vendredi 03.11.06 The Day Cigarettes Saved My Life
Today is Independence Day in Dominica. There have been celebrations all week. It started off with the three-day Créole Music Festival and this week there have been daily parades in the capital Roseau. Today sees the biggest parade with everyone, from school children, bands, footballers, officials and policemen, taking part. Everyone’s flying the yellow, white and black striped parrot flag and there’s a party in the Botanical Gardens with stalls, markets, music and merriment from dawn to dusk.
As it’s a public holiday we reckon it’s the perfect day for our tour of the island. We need not worry about the sights and attractions being inaccessible since what we want to see are the natural waterfalls, lakes and springs off Dominica and although they may be often off the beaten track they are never off limits. Kelvin is only too happy to chauffeur us around for the day. There will be less people on the roads, less tourists and plus, he’s getting EC$400 for just cruising in his identically-named motor. Like many other younger Dominicans he doesn’t seem too interested in the daytime celebrations. He’s 26. He’s a taxi-driver and possibly a wannabe rapper. He’s a DJ too and so it’s the night action he lives for. He’s also a self-professed “everybody’s person”. His Dad is a police inspector and his Mum is a Rasta, who now lives in Guadeloupe. We meet his Dad off-duty and en route to the parade. It’s reassuring to know we’re in safe hands. Though you never know what fate will throw at your door…
We’re on the road by 8,30. Our first stop is at an ATM as Nic and David need dosh. They seem to take their time but later explain that the old geezer in front of them couldn’t remember his PIN so they took the time to puff on a few Hillsboroughs.
Just as we turn the corner past Canefield we meet a car crash. Those few seconds spent sucking on cancer sticks probably saved our souls. The sound of screeching tyres, the incessant blaring of horns and the following shrieks and wailing are etched in my mind. A white jeep ahead of us has a cracked windscreen. There’s a black jeep by a gateway to our right with a broken right wing mirror and shiny silver scrapes along the side. The main casualty is a black pick-up facing us embedded in the ditch to our left. It’s hard to see anything amid the smoke and fumes ahead though it’s the yowling and sobbing which seems to hang in the air. Kelvin jumps out but we stay put. He returns a moment later, shaking his head, shocked with an inane grin slashed across his furrowed face. “Its bad.” he says, “One of the guys is in a bad way. I know him.”
The ditched pick-up was said to be overtaking the black jeep when the jeep supposedly speed up and the pick-up had to serve into the ditch to avoid the oncoming white jeep. There were apparently four people in the pick-up; all squashed into the cab no doubt because anyone in the open-air would have already departed this life. It only takes a few minutes for crowds to gather. Many are on their mobiles. Distraught women push by shaking, crying out: “No. No. No.” An unknown force seems to slow them down as they approach the scene. Some guys also appear, cursing, blaspheming God, and stamping the ground. However, they soon quell their rage and part the crowds as an ambulance races up the road; it’s just a remodelled mini-bus but it does the job.
I see two injured people emerge from the haze. They are escorted by medics as they clutch their arms and hold their heads. Another local ambulance and a fire truck appear. They stretcher off the remaining casualties and in an instant the road is cleared – except for the black pick-up lodged in the ditch which may well stay there forever as a reminder of today’s road rage.
We ask Kelvin if he wants to call off our outing. He decides to continue on. The medics have done their job and nobody is knocking on death’s door just yet. I’m feeling a bit woozy as nausea laps at my lapels but it’s not long until Dominica’s calming, cool waters are washing over me…
Despite the initial drama our day is full of sweeter streams and safer crashing water bodies. We’re definitely well-washed by the end of the day:
Dominica’s most-visited natural wonder, the Emerald Pool, is our first stop-off. It’s an easy 5 minute ramble from the visitor centre (which is open but undergoing renovations), along a well-maintained jungle pathway to the wild 40ft waterfall and the gleaming, relaxing pool. The greenness of the surrounding foliage is soaked up and reflected by the pool to give it that ethereal emerald quality. There’s a sheltered cave at the one end and its soft sand is the perfect place to land after a rousing swim in the rushing.
There’s already a couple in the pool; the lady looks very much at home with her shower cap and toothbrush. However, we seem to have disturbed their love nest and they scurry off as we take the plunge. The water is cold - refreshing but not freezing, and it’s truly serene here in nature’s nombril.
There’s no rush on returning to the car so we take our time, take pictures galore and then take a trail marked Carib Trace, and another, Atlantic View, to take in the astounding vista. From our lookout point we can see the sea and the tremendous, 16,000-acre Morne Trois Pitons National Park. In 1997 this park became a UNESCO World Heritage Site. People say that if Christopher Columbus revisited the Caribbean Dominica would be the only place he would still recognise. This astounding wilderness is packed with primordial rainforest and sparse elfin woodland which rock and roll for miles, finally rising to the cloud-capped summit of the 4550ft Morne Trois Pitons. This enchanting expanse is broken up by volcanic fumaroles and piping hot springs.
We resist licking the bark of the bwa bandé trees and instead leave the cool interior to find ourselves cruising along the warmer coastal water masses and passing through communities and villages such as Tarou, Jimmit and Mahaut – the town that never sleeps. Once again we witness Dominica’s truly diverse choice of appellations as we pass through a town called Massacre. I’m a bit confused as I spot a sign for the Massacre Christian Union Church before I realise that’s the town we’re in. There are signs of slaughter around about; we pass a truck with a lone caged cow off to the butcher’s and I spy a poster promoting seatbelts which reads: Buckle Up! You can’t be recycled. We also pass the Antrim Water Treatment Plant and the Belfast Export Co. as we cruise by Roseau en route to Laudat. Before we get to our next destination we have to pass by the Palmolive and Colgate factories, the notable Nissan dealership, along the windy, bendy, blue-bagged banana plantation route and right past the attraction which probably makes most bewildered Dominican Republic-bound tourists land in Dominica by mistake; the island’s resident Hoare House with the ladies from Santo Domingo sitting outside braiding each another’s hair by day and tearing it out by night – such a sight.
Laudat is a small village found at 1970ft above sea level. We take in the awesome views of the rolling countryside as we zigzag, beep-beep and hip-hop our way uphill. Just outside the town we park and ascend on foot to the unusual Titou Gorge. Kelvin had described it as the point where two mountains meet with a waterfall in the middle, though when I see it it’s not what I’d conjured up in my mind; it may be smaller and less imposing but it’s still stirring and moving. We swim up the deep, dark tunnel formation for about 2 minutes until we can see a small, spitting waterfall at the back of a cave. It’s a curious place with the dark, high walls of the sheltered lava-formed passageway and the wild, spluttering waterfall which powers the island’s main hydroelectric plant.
The current is too strong to get close to the waterfall. There’s nothing else to do but return to the access pool and warm up by leaning against one of the hot springs. We return to the car park via the narrow, wobbly access bridge across the gorge. Kelvin informs us that a scene from Pirates of the Caribbean II was filmed further on. To be precise it’s the scene where Jack Sparrow and Co. escape from the Carib Indians by diving into the river below only to find spears cutting through the water after them.
We also find the Rainforest Aerial Tram, at Laudat, which takes you for a ride over the rainforest canopy in a metal cage. It’s not operating today but it’s no loss. Ceri said to give it a miss. It’s supposed to be over-hyped and over-priced and after an hour and a half looking at forest you won’t be able to tell the wood from the trees.
The hunger is on us and so we take a lunch break on the splendid terrace at the River Rock Café, just below Trafalgar Falls, which overlooks the rainforest. Chicken or tuna is once again the daily dish. After all our water action its finger-licking good, though the tax they throw in leaves us leaving without tipping. Kelvin got his lunch for free since he brought us punters to this exotic eating place.
Trafalgar Falls is where we next find ourselves. The twin falls are known more affectionately as Mama and Papa. Papa is the taller, narrower waterfall and his falls flow from the churning currents at Titou Gorge. Mama is shorter, yet wider and her waters are fed by the Trois Pitons River. We only have to follow a short flower-lined, leaf-canopied tail to enjoy the falls from the viewing deck. From here you can take in the sights of the chirping, tropical rainforest and of the marvellous falls, as they crash down a sheer 200ft rock face. We decide to venture on over the rocks to Mama’s base. There’s a hot spring on route and I can’t resist dipping in though the rocks are slippy due to the recent rainfall and we can’t help but get wet as we clamour and climb over boulders and hop across rock pools.
Before we set out for the falls we wait at the visitor shelter for the rain to pass. A cheery chappy, Philip-Joseph, latches on to us. He’s a laugh but he’s also a leech. He takes a shine to Nicola – or rather Nicola’s knockers - and it’s not long until he’s knocking around the rocks with us and his alter-ego; Michael Jackson. He gives Nicola a flower and tries his chipped-tooth charms on her. Nicola knocks him back as David and I knock back a gulp of the gratuity drink.
On the way to the falls Philip-Joseph yaps away. He may talk the talk but can he walk the walk? He does – barefoot. And he has the barefaced cheek to call me a racist. He still persists with Nicola and I can’t help thinking that he’s bringer us further and closer to the falls just to spite us in the hope that we, ourselves, take a fall. It has been raining hard and Kelvin did warn us not to take the slippery, rocky route but we ramble up unperturbed by the precipitation despite being on the rocks with our misguided guide.
I revel in this rocky relationship but the others are high enough and we decide to turn back. Of course it’s the way back which proves to be the most difficult. Philip-Joseph goes for a piss. I wish he’d just piss-off. Philip-Joseph is truly pissed-off at something and he doesn’t give any guidance. He then gives out to me for supposedly not helping Nicola back down the rocks. I give him a dirty look and then when we’re back on the easy access trail I ask Nicola if she’s alright just to mock him. Kelvin is waiting for us so we don’t have to piss about with the piss-head.
The car rolls around the tight bends and rocks down the steep stretches. Kelvin’s music choice has kept me content until now. I can handle rappers who like to practise their ABC’s…A-A-A, though the highly-sexed, squeals and buzzing beats of Dominica’s mad-mosquito mumbo music don’t really fit in. Even the Triple K…K-K-K…group don’t do it for me. It’s bizarre music and as a silent gesture to show how much it stinks David resorts to sniffing my smelly socks!
We stop en route at a look-out point decorated with unusual pink flowers. Across the road in the embankment there are hundreds of bottle caps lodged in the soil spelling out boat names. It’s the quirky, cryptic additions like this which add to the mysterious intrigue of Dominica.
We spot another strange sign: Screw Sulphur Spa, and we head for these smelly, spluttering pools. These Sulphur Springs are found in the depths of a humid forest, not in a barren landscape like those in Soufrière. The boiling, eggy pools bubble and splutter away and some children hold their noses while posing for photos. The rotten egg smell is not as overwhelming as eggspected but ça pue nonetheless.
The warbling waters send Kelvin off into the undergrowth for a rainforest leak. It’s not long until we’re trickling back to Roseau. Kelvin slows down to chat to a taxi friend but they’re blocking the road and the driver behind the taxi bus is getting irate. Kelvin moves on and the annoyed old man stops him to tell him that if he wants to stop and chat in future he should pull over on the side of the road. That’s almost impossible in these parts as the side is more of a slide. Kelvin however, retains his passive approach as he listens to the old man. “OK Paps,” he replies, politely apologising. Kelvin is a straight-talking, no-nonsense sort of guy but its humbling to see a youth being so civil to a fuming old geezer. I suppose that Dominica is too small to stir-up trouble but overall the Dominican people have been very courteous and genteel, despite a certain loopy quality among those individuals in the well-kept gardens and slimy, boulder areas.
It has been an eventful but enjoyable day in Kelvin’s company. Another enterprising person in Dominica is Sukie. I’ve seen signs for Sukie’s Gas, Sukie’s Grocery Store, Sukie’s Shoes… Sukie, Sukie everywhere. It’s a rags to riches story. Poor Sukie started off cycling around the town selling baguettes to his neighbours. He was barefoot but at least he smelt nice. His enterprising ways soon took form as his bread enterprise expanded. Nowadays he has fingers in many pies and his empire has now risen making him the third richest person in Dominica. Apparently the Nissan dealers and another local enterprise take first and second place. We pass by the Cocoa Museum and outside there is another of Sukie’s signs: Sukie’s Bread and Cocoa Tea is better than Viagra.
In Roseau we meet the throngs who are heading to the Botanical Gardens after the parade. It has been raining on/off all day but there’s a good vibe with plenty of gaiety on the streets as people assemble on steps and streets laughing, singing and having fun. Kelvin tells us that there will be almighty celebrations tonight. We plan to stick to our beers on the pier for some moonshine and moon-bathing so we stock up before Kelvin drops us back to Sea View.
We catch the last few rays as we lounge on the pier. Beer and cheer follow. Vennie’s mate, Jay, joins us for a bit while Vennie is doing some business. Jay is another Dominican ‘bad boy’. He tells us he’s on the run from the cops as he’s wanted for the unlawful possession of narcotics and nautical equipment. He’s all talk about his life and his wife, who turns out to be his live-in girlfriend. It’s her birthday on Sunday and he’s planning a romantic crayfish and champagne meal in the hills. He invites us along which is odd but he only has one thing on his mind. He also tells us that he plans to sail over to England with some mates and we’re told there’s a berth and booze on board for all to enjoy during the 22 day trip. No thanks. His nattering nonchalance and man-of-the-world waffle is amusing at first but it soon wears thin. He later leaves looking for another dope to sell his story to.
Vennie reappears with a box of beers and banana-skin treats. There are other slippery-skinned treats going around too. Some of the other residents are out enjoying the moonlight madness too. We soon take to the water but there are a few injuries. Something nips my ankle, Nicola hurts her foot and there are other unidentified drinking injuries to point out.
I’m soon soothed and snug in my PJs. The boys are playing with their toys again. The poor plastic boat and paddle don’t get any rest. I wander to the edge of the wooden jetty only to get splashed by Vennie. He also wets Nicola but she makes it to dry land before things get out of hand. I’m drenched. I’m pissed. I pour the remains of my beer on top of him and tap the bottle against the plank Glasgow-gutting style.
It’s time for bed. Nicola needs to nurse her foot and she hobbles up the stairs. We bid farewell to Vennie but when we’re hanging out on our balcony he’s down below waving up at us. We don’t exactly invite him up but he arrives in an instant. He leaves just as quickly as we’re totally whacked. We three lounge about, munching on monkey nuts, watching The Longest Yard. As we settle down for the night the music from the neighbouring bar seems to go up a few notches. We have the door ajar so we don’t suffocate from the mingled emissions but the music lulls up to sleep despite sounding very similar to a swarm of mosquitoes…
No comments:
Post a Comment