BARBADOS AND THE ROAD HOME

There is a hotel in Barbados and it's situated in a district called Worthing. Normally, I wouldn't use a hotel such as this one, it's expensive. It's self-catering for a start, and although it's got a restaurant, as we found out the last time we stayed here, in fact the first time, the food is expensive and I think Gordon Ramsey would be sending it back. However, we decided, even before we set off on the trip, that our last two days we would spend here. So there must be a reason right? Well there is. It's lux. It's right on the beach with a fab view over a multicoloured Caribbean and as it's low season it's dead easy to get a room. The rooms are everything you could want. There's a big balcony, fridge, air con, kitchen, cable TV, fast internet and a supermarket just up the road. It's also 15 minutes from the airport which means at night you can watch planes coming into land over the sea. As they turn towards the island from a couple of miles out they come straight at the hotel, their landing lights forming a silver pathway on the sea until they turn off parallel to the hotel and pass by, lights twinkling. We love it.

Brits in Barbados

We also had a fair amount of rain but this didn't stop the Brits from toughing it out under umbrellas on the beach. We waited for the rain to stop and then of course the sun comes out and soon the downpour is a memory. The sea is always toasty warm too and if there is a bit of wind about, rollers crash onto the shore which is always fun. It really is a piece of paradise, it even has a lovely name; The Coral Mist, and we really enjoy staying there, cooking for ourselves, buying our booze at the duty free and the supermarket, and keeping ourselves to ourselves. It's a great place to relax and prepare for the long trek home on Sunday.

As I write the sun is going down and the sunbeds still have customers, some new bathers have come down for a dusk dip and the restaurant looks out hopefully for trade. I can smell Trish's cheesy pasta cooking on the stove and there is a vodka (Absolute of course) and orange in my hand waiting to be drunk. So that's about it for this year. Thanks for following the travelblog. Hope you enjoyed it.

I can see a Virgin Atlantic 747 and it's coming our way.

DOMINICA

Antigua

It was time to leave Montserrat. We were looking forward to the short 20 minute hop across to Antigua and I was hoping that the passengers were a little better behaved than those on our trip over. My heart missed a beat slightly when I saw a pretty weighty woman approach the aircraft, all I could hope is that she let the pilot alone to do his job! I asked the captain if I could take some photos and he was cool with that man so here are a few.

Leave that man alone!

We arrived at Dominica airport and were driven to Hibiscus Valley Nature Inn. It's in the middle of the rainforest served by a rough road. We were shown to our room by Nigel, also the cook of some repute. We had a tree cottage and although they are well maintained cosy and charming, they lacked certain essentials, a fridge, for the booze,air con, and mozzie shades over the open windows. You got a noisy free standing fan but if you suffer from mozzies, this is not the room for you. This is the rainforest, so expect the little devils. I don't suffer from them but my Trish does. They wait at airports for her plane to land, salivating in anticipation of her arrival, all over the Caribbean, The Far East and Scotland. We upgraded to an apartment, not so charming but with all the essentials apart from internet. This explains the late posting of this blog as we are actually in Barbados now.

The trouble with going on holiday to the Windies at this time of year is that it's low season. I say 'trouble' but sometimes it's a blessing but it can be a cleft stick. For example, when you book, you can get a room anywhere you want but on the other hand the establishment is usually running a skeleton staff. There are usually few guests, again a boon for service is usually pretty exclusive but then on the other hand you end up eating alone, going on trips alone and doing pretty much everything on your own. I think this is good and especially this week for we had the exclusive use of our very own Carib guide Kim.

We made it!

Kim and his jeep took us anywhere we wanted to go so we ended up doing a tour of the island hampered only by roads which made the roads of St. Vincent look like the main runway at Heathrow. Luckily the beautiful and historic island of Dominica, fought over by the English and French with regularity over the years, does not have the volume of traffic to make the narrow, potholed, twisty, animal/human riddled roads supreme in the terrifying stakes.

The bamboo bar at The Islet View

Kim also told us in depth about the history of his people, the original inhabitants of The CARIBbean. During this historical interlude, Trish piped up from the back seat informing us that her great grandma was a Carib, a fact she had not shared with me until now which Kim thought so funny he drove into a pothole which until then he had done magnificently to avoid. Kim also liked a beer or two and took us not only to Fort Shirley in Portsmouth and the Emerald Lake and waterfall, but to the Islet View Bar where we met owner Rudi who had turned a shack into a bamboo lined hostelry complete with homemade bamboo furniture, complete with a fantastic view out to the sparkling sea.

Islet View Bar and Restaurant

Kim

We climbed the left one

He also made us climb up a steep rainforested semi-mountain in order that we see the cannon mounted at the top by the British to guard the strait between Dominica and it's neighbouring island. The cannon was presumably used to fire on French ships as they tried to sneak through. It was worth the climb, which we ended, dripping with sweat and with the knowledge that due to the rain that had transformed the trail into a river as we made our way up, we had a precarious route down as well.

Trish drinking beer!

Pumpkin soup in an interesting bowlhe week. The last leg of our journey

SOUFRIE

Our hosts have lived on Montserrat for many years. They used to live in the capital Plymouth and also had a beach bar on the south west side of the island. In 1995 their lives changed dramatically. Following a devastating hurricane in 1989, Mount Soufrie, resident volcano decided to erupt. It was a massive eruption. A population of 12,000 was reduced, almost overnight to 3,000. The town of Plymouth was buried under 30 feet of ash as was the golf course and beaches. People were evacuated, a million dollars was marooned inside the vault of Barclays Bank only to be 'rescued' by a gang of determined yet hapless thieves some years later. The lava flowed in torrents down the side of Soufrie and a huge mushroom cloud rose into the air, whilst above it the lightening arced and slashed at the darkening skies. Day turned to night as red hot boulders were cast to the heavens.

The Golf Course

Shirley and Lou remember these times clearly, as if it was yesterday it all happened. The beach upon which their bar stood was buried and destroyed. They had to evacuate their house as did many people, never to return. Much of this now lies in the Forbidden Zone, a fence marks the boundary. From the observatory, Plymouth, grey and lifeless, the once proud town, looks for all like a modern day Pompeii which of course that is exactly what it is. A three year cycle prevents any attempt to colonize the Bad Lands and some say that until the bones of ancient indigenous Indians, removed from their shallow graves, are returned to their resting place, the eruptions will continue.

The devastation is quite shocking, yet the islanders continue with their lives in the shadow of the volcano which, ironically provides some of them with a much needed livelihood. Although no-one is allowed into the Zone, one can get as close as to be too close, should something ever happen again, but the town of Plymouth is off limits, entombed, perhaps to be excavated at a later date. As you can imagine a lot of mythology and magic surrounds us here on Montserrat. Shirley, lady of the house regails us with countless tales of mysterious goings on and happenings together with advice on how to deal with people who trouble you, how to ward off spirits who would do you a disservice, how to entice the opposite kind of spirits and the places on the island you really would not want to spend a night, no matter how brave you might talk in the daylight hours!

Church and house

Speaking of this, we visited an interesting hotel yesterday. On the wrought iron gate its name 'Overston House' does not give a clue as to its origin unless of course you are a real Beatles fan. For Overston House was the home of George Martin and is in fact still owned by him. Once inside this beautiful building set in sculpted gardens the first thing you notice are photos of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, taken and signed by Linda McCartney hanging on the wall along a long corridor. These are accompanied by other photos she took on the island. Given that Air Studios, were also built by Martin and now lay derelict in the Zone, (once hosting such groups as The Beatles and The Stones), it can be see that Martin had a love for this island which exists to the current day. And did I feel a temptation to remove just one of these signed, framed photos? Of course not. I don't want to be a name in someone's shoe!

A three story house

Lou and Shirley's beach bar

Nature fights back

George's Place

Lennon

ERINDELL VILLA - B and B ?

A room and pool!

Some things in life are hard to believe and most of them are on the negative side; the mindless thuggery of the embarrassing Brits, England's lack of success in penalty shoot outs, the popularity of reality TV etc, but every now and then a positive jumps up into the frame. It's happened, to us, right now. We are staying at Erindell Villa Montserrat. What a place this is. Firstly it's a b and b. and secondly, it's run by the nicest people you could ever wish to meet. True, we are the only guests and have their undivided attention but you get the feeling that the welcome and hospitality they are affording us is the same for everyone that pass this way.

Lou and Shirley live in what used to be someone's holiday villa. There's a pool right outside our room, a limitless supply of reasonably priced food and drink and and hospitality which is astounding. For example, Lou, a retired US citizen from Wisconsin drove us today to an unspoilt local beach where we were the only ones there, enjoying the black sand and solitude and a couple of cold beers he had considerately packed for us in a cold bag complete with a cell phone which we were to call him on when we wanted to come back. Shirley regails us with stories of magic, murder and mystery. Montserrat style, over dinner every night and in her younger days before George Martin's Air Studios were buried under the volcanic ash, was regularly asked to provide BV's for some well known groups who recorded there. She also has also lived on St. Vincent which provided a platform for her and Trish to have a good old natter.

We have a lovely rustic room filled with curious hand made furniture and ornaments, a massive queen sized bed, large ceiling fan (essential), mozzie repellent, wi-fi, cable tv (no cricket), sliding patio doors with swimming pool, recliners, table and umbrella right outside. The Villa is situated 8 miles from the active volcano which, we are informed, is only 'venting' at the moment but next year will erupt again. They recently replaced the wooden roof of their house with a metal one because of the rock strikes that threatened to set fire to it. Lou told of the time when some of these rocks, ejected by the volcano, dropped into the pool and burnt a hole in the bottom, and it was filled with water at the time!

So here we are for four days. Today we have been relaxing, but tomorrow we are going to the observatory, which lies just outside the Forbidden Zone, to get a close up view of the beast which in 1995 destroyed the capital city Plymouth leaving just the spire of the church visible above the ash which fell upon the town. Personally I want to visit those studios but the penalty for entering the Zone is $13,000 so forget it. More tomorrow.

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TO MONTSERRAT-SMITHY STYLE

Before I continue I must state that Antigua airport has, without doubt the poshest grounds and entrance/exit I have ever seen. As we pulled in this morning, it was if we were turning into some really affluent Caribbean mansion with an entrance to match. As we drove, the Sanford Cricket ground was on our right side, actually inside the airport grounds! Palm trees and ornately colourful tropical flower beds waved in the warm breeze.

We had some hours to kill which we did by plonking ourselves in the airport restaurant which, would you believe it, was showing the Third Test live from Edgebaston. Trish read her book.

At the close of play we meandered off (everyone meanders here) to catch the flight to Montserrat and what a flight that was. I had done some research and had warned Trish that the plane we would be traveling on was likely to be a small one, and so to be prepared for a different kind of flight than that experienced before. When in Australia some years ago I had 'flown with Smithy' an gnarled Antipodean who owned an ancient Tiger Moth airplane much in the style of Telly Savalas' character in 'Capricorn One' or more recently, the pilot friend of Indiana Jones who rescues him at the start of 'The Temple Of Doom'. Smithy sat behind me in the double cockpitted Moth imploring me only to 'not touch anything' and to 'tell me if your going to be sick' (as I said, he was sitting behind me and had some previously unpleasant experiences). When he asked me if I wanted a better look at the Sunshine Coast and I foolishly said yes, he didn't fly lower but simply banked the tiny plane steeply to the right.

So we were ready for the six seater twin prop island hopper that awaited us on the tarmac. Not so the female half of the American couple that were to accompany us. I could tell from the look on her face that she hadn't been properly briefed. In fact she looked as if she was was walking do her doom as we approached the flimsy looking aircraft. Soon, the captain, those two, Trish and I were all squeezed into the minute cockpit. And we took off, flying at about 2,000 feet on our way to Montserrat. As we approach the volcanic island we hit some minor turbulence. The plane rocked about a bit and the female American, already jumpy, grabbed the nearest thing to her.....the pilot's seat. Smithy would for sure not appreciated that!

ANTIGUA

The runway at Antigua from Wind Chimes Inn

We set off early under clear blue skies, down the mountain from Rosehall to Kingstown and St. Vincent airport. This tiny airport, taking only prop planes, is soon to be replaced by a spanking new airport on the east side of the island. A pity really as Arnos Vale airport has it's charms. For example, the runway ends where the sea begins, so when approaching the runway, incoming planes are, at the last moment, seemingly centimetres from the waves. Also, the runway is right next to the Arnos Vale cricket ground. A first class venue, where one day internationals are played. The new airport, with it's 2.5 km runway is slated to open next year. We went up to see it last Saturday. Let me tell you, given the West Indian attitude to manual labour, combined with the fact that although the area is prepared, apart from a level surface to put the runway on, there is not a single building to be seen, there will be no airport before 2014 at the earliest. A pity as it would do away with the necessity to fly with Liat Air in order to get to St. Vincent.


But, I digress slightly. We arrived in plenty of time to catch our flight to Barbados which of course was late. We just about made it to get the connecting flight to Antigua where we are now spending the night. Knowing we would have an overnight stay I booked us into the nearest B and B to the airport. It's from our room I now write. This is a plane spotters paradise. We have a lovely room, breakfast served at our door on the morrow, and a balcony which overlooks not the sparkling Caribbean, but the runway. Planes come and go and you can't hear the TV if the balcony doors are open but what the hell, The Wind Chimes Inn is clean, comfortable, has cable TV (with BBC America), free internet, and AIR CON!!!!! It's a fiver by taxi to the airport where tomorrow we take an afternoon flight to Montserrat. And anyway I secretly like to watch 'planes take off and land.Especially at night, sitting on the balcony when slightly pissed. So there!

Oh yes, I forgot to mention, 75cl of Absolute Vodka was a mere £6.50 at St. Vincent airport. Bargain! Have to drink it before tomorrow too.

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COUSIN PHIL

One thing you learn quickly living here in Rosehall, is that the O'Garro family is a large one. An evening amble around the village usually is extended by at least half an hour as one has to stop at regular intervals to pass the time of day with some distant cousin, nephew or other. We are usually accompanied by either Fred (a cousin) or Phil (another cousin). At the house there is also Cousin Elwyn and of course Bloggo who wanders around the outside of the property mumbling to himself in an incomprehensible diatribe. The most interesting of these by far is Cousin Phil. Phil is the nearest relation to Gladstone, Trish's father.

Phil is a very sprightly 70 year old. He loves his cricket and always has an opinion about the state of play in the game of games. I feed him with a constant flow of DVDs from England. He especially liked the 7 disc set showing England's humiliation of Australia last winter and proceeded to regale me with stories of how the Australians got their just deserts in the late seventies at the hands of Clive Lloyd's resurgent West Indians following the disgraceful racist and physical abuse metered out to them in the 75 tour.(as seen in the excellent DVD documentary 'Fire In Babylon')

Even more interesting are Phil's stories of England in the late 50's early 60's. Phil, at the age of 17 decided he wanted to go to England to seek a new life. A few goats sold later and he had his fare. He arrived and immediately wanted to go home. The cold weather coupled with signs in in the windows of houses with rooms to let stating 'no blacks, no Irish, no dogs' turned the land of milk and honey to the land of the rock and a hard place. Phil persevered, his mother ignoring his begging letters, and was soon raising a family, working hard and saving up enough money to return in 1991, able to buy land and property here in Rosehall.

The house he designed and had built is a lovely, airy, colourful two story dwelling with a balcony that runs all the way round it, affording a splendid view of Mount Sofrie the resident volcano and the sparkling Caribbean Sea. What a pity a few more of our 'citizens' don't have Phil's attitude instead of the 'what's in it for me' attitude that haunts our society. His ultimate reward however he has just had installed; cable TV and Test Match cricket.

Moving on to Montserrat tomorrow, Liat willing. Next Blog from there.

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