Grenada

By Ken Davis

Ask most people what they know about the country of Grenada, and the common response is, "Didn’t the Americans invade that place?" Yes, they did, but that happened in 1983, and as far as Grenadians are concerned, it’s ancient history. Most Grenadians would rather their beautiful island be known for incredible beaches, for its friendly locals and as the second-largest producer of spices in the world.

Grenada is a very small island (22 by 18 km), approximately 125 km off the northern coast of Venezuela. In addition to its main island, there are two smaller islands, Carriacou and Petit Martinique, that make up the country of Grenada. With around 100,000 friendly islanders, a connection to Canada as a member of the Commonwealth, and those mythical West Indies breezes, it is a great place for a winter vacation.

My wife and I were determined to see all that we could on the island, but save enough time in our holiday to lie in the sun and bring home some enviable tans. We spent the entire second day on Grenada’s longest and most popular beach, Grand Anse, burning ourselves beyond recognition. We slopped on an SPF6 sunblock but were fooled by the beautiful, soothing winds into thinking it was cooler than it actually was.

Trying to read a book or magazine on Grand Anse beach was a near impossibility. It was easy enough to find a quiet spot on the seven-kilometre-long beach, but that didn’t mean the vendors wouldn’t find you. Over the course of two weeks we were offered bananas, mangoes, French cashews, ganja, sarongs, T-shirts, sea-sponges, coconuts, coral and, of course, every spice grown on the island. The vendors came in all sizes, shapes, ages, ability and gender, and in various states of intoxication. However, every one of them was polite, and when told "no thanks" usually left -- after a brief discussion about where we were from, how long we were staying and how we liked Grenada. Inevitably one of their questions when they saw my wheelchair was, "What’s wrong with you, mon?"

Since we burned so badly on day two, we decided to take an island tour with a local taxi company on day three. Our driver was a Grenadian named Kennedy who had travelled all over the world. He informed us very quickly that Canada was one of his favourite countries, and he was an amazing tour guide and driver. He also had a teenage sidekick, who was much more interested in the teenage girls of each town than in helping with the tour.

We started to make our way along the west coast of Grenada, hugging the mountain beside the Caribbean Sea. The roads on the island are amazingly narrow and in poor condition and there are absolutely no road or street signs on the island (thus, the need for a guide).

As we travelled to our first destination, Kennedy explained that building restrictions had already been put in place to stop any further development on Grand Anse Beach, thus insuring the beach will always have enough room for locals and tourists alike. We later found out that no structure on Grenada can be taller than a palm tree, thereby protecting the beauty of the island.

Our first stop was Concord Falls, located in a small rainforest area. The drive to the falls was a two-mile stretch of hairpin curves on a one-lane road through a section of mountainside houses, and miles of trees, ferns and plants of various fruits and spices.

Kennedy stopped on several occasions, picking items off trees for us to look at more closely or to taste. Two items of particular interest were French cashews and cocoa plants. French cashews are small, red fruit, looking like miniature apples but tasting and having the consistency of pears. They were highly addictive. Cocoa, on the other hand, looks like a large, yellow tree growth about six inches long. Kennedy adeptly broke one open, revealing a gooey, white substance encompassing about 20 cocoa beans. He instructed us to rip off a bean and suck on it. We did this rather hesitantly, thinking it might be an old Grenadian joke, but to our surprise the white gooey substance was very sweet.

The waterfalls themselves were small, but scenic. Unfortunately, due to our late start, we only spent a few minutes before crawling back down the mountain.

Our next stop was an old slave plantation with most of its buildings still intact. While my wife Pamela went into the main building, a nutmeg-sorting area, I sat in the van and listened to the eerie silence. That hundreds of slaves over many generations had lived, worked and died there was a sobering thought. The feeling that overwhelmed me, however, was one of tranquility.

Inside the main building, Pamela said that a few people were sitting on old wooden chairs, peeling the mace off nutmeg nuts and sorting the mace according to quality. She said the pace of the individuals was slow and leisurely, contrary to the hectic pace that probably existed 140 years before. As we left the plantation, several schoolchildren were returning home from school dressed in their mandatory school uniforms, seemingly oblivious to the sacred ground they were crossing. It was a remarkable sight.

The small fishing village of Gouyave was next on our agenda, to tour an authentic, operating nutmeg plantation. Gouyave is infamous among islanders as the city that never sleeps, as fishermen are coming and going 24 hours a day and a party can always be found somewhere.

Kennedy said that we would not soon forget our visit to Gouyave. He did not know how right he was.

I got transferred out of the van to snoop around the large warehouse while Pamela went up a flight of stairs to start the tour. After about 10 minutes of looking at sacks of nutmeg, I headed for the entrance to sit in the sunshine. I knew most of the people were staring at me, but by now this was a familiar occurrence, and everyone seemed friendly enough.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a woman attacked me! She grabbed the back of my wheelchair by the handles and lifted the back two wheels, trying to dump me from the chair. She let the chair fall back on all four wheels, and then she tried again. Luckily for me, when I sit and relax I tend to hook both arms behind the handles of my chair, making it virtually impossible to dump me from the chair.

The incident ended as quickly as it had begun, with several people grabbing the woman and wrestling her to the ground. Pamela showed up at that exact moment, having missed everything, but saying the tour had been excellent! We were told later by an island doctor that there is not the money in the local budget to treat or hospitalize people with mental health disabilities, and therefore they walk around without treatment.

As we transferred back into the van, I thought of Kennedy’s prediction and smiled. I would not soon forget Gouyave.

We quickly left the hot and sunny coast and wove our way into the upper rainforest of the island. The temperature dropped about seven degrees and the air became cool and moist as we travelled through the island’s centre. Small villages were perched on the sides of hills, surrounded by lush vegetation, fruit trees, blood-red soil and the ever-present aroma of nutmeg. Natural mountain springs were everywhere, and Kennedy finally stopped to allow us to fill our water bottle with cool mountain water.

In the geographic centre of the island is Grand Etang Forest Reserve. Situated here are beautiful, crystal-blue crater lakes, which provide much of the island with drinking water. If you are lucky, you may also catch a glimpse of Mona monkeys swinging or playing in the trees. These noisy creatures were introduced to the island by British sailors and are responsible for the extinction of at least one variety of parrot.

We finished our day by winding down through St. George’s ancient suburbs, perched perilously on the side of the rainforest mountain.

After saying our goodbyes at the hotel, we collapsed onto the bed for a late-afternoon siesta. It had been a long, tiring day, but well worth the adventurous roads and four transfers in and out of the minivan.

Getting around Grenada in a wheelchair was not easy. The sand on the beaches was thick, curbs were brutally high and wheelchair-accessible vehicles do not exist. Having said that, I would go back in a second. The people were incredibly friendly and helpful. Whether I needed someone to help with a two-person transfer into a van, or to get dragged 250 feet up a busy beach, someone always volunteered to lend a hand.

If it is in your budget and you are considering a unique tropical holiday, I strongly suggest visiting the island of Grenada. It is truly an unspoiled paradise.

(Ken Davis is a freelance poet and writer living in Winnipeg, Manitoba.)