DAY THREE: ANTIGUA.....Queue It Up

Disaster. I suppose that no trip to The Caribbean would be complete without a complete balls up and I am glad it happened on just our second day. But........my decision to take the ferry rather than the seven seater island hopper to Montserrat backfired big big time.

We arrived at the docks in Antigua in, one would suppose, plenty of time to pay for, board and be Montserrat bound on the inter Island ferry. But, when we arrived there was obvious chaos. The first sign of trouble in these here parts are indistinguishable raised voices and rapid patois. The ferry, at this, an early time, was fully booked. Fuses were lit and sweat furrowed many a brow as reason, cajole and occasional bribery were used in equal measure as a means to secure passage on the vessel, alluringly tied to the ramshackle quay. I had a distinct sinking feeling. We have been here before of course, not in Antigua but marooned at the behest of Liat Air, two years ago at Barbados airport. Now here we were again, in the rising heat, destined not to board the Montserrat Ferry. And board we did not. As it pulled away, us and other travellers cursed its departure, resigning ourselves to a day of waiting. Waiting for the ferry to return in the evening.

What to do? How to kill the time? There was a waiting area, out of the blaze of the sun but not escaping from the humidity. And of course there were fellow travellers, equally out of luck as us, just as pissed off and with nothing to do but wait in the heat. And moan. And curse, in that special West Indian manner.

There was Old Stinky for example. A middle aged black fellow en route from England to Montserrat who constantly complained of his own odour. He left England on Monday, after a delay there as well, and he hadn't had a shower since Sunday. He wanted everyone to know. And he was desperate to get to Montserrat. More than once I had him leaping from his seat in forlorn hopes of boarding the ferry or with news of suspicious queue activity.

And then there was Rastahat. Few teeth and grizzly grey beard. He came with promises of a guaranteed seat on the evening sailing for the mere price of a square meal. He was with us all day promising with every breath in his body and generally knocking about with all those waiting. Jim, also was good value. For as we reached early afternoon and after a few beers in the local bar, weariness overtook us all, and to a man, those waiting in the run down ex bar area, nodded off, either reclining on the seats or slumped in chairs. Suddenly there was a report as loud as a shot from a gun. All woke with a start and for a few seconds were unable to ascertain as to the cause of this.....until we saw Jim sprawled on the floor in what was left of his plastic garden type furniture chair. Merriment all round, and a green chair leg catapulted quite fittingly, in the general direction of the waste bin.

Time wore on. Hours passed, seven of them. Eventually there was activity. The ticket sellers turned up. We were allowed to purchase tickets from a single seller. Queue 1. Queue 2 was round the corner, that was where you presented your passport to a single passport clerk who slowly, laboriously processed the documents before sending you to, yes you guessed it, queue 3. That was the queue for the payment of the island departure tax. When he arrived, and that wasn't immediate. Tax paid we were sent with confirmation to the inevitable queue 4 which was also queue 2 where Immigration Man now found himself multitasking. I don't think that is actually a word in the Caribbean dictionary. I also question the presence of mono tasking too. All this done, were were sent back down the gangplank to the broken down bar to wait for the ferry that was somewhere out there on The Caribbean Sea. My last image of the day was Mr Stinky, feverishly searching his bag at the at the eventual embarkation point, for his lost ticket. We filed past. Upwind.