Day Five.  Another Doozy. (heads up: it took me over 6 hours to write, edit, upload pictures, and publish this post.  If the pictures alone haven’t already crashed your computer, I’m impressed!)

Go get yourself some coffee, tea, or some other snuggle-up-and-read-a-book treat.  You’re going to be here awhile.  Remember our marathon “half-day” tour?  Well, on Friday, we had a “full-day” tour planned.  The tour lasted ELEVEN HOURS.  And that wasn’t the end of the day.  At least for all the reggae dance fools onboard.  Oh, that’s just me.  We’ll get to that later.

We were picked up by Titus at the crack of dawn.  This time we were prepared.  We had towels, extra suntan lotion, serious snacks, tons of water, and an enthusiasm that could only come from knowing that Dominica likely had even more surprises in store for us.  We had no idea.  I am literally shaking with excitement just thinking about telling you about our day.  In case I lose you and 90% of my readers, I assure you that once we leave Dominica, the other posts will be short and sweet.  One per island.  Probably.  Well, except for Grenada.  Oh.  And the Grenadines.

Our tour guide was Stan the Man.  Stan the Man is a married, church-going man.  He, like the other guides, knew everything there was to know about his island.  He is from the north part of the island, which is where we were going, so we had the added bonus of hearing him honk at every single person we passed.  And then those people would shout at the top of their lungs, “STAN THE MAN!  OK, OK, OK!!  YOU GOOD?  GOOD, GOOD, GOOD!!!!!!!” or something like that.  Sometimes the exchange was a wee bit less appropriate for the younger ears in the van.  But mostly the words were undecipherable, because locals usually speak a form of Antillian Creole to each other.

At the time, I couldn’t understand a word, but yesterday I got a text from a Dominican friend: “hi wat a gwan jus a hailing u up.  Ok mi ah go check it out.  always nuff luv from d heart.  One luv.”  I read it and laughed a moment later when I realized I understood it completely and didn’t even notice that it was in creole!

We drove north from Portsmouth and enjoyed listening to Stan the Man’s running commentary.  We were pretty much experts by this point on some of the trees and plants, since they had been pointed out to us by Eddison and Ken G.  But Stan gave us information about the various churches we passed (the religions on the island include Catholic, Seventh Day Adventist, and Protestant as well as Muslim).  He told us about some of the bigger plantation owners as well.

We came to a little village called Anse de Mai.  It is a quiet little fishing village, with sturdy boats, lobster pots, and lots of nets lying around.  The cute little storage building had small rooms for each fisherman to store his supplies.  You know we are all sailors, because we stood staring at the harbor and wondered how in the world the fishermen navigated the channel, which was flanked by rocks and reefs.

 

 

Jackson helps the little ones over the river “trail”

We had loved our trip to the Milton Falls a few days earlier, so we were excited about seeing the Chaudiere Pool.  We were warned that it wasn’t quite a waterfall so much as a natural pool of water with a small waterfall that fed it.  We parked on the side of a dirt road.  There were no signs, no ticket booths, nothing to show that we were about to see a major tourist attraction.  We met a young man named Jackson, who lives in Bense, the village nearby.  He was a pleasant guy who didn’t look a bit daunted by the prospect of dragging our circus of adults and kids to this remote natural wonder.

 

deep in the bush. this is exactly what Columbus would have seen when he came to this island on a Sunday (thus DOMINica)

We headed down a path and soon found that we certainly couldn’t have found this place without local knowledge.  We walked on narrow trails, through the woods, and crossed the river several times.  At certain points, Jackson would shout up to the person in the front, “Don’t take the path!  Turn right!” and we would somehow stumble upon a hidden path.  It was still the rainy season on this rainforest-covered island, so the trails were muddy and slippery.  Those of us wearing flipflops contemplated going barefoot.  Those with sneakers accepted that their shoes were definitely getting trashed.  None of us cared, though.  It was beautiful in the “bush” and we always had fun when the Boyers and Conways were exploring together.

We finally made it to the pool and it was just as beautiful as I had imagined.  I half-expected fairies to peek out from behind the rocks and giggle at us as they flew off to tell the mermaids that we had arrived.  I quickly took some pictures before the kids ran into the scene.  As Wendy and I clicked a few shots, we heard a voice from up high in the trees over the pool.  I looked up and saw Jackson, standing out at the end of a branch, at least 35 feet above the pool!  He was barechested and barefoot and waved to us before giving a whoop and jumping into the pool!  The first thing I saw when I looked at our families was Chris and Craig, who looked mortified.  I could see them searching way down deep to see if they could muster up enough testosterone to meet that challenge.  Thank goodness they found themselves confident enough in their masculinity that they didn’t feel tempted to repeat such foolishness!

And yet, the men, kids, and Wendy were all eager to jump into the pool from a ledge that was sufficiently high enough to have me running the other way.  I was happy to be the photographer and cheerleader as each of them made their way to the edge and found the courage to step off the precipice.  It was REALLY high.  Most of them had to take a few minutes to take the leap.  They would walk to the edge, look down, get ready…..and back away with a shake of the head.

 

wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!

Jackson showed us that we could also slide down the waterfall on the rocks into the pool.  That was much more my speed.  Getting up to the top by scrambling on the slippery rocks was the hardest part.  I slid down, which was fun, but didn’t realize that the pressure of the water landing in the pool would pull me way under.  It was a bit disconcerting as I hadn’t held enough breath to be down that long.  It surprised several of us, so when you go, be sure to prepare yourself!

We stayed a long time at the pool, swimming, jumping, and sliding.  It was a perfect spot.  I loved being in this far-off, secluded spot, with my close friends and family.  It didn’t feel like we were “visiting” a sightseeing spot.  If felt like we were just enjoying time together in pristine natural surroundings.  We started packing up to leave only when we felt some giant raindrops starting to fall.  It was a refreshing rain and made the fun hike back to the van even muddier and more slippery!  Luckily, there was a barrel of water by the van that we all used to wash off.  I thought about how many people at home (including myself 8 months ago) would have rather died than dunk their legs and children into that barrel of water of questionable origin.  Oh well!  When in Rome…

We piled back into the van and soon enough, we came around yet another winding bend in the road.  We were faced with a view that I can still access instantly in my mind’s eye.  We had come upon the west part of Calibishie, a quaint town on the north coast.  We stopped at the top of a hill.  The road, which runs right along the shoreline, dips down into the valley of the town for about a mile and then rises up again to some hills in the east.  We all piled out of the van to look at the view and take pictures.

You couldn’t paint a more idyllic scene.  Blue ocean as far as you can see.  Waves crashing upon the white sand beach.  Palm trees and brightly painted cottages lining the shore.  And, my goodness!  On the far end of town, we saw deep red cliffs dropping down into the ocean from way up high.  Stan told us that they were the famous Red Rocks, which must have a clay component, although I can’t find proof of that online.  It was a stunning view and one that I didn’t need my old friend Nikon to remember.

We drove through the town and were delighted when Stan stopped the van to say hello to his daughter, who was on lunchbreak from school.  She was adorable in her little uniform and pigtails as she gave her daddy a big hug and kiss I thought Wendy and I were going to melt.  (Wendy got a great picture: click their link on our website to read her description of our tour).  The town looked just as inviting as we drove through.  Little shops, old men sitting and talking to each other, young men liming (hanging out) at a roadside bar, women sitting behind counters in the shops, and children waving and smiling at us.

We turned left after the town and parked the van so we could hike to the Red Rocks.  We had to “pay the Rasta” $10EC per adult to walk there, because the land is privately owned, but the path and steps to the rock area were well-kept.  When we poked out of the woods into the sunshine, we were surprised and delighted at the view before us.  It looked to me like the red hills of Sedona, except they had THE OCEAN next to them!  We all wandered about, a little stunned at the stark beauty.

 

 

kids in the cave

We snapped pictures of the kids, who had decided that this was the best playground they had ever seen.  There were cuts and crevices in the rocks, which made wonderful hiding places.  In one spot, a deep ravine had been cut by the ocean waves over thousands of years.  The kids climbed down into the trench and discovered a cave.  In another area, Stan showed us a secret path through the woods, where we found a whole other set of red cliffs.  From here, we could see all the way across the town and harbor to the spot where we had stopped at the beginning of town.

 

 

 

I have no idea how long we explored the many viewpoints at the Red Rocks, but we had to drag the kids, kicking and screaming, back to the bus.  They told us they wanted to come back another day and spend the whole day there.  Stan eased the blow by picking “tattoo plant” leaves for them and giving them tattoos.  This fern leaf has a thick layer of yellow pollen on the underside of it.  If you lay the leaf on your arm and slap it hard with your other hand, it leaves an imprint of the leaf on your skin.  Of course, we discovered that it makes a much better impression on dark skin, like Stan’s, but the kids loved it anyway.  Stan also showed them tiny pods that had seeds in them which rattled like a maraca.  We gathered as many as we could find so we could make jingly necklaces.  The bus was already starting to look like we had just finished harvesting the fields.

Next stop: the Carib Territory!  We have been waiting and waiting for this visit since I read about the history of the Caribbean on our passage.  Dominica is the only island left in the Caribbean with a significant population of Carib Indians (there are some Caribs scattered in a few other islands).  The Caribs settled in the eastern Caribbean islands from South America.  I mentioned them in our last post, so I won’t get into teacher-mode on you, but it was interesting to see a village of people who are descended from those who were here “first” (like, in 1200 AD.  Except they were actually “second”, having extinguished the Tainos, who were there before them.  Oops.  There goes that teacher thing.) You know the rest of the story.  They were finally ousted by the Europeans.  They were fierce people, from what we understand, and still insist on some show of power, it seems.  Every year, during an annual celebration, they block the roads that go through their village and require people to pay a toll to go through.  Apparently, everyone just accepts this “arrangement” because the alternative is NOT PLEASANT.

 

We arrived at the “reconstructed village”, which seemed fake to me.  I was disappointed, but the set-up was pleasant enough and we purchased some crafts made by the Carib women who were there.  It was getting late in the day, so I didn’t have the energy to ask Stan the Man to give us a more authentic tour of the actual village where the actual Caribs live.  I hope to go back at some point and see them make their canoes and maybe meet some people and talk to them.  As long as it’s not festival time!

 

You are not going to believe this, but finally it was time for lunch!!!!  Stan the Man told us he was taking us to a great place where locals go.  We knew that this probably meant a roadside shack made out of cardboard and tin roofing.  But we are always game for doing things the way the locals do.  We pulled up to Islet View Restaurant and the sign didn’t look promising.  At least the building looked bigger than a take-out place, but not much fancier.

The first thing we noticed upon entering the dark building was the bar.  Behind the bar were dozens of rum bottles.  They had every kind of rum you could think of: sorrel, pineapple, pear, papaya, peanut, coffee, star fruit, garlic.  You name it.  It was way past lunchtime, but the owner said he could cook us up some food anyway.  Still standing at the bar, we were told that the choices were chicken or fish.  Restaurant dining down here is kind of like being at a wedding.  The menu isn’t the 32-page curious wonder of the New Jersey diner scene.  Choices are usually chicken or fish.  Any other choice is usually something a little too exotic, like mountain chicken (frog) or goat.  So we ordered up 12 chicken plates and hoped for the best.

We walked into the next room and found ourselves on a delightful covered deck, swathed in dappled light.  There were 4 long tables set up on either side.  We looked out and saw that we had possibly the best view of Dominica we had seen so far.  In fact, over the course of lunch, none of us could remember a restaurant view that could beat this one, except for one in Hawaii, which was apparently similar in majesty.  We could see the ocean in the distance, with mountains and rainforest in the mid-ground.  Below the deck and for acres and acres was plantation land, filled with mango trees, banana trees, palm trees, and every other kind of beauty they could cram into the space.

We enjoyed lovely conversation while the kids had a table all to themselves.  When the food came, we spent the rest of the time remarking on its deliciousness while trying not to scarf it down too hastily.  We were REALLY hungry!  We came to see that seasoned and roasted chicken was a specialty here in Dominica.  And chicken almost always comes with a shredded cabbage salad, breadfruit, fried plantains, and rice and beans.  It is a wholly satisfying meal.

It was time to start heading back to Portsmouth.  We were looking at the map, but we had no idea just how long it was going to take to get there.  It would end up taking two more hours to get back to Blue Bay (Blue Bay is the restaurant next to the dinghy dock in Lagoon.  We always say Blue Bay when we are figuring out where to meet, etc.).  On the way, we saw the town of Castle Bruce, which we had to take pictures of, since that’s my dad’s name.  We also drove past an area that was devastated by a landslide and a beautiful nighttime view over the west coast.  Eleven hours after it began, our tour of northern Dominica was complete.

 

Stan the Man was an incredible tour guide.  He allowed us the time to fully explore and enjoy each place we visited.  He had boundless energy and talked continuously throughout the day, offering so much insight and information about this island that we were coming to love.  As we spilled out of the van yet again, Eddison and Titus met us on the beach by Blue Bay.  We could barely move, but I promised that I would try to motivate everyone to go out.  After all, it was Friday Night in Portsmouth.  Street Party time!

Sadly, everyone flopped down on their beds the moment we hit our boats.  I begged and pleaded, but I had no takers.  Instead, I lay down to conserve energy.  At 10:30, I popped three Motrin, downed a glass of water, pounded a Coke, and got dressed to go out dancing.  The PAYS guys picked me up and I discovered a whole new side to the people and culture of Dominica (a side that begs not to be photographed….).

The island is known for its pristine nature.  But the people are what makes it so special.  I was one of two white people out on the town that night.  Lagoon, Portsmouth, is a small village.  Everyone knows everyone.  And even if they didn’t, I would have stuck out easily!  Four of us headed out after having a few beers at Blue Bay.  On Friday nights, there is a sort of “pub crawl” that people do.  Anyone who owns a business stays open and rolls out a large barbeque onto the street.  Gigantic speakers play really loud reggae and calypso music all night (by “all night” I mean ALL. NIGHT.).  Everyone walks down the street, stopping for a beer at one place, buying some chicken from a vendor grilling it in front of his convenience store, slipping down a side alley to stock up on ganja, or just dancing on the street.  I got to experience the whole nine yards.

It was fantastic.  I met all kinds of people.  The more sober ones were a joy to meet and talk to.  The other ones were a source of amusement, to say the least.  Someone tried to teach me zook, which is an impossible dance.  Someone else learned I was from the United States and proceeded to tell me every place he had children there, in addition to Norway and France.  All from different “baby mommas”, of course.  We stopped in at a place they called the “Spanish Bar”, but I couldn’t figure out why it was called that.  It was pretty neat, though.  It was on the second floor, above the bakery that Ken G showed us.  We all sat on the balcony and watched the people going by.

As the night went on, I found myself fully experiencing the love this culture has for reggae music.  Our friends knew every word to every song and truly enjoyed dancing to is as much as I did.  By 2:30am, I figured that Chris would be worried about me if he woke up, so I got a dinghy ride back to the boat and flopped down in bed, still listening to the music from town, which sounded like it was playing in our boat.  I felt so honored that Ken G, Titus, and their friends would take me out to show me their world.  It’s one thing for us to pay a tour guide to drive us to the “sights”.  It felt like another thing altogether to go out and enjoy ourselves together, as new friends.  This permanently flipped a switch for me.  From that point on, I felt like we truly belonged on this island.

Bonus Pics from the day that didn’t end…..