| We had planned go take a cruise down the Nile. The Luxor massacre towards the end of 1997 put paid to that. It seemed so personal as terrorist incidents go. Innocent tourists were killed, but the difference was they were shot directly, on the ground and not just at arm's length,as it were. The terrorists gained their objective, and the government of Egypt lost. And so, instead of risking bad food and water in North Africa, there we were in the Caribbean. The island of St Lucia seemed one of the quieter places, in a region with the reputation of attracting Essex Man, with his body jewellery and his overgrown wife. Some other islands are far brasher, but none have much to do, except laze in the sun (but thats what you came for, isn't it? Most of the hotels are all inclusive, which means drinks on the house most of the day and evening. This is not a bad idea, and carries with it the pleasure of knowing in advance how much the trip will cost, and the freedom to have what you want when you want it, without having to count the cost. It is important to pick a hotel colonised by the wine brigade rather than the lager louts, however, if you want peace. East Winds Inn is of this variety - 26 rooms set in 6 acres of tropical gardens stretching down to the sea. |  |
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But first, how to get there? There are really only two ways from London. One is the British Airways flight via Trinidad, and the other the British West Indian Airways direct flight to St Lucia and onwards to Port of Spain, an hour further towards the continent of South America. Never one to resist a challenge, and against all advice we chose the aged Lockheed Tristar of BWIA (Bee-Wee in the vernacular) and saved ourselves £168 each. Maybe they did play calypso on the public address, but the flight was on time, barely loaded and free of delays. The BA flight on the other hand was 6 hours late, and on arrival the crew could not gain access to the baggage hold. The return BA flight had not even taken off when the passengers were about to leave their hotels a week later, so red faces all round. Except ours, that is (and we had used high strength sun blocker too, as St Lucia is only 14 deg north of the equator). Most of the resort hotels of St Lucia are on the North East coast, which is one and a half hours by minibus taxi from the airport. There is not much to see on the drive except rain forest and a number of small villages, but there are glimpses of the sea just as you begin to wonder why so many vehicles have Japanese writing on them. [Answer, there is a lively second hand market in used Japanese vehicles, fuelled by the fact that the British Carribean islands also drive on the left]. |
| It goes without saying that the people are friendly and welcoming, but how nice that the island seems to have avoided some of the worst excesses of tourist insistent and pressing demands made on tourists. Just about the worst that can happen to you is to have to buy a necklace made out of black stone, a coconut with a straw in it to drink the milk, or a taxi ride to the local high point for the view. The huge cruise ships from Florida do call on the island but most of the Americans on board are only interested in the journey back, and the price of hi fi and jewellery in the shi shi marts near the terminal. The impact on the capital town of Castries did not seem to oppressive, unlike at Bermuda. The girls are attractive, and one can have lots of fun with the 85mm Nikon lens (or even a 20mm wide angle, as here whilst waiting for a small ferry to the other side of the bay). |  |
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The warring factions of the British and French were at it in the Caribbean in a big way, and the British generally won the day, being less drunk when the chips were down. Thus the island has a distinctly British look and feel to it, whilst the town of Soufriere is of French foundation, and the local patois is French creole. Apparently a French speaker could understand this. as we might be able to relate to pidgin, but I could only pick up a few words as the bar staff and housekeepers spoke to each other. The biggest religion is a sophisticated form of voodoo, I suppose, but most traditional worship is Roman Catholic. Here is the fascinating cathedral in Castries. It is built of cast iron pillars and beams, and seats several thousand people. See my description of St George's Church, Campden Hill for cast iron pillars in a more traditional Victorian building. |
| OK so lazing around in the sun is not really our sort of holiday, but we still did a lot of it and enjoyed the rest The food was good. The kitchen boasted two French chefs who dished up a creole, fish and fruit influenced, perhaps a little heavy handed cuisine, but after a few sips of the cocktail of the day, who cares? There was swimming in the pool with self service, swim up bar with a book of instructions for making cocktails. There were probably more staff than guests, and no one tried to persuade you to do anything much. Some lazy snorkelling filled the time until tea and cake, or a well deserved siesta. Not that we vegetated like most of the other guests, and here we are on the brig Unicorn, a Baltic trader built in 1946 and now taking lazy trips down the coast in between more serious endeavours in sail training for youngsters. The hoary old captain manning the binnacle was pure British stock, but with a tide of only 18 inches and virtually no bottom to worry about (the islands are virtually mountain peaks, and slope to 40 feet deep only yards from the shore) his task was not an onerous one. He sported the latest handheld Magellan GPS, just in case we lost sight of land... Unlikely, but don't we all love gadgets? |  |
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The crew swung down the stays and entertained the punters with daredevil balancing acts on the bowsprit. Rum punches flowed freely, and here is a rather shy Martha, who helped serve lunch and posed as my model, in return for copies of the prints which I promised to send her. In temperatures of 85F during the day, and 75F at night, with a few tropical downpours and a losing cricket team, life is pleasant enough and the pace is traditionally relaxed. The only points of note are the villages and shoreline, the Pitons (great extant volcanic plugs towering over Soufriere, a smelly, bubbling cauldron billed as the World's only "drive in volcano" - not much of a challenge to Rotorua, but good for some theraputic bathing in the mineral rich waters, and the botanical gardens. That's it really. |
| Still, just as life becomes dull again, and you have a pina colada in front of you, loaded with rum and coconut milk, and you are wondering whether the fresh caught shark or tuna would be best tonight, in walks a vision in a hat and smiles at you. Not a word is said. You grab the camera and mount the portrait lens. She looks in your direction and you add a little fill-in flash to light the dark skin. She looks away, as if unaware of your presence. Vicky returns and you point the camera at the sunset, framing the palm trees and creating a silhouette. You look innocent. After 25 years she knows the look, but says nothing. |  |
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Another day, and 7 nights slips away in a moment. On the first day you savoured the moment, reminding yourself you would feel you should have made more of the break by the time a week had passed. You tried to remember how it felt, with a week ahead of you, but at least Vicky had no mobile phone, no computer with its network link to the office, and no resort to voice mail via Cable and Wireless with its expensive monopoly pricing. The verdict? Great if you like that sort of holiday. Expensive (very). Quiet, relaxing and great for strained nerves. But not too often, I feel. As we reclined by the water and I finished Vanity Fair (Thackeray - try it) I sometimes yearned for the trips we usually make where every day is different, and there are challenges around every corner. The next one is Botswana - the Okavango Delta, self booked safari by e-mail with Wilderness Safaris. That's in July. More of that later. |
Last updated: 16/04/99