Grenada first week

It started out innocently enough. Josh got a new gig working for some developers on the the north side of the island. Knowing this development would affect the leatherback turtles, I am very interested in the project, and Joshua kindly invited me along. Josh may have risked his job by asking if his enviro-crazy, turtle-hugging, lawyer friend could come along, but I behaved myself. So far, in fact, the developers are talking the talk: claiming to be following the turtle advocate's demands (www.oceanspirits.org.) The developers in truth, aren't committed to following all of the organizations recommendations to a "T," but they appear invested enough to be actively seeking, ultimately, an endorsement from Ocean Spirits. The accomodations made thus far, as well as the ongoing dialogue and negotiations between the developers and Ocean Spirits is very encouraging. The developer himself was very courteous and took a good deal of his time to speak to me about the project, clearly interested in cultivating positive local opinion.

Our chariot: a well appointed reggae bus: "Rated."

By the time we progressed three quarters of the way north up the island, it had started to pour. Things were not looking too bright for a successful photo shoot.

First stop: my favorite swimming beach (I have yet to discover its name.) The road going past part of the beach had completely washed out in hurricane Ivan, and it was barely passable last fall when we first drove it. Since then, a road improvement project has been in "full swing." Unfortunately, they have chosen to rebuild the road right above the beach, exactly where it had been washed out before...and they are using trash as fill and to create a small birm to protect the dirt road.

I don't think this shot will make the cover of any travel mags.

The other way down the beach, though, is still gorgeous. The entire stretch of beach is typically uninhabited when I've visited, but this rainy day, two people were enjoying the water.

Levera beach: leatherback turtle hatchery and new development site.

Fisherman and proud boat owner.

We spoke with three local fishermen, who offered their opinions about the ravages that Levera had suffered at the hands of a developer in the past, one who set out to carve an 18-hole golf course into the land. They told us about the types and sizes of fish they can catch off the beach, and then they got into a discussion about the government. It all tied together, actually, as one of the fishermen (not the gentleman pictured above) admitted to catching the endangered turtles. He spoke of having to try and avoid getting caught because if you can't pay the $4,000 fine, the government throws you in prison. The three men had been liming around the boat when we arrived, but when the government discussion came up, it turned heated and two of them wandered off.

Letter Girl. Check out the hand-hewn oars. The basket on the left contains the fisherman's belongings, which are carried by balancing them on his head. Sugarloaf Island appears in the background.

Above is one of a number of mysterious somethings I found on the beach, as displayed on my fingertip. I assume it was the remains of a sea creature, but it was curiously flexible. It could have been synthetic, but for what purpose I cannot imagine.

Tryptic: Josh at work.

Heather: notably NOT at work...and loving it!!

Fantastic view from the very far end of the beach.

Grenadians, with still just the one Paparazzi, remain remarkably tolerant of him.

One of the interior lakes on the property.

After checking out the beach, the driver stopped at a construction site on the property. I was led to believe that we stopped so that the bus drivers could get obtain directions to the next location. Instead, we picked up a construction worker who, it seemed, would direct us where to go. Upon driving some way off the main road, we came across a shack shop offering DVD rentals and cold drinks, but no credit. These places seem to crop up absolutely everywhere. I was tempted to rent "White Chicks," but couldn't fathom driving an hour and a half back tomorrow to return it.

The aim of the next leg of the journey was to get to the top of the sizable hill behind Levera, where we would allegedly find a panoramic view of the entire property (The hill is seen in the distance below.)

I heard there would be some walking, but I figured we'd be able to drive most of the way up, and hike along a trail to an overlook.

Turns out, you have to climb the hill from the back: hence we drove around to the back side. Hmmm. The bus had, strangely, parked all the way at the bottom of the rather significant landmass. Since moving to Grenada, I have somehow been subliminally trained not to ask dumb questions, so I wordlessly followed the leaders. We set out with the bus driver, the driver's friend, the construction worker, and the worker's two dogs. It turns out the construction worker doubles as a jungle guide. Not only did we need him to show us the way, we needed him to make the way. He cut the entirety of our path with a cutlass. We had the luxury of walking down a dirt road for the first fifty yards.

Then, we took a right...into the jungle.

Oh, yes: there was plenty of bravoso as we climbed higher and saw the southward view stretch out before us.

Shockingly, about half way up, we came across about ten goats, enclosed in a covered pen - and curiously also leashed to the sides of the cage. Adjacent to the pen were a few cultivated plants, including the small pineapple below.

Sometime thereafter, things were looking a little...iffy. We paused for a rest as the guide continued his ceaseless quest to carve a path through the jungle for us. Josh, through pure force of will, remains cautiously optimistic.

I should note that oftentimes when there's a pause in the sweaty push uphill, one becomes immediately aware of an unwitting breach of territory. There are notably no creatures stirring about, as in an American wood, as there aren't really any wild mammals - only introduced mongeese who are infreqently seen, and their nocturnal, intended (though not actual) prey: rats. Even more notably absent are songbirds, birds of any kind, really. The jungle is very, very quiet. Yet, it is full of life. Each bit of it seems to be divied up, owned, and defended by merciless merchants of doom: ANTS. Standing still is the worst thing a person can do, especially after someone before you has just hacked a path through the growth. Any disturbance will stir the soldiers of misfortune into action: causing stinging, zinging bites.

Josh gets a helping hand navigating the large boulders that crop up. I should note the amazing attentiveness of the bus driver, Laurie, and his companion. These fellows, in their jeans and loafers, seemed to tag along for the hike, just because. They could have sat in the shack at the bottom and drank sodas all afternoon, blissfully unaware of our mountain adventure. Not only did they hike up with us, they were ever watchful and ever vigilant, particularly minding what surely must have been a strangely anomalous, tiny white woman picking her way through the growth, letting out a little squeal now and then. They pointed out yams and sorrel and other wild goodies along the way, both remarking how they hadn't done such a thing as beat a path through the woods since they were boys. One of them seemed always an arm's length away, ready to rescue the improbable damsel if need be. On more than one occasion, I felt my backpack receive a gentle shove from behind as I hauled myself up steeper climbs, or when I would suddenly slip backward a bit and feel that hand, just waiting to help out. It was as if I was surrounded by little helper angels...just in case. I did my best not to take offense and show my appreciation for their thoughtfulness. Josh, in comparison, received no such special treatment. A man is expected to take care of his own self. Gender dichotomies are vividly alive in Grenada. Josh was, nevertheless, offered a manly helping hand up, or down, the largest boulders, as seen above.

Despite the remoteness of our location, and the quiet of the jungle, we had SOCA MUSIC. The bus driver was only too happy to share with us the various recordings and songs his cellular telephone could play. Yes, rather unlike my experience in the various large to small valleys in Colorado, we had cel phone coverage the entire time.

In some places, we had to be careful to step on the rocks in small boulder fields, or risk falling into an abyss. Once, I suddenly found myself with my right leg thigh-deep in grass and brush, my foot dangling in some nether-space down there, with my left leg on solid rock. Naturally, my left knee came so close to my jaw that it could have socked me one. I had stepped onto a place that seemed like it should have been ground but turned out to be air, camoflaged by vegetation.

By this point, it looked downright bleak.
I was wishing I had emptied my backpack of the beach-sized towel and myriad other junk weighing me down in my Peter-sized hand-me-down backpack.
The guide seemed lost, and we seemed to be serpentining near the ridge of the hill, never finding a view over the other side.
UNTIL...

Ta-Dah! A view from above. The two ponds on the property, the ruined (and currently under renovation) golf clubhouse; and Levera beach is off to the left.

At the top of "Welcome Stone," the look-out point. We all took advantage of the opportunity to catch our breath and revel in the view.

At the top, the braggadocio returns.

Our intrepid guide. I offered pieces of the two "Go" bars I brought to everyone. The guide was the only one to refuse, and after what must have been a hard day's labor. None of the fellas brought a drop of liquid to drink, but then again, none of us except the inhumanly strong and tenacious guide knew quite what we were in for.

Laurie

The one, the only...The Josh.

My favorite hound.

One last look.