Grenada
The first stop in the nation of Grenada was Tyrell Bay on the rather large island of Carriacou where we checked into the country.

Lots of cruisers make their first stop there heading north from the big island of Grenada or their last stop heading south down the Windward Islands (like me). The anchorage is well-protected from easterly ocean swells and has lots of room. Curiously, there isn’t much to see of interest or beauty, but at least there is one fairly well-stocked grocery store—one of those essentials... On a couple of SCUBA dives, Jo and I tried to see if there was much underwater but found nothing remarkable: very much what we’d been seeing since diving in St. Lucia.
After bus rides to other parts of the island and walking around, we left after three nights’ anchorage and headed to the big island of Grenada, which has higher mountains and some rainforest areas—a nice switch from the dry hilly islands we’d been visiting for a few weeks.

We landed at the village of Guayave in time for their Friday Fish Fry street fair. We’re not exactly sure what it was we ended up eating, but we joined in.

It’s a place that seems to be well-organized with good streets, bus service, and a sturdy concrete dock for the many fishing boats. It’s additionally the capital of the surrounding parish, so that explains a lot.

Fishing boats are tied to the dock but also anchored from the stern to avoid smashing into the dock from the swells. Mariposa is to the left.
However, the dock is not suitable for small dinghies due to the persistent ocean swells that make anchoring and getting ashore almost impossible for yachts. Even the large open fishing dories have a challenge getting their gear to and from the dock as well as their fishing catch of the day. So, very few sailboats come there, and we stayed an extra day only so we could take a bus to check out the nearby Concord Waterfall.

Since the fall and pool are so far north, away from quick access by cruise ship tourists landing in the south, no one was there except two brief visitors. As Jo looked around the jungle environs, I set out into the pool--not cold, just refreshingly cool. It was a very pleasant surprise to have it to myself, so I basked in the surrounding view, bird calls, and burble of the falls hitting the water. Nice.
We then sailed around the bottom of the island and Grenada Town to anchor in Prickly Bay where my haul-out marina, Spice Island Marina, is located. The whole rest of the west coast we simply passed on by since there were no good anchoring spots nor places of much interest to visit.
Prickly Bay is one of the largest of five or six bays on the east coast that are usable for visiting yachts—a rarity in these islands—being fairly well protected from the easterly tradewinds and swells and having access to the usual requirements of sailors.

The Anchorage. I'm on the far right.

The Marina.
Grenada is a real city, though referred to as “Town” by island residents. It has a wide variety of stores to take care of any need, for both visitors and residents—you just have to look hard to find them. There’s even ACE and True-Value hardwares, and an IGA and other large chain grocery stores.

The old harbor and downtown.

Now, the place has grown a bit.

Friend Shaquille on his residential street.
Also, St. George’s University located in the city is a major university for students all over the Caribbean, as well as for many foreign students such as from the US. Although it has the usual curriculum offerings, it's major focus is on medical programs and is the major provider of first-year residency placements in the US. It’s quite an addition to the city.

The main bus station downtown.
Bus travel is easy and cheap (most trips 75¢ US); you just flag a mini-bus down to squeeze aboard and knock on a window to let them know when you want off.

Sixteen in four rows, and still two empty seats next to the driver!
The buses are very frequent, but the drivers think they’re on a race course, full throttle all the time. In comparison to the French islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique, the bus drivers on the English-speaking islands are risk-takers, and it seems that they are more so the further south I’ve gone, with the Grenada drivers being the worst. If another car is coming at you in the opposing lane as you swing out to pass a car in your lane, no matter, just honk and race to slip by as it hurtles at you—missing by inches. And this goes on and on with every vehicle they want to pass.
Oh, and did I mention that private cars and trucks simply stay in their lane and don’t pull over to make more room, for anything (but then, there's little shoulder room to pull onto anyway on these curvy, mountain roads)? Well, that’s no reason to slow down. For bus drivers, after all, the challenge is to pass that car in front of you and get ahead to pick up the next passenger who is flagging somebody down before the bus behind you gets there first.
Now, Jo and I did make a long bus trip to Sisters Wateralls, midway down the island where I had another swim in a pool and Jo went looking for unfamiliar plants, animals, and birds.

The top main pool and fall were busy with cruise ship tourists bused in from Grenada city to the south, but I had the small lower fall and pool all to myself—there wasn’t a tall photo-op waterfall to get under, which the main fall had. I was satisfied with just the gentle push of the cascading water and being alone in my small one.
Of course, the whole bus adventure there was as I just described, bouncing and swaying, for the 35 minutes it took to get there and the hour and 45-minute return trip on two separate buses. Needless to say, the bus part of the trip was exhausting (but the falls were nice;-). Yet, the amazing thing is that thousands of people on this and other Caribbean islands are exposed to the experience every day to make necessary commutes to jobs, school, etc. I think they just get numbed to the physical stress and ignore the threat to their lives. I know that’s the only way I can accept riding a bus now, but that long trip did me in. l saw and swam in the falls I wanted to, but no more long trips. The ones in town are scary enough.
Since we had done and seen about all we wanted to, my job was now to get the boat ready to haul out for the hurricane season.

Ready for whatever comes her way.
We finished up about two weeks earlier than estimated, so Jo was ready to fly home to take care of house stuff, and her 96-year-old mother was having more frequent problems, though still living alone at home. After Jo left, I settled into taking care of boat business, such as the four 100 lb house batteries (separate from the engines) dying one by one and me trying to make the last of the living continue their service until we were hauled out and I could get them replaced this summer.
Oh, and speaking of batteries, my laptop battery died six weeks ago, but the computer still worked if plugged in—until a week before I was to fly home, threatening to seriously interfere with my necessary connection to the outside world on various matters. Thankfully, I had enough apps on my phone to make it possible to take care of most essentials. It also meant a handwritten draft of this blog post since it’s a lot better, for me, than hunt-and-peck on the small cellphone screen. I also know that form of writing has no batteries to fail—short of me dying, and that hasn’t happened yet.
Finally, an interesting thing I’ve noticed is that I’ve had a good number of generally middle-aged women— store clerks, office personnel, street sellers, etc—use the tag ending word Daddy in reference to me. Such as, ”Thank you, Daddy,” “It’s over here, Daddy,” “Have a good day, Daddy,” etc. I assume it’s a sign of friendliness, maybe respect for age? Is it that obvious I’m 82? Well, a glance in a mirror confirms that I’m no Spring chicken. So, I’ll just take it as a sign of respect and let it go at that. It’s kinda fun, though, to have some stranger call me Daddy. Of course, it could be Grandpa or even Great Grandpa, given their ages. But… I think I prefer Daddy.
Welcome home! We really enjoyed reading your posts. Thanks for taking the time. Looking forward to visiting on Whidbey!
Well, Daddy, it is hard to believe that it is already time to the boat up for hurricane season. Once again you have had so many interesting places, people and waterfalls(!) and .... bus rides not for the faint of heart!
Your photos speak volumes, thank you for sharing so many. Also, sounds like your 4 sailing companions turned out very well, at least I hope it did.
When all is tucked away come on home to some beautiful weather and let us hope a great summer.
Sending lots of warm hugs from Mommy (as I just turned 80) to you, Daddy and safe journey home.
Jim says you need to get back on the farm and view the world as we see it. Only hard work for us Jackrabbits. Hope to see you this summer............Jim M.
Enjoy these posts very much enriching my armchair travels!
Thank you! ☮️❤️