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Greetings from the
"The low hanging fruit", my friend and fellow uber-traveler
Greg Brown
calls the
was intending to save these places for when I'm older and perhaps less
able, and it feels a little like cheating that I take them in now
rather than more distant challenges, but here I am ... being a lazy
lush.
I'm on the
Hemisphere
conflict 20 years ago between
and Cuban troops. Grenada is one of the most Southerly of the Eastern
Caribbean islands and is the last of the four islands I've visited
this trip, each of which have their own special character.
one of the most densely populated countries on the planet, is a flat
island known for its white sand beaches.
Grenadines
yachters paradise.
islands, also has a fascinating history that includes being fought
over 14 times by the British and the French (exchanging hands several
times) before gaining local independence. Although each of these
islands are politically independent nations, they are
most certainly
economically dependent upon tourism for survival.
Still, although life is easy here, it's not as if there isn't some
adventure. One minute I can be sitting at the yacht marina pretending
to be one of the idle rich (which doesn't cost all that much here),
and the next minute I'm careening hazardously down the road in the
back of a minivan designed for 12 but bursting well beyond capacity
with two-dozen locals. To the blasting sounds of reggae-rap rhythms,
minivan drivers sporting vehicles painted with names
like "Bodacious", "Bombastic" or "The Daring Mr.
K", in an attempt to
impress I don't know who, scream down winding, shoulderless,
pedestrian-filled roads at speeds better consigned to the Bonneville
Salt Flats. A ride in one of these vehicles to anywhere on the
islands costs only 1 EC (Eastern
cents
Called "Bemos" in
other names in other places, sharing rides in these private minivans
are the way people in the developing world commute.
One of my former colleagues, Bill Efland, who recently returned from a
trip to Ghana, reports that traffic fatalities are third on a list for
causes of death in that country (after malaria and AIDS), but I
suspect that among tourists traveling in the developing world (who
rarely die from malaria or AIDS), traffic fatalities rank as the
number one risk. Anyone contemplating visits to such places need pay
little concern to the risks of terrorism. One is more likely to be
struck by lightning multiple times. Vehicle accidents are huge risks
by comparison. There's even a non-profit organization, the name of
which I don't recall, founded in the spirit of Mothers Against
Drunk
Drivers (MADD) but dedicated to alerting travlers to
the real risks of
traveling abroad. They report that in some countries, the risks of
being involved in vehicle accidents are as much as 40 to 50 times
greater than they are in the States. If there is anything that makes
me think twice about heading abroad to places where
life seems cheap,
this is it. An incident I witnessed the other day (see photo below)
reminded me again that my luck sometimes seems as if it is on borrowed
time.
People who've read my emails from abroad have heard me complain about
the spread throughout the world of, hmmmm, how should I call it, well not exactly the finer aspects of
American culture. Although some
in the developing world can't afford to put food on their table, the
time has nearly come when every barefoot, malnourished kid in the
world's shantytowns can use their own personal cell phone to call in
their opinion about Lacy Peterson, Elizabeth Smart, Lee Malvo,
Michael
Jackson, Rush Limbaugh or whoever else in the world they know and
really, truly care about. Everybody knows Michael Jackson is a world
figure, but the others I named are quickly becoming global household
names as well. Global telecommunications have become much cheaper
than food, and no matter where you live on the planet, you can read
the National Enquirer and tune into Entertainment Tonight and other
such fodder of American culture. Name an American scandle,
and the
whole world seems somehow engaged in it. You know those ads in the
travel section of your newspaper that talk about "getaways"
and "escapes". Don't believe it! There is no escape and
you can
never completely get away.
Some of the guesthouses where I've stayed have owners who welcome me
in as if I were one of their family. Do your own
dishes! Take out
your trash! It feels just like home.
I often ignore people who are waving for me to come toward them,
figuring that they have something to sell that I'm not interested in
buying. I may have made a mistake, however, when I brushed off the
neighborhood drug pusher. He felt a bit slighted when I wouldn't even
stop to chat, and it was important to him that he be seen among his
friends as being paid respect by anyone he addresses. He caught up
with me, extended his hand to shake mine, and introduced himself
as "Pumpkin".
"Pumpkin," I said. "How'd you get that name? Did
your mother give it
to you?"
He laughed and said "no" and then rubbed his wide, bald and round
head
and then did the same with his wide, round belly, and the name seemed
appropriate. He said he lived "here in the ghetto", which
apparently
was where my guest house was though I hadn't recognized nor
would I
have described the area using that term.
I don't know why it is, but some people look at me and seem to
conclude, now there's a guy who could really use some
drugs.
"No, thank you", I said.
He said, "You're not DEA, are you?"
I said, "What?"
"DEA", he repeated. "Drug Enforcement
Agency."
I said, "No, don't worry about me." He seemed momentarily
relieved
and then I said, "I do work for the
"Oh no!" he panicked again.
"Don't worry!" I tried to calm him. "I'm a map maker, not
a
policeman."
After several moments during which he seemed quite disconcerted, I was
able to quell his concerns. He offered to sell me marijauna.
He also
said he also manufactured chemicals, though I didn't ask what those
were. He seemed amiable and unthreatening enough, and yet I thought
to myself, yeah I know you. You're the guy who helped put people I
know in the hospital. However, I wasn't about to moralize and say
such things aloud. I was on his turf after all, with his buddies not
far away, and I was mainly looking for a pleasant way to end the
conversation, which thankfully occurred shortly thereafter ... when
they dumped me in the river (ha, just kidding about that last
part).
Actually, everybody by and large has been very kind, friendly and
welcoming here. People often say "good morning" unprompted, and
unlike other places more notorious for the harassment to buy things,
the atmosphere is very laid back and relaxed.
Here are some photos from the
digital camera seized functioning:
Veranda view of
http://deanoman.com/photos/120103/DSCF0320.JPG
An example of the risks of the roads in this region. The horn was blaring, but everyone escaped
unharmed.
http://deanoman.com/photos/120103/DSCF0013.JPG
Dean and view of the Pitons,
http://deanoman.com/photos/120103/DSCF0350.JPG
http://deanoman.com/photos/120103/DSCF0358.JPG
Gottago,
Deano
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