The kayak is dead… long live the kayak…
As all good stories should, this one starts in Brazil…, you see, my inflatable Sevylor kayak, i.e. the deceased, was just too novel for its own good, and probably also too yellow for the local natives to ignore.
Even before I’d reach the shore from my anchorage of the day, children would inevitably be climbing aboard or seeking a handhold for a free tow to the beach. Mind you, there were times when I didn’t seem to mind if it was treated a little roughly… 
I'm not going to interrupt this...
and if the interest had stayed at just wanting to hitch a ride, perhaps my kayak would have survived a little longer. But no…, for some inexplicable reason, a surprising number of people seemed to think that inflatable kayak was a synonym for public trampoline! Even adults!!! Why on earth did they insist on walking all over it in their shoes and then feel compelled to take a nap on it? Right under my nose! The mind boggles…
I’d almost consigned my poor kayak to the trash while visiting Tobago, after a crowd of mini delinquents spent an evening leaping from one sailor’s dinghy to another, deflating the lot. But with a little first aid, Thierry and I managed to resuscitate the craft. At this point it’s innards were securely held together with bicycle patches, but how much patching can keep a kayak together when mysterious somebodies insist on stomping on it while you’re away?
So, what's the verdict doctor?
The straw that finally broke my kayak’s back remains a mystery. Perhaps it was being used as cushioned seating, or as a convenient step to climb over the pontoon fence it leaned against. I’ll never know..
Do tell however if anyone has an indestructible dinghy for sale…I’m in the market. Preferably an electrified one fitted with steel jaw traps to deal with stray budding gymnasts…
No marina... yet....
There are currently just four yachts other than Eileen of Avoca anchored off Saint Laurent du Maroni. Two aren’t all that seaworthy and the owners of the remainder have apparently settled in for the long haul (they’ve been living aboard in the same spot for years)!
So with new services (marina phase I) in the works, I guess it’s time to do something about attracting the active cruising community. Not so easy when you consider that there’s hardly a mention of Saint Laurent du Maroni in the sailing literature or even on the Internet for that matter.
Mind you, noonsite has recently updated its listing and Sail The World (the Standard & Poor’s of the French sailing community) may be forced to upgrade its marina rating (currently CCB) once the word gets out!
Gendarmerie on river patrol
The security rating is particularly harsh given that the Gendarmerie regularly patrol the area ( I can report that there have been no thefts in the time I have been here), and I certainly don’t see how a free anchorage could have attracted a C rating…
For your web browsing pleasure, I’ve collated some web links to fill the information void:
First up, the official web site for Saint Laurent du Maroni:
Run through the translator it even starts to make sense:
More importantly (for sailors of course), what’s the weather like today?
And how’s the provisioning (for like-minded souls who also regularly think with their stomach)?
For the virtual tourist voyeurs, here are some photos of the place that I didn’t take:
And for the budding botanist, a video of the local flora.
Well, I guess it’s a start… More soon, of course…
Oil Painting of Eileen of Avoca?
I first read of the Yarmouth23 in a yachting magazine in 1999. Two years later, while working in London (and inspired by a weekend at the London boat show), I paid a visit to the yard in Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight where the little gaffers were originally built. I felt it was time to get a closer look at this diminutive classic cruiser.
It was love at first sight… Trite way of putting it, but true nonetheless, for it was at this point that I resolved to buy one. But it was not until I came across Eileen of Avoca in late 2007 that I had the means to do so.
While there were two other Y23s for sale at the time, the rather neglected Eileen curiously drew my attention. Like a mysteriously abandoned ship, the cluttered disarray inside gave me the impression of a hurried yet temporarily departure. At the risk of being overly anthropomorphic, Eileen of Avoca seemed to be patiently waiting for her crew to return.
I was told that the owner (Bill Boyall) had died and that while his boat looked rather run down, it was more or less only a cosmetic issue. With a new injection of funds to spruce her up, Eileen was soon looking as good as new.
I am thrilled with number 9 and I can’t imagine anyone else with one of these boats being any less enthusiastic. Much to my friends and families distress it’s been where I’ve spent all of my free time. Dolly Parton’s song Joleen (just substitute Eileen) sums up how the significant others in my life have felt about my boat. lol
From what Bill’s granddaughter tells me, he was similarly bewitched by Eileen’s charms… With her permission (and while the PDF can also be downloaded from the Yarmouth23 Owners Association site), I am re-posting Bill’s journal of his adventures with Eileen of Avoca to ensure it remains online.
And for those of you who have always wondered about the vessel’s name and history, I feel it is best conveyed through Ellana’s ( Bill’s granddaughter’s) own words…
“Eileen of Avoca is named after my nan and the part of Ireland that she came from, Grandad bought the Y23 in 2001 and she was launched in 2002, my nan had died in 2000, they had been happily married for 50 years and the new boat gave him something to focus on. My grandad loved sailing for as long as I can remember and Eileen was his 3rd boat, he previously built Ellana and Ellana II, the latter is a Lysander which is now owned by my brothers. Alas neither of these boats were actually named after myself nor my nan (and the name that her father called her when she was a child). She would not allow grandad to call the boats Eileen when she was alive!”
”Grandad was very enthusiastic about the new boat and would often travel over to the Isle of Wight to see how production was going and once she was finished we had a little party onboard to celebrate on a cold Sunday in February. The rest of 2002 was spent with grandad taking many trips away getting to know Eileen, he was never at home!
He then planned his trip to Ireland, leaving from the old gaffers festival, the rest you know from his story. It was the December following his return from Ireland that we noticed that he wasn’t very well and was diagnosed in January 2004 with a brain tumour, he died in the June.”
***
When Eileen of Avoca returns from her odyssey (though this could be years from now), I believe that another trip to Ireland may be in order. I hope that Bill’s granddaughter Ellana will be able to accompany me for the return leg.
Where are Eileen of Avoca's fans?
The USA always tops the hits statistics, but this is certainly because most of the automated indexing and search engine robots come from there.
France and the UK fight for second place, which is really quite amazing considering that the French followers are mostly using translation software. How does my site read when literally translated into another language? Awkwardly?
I suspect that the Ukraine is my never ending source of SPAM blog comments, but that I do indeed have a small following in Russia after this article:
http://www.yacht-com.ru/news/v-odinochku-cherez-atlantiku.html
Then there’s my ex-colleagues from Luxembourg, my dear friend from Hungary (singular), and the odd but consistent visit from places I’ve never been.
Do I really have someone reading my blog from Japan? If so, greetings and salutations!
Now take a look at this… Popular Google search terms that have lead people to this site:
- yarmouth 23
- eileen of avoca
- ifno.info
- sailing solo across the atlantic
- port of alexandria
- brazil beaches
- crossing the bay of biscay
No surprises here but how about:
- small boats that can cross the ocean
- the best small boat for ocean
- how many yachts sink during atlantic crossing
- is sailing across the ocean safe
- is there any money in sailing solo across the atlantic
Do you suppose they found their answers from reading this blog?
I certainly know these people didn’t derive much in the way of enlightenment:
- why am i an inferior being
- cost of diesel in fortaleza in november
- pots and pans as radar reflectors
- white men less desirable
However, it’s the more esoteric ones that I like the best:
- fat dog chania … apparently he’s a celebrity
- becoming a sail bum …. I’m opening a franchise…
- sailing with tiny bikinies … Wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one…
- i ve been to jail … Do I know you?
- not much just chillin at the pool … Do you suppose they typed their sms reply in the wrong spot?
- خريطة الاسكندرية … Your guess is as good as mine..
- position eileen of avoca … I really must update my map
- bill boyall … Ah… which reminds me… I have more to write about this…
The secluded anchorage of Saint Laurent du Maroni
As I am now involved in this ambitious project to promote and develop Saint Laurent du Maroni as a commodious stopover for visiting yachtsmen, I might as well pass on the following supplementary information….
Despite what noonsite states, Saint Laurent is in fact situated on the Maroni river rather than the Moroni…., though I must say that the later does have a certain humorous dyslectic ring to it.
Oh, and it really doesn’t rain here 9 months of the year…. It’s more like 7… lol. OK, so I’m nit picking, but some of you might find the following useful given that the only data currently available for yachtsmen on Saint Laurent is…
Quote (without spelling errors): “This is French Guiana’s biggest and busiest river, and is is on the border with Suriname. There is reported to be a marina 20 miles up the river, at St Laurent.”
If this can reach Saint Laurent, so can you...
Climate:
- The big dry, from August to November
- The small rainy season, from December to February
- The small summer, from February to March
- The true rainy season, from April to July
Paperwork:
Saint Laurent du Maroni is an official point of entry.
Visit the PAF (police aux frontières ) at the car ferry to have your passport stamped (entry and exit). Not obligatory for European citizens, but prevents issues when your next stop is Suriname.
Customs (la douane) is in the administrative center.
See image for directions (X marks anchorage, yellow highlights for offices mentioned above).
X marks the anchorage
Docking:
Saint Laurent is approximately 15 miles from the mouth of the Maroni River. A buoyed channel for cargo vessels marks the route (3m minimum depth at high tide). If in doubt (buoys are widely spaced), keep as close as possible to the French side of the river.
Beware of fishing nets when approaching the Maroni river’s safe water mark. While night entry is possible, it is not recommended as buoys closer to Saint Laurent are not lit.
Yachts anchor on the upriver side of a semi-submerged (tree covered) wreck in 4 to 6m. Holding in mud and sand is good.
Local services:
- The anchorage is within walking distance to all amenities and the city center.
- The tourist office is situated beside the anchorage.
- A public swimming pool is located at the opposite end of the park from the tourist office.
- Water by Jerry can from the old prison yard (turn left upon entering the main gate. Fuel at local service stations.
- Several Internet hot-spots,and cybercafes in town.
- Good provisioning.
Proposed Marina:
Development is currently underway for a marina, providing finger pontoons, mooring buoys, secure dingy dock, club house, and Wi-Fi.
Eileen at anchor, Saint Laurent du Maroni
After a week at sea, the little blue boat is back in French Guiana…. Saint Laurent du Maroni to be precise. Why?
Is it because the leopards here are considerably more desirable than zebra?
Perhaps… I’ll certainly endeavor to devote some of my time and energy to properly reflect upon the pros and cons of each regions disparate fauna.
But there is another underlying reason for my abrupt shift in sailing itinerary…
Model of proposed marina
Had my stay in Chaguaramas been pleasant, had it adequately accommodated my yacht maintenance requirements and had it more or less met my expectations, I would now be on my way to Martinique and beyond.
Instead, my disenchantment with the yachting services and facilities in Trinidad and Tobago have prompted me to seek out alternatives….
Model of boat yard
Unfortunately, there are very few, and evidently the yards at Chaguaramas are well aware of this, (having adjusted their pricing and work ethic accordingly).
This particular sailor wasn’t happy. Nor were many others I’d met along the way. So, with a little help from my friends, some of us decided to do something about it.
The idea of a marina and yacht maintenance complex in Saint Laurent du Maroni was born. Plans were drawn up, a proposal submitted to council. Upon acceptance, Thierry and I sailed back to French Guiana to make it all happen.
View of proposed yacht service complex
Does this spell the end for the adventures of Eileen of Avoca?
Not likely, if anything, it is a new impetus, the stimulus required to ensure Eileen’s adventures continue. My Yarmouth23 has simply found a temporary home in the jungles of French Guiana, and if all goes well, Saint Laurent will soon offer everything a sailor needs.
Undoubtedly I will derive considerable satisfaction in developing a new viable alternative to Chaguaramas.
Feel free to come and visit!
My cell block comes with a view.
Here I am doing time with hard labor in Chaguaramas prison… Well it may not look like prison, but it certainly feels like it!
It’s hot here… much too hot. I’ve never been anywhere where I’ve suffered the heat as much as in the yards of Chaguaramas, and that includes the deserts of Egypt and Australia.
Not the slightest hint of a breeze. The sultry air saps your strength so that just walking between the yards and the chandlers is exhausting, and here I am hoping to carry out maintenance work on Eileen of Avoca. Absurd isn’t it?
Another dawn in sultry Trinidad
The smart people leave their boat with a to-do list for the yard and fly back home until the end of the hurricane season.
The not so smart (smart here being a synonym for wealthy), live aboard, hire an air conditioner, and deal with their own to-do list before the end of the hurricane season.
Then there’s me….
Eileen of Avoca entering the stocks in Trinidad
I don’t even have a fan on board, I think someone’s dog ate my to-do list, and I’ve apparently confused hurricane season with leopard hunting season… 
Unfortunately Trinidad is under a declared state of emergency.
What does this mean for wandering yachtsmen? It means that after you’ve labored all day in the stifling heat you get to stay in your boat all night to enjoy more of that stifling heat, plus a swarm of mosquitoes and cockroaches as a bonus. Did I mention the stifling heat?
It’s lock down by 11pm or a 5000 US dollar fine and possible imprisonment if you’re caught wandering about at night.
To top it off, sailors are falling ill with dengue fever by the dozen, and there is at least one death a month through yard accidents…. Will I survive the hazards of boat maintenance in Trinidad?
Well, here is what I’ve been busy with during the day…
I've removed the propeller shaft and rudder
and…
Replaced the old stuffing box with this...
and…
Machined a new rudder pin and cutlass bearing...
and…
Bolted it all back together...
voila!
Now I just need to give Eileen a new coat of anti-fouling
And this is what I’ve been doing at night.
Nightlife in Trinidad
If anyone is reading this, please post bail and get me out of here….
Perhaps I should have done a little more research, because Chaguaramas is:
- Uncomfortable…. NOTE: Understatement of the century…
- Expensive! Watch out for poor quality work…
- Bureaucratic to say the least. BTW, should customs officers really be hinting at extra storage fees, overtime, and travel expenses when clearing goods?
- No longer tax free, unless you are willing to wait months for your ordered “yacht in transit” goods. Items stocked by chandlers incur VAT.
Moreover, Trinidad in general:
- Is rather dangerous and currently under curfew to curb crime… (may it only briefly remain so). But if the street gangs don’t get you, perhaps the dengue will…
- Is not in the least bit tourist friendly… I’ve been accosted in the street just for taking mundane holiday snapshots. The only other place this has ever happened to me was in Suriname.
- Is almost clueless when it comes to “customer service”. Fortunately there are occasional exceptions (so perhaps there is still some hope)…
- Doesn’t have any leopards… (so much for that glimmer of hope)…
Does Trinidad have at least one saving grace?
Might things be looking better after all?
Or perhaps two?
I appear to have my hands full....
Nah, they never did call me back after my phone was stolen… 
Final verdict on Trinidad and Tobago?
Get me back in the water a.s.a.p.
I liked it so much that I’ve decided to give up on the Caribbean and sail back to South America for Christmas. I suspect that the lure of the leopards and continued PBBS are to blame.
Dear friends,
I am not ignoring your calls and text messages. I’ve had my phone stolen in Tobago and despite the thief answering my SMS offering a reward for it’s safe return with:
“THE SIM IS IN A BLACK BAG BY THE BUSSSHED BY RAINBOW HOTAIL”,
I didn’t find it, and I don’t have a backup of my contacts!
While I have recovered my former Trinidad and Tobago number, there is nothing I can do about my Belgian SIM. You will have to call or text me if you want to keep in touch. Alternatively, send me a message via my web site here.
Warmest regards,
David
Getting to grips with the local terminology
What new adventures or rather misadventures have befallen our not so intrepid navigator?
I’ve been “liming” and “wineing” after lavish dining in Tobago…
For those not in the know, liming is hanging out and partying without any particular reason. Any excuse is good for a loiter or a lime. Wow, I’ve been liming for years and I didn’t even know it!
Let me see...... how does this dance step go?
But to wine on the other hand, is something I’ve not been exposed to, despite my penchant for exotic dance styles. It had me rather confused at first because I’d always, (perhaps naively) assumed that you need to occasionally face your partner to dance with them.
Well. in Tobago it all works somewhat differently from what I’ve grown accustomed to.
For me, the singles scene (in which I reluctantly reside once more) in western Anglo-Saxon culture is all about men standing around with beers in their hands admiring girls dancing with each other.
OK, sometimes they drink whiskey or rum, but you kind of get the picture, yes?
Obviously I’m generalizing because Latin night with your local dance school doesn’t count, nor does that ecstasy induced rave you went to the other day!
So back to the single men standing around with beers….
Only when sufficient liquid courage is imbibed, does some inebriate soul (magically transforming into John Travolta a la Grease… but only in his own mind), try to break the unspoken rule (stay disinterested) and strut his stuff on the dance floor in vain attempts to break up the girl posse.
A gyrating drunken stranger awkwardly lurching toward his desire of the evening will affect a universally standardized reaction….
“Who the #$%@ is this guy?”
“Haven’t a clue, just ignore him”
Half a song later the wannabe Travolta has stumbled off to “the white porcelain telephone to god”, and the beer toting wall flowers (that’s us macho types) are left elbowing each other with feigned nonchalance.
“Did you see that?”
“Yeah, what a jerk”
“Glad that wasn’t me. Let’s get another beer…”
Care for a wine with a Zebra?
In Tobago they’ve developed an interesting variant..
Girls still congregate in packs on the dance floor, but the inebriate male (realizing he can’t possibly be John Travolta reincarnated), sneaks up behind the girl, and demonstrates his interest by rubbing his pelvis against her derrière.
If she likes him, she rubs back…. most vigorously. Why it’s called a “wine” is a mystery but I’m not complaining!
If she doesn’t like him, she moves off and places herself closer to more appealing dance partners.
But how does she know if you’re deserving of a good wine or a quick exit? Especially when she’s been facing the other way the whole time?
I suspect it’s either a trick involving mirrors or some secret signal communicated by members of the girl posse.
The intricacies and formal etiquette on a wine currently escape me. Many questions remain including:
- Is it OK to wine with your work colleagues, boss, brother?
- Despite what it looks like… is a wine no more intimate than shaking hands or exchanging partners in a country square dance?
- And more importantly, why are there no leopards in Tobago?
Perchance these mysteries will be resolved when I reach Trinidad… I’ll keep you all informed.
Anchorage at Crown Point, Store Bay, Tobago
So this is what life for the wandering sailor is like in Tobago…. Crystal clear waters, sandy white beaches, a protected anchorage with local “watering hole” (aka Bago’s Bar) within swimming distance.
A cruisers paradise?
Unwittingly breaking the law by wearing camo pants!
——————————————————————————————————–
WARNING!
The following article contains adult themes
and may be detrimental to relationships!
If your wife or girlfriend visits Tobago regularly on “business”,
read no further…
———————————————————————————————————
Where were we… ah, yes, a cruisers paradise?
Not quite… Unless I rapidly age 20 years and swap my Y for an extra X chromosome. Apparently I’ve stumbled across one of the Caribbeans more discrete “sex tourist” destinations, and last time I checked, I’m not biologically equipped to take advantage of it.
Collecting the garbage?
Never fear, plane loads of prospective clients arrive from Europe and the USA on a weekly basis. All seeking a taste of Caribbean surf, sea and sun.
These “garbage trucks” are greeted with open arms!
But what, do I hear you wonder, on earth is a “garbage truck”?
It’s the local term for sugar mummy… Ouch! Do I detect a touch of animosity here?
Evidently Tobago is the place where middle aged women come to find themselves a young play thing to call their own for a week or two. The process is colloquially known as “collecting the garbage” (I live and learn…).
Armed with this inside information, I’ve placed myself at all potential collection points… “Sunday School at Buccoo”, various bars, restaurants and beaches in Crown Point and Pigeon Point, nearby nightclubs and casinos, but despite my eagerness to find a sponsor to pay for “a lifestyle I wish to become accustomed to”, I’ve failed miserably at having myself collected!
Apparently it’s because I’m blighted with skin pigment deficiency… I’m melanin challenged…. or to put it bluntly, just too darn white. Everybody here knows that the discerning sugar mummy prefers her men in black…
Are you being served?
No problem… I’ll just go hang out with the Rasta types instead….
Aren’t Rastafarian’s supposed to be laid-back marijuana smoking, long haired hippie types? Wouldn’t a sailing bum be warmly welcomed as an honorary well-traveled spiritual brother? Apparently not!
According to the Britannica… [ source of all wisdom :p ]
- “Rastafarian’s worship Haile Selassie I, former emperor of Ethiopia, under his precoronation name, Ras (Prince) Tafari. They consider the Ethiopian emperor to have been a divine being, the Messiah, and the champion of the black race. “
So far so good… worship whatever divine being you wish to as far as I’m concerned… but…
- According to the Rastafarians, blacks are the Israelites reincarnated and have been subjected to the evil and inferior white race in divine punishment for their sins; they will eventually be redeemed by repatriation to Africa, their true home and heaven on earth, and will compel the whites to serve them.”
Wow, heavy stuff man… Not wanting to disappoint I’ve since been doing my best to live up to my evil reputation by subjecting all and sundry (in Tobago) to my degenerate and “inferior” ways.
Don't touch it.... It's evil....
It's Eileen of Avoca at sea!
Yes, I’m in the Caribbean…. Excuse enough for the increasingly spasmodic postings. But was my sourcing of these wonderful snapshots of Eileen of Avoca at sea not worth the wait?
For six days Thierry on his 41 foot Feeling (called Ti’nga) kept pace with Eileen on route to Tobago. Sometimes I thought it was just to irritate me, but I’m assured his reasons were wholeheartedly altruistic. Not that that prevented me from raving like a madman whenever he came too close…
Madman rages on Eileen.
I think he took a perverse pleasure in literally sailing circles around Eileen in the light winds.
That just about sums up the voyage. Light winds…
I’d have set more sail (including the seldom used topsail), if only I didn’t have to worry about the numerous squalls between calms. One minute I’m motoring at a steady 4 knots (head-sails furled) and the next I’m running before a squall at 8kts adding another reef to the mainsail. Absurd!
Eileen runs from another squall.
I guess it’s all to be expected in a days (or six) sailing.
The good news is that I’ve made it to Tobago. It’s taken some 7000 nautical miles of sailing and almost one year (since leaving Yarmouth) living aboard a 23ft boat, but I’m now in the Caribbean. Reward enough!
Though a celebratory cold drink (who needs a fridge when everyone else has one) is still the order of the day.
A beer aboard Ti'nga in Tobago
Here’s to living the dream (and working those abdominals) on the other side of the pond…
Cheers readers!
Ahoy there! Arrrr
Ahoy there fellow and would be adventurers!
I might have a tale or two to tell about Saint Laurent if you can spare me a moment or two…
Not so deep in the amazon jungle… err in fact not that close either… lies a small town forgotten by all..(except those seeking French welfare payments)… It’s “the place”, the ultimate stopover for hardy sailors seeking refuge from the torturous (flat) seas and tempests (10kts today) of South Americas Northeastern coast! Paradoxically, it’s the penal colony of Saint Laurent on the Maroni river in La Guyane.
No prisoners left these days, but curiously enough the place doesn’t even warrant a mention in any of my guide books.
Despite this, St. Laurent boasts:
- the safest, most sheltered anchorage in French Guiana;
- wild leopards!
- easy access at high tide along a buoyed, lit channel;
- wild leapoards!
- great provisioning at Super U (and free WiFi);
- wild leopards!
- and plenty to see and do (more on wild leopards later).
I’d expected the town to be packed with tourists of all nationalities, but for some unknown reason St Laurent sees only a trickle of French visitors. Why the secrecy?
Hidden wonders!
For yachtsmen it is well positioned, (the Maroni defines the border between Suriname and La Guyane) so one can visit both countries from the one anchorage. However, from what I’ve seen of Suriname, I’d strongly suggest sticking to the French side of the river!
Here is what I’ve been up to over the past 3 weeks:
Spot Eileen!
I’ve hung out at the anchorage for yachtsmen, where I’ve made new friends…. Beware of the ferocious guard dog on their catamaran! I’m the almost invisible yacht in the photo…The pontoon is currently under repair but should be fixed by the time you read this… (in hardback at a bookstore near you…)
Buildings in the administrative quarter, Saint Laurent, French Guiana
The first thing I do when I arrive at a new destination is to take a few photos of buildings. It gets me in touch with the place and makes me feel suitably touristy (I’m just a touchy feely sort of guy) . No buildings in particular mind you…though a church often makes the cut (for karma points?)
For some reason, they wouldn't let me in....
Then it’s a matter of photographing whatever happens to take my fancy (architecturally) on the day:
Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas any more
Focusing on some of the more extreme examples that draw the eye.. or nose… (no not many live like this nowadays!).
A country cottage in French Guiana?
It would appear that the French government is happily handing out nice new commission houses for all takers… I was tempted to take three! But join the queue, there is a rush on them from clients on the other side of the river…
Nevertheless, St. Laurent isn’t just about burgeoning housing estates! Transport and communication have obviously had significant growth over the last few years…
Ground control to Major Tom.....
Can your television dish grow any bigger that this?
Runs like a dream... honest...
Perhaps a little more manure is needed here for adequate growth…
But I’m sure none of this superficial sophomoric photography is what truly interests readers… What if I venture to tell you of the more sinister aspects of St. Laurent?
Just take a look at this!!!!
Insidious hair extensions... what next?
OK, it looks like a local girl with a pretty smile. But what you may have failed to notice is the platted creature attached to her head! Fake hair extensions!!! Indeed, just the tip of the hirsute iceberg, as I was to discover during my three week investigation.
Upon closer inspection, a good 60% of the female population has succumbed to the diminutive form (i.e. the extension) or full grown variety (the complete wig or peruke). Twilight Zone music queued here….
I’m told they are all the rage in parts of Africa, but I’d never seen them…. ’till now that is… and I’m strangely fascinated…
Double trouble.... New found friends from Martinique
No, these girls are not wearing wigs… I checked… There are secret ways….
It’s Regina and Anne, from Martinique stepping out of cell number 47.
So?
Papillon
Ever read the Henri Charrière book Papillon?
Apparently he was holed up here while waiting transport to the Salvation Islands off Kourou where political troublemakers were kept.
Now that could be a wig…
What to do to kill time in the Amazon....
It’s Pamela Anderson on the Maroni river… Or perhaps it’s Pamela superimposed on a photo of the Maroni river. It was proudly displayed to me by an Amerindian in the jungle and has pride of place in his hut next to the chain saw…
Yes, in the few hours of leisure time afforded by my hectic schedule, I managed to wander about in the amazon jungle seeking calendar girls and wildlife…. and here is proof..
I can't figure out why I'm wearing shades...
Not that I managed to see much wildlife. In fact there was more on display in town.
I have a lizard this big...... lol
Oh, and did I mention the wild night leopards of Saint Laurent?
Too dangerous to approach for a close up...
Apparently they come in all sizes (both with and without wigs…)
To be expected when I hang around rather dubiously named establishments such as this:
Just hanging out at a "titi" bar....
Don’t worry… I didn’t spend all my time there…
The three wise men...
We three wise men (see photo) have considerably more cultural pursuits in mind with regards to entertainment…
Apparently this means "courting women"...
Like admiring the local tribal art…
View of the Maroni River
Enjoying nature
Local dragster... or smugglers delight...
Checking out what passes as a hot-rod streetcar in these parts…
Listening to a little Bach before tea...
And other high brow cultural pursuits…
No mosquito is going to feast on me!
Not taking my anti-malaria medication (Malerone), because thankfully there aren’t too many mosquitoes, has probably been my most daring accomplishment do date!
Thrilling, isn’t it?
Go get them Buffy....
Though I was kind of tempted to wait for this bus on a dare,
Thierry taking his lunch break
In a borrowed canoe we explored some of the Maroni’s tributaries…
The treasure hunters of Saint Laurent
hunting for lost treasures…
Unearthing the lost treasures of Maroni
I found a spoon!
It could have at least been a silver spoon
Sneaking across the border...
Sneaking across the border to buy 10 liters of dingy fuel at half price was also rather adventurous…
The photo that almost cost me my life... lol
I could have done without almost getting myself mugged (by the fellow in the black and white striped shirt) for taking the above photo. Apparently smugglers are camera shy.
Public transport Saint Laurent de Maroni style
Lucky for me it isn’t very difficult to play the stupid tourist that doesn’t understand what all the aggravated fuss is about…. Frankly, it isn’t worth the bother crossing to Suriname and the Gendarme have enough to worry about as it is without having to look for lost visitors.
Gendarme on patrol
So, most of my time has been spent keeping out of trouble and watching what the locals do to pass the time.
Endless entertainment with a wheelbarrow...
I’m not that fascinated by wheelbarrows (though I did borrow one to see if I could extract a fraction of the enjoyment this girl managed with hers… I failed…)
Your bird goes with you everywhere...
Nor did I find lugging a bird cage around with me everywhere (in order to train its contents to win singing contests) my thing… but then again I’m always difficult to please…
The restaurant I didn't get invited to...
But always keen to eat at a good restaurant.
Hanging out with the gang.... It's Champagne and foie gras
Unfortunately nobody invited me to eat in this one (violin music starts here), so I’ve resorted to plan B. Good food and company to be found on Thierry’s boat Ti’nga. Even if his boat has cockroaches!
Next stop is Tobago…
I’m so keen… I’m already on my way…
Who needs a boat when you can do this!
It's a good sign!
First impressions? Encouraging.
For yachtsmen on route to the Caribbean from Brazil, Kourou provides a welcome oasis of European living in a convenient if rather unexpected location, (i.e.the Amazon). As I am a man of simple tastes, (I’m told it compliments my simple mind), European living means access to delicacies (of the culinary kind), I’ve craved since setting sail from the Canary Islands.
So, I think with my stomach…. what’s wrong with that?
Not that I’ve disliked the staple Brazilian diet of black beans with lumps of suspicious looking meat served on a bed of overcooked rice. It’s just that I do so enjoy a varied diet.
Splish splash.. he was having a bath.....
All this is possible in La Guyane, thanks largely to its primary industry….
Which contrary to what you see, isn’t in fact, children!
Missed the launch... but I did make it to the car park!
Though they seem to be very handy here at making those… Perhaps it comes a close second, given that French Guiana has the largest population growth in France. It certainly is not uncommon for the locals to have half a dozen children, or more…
No, the big industry here isn’t babies, it happens to be satellites, sent to orbit via the Ariane spaceport.
Fisherman's jetty, Kourou
Not that much of this high tech is visible to the visiting yachtsman. Quite the opposite if the fisherman’s jetty is anything to go by….
A look at the past...
or you happen to find yourself wandering in some of the older parts of town.
Anyone for granita?
Speaking of old, who can remember the last time they saw an authentic “snowball” or “granita” vendor? I thought they were extinct.
Visiting Kourou is just like time travel….
Trendy new housing in Kourou
Look a little more closely however and you realize “La Guyane” is really just like any other part of France. The modern suburban real estate may look a little odd,
Where do you think you are going?
and what passes for house pets might also surprise,
Room for one more on the scooter?
but the life-style is certainly very European (minus the miserable northern winters).
Bikinis beyond Brazil....
I felt much healthier emotionally (ahh, no more PBBS), once I spent a day or two at the beach…
The best place for sailors in Kourou to hang out....
and my regular doses of fabulous ice cream (plus a “planteur” or two) from this establishment did wonders for raising my previously somber spirits. Can you imagine why?
Going nowhere....
Well, I can now understand why some sailors have taken drastic measures in order to stay….
Taking root in Kourou
Though some crews might have exaggerated a little.
Late night action to be had at Beaubourg
While Kourou isn’t quite party central (that was Brazil),
Head south (to N41) for authentic Saramacca furniture
if you are looking for a place to unwind, Kourou, with its unusual mix of low…
Hmmmmm
and high tech…
is definitely worth an extended visit.
Salvation Islands, French Guiana
The anchorage at Ile Royale isn’t as protected as one might expect. After two days of bouncing about and two episodes of “oops! Sorry, my anchor dragged”, one in which I lost my new fishing net (to everyone’s distress it ended up wrapped around my neighbours propeller as he was trying to avoid a lee shore), I decided to shorten my island getaway holiday and make for Kourou.
It's all in ruins...
You see, one can only walk around the Iles du Salut so many times gathering coconuts or mangoes for supper before some of the novelty wears off… and wandering about prison ruins doesn’t quite do it for me.
I’m told my lack of interest and enthusiasm is probably due to a slight case of Post Brazilian Bikini Syndrome (or PBBS), a common ailment among single males leaving Brazil.
For most, solace can be found through quiet meditation and inner contemplation. I’ve decided to try another route.
Ti'nga and the coconut tree
My South African friends on Ocean Spice and Quest are set on reaching Tobago before I cause them any more grief through innocuous but strategic placement of additional fishing nets, but fortunately, the solitary crew of Ti’nga (who I’d first met in Fortaleza and again at sea while sailing to Cayenne), has decided I’m not such dangerous company and is game to tag along.
Equipped with a wing-man, I’m now ready to take on the mainland. What delights await?
Iles de Salut, French Guiana
It’s one thousand sea miles to the Iles du Salut (which includes the infamous Devil’s Island) in French Guiana! Time to sail the distance I’ve postponed by taking my Brazilian shortcut across the Atlantic.
No big deal. It’s a comfortable sail (with both favourable current and winds), provided I stay in deeper water (100 nautical miles out from the Amazon). At this distance, I’m not likely to hit any stray tree trunks or other Amazon jungle debris, I need only worry about the occasional squall or cargo vessel.
As it turned out, I had good cause to worry about both, especially when a mighty squall hit on the 7th day out from Fortaleza.
Rolling under stay sail alone
Let me share the details with you….
I’d had to weather a couple of uncomfortable days (with gusts to Force 7) on days 2 and 3, but was generally pleased with the progress I’d made since leaving Brazil. Especially when you consider that I’d logged 120 nautical mile daily runs (a new record for Eileen)! This was sufficient motivation to tolerate any discomfort and while the distances traveled were considerable (for a small boat under stay-sail alone), in future, I’ll think twice before running before the wind without my mainsail. Why? Because incessant rolling is liable to turn the stomach of even the hardiest of sailors, and I’m hardly hardy!
What followed were 3 days of gentle breeze so I opted to burn some fossil fuel and maintain my 100 nautical mile average to day 5. Eileen can easily manage 100NM in a 24hr period when motor sailing. Even if the winds are under 10kts. And since she consumes just over half a liter of diesel an hour (with her new 10HP Beta engine), I rarely feel compelled to wallow about for days on end in the tropical heat for the sake of conserving fuel.
That night more gale force winds arrived. Well, I assume they were gale force, but I did little to verify this empirically. Too busy concentrating on feeling sorry for myself (a touch of sea sickness coupled with a migraine headache can have that effect). Plus, I’m not to fond of braving downpours to measure wind speed with my portable ammeter, (though I did note a consistent 8 knots on my GPS).
Fancy that! No sails and Eileen of Avoca is making way at top speed with comfort and ease. No more rolling either! I’d have confidently gone to bed if a Chinese freighter hadn’t chosen this particular moment to play chicken with me.
Guess I’ll give them a call over the VHF radio…
“Motor vessel Sunny X (X to thwart potential defamatory action)…. you are within 3 nautical miles of my current position and closing. Are you currently tracking me by radar?”
I know they aren’t because my radar detector is uncharacteristically silent….
“Yesh, I shee you…. your SSI number ish…..”
“No, that’s not me. I don’t have a transponder so you will not see me with your A.I.S. The ship you are referring to is 6 miles to port. I am a small sailing vessel currently 2 miles ahead of you…”
At last my radar detector starts to sound. At least they are now really trying to look for me…
“I don’t shee you…Two miles? You shtay away from my ship….shtay clear….. you hear?”
“I’m trying… please maintain your course as I’ll adjust mine so that we pass port to port.”
“rOK I adjust my course 10 degrees to port….”
“Not that way!!!! You’ll run me down!!!”
At this point I started Eileen’s engine and leapt (or rather crept) to the tiller. A close call. In appalling visibility (due to the worsening downpour), the cargo vessel passed within three cables! Much too close!
Lesson learnt…. Dodge before talking….
Evidently English isn’t as widely or well spoken on commercial vessels as I’d thought, so contacting a vessel via VHF might at best turn out to be counterproductive as it was in this case… or at worst…. well…. I’d rather not think about that….
But why didn’t they seem me on radar?
That mystery was only solved upon arrival in French Guiana. My over sized reflector had apparently “Gone with the Wind”…
A friend from the Amazon
Fortunately, the remainder of the voyage was pleasant enough. I picked up a hitchhiker…
I-pod? Nah... I listen to d-pod....
Listened to my d-pod all day (that would be a dolphin pod) as they whistled, clicked and whirled about playfully….
Worms with your dorado?
Caught my biggest catch of the day yet…. But didn’t get to eat any as it was full of parasitic worms… Yuck!
To finally find tropical paradise….
Catching up with old friends!
With two of my South African buddies (from the old Fortaleza gang) minding a spot for me at an idyllic anchorage (how had they known I was coming?).
Tourists take the cat from Kourou
Time to join the day tourists and explore… but only after I make myself a little more presentable… After all, there are certain standards to uphold, and the “wild man from Borneo” look hasn’t been too well received of late…
The wild man from Borneo?
Yes… the beard and long haired hippie look will have to go. I’m in France now… how odd… never really realized that France extended to South America…
So it’s back to European prices, the Euro, and speaking French… I’m not complaining…
It’s also back to good wine, more than one sort of cheese and bread that doesn’t disintegrate when you touch it…
My taste buds are already celebrating in anticipation!
Vive la France!
