Dis an Dat

Current Location: Grenada Marine boatyard, St Davids, Grenada

Wow. It's been hot since we've been back.

As usual the change from UK family life to foreign country cruising life was abrupt and surprising. This time it was the slogans on the local cars and minibuses that emphasised the difference. In England you might rarely see a souped-up Cortina with "Darren loves Shaz" across the windscreen. Here in Grenada we started to write down some of the slogans we saw after seeing "Doggy Style" emblazoned across a windscreen. Here are some more of our favourites...

"Less friends, more money" - on a paying minibus/taxi
"De baddest and de meanest"
"XS Meat"
"Godfather"
"Road Spinners"
"Under de Blood" - what?

But the best just has to be "Birds don't eat guava in mango time". So what's that all about then and why on earth did someone spend valuable time and money getting it made and stuck on?


We've fallen back into the off season cruising lifestyle where conversations are from boat to boat propped high up in the air rather than bobbing serenely on the water. It can be dangerous. You clamber up and down ladders, usually carrying too much on often slippery rungs trying to evade the next torrential downpour. At this time of year the yard is starting to get busier as people arrive to start their preparations for the new season. The noise of antifoul being sanded off, brackets being welded on and newly hoisted flapping sails fill the air. I've spent several long sessions up the mast replacing the wind speed instrument and VHF aerial which were both affected by the strong winds during the Atlantic crossing and Gilly has been stalwartly doing the shitty "blue" (as opposed to "pink") job of sanding the hull in preparation for the new antifoul. Well done Gilly. Jobs are actually going pretty well and we are a bit ahead of schedule. I still have to replace the forestay (the wire the front sail goes on) together with its furler and we also need to sort out the rudder bearing (well actually there are no bearings just three hefty chunks of steel turning inside three even heftier chunks of steel). The VHF aerial is still not completed either so there is at least one more trip to make up to the top of the mast.

It's not all work though. Saturdays are now becoming "hash days" (yes Wendy and Barrie we've finally succumbed). The Hash House Harriers seem to spring up wherever there are Brits (in particular) abroad. You all drive/cycle/catch a bus out to some neat place in the country (read jungle) and do a paper chase. At least one running route and one walking. Then, in Grenada at least, you eat traditional "oil down", a fiendish concoction including pigs' ears and "dog turd" dumplings [other sustenance may also be available] and drink lots of beer. Otherwise know as "drinkers with a running problem" it's a great place to catch up with old friends and meet new ones. We opted for the walk last week as we were still not acclimatised and it was around 30 degrees. As it happened it was pretty easy and we made it round without a problem. There were students from St George's University, sailors from many nationalities and some extremely fit Grenadans.

The Start

Yesterday though Fizzy and I decided we would do "The Run". Wow. It began high above the Caribbean Sea and for the next two hours we bashed through the jungle, scrambled up watercourses, slithered down banks and leapt from bamboo trunk to bamboo trunk. We climbed high up above the starting point and then just as we thought we were finishing, the trail led down and down. Before we knew it we were down on the beach at Black Bay, with its dark volcanic sand. Down at the sea meant we had to climb right back up again, this time via a 40m dark cave filled with (vampire?) bats with a little hole to scramble out of at the other end. An amazing afternoon.

On the road, before heading off into the jungle

Hashing is not the only exercise though. We've also been to yoga. Once in the gorgeous environment that is St George's Medical University overlooking the sea. Once at Prickly Bay (the most famous bay on the island) where we were put through our paces by a Frenchman who must have been from the French equivalent of the SAS or from the French Foreign Legion. All the yoga I've ever done before has been relatively gentle. This was not gentle. In fact at one stage "Downward Dog" got so hard I sicked up into my own mouth. Yuck!

And last week we went dinghy sailing for the first time in years. It was blowing a bit as we arrived at Le Phare Blu and we were all a bit nervous (at least Fizzy, Gill and I were; Jack was really up for it). We had a great day though. We lost the first race, drifting backwards over the start line to begin but then went on to win several losers races before being defeated in the final by an expert Hobie sailor. We were well chuffed as we picked up our third prize and certificate. Jack was not!!

A perfect start....and the Douches are ahead

Third place for the Hobie virgins. Where's Jack then?

Oh yes. Big news. For the first time in 43 years Gill and I did some "real" dancing. Salsa!!

Please, please, please. Do not tread on my toes.

Today we are off to Jenny's house. She is an expat who lives out here up in the mountains where she grows amazing vegetables and makes fruit juices from her fruit trees. This might get a bit messy as we are due there at 12.30 for lunch at 4.00pm. Anyway Gilly is hard at work cooking up some Turkish mezes for starters so I'll finish for now.

Oh no. Whatever happened to the Big Walk?

Lying in a sweltering bed last night, unable to sleep, I suddenly realised that yesterday's "list of good things during our time in the UK" had omitted the Big Walk. "What's that?" I hear you clamouring.

Well, thirty years ago, after we arrived back from four years in South Africa, we asked a group of friends if they wanted to do a long walk so we could catch up with what they had been doing since we left. That first walk across the North York Moors, known as the Lyke Wake Walk, followed the ancient coffin route from west to east, a total of around 40 miles if I remember correctly. Since that time these walks have become annual events. Over time we've picked up new walkers and a few have gone by the wayside. One, Julian, who died of bowel cancer ten years ago is still remembered by us every year. Some of the current regulars were introduced not by us but by other members of the Big Walk club which is great. These regulars now come from Ireland, England, Norway, Germany and South Africa. Even better, whilst we have been away for the past few summers they've carried on without us. And even better better - this year with us being back in the UK during the summer they welcomed us back into the group as if we had never been away.

The routine is pretty much the same each year. Meet on Friday night with a pub meal, walk on Saturday (all day, especially nowadays!), another pub meal and a long sleep, a leisurely breakfast on Sunday morning when someone volunteers to coordinate the following year's walk. With luck a date and venue is set and the cycle begins again.

At the start the "rules" said that the walks must not get any easier as the years go by. We like to think that that is still true but I have a sneaky suspicion that this year's 22 miles across Exmoor in the south west of England was maybe just that little bit less of a challenge than the Lyke Wake Walk was thirty years previously. We generally have a support minibus that meets the walkers every 6 or 7 miles providing refreshments, muscle balm and encouragement. This year's walkers were a particularly fit group - no stragglers and a strong finish by everyone. Thanks guys - we hope to see you all again next year on the South Downs Way.

How the years pass!!

2003 - The Black Forest

2004 - Hadrian's Wall. Built by the Romans to keep the Scots out!

2007 - The Yorkshire Dales

More recent acquaintances may struggle to recognise Gill in this photo.

2015 - Dunkery Beacon, the highest poin

Compare and Contrast

Current Location: The Hobbit House, S Grenada

Welcome back to all our blog followers. We've spent the past three months in the UK, much of it with my ageing parents trying to find somewhere for them to move to. In thirteen weeks we've been on one hell of a journey, so unlike the life we've become accustomed to that it almost seems unreal. Not much fun or sunshine, lots of half empty glasses and plenty of worries. To my mum and dad though, this is and has been their life for the past 30 years. With my brother Philip and his wife Jane we've researched care homes, assisted living places and live-in carers, found a place they can accept and finally moved them to Dursley, close to Phil's home in Gloucestershire. Are they happy now? Not really, but we feel we've done the very best for them that we could have and that's all we can do. In the process my half marathon with Emma went by the board (pulled calf muscle) and Gill's singing of the Armed Man in a massed choir had to be cancelled (move date intervened). We did however have a great family week in Devon, worked well with Phil and Jane on the moving, had an excellent weekend with Gill's sisters (including the famous meal from hell), caught up with Dick and Mary (Alakazam) and Dave and Melinda (Sassoon), and got to know my cousin Hilary properly for the first time. And of course, thanks to Hugh and Linda for the loan of their big house in Sonning, a welcome bolthole from Southampton and Dursley. I left the UK feeling an odd mixture of sadness, exhaustion and guilt – not a good combination.

So on Friday we began the return to our other life. We only had a few hours to close up Hugh and Linda's house and pack for the return to Grenada. This was obviously not long enough as I was still in the loft trying to find my sunglasses when the taxi arrived! Then in the rush to catch the train to Gatwick we got off at Gomshall (the ticket did say "via Gomshall") instead of Redhill. As a result we had a lovely hour in the sunshine waiting for the next train to Redhill. To put it lightly Gomshall is very quiet. Still no harm done there. We were due to meet Jack from Carpe Diem at Gatwick. As if our journey was not eventful enough Jack arrived in the back of a police car! He had decided to walk from the terminal to the Travelodge to save £3. Unfortunately his route, complete with airport trolley, took him along the main road. No pavements, plenty of lorries roaring past. Mr Plod took exception and escorted him to the hotel. He lost the £1 deposit on his trolley so only saved £2. Good job Jack!

Next day an easy BA flight brought us into Grenada via the very nice customs people who have been cracking down recently on incoming boaties. Warmth again, both from friends and weather though it was absolutely pissing down as we arrived. It was a bit of a squash in Jack's little jeep with four people and thirteen large pieces of luggage including a full sized guitar. Laughter. We are now staying at friends of Jack and Fizzy in an amazing Hobbit-like house. It's owned by a Swedish American couple who have a big motor boat tied up at the end of the garden. For some reason they prefer to live on the boat than in the house so they lent the house to Fizzy while she was doing some medical work! The house owner runs a commercial diving business in Venezuela and flies his own plane down there on a regular basis. Venezuela by all accounts is not a good place to be.

One day back and already we are planning Christmas in Uruguay with Jen and Marcus. We are hoping to work our way back to Grenada in January via short plane hops and buses. We shall see.

OK, time to prepare for a dinghy party in the next bay. It seems that there's to be a gathering of yachties, each bringing their own food and drink, followed by a bit of a musical afternoon.