Wednesday – Grenada and a Caribbean Update

Well, after Iles Du Salut, we had one day at sea, and then we were in St. Georges, Grenada, on the 1st of February; the first of four Caribbean ports.

We did what everyone should do when in the Caribbean; find a beach. In St. Georges, this means taking a water taxi, a 15-minute ride across the bay, from the cruise terminal, to the place where sun-loungers and parasols are king. It was glorious; because we were there to be there all day, from just before lunchtime until 10pm, time was not an issue; we could spend as long as we wanted, swimming, snorkelling, drinking, and just watching the world and their speedos pass by. Looking back, it’s a jolly good thing we did…

By late afternoon, we were ready to return to the ship by return water-taxi trip. After a quick shower and change, we were ready to go out again, into St. Georges; after all, this was an ideal opportunity to eat out, and enjoy an evening on land…

There’s a little place we know, where we’ve been to before, right on the waterfront in the old town, called ‘Sails’. We’ve gone there during the daytime before, used their free wi-fi and grazed on platefuls of chips. Unfortunately, when we arrived there, we quickly realised that it takes on a very different persona by night; not only that – this was a Saturday night, so it was extra busy, and when asked if we had a reservation, we also realised we were going to have to find somewhere else to eat.

There was another place we had in mind, around the harbour. As we made our way towards it, however, we were distracted by light and sounds coming from the open windows of a small, upstairs restaurant that went by the name of ‘Nutmeg’. Curious, we climbed the stairs to take a look and discovered the place to be inhabited mostly by passengers of the Marco Polo. It looked full, but just as we were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to us to join them; Richard Sykes, Vikki and Susan, the Shore Excursions team, and Billie, one of the lecturers, were sat at a table were there were two spare seats… so we joined them…

In retrospect, this probably wasn’t the best decision we could have made. Not because of the company, which was fabulous, but because of the service, which can only be described as truly diabolical.  To try and describe in detail the farcical way the food was brought out would take more time and effort than it really deserves. Orders were placed, but as time wore on and no food emerged, we all started getting a little edgy. Billie’s starter came, and we all sat and watched her, but then nothing came for a long time afterwards. At one point, after we’d pointed out that we were on a ship and needed to be returning for 9:30, Vikki’s starter came, along with her main course, so she had both on the table at the same time, while others had nothing. Then Tracey’s meal came, but it wasn’t the sweet and sour pork that she’d ordered, it was Beef Jerkie… something…. so she sent it back. Twenty minutes later (I repeat… TWENTY MINUTES…), the waitress came out and told Tracey that they had no more pork. So she changed her order to grilled chicken annd chips…. and so it went on…..

We did finally get our meals, in a fashion; unfortunately, when they did come, they weren’t much to write home about.

That evening, Tracey fell ill. It wasn’t anything to do with the restaurant we’d eaten in because she reported starting to feel a little under the weather before the food arrived. At about 11pm, we made the call to the medical centre, knowing exactly what we were letting ourselves in for. With the current bout of illness on board, and the associated restrictions, we faced 48 hours of confinement to the cabin.

It turns out, we weren’t the only ones; Linda-the-Jewellery came down with it at more or less exactly the same time….

48 hours in a cabin is no fun. I wasn’t ill, but by by association, I, too, had to remain inside. Fortunately, we had each other for company, and three complete series of ‘The Walking Dead’ to watch on the laptop. It all meant that we woulld miss out on the islands of St. Lucia and St. Vincent, which we’d been looking forward to. The biggest concern, though, was the awful timing of it all. The rule is simple; cabin confinement for 48 hours from the first symptom. If the symptoms persist, or if I was then to get it, it would mean longer, which we didn’t have; Tracey had a flight booked for Tuesday, from Barbados, so it was all a bit touch and go….

The good news is; we were let out of our cabin at 7am on the third day, in time for Tracey to meet with immigration officials and for all the paperwork to be completed for her to get to the airport on time for her flight. We even managed to grab a pleasant morning’s wallk into Bridgetown before her parting.

So… it’s now Wednesday. The Caribbean has been and gone, and we spent most of it surviving the zombie apocalypse cooped up in our cabin. I’ve lost my partner-in-crime and admin department, and am now resigned to monitoring things on a daily basis. We have five sea-days before we arrive in the Azores. I don’t know when, or if, art classes are going to resume…

Hey ho….