Grenada II

— Arrival

Since my primary goal in heading south to my boat in the Caribbean is to get away from the cold PNW weather, I was amply rewarded when I landed at the airport in southern Grenada, on Nov. 12th. The airport was warmer than the plane had been flying in from Seattle to Miami and Grenada, so that was nice. So far, so good.

Outside it warmed up considerably since it was about 3:45 pm when I caught my ride to the funky B’nB where I had stayed last April when I hauled the boat ashore for storage during the hurricane season. (No, hurricane Beryl didn’t reach this far south, but did further north—more on that later.) I checked in and went over to the boatyard five minutes away where Mariposa was sitting on the ground, all strapped down and ready for whatever. A quick check showed that everything was fine, and I started getting things done in preparation for launching on the 15th.

 Of course, with the outside temperature at about 86°, the inside of the boat was 97° plus, since all the hatches and doors were closed and had been for months except for the time some work was being done as I had ordered. Wow! Now that was way too much, and I quickly went into ventilation mode: everything was thrown wide open. That brought the temp down maybe 3-4 degrees. The whole boat was a heat sink from all the sunshine I was looking forward to.

A hot place to be with no water! 

Not the most pleasant and not how it was when I went through launching in Antigua last year. But then, Grenada is further toward the equator—more direct sun and all—and slightly different weather patterns. Well, weather and climate are like that: nothing you can control, except your reaction to them. So, for the next five days, I worked on that.

Now, to add to the heat and ventilation challenge, the week previous to arriving had been very rainy and flooding damaged the city’s water system. Consequently, the boatyard had intermittent fresh water, and then no water availability for anything: boat washing, showers, toilets, nothing. Since I had had new plumbing done with my two 80-gallon water tanks, which required draining them, I couldn’t fill my tanks and had no water for anything, not even drinking or washing my hands. I couldn’t use my toilets or showers aboard anyway because I was out of the water, but those weren’t available in the yard either.

Ah, but I had a B’nB to sleep at and shower, right? Yeah, but the water heater for my shower didn’t work right. OK, one quick, cold shower. Then, the contagion of water outage spread to my apartment area, so not even a cold shower or water for washing hands, drinking, etc. One saving grace was that there was one of those five-gallon jug cooling dispensers in the apartment which I had been using for filling disposable water bottles to take to the boat so I had drinking water. It was about drained by the time I checked out on Friday morning.

Since I had electricity from my solar panels, I had immediately turned on one of my boat’s fridges when I arrived and that provided some welcome cold water plus a place to keep leftovers from the restaurant next door to the boatyard. I had planned on eating there for at least one meal daily, and that worked—except that what they could offer on their menu got less and less each day because they too had no water for food preparation, washing, and so on. I didn’t have time to catch a minibus to and from a grocery store as I was on a tight schedule to get my jobs done and ensure that the jobs I had the yard do were done. And many of those required water. So, I was pretty exhausted each day.

Oh, and did I mention the humidity? With the heavy rain previously and intermittent while I was working, the humidity was consistently up around 95%, which I had never seen in the Caribbean before. Usually, it was in the 60s-70s at the most, generally less than at home in Oak Harbor. With the heat and humidity, I drank at least 1.5 gallons of water each day, and most of it left my body by sweat—which I rarely do at home—and very little left for the toilet. It was a race to make sure I had enough coming out of the right place.

Well, I survived, got launched Friday afternoon, and tied up to a mooring buoy around the corner out in Prickly Bay. I went out early Saturday morning, before the sun was too high, to a good grocery store and stocked up the boat … and slept, ate some, slept some more, and finally got to dive off the stern steps of Mariposa into the refreshingly cool (84°) water and have a real shower afterward.

On Sunday, I had to dive in to cool off three times because there was virtually no breeze. By Monday the 18th, I finally felt rested enough to start with the inside-the-boat tasks, putting away all the 100 lbs of stuff I brought in my luggage, getting the watermaker going, etc, etc.

And just like that, the outside temperature was around 82°, the humidity was down to 60%, nice fluffy clouds came in the late morning, and I felt more in control of my life. I know that changing from one place to another like I’m doing will always be a bit of a challenge—which I like— and that I have to figure out ways to make it go as smoothly as possible. So it’s nothing new; but the specifics always are. I thought you might find it interesting to know how this particular drop into the stereotype of “Paradise” went.

Time for my afternoon dive…

—Several days later

It’s still been hot with rain showers and a few tropical downpours thrown into the mix. I’m getting the jobs done that I wanted to before starting to sail. Just the usual housekeeping and nagging house repairs we all know about, whether our house is on land or water—you know, stuff you know you should do to make life easier now and in the future, but just hate to bring yourself to do it.

It’s another episode with the struggle for control; except this time the struggle is within yourself and not between you and some other source of contention, such as a friend, family member, salesperson, repairman, charity/political contribution solicitors, etc. Or, as in my case, feeling too hot and sweaty if I tackle an outside job, feeling I deserve a little nap because I got my daily walk and exercise done, and so on—mind games.

In addition, there’s the stuff going on nationally and in the rest of the world. What do I do about controlling all that clamoring for my attention beyond the personal conflicts I’ve mentioned above? It’s enough to derive you nuts … if you let it. And I guess that’s the key: Don’t let it. Which brings me to my usual mantra: If you can’t control it, let it go. And so in my little part of “Paradise,” I’m content with what I can control and have a lot of uncontrollable flotsam and jetsam to smugly watch swirling into the distance behind my stern.

Maybe that’s what tropical sunsets are for…