Category Archives: Guadeloupe

Les Saintes, Guadeloupe — April 26-30, 2014

We spent three wonderful days in Les Saintes this time, enjoying the sensation of being in France.  One doesn’t hear much English, and the fare at the eateries has a definite Gallic or Creole bent.

Barb is newly motivated (and suitably equipped) to get in ten thousand steps per day, thanks to the FitBit gifted to her by niece Cathy.  She also has the ‘Map My Tracks” app on her iPhone, so she has become almost obsessed with getting her walks in every day, and sometimes more than one.  All of the pictures in this posting were taken by her on her various expeditions.  Wish I could keep up with her!

Deshaies, Guadeloupe — Dec. 20-26, 2013

Deshaies, Guadeloupe – we have been here often, since its location renders it a convenient temporary stopping-place for over-nighting as we travel from someplace else to someplace else.  But we had never stayed for long, and had spent almost no time ashore.  This year was different, as a matter of choice and a matter of necessity.  We wanted to see some of Guadeloupe, and we wanted to hunker down in a protected anchorage while the Christmas Winds were raging.

We rented an automobile with Hunter and Devi (Arctic Tern) and spent the day of Dec. 21 touring the island.  Guadeloupe is very French; thank goodness Devi remembered enough of her high school lessons to be able to deal with the lady who delivered the auto.  That lady, like almost everyone we interacted with on the island, spoke little or no English.  

It is common knowledge that Guadeloupe is shaped somewhat like a butterfly; the west wing is the larger of the two, much more mountainous, and called Basse-Terre  and the east wing is smaller and flatter, and called, paradoxically enough, Grande-Terre.

Common knowledge not withstanding, I was surprised at how hilly the eastern half was.  As we made our way toward the extreme eastern corner, the traffic became increasing clogged.   Halfway across that eastern wing, we lost patience and turned northward and motored up to the north shore.   I had expected to see flat fields bursting with sugar cane and vegetables; instead we drove up and down forested land marked by deep ravines and high hills.   Not until we were back to the western wing did we see cane fields; this along the NE corner of that wing.

In addition to the interesting scenery, we had some enjoyable stops.  While still in the western side we stopped at a waterfall very near the highway.  Part of a national park, the “path” to the falls was paved with flat stones and protected with impressive rails.  We visited an aquarium in Pointe a Pitre and had a pizza lunch.    And we visited a rum museum, or should I write “musee du rhum”, which not only had an excellent exhibit of rum-making through the centuries, but also had a large wing devoted to insects, if you will pardon the pun, and another to models of boats.  The original rum factory owner must have been a) rich and b) an avid collector.

On another day Barb and I took an extended hike on a trail up over the mountain to the north.  Just as we reached the beach on the other side, it began to rain and we ducked into a small outdoor restaurant, Chez Samy, and said “Parlez-vous anglais?”   “Non”, was the reply, but the gentleman called over a helper/partner/friend (?) who could speak a few words of English.  We ordered a bottle of water, having not taken any with us since we had not intended to walk so far for so long.   Our translator succeeded in asking where we were from, and was pleased to learn that we lived on a boat.  He dashed off to get placemats that featured a picture of a large sailboat, and, as best as we could understand him, explained that he had been the captain/navigator/crew member (?) on the vessel when it won some type of “world championship”.  He pulled out an almost-empty bottle containing a rich red liquid, fetched some glasses and ice, and poured a little into the glasses, indicating that we should pour some of our water into the glasses.   “Sorrel?”, we asked.   “Non”, he replied.  “Groseilles. Boisson du noel.   Noel?”

“Oui”, we enthused. 

Referring to Christmas must have inspired him.  “Bon avec rhum.  Avec rhum.”

“Oui”, we enthused. 

Suddenly he dashes off again, returning with a bottle of rum and more ice.   He pours more red liquid into our glasses, adds a generous amount of rum and some ice, and dashes off to get some slices of lime.

“Mmmmm”, we enthuse.

When we have finished the small glasses, he pours us another round.  “Joyous Noel”, he says, and we respond, “Merry Christmas”.

“Poulet?” he asks, and before we can respond, grabs some paper towels and goes to the charcoal grill and pulls off two large chicken legs with huge thighs.   Then dashes to the kitchen and returns with a large white starchy vegetable, which he cuts in half and presents with the chicken, all wrapped up in the paper toweling.  Another dash, and we are given a week’s supply of baguettes. Recognizing how awkward this would be to pack way, he dashes off again and returns with a plastic bag.   Meanwhile, as all of this is going on, the original gentlemen is making grumbling noises and quietly scolding (we think) our benefactor, who totally ignores him.

“Joyous Noel”, he says repeatedly.   And then, in case we didn’t understand the context of his beneficence, says in English:  “It is Christmas.”

“Oui”, we say.  “Merci beaucoup.  Merci, merci beaucoup.  Merry Christmas.  Merry Christmas”.

As we say our goodbyes and thank him once again, he indicates that we should wait.  He gets the empty Sirop Grosseilles  bottle, dashes off to a refrigerator to get a bladder of punch, and pours punch into the empty bottle – about 2/3 full.   Nice, huh?  But wait!  He then gets the bottle of rum, and tops up our bottle with rum!

Once again we indicate our gratitude, and once again he indicates that it is because it is Christmas.

By this time it is raining pretty hard, but we are embarrassed to stay any longer, and we are very much disinclined to hike back up over the mountain.  Too far, too steep, and in the rain, too muddy and slippery.   So we walked along the road at the base of the mountain in the rain.  Much much shorter, much easier to walk.   For about half of the kilometer-long walk, Barb attempted to hitchhike.  Surprisingly, no one felt the Christmas spirit strongly enough to stop and give us a ride.  Go figure.

(We later confirmed that French “groseilles” is indeed the same as the Trini and Grenadian “sorrel” that is so popular during the holiday season.)

On Christmas eve it was blowing so hard we (the crews of TT2, Arctic Tern, and Sailacious) cancelled our reservation for dinner on shore.  But on Christmas day we hosted Hunter & Devi and Janice & Steve (Sailacious) for dinner on Tusen Takk II.  I cooked a pork loin on the grill and our guests brought side dishes and wine.   After dinner we played Quiddler.   Very fine holiday.

The wind mostly blew like stink while we were in Deshaies.   Except when it didn’t.   Sometimes it got still, and sometimes it even shifted to the west.  (See the picture below of the GPS screen that we leave on while anchored; the unit traces out our location as we swing.   Normally this produces a “smile”, but during our stay in Deshaies we traced out a circle with the center also filled-in.)

On one especially windy day we noticed that a large catamaran was attempting to leave the anchorage, but had something fouling their anchor.  We took the dinghy out to see if we could help.   But we could not make the French captain understand that he should back into the wind so that we could approach the anchor and help untangle it.   The wind was blowing so hard that we could not stay at the anchor so long as the cat was pointing directly into the wind.  After several unsuccessful attempts to help, during which the wind would grab the dinghy and push us under the cat and away from the anchor, we finally gave up.   We think that they gave up as well, and left the anchorage with the fouling chain and concrete block still stuck to the anchor and dangling from their bow pulpit.

C’est la vie!  Non?

 

Les Saintes, Guadeloupe — Dec. 17-20, 2013

Our stay in Les Saintes was brief, but fun.  The differences between the French islands and the former British ones are striking, and perhaps never more so than when the island is Les Saintes, the Frenchiest of the French-Caribbean islands.  Besides the language and the food, the country is cleaner and neater, with far less junk and debris lying about.  The homes are larger and better maintained.

Along with the Terns we had a number of walks, some short and some a bit more ambitious.  We walked to Grande Anse, in the area of the airport, and on another day most of the way up to Fort Napoleon.  We took a number of short excursions into the village for grocery shopping and/or lunch.  On my 70th birthday on Dec. 19th, the Terns treated us to a marvelous dinner at the Petits Saints restaurant,  Tre bon!

On Dec. 20 the winds changed direction enough that the Saintes anchorage became rolly.   Besides, during our stay when the wind was not blowing, the particular design favored by the French for moorings meant that we had a heavy metal ring banging on our bow when TT2 got too close to the buoy.  We tried wrapping cloth around the ring to provide some cushioning, but had little luck in keeping the cloth in position.  So, knowing that Deshaies had no moorings, and hoping for less rolling, we ventured out into the angry seas between the Saintes and Guadeloupe.  Good thing it was a short passage before we got behind the lee of Guadeloupe.  I will say no more.

See our next post for our experiences in Deshaies/Guadeloupe.

Ilet des Saintes — May 6-12, 2013

On May 6, we left Anse Canot, Marie Galante, and motored downwind and westward back to Ìlet des Saintes.  Arctic Tern, as usual, had departed before us and was already settled into the mooring field at Terre d`en Haut when we arrived.  The mooring buoys there, as in other French islands, feature a heavy metal ring mounted atop a metal stem protruding from the top of the float, and no painter.  So a vessel with a high bow, such as our beloved Kadey-Krogen trawler, has some difficulty getting attached.  Hunter, well aware of our problem, was already standing by in his dinghy in order to help feed our painters through the ring and back up to the Admiral on the foredeck.

We like Terre d`en Haut a lot, but had not spent much time there in recent years.  So when I suggested that we walk to lunch to a restaurant I remembered fondly for its menu, but not so accurately for its location, I led Arctic Tern and Bodacious on a wild goose chase before conceding defeat and “settling” for Douceur de I`Isle, near Baie de Pompierre, where we each had a satisfying meal.  On another day, after Arctic Tern had departed for Portsmouth, Dominica, TT2 and Bodacious tried again, and had success on the road to Grande Anse, just opposite the cemetery.  Alas, I still can not call up the name of the restaurant.  But it is good.

And speaking of restaurants, when Ann and Steve (Receta) arrived, we joined them for dinner at La Saladerie, where we had a marvelous meal.  The restaurant is also an art gallery; the owner Edouard has filled the walls with his creations that have earned him fame in France and sales worldwide.

We also did some diving in the Saintes.  Arctic Tern, Bodacious and TT2 first dove below Pain de Sucre, and the next day the southwest corner of Ìlet à Cabrit.  Jack joined us for a third day of diving at Pain de Sucre, and Barb and I dove there yet one more time the next day.  On those last two times, I took my housed Nikon down with me.

After Arctic Tern had left, and before Receta had arrived, Bodacious and TT2 pulled the dinghy up on the south beach of Ìlet à Cabrit and followed the trails up to the ruins of the fort on the island.

On May 12, Receta and TT2 left the Saintes and moved the 23 nm to Prince Rupert Bay at Portsmouth, Dominica.  As we left the mooring field, we passed by the magnificent square rigger Sørlandet, whose home port is Kristiansand, Norway, home of many of our Norwegian friends.

Neither vessel got so much as a nibble on our fishing lines as we traveled south to Dominica.  But to learn about our activities in Portsmouth, one must tune in to the next exciting episode of “Chuck and Barb go cruising.”

 

Guadeloupe/Marie Galante — May 1-6, 2013

When the Antigua Classic Yacht Regatta concluded, we hung around Falmouth Harbour for a few more days, waiting for better weather for our trip southward.  When we could see that a weather window was on its way, we moved back up to Jolly Harbour, where we did some last-minute provisioning and cleared out with customs.  On May 1 we motored down to Deshaies, Guadeloupe, arriving early enough to go ashore, check in, and see a little of this charming little village.  On the way down we caught another Sailfish, and once again, intimidated about the prospect of getting injured while attempting to release it, I decided to use a gaff to land it.  Next day we continued south, stopping for a dive at Pigeon Island before continuing on to Iles des Saintes.  With the forecasts promising especially mild weather for the next few days, we decided to visit for the first time yet another island of Guadeloupe: Marie Galante.  We were joined in the expedition by Arctic Tern and Bodacious.   As is their wont, Arctic Tern was well on their way before we on TT2 had even cleared the sleep out of our eyes and breakfasted.  Bodacious brought up the rear.  Our initial destination was Grand Bourg, the main town in Marie Galante.  When we were about half-way there, Arctic Tern reported that the enclosed harbour looked much too small to accommodate our three vessels, so we all diverted to St. Louis, the main yacht anchorage and the second-largest village on the island.  Next day, we all went in early and rented scooters from two adjacent vendors.  Jack and Jo (Bodacious) were tandom on a larger scooter.  The rest of us were solo, with Hunter also on a larger bike.  The scooters were easy to master and a blast to ride.  Plenty of power, handlebar brakes, and automatic transmissions.   We circumnavigated the island in a clockwise manner, with a major diversion at one point to find our way to a windmill that we could see in the interior.

Our first major stop was on the northeast side of the island at Gueule Grand Gouffre, a round sinkhole that features a rim about 200 feet high with an arch at the bottom opening to the sea.

We had lunch at a restaurant at Capesterre, right beside an extensive and beautiful beach.

We stopped at two rum factories.   The first, Habitation Bellevue, had a nice tasting station and gift shop.  There were trailers arriving with cut sugar cane, and all phases of the production cycle seemed to be underway.  Fermentation vats were bubbling away.   Others were being filled.   Some were being cleaned in preparation for the next batch.  Cane was being fed into the presses that squeeze out the juice.   Fermented juice was being distilled.  And everything was open, with no apparent restrictions on where an observer could go.

At another rummery, much smaller and more primitive, it was apparent that the cane is delivered by old-fashioned wooden-wheeled carts pulled by oxen, and that the cane is fed to the press by hand or pitchfork.   As we arrived, everything was being shut down for the day, so we could not stay and observe the processes.

We were required to return our scooters by 4 pm.  Afterwards, as we strolled toward the town pier where our dinghy was tied, it became apparent that a crowd had gathered at the base of the pier and on the adjacent beach.  Chanting and singing and blowing of conch.   We soon realized that the crowd was there because a long dugout canoe had just arrived at the beach.  Posters on the side of a small building revealed that the canoe was a reproduction of the kind that had been used by Arawak Amerindians for ocean-going passages.   And then we noticed that yokes were being affixed to two pairs of ox bulls.  The yokes were set upon the necks of the bulls just behind their horns, and were then securely tied to the horns.   Each bull had a large nose ring, to which was attached a long rope that ran up over the forehead of the bull and then up over the bull’s back.  Verbal commands, reinforced by pressure applied to nose rings, were used to control the bulls.   As we watched, the oxen teams were positioned in front of the canoe and chains were attached to the yokes.   The lead team’s chain was attached to the rear team’s yoke.   The rear team’s chain was attached to a line that was tied to a ring near the bottom of the front of the canoe.   When all was arranged, commands where shouted, control lines were tugged, and the canoe and teams surged forward.   When the canoe was about three-quarters ashore, the line attached to the canoe broke.   After several attempts to refasten the line, aided by Hunter who jumped in with his handy Leatherman tool to cut off the old knot, the canoe was brought fully ashore.   A remarkable and unforgettable spectacle.

The next day we all motored north a few miles to anchor near Ilet du Vieux Fort, where we had heard there was good snorkeling.   As we approached by dinghy it became apparent that the island was teeming with nesting Bridled Terns.   They seemed unperturbed by our presence, so we anchored our dinghies and had a marvelous snorkel, circumnavigating the small island.   The west side was especially captivating, filled with arches and eroded caves.   Later I returned with my telephoto lens and took a few pictures of the birds.   When we returned to our boats, we found that the anchorage had become somewhat rolly, so Tusen Takk II and Arctic Tern moved one harbor south to Anse Canot, where we found blissful comfort.   Bodacious had her stabilizing fish out.   Although intended for stabilization while underway, they provided just enough area and weight to render sufficient at-anchor stabilization in the captain’s judgment to render a move unnecessary.

Next day, May 6, we all moved back to Les Saintes.   But to read about our adventures there, the gentle reader will have to tune in to the next exciting episode of “Chuck and Barb go cruising”.