Sailing the Atlantic, Cruising the Caribbean - Avalon of Arne

We had a rough overnight sail from Barbados to Bequia, with the wind blowing up to around 30 knots and large quartering seas. When the wind got up we rolled in the main and just used the Genoa, rolled down to a bit less than No. 2 size. The Aries had difficulty keeping the boat straight at times, so a bit of hand-steering was needed. We seemed to be taking on a bit of water - probably from the stern gland. As dawn broke we were between St. Vincent and Bequia. There were a few fisherman out in their pirogues, bobbing over the large seas. We felt quite tired when we arrived at Port Elizabeth around 10 in the morning. The anchorage at Admiralty Bay was really crowded and even in the harbour it was quite windy. The holding was very poor. After dragging our anchor round the harbour for a while, we decided to pay for the privilege of picking up a mooring buoy. The anchorage in Princess Margaret Bay is less crowded and has better holding, but is a long way from town.

Everyone had told us what a great place Bequia is, but after the brilliant time we had in Barbados, we both found it a ltlle disappointing. Going ashore you get a bit of hassle from the boat boys - although by all accounts they’re a lot worse in some other places. The Customs and Immigration officials seemed surly and deliberately unhelpful. After Barbados, everything seemed overpriced. It is still a beautiful Island, but its number one industry is catering to yachties. After Barbados, where yachties are relatively few in relation to the population (and pretty irrelevant to the local economy), it seemed like a sailor’s Carribean theme park. This was also our first incursion into charter boat territory. In general, long distance cruisers have a fairly jaundiced view of charter yachties. This is despite the fact that many of them (myself included) have BEEN charter yachties in the past! The prejudice is partly due to a perception of their (lack of) sailing ability, which is obviously a generalisation, and therefore in some cases quite unjustified - although a lot of them do seem to motor everywhere. Mostly, however, it is because on their two week vacation they can afford to throw lots of money around, which pushes up prices for people on a far tighter budget. Thus in Bequia we could only afford to eat out once, and the price of diving was so high that we gave it a miss altogether.

We stayed in Bequia for three days, which seemed long enough. Eirik and Greta on ”Alice” arrived when we were there, and we spent a very pleasant evening on their boat drinking rum and chatting. It’s great to see older people (over 60) who can really let their hair down and have a good time. One day we went snorkelling, which was OK but unspectacular. Another we went hiking along the coast to a deserted beach, which was very pleasant. We then headed on south to Canouan. It was still windy, about 25 knots, and we got splashed quite a bit by the large beam seas.

Canouan will get a very short paragraph, as we didn’t go ashore. The anchorage was not well sheltered from the prevailing wind, and when we launched the tender it got flipped, dunking the outboard. So I spent the rest of the day sorting it out, and the next day we headed off. People who have stopped on Canouan say it is pleasant and unspoilt. Our next stop was Mayreau.

Mayreau has two main anchorages, Salt Whistle Bay and Saline Bay. Salt Whistle Bay is an idyllic anchorage but is quite small and tends to get very crowded, largely with charter boats. Depending on the wind direction there can be a rocky, unyielding lee shore. Boats have been know to drag their anchors there with unfortunate consequences.

There is quite a posh hotel ashore, and an associated bar on the beach where you can get food and drinks. This development, it must be admitted, has been constructed in a way which is unobtrusive and in harmony with its surroundings. All the same, we went to Saline Bay. This too, is a beautiful bay in its way, but much bigger, with a sweeping sandy beach, palm trees, and excellent holding in hard sand. As well as being bigger that Salt Whistle, it is much less crowded. This is maybe because, if you want a drink, you have to climb up a steep hill to the nearest bar.

And in the evening, that it exactly what we did. We went to Dennis’s Hideaway for a drink, met Dennis and his (English) wife, and ended up staying for dinner - I think we had shark steaks. During the meal, an elderly local man was singing blues. I had my back to him when he started singing, and I assumed it was a CD playing. He had a fantastic voice, dark and rich and husky, which contributed to a memorable evening. Dennis is a local entrepreneur, who has built up a successful series of small business on the Island - hotel, restaurant, bar and supermarket. He even has a sailing boat moored in Saline Bay, which he sometime charters out. If he could, he would employ local staff in these businesses. But he can’t, so he has to employ staff from St. Vincent. Why is this? The answer is Tuesdays.

Every Tuesday, Saline Bay undergoes a metamorphosis as bizarre as anything in Kafka. Normally, the beach is deserted and there are maybe half a dozen yachts at anchor. On Tuesdays, most of the island’s population is down on the beach. Hundreds of sun loungers are moved from hiding and arrayed in serried ranks. Stands and tables are erected, and decked in gaudy t-shirts, jewellery, carvings and every other sort of souvenir. Dive boats buzz in from Union Island and set up shop on the jetty. Schooners and catamarans arrive also - the sort that offer rides around the bay to tourists. Plumes of smoke rise from the beach as huge barbecues are lit. In a few hours Saline bay is transformed form a deserted beach in paradise to something like a resort on the Costa del Sol.

The reason is apparent when you look out to sea. There is a large cruise ship at anchor, and soon an invasion fleet of launches is bringing the passengers ashore. A procession of these tourists moves from the jetty onto the beach, colonising the loungers, splashing around in the sea, and patronising the souvenir stands. They look, for the most part, like stereotypical middle-aged American tourists. Around mid-day, they start queuing up for their food from the barbecue. There are some local musicians and dancers providing entertainment. Very few of the passengers go up the hill to see Mayreau village.

We swim ashore from Avalon and wander around, rather bemused by the whole thing. We get chatting to some of the tourists. The reaction is usually the same - “Gee, you sailed over from Eu-rope on that LITTLE BOAT?”. They seem, on the whole, to be friendly, good natured people enjoying their vacation. But it strikes you - THEY MUST THINK MAYREAU IS ALWAYS LIKE THIS.

In the afternoon the tourists are ferried back to the cruise ship, which vanishes over the horizon. The locals tidy up on the beach. Their work is done for the week; and they can now go home and relax until next Tuesday. According to Dennis. there was a time when Mayreau had a local economy, of sorts. People would farm, and fish, and make things. When it came to the basics, the island was largely self-sufficient. All that changed when the cruise ship started coming. The locals discovered that by working one day a week catering to the tourists, they could earn enough to live. The local economy changed overnight. Now, land that was cultivated is returning to the wild. The goats, too, now wander around as their own masters. All food is imported. And Dennis has to go to St. Vincent to find people prepared to work for him.

No-one in his right mind can argue with the entirely rational decision of the local people. From their point of view, one day’s easy work a week is preferable to six days harder work a week. The frightening thing is how dependent they have become on that one cruise ship. If it stopped coming, what then?

We stayed in Mayreau a few days longer. On the Sunday we wandered up to the village to see if me could buy some bread, and Dennis saw us and invited is into his (rather nice) house for drinks, and lunch. There are only two motor vehicles on the island - pick-up trucks - of which Dennis owns one. Apparently it was once stolen! Not difficult to find, though, since there is only one road, about half a mile long, between Saline Bay and the village.

We did some diving - there is quite a good wreck (of a gunboat) in 60-70 feet of water off Saline bay. We met some young French people - there must have been about ten of them - in a big rusty steel boat which apparently belonged to the French armed forces. They had dragged their anchor over our chain and we helped them to sort it out. By way of apology they invited us around to dinner - spaghetti bolognese and WINE - a rare treat in the Caribbean and a welcome change from rum and beer. It turned out they had a dive compressor on board, so they kindly filled our tanks and we showed them the wreck and dived with them again the next day.

Our next stop was Union Island. The anchorage there is protected by a reef, with another reef in the middle. Unusually for the Caribbean, I think there are actually some buoys marking the channel. It was pretty crowded when we were there, with a lot of the space taken up by permanent moorings. As we were motoring into the harbour, we saw "Tinfish", who we knew from Barbados, heading out. We seemed to keep on just missing them all the way down the Grenadines.

Union Island is not much bigger than Mayreau, but has an airport and a charter boat base. There are several small food markets but the prices are astronomical. They are no better in the local open-air market - $1 for a tomato. I simply cannot believe that the local people pay the prices that they tried to charge us - I assume that they are geared to the people on charter boats. The bars and restaurants, while not cheap, are not totally extortionate. After doing some snorkelling in the lagoon, we walked over to the airport to check out from the St. Vincent Grenadines. Our next stop would be Carriacou, which belongs to Grenada.