9 Cubans, 1 Kansan and a Kittitian circle the island

Waiting for the Marriott crew (with JR in the background)


Caribelle Batik Shop at Romney Manor (closed on Sundays)


Lily, Israel, Shawn, Martha and Betty at Romney Manor

Brimstone Hill Fortress

Mami and Maggie at Brimstone

Rawlins Plantation


Black Rocks

My mother and her ass.

Final day in St. Kitts, we decided we may as well see St. Kitts. We had explored the more upscale sister island, Nevis, we had gone deep into the rain forest, we had hit every bar along the Frigate Bay strip, some of them twice, but we had not actually driven around the island we were staying on. Due to the previous evening's van-related fiasco, the driving would now actually be done by JR aka Robert, a cab driver we had met the first day on the island and my brother would follow with the Marriott crew in his rental car. After some initial difficulties in meeting up, due mainly to the fact that my mother was given the actual meeting time, as opposed to a fictitious much earlier start time that might, maybe hopefully have her ready to go at the actual hour, we were on the road (and I do mean "the" road....there is only one). Our first stop was at Caribelle Batiks, a store located on the grounds of Romney Manor, a former sugar plantation. Although the store was closed, the grounds were lovely enough to keep us snap happy for the better part of an hour. Next stop (after an obligatory Carib stop, of course) was the Brimstone Hill Fortress, a surprisingly well preserved British fort and UNESCO World Heritage site with sweeping views of the nearby islands. Having done what the French could not and conquered the fort (or at least heavily photographed it), we were off for our long-since passed lunch reservations at the highly recommended Rawlins Plantation, yet another restored former sugar plantation. The restaurant and its adjacent hotel were all Old World beauty and gentility, with a nary a nod to the uglier truths of the plantation life and its inherent rascism, something that was common to all the plantations that we visited. But for a look into how the monied lived and lounged, not to mention, for some really good food, Rawlins could not be beat. Cheap hostel lover that I am, I would not mind splurging and spending a night at Rawlins next time around. Bellies full and memory cards almost at capacity, it was time for the last stop of the tour, the Black Rocks, a series of dramatic volcanic formations that jut out of the water, a locale that, for better or worse, will best be remembered as the place where my mother got chased, relentlessly, by a donkey. Now my mother, while very fit and active, is at an age where one should step in if she is being pursued by an amorous ass, but we were all too busy laughing and reaching for cameras to even consider intervening. In the end, the donkey did relent and was rewarded with many offers of snacks and water (thus probably setting up the next gullible tourist that comes around the Black Rocks). Finally, 6 hours after it had started, our tour of St. Kitts had come to an end, as well as our weekend together on this memorable island. I can not stress enough how great it was, particularly since I would be leaving to Holland for the summer in 2 short days, to have my friends and family united like that. My sincere thanks to all who joined in. Keep your calenders open so we can do this again sometime. And please, next time, no plastic turds.

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5 Cubans and a Kansan: the rainforest day

Saturday was to be our exploration day on St. Kitts. My friends Betty and Martha were keen on a volcano hike that was pretty heavily advertised online. I took one look at all the euphemisms for "hard as shit" scattered throughout the text, words such as "challenging" and "exhilarating" and "strenous" and knew that this wasn't for me. Another option presented, a train ride around the island was deemed too sedentary, too expensive, too touristy and "just sucky" by the group, in general. Our perfect middle ground came in the form of a man named Oliver Spencer. We had gotten his name and number from a friend in Miami and knew that he was the president of the St. Kitts Horticultural Society from a brochure we had received. My friend's reviews of his tour services were glowing and his prices were very reasonable, so it was decided that we would have Oliver take us on a "gentle" walk of the rain forest. After talking to him on the phone and having him confirm all my worst fears about the volcano hike, I knew we had made the right decision. At the appointed time, Oliver arrived at our hotel... and found all of just settling down to breakfast (at this point we were 5 Cubans and a Kansan...the Frigate Bay crew...and the fact that we were all dressed and out of bed was an accomplishment in itself, timeliness would have been simply too much to ask for), but Oliver good-naturedly joined us and did not seem to mind the delay. Watching him interact with the restaurant staff clued us in that we were now joined by a local celebrity. An hour late, we set off in his SUV into the rain forest, with Oliver amiably showing us points of interest and educating us on the history of the island along the way, but it was not until we stepped foot into the rain forest that we realized what a gem we had in Oliver. His boundless appreciation of nature and his passion to share this world were absolutely infectious. He spoke with so much enthuiasm about the plants and flowers of the rain forest that we were all rapt students in his presence, wanting to soak in all the information he had to impart. He wanted us to feel the leaves, smell the flowers, taste the berries, listen to the gurgling streams. He wanted us to see the beauty that he saw and in doing so, he took what could have a been pleasant but unexciting stroll through a pretty rain forest, and turned it into the very highlight of our trip. I should mention that I have done dozens of rain forest tours, in Costa Rica, Guatemala, Peru, Brazil, Rwanda, South Africa, etc. and usually the nature guides tell you the names of the plants and possibly some medicinal value or interesting factoid about a particular tree. I listen impatiently because I am in the rain forest to see wild life and it feels like the guide is stalling until the monkey, bird or tarantula makes its appearance, and generally speaking, they are. Yet during our St. Kitts hike, we saw nothing more dramatic than a hummingbird, and I can unquantifiably state that this was the best rain forest tour I have ever been on. If I could do it every single day, I would, because I know that there would always be something new to learn, some new variation to appreciate. We came out of the rain forest tired (and this was the gentle walk!) but invigorated. We told him of our plans to go a highly recommended restuarant, Spratnet, that evening and he revealed that it was owned by his sons, and even offered to pick us up, or at the very least join us for a drink. We had pre-arranged plans to pick up a van that evening, so we declined the ride but looked forward to meeting up with him later. We spent the ensuing hours reuniting with my family...the Marriot crew; searching for the ever present, but highly elusive vervet monkeys and most of all, trying to get our stinking van. I won't go into lengthy details, but as it turned out Avis gave away our van, somehow recouped it hours later, had me waiting outside while they sat at the wrong hotel and eventually showed up four hours later sans van. I was steaming by that point, all our plans for the following day had to be reworked, my phone bill was quickly sky rocketing thanks to my many entreaties to Avis, other rental car providers and in case of plan b, cab drivers and I hadn't even had time to take a shower since leaving the rain forest. Frustrated, I left everything in Shawn's hands and returned to our room to decompress with a much needed shower, only to find that, could it really be...someone had taken a big steaming dump on my pillow. My immediate reaction was to think that someone had entered through our ground level sliding glass door and for some sick reason, decided to relieve themselves directly on my pillow. After the aggravation of the Avis incident, this was simply too much. Not to sound too British, but I was aghast! Who would do such a thing? Then I remembered who I was sharing a room with. Betty and Martha: Evil One and Evil Two. All I could bring myself to say is: Who the hell travels with a plastic turd (and yes, it was plastic)? But secretly I was thinking, I really hope airport security gets a hold of the turd bag, that'll learn them for going through people's luggage. Avis, plastic excrement and a shower behind me, I learned that Shawn had made some calls and Oliver was coming to our rescue. He graciously took us to the Spratnet, where he introduced to his sons, grandsons and nieces and hung out with us as we lingered at the restaurant watching the water, chatting about life in general and enjoying some really excellent food. Once again, we had Oliver to thank for saving the day.

I would have loved to have linked to Oliver's information, but I could not find a website for him, so I will just copy what is on his brochure and highly recommend him to anyone visiting St Kitts. His phone number is 869 465 6314, cell: 869 662 7010 and email address is oliverspencer@caribsurf.com.

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9 Cubans and a Kansan visit St. Kitts: day one

Leaving St. Kitts

Remnants of an abandoned sugar mill

Sunshine's Bar and Grill

The world (or at least our table) through Shawn's eyes

The birthplace of Alexander Hamilton

Satanica demonstrates why it is a bad idea to fall asleep on the St Kitts/ Nevis ferry

Frigate Bay (back in St. Kitts)

As readers of this blog may have noticed, through a combination of my work and the abundant time off that it allows me, I get to often indulge my gypsy spirit and visit locations both near and far. The downside of this lifestyle is that all that traveling keeps me from spending a lot of time with my family and friends. So this makes my last adventure extra sweet, in that it allowed me to have my cake, eat it and chase it down with a Carib beer. On the weekend of Sept. 18th-20th, I got to visit the serenely beautiful islands of St. Kitts and Nevis along with (deep breath..) my man, Shawn; my mother, Mami and her friend and fun loving ex-New Yorker Maggie; my brother, avid and talented photographer and frequent commenter on this here blog, Roland and his wife Magda; my wonderfully evil friend Martha (nicknamed Satanica); my deceptively evil but very funny friend, Betty and finally my long lost evil friend Lily and her decidedly non-evil husband Israel. My friends, who I never get to spend enough time with (partially due to the fact that 2 of them have reproduced...twice) are immense fun, quick, clever and I can not emphasize this enough, evil. They are constantly on the lookout for a victim for their next practical joke and it was my sincere concern that they might engage in some questionable Spanish lessons with Shawn, the only non-Cuban in our midst, while my back was turned. But justified concerns aside, it was wonderful to have the chance to share this adventures with people I so enjoy.

Shortly after we landed on St. Kitts and checked into our respective hotels (the charmingly worn Frigate Bay Resort for me and my pals, the more upscale and thus more popular Marriott for my family), we hopped upon a ferry bound for the neighboring island of Nevis, where I had arranged for Stedroy and his "Smile on Me taxi" to give us a tour around the island. While waiting for that ferry, we had passed the time drinking the local brew, Carib beer, which we were happy to learn was also sold on the ferry itself. Upon our arrival, we were greeted by Stedroy's welcoming smile. He in return, was greeted by 10 people in need of a toilet and also more beer. He happily accomodated all our needs and set off to show off the most picturesque sights his island had to offer. He took us to a natural hot spring, to scenic overlooks, to an abandoned sugar mill (which I am ashamed to say, this being at least an hour into our tour, we used as a public toilet of sorts...every time you tried to enter a nook or cranny, there was either an alarmed scream or a request for toilet paper coming at you), to the St. James Anglican church with its black Jesus (where, to the best of my knowledge, no pissing took place), to the funky Sunshine's Beach Bar and Grill on Pinney Beach, where more Caribs were imbibed and finally to where we started, the downtown port city of Charlestown, where my mother single-handily caused what I am sure will be hereafter known as the great souvenir shortage of '08, by buying everything that had a price tag on it (and a few things that probably didn't). Our tour completed, we parted with Stedroy and headed back to St. Kitts, for a much needed nap followed by a night of bar hopping on Frigate Bay in search of, what else, more Caribs, where I suspect that Shawn may have learned some words that he probably should not share with my souvenir-laden mother.

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