What do you do in Carriacou?

Hey, nice anchorage…

A great opportunity to make use of “yea old inflatable kayak’s” new replacement… meet Loko the rigid plastic sit on top kayak! The one man, wet bum answer to all my anchorage locomotive requirements… Yes there’s nothing better than arriving at immigration and customs with a wet derrière…. It’s the latest fad… Try it….

Loko the RTM kayak

I’ve had to learn to kneel rather than sit in this contraption… It’s less stable, but so far it has kept the underwear dry…

So what did I do in Carriacou?

Beer Time in Carriacou

Had a beer…

Anyone for cheap Venezuelan diesel?

Watched the Venezuelan ship sell smuggled fuel to fishermen.

No comment…

Watched the wildlife do something similar…

Café… Perhaps Cafe… but Kafe? 10 points for originality!

Had a great breakfast at this place… Obviously I was drawn by the name…

Is it just me or has the English language drastically diverged from its roots here in the Caribbean? I’m sure everyone believes I’m half deaf given the number of times I’ve said “pardon” or “what was that again”… I’m told Jamaica (or my misspent youth attending rock concerts) is to blame…

Why Jamaica? Good question! Apparently it is credited throughout the English speaking islands with asserting  Caribbean youth cultural identity.

Which is just a fancy way of saying they have a successful modern music industry. 😉

I’m old school… because I’m only able to make sense of Bob Marley’s lyrics. These days Jamaican artists might as well be singing in Hebrew for all I can tell.

….Maybe they are…

Or it has something to do with the new varieties of weed they can grow nowadays.

Booty at the local boutique!

A note to navigators clearing out at Hillsborough.

Please bring, and if possible donate a pen for your fellow compatriots. A dire shortage of these rare instruments (for use by visitors in Grenada) means you will immediately be sent to the local supermarket to acquire one. I’d have obliged, but the shop only sold red ones!

If it wasn’t for the kindness of a complete stranger (generously loaning “their precious”), I’d still be at the immigration office looking enviously at the pens reserved for immigration employees, staring at my incomplete exit form.

Next island….