aboard and "tie" it into place with giant bungee cords and chains was worth the price of the return ticket. Unless of course, you are a worrier, and the seas are choppy and you notice that they don't secure this rig in the centre of the ship, but as close to one side as possible. OK, a worrier might think that the ferry would then list to that side right? Well, magically it didn't. And if you can see your way past worrying, the crossing is spectacular. The scenery awesome!

So, the Sea Bridge ferry got us to Nevis with no fuss, more or less on time, and with no attempts on the part of the crew to extort inflated fees for the round-trip, as I had heard happened to some travellers recently. So far, so good! As soon as we drove away from dock at Cades Bay and turned left onto the main road toward the Oaulie Beach Resort, I immediately felt myself slip into a deep state of relaxation - even more relaxed than I had felt on the sister-isle of St. Kitts. The recently re-built road that circles this tiny island, is still in really good shape. It was brand new, when I drove on it last year! A nice contrast to the pot-hole ridden roads on much of St. Kitts (OK, mostly the SE peninsula) ... a good road makes for a lovely drive indeed. But, there has to be another explanation for the immediate sense of calm that I felt once we hit Nevis - I think there is something in the air. Nothing else could explain the sense of delicious inertia that I was overcome by the minute we entered the Oualie Beach property. We had planned an outing that first day, since we were ariving around noon and the whole day still stretched before us. Let me tell you, I never left the property that day, and was sleeping soundly by about 9:30pm!

This is my place! Vince found it too quiet, but I just love it here. Granted, it was "off-season" ... and a very slow tourist season at that. There was hardly a soul at the hotel when we checked in. Now I must explain that the term "resort" here does not necessarily mean the same thing as "resort" means in some travel publications. Oualie beach is a conglomeration of un-self-conscious cottages, set directly on a very calm and beautiful beach. Very low-key. Even the front office is housed in a cottage. No fancy lobby, no marble floors and polished brass fixtures. Just a decent restaurant, open to the beach on one side, and a tiny bar that gets packed to the rafters when bands play there on Fridays and perhaps more frequently, during a busier part of the season, and lots of tables and chairs scattered around a partially covered patio, and more tables and chairs further afield, around the trees that lead closer to the beach and waters's edge. And Oualie Beach has it's own dock, with a couple of pretty boats and little yachts, and perhaps a catamaran, bobbing about in the calm waters in close proximity. And water sports, diving and fishing experts are also housed just across the property from the bar. Of course, I looked at the boats but never quite got around to booking a ride on one. And delight of delights, there is a sort of "turtle sanctuary" on property, run by a lady who offers fantastic "lessons" and tours geared towards kids (and adults) about the natural environment that makes up the sea around here - complete with an indoor aquarium of sorts and a resident sea turtle! Unfortunately, the place was closed during my short stay, so I never got around to checking things out.

I loved my little cottage, with a huge 4-poster bed, dominating the space, as well as a full kitchette and small, round dining table, along-side a tiny sitting area. But what makes these cottages so nice, is the screen-enclosed verandas and the proximity to the water's edge. Oh, and just outside between cottage and beach - lovely hammocks swaying between coconut palms or mango trees! I was thrilled at the prospect of stepping out of my room toward the warm, wonderfully shallow sea, just a few yards away every morning! What else could a stressed-out social worker ask for on a vacation? OK, maybe one or two cow-sightings ... I missed it, but Vince had visitors in front of his cottage on the second morning ... a couple of nice fat, blonde cows! He asked why Nevis cattle look so much healthier than those we regularly communed with on the St. Kitts SE Peninsula? I had no idea, but said it must be the slower pace of life on Nevis!

Now, as quiet as Nevis seemed, there was more than enough excitement and entertainment ... and none of it was quite as planned. Case in point, our first afternoon at Oualie -- I had previously made plans to meet up with "Siven" - a traveller who like me also frequents the St. Kitts and Nevis travel forum. Well, Siven is a more recent member, who joined the forum a few months before ariving in Nevis. For Siven, this would be an extended stay and she was expecting to arrive around the same time that I would be there. Internet travel forum frequenters are very fond of "linking up" or meeting other like-minded travellers, so will often plan on line to meet up with a bunch of strangers who are travelling to the same destination. In St. Kitts the official forum link-up day would be a Thursday night and the location is always Mr. X's Shiggidy Shack. In Nevis, I am told the official link-up spot is Chevy's on Pinney's Beach. When we were e-mailing weeks earlier, we had tossed around the idea of meeting up at Pinney's to be true to the spirit of a travel forum link-up, but it was clear that it would probably be just the two of us meeting up this time, so, upon checking in, and some phone calls back and forth, we easily agreed to meet at the bar at Oualie Beach instead, later that afternoon. It seems that Siven was staying with long-time family friends who happened to reside within 5 minutes of Oualie Beach. So far, so good ... and I was relieved, because I was so enjoying my lethargic state, that I really didn't know how I would get back into the car in the heat of the afternoon to do the long drive to Pinney's (OK, who am I kidding here? There is no such thing as a long drive on Nevis!)

So we agreed on a time, and I eventually walked over to the bar. Quieter earlier that day, it was now full of men ... was I early for happy hour? Where did they all come from? So, I was immediately greeted by several of the gentlemen ... very friendly guys ... but there was no sign of Siven (who incidentally is a female ... I just thought I would add this note of clarification) ... Now, Siven HAD mentioned that her father was joining her for the first week of her extended stay, and that they were staying with long-time family friends, but I could have sworn she was coming to Oualie on her own.

After a few minutes of chit-chat I did mention to these nice fellas that I was to meet up with a lady, whom I had never met before ... See, now doesn't that sound kinda interesting? Immediately, the men broke into smiles ... OK, no ... laughter, they broke into gales of laughter ... and I reflected for a moment on what they might be imagining ... well, hmmm ... indeed! .... And I thought to myself, "oh gawd, how will I ever meet any single men if everyone here thinks ... well, you know ...," Then finally, after what seemed like an eternity, one of the men said ... "Oh, it's you!! She has been waiting for you!!! She just went in for a swim, but will be back shortly." And another guy said, "but don't worry, we'll look after you, ma'am!!" And my immediate reaction was "oh wow, this chick travels with an entourage of men!!" And they were polite too, calling me "ma'am," and all that! More laughs ensued as they talked about the perils of meeting folks through internet sites! 'Cause you never know when you are going to meet a stalker or a predator ... (or, in my case, more like a middle-aged, tired, working lass who just likes to find folks who are as obsessed with the sister-isles as I am!) By the time Siven came in from her swim, we had worked at that the gentleman at one end of the bar was her father, the guy next to him was the family friend and long-time resident of Nevis, and beside him was another Nevis citizen. But what was really cool, was the fact that in conversation, I had discovered that the family friend and I know a lot of folks in common. So, we had a bit of a chat and I was able to get caught up on a few more stories about life on both St. Kitts and Nevis during the years that I had ceased to visit. Still, I will forever think of him as Siven's entourage member!

It was really a very special treat meeting all of them, especially Siven ... and I do envy her so ... not just for her entourage, but also because she is still in Nevis as I write this!

Oh, and in case you haven't quite figured it out yet - the name ... it's *Nevis* spelled backward. Took me a while too! ;-)

just when you thought the day was over ...

2009-06-14T09:19:00.028-04:00

Well, I must say that I have a lot of special memories of each and every day of this recent holiday - involving so many other special places and special folks that may not get mentioned - not because those moments were any less special, but because this day really stands out in my mind right now, as I grapple with a colder than normal early June in Toronto.

In case you're wondering, the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th photos in this blog are NOT recent, but from 1990! Now, back to 2009 - one week into this trip, the first Saturday was THE day that finally brought things full circle for me ... the day that I truly fell in love with "my special island" all over again. And, finally ... one of my old friends was visiting the island for the first time, one of the people who was part of my circle of friends, 21 years ago when I first went to St. Kitts and moved into the Jack Tar Village for the better part of a year ... Finally, a member of my old Toronto "crew" who never really understood at the time why I would go to work on an undeveloped Caribbean island that nobody had ever really heard of, where there were few if any paved roads and nothing , nothing but sugar cane. And which, in fact several of our friends had ties to, but never visited because in their words, "there's nothing there."

Ah, but that was then, and this is now. Finally, a loyal friend trusted my judgement enough to forgo the usual package-deal vacation that Canadians seem to love so much, and just come check the place out and see what all the hype was about. Now he can't stop talking about the place to all our other friends, and I have proof that I am not totally crazy for spending three times every other average Canadian's beach-holiday budget to keep coming back to the same place time after time ... even after I had quit the place cold-turkey for nigh on 16 years! At last, someone else fell into the abyss of this bizarre addiction! Vincent got bit by the bug too!

So, on this special day, between wrapping up the island tour and driving back to Frigate Bay, we got talking about certain changes I had noticed. Inevitably, the talk turned to food, and even though I love some of the nicer restaurants that have recently opened and even though the Shiggidy Shack will always be home-base for reliable and affordable indulgences in Mahi and Snapper, I did mention that I couldn't seem to find authentically prepared "local" veggies. Even at Cathy's on the Frigate Bay strip, the offerings seemed a bit skimpy this year. Now, by local veg, I meant pumpkin, christophene, breadfruit and "food" ... "hard provisions" ... you know, things like yam, tania, dasheen ... as well as more "common" veggies like local carrots (which are SO much sweeter than those we grow here in Canada) ... So, Ms M replies that I could always buy some at the market in town, and cook them in my kitchen at TBR. Yeah, right! Nope, I don't think so. I wanted my local veggies cooked by a local chef! Ah, but it was Saturday! Street-food day! And Ms M knew that we had time to swing back into town to see what the true local cooks had on offer at their road-side and sidewalk stands!

So, we pull up in front of one stand and all they have is Stew Mutton and Blood Pudding ... no veggies. The next one had two different kinds of Salt Fish and big, freshly prepared Johnny Cakes. Have I ever mentioned how much I LOVE Salt Fish? And Johnnycakes? All memories of local veggies flew out of my mind, and I quickly jumped out of the car to place our orders. Vince follows close behind and starts asking a thousand questions of the ladies who were selling the food ... You would think that he was doing a cross-cultural study on the different ways that cod-fish is prepared around the Caribbean. Yes, in retrospect, I think that is exactly what he was doing, seeing as he hails from Barbados originally. Since he was raised on cuisine that has much less of the Creole influence in its presentation, Vince wanted to make sure he would like what he bought, before he actually made a commitment.

What was really cute about this food-stop was the fact that Vince and the ladies were having difficulty communicating. He kept insisting that Johnnycakes should be called dumplings, while the ladies kept insisting that dumplings are entirely something else ... and of course, I completely agreed with them. Then at one point, Vince starts asking me to please translate what the ladies were saying ... because he couldn't understand them. So I did ... several times. Then I stopped mid-sentence and asked "what is wrong with this picture? ... Why am I translating from West Indian to West Indian, when I am not even remotely from the Caribbean myself?" And the ladies just stared at me for a moment, and then we all broke down in gales of hysterical laughter ... and Vincent was scolded, albeit, good-naturedly, for losing his ability to listen "with a West Indian ear."

So, before we even made it up the hills of Half Moon/Frigate Bay, we gorged ourselves on Saltfish and Johnnycakes (Bakes or Dumplings according to Vince) ... Heavenly, and even better than I remembered from last year or 20 years ago for that matter. And we still found room for dinner at Rock Lobster later that night.**

At the end of the day, I knew that as the rest of the world changes, inevitably, the Federation does too ... but if l follow the "circle island road" and put my trust in old and new Kittitian friends, I will always find my way back to what I love the most about this special place. And I now have the satisfaction of knowing that I am sharing something special with old and new friends in a way that renders time meaningless.

** OK, maybe I didn't enjoy my dinner so much, because I had an allergic reaction to some onion rings, that were fried in the same oil as the shrimp that accompanied someone else's dinner ... but thanks to Nancy, and her new-found "driving on the wrong side" abilities, we raced quickly back to my room, where I dosed up on Benadryl, raced back to the restaurant, where nobody even noticed that I was gone, and Vince and Ms M were engaged in a lively debate over how to smuggle a pitcher of Margaritas out of the restaurant. Can a day get any more perfect than this?

One Federation, Two Islands, Three Hotels, and a Thousand New Memories

2009-06-09T16:23:00.033-04:00

Each return trip gives me a new perspective on the Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis ... and reveals aspects of the islands that I may have overlooked or simply not had time to process during previous trips. St. Kitts is changing at a much more rapid pace than Nevis, and I was never more aware of this fact than the period between May 9th to May 30th. I was very fortunate this time to spend a full three weeks in the Federation, and frankly, I could have easily stayed another three weeks.

My friends in Canada still don't get it. Their loss, but they can't say that I don't offer to share. A friend from Toronto did join me during the first two weeks. Nancy and "Steve-eh??" where also on island at the same time and provided a nice balance .. as well as lots of laughs ... to the dynamics between two platonic, middle-aged, over-worked, opposite-sex travel companions!

It was "Vincent's" (not his real name, but this seems to be his adopted Kittitian name as nobody seemed to be able to remember his given name, other than the first letter is also a "V." After a while, he just stopped correcting them, and went with the flow ... but I digress) ... it was his first time to SKB-NEV. He didn't get it either at first, which is ironic, since he is also of West Indian extraction, though from an island much further south and decidedly more British in its legacy. Then something magical happened ... the "roun'-de-island-tour."

We went on an island tour a week after arriving in St. Kitts. Up until then, Vincent had been introduced to Basseterre, settled into Frigate Bay at Timothy Beach Resort, and travelled the SE Peninsula to Cockleshell Beach and South Friars a couple times. Oh, and of course, eaten at many lovely places ranging from high-end to beach-shack ... and he was often heard exclaiming, "yep, haven't had a bad meal yet! So, where are we eating next?!" And his introduction to the Peninsula highway has the makings of made-for-tv sit-com, but I think I shall skip that portion of my tale for now, and focus instead on this one very special day after a long week of bizarre weather.

Our arrival was odd, in that visually, the island did not live up to the hype for Vince. He had never seen pictures of St. Kitts that didn't involve lush green vistas and blue skies. Upon de-planing and eventually driving to Frigate Bay and the next day, across the peninsula, all we saw were parched brown hills ... everywhere. Even the palm-trees looked dry and brown. Of course, we had been warned that the island had been experiencing a two-month long drought, but who would expect it to look like it was ripe for some serious brush-fires, when smack in the middle of the island resides a massive rain-forest? Of course, I have seen the island in all kinds of phases and stages, so was only concerned about what this drought meant in terms of water shortages, grazing for the animals (cattle and monkeys and goats, oh my!) ... well, the ecological balance in general.

And then, it began to rain ... and rain ... and rain ... about 4 days and nights worth. And it was COLD !! Especially at night! Good sleeping weather, I must admit. So, many days were spent just lounging around and avoiding the drive to the nicer beaches of the SE end ... resting, eating, drinking ... did I mention that it always seemed to clear up enough that we were able to meet friends at various bars and restos around the strip or futher afield?
So we set the first Saturday as our tour date. Vincent was originally going to book a taxi tour with a nice lady who took us grocery shopping the first Monday, but then our good friend, Ms M ... now, this is a different Ms M than the young lady mentioned in previous stories - this gal is one half of the two-sister partnership (just like the Federation herself) who recently took over Stone Walls. This era's Ms M graciously offered to book a day off work to tour us around the island. Now, I have been around the island many times, and never enjoyed it so much as when the drive is informal, laissez-faire, and involves narrative provided by someone who has grown up on the island. So, I jumed at the offer. Not because the taxi-tour operator would do a bad job, but because we could set our own agenda and continue to modify as we went along without fear that the clock was ticking.

The tour proved to be the most memorable experience for both of us. For me because it evoked memories of my very first tour around the island, 21 years ago when Frigate Bay was almost as quiet and pristine as the north end,; and for Vincent, because he was finally able to put Frigate Bay into a context both historically and geographically. It didn't hurt that the island was greening up, either, as it didn't feel so much like we were visiting Arizona-in-the-Sea.
Ms M proved to be quite a treasure trove of information, and provided non-stop information, a few detours through tiny villages and some very funny anectdotes. I think she should start a side-line - Stone Walls -catered, off the beaten track, non-hiking tours! We basically ate and drank our way around the island. First stop was Stone Walls for a full English Breaksfast. We then prodeeded out of town, passing the cemetary, Ross U, hospital, etc., stopped at a road-side stand for refreshments, photo-ops, and some souvenir shopping. Onwards toward Brimstone Hill Fortress - it was my first time back on Brimstone Hill in a very long time and I was really impressed with the amount of restoration that has been done and continues to be done. I could have spent the whole day there.

After about two hours we continued along the road, and found that we were hungry. Since it was a Saturday, we were easily able to stop at a road-side stand, just before Sandy Point to pick up some BBQ chicken and ribs. We took our carefully foil-wrapped meals up the road, where we detoured toward the beach at Sandy Point ... and stopped for some liquid refreshments at a little bar that faces the beach, called Sollee's. What a great find for us. There was a game of backgammon going on, which Vince joined for a few minutes, and after some terrific conversation with a group of local Sandy-Pointers, over some icy-cold Caribs, we continued on our way. This is a great stop after Brimstone, as you can look back over the road that hugs the shoreline toward the hill upon which the fortress is perched - it provides an excellent view "backwards" with a good perspective of what that vantage point must have meant strategically during the days of tall-ships, battles-at-sea, and the birth of various Western nations.

Then we continued toward Rawlins Plantation Inn. Total change of gears from Sollee's. We sat upon the veranda, high on a hill, and ordered some very expensive drinks - I had a PIMs - very refreshing, with gin, mint, cucumber and a bunch of other stuff - kind of like a long island ice tea, but with fresh herbs and cucumber. Yummmm. The view from Rawlins is post-card perfect, with St. Eustatius rising out of the sea across from us.

We were told that Kate Spencer's art studio was closed, so we eventually continued on our way. We made our way to Dieppe Bay, where we stopped in at the Golden Lemon. Wow, I still love this place - situated on a flat rugged coastline of very black volcanic sand and rock, surrounded by the shade of hundreds of palm trees, on the exact spot where the Atlantic Ocean meets Caribbean Sea. Lots of beautiful nooks and crannies, both indoors and outdoors, ecclectic decor and interesting architecture for phot-ops, but I was so in-the-moment, that I completely forgot about my camera. The place was peaceful and earily quiet, with very, very few guests in-house. I ordered a Lime Squash ... booze-free and very refreshing - did I mention that by Saturday it had stopped raining and was getting very hot?

We eventually left the Golden Lemon - OK, Ms M had to actually drag me away from there, as Vincent wanted to see the Black Rocks. We reached them at some point after the concession stands had closed and the cruise ship tourists had long since gone. So, we had the spot to ourselves and enjoyed the majestic view. We also wandered over to Ottley's Plantation for a while and strolled the grounds. A discussion ensued as to which property each of us would buy should any of us win a lottery in the near future. For me, hands-down, it would simply have to be Golden Lemon.

By now we meandered our way back to Frigate Bay driving through various towns and villages. Arriving back in Frigate Bay, you would think that the tour would end thus, right? Nope! The three of us invited ourselves over to the house that our friends were renting, perched high atop a hill in Frigate Bay. The perfect ending to a perfect day - after a few drinks, some good beer and wine, we eventually were treated to a beautiful sunset, dusk and start of a star-lit evening, as the waves of the Atlantic could be seen crashing on the beaches in front of the Marriott and Half-Moon Bay from one side of the home, while the more peaceful Caribbean Sea beckoned on the other. Around another corner we could see the lights of Basseterre off in the distance ... and from still another vantage-point, Mt. Liamuiga loomed in the background. And the sky was full of countless stars! Hmm, maybe one of us could buy this house too?! All this before setting off for a late dinner.
I think I even saw some fireflies that night. I was tempted to run inside and find a glass jar to trap some, but then I remembered my age and just thanked god, jah, allah and all the stars in the heavens, that I had been blessed enough to experience such a magical day!

I am on my way ... again!

2009-03-25T07:52:00.016-04:00

... and it has been a heck of a long wait to get there, with still another 6 weeks, three days left to go! So, how will I justify this one?

Well, even though I have experienced major financial ups and downs (mostly downs) this past year, thanks to a friend who presumably needs a vacation more than I do, I have booked another two-week stint in St. Kitts and Nevis. My friend has never been there before and wanted my company as tour-guide and general "partner-in-crime." At one point, it looked like there would be 4 or 5 of us traveling together, but alas, the others couldn't justify the expense this year. Well, neither could I, really, but I have found that when you really want something to happen, you will find a way to make it happen.

Last fall I started in earnest trimming a few dollars a week from my regular budget, because I really needed to find a way to fund my vacations while I also figure out a way to re-create my now non-existent retirement fund. I have tried for years to live frugally, but this year, I took it to "another level" by finding creative ways to live within my means. So, by using the car less to save gas, reducing my grocery bill by cooking everything from scratch and avoiding any packaged foods as much as possible , going to the library rather than buying books, finding a much less expensive hair stylist, colouring my own hair instead of paying the salon to do it, putting a complete moratorium on clothing shopping, unless it is to replace any items that have gone thread-bare ... among many other strategies, I have been able to salt away a bit of money each month. Sadly for me I also denied myself new winter boots, which were actually much needed, but I managed to get another year out of the old ones during one of our worst winters, and actually feel good about because new boots would have been heart-breakingly abused this winter ... But two purchases I was really looking forward to were ones that I put off last year, and which I continue to put off: that lap-top that I promised myself last year, is going to have to wait on hold until next year. I am most proud of the spending limit that I have put on Christmas shopping. Choosing instead to focus on other, more meaningful expressions of love for this very special holiday. The recipients on my gift-giving list hardly noticed the total absence of, or drastic reduction in material gifts ... or if they did, they barely flinched.

Eventually, I tally up all my savings, minus unexpected expenses, of which there have been a few, then tighten the belt even more and find still other ways of economizing ... I think there is a new term recently coined for this behaviour: "recessionista." And voila ... I have come up with the price of the flight! My loving family has come forward to assist me in my cause - dad, the retired shoemaker likes to give his middle-aged daughter some cash for Christmas and birthday, and voila again - instead of feeling guilty for accepting money from my aging parents, I accept their gift with humility and gratitude and rather than buying "stuff" with it, I plunk it down on the trip!

And, I have learned a few things after a few years of doing my own research and planning when I travel, so I figure this trip will cost much less than what I spent last year, even though last year, I was very fortunate to be offered accomodation gratis, by staying with a most generous friend. Though the trade-off was a three night stay in Nevis that brought me way over-budget. And then there was the full cost of the car rental for 16 days, as well as the additional charges incurred when I lost the keys to the same rental car!

Still, I feel a bit ambivalent about going back. Not because of the crime that I mentioned in my last blog-ramble, but because I am not sure if my friend will like it or embrace the place as I have. After all, until now, to a large degree, St. Kitts has been "my little secret" - the place I run away to when I want to get away from my family and friends and job stresses. The place where I touch base with a whole other group of friends, where I don't care if people "don't get me" because, for some strange reason, on this island a lot of people DO seem to "get me." We share little in common in terms of professions or backgrounds, yet, I feel as if I return to long lost family every time I come back. Consequently, I know innately, that I have found something special and all my own: a home which I was not born into, but to which I was drawn through a series of random an unrelated coincidences.

More importantly, I wonder if my friend will see the same beauty in the island and its people that I did all those years ago when I first arrived. After all, the island has changed considerably since then. And finally, I feel selfish and greedy about my love afair with St. Kitts - I don't know if I want to share her with my friends and family. I found my way here first, after all, and if I bring all my friends here, I fear that some of the magic will be diluted somehow. Conversely, I worry that it is all an illusion and that my friend might think that I am totally insane for being obsessed with the place.

On a practical level, I also wonder if I will get the much needed rest that I claim I need, as there always seems to be some aspect of socializing to be done when I am there. Connecting with those other friends, as if in an alternate universe, since I don't seem to mind sharing the island with them. I can't seem to get enough of the stories and dramas when I am visiting this little island and it's sibling across the two-mile channel. How will I manage to balance r & r with the need to be out and about?

Ah well, why fret and worry about all this stuff? At the end of the day, I seem to have made my decision long ago and I will keep returning because it appears "to be written" ... the island has carved its niche in my heart, and I am a committed "returner." Maybe it is about time that I share my little corner of heaven with those folks with whom I have abiding connections.

OK, so I will stop worrying effective immediately ... because, let's face it, how much trouble can a couple of middle aged Canadian workaholics really get up to? Stay tuned, and you will find out!

Flip-flops and Firearms

2009-02-08T20:49:00.008-05:00

Since I posted my first blog under the "Post Cards" banner, lots has happened on my two favourite "Small-Island" Caribbean places, and not all of it good. I have been following another blog for the last six months written by an amazing woman who had gone to St. Kitts as a Peace Corps volunteer. Now, she is not your stereotypical, just-out-of- college, "eager to change the world" PCV though, because she is a mature lady (just like me) with a wealth of life and business experience. I thought, when I first read about her and was "introduced" to her via the travel forums, that the NGO's to which she would be attached to work would be very fortunate to have someone with her depth of experience doing community development work with them. Sadly, the other day, I read that she has resigned from the Peace Corp and has returned to her home in the US. I won't get into her story here, but I share the link to her blog, so that you can read about her journey and her ultimate decision to resign, in her own words: Re's Adventures in St. Kitts/Nevis

I have been touched by her courage to "tell-it-like-it is" ... because she addresses some issues that many travel agents, tour operators, hospitality industry mavens, as well as some locals and expats on my favourite islands, seem to love to candy-coat: crime has become rampant in St. Kitts and Nevis over the last 10 or so years. The problem is probably more severe in St. Kitts, as the island moves from sugar-cane production to a tourism and service-based economy. It seems that along with this shift, have come a lot of the same problems we see right here in North America, but to read about it and hear about is bitter sweet, because I want to believe that beauty, sunshine and warm weather should be enough to keep the population and their governing bodies from making the same kinds of mistakes that have happened and continue to happen in other tourist destinations.

I have been scouring the local on-line newspapers for some time, so I am quite aware of the problems faced by the citizens and administrators on these islands. But I am also quite amazed that the efforts to address crime and other social issues, keep stalling and are, largely ineffective. It troubles me, because tourism depends on the visitor's perception of safety. And I am not naive enough to forget that the history of these islands has been tied to colonialism, slavery, abuse and bloodshed for centuries. Today's idyllic scenery in St. Kitts and Nevis masks the fact that below the post-card-perfect surface, there is still a huge disparity between the "haves and have-nots" and that youth gangs have been allowed to proliferate and run around, mugging the defensless and breaking into homes and businesses at best, while at worst, the are killing each other as they struggle to assert their "colours" in their particular towns, villages, and surrounding neighbourhoods, in a lethal immitation of their American role-models the Bloods and the Crips.

As of last month, St. Kitts and Nevis achieved the dubious distinction of being the murder capital of the world, with the highest per-capita murder rate. Bear in mind that the total poluation of this little Federation is less than 44,000 people. Now, in Frigate Bay, the "tourist-central" area of St. Kitts and around the Four Seasons in Nevis, you would never guess that crime spree is going on, because the vibe conveys an undeniable aura of laid-back tranquility, so most of this negative activity does not affect visitors. Very few crimes against tourists have been doucmented over the years, as it would appear that these disenfranchised youth prefer to turn their guns on each other. Still, twenty years ago, guns were virtually non-existent on these islands, and the biggest safety concerns had more to do with weather and driving at night when there were only a handful of street lights on the entire face of both islands, so you had to look out for wandering animals - cattle, goats, giant wild pigs ...

Reading the blog in question left me feeling sad, reflective and strangely vindicated. I have been struggling since my last trip to St. Kitts and Nevis, with a sense of dissatisfaction with my overall experience during that trip. Usually, I never want my vacation to end, but during the last trip there were several times, when I just wanted to boot it out of there. Broken down into individual moments, days, events, beach outings, lingering breakfasts, lunches, dinners, "limes" around the beach bars, the vacation was lovely, restful, fun and every other superlative one usually ascribes to such vacations. But, the sum total of my last experience definitely left me edgy. I realize now it is because I can no longer keep going back as a tourist, because I know too damn much about the truth of the place. It has a bruised and aching spirit that is palpable ... and I really felt it during my last trip.

I think I have slowly come to accept what intuitively I have always known - that my beloved retirement dream destination has become the land of flip-flops and firearms. With growth and transition comes chaos, fear, uncertainty ... and a loss of innocence. I think I understand some of this process because of the work that I do in my daily life, but it troubles me at times to realize that my memories of my beloved St. Kitts are just that ... memories. It troubles me that on the road to self-determination, the regular folks are probably being sold a bill of goods, and that in fact, they have little power or control over their destinies.

So much of what I saw and heard during my last two visits troubled me, because my social conscience would not allow me to NOT SEE. I struggle with these uncomfortable feelings because though I see, there is not much I can do. I am not a citizen, I am not working there, and I have no real "right" to speak up about that which I do not live on a daily basis. So, I'll keep pretending to be a "regular" tourist or "former almost-ex-pat" and try to keep future return visits light and superficial until I figure out how to make a contribution. Clearly volunteering the way my PCV friend did, comes with it's challenges ... and from my own perspective (not the PCV's words - so please don't chastise me if you take away a different meaning from her blog) ... a warning to those of us who care ... that warning goes something like this: we are "invited guests" ... and as such we must at times, release and relinquish our preconcieved notions of any contribution we think we may be making and submit to rules and structures that have been in place for a very long time. In submitting though, I wonder if we become part of the problem? Or can we carve a little niche for ourselves, slowly, quietly under the radar? These are the questions that I struggle with as my next vacation in St. Kitts and Nevis draws nearer.

Thanks to my PCV friend, I also feel a glimmer of hope and encouragement. Encouragement, because she showed the gumption to challenge the system that brought her to those lovely islands. And in the end, perhaps to bring about a sense of healthy community building all it takes is a bit of courage and a willingness to walk into the fire.

Checking in ...

2009-02-06T11:13:00.019-05:00

Well, I thought I would do a "check-in" to bring you up to date on how things are going with managing my "addictions." Alas, I do still spend some time during the week on the travel forums. The surgical precision with which I had hoped to move away from needing my travel forum fix, has not quite achieved the result I was aiming for. Lets face it ... it's a cold cruel winter up here right now. Put another way, I am not cut out for the "cold-turkey" approach to quitting ... anything.

So, I think I am now aiming for the "Harm reduction" approach, which involves finding safe ways to deal with addictive or potentially harmful activities. For instance, if you can't quit smoking, replace your strong cigs with a milder brand ... if you are going to drink alcohol, make sure someone else does the driving ... if you are going to have multiple sexual partners, make sure you use condoms .... etc. And if these addictions are getting in the way of living the life that you want to be living ... if you can't quit ... that's OK, just find ways to cut down.

Cutting down on travel forum activity is not as easy as it looks, because everytime I pass a computer, I want to check in. So, this is what I have done: effective immediately, I can no longer access these websites from work. A necessary action on my part anyway, before the boss finds out that I am not always working on case notes, assessments, reports, and preparing for the next client session! Next, I will NOT tune into the sites from my home computer on in the mornings. Morning PC is now officially just for checking e-mail ... OK ... and Facebook too, because, well there are so many long-lost family members on there, as well as far-away friends that I can't just let them fall by the wayside now that we have found each other again! But, other that that, PC is activity is now relegated to one hour in the evenings and on weekend mornings, as my special treat with my morning coffee.

Gosh, with all the time I save, I hope that I can actually work on earning some extra cash on the side to actually pay for all those trips to new destinations that I hope to get to one day ....

Look, up in the sky! It's ... it's ... Part II !!

2009-01-21T20:01:00.011-05:00

So, by now you must have figured out that among my many addictions, I am also addicted to a certain couple of tropical islands ... and I'll probably keep penning these little memoirs of past and present events, occurrences and general island nonsense, until I have bored every last person who is reading them! After all, it's my blog and I'll do what I want ... OK, this is where the angels in the backgroud spin that old tune on the turntable, "It's my party, and I'll do what I want, I'll do ...." well, you get the picture. Or the sound, in this case. Be warned, this is a long one ... and I have no pictures to accompany this part of my story.

Part II of this particular St. Kitts "so-long-ago-it's-almost-like-it-never-even-happened" saga, was to have been put up here a while ago, but I got side-tracked by autumn activities, cookie-baking, night school and finally the Christmas season. At the start of all this flury of activity, I was reading about the ongoing power failures and load shedding in St. Kitts and Nevis, resulting from a fire in one of the transformers ... and then there was hurricane Omar in October. All that talk of rain, floods and no electricity on St. Kitts and Nevis brought it all back.

OK, picture this: It's still that same October day in 1988 and .... the excitement of the earlier part of the day didn't end when we landed back in St. Kitts safe and sound after the harrowing plane ride from St. Martin/St. Maarten. It was a bad hurricane season in other parts of the Caribbean and this was the same year that Hurricane Gilbert smashed into Jamaica and later, Mexico. I was definitely not keen on experiencing that level of weather drama during my "tour of duty" on St. Kitts! I was not nearly as worried as my friend, whom we affectionately called Lady Di, and who had recently been deployed to St. Kitts by her bosses at a Canadian tour operator, after she had lived through full fury of Gilbert while she was stationed in Cancun. When I first met her, she was still suffering some post-traumatic symptoms and she always seemed rather trembly and frayed around the edges. A few gusts of wind would send her into a "deer-caught-in-the-headlights" trance-state. Lucky for me ... and her ... there was no hurricane threat this night, but the fun was definitely not over yet.

The humidity that accompanies tropical storm season can be stiffling at times. That particular night, the mugginess sat on me like an extra layer of damp, tight clothing. I was running out of ideas to deal with the whole perspiration issue, and I really didn't think that walking around in my undies would be an option, as I was unofficially "on duty" all the time. Nice way to make sure I would be taken seriously in my role of personal assistant to the owner of the hotel. OK, really I wasn't much more than a travelling, glorified secretary, or as my friend Dr. J liked to call me, the "executive-everything-trainee." But I digress!

Mosquitoes and insects in general were also an occupational hazzard on this island. While Miss M and I sat outside that evening, lathered in sweat (the kind that happens even if you sit absolutely still) and insect repellent, we watched the nightly invasion of these big flying insects - much larger, but less aggressive and less sadistic than mosquitoes - I think they were beetles. These critters weren't so much flying by as they were gliding into the property on the evening breezes. Then they would land all around us. Thanks to the power outage, the hotel was running on back-up generator and I was pretty sure that the "bug-zappers" would not be working that evening, either. The hotel was equipped with those "black boxes" - a sort of electronic square contraption, mounted around the pillars and posts that formed the open walls of the outdoor dining area. After a few months I had grown accustomed to the sound of bugs being zapped and frizzled as they flew into these zappers.

Many an evening, Miss M, Lady Di and I would virtually fall out of our chairs at dinner - not because we were tipsy, though I am sure we often were, but because of our efforts to hide our gales of hysterical (and immature, I might add) laughter, when the larger and heartier of those gliding beetles would slam into the bug-zapping boxes. You see, they would somehow fly in at just the precise angle that would result in what we started calling "the rebound effect." This was a phonomenon that we witnessed over and over each night, when a usually very large, and usually, but not always electrocuted, sizzling hot bug would bounce back across the room - and land either on the buffet table or on some poor, unsuspecting guest's dinner plate! Of course, two months earlier, I was utterly horrified the first time one of these creatures landed on my dinner! Nothing a double shot of CSR and Ting couldn't cure for me though! Still, on this particular evening, I was sufficiently "acclimatized" and not much could put me off my dinner!

So, with the sound of beetles frying around us, we sat down to dinner and tucked into another evening of people-watching. This was a pass-time that both Ms. M and I never tired of. We would often notice that "fresh-off-the plane" tourists slowly alter their behaviour as the slow process of unwinding took over at the start of their vacations. Some folks might say that we actually stalked these folks at times. I guess there wasn't always that much to do in the evenings, as cable t.v. was a recent arrival on this island, and after a while, all the programming kept repeating. I could only take so many "I Love Lucy" and "All in the Family" reruns, after all! So, Miss M and I took to watching tourists mellow out, and shed their buttoned-up attitudes and behaviours during the short time they were with us. But that is a whole other story!

When we saw Lady Di earlier that day, she had metionted that the weekly charter from Toronto was delayed and that there was a chance it wouldn't land in St. Kitts at all this day. Since the flight was already in the air, we wondered where it would land? We pondered this question again at dinner that night, because we thought we might have to alter our people-watching strategies. Normally, we could work our schedules to coincide with the new arrivals and we could be spotted nonchalantly lurking in the lobby, pretending to doing something official, as we scoped out the new tourists. The real fun in the game was to spot someone who looked REALLY uptight, uncomfortable, overworked, conservative ... and then keep tabs on them over the course of their stay to track their various stages of relaxing, getting into the island groove - or not. Some just became "miserabler and miserabler." So, I would pick one and Ms. M would pick one and then we would make predictions based on which direction we thought the transformation would take - island groove or "get me outa here." Whoever made the most accurate prediction was then treated to dinner at Fisherman's Wharf or at the OTI buffet on the following Friday night.

Now all we needed was a full restoration of power so that the charter flight could land. Of course, all the flying insect activity at dinner, made us remember the incoming flight. Where was it, we asked? We waited, as we watched clouds form again, that ambled across the night sky, then dispersed as they passed by the full moon. It was even prettier than the harvest moon that we would have been gazing on back home, during this late October evening. We were joined intermittently by several ex-pats and locals who worked in the casino. Business was slow that night because the outgoing hotel guests were at the airport waiting for their flight out - and of course, the new arrivals hadn't actually landed yet. We wondered how our friend, Lady Di was fairing back at the airport, where she was stuck "shepherding" about 150 travellers in her charge - travellers who were supposed to be headed back to Southern Ontario and Upstate New York. They had been at the airport since about noon that day! We had spotted her on our way out of the airport earlier that afternoon and we had noticed several very disgruntled passengers . Of course, I worried about Lady Di - how would her jangled nerves deal with the pressure of all those cranky folks that wanted to either get back to the hotel for some dinner or get on a dam plane and get outta here already!

Our friends who worked in the casino kept stopping by the table and we were also joined by several young Kittitian fellows who had recently returned to St. Kitts after studying abroad. One of them was hoping to get a job at the hotel, while the other stopped by regularly in the hopes of meeting eligible you female tourists. The whole group of them were very affable, amiable and vested with a wickedly dry sense of humour. They were in peak form that night as they provided us with with an entertaining account, speculation really, about what must be happening at the airport, and on the charter flight, which was still unaccounted for. These fellows often regaled us with stories and advice on island life, since Miss M and I were still novices here in St. Kitts, ourselves.

Since most of our friends at the table that night were casino employees, naturally, they soon began to take bets on whether or not the plane would ever land that night; if it didn't land, which island it would be re-routed to; whether it would land the next day and what time, and of course, if the plane did not land, what time Lady D would arrive back at the hotel with the same group of passengers she had escorted to the airport eight hours earlier. This led to more discussion: what would happen to her passengers? Would they be tired, cranky, hungry? Would the kitchen be able to feed all of them at this hour, with the power shortage? Perhaps the chef would prepare a barbeque for them? What if the charcoal had been drenched in the rain? The biggest odds were on how the scenario would be handled if the outgoing and incoming travellers ended up at the hotel at the same time, say, if the flight did manage to land, and was subsequently grounded due to the fact that it was now after curfew, AND what if the plane had to refuel?

The general consensus at our table was that the flight had landed in Puerto Plata, but it would probably have been given clearance to continue on its journey, because nobody wanted to be stuck with all those travellers overnight on an island that was not even on the itinerary. No sooner had we made our wagers and analyzed our positions, that we noticed, across the smiling face of the full moon a full-size passenger plane making its way across the sky, headed in the direction of the airport. Some of us began to reach for our money, when Casino J spoke up, pointing out that the plane was too high and this indicated that it was continuing on toward Antigua! Master P, a Brit who had been coming to St. Kitts to work as a pit-boss for many years during the tourist season, spoke with some authority, because he had witnessed similar scenarios every single season on this island: the pilot was simply flying at a higher altitude because of the power outages, and would likely turn around and prepare for a descent when the plane got a little further out to sea.

So, I put my money away. Within twenty minutes, there it was again - Master P was right, the plane seemed to be circling and was now flying across the moon from the opposite direction - but it was still too high in the sky to be preparing for a landing. Besides, judging by the direction the plane was headed, it had over-shot the runway. And this island, to this day, only has one runway. So, we watched and speculated some more, had a few more drinks ... and waited ... and waited.

The charter from Toronto never did land that night. We lost track of it, after it made a fourth or fifth pass-by across the moon, like a continuous instant replay of a partial eclipse. Then it disappeared ... for good ...or at least for that night. By midnight we were about to start betting on whether or not the plane had run out of fuel and crashed into the sea, when Lady D arrived from the airport with the tired, hungry and very cranky guests who had checked out of the hotel twelve hours earlier. By now the hotel and kitchen staff were ready for them, as were the bartenders! Some of us made a few dollars, while some of us gave up a few dollars on our wagers.

Lady D joined us and provided an update: the charter had landed in Antigua where it was to stay overnight with the pilot and passengers. At this point, she reached for a bottle of wine and walked towards the barbeque pit, where our friend the evening chef, handed her a plate of food, and we watched her head into the darkness past a mango tree and a clump of oleander bushes, towards her room, stopping from time to time to sip daintily from the wine bottle that she clutched in her left had, while she balanced her dinner plate on a clipboard substituting as a tray, which she steadied with her right hand. The whole balancing act was topped of by a large briefcase, which struggles against her left hip as it was slung with long leather strap across her body.

In the morning the power was back on all over the island. By noon, the guests had left, again, for the airport - their vacation extended for an extra day. Too bad most of it was spent inside that tiny airport, instead of pool-side or at the beach. By now, most of them were quite giddy, either from all-night drinking at the bar that remained open for their convenience ... or because they realized that this would make a wopper of a story when they finally reached home!

Oh, and what about the incoming guests? Well, their story did not end with the layover in Anitigua. What happened there made for a whole other set of stories and ones that we had not considered during our previous evening's betting extravaganza. Although the pilot of the charter had to manouver the plane through a number of "hoops" that were not visible to those of us who were watching from the ground, the plane was actually dangerously close to running out of fuel by the time it had circled St. Kitts for the third or fourth time. When finally receiving permission to land in Antigua to "fuel up", the flight was grounded, because the charter company did not have an account with the Antigua airport authorities. No account, no fuel. The pilot produced his own credit card, but of course the credit limit was not sufficient to purchase fuel, and in fact, the airport personnel did not have the administrative infrastructure in in place to handle a transaction of this nature at this time of night.

Things took an interesting twist though, which eventually led to some creative community building and problem solving on the part of the passesngers: The pilot, evidently unable to contact the appropriate representatives back in Canada, because of the late hour, decided, in his wisdom, to be honest with his passengers. He brought them up to speed on the accounting problems and asked for some input and direction. Well, rather than a mutiny, these passengers took up a collection of cash, in American dollars of course. Each passenger donated a set amount, and only agreed to hand it over to the airport authorities if they were guaranteed to be given clearance to be the first flight to leave Antigua in the morning. Well, money talks and cash is king, becuase, they landed in St. Kitts in the early hours of the morning. And we were treated to the most upbeat, positve rambunctious group of hotel guests that I had ever seen, either before this incident or in all these years afterward. They were all so excited to have finally arrived and really pleased with themselves for having been able to assist the pilot in solving the dilemma.

It seems that the whole plane load of passengers had done some serious bonding as the flight circled over the island, in the dark, during a full moon on the tail of a tropical storm. This was one scenario the casino boys had never predicted - so, no money exchanged hands on this portion of our "off-beach-betting." I heard later, that NOT ONE passenger had asked the tour operator for a reimbursement of the "donation" they made that night. They all considered it part of the entertainment - Caribbean style! Yes, back in the "innocent-eighties" St. Kitts was indeed still the land of flip-flops, frangipani and good, clean fun!

Managing my addiction ... I mean, obsession ... no, I think it's an addiction ...

2008-12-24T14:03:00.035-05:00

Letting go is painful, really painful. I am struggling to free myself from this magnificent obsession, or perhaps I mean this delicious affliction, which I will call "internet travel forum addiction" or ITFA. Yes, that's right, I have realized that I have aquired, over the last four years, an interesting disease. At first I thought it was a simple obsession, but I am pretty sure this addiction is going to have its own category in the DSM V (the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). Not being big on mental health labels, (after all I am a left-leaning social worker) I do, nevertheless come across a myriad of what some might call mental health disorders. The current DSM - number IV, I think, does not include internet addiction. I have heard rumors though, that they are lobbying to have this affliction included in the fifth volume.

Well, before they do include internet addiction in the DSM and I find myself described in its pages, I though I should get a handle on "my stuff." After all, this was the year that saw me grappling not only with managing the countless hours per week spent scouring travel forums and boards, destination sites, travel booking sites and adventure blogs, but I also found myself signing up for a Facebook account. Another place to lose myself in cyberspace. But what really made me start re-thinking how I spend my computer time, was the bizarre experience I have had all year, with my very own internet stalker - someone with too much time on their hands, obviously - because they found the time to make my life a challenge on so many stupid cyber-and-real-life levels. The details of this situation won't be re-hashed here, because I would have to dedicate a whole other blog to even start explaining what happened. Suffice to say - it's over. Done. A learning experience to say the least - from which I have emerged a little wiser. I have learned a lot from the process. And I have a lot more empathy for my young clients who were born with their hands on a keyboard and who apparently have a direct connection between their brains and all kinds of communication technology that I still struggle to understand.

My clients often tell me about their experiences with on-line activities from gaming to cyber-bullying, on-line fights, on-line impersonators and internet stalkers. Some situations are serious. Others are just aggravating. Not everyone has negative experiences with MSN, Facebook, etc., or other "chat" communities. But, I do hear time and again that countless hours have simply vanished behind the computer screen. Hours that could have been used for homework, socializing, or working that part-time job to earn cash for whatever purpose. I often tell my clients to hit the "delete" button, change their account, adjust their privacy settings and simply, cut the cyber friends off and go do something else. Ah, but now I realize that it is easier said than done! Especially if your brand of cyber-addiction doesn't seem bad at all, but starts harmlessly enough in the name of research, personal growth and "self-care" ! That is how mine started about 4 years ago, when I was doing research for a future vacation.

You see, I hadn't been anywhere outside of Ontario in about 8 years, and I was feeling the need to take "a real vacation" - somewhere warm. I began to think back to St. Kitts and the time I spent there, back in the late '80's. Since I hadn't done a return trip in many years, and the few places I had visited in the interim, like the Dominican Republic just didn't measure up, I thought what a nice goal it would be to work toward spending my 50th birthday re-visiting my "old stomping grounds." And I had a couple years to work on the goal. So, I went on line, and discovered a few travel forums. Trip Advisor was the first, then I stumbled across a very, very special place dedicated to St. Kitts and Nevis, which was started by a very special young lady who had been visiting since she was a teenager.

Wouldn't you know it? On this forum, I discovered all kinds of folks from all over the USA, Canada and the UK, and others who lived on the islands themselves, who were as seriously in love with those islands as I used to be. Well, I took this as a good omen, created a forum identity for myself - MsJilly - and the rest, as they say, is history. Thanks to that forum, I became part of a community of similar-minded and equally obsessed people. And to make a long story short, I managed to get to St. Kitts a year earlier than anticipated. This process was made easy thanks to the information, warm welcome and cameraderie that I found on the forum. And then I went back to St. Kitts ... 3 more times!

So, if my mission was accomplished, why am I now faced with a dilemma? Because I took a look one day, and discovered that over a period of 3 years or so, I had posted about 1400 times on the St. Kitts forum. I think only 2 people, including the owner of the forum have posted more than me. Gosh, now really, what could I possibly have to say that would necessitate that many conversations?!? How many trips reports, how many pieces of advice to other travellers, how much general conversation, how many quips, follow-up remarks and general banter to add up to 1400 entries?!!?

OK, I realized immediately that I had a problem. And I tried to lay low and not write as much, but I found myself still checking in about 3 or 4 times a day. Now, bear in mind, that I also belong to a forum for Nevis, another one for Grenada - which helped immensly with my first visit to that spectacular island last November ... oh, and of course, there is also TripAdvisor - for research into future travel destinations. I check in with ALL of these every single day! Yikes!! And then there is Facebook - but that is really a whole other story.

It was painful to admit, but I was also ariving at a whole series of minor revelations, just as we were heading full-swing into the Christmas season - a time when many of us start thinking about our New Year's resolutions. Now, I have never been big on making life-altering vows on New Year's Eve, simply because I came to accept a long time ago that whatever I swore I would do on New Year's day, I had all but abandoned by January 10th. This year is different somehow, as I find myself totally overwhelmed with caregiving responsibilities and a very strong desire to start implementing (or re-implementing that which I started but got side-tracked from) some of the life changes that I have been reflecting on for the past 18 months or so.

So, as I struggled with managing environmental allergies and a bunch of other health issues, while I look after the increasing needs of my aging parents ... and hold down a full-time job ... along with a move toward adding a few businesses on the side ... to make up for losing almost my entire life-savings as a result of the economic downturn ... I thought, gosh Jilly, this might be a good time to start looking after your mental health too! You see, one of the things that I have realized about myself is that I am a little bit crazy. Maybe not a "capital C" crazy ... but crazy none-the-less. My particular kind of crazy is likely transmitted through an inherited gene. We seem to have an abundance of interesting mental health "stories" woven throughout the fabric of my extended family. Some of us suffer from anxiety, some of us from depression, others suffer from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), while others would probably be described as having a "borderline personality" - if a psychiatrist ever got their hands on these family members. I just call it our special brand of "Southern-Italian-mountain-folk-post-WWII-crazy." It seemed to get transmitted down to us by that generation that were teenagers during the Second World War and who immigrated to Canada and the US during the 1950's and 1960's. We deny our craziness, find ways to laugh at it and wage family feuds as a result of it ... but we all seem to have "it" - to varying degrees. In my case it is probably undiagnosed OCD and SAD. I'll never know, because I avoid the psychiatric professionals like they were first cousins to the Grim Reaper, coming to take me to my final home.

OK, so for the sake of this story, lets say I am dealing with obsessive compulsive behaviour rather than or along with an addiction. Well, the only way to free myself from its clutches is to embrace it. By "embracing" it I mean, admitting there is a problem, and rather than look to the past, dwelling on negative feelings and asigning blame, carving out a plan, based in the "here and now" aimed at chanelling my "stuff" in such a way, that it "works for me" rather and creating obstacles for me. In the world of Life Skills Coaching this is called 'balanced, self-determined behaviour." So, I did just that, aimed for balance and self-determined behaviour. In embracing my affliction, I suddenly found peace because I began to remember all the benefits that I have derived from the travel forums: four trips, three islands, renewed friendships with long-lost pals, new friendships - oh so many new friends that I hold dear to my heart. And the benefits have spilled over into my life here in Toronto, because some of the St. Kitts, Nevis and Grenada addicts also live right here in my home town, so I get to see them on a regular basis. If not for the forum, I would not have the type of social life that I am enjoying today.

So, what is the problem? Basically, that nothing else gets done sometimes. I find myself going to the computer to check for the latest update, countless times a day, when really, I could probably get caught up in about an hour on a Sunday morning. And really, its not like if I don't check in, those islands would be swallowed into the sea or disappear as a result of the innactive volcano coming back to life. This is not the Bermuda Triangle we are talking about here.

Bottom line: to manage my affliction, I have made the difficult decision to start closing down some of my forum accounts. Now some of my forum pals have migrated to Facebook, so they/you know where to find me! But, I really, really need to start finding time to take care of "other business," before it all stalls in the "unfinished business" pile. I have had to be ruthless with this decision to put limits on myself. And like I said earlier, it has been painful. Case in point: as I type this, I struggle with yet another irrestible urge to go check that one particular forum. Because I know it so well, I know everyone is, as I type this, leaving Christmas messages to each other.

The intensity of will that it is taking to try to keep my "checking-in" down to twice a day - morning and evening, is actally causing me physical distress - tummy troubles, persistent cough and colds, migraines, aches and pains, trembling limbs. How do I know these symptoms are not caused by something else? Look it up ... these are the same symtoms that folks struggle with when learning to manage an addiction. The OCD variable just adds another dimension - persistent thought patterns, uncontrollable behaviours to get me through another day without my "fix." So, I give in to the OCD and do something else - bake, clean, run errands for my ailing parents, and I have become a master at organising. And I breath a sigh of relief, because I feel productive.

I hope my "forum friends" will forgive me as they begin to notice my absence. I am sure I will see most of them "on de islands" or on Facebook, at one point or another. Gosh, how I envy some of them ... because clearly, they may be in love with my favourite islands as I am, but they do not seem to be cursed with my particular brand of crazy!

Now, if only I can figure out how to let go of Facebook!

Something magical happened in Grenada ...

2008-12-16T11:55:00.019-05:00

At times, I like to think of it as my "Disney moment." Other times, I like to think of that moment in more profound terms, attaching meaning to it that directly contradicts my pragmatic nature ... why? Because it gives me comfort to dream and hope and think there is something bigger and more powerful and deeper and more knowing than anything here on earth.

This is what happened: About a year ago, I was travelling alone. It was my gift to me - 17 days, 9 of which would be spent in a place I had never visited before, to spend some time relaxing, reflecting, getting a tan, meditating, touring around and doing a bit of research for the book that I never seem to get any time to actually sit down and write. Well, actually, it was eight days, because the first 36 hours or so, were spent trying to get from St. Kitts to Grenada, via Antigua, Barbados and finally an unscheduled, overnight stop in Port of Spain Trinidad. Oh, but I think I told you about that already.

When I finally reached my hotel, I knew that I had chosen the right spot to spend my quality-time-with-me journey. Though a bit basic and "no frills" - my room had a little kitchenette, so that I had easy access to my first and last cup of coffee of the day, as well as a full size fridge for snacks, cold beverages and a small stove, if I was so inclined to prepare simple meals. But what thrilled me the most was the view from my room ... which was perched on a hill top, close to the main road, overlooking Grand Anse Beach, with a terrific view of the whole bay and St. George's beautiful harbour off in the distance to my right.

I simply needed to step through the sliding glass door to my little patio to be treated to the wonderful view. I made a ritual of sitting out on the patio every night to enjoy the starry nights, the lights in the distance as the sea just down the cliff from the hotel serenaded me with her constant sonata of waves gently crashing upon the beach and the rocks of the nearby cove. The night breeze was always scented by a mixture of sea and the oxegenated aroma of the many tropical flowering shrubs, trees and palms around the hotel. The best part of these evenings though was the time I spent star-gazing. Even with the lights of St. Georges, the starry nights were a feast for the eyes. In front of me every night, the Big Dipper, which is comprised of the seven brightest stars of the constellation, Ursa Major, hung low in the sky. It seemed so close that if I reached out, I could touch it and bring it inside ... and maybe it would transform itself into a magic cooking pot where I could whip up a nice batch of pasta sauce! But, no - it stayed in the sky, disappeared every morning, only to re-materialize every night, bigger and brighter than the night before.

A new friend that I had made while journeying from St. Kitts to Grenada earlier that week reminded me that during mid-November, the Leonid meteor showers were usually in full show, and I had a good vantage point for some comet-watching from my hotel. When I had last seen him, he stressed that I should take some time to look at the sky so that I could make a wish upon one of the falling stars! So, it was a real stroke of good fortune when one night, as I sat staring at the Big Dipper, a huge twinkling piece of meteor flashed through the sky, complete with comet-tail. It made a perfect arc from the right side of my site-line, across the "ladel" of the Big Dipper, and finally disappeared behind a palm tree at the end of the side walk that stretched about 5 yards from my patio to the wall between the hotel property and the road below. It was followed by a few more, smaller meteors which sort of fizzled mid-air and did not, at least to my un-telescoped eyes, complete the arc with their leader.

I think I felt like an eight-year-old in that moment, and my excitement and awe at the spectacle left me transfixed. But ... true to any eight-year-old's nature, I did not forget to make a wish! Oh, no indeed ... in less time than it takes to breath a whispered sigh, I had made my wish. I had been practicing creative visualizations for some time, so I knew exactly what I was going to ask for. Still, I am a Capricorn, and true to the nature of that particular creature of the Zodiac, I have a very pragmatic, IMPATIENT streak and a strong drive towards needing concrete answers, even in my most whimsical moments. So, my wish came with a qualifier that went something like this: "if my wish is to be granted but is something that I must wait for, PLEASE send me a sign ... and then I will KNOW ... and I WILL wait." Then, I went to bed, perfectly content in a perfect moment, secure in the knowledge that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I felt like I had been treated to a very special secret event that God or the fates had orchestrated just for me. Life was good. The next day it got even better.

The following morning, after I made my first cup of coffee I went back out to the little patio to enjoy another perfect Grenada sunrise with the sea in the distance. I began to ponder the special treat that I had been witness to the night before, and I mused and marvelled at the fact that the meteor seemed to fall in such a perfect arc. I imagined that if the sky was a two-dimensional canvas and the palm tree in the yard was a figure on that canvas, the falling star would have, in fact landed at the base of the palm tree. I gradually shifted my gaze from the sky down to the lawn that led up to the tree in question ... and what should I happen to see? A huge starfish! In the middle of the lawn! Right where the falling star would have landed in my two-dimensional canvas!

Once I got over my shock and amazement, I went over to have a closer look. The starfish still smelled of the sea, and it was perfectly shaped - much like an eight-year-old would draw it. Very geometric and straight lines, no curly-cues. Just an almost-cartoon-like star. Now, I know that it was not there the night before, because I had been sitting out for hours and I would have noticed it. Somehow, it materialized after I saw the falling star. Aha! Instantly, I KNEW ... here was my sign! And I had my answer ... my wish was granted ... but I would have to wait ...

... And a year later, I still wait ...

And NO, I will NOT tell you what I wished for! That is not how it works in Disney movies. You will have to stay tuned for the sequel to get the answer to that question. When I do get my answer, I promise, you will be the first to know!

It all started with a cookie recipe ...

2008-12-15T20:06:00.019-05:00

Helloooo, is anybody out there? I have been wondering for some time if anybody actually reads my blog entries and I got my answer the other day, when a couple of people asked me what the heck was up with my blog. First, there were some travel stories, then some mad ramblings, then some entries disappeared, then some reappeared, then they all disappeared for a while. Now some stories are back and some mad ramblings are still missing. And the format looks a bit different.

Apparently there has been some speculation and a rumor or two. Especially among one or two friends who have also noted some cryptic comments on my Facebook page. OK, let me say, from the git-go, for the two or three of you that are actually reading this stuff ... don't stress your brains with a lot of surmising or reading into things - the only thing that is going on with me, is my basic ineptitude with web-based technology. In other words, I am new to this stuff, so I struggle with format and content, as well as not knowing how best to "theme" my entries. Over time, of which I have precious little these days, I began to re-read some of my blogs and I decided that some of my stories were really poorly written and need major editing. Also, I didn't want to have my travel-related reflections and stories lumped together with my other "life" - or in other words, I thought I would separate out my mad ramblings on everyday life from my travel misadventures. So I put everything on hold and made most of my entries "disappear" until I figured out how to start a separate, but connected blog. And then the weeks began to fly past, as I got busier and busier with a mulititude of mundane, day-to-day obligations, just like everyone else. It never occured to me that some of my friends would be worried about me. I appreciate your concern, and I love you all for thinking of me ... and I am here to say that all is well. Really. And as time goes on, I will post more madcap adventures ... it is just a question of finding the time to edit and post them.

As for the cryptic Facebook comments, now come on, really ... you guys are too funny! Do you all really have time to analyze and draw conclusions about "what does she really mean by that?" Gosh, I barely have time to even check my e-mail most days, let alone spend time pondering what my friends mean by the comments they post on Facebook! Most of my comments are, just like yours, a reflection of what might (or might not) be uppermost in my mind in any given moment. Sometimes I might make a comment directed at one individual as a reflection of a conversation we recently shared. Most of the time, though, I am just playin' with words ... nothing more, nothing less!

What I am really aiming for in the long-run is to have several different spaces where I might spend a bit of time, channeling my "unquenchable desire" to write. In the meantime, I thought I should start separating out the different themes and parking the non-travel-related stuff until I find time to give those those little essays, rants and observations on nothing in particular, a new home.

What do cookies have to do with all this? Not a whole lot, really. Only that I like to bake cookies, and sometimes I do my best thinking when my hand are occupied with some other kind of work besides writing, or whatever else it is I do to occupy myself when I am not spending time at my paid job. So, a few months back, I was baking several batches of shortbread, a specialty of mine, for a fund-raiser at work. I have been toying with several variations of this recipe for many years, and usually only churn out a few batches a year, always at Christmas time, and on occasion for a shower, baptism or anniversay party. Now, not to brag or anything, but my shortbread cookies are quite delicious and very popular among family and friends. After I donated several batches to the fundraiser - these heart-shaped vanilla morsels, packaged two-by-two or four-by-four in cling-wrap and all pink ribboned, I thought that I should take advantage of a long-held dream to take orders by word-of-mouth and actually sell the delectable confections. So, in October, in the midst of a gripping depression, brought on by stuff that is too boring to even get into here, I began to bake in ernest ... and bake ... and bake ... hundreds and hundreds of bite-sized rounds, in three different flavours - pecan, cranberry-lemon and vanilla. And the more I baked, the less time I had for anything else. But during this process, something magical happened ... much of the stress and aggravation that had been plaguing me of late, simply melted away and I came up with some new plans for how I will spend the next few years of my life.

Now, I won't share those plans just yet, but I will share that I have been inspired to come back to my blogs and start focussing more on two separate themes: 1) travel - of course! Was there any doubt? ... and 2) wellness and coping with environmental illness. OK the second one may sound a bit ... well, not so interesting to some of you ... but since I am a sufferer of multiple allergies, autoimmune disease and fibromyalgia, it is a theme that is close to my heart. Over the years, I have had some struggles with coping with what I have come to consider a spectrum of "invisible illnesses or disabilities" ... and I have learned that there are thousands, no perhaps millions of folks, primarily but not exclusively women, who suffer with many of the same symptoms as me. Over the years I have struggled with a myriad of physical ailments which actually have a "home" under the umbrella of one "syndrome" and it has often been a challenge just staying on my feet. The good news, is that I have learned through trial and error, research and support via a few good doctors and other "helpers," a variety of coping techniques and strategies.

Never having been very good at keeping my business to myself, and being very conscious these days that I need a way to channel my "personal business" in way that doesn't keep getting me into big (and little) jams and misunderstandings and general trouble, I have decided to start sharing my strategies with others. My hope is that some readers might find help, relief and a place to feel they are not alone in their symptoms and craziness by reading about my personal journey through the mine field of a misunderstood set of illnesses, which though not fatal, can really mess with a person's quality of life and ultimately their sanity.

The new blog will be titled "The Reluctant Health Nut." And the first entry will be ready to launch in January, 2009. So, thought not strictly a series of travel tales, this second blog, will very much chronicle my personal journey ... a different kind of journey, this time: from a health perspective.

But, you know what really sucks? You know those cookies I was talking about? I am allergic to most of the ingredients, so I can't really eat them or enjoy them without suffering some kind of side effect ... Well, rather than continuing to wallow in self-pity ... 'cause, really, I was driving myself and everyone around me a little nuts with it ... apparently I am not delicate-looking enough to make personal pity-parties work for me, but I digress ... rather than avoid baking altogether, I am once again, for the first time in a long time, using baking as a conduit for my creativity: therapy, if you will. And am very quickly realizing a side-benefit - by selling these treats, I make some extra cash to pay for the very expensive organic, allergen-free, yada, yada stuff that I CAN eat! My little short-bread morcels are packaged in pretty little bags in quantities of twenty-four ... and they even have a product name: Jilly's Jems! Next, I am developing the gluten-free version, so that I can enjoy them too!

Hey, maybe if I sell enough of them, I can pay for my dream trip to back to Grenada and finally the Grenadines ... Bequia, here I come!

Dedicated to friendships made through my travels ...

2008-10-14T11:35:00.010-04:00

I found these words recently and was really moved by them. So I dedicate them to friends that I have made through my travels ... whether we have met face-to-face, on the travel forums, on Facebook or informal networks:

"Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends." - Maya Angelou

Twinkle, twinkle, little ...

2008-10-05T19:55:00.050-04:00

... firefly ?! ...

OK, today was a good day. For a variety of reasons. Though I still seem to be struggling with the sniffles and a chronic cough, thanks to a seasonal cold that seems to want to occupy my body permanently, I still made some time with friends this weekend. I needed company for thereapeutic reasons! And I was reminded of these friends again today, while driving to and from the local Loblaws for some groceries with the car radio blaring some quality soca music. Every Sunday, from 6:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m., the local "urban" radio station, plays lots of soca, old and new. The announcer has a Caribbean accent, which I find hard to place - there are so many islands in the British West Indies, but it never fails to remind me of my times spent on St. Kitts. My drastic improvement in mood started last night, though, as I was treated to a full evening of West Indian accents, when I got together with my fabulous "transplanted" Kittitian friends. These gals have been in Canada anywhere from 20 to to 30 years, or more, but they have not lost their Caribbean accents. When I listen to them, I always find myself relaxing and unwinding a bit. I am always carried away to that place that is a weird juxtaposition of welcoming, West Indian-style, tropical-island warmth and claustrophobic, in-your-face-archaic, British Colonial anachronism. I love it!

My Kittitian-Canadian friends seem to have "adopted" me. Much to the chagrin of some other friends whom I have known longer - they now have to "share" me! "No problems" my Kittitian friends say, "the others can come along too ... the more the merrier!" It's the West Indian way -and these gals seem to embody the same genuine qualities of gentle acceptance, dry humour and astute observations about people, politics, history ... heck, they can "wax lyrical" on just about anything and everything. These are the same qualities that many visitors to St. Kitts find pleasing and different from other tourist destinations. Kittitians embody almost universally keen intellect, sense of purpose, as well as a pride of nation and deep sense of self that is as refreshing as it is unique. They are who they are: take me as I am, don't try to change me and I'll take you as you are.

These same gals have dubbed me a "Kittitian by proxy." This is an honour, indeed. One which I don't take lightly, because Kittitians don't, as a rule give their trust easily. Sounds like a contradiction, based on how I just described Kittitians earlier, doesn't it? Well, to quote one young fellow who was trying to describe his homeland, "welcome to the island of oxymorons and contradictions!"

This duality was something that I was painfully made aware of back in 1988 when I first landed on my friends' home turf to spend an indefinite period of time in the then, very undeveloped tourist-designated area of Frigate Bay. These were the pre-Marriott days. Boy, did I have to jump through hoops, not on a daily basis, but sometimes on a minute-by minute basis; with hotel staff that I was required to work in collaboration, with bank tellers, store clerks, restaurant servers ... basically anyone who knew that I was not a tourist, but someone who was there for work.

My friends last night were talking about recent power failures on the island. The local energy service provider blew a transformer, and it may be some time before full power is restored. Listening to the inconveniences and frustrations that on again-off again power is causing for their friends and family members, brought to mind situations that I recall all too well. And in a way, I was secretly relieved that St. Kitts has not hurtled head-long into super-efficiency. It was almost refreshing to hear that some things haven't changed. Because over the last few visits, I have become painfully aware of just how much has changed on the island where nothing ever changes.

So, last night I was transported back to a night almost exactly twenty years ago. It was in October, 1988 when I finally felt the full welcome of total acceptance by the local contingent. After all, here I was just another North American, coming to the island with my "American" approach, over-relying on technology like computers, with no appreciation for the nuances and havoc that mother nature could wreak. It was hurricane season when I arrived. And I often heard how the weather, among other variables could easily knock out power - so what good would computers do? This in answer to why everyone did paperwork "long-hand." Well, lucky for me, I knew all about manual record-keeping, so I adapted quite easily and didn't miss electronic typewriters and computers too much.

It took a bit more time to be accepted by some of my fellow ex-pats: they were a tougher crowd to infiltrate. Perhaps because some of them were still feeling the sting and the bruising of having to jump through the particular hoops that the island and its citizens had placed in their path. Yep, some off the ex-pats were going to make sure that I was not about to have it too easy. But, in the end, I didn't care. And ironically, when I returned after a fifteen year absence, many of the more bitter "guests" from overseas were no longer on the island, some having moved on to "greener pastures" while others had succumbed to burnout, scandal, or homesickness. Of course the sturdy and adaptable - the ones who "get it" - those wonderful ex-pats are still there - and they have been joined by others, as the sister-isles of St. Kitts and Nevis, develop new hotel properties, restaurants and other forms of economic "drivers" to replace the recently defunt sugar industry. And there are numerour folks who are building homes in Frigate Bay, my old stomping grounds, rendering the hills above both North and South Frigate unrecognizable.

In the end, it only took eight weeks and a power failure to learn not to care about what other folks thought of me or my work. A Kittitian co-worker, sensing that after two months on island, I was finally at my limit with the delays, miscommunications and obstacles that are part of island life, and fearing that I might pack my bags and disappear as so many others had, took matters into his own hands. He drove back to the hotel after work hours and invited me to go for a drive in the hills around Frigate Bay. Now mind you, it was pitch-dark out there, but there was a crescent moon and a plethora of stars in the sky. And there were very few houses and even fewer roads than there are today, in the hills behind the hotel. Momentarily skeptical about where he would take me: as it was, the roads were really dark with few or no street lights, when the power was ON; I put my trust in this fellow and off we went. Off-roading around Fort Tyson, Frigate Bay and Half Moon Bay.

We finally stopped at the crest of a hill and got out of the car to enjoy the star lit night. The moon reflected off the Caribbean Sea as we gazed down on South Frigate Bay. There were so many stars in the sky that it almost looked like the angels had unwound countless bolts of rich black velvet fabric, upon which they had then strewn layers and layers of glitter dust, crystals and diamonds! And then looking down toward the Salt Pond, I thought I saw those stars reflected in its stillness. But when I refocussed my vision I realized what actually lay before me - in the grasses of the hills about Frigate Bay, and for what seemed like miles, where nested tens of thousands, perhaps millions, of fireflies! It took my breath away. For a moment, I was in complete awe, having never witnessed such a sight. The fireflies glowed and flitted around and settled down again in the gentle night breeze. And there were so, so many of them!

When I took in this magnificent panorama lit only by the cool glow of the billions of stars in the sky and the warmer, closer, yet more ethereal glow of the fireflies, I forgot about all the people-politics and the heat, the humidity, the recent rains and other stresses of the day. And it hit me: My friend was sharing something very profound and personal with me. This was his St. Kitts. Simple. As God made it. This tiny, green, volcanic little island, surrounded by sea. And my friend showed me that if I was really lucky, the island would accept me and the sign came when, at night the power and magnificence of the sea was completely dwarfed by a carpet of stars in the sky and a carpet of stars at my feet.

Acceptance into the fabric of this little island was hard-earned. But it was sweet!

Have a great adventure!

2008-10-01T16:46:00.010-04:00

This is my 3 year-old nephew's favourite expression. He uses it interchangeably with "have a nice adventure" in much the same way service personnel tell us to "have a great day" at the end of a transaction, or the way we might close off a "goodbye" or "so-long" statement with family and friends: by saying "have a good time ... nice evening ... great day at work ..." ... and so on.

Mikey loves that word. Adventure. He keeps asking what it "akshully means," but I have yet to look it up in the dictionary, because I realized a long time ago that he instinctively knows the true meaning of adventure ... due to the simple fact that he has not yet reached his fourth birthday. As a youngster, he is still discovering the world around him. Everything is alternately new and exciting or scary and challenging. He approaches both versions of his world with equal portions of abandon, curiosity and eagerness, tempered by a healthy dose of caution. But not enough caution to stop him from learning more about that which may be scary or dangerous. He is constantly learning new things about the physical world and about language as well.

He practices his vocabulary on us continously and never tires of discussing his latest discovery in the garden. "Hey, what is that plant doing in the middle of the lawn?" "I think it's a weed, Mikey." "No, it is not a weed. I know what weeds look like. This is a PLANT!" Said with emphasis and delight and some consternation. "So, what is a plant doing in the middle of the grass? And look, you guys cut it with the lawn mower, but it's still a plant!" He proceeds to walk around the area where he had made the discovery and inspects it, checks the rest of the lawn for evidence of more plants, scratches his head, asks again "what the heck is going on here" ... and eventually moves on to something else. Later in the day, he excitedly informs us of his discovery and spends many days thereafter asking about other plants and where they grow, when they grow, why grass is different ... and what is so BAD about weeds anyway." All done with great excitement, humour and wonder.

I hope he never loses his sense of wonder and excitement. Because every day is an adventure for him. We adults have forgotten how to view our world and the people in through the lense of wonder. We have become busy, jaded and critical ... too content to remain locked in our own complacent assumptions and unwilling to embrace new ideas, new situations, new challenges! If only we could see it all as one big adventure!

Well, my friend Miss Lizzy has just announced that she willl soon be flying off to St. Kitts, having accepted a job down there. Now, granted, she has been there before and she has family there. So she won't be going through a full-out adjustment to a totally new set of people, places and cultural variances as I once had to. Still, this move is big and life altering. She has been working toward it for some time. I suspect that many folks that knew what she was planning have been very supportive, while one or two others have not always offered the most positive feedback.

At times, we have to listen to the cautionary tales through the voices of those that care about us. At times, there will be others who seek to discourage us from following our dreams, purely based on their own stuff ... perhaps jealousy, perhaps because they have had their own challenges and feel weighed down and regrettful of their decisions. Who knows? But Miss Lizzy hasn't let any of the less than possitive feedback get in the way of what she knows is in her heart - a desire to make a life for the next period of time - whatever that may look like - on an island in the Caribbean that has embedded itself in the hearts and souls of one or two of us!

So, rather than gush on about how much I admire the decision and the tenacity to persue her goal, yada, yada, to Miss Lizzy I say this:

Have a GREAT ADVENTURE!

Not a nice adventure ... a GREAT one!

And embrace each day through a new lense, with open mind and heart! Live each and every day as if you were three again!

Shadow and Light

2008-09-26T09:35:00.007-04:00

The best part of travel is that sometimes, you don't have to travel far to feel the peace, contentment and relaxation that is so important in these stressful times. These pictures were taken fairly close to home, when I take time out for a "stay-cation" ...

The relentless persuit of summer ...

2008-09-25T13:13:00.015-04:00

When will I accept that I am not a winter person? It is freezing outside. I mean, really, really freezing. It has been snowing several times a week for the last eight weeks ... and it is still January! And I can't get my head around the fact that this cold will be with us for at least another eight, maybe twelve more weeks! So, why do I still leave here? Good question, since I always seem drawn to warmer places, surrounded by sea. And since states of readiness ... but somehow, summer got in the way of finishing them, as I found myself less and less drawn to the computer and more and more drawn to the outdoors, friends and family. I am sure that I will start posting the stories very shortly (once I have worked out how to copyright them!)

Today was such a glorious day that I did finally feel compelled to come back to the computer to reflect on the seasons. The balmy weather and bright autumn sunshine made me realize that I have to savour it. The first day of fall has already come and gone, with winter beckoning around the corner. And this realization has led me, of course, to ponder just exactly where the last few months have gone.

There is just something about an Ontario summer that is so sweet and intense. I guess it is the certainty that the cold blasts of winter are inevitably lying in wait somewhere, to pay their annual visit. Winter is when I like to write, read and cook, while the bittersweet days of autumn are dedicated to reflection, re-evaluating and letting go - mentally, emotionally, and in a practical way, as I empty out and reorganize my closets - one of my several ways of preparing mind, body and soul for the dreaded dark days of winter.

Oh and part of preparing the home for winter also involves food ... this is also the time when, just the like the pioneers, there is the time consuming, but gratifying process of harvesting of the (sub)urban garden crop - the canning of tomatoes, drying of thyme and oregano stalks, shelling, steaming and freezing of luscious Romano beans, slicing, steaming and freezing of zucchini that grow so prolifically, that we can't eat them all or give enough away to prevent the ones on the vine from growing too large. Then there is the preparation of large batches of home-made, minestrone, full of tasty organic treats from the garden. These hearty soups are then packed into mason jars, and placed in the deep freezer for good measure.

This is the comfort food that will sustain me during the winter months, when faced with those long cold and often snowy nights when I can't sleep, I find myself remembering longingly of past soujourns in tropical places. Those times when frustrated by insomnia and hurtling toward panic mode because I know that I have to be at work bright and early the next ... or is it the same morning? ... to face another group of folks looking for support through whatever drama, trauma, confusion or "frazzlement" they have been facing. These are the moments when I remember the thick garden soup that lies, solidified in the bottom of the freezer. I pop open a jar of that wonderful minestrone and alow it to thaw, and then slowly revive it in an old sauce-pan on the gas stove-top. No microwave for this soup! No, this ambrosia from from my mamma's garden, deserves the respect that only a more traditional method of preparation can evoke. As the minestrone slowly melts, warms, and re-forms to its former glory, all the scents of the late summer garden escape and envelope my senses. Sustained by a healthy, summery late night or early morning garden treat, my soul sings, I do some writing and I head back to my warm bed.

So summer becomes my time to celebrate and enjoy family, friends and nature. And the memories then get stored in every jar of minestrone ... just waiting to be retrieved. My little stories are no different ... frozen for now, but waiting to be released very soon.

Look! Up in the sky! It's ... it's ... it's not going to land here tonight!

2008-06-17T21:46:00.039-04:00

Hearing about all the recent changes to airline travel - cost saving measures, charges for checked baggage, charges for food and beverage - got me thinking about the good old days, when the customer was king ... or was he/she?

I seem to recall that even when there were more (though not necessarily more affordable) flights in and out of the Caribbean, travelers were still at the mercy of any number of elements beyond their control, or comprehension. Though, admittedly there were fewer hassles in terms of baggage and carry-on restrictions, in the pre-pre-911 era, air travel was not without its excitement - and a story to tell at the end of it all!

Picture this: St. Kitts, October 1988. My friend, Miss M (a Canadian ex-pat )and I were living at the only real resort on the island. OK, she was living there, while I was on a very, very extended stay - I say this because, technically, I didn't actually have a work permit, but I was definitely working there! Anyway, her older sister, Miss V was visiting from Toronto and we thought it would be a nice treat for her if we went over to St. Martin for the day. A nice shopping expedition was the goal, since there really wasn't much to buy in St. Kitts and Nevis back in those days. Yes, I know, some would argue there still isn't much to buy there these days either.

We had been looking forward to perusing some of the more expensive items on the French side of St. Martin and then booting it over to the Dutch side to do some serious haggling over leather goods and jewellery. I was intent on buying a nice little black cocktail dress that I had seen on a previous shopping trip. So, we negotiated our time off with "de boss" and off we went. There was one stipulation, however. Since "de boss" had bestowed the kindness of approving a day off during the working week, he asked us to look into buying a few television sets for the recently completed rooms in the new wing of the hotel. Oh, and he also asked us to buy a microwave oven while we were at it, for his kitchen. How could we say no? He was our boss, after all. But how were we going to get the goods back to St. Kitts? Apparently, we were supposed to bring everything back with us on our return flight with LIAT the same day. Have you seen the size of those little planes? I couldn't imaging how we would ever get clearance to bring all that stuff back with us.

To ease our anxiety, our boss suggested that his nanny join us. She was a tiny thing, so I was pretty sure that she wouldn't be able to carry even one t.v., let alone five of them, plus a microwave oven! Apparently, that was not to be her role. She was, however a pro at arranging taxi vans, and porterage in and out of the island airports. She also knew the ins and out of the St. Kitts customs and inland revenue process. Yes, our Miss S was a real multi-tasker - her skill set went far beyond child care.

Our shopping trip was a great success. Not only did we find the appliances and electronic equipment that we were after, but we accomplished the task in record time! Having taken the first flight out of St. Kitts, Miss S suggested we get the boring stuff out of the way and head straight for the Dutch side of the island to negotiate the purchases for our boss. There were several cruise ships in port, so the shops had opened up early. In no time at all, we had the t.v. sets, microwave oven and some kitchen utensils purchased, paid for and the way-bills for same day shipping on our flight all arranged. Miss S had arranged for a taxi van to to get the goods to the airport by the designated time and now we were on our way to the French side, where we had loads of time to enjoy a lovely late breakfast of croissants, French pastries (naturally!) and cafe au lait, while we sat at a lovely cafe near a marina. This was heaven for me, as I love pastries and coffee any time, and I was able to do some choice people-watching too!

We also had more than enough time to shop the chi-chi boutiques of the French side to buy my little black cocktail number and we also found an orange bikini for Miss V, a Gucci handbag for me, school supplies (did I mention that Miss M was a nursery school teacher?) and t-shirts for Miss M and Miss S. Then off for a late lunch and a more people-watching at the marina, and finally back to the airport - where the real fun was about to start.

We reached the airport two hours ahead of our scheduled flight - the same time we had instructed the taxi driver to deliver our electronic goods. I had been in the Caribbean since August, so by now I had learned all about "island time" and was not about to panic when there was no sign of the guy - until an announcement was heard over the airport loud-speakers that all scheduled flights to St. Kitts were about to be re-shuffled due to some bad weather conditions. Funny, here in St. Martin, it was sunny, beyond warm, with barely a breeze to keep us from wilting after a hard day of shopping, haggling and eating.

Terror began to grip me as I recalled the stern look de boss had on his face as he uttered his instructions to me the previous night, "don't come back without the t.v.'s - those rooms have to be finished before the next golf group arrives at the hotel next week. Otherwise I am sending you back to Canada!" Of course, I knew he was kidding - he had a very dry sense of humor - but, well, what if he wasn't? I was kind of loving my time in the islands. Especially as it was an early winter back home, and frankly, what would you rather be doing in your spare time after work? Drinking cold Caribs on a funky little beach on a yet-to-be-discovered tropical paradise, or braving the dreary rains and early snow falls of an Ontario late autumn just to get to your car, the transit stop ... or ... well, you get the picture! I wasn't about to test the man's threat - I knew that I had a good thing here.

So, I scrambled to find a pay phone to call the store where we made the purchases. I was informed that the driver did indeed leave with the goods several hours before, but where was he? Lordy, I paced and paced, smoked cigarette after cigarette, when suddenly, like a vision the man appeared through the front entrance of the airport all sweaty and distressed. Evidently, he had been in a fender-bender accident with a bus load of tourists. Did I ask him if he was OK or if anyone else was hurt, for that matter? Nuh uh. All I could muster up was "what about my t.v.'s?" Oh, what a cold-hearted wench I was in those days!

You would think that "all's well that ends well," right? Nuh uh, again! Surprisingly, we had no difficulty checking the goods in with the LIAT desk agent, however, he could not guarantee that the seven boxes would get on the same flight that we were scheduled on. They were to be divided among our flight and the one following us. In those days, there were numerous flights per day between St. Kitts and St. Martin, at least in theory. But, of course, this was not a normal day. As if there was ever such a thing in the Caribbean! What was concerning me was the fact that we had just been informed that the last two flights of the day were cancelled. After our flight, there would only be one more headed for St. Kitts, so we and our stuff had to be on one of those flights or risk being stranded overnight. The LIAT personnel were more than accomodating, as there were extra seats on the next flight. The issue was how much stuff would fit into the cargo holds of each plane, as it seemed that everyone who was anyone in St. Kitts and Nevis was over in St. Martin shopping that day. Apparently they have good sales in St. Martin in November. But what did it matter, if we never made it home?

As we tried to work out who would go on which flight with which configuration of boxes, another announcement came over the loud-speakers, but it was so garbled that I didn't understand a word. All I remember was that all four of us were coralled onto a waiting plane through a chaotic flurry of hand gestures and shouts from various airport staff and ground handlers. By the time we were seated all I had understood was that the flight was leaving NOW, even though newly re-issued tickets were for the next flight. As I gazed out the little window of the LIAT plane - the kind with propellors - no jet engines here - all I noticed were our boxes on the ground and a guy on the tarmac with the flag giving our pilot the go-ahead to proceed.

So, off we went, airborne and appliance-less. Due to some unusual climatic conditions, according to the flight crew, we were going to fly lower than usual, and all I remember was that our plane seemed to shake, rattle wheeze and rumble all the way to St. Kitts. Most of the short flight seemed to be side-ways as the plane struggled to remain level over the open seas. Again, I found it strange that there was not a cloud in the sky. The sea was a gorgeous shade of turquoise, though it did seem to be more turbulent with large swells, the likes of which I had not seen since my arrival in the Caribbean 4 months earlier. I also noticed that the pilot seemed to be having a heated debate with someone over his radio equipment. This did not seem to bode well. Oh, how I wished that these little planes had doors between the cockpit and main cabin! Did I really need to see and hear the pilot arguing with someone? And what could be so stress-inducing for him?

I really started to get scared at this point. So much so, that even though I am a lapsed Catholic, I suddenly found myself reciting the rosary on the string of fake pearls that I wore around my neck. After about twenty minutes or so, we noticed out the window the beautiful lush green slopes of the mountain range that dominates the centre of St. Kitts. Ah, home at last, I said to myself! Good, I can stop praying now. But, alas, landing was not on the flight plan ... as we suddenly dipped and the plane did an about-face and headed back out to sea. We circled for a while, as the pilot continued to shout into his radio equipment, though we couldn't hear what he was saying over the roar of the engines. Apparently, he too knew how to mulit-task! By now, it had started to rain, and we continued to circle the island and I began to wonder how safe it actually was to fly in driving rain, while thunder and lightning began to make an appearance in the early evening skies surrounding us?

As we circled the island, the pilot announced that we might not be landing in St. Kitts tonight and would have to land elsewhere. At least, I think that is what he was saying. It was hard to hear, above the sound of the engines and my now racing heart. Indeed, by now it was dusk, and we saw what the real problem was - when we looked out the windows, we noticed what we didn't notice in the dark - there were no lights. The entire island was dark - no runway lights, no flickering street lights in Basseterre - no red flecks of the communication towers. Nothing. Yikes, a power failure! Now, everyone knew that the power went out quite frequently on this and other islands in those days. I had been caught on more than one occasion in my room or on the resort grounds during just such occasions, but I had been told that the airport had a back-up generator. So, why weren't the lights on, at least at the airport? Did they run out of deisel fuel for the generator? It is amazing the questions that arise and the speculation that one engages in when such crisis occur on these small islands. I was really still a newbie to this life, so everything was still a little scary, as I was unclear as to how the problem-solving process worked. I just prayed that I survived to tell about this latest adventure. I really didn't relish the idea of dying on a plane because it fell out of the sky because some bookkeeper on some Caribbean island forgot to pay the deisel bill!

We discovered later that when the power goes out on St. Kitts, there is no communication between incoming planes and the airport. So, our pilot, had, in fact been talking, or shouting to air traffic controllers in Antigua! And the folks in Antigua were on the phone with the airport folks in St. Kitts. Suddenly, as if by magic, the lights along the runway flickered on and the pilot had an opportunity to land our little plane, but he had only one shot at it, so it had to be a quick and efficient landing. The man got us down, but we were all quite frazzled by the time we de-planed. Poor Miss V, she was cursing and swearing at her sister by now and could be heard for hours afterwards muttering under her breath "I don't know why you wanted to come and live on this God-forsaken island! Why did you bring me here? I could have be on vacation in Florida right now ..."

Well, a few days later, Miss V had rediscovered her sense of humor and was telling the story from a slightly different angle - mostly, she delighted in telling everyone how green I looked on the plane as I said yet another Hail Mary on my fake pearls that I had bought in St. Martin! Oh, and she looked pretty good in that orange bikini, as she had yet another guy mesmerized by the story ... or was it the story that was mesmirizing? As for the seven boxes ... they did make it to St. Kitts, but it took days, and it will take another several pages to tell that story.

Oh, and just because this is St. Kitts we are talking about , the story doesn't end here. No, indeedy! Later that night, and well into the next day, yet another plane, this time, a packed charter flight from Toronto went through a whole different adventure and 24 hours spent everywhere but in St. Kitts airspace before its passengers ever reached us at the resort.

But that story will have to wait for another time. Can you stand it?

If I can rationalize all this ... could I sell ice to Eskimos?

2008-06-07T14:30:00.010-04:00

On a youth counsellor's income, there isn't always a lot of "stretch room" in the budget to have the kinds of vacations that I have always dreamed about. In fact, for many years, I didn't travel at all, as there never seemed to be enough money left at the end of the year to justify the expense. Then I became the budgetting and cost-cutting queen ... and the empress of off-price-shopping ... oh, yes, and lest we forget, I sold my little townhouse and moved in with my aging parents. And so, I suddenly found a bit of cash to fund a trip or two ... or three ... or four. And I learned the art of rationalization: I can justify a pleasure trip even faster than I can engage an angry youth in a empowering converstation - and I am pretty good at the latter, even if I say so myself!

I read recently on one of the travel forums that I love to frequent, that one of the best ways to deal with post-vacation-blues is to start planning the next trip. I was barely home for 24 hours and I had already begun in earnest, to plan the next Caribbean adventure. I use the term "adventure" a bit loosely, though ... because truth be told, I am cautious by nature and really am more of an observer or people-watcher than an all-out "adventure-gal." I am quite content to sit on the side-lines and take in the scenery and dynamics, soaking up the culture and the sun from a vantage point that won't bring about drowning, broken bones or too many hangovers!

That said, I admire, respect and love to hang out with the more adventurous travellers and locals that may cross my path once I reach a destination. I can never get enough of their stories. In this heart of mine, I am convinced that there does indeed reside the soul of an adventuous, free-spirited vagabond!

I have thought for some time now, that a nice spot to indulge my inner-vagabond would be the Grenadine island of Bequia. In fact, I have been dreaming of Bequia ever since I had seen it featured on a travel program about 15 years ago. It seemed totally unspoiled and even less developed than St. Kitts and Nevis had been when I first set eyes on those sister-isles back in the 1980's. And it's neighbors that make up the rest of the Grenadines, those small pearls that extend from the larger islands of St. Vincent to Grenada, all seem so exotic and inviting too. I can't really say that I know a great deal about Bequia, aside from the fact that like most of her neighbours, she too has her roots in the slave trade, and that whale hunting has been part of the local history and culture for some time. I also know that it is about a one-hour ferry ride from St. Vincent ... and the kicker for me is that Bequia attracts the boating or sailing enthusiast. Here I mean thetrue sailors, not the mega-yacht rich folk who are being touted as the next investors to save some of the tourism-bound islands as they diversify their economies away from sugar-cane and other forms of non-sustainable agriculture. Oh, and one other feature of Bequia that makes it appealing to me of course, is the promise of its own special brand of West-Indian cuisine and music!

As I have always had a passion for any vessel that sports a sail, from tall-ships to schooners, to catamarans to those tiny, hand-crafted single mast fishing boats, I thought "what better way to indulge my yen to see a whole host of these beauties, but in a tranquil island, that seems virtually untouched by mass-tourism?" Ironically, I really don't know a dam thing about sailing. For me, it is more of a visual sensibility - I simply like the look of boats - on the sea, on a lake - at day-break, at sunset - no matter. My heart does a flip-flop whenever I gaze upon an unfurled sail.

Somehow, I never made it to Bequia last November, when I embarked on my first trip to Grenada, opting instead to spend a little more money and hopping north via Antigua back to St. Kitts, where I had spent 17 days barely 11 months earlier. This is where my powers of rationalization started to kick in. I always seem to find a way to justify a trip by finding some sort of bargain, then I find a way to over-spend on my budget, by at least double. This pattern seems to be what has kept me from seeing Bequia over the last year or so. On a positive note, it has done wonders for my spirit of aventure ... and has gone a long way to helping me reduce my stress levels! Vactions are good for that ...

I rationalized giving Bequia a miss this time around by telling myself that travelling alone would just make it too stressful, as I was destined to be on my own for the whole 17 days. I rationalized two and a half weeks of vacation by reminding myself that I had all this carry-over from a time that my employer asked my to post-pone my vacation for about 8 months. If I didn't use the time now, I would lose it. That didn't seem cost-effective to me!

As far as revisiting St. Kitts, well, you see, I don't mind going to St. Kitts on my own as I know my way around that island well enough ... plus I have enough friends and aquaintances there that I never get a chance to feel lonely or unsafe. But travelling to two islands - Grenada and Bequia - that I had never visited before, just seemed a tad isolating. So, I rationalized, "what better compromise than to spend the first week of my holiday someplace where I have friends?" Plus, the money that I saved by booking cheap air passage on Caribbean Airlines via Trinidad seemed to more than pay for the additional air-lift between islands on LIAT, as compared to say, booking a one-way flight to St. Kitts on American Airlines, then one-way home on Caribbean Airlines out of Grenada. What I didn't calculate closely enough, or rather, what I conveniently focussed my attention away from was the fact that rooms in St. Kitts would cost me double what I would have paid in Bequia. But, I was not too bothered by that fact, because, I told myself, I had saved a bundle on the accomodation in Grenada because I had "won" a decent rate for the Flamboyant Hotel on the SkyAuction website.

This process of rationalization continued and actually refined itself when I reached St. Kitts, when realizing that I had spent a small fortune on taxis during the previous two visits, I decided to rent a car. And what a beauty it was! The most economical car in all the rental pools in the Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis is the Dhiatsu Charade - I called it my "Lil' Blue Toaster Oven." After all, didn't Dhiatsu start out as a kitchen appliance company? I told myself that it was a real bargain at USD $40.00 per day, give or take taxes, insurance and license; and it freed me up to visit any part of the island any time of the day or evening. Yes, it was great fun trying to get that little beast to make it up that first hill of the South East Peninsula along the R. L. Bradshaw Highway. And what an adventure driving along that highway! Two lanes, many potholes, beautiful vistas of Atlantic Ocean on one side and Caribbean Sea on the other, as well as a myriad of living creatures, - cattle, egrets, monkeys, mongoose, goats ... oh my! The final triumph of "auto-rationalization" was when I told myself that once I reached Grenada, I would be saving SO much money on transportation because I planned to ride the buses there! I had heard that they were so efficient and cheap - so, why not spend my Grenada taxi money on my St. Kitts car rental?

And so it went. In Grenada I overspent on my food budget, even though I had a kitchenette in my room. The rationale for this one was quite sweet - I discovered early on that there were some differences in the local cuisines between islands. Grenadian versions of "Creole," "local," and "West Indian" are quite different than their northern or Leeward Island counterparts. Now, did I not owe it to myself to discover all the subtle differences? And so it went ...

Today, I found myself really needing to fight the vacation blues ... so I continued to resurrect my plan for getting myself over to Bequia one day. When, I received an e-mail from a fellow traveller who seems to love all the same places that I do, I found myself chuckling, because she happened to mention her knack for rationalizing budget overages and extra expenditures on all her vacations. It seems that we have quite a bit in common, and when I read her travel blogs she has me convinced to travel more and see the entire Caribbean "one island at a time." Just knowing that she also seems to be a reigning monarch of the rationalization game, brings me to the conclusion that quite a few of us are able to pull some amazing skills out of our "bag of tricks" when it come to travel!

In my case, I think now that I have had a rekindling of my love for the Caribbean, I will pretty much resign myself to never owning a dam thing again, as long as I can get back there at least once a year - or more - but India, Asia and Africa still beckon, so I have to squeeze them in too! Anyway, if I could only consolidate those rationalization skills and channel them toward my career from time to time, I could probably sell the proverbial ice to the Eskimos!

Travel Tales Part IV - The Karmic Kickback

2008-05-30T13:56:00.009-04:00

There are benefits and drawbacks to travelling solo. Depending on where you are in your life-journey, sometimes your benefit IS your drawback. For example, you get to spend a lot of time with yourself - alone, with no distractions. So you had better have a good relationship with you. Lucky for me, I have been working on my relationship with me for a while. One of the pacts that I made with myself prior to leaving on my November trip was that I would try not to stress out over things that I could not control and to only plan enough of an itinerary to ensure that I got to where I was going safely. Then, I promised myself that I would leave the rest up to fate and simply go with the flow. This plan definitely worked out and I am so glad that I get along with me.

You see, in recounting this one, of many adventures that I experienced during my November excursion into the Caribbean, I left out one minor detail: The "lucky-seven" combo seemed to follow me around for about 24 hours = Seven strangers in a cab from the Piarco, Port-of-Spain, dinner at 7:00 p.m. in St. Anne's ... and here's the kicker ... the 7:20 a.m. flight from Port-of-Spain bound for Grenada left early. Yep, you guessed it ... it took off promptly at 7:00 a.m. No joke! Tripple Sevens indeed ... my St. Kitts ticket angel knew what she was talkin' about ... and breakfast in Trinidad simply was "not in the cards."

One last thought: the irony of the whole thing was that it was my mother's birthday on the 16th and I just wanted to get to my hotel early in the day, so that I could sit down and give her a call and have a bit of a chat with her, since I had forgotten to get her a gift or even a card before I left Toronto. I did manage to call her from Trinidad perhaps around 3:30 in the afternoon, or so. When I explained that I might be stranded in Port-of-Spain overnight, her response to me was "well at least it is not snowing there, so take out your credit card and get a nice room somewhere ... then go out and have a nice dinner ... I hear they make good curried goat in Trinidad, so why don't you order some for dinner and enjoy it for my birthday?" Funny thing, I hate goat. Guess what I had for dinner that night? And, I am happy to report, it was delicious!

Travel Tales Part III - Three Sevens Equal a Trinidadian Interlude

2008-05-30T09:44:00.012-04:00

It is still November 16th and our Grenadian "rescue team" had gone so far as to canvas a number of exhausted and confused tourists, who just wanted to get to Grenada. Most of us looked like the proverbial "deer caught in the headlights" by now. The Grenadian gentlemen, enusred us that they would find us suitable accomodation, that we could afford. In short order, with the help of an airport representative and the Port-of-Spain telephone directory, they had narrowed downd the choices of digs, but it seemed very unlikely that LIAT would ever reimburse us if we opted not to stay at the Belair.

Several couples/families were quite distraught by now, as their luggage never made it from Barbados. I felt a bit smug by this stage, because I had been travelling only with carry-on bags, packed to the brim, mind you, and I was sitting on them! Some travellers opted to wait all night at the airport. Other passengers/families were Caribbean nationals and had family or friends in Port of Spain, so were making tracks to spend their time with them.

By now I had this notion that I had met Mr. "Denzel Brynner" somewhere before (OK, really, there is no resemblance to Denzel, but he is taller and darker than Yul, and for that matter, taller than most Grenadian men, at least those that I have seen!) He just looked so dang familiar, but perhaps in my hypoglycemic state I was blurring a bunch of movies into one big, messed-up scenario in my head? Perhaps "The King and I" meets "Deja Vu?" Well, in my confused state, I blurted that I thought he reminded me of someone I knew from St. Kitts - to which he replied that this seemed unlikely unless I was there in the early '90's, when he had actually lived there for a while. Turns out we know a lot of the same people. OK, he knows them better than I do, but still ... what are the odds? Only catch is that we were never actually on that island at the same time. OK, now we have left the movies and have definitely proceeded into the "Twilight Zone."

So once the Grenadian Good Samaritans were satisfied that everyone was sorted and calm, 7 of us (there is that number again) proceeded to our respective hotels. We all shared a taxi to St. Ann's. Never having been to Trinidad, all I have heard of St. Ann's is that it is notable for being the district where some prominent politicians have their homes and that there are some good restaurants around the area. And I was beyond hungry by now. I thought this might all work out after all - If St. Ann's is good enough for the prime minister, I figure it was good enough for me. So, the Brit with two other travellers went to the Hilton, and a Swiss-American couple and I went to the Normandie with "Denzel Brynner." What a great choice! The Hilton, from the outside looks like any American hotel, set amid a nice tropical garden, mind you. The Normandie, is an older boutique hotel -- not really trendy but very, very quaint, with a very Spanish/Moorish/Indo-Caribbean vibe, in the heart of this great part of the city! Wow! Reminded me of Rome, high on a hill, with some narrow cobbled side streets, lots of crazy traffic, big open spaces juxtaposed with all kinds of tropical greenery and a mish-mash of architecture. Fabulous!

At the hotel, "Denzel Brynner" suggests the four of us meet for dinner and he would take us to one of his favorite restaurants. So around 7:00pm (are ya keeping track of the digits? I didn't notice until I began writing this) we walked down through the streets of St. Ann's to an Indian restaurant, which was so authentic, that for a minute, I couldn't quite remember where I was. By the way, I was wearing a lovely black and white skirt which would have looked even more smashing if I was wearing those cute Italian cork and patent leather numbers on my feet instead of the black (at least they were leather) flip-flops. After all, Denzel Brynner has to be at least 6 feet tall or more, and here I stand at barely 5’2’’ in my bare, flip-flopped feet! From a distance, we could have passed for parent and child! But, I digress. The meal was fantastic. The conversation was better than that -- and I had to pinch myself to see if this was all real! A perfect ending to a harrowing day! At dinner, Mr. D.B. suggested that we all forgo the morning flight to Grenada the next day and take the 2:30pm flight instead. This way, we could take our time, see a bit of Port of Spain by day, have a decent breakfast, do a little shopping. The Swiss-Yankees and I were fearful that the flight might be full ... so, since we had "guaranteed seats" on the 7:20am flight we decided to leave it at that. Didn't want to risk a repeat of this day.

The Good Samaritan stayed behind and we caught the morning flight.The next morning, our pre-arranged taxi from the previous evening did not show up to take the three of us to the airport. No need to panic - the Brit who stayed at the Hilton had already made arrangements for another cab and came to pick us up! Then, when we got to Grenada, he drove us all to our respective hotels.

The two "Good Samaritans" provided an early introduction to what Grenadian hospitality is all about. And I feel so fortunate that they were there that day to assist so many stranded travellers. Things could have been so much worse. So, I guess my ticket angel in St. Kitts was right, LIAT flight #777 was indeed my lucky number!Naturally, on my arrival in Grenada, Saturday morning, it was raining. By the time I reached my hotel, we are talking torrential rain ... for hours ... rain ... thunder ... winds ... more rain ... all day. I thought hurricane season was over! Denzel didn't mention that it was raining for the past 2 days in Grenada and that the forecast called for at least 2 more days like this. If he had, I would have taken his advice and stayed in Trinidada at least until the afternoon flight!

So, I spent most of my long-awaited first day in Grenada, sleeping in my room instead of snoozing on the beach, while I recalled that it had been a picture perfect day in Trinidad. Thankfully, by Sunday morning it was bright and sunny and we never saw rain again until the morning that I was leaving Grenada. I did see "Denzel Brynner" again a few days later and he indicated that the 2:30pm flight from POS to GND, in fact, left on time and landed early that Saturday. And the two travellers that went to the Hilton with our British Grenadian were also on that flight with him. AND there were seats to spare!

Moral of the story: when a handsome, intelligent, gentleman-stranger suggests to a gal that she should chill-out and take a later flight - the gal should listen to him! After all, the ticket angel had already made sure that I had drawn "three sevens" even before I left St. Kitts!

Travel Tales Part II - A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Grenada

2008-05-29T16:28:00.013-04:00

When I think about the second leg of my November journey, I can still hear the sweet Caribbean-accented voices of the flight attendants, "welcome to LIAT, the airline of the Caribbean" ... in retrospect, they should warn passengers that LIAT is an acronym for "leave island any time." In my case, though, I thing the airplane gods must have really wanted me to have some sort of semi-romantic interlude in Trinidad, which incidentally was nowhere on my travel itinerary.

It was Friday the 16th, not Friday the 13th ... but there were elements at work that day that conspired against a smooth, uneventful transition from a place in the Leeward Islands or northern(ish) Caribbean to an island in the Windward or southern part of the Caribbean. My friends on the St. Kitts & Nevis Friendly Forum found this little side-story quite amusing, and they wondered how I have become so gifted at the art of embellishment. What is really sad/wonderful about this little tale is that it is all true ... and I even left out a whole bit about a near altercation with a LIAT agent in Barbados, who was intent on “shushing” me when I tried to tell her that a bunch of passengers were left by her colleague on the other side of the airport, oblivious to the boarding call for the impending departure of our long awaited flight - my third and final flight of the day which would finally get me to Grenada. The loud-speakers appeared to be broken and nobody cared. But this will have to form the basis for a whole other chapter, because I don’t want to re-live the horror of being embarrassed in front of a bunch of strangers in a strange airport by a young lady who obviously enjoyed tormenting tourists!

OK, so fasten your seat belts and come fly with me. November 16th was a stressful morning. Little sleep, because I feared that I would miss my wake-up call and my early morning flight out of St. Kitts. My LIAT ticket to Grenada involved multiple transfers via Antigua and Barbados, but the pay-off would be that I could reach Grenada by noon, (yes, I know, what was I thinking? ) When I checked in at the LIAT counter, the desk agent informed me that my flight from Barbados to Grenada had been cancelled. Apparently, the airplane gods could only get me from St. Kitts to Antigua, and then from Antigua to Barbados, where apparently, I was to stay. My original flight was evidently taken out of the air because to poor ticket sales - in other words there were too many empty seats; but LIAT forgot to put me on another flight to connect me from Barbados to Grenada. So, I started weeping and getting all agitated and the desk agent, Shaniqua, moved heaven and earth to re-book me on another flight.

Shaniqua is now my ticket angel, because between checking in other departing passengers, and keeping an eye on incoming flights, she suddenly looks up with a big smile and says, you are booked on flight number 777 leaving Barbados at 11:15 a.m. Now we're talking! My response to Shaniqua, at this point, goes something like this: "well at least it's not flight number 666!" (Where is Rod Serling when you need him?!) The ticket angel responds with a big grin, "Oh no Ms. Capraro, three sevens are very good luck ... I think today is your lucky day and you will have a very pleasant adventure!" I think she used to work at the Marriott Casino, in Frigate Bay.

Of course, in Barbados it was announced that flight number 777 was delayed. 2:00 p.m. came and went - no sign of my flight. After about an hour the waiting passengers began to get nervous. An agent came to get us all to escort us to the Grab 'n Go or Stop 'n Shop or some such place, to grab a complimentary meal, but while people were getting their meals and drinks, the flight was called! Huhh? Back to the gate we all ran. We were eventually corralled onto the plane at which point I realized that some passengers were going on to St. Vincent and finally some were going to Trinidad. But, my ticket said Grenada. I asked the flight attendant and she reassured me that we were stopping first in Grenada, then some passengers were going to St. Vincent and Trinidad. I had a bad feeling, but my ticket angel in St. Kitts said that this was going to be my lucky day!

Once the plane was in the air, the pilot made that DREADED announcement that many LIAT passengers before me have heard: the plane was NOT going to land in Grenada or St. Vincent, but was going straight to Trinidad! Due to a fuel shortage, the plane would not make it all the way to all three stops, unless one or two stops were cut from the itinerary. For some reason they were unable to fuel up in Barbados. Why? Don't the have fuel there? Does LIAT owe them money? The flight attendant reassured us that they had been in communication with LIAT headquarters and all passengers bound for Grenada would be accommodated on flights later that evening. Uh huh!

Once in Piarco Airport, Port of Spain, the passengers are informed that, in fact, the later flights were sold out and that we have, instead, been guaranteed seats on the first flight in the morning. By now I am wondering how in heaven's name the ticket angel in St. Kitts could possibly have suggested that this is my good-luck day? Things seem to go from bad to worse when an agent informs about 30 of us that we are being provided with overnight hotel accommodation at their expense. I should think so! Too good to be true ...you see, they were sending us to a place called the Belair and everything that I had read on TripAdvisor about this place was BAD! A real fleabag of a place. AND not safe for single females. OK, here we go ...

So, now it is close to 5:00 p.m. I have not eaten ALL day, and I am cranky and hypoglycemic. Well, for some reason, I start to think that this is all quite funny and I start laughing ... and laughing .... and laughing .... and really wanting to cry ... so, I go outside for a smoke.

Then, I think some kind of Karmic payback began to kick in to make up for an unpleasant experience I had to endure in St. Kitts two days earlier: you see, a couple of "Good Samaritans" decided to help save the day/evening for several of us. Once I had some nicotine in me, I stopped with the hysterical laughter and I was able to really focus ... at which point I became aware of these two gentlemen (with a capital "G".) One was a curious, cultured hybrid of Yul Brynner and Denzel Washington, (complete with a hypnotic Caribbean accent, of course) Grenadian-born and a frequent traveller; the other was a British businessman who works in the Caribbean basin and has a home in Grenada. They were both talking to the stranded passengers and seemed to be doing their utmost to advocate with the LIAT and airport agents to send us to better digs. Basically these gentlemen were telling us, whatever we do, it was imperative we not stay at the Belair Hotel, as it was really bad and in a seedy neighborhood. See? I already knew that because I am a travel forum junkie and I read all this on Trip Advisor. So, I was armed with information and a back-up plan! O.K., I didn't really have a back-up plan, per se, but I knew that it is always a good idea, in theory to have one, and I knew the reasons why ... but I digress ...

Travel Tales Part I - Footwear is Always on My Mind

2008-05-29T16:04:00.019-04:00

Footwear has been on my mind a lot lately. Actually, footwear has been on my mind for most of my life, because, you guessed it – I come by my obsession honestly - my dad was a shoemaker. Not just any old shoemaker, but a real old-world craftsman. He taught me all the finer points of selecting the appropriate shoe – everything from assessing and choosing just the right type of leather, soft and supple, to ensuring that every boot, shoe or sandal had exactly the right amount of properly engineered arch-support.

Now footwear only figures into this particular story in one way: I had spent several months stressing over how to fit the various sandals and flip-flops that are required for a two-island Caribbean holiday into my carry-on luggage. My allotment of travel “necessities” should have included at least one pair of high, Italian (of course, what else!?) cork and patent-leather strappy wedge slip-ons that I could hardly walk in, but that would have been just perfect to wear to a casino or a romantic dinner. Did I mention that I don’t gamble or that I was, in fact traveling solo? What romantic dinner? A middle-aged flight of fancy. I can dream, can’t I?

I had planned a two-island adventure that involved transferring half-way through my vacation using the only Caribbean regional air-line left after many mergers and bankruptcies, consisting of a small fleet of Dash-8 airplanes and possibly, even smaller propeller planes that look no bigger than toys. This was new territory for me and I had been warned by friends and had also learned through extensive internet research that packing a normal suitcase that could then be checked in with the airline like regular luggage, was not a possibility. This airline is notorious for loosing luggage, so I was much better off packing as few items as possible into a carry-on bag. The total weight that I was allowed for carry-on was 15 pounds. Try as I might, to fit as many shoes as possible into my shoulder bag, because I had packed about two dozen t-shirts into my carry-on duffel bag, I had grudgingly left behind my best shoes, and focused instead on squeezing into said duffel bag as many pairs of color-coordinated-to-the-outfit (and to the bathing suit) flip-flops as the bathroom scale allowed.

OK, now I was ready, packed and set to go. I made to island number one, St. Kitts, otherwise known as Jilly's second-home (in my dreams), but footwear was still on my mind because when I left the my beloved second home, I had to leave a pair of flip-flops behind. I had also lost my winter jacket somewhere along the way, but this didn’t bother me as much, even though it was mid-November and it would be dreadfully cold when I would eventually return to Toronto. The Farmers Almanac, which occupies my thoughts almost as much as footwear, was predicting an early and brutal winter. No, this didn’t bother me one smidge, but giving up my green Old Navy flip-flops was breaking my heart, because somehow, without making any purchases, my clothes had gained weight and I dared not go overweight on my duffel bag or I would risk having to check the bag as, gasp, luggage … and who knows where it would end up? What would I do in Grenada, where I knew no one, without my best sandals to complete my outfits! So, I packed my bags and pouted all the way to the Robert Llewellyn International Airport in Basseterre, St. Kitts, known in “airportese” as SKB, for the next part of my adventure for my flight to Grenada, an island I had never visited before.