Again alone on Gaia, we provisioned diesel, dinghy fuel, water, laundry and refilled scuba tanks in Redhook, St. Thomas. We made a quick motor around the bend to Christmas Cove on St. James and partook in the novelty of Pizza Pi, a steel-hulled sailboat that will serve pizza via VHF & dinghy. A nice and fun treat! We fell in love with Christmas Cove and since the moorings were free… stayed a few nights. We dove on Calf Rock (3/4 mile dinghy ride WSW). It was a fun little dive where beginner divers become certified, actually, where Mike got his very own PADI cert years back. We ended up navigating through some narrow valleys in the rock, which proved to be really fun UNTIL… Mike picked up a broken off piece of coral with a neat little brittle star crawling on it, then dropped it. The shell swirled and swiveled round and round ever so delicately skimming my lower thigh just below where my shortie wetsuit cut off. For such a slight and momentary contact, it felt extremely sharp but I paid no attention to it for the first few minutes. My leg began stinging immensely and the area of contact felt tingly. I’m no expert but I know the words tingly and stinging don’t belong when you’re 40 feet underwater in a rock slit. So I motioned for us to return directly back to the dinghy something was not okay. On our return we followed a turtle, saw a grouper, and Mike even touched a trunkfish!

Back on the boat I cleaned the wound with salt water and vinegar. I had read

somewhere you should use salt water as opposed to fresh and vinegar will reduce the sting. It worked but I had a patch of bumpy irritated skin, which lasted for a few weeks. We ended up identifying the cause of the irritation as fire coral. Fire coral can grown on anything. So watch out!

Once I got over the trauma of my scuba buddy slashing me with fire coral…. We went diving again. We dinghied due south to an extended point of rocks called The Stragglers; hooked onto a mooring and descended next to the rocks. At 25 feet we heard a boat engine. I looked at Mike & tried to decompress my BCD so I’d sink further to the bottom and closer to him. Hearing the motor get closer, I looked behind me and to the surface and I’ll be damned! A medium-sized powerboat went right over our heads! I was more angry than scared that time… We continued onward and sure enough I heard another engine. This time I kept turning in circles to see if I could locate the boat. No sighting of it but I was breathing hard out of fear. I reminded myself we were in 30 feet of water and floating close to the coral heads and continued the dive until I was cold. Those two encounters served as a strong reminder that the safest place to descend and ascend is on your mooring ball line; that and there are a lot of stupid and oblivious boaters out there. (Respect dive flags, and popular snorkeling/dive spots boaters! And don’t be wanker watch where you anchor!)

We eventually left Christmas Cove for Cooper and Salt Island of the Channel Islands, to dive on the famed RMS Rhone. We descended at the stern to 35 feet and descended our way forward to the bow (the bowsprit lay at 90 feet). Within minutes of our descent we encountered a giant green moray eel….. swimming! He swam right between us! I didn’t realize they ever left their little caves… This beast was at least 10 feet long and slithered through the water gracefully, finally diving into a compartment in the back of what was once part of an engine. I thought it exquisite but cute; while its head & body was hidden about 3 feet of its tail was still exposed as it had outgrown its old hiding spots. Mike later said he had the urge to pull on the tail; needless to say I’m glad he suppressed his 10 year old self. We swam back and forth over and under the old engine room and decaying hull. The RMS Rhone broke in two and now rests on its side so you can see old portholes from above and swim into what once was the deck. We saw some enormous lobsters and beautiful angel fish. The amount of coral and fish life was amazingly bountiful and beautiful. But not so much that it took my mind off the fact that I was now 90 feet underwater and every inch of me was compressed by more than a few atmospheres. It’s a little alarming how long it takes your air bubbles to reach the surface at 90 feet. Feeling a little cold and recognizing I was approaching low air, we both slowly ascended on a mooring line – zero complications. No fire coral to report of.

Background on the RMS Rhone:

The RMS Rhone was a 310 ft mail steamer. Powered by sail (2 masts) and steam engine. On October 29 of 1867, Robert F. Wooley captained the ship and was preparing her for the return voyage to England. The end of October generally marks the end of hurricane season, so when a Northerly wind began to blow and barometer began to fall, he dismissed it as a northerly front. At the time it was a beautiful day but the captain directed the ship to Road Town, Tortolla to weather the “storm”. At 11 AM, the barometer fell to 27.9 and the sky darkened quickly. Immense winds blew from the NNW destroying the main sails & rigging. A lull passed over so the captain made a the quick order to anchor. But the shackle of the cable caught in the hawsepipe…. (And translation for all the non-maritime folk… ‘messed up their ability to anchor – real bad’.). They were forced to drop the 3,000 lb. anchor and all 300 ft of anchor chain (trans: ‘seriously not good’). Captain Wooley took the appropriate option of weathering the storm out at sea. It was with full engines running, the RMS Rhone turned out to cross the Sir Francis Drake Channel and pass the Channel Islands. By that time the RMS Rhone had almost navigated its way through the Channel Islands, the SSW winds had started up in full strength and forced the RMS Rhone into the rocks, just off of Salt Island. The boat heeled over and broke in two, sinking instantly. There were crew and passengers onboard; of the survivors, I believe, 18 or so crew & 2 passengers survived the sinking.

Lastly, we visited The Willy T (old pirates ship) on Normans Island. The Willy T is famous for all sorts of scandalous shenanigans but we had a great time dancing and hanging out with friends Megs n Tom. We also bumped into the Captain of Boston schooner, Liberty Star! And to make it an even more surreal visit, we were dinghying through the anchorage and fellow female sailing friend from Boston, Rosemary spotted us on one of her charters she was captaining. Aaaaaand to add to all these serendipitous run-ins, we also saw Constitution Marina neighbor Mark on a beautiful catamaran with family! Seems like Boston just keeps running into us in the VIs.

It’s that time again. Full tanks, full propane, full water tanks, and laundry is all set. We chipped away at our seemingly endless list of boat chores and found victory in our accomplishments. St. Maarten struck us as a home away from home and we’d love to return to the island paradise but for now, we’ve made arrangements to pick up friends and sail around the VIs.

The Virgin Islands are a cluster of islands with all forms of interesting dives, coves, caves, and anchorages for cruisers. The islands provide wind shadows and great barriers to the wild ocean seas making the Sir Francis Drake Channel a very enjoyable place to sail. It’s no wonder hundreds or sailors flock here each winter.

Our overnight sail was beautiful, we flew the spinnaker for half of the trip and enjoyed a star-studded night. We passed several vessels and I watched a lightning storm pass at a safe distance. En route, I read that the US bought the Dutch portion of the Virgin Islands for $25 million in 1917… nicely done Uncle Sam…. At the time the Virgin Islands were in economic decline from the abolition of slavery. The main export was sugar which had been heavily dependent on slave labor. But far before that ugly period in time; Christopher Columbus discovered the Virgin Islands in 1493 and named the island chain the Virgin Islands after Saint Ursula and the 11,000 virgins. (Virgin Gorda -fat- received it’s name because the island resembled a reclining woman with a protruding belly from the seaside vantage point).

Having never heard of this Saint Ursula or the 11,000 virgins, I did a little research, I mean, 11,000 virgins… that’s a lot of dames. Why 11,000? What happened to them? From what I’ve gathered from a few sources, Saint Ursula lived between 300-600 AD… (she lived 1500 years ago, & they narrowed it down to 300 years, way to go historians). Ursula was betrothed to marry a complete stranger higher in rank. To meet her soon-to-be husband, she boarded a ship with her hand maidens ranging anywhere between 11 to 11,000 in number. Oh, how stories are skewed sometimes. The long and arduous voyage was miraculously completed in a single day. Taking this to be a sign, Ursula declared she would make a panEuropean pilgrimage with all 11 or 11,000 handmaidens before the wedding (sounds like someones stalling to me). Their journey landed them in Cologne Germany, which, unfortunately was invaded by the Hun troops. The handmaidens refused to be with or marry the invading troops so they were tragically beheaded. Ursula was brought to death by the bow and arrow of the Hun soldiers. One of histories tragic tales, and in part, made immortal by Columbus giving respect to St. Ursula by way of the beautiful island chain we now call the Virgin Islands.

Around 9 AM we passed Sir Richard Bransons famous Necker Island, we made our way through the narrow passage by Saba Rock and found a cozy little place to anchor in the lee of Prickly Pear Island – only a skip away from Saba, Bitter End Yacht Club, and Customs.

When I was a kid my family and our good family friends, the Lainos, chartered a Beneteau throughout the Sir Francis Drake. It was at the beautiful Bitter End, I learned how to swim by myself. So, revisiting this place was one of nostalgia. Mike and I stayed here for a few days to recoup and play around with my brand new scuba setup! Mike had purchased his own scuba gear last year so it was about time I join him in exploring watery deep. In St. Martin we stumbled upon great gear on sale; new BCD, new regulator/octopus, new shorty wetsuits for both of us, and lightly used tank for $ 1,000. I’m sure if we had reliable internet and searched high and low there’s a better deal out there…. but for the ease of walking in and walking out in an hour or so… we were excited. We pulled off two beginner dives, testing our buddy breathing, clearing goggles 30 feet under water, hand signals, and buoyancy. Even on the overcast day, we had a blast and celebrated with cocktails at Saba Rock. We refilled our tanks, grabbed a cocktail and still had time to spare before we bore witness to the famous 5 pm tarpon feeding. It was my first time experiencing tarpon fish, 4 feet in length, duking it out for dinner bites cast out into the water. Tarpon are notorious for not being “tasty”, so for the most part, they appear to be slow and docile monsters. But toss a piece of shredded fish out to the water and they tear after the treat with furious speed and agility.

As always I *really* enjoyed our new anchorage, the Bitter End this time, but we had a beautiful down wind sail to make to meet our friends flying in to St. Thomas the next day.

St. Martin was a short downwind leaping sail from St. Barts. En route we passed a curious island, which was mentioned in the guidebook. The island was once lush with green vegetation coating it from coast to coast. Unfortunately the goat population got out of hand and the goats ate the island barren. When it appeared the goats were beginning to starve, the humans intervened and began transporting them off the island. Now, the island is supposed to show signs of green…. But Mike and I could barely see these ‘signs of green’. We suspect there are some sneaky goats still eating their fill.

Our first landing was on the NW side in Grand Case, which drew us in for the renowned cuisine and carnival Tuesdays. It was a wide but deep harbor and we were both impressed with how flat the anchorage was. From the moment the anchor tugged snugly on the sandy bottom below, I felt at home. Yup, this will do for a week worth of boat work chores. We grabbed ribs and a beer at the closest bar to the dinghy dock (bbq so good it’ll make you cry) and numbered our projects and relaxed, making ourselves at home. We eventually slapped 2 coats of varnish, painted the v-drive, realigned the v-drive, fixed the mizzen boom (again), and genoa sheet block. Carnivale Tuesday finally came our way and the quaint town mainstreet opened up to hundreds of boutiques and food vendors. Music roared from the drum band and whistles while beautiful women wearing elaborate carnival costumes lead the stream of madness. The Heineken Regatta was to take place that week and 20 or so drunken racers made their jovial presence known…. To EVERYONE. We danced to a steeldrum band and drank the local rum punch meeting fellow cruisers left and right. With our fill of Grand Case fun it was time to meet with friends Acedia, Alpha Crucis, & Aggressive in Marigot Bay just 3 miles South.

Once we put in our hours/days of work and enjoyed our weight of chocolate almond croissants, we decided it was high time go and see St. Martin! There’s a famous lagoon in St. Martin, one side is French the other Dutch. The Dutch side is far more developed (green & red channel markers!!! what? haven’t seen those since Bermuda) and cater to the yachts (both mega and minor).  The French side is shallow and spacious – plenty of room to anchor. On the  NW side of the French lagoon resides a bit of a wayward mess; i.e. there’s a plethora of fixer-upers biding there time or on the slow march to becoming a reef down below.  We really enjoyed happy hour at Lagoonies, a bar on the Dutch side. In our meanderings we “won” a discounted vacation to a timeshare resort. We just had to listen to a pitch and received a free lunch and drinks and $50 to shop with. I got my St. Martin t-shirt and Mike bought his fill in hot sauce. Everyone was happy except for the sales rep.

St. Martin is shared by the Dutch and French, the Dutch side being significantly smaller in land mass. There’s a cute (yet clearly very accurate) story of how the French and Dutch divided the land amicably. One Frenchman and one Dutchman met and both decided to pick a drink of choice and march at opposite sides of the island walking inward. Wherever the two men met would be the border between the two nations. Two men agreed. The Frenchman obviously picked wine and the Dutch took whiskey. Whiskey, being the more potent of the two drinks caused the Dutchman to stagger and take a longer time to progress to the center of the island.

The fourth time I moved, I was finishing High School and my new home was now Singapore, Singapore down the street from the Indian Embassy. It was by far the most “exotic” of places the Sward family had called home. I attended Singapore American School, a prestigious international school of which I was grateful to let me in. I started the school year a few days late but I remember the first day of my creative writing class. The teacher asked us to write a one page essay with a simple prompt of: ‘Where is home?’ It was such a simple question but then she opened the topic for discussion to the class. There were Americans, Indians, Swedes, Indonesians, Malay, Aussies, Thai, French, Swiss, English, Philipino… all with different stories on how many times they’ve moved and background. The question quickly changed to… ‘what constitutes as a home and why.’

Mike and I have both lived in Boston for over a decade (or just about) and we tell people we’re from Boston…. But truth be told… Mike grew up in California and me… well I’m from New York originally, which I know, makes me a public enemy #2 in the eyes of a true Bostonian (we all know, public enemy #1 is reserved for the entire Yankees team). We travel from harbor to harbor with our hailing port written clearly on our transom under the boats name for all to see. And it’s a happy surprise when you see another American flag and a nearby port. In St. Barts we were dinghying back to the boat when another sailboat hailed us to come over. Two American men said they were from Danvers and Waltham and they saw we were from Boston. They just wanted to say hi. And that is a perfect example of cruising life. If you’re a boat in a port… you are fair game for another boat to come over and say hi. Sometimes it leads to a beer other times it’s a fly-by hello.

With all this traveling and meeting strangers who become friends, I’ve been ruminating the concept of home again. It’s here, right now on Gaia with Mike. And this gives me a great sense of pride and abounding happiness. We made this home happen. Home isn’t a city for us right now. It’s a transom, a bow, a mast, a few sails (and a Mike McLinn). Home is wondering if I put the bilge pump back on after a sail. Home is conserving water and monitoring our batteries. Home is jumping into tropical waters and swimming with fish. But most of all home is definitely where the anchor catches in the sand.

Most of my posts have been updates on our general day to day journey. This is a little different.

Recently we laid anchor to some unforgiving harbors where the boat was flung to and fro by northerly swells (Northerly swells brought on by strong storms in the North). Those sleepless nights allowed me to contemplate our cruising life, it’s difficulties, and differences to land life. Here’s my general list of boat life hassles.

1. Gravity is a pain. Lobbing waves that smack against your hull lifting your entire home at odd angles, suddenly propelling the wine bottle across the table or water jug onto the floor. At anchor, sometimes you get a great big wake at 5 or 6 am and all you can think about is that full glass of water on the counter you left overnight. And you will the glass of water to fight against the urge to topple over splashing to the floor. Sometimes it works other times….. you hear a clamoring of pots and pans that crumble about the drying area. My favorite was when we were sailing, healed far over en route to Gaudeloupe and the latch to our pantry cupboard flew open. In this unforeseen event the BBQ sauce bottle decided to leap out hit the other side of the wall and spray all over the salon (living room).

2. Cumbersome dinghies- houses have a front door and boats have a transom (the butt of a boat). Gaia has a flat high transom with two flat latches that provide a “foot hold”. For all you climbers, it’s a V0 move. Dropping your feet onto a moving bouncing target can make grocery runs a little difficult. That said, grocery runs are a 4 part process, complete with balance, water, and squats. 1. Lock the boat climb into dinghy, dinghy to land and lock up dinghy. 2. Walk to the grocery store and grocery shop. 3. Carry groceries into dinghy, unlock dinghy, and dinghy back home. 4. Lift the groceries on deck, secure dinghy unlock the boat and put the food away. Big unsmiley face for dropping a grocery bag or having it tear while hoisting the bag on deck.

3. Salt. Ah yes, good ole NaCl. On a boat, no matter how much rice you put in your salt shaker, the salt always builds up and clumps due to the moisture in the air,
   preventing it from coming out. Every time I go to a restaurant I continually make the same mistake of shaking salt out like it’s not really going to fall out.

4. Cleaning & Chores – If you assume, it’s a small area, not much cleaning required. Think again my severely disillusioned friend. Dust, sand, and dirt coat the floor maddeningly quickly. Moving one or two things out of place seems to clutter the entire boat. Above all, boat chores also consist of filling up the water tanks, refilling propane tanks, topping off diesel for the engine, and filling up gas for the dinghy. Entire days have been dedicated to finding and ferrying laundry back and forth and refilling water. This week in St. Maartin, we plan on scrubbing algae and seaweed from the waterline (because clean bottoms haul @ss), varnishing 2 coats (full 2 day process L), fixing the genoa sheet blocks, painting the V-drive and shaft, and sewing screens and resewing the bimini. Then we can go to Maho beach in St. Martin…

5. Rolling Anchorages – an exposed anchorage can make or break a location for us. I LOVED Montserrat but couldn’t handle the swells. We spent two sleepless nights in Montserrat and the morning we left, I laid in the Vbirth my entire body being swung from side to side just waiting for the sun to rise so we could leave. In St. Eustatius (Statia), I was feeling a little nauseous from the constant rolling. We put out a stern anchor so our bow would cut through the oncoming waves. Thankfully the swells lessened over the next two nights.

6. Fear of bugs. Like all homes we fear infestation from cockroaches and ants. They’re damn sneaky and very common. Even in buying toilet paper and carrying it aboard you may be inviting unwanted friends. If anything is wrapped in cardboard, we leave that on land.
7. Unfamiliar noises. Listening on a boat is really important. It’s often times, the first telltale of some greater issue at hand. Like when I awoke at 5 AM in Deshaies to a light THUD. It wasn’t the low crumbling of anchor chain, and the boat moved oddly. I poked my head up to see a light and a bow of another boat at our beam! We were slowly dancing around and had inevitably bumped into our steal-hull boat neighbor. The wind had died and in a cramped anchorage the boats were dancing around at odd angles. We both jumped up turned the engine on and moved away from the other boat.

In a nutshell, the hardships of a boat: At any given moment something will break and consequences can range from life threatening to a simple ‘crud’, you may be sleep deprived from a “rolly” anchorage, your home will be a mess half the time, your food may come flying out of the pantry while under way (sailing) or at anchor, and salt shakers don’t work. BUT for those days and nights where food and water isn’t propelled across the room, when you have full water, propane, fuel, and gas, and the seas are calm and the anchorage flat…. The saltshaker still doesn’t work…. (true) aaaand it’s really heavenly. Lastly, to meet other sailors with their own stories is a real treat.

I stole this from Lisa on fb (the designated national geographic photographer). Hope you don’t mind 😉

Sailing from White House St. Kitts to Statia was an active sail. St. Kitts’ towering mountains forced the wind to funnel around the harbor at odd angles forcing sail changes every 30 minutes. Once we were in “open” water, the northerly swells hit us but we were still cruising along at 6.7 -7.1 knots.

I had my nose in a book so when I saw Statia (St. Eustatius) it was impressive. Straight from the coastline the island shoots straight up a few hundred feet. A slab of limestone greets you from the Southeast known as the White Wall. 

We came to Statia a bit hesitant since the anchorage is rather unprotected and subject to a “bumpy night” if there are sea swells from the North (which there was). Unfortunately, even with a stern anchor out, the rolls could not be ignored and were bothersome. Any trepidation I had for the anchorage left me the second we grabbed a mooring and I looked up at Oranjestad. This place was positively medieval and captured my attention.

What makes the island so fascinating (to me at least) is the history. The Dutch island was an integral international trading post (duty free) between the 17-19 centuries.
Hundreds of ships would dock/anchor in the bustling harbor ready to sell, barter, and buy between the Spanish, Dutch, English, and Americans (even during wartime periods). The coast looked very different back then with stone trading posts lining the harbor. “Their defense was their utility.” Even now, there are old stone foundations everywhere on this island.

St. Eustatius was also the first to salute the United States as a sovereign nation (yay!). Back in the day when a ship came into port with it’s colors flying high they would shoot a few cannons to announce their arrival. The receiving port would fire back a friendly fire to welcome the new vessel. The greater number of canon shots the greater the respect for the nation and captain onboard. English hotshot, Admiral Rodney received word of the historic salute, and the British had enough of these “neutral Dutch” providing the enemy Americans with arms and provisions. Admiral Rodney attacked Statia and pilfered the lucrative trading port. It’s said Rodney was suspicious of his “loot” and noticed there was an oddly high amount of burials taking place. He ordered
his men to open up the caskets only to find…. the towns riches being hidden below ground. As if that’s not enough, Rodney ransacked the Jewish quarters and noticed the people were heavily dressed. He sliced the pockets and hems of their coats. The Jewish townsmen had sewn their coins into the inseams of their clothing. Rodney got that too. What. A. Jerk. (Jewish quarter pictured right>)

We had a phenomenal sail to St. Kitts… a nice leisurely broad reach with 4-6 foot rollers trailing us. It was neat to see the Kingdom of Redonda’s cliffs come into view. Its an uninhabited micronation. From 1865-1912 there was a lucrative phosphates export business into Britain. As for the history of this steep little tyke…. look it up…. it’s shrouded in mystery. No, seriously. Apparently a trader in Montserrat noticed no other nation lay claim to the neighboring island. So he took it upon himself to claim it for him and his son.

As we neared St. Kitts, Nevis came into view. A green island with a great mountain that disappeared into white clouds, it was just as Christopher Columbus had found Nevis. We entered the customs port of St. Kitts in Basse Terre where large rolling waves tore through the anchorage. This was not going to make for a quiet calm night. So we motored into a marina for some luxury sleep. Yay! We cleared in next to two titanic-looking cruise ships…. I will never trust a cruise ship that large. I just don’t get it.

The next day we met with our friends Tom/Megs & Nils/ Lisa. While figuring transportation to Brimstone Hill Fort, a street food chef came over to us hurriedly said ‘ I have a present for you.’ then puts two kicking lobsters in my hand and walks away to tend to his grill. …uh…. what?!?!. I eventually gave them back and we found a van to the fort. WOW what a fort, it was so picturesque, standing prominently on an enormous monolith of land. Even driving up to it was fun. A guardhouse on one of the hairpin turns held about 6 lounging cats with a sign next to them that said ‘no dogs allowed’. The fort was very well restored and held really great informational stations. The premises were great to explore  and we made the most of it. Especially when we scaled the side of a wall to see the captains quarters….Once we were all “forted-out” we visited an old batik plantation which was immaculate with old trees and lovely gardens.

At the end of the day we all ended up in White House Bay to hide from Southeasterly rolling waves for the night. Our friends continued onward to other islands but Mike and I still had some exploring to do in St. Kitts. We explored the bar next to us which was far too posh for us. But it had so many great features, we were suckered into the ambiance and ordered our high-class cocktails. They had a pimped-out dinghy dock with underwater nightlights so you could see the fishes  below. The lounging couches had fine wooden pulley system for decorations, sail pillows & throw cushions for couches under firelight lamps, and my favorite, the hammocks that extended over the water with underwater lights below. We met some rad kids from the bay area at the bar who were a riot. And before we left, we laid in the hammocks. The next day Mike threw his phone in the water but with cat-like reflexes snatched it out of the water. We continued the day with a hike with beautiful views of the Atlantic and Caribbean oceans. When we were trying to hail a taxi to reggae beach who else  showed up but the rad bay area kids on their scooters. They gave us a ride to the beach and showed us where to eat. Sure enough we had some great cocktails (mudslide!!!) and the best roti Mike and I have eaten thus far. In the end people in St. Kitts want to make sure you have a good time. Great place, can’t wait to return.

Montserrat home to Soufriere Hills volcano, one of the most monitored active volcanos. Quite the following.

We left Antigua and headed Southwest to the Northern tip of Montserrat. A rain shower got in our way so no pictures to parade about this time. But the approach to the island was magnificent. Beautiful dramatic cliffs that plunge straight down into clear waters.

We anchored in the only clearing-in harbor, Little Bay. The anchorage tends to be rolley particularly when Northerly winds prevail. Even in our luck with due East winds, we found the anchorage to be uncomfortable on our ketch. The two masts make our boat more top heavy than sloops or cutter rigs so when a beam side-roller hits the boat we keep rolling back and forth whilst other boats bob like a cork.

Coming in, we knew the “must-do” tour of the volcano runs around $100-130 USD. Yikes! 4 hours and you see the town Plymouth which was covered in 40 feet of ash, Richmond Hill, and the Volcano Observatory. Since we were just two lonesome folks…. we thought that was outrageous. So we decided to take the local buses which will run you $5.00 EC or $1.85 USD. Yay! Prices I like.

We wandered to the bus stop with a few locals helping us along the way. Everyone was laid back and genuinely nice. Throughout the day we spotted hints of the Irish past. McCoy Hill, Pudding & Pies stores, green lucky charms over old pubs called Sullivans. A long time ago the Irish laid claim to the Northeast side of Montserrat. The people of Montserrat celebrate St. Patricks Day but for more reasons than one…. there was a great slave rebellion that is remembered on that day. Our bus driver told us about the island and dropped us off at the observatory. He gave us his story in remembering the ’95 eruption. Thousands of people left the island but more relocated, leaving their homes behind. The observatory had a moving and interesting 20 minute video that we really enjoyed. The ’95 eruption allowed for the largest pyroclastic flows to be recorded on camera. Unbelievably enormous blooms of smoke billowed up into the sky for miles and miles.

1995 pyroclastic flows. Image from The Atlantic A/P Kevin West

1997 magma flow

The town of Plymouth like several other villages is completely covered in ash. Second floors of hotels and buildings vanished and tops of church steeples were all that remain in some areas. The sheer heat of the magma, immensity of the clouds, and pyroclastic flows is terrifying. I kinda want to be a volcanologist now…

We walked back to the main road curious to see if we could get closer but we ended up following our stomachs instead. We had noticed a cute little restaurant and were trying to return to it. In asking for directions from some locals… one of the men offered to give us a ride. So we had our lunch on this cute little porch and had french primrose and sorrel juice (both had hints of cinnamon). One fish sandwich and roti plate later we were undeniably satisfied. Our waitress took good care of us and made sure taxi drivers didn’t try any tricks on us. If you are in Montserrat near the observatory…. go to The Attic (located in Salem). From there the botanical gardens and tourism info desk was around the corner so we wandered over there and witnessed a lizard fight. They were about 8 inches long. Two of these guys flew out of the bushes entangled and nipped at each other until one ran away. We meandered the area a bit more and enjoyed the locals. As the day was coming to a close we were tired and found a taxi to Richmond Hill would costs us $40 USD; despite being only 2 miles away. Tired of the high priced taxis we went home and snorkeled in the crystal clear water – priceless. We met our neighbors on the Bavaria 42. Two really fun couples who had the misfortune of tearing their main. We exchanged contacts and we hope to meet up with them in St.
Martin for the Heineken regatta in early March!  In the end I fell in love with Montserrat but two nights with barely any sleep was wearing on my sanity. So we reluctantly pulled up anchor and made way for St. Kitts where our old friends from Dominica were currently hiding out.