I have temporarily left behind the life as a landlubber, in exchange for a boat. My new home is a 37 feet long boat called Outlier. This is where I sleep, eat, read, work, watch the sunset and stars,and drink Stag beer and wine from South America.
The first week was spent on Grenada in a little bay called Prickly Bay. Days were split between the laid back attitude on the boat and exploring the island. After a Friday evening well spent at the Gouyave Friday fish festival; stuffing ourselves with fish of all sorts and prepared in a 100 different ways; meeting the taxi driver Tony who always bring along a local board game in the back of his car just in case someone wish to challenge him, Saturday came, which meant celebration of labour day. This was done by attending a local barbecue on the shore.
Sunday came slow, reading, relaxing and hanging out.
Monday it was the time for taking a closer look at the island and what better way to do it than in a Maxi-Taxi. Full of spirit we got on the first taxi-bus and headed North. First stop was a little village one hour outside St. Georges, refreshment was needed. After a cold drink we got on a second bus and headed directly for the second largest city on the island, Grenville. The bus taking us there drove through the lush and beautiful nature of Grenada. Following a road which followed every little curve and turn of the landscape. New surprises were waiting around each corners of the road; goat standing as a proud captain on the top of a stone, children running home from school, mango trees reaching for the sky and so heavily covered with fruits that some of these fell for the ground and splashed on the road like colourful bombs of vitamins. The landscape was dotted with colourful houses, banana plants, smiling people and goats.
After many kilometers of greenness we finally reached our destination, and what a treasure. People were so friendly and greeted us with open arms. We sat out to buy a chess game and got one for free. An elderly lady in a souvenir shop presented us to her beautiful selection of postcard from the 70s, which all seemed to have lost a bit of their former glory in her drawer and she asked me whether is was right that Denmark is the country of milk. We ate the most tasteful Rotis made by a woman from Trinidad, who had emigrated to Grenada and who told us tales about Trinidad. And after a refreshing Stag(beer) we decided to return to our point of departure St. George. We got on the first bus that would take the mountain road. We soon realised that here was a driver with a mission, that mission being to make it to Formula1............we were shaken from side to side, and in the numerous curves one had to hang on to whatever with a firm grip. Hang on as was it a matter of life or death. My experience from this type of driver from Namibia came to good use here, and not at any point was I scared that he might would crash into another passing car or a mountain wall.
And this is how the Grenada tale ends, with sweet memories of the Island of Spices and a promise made to a dock boy about a dance the next time I am in town.
The first week was spent on Grenada in a little bay called Prickly Bay. Days were split between the laid back attitude on the boat and exploring the island. After a Friday evening well spent at the Gouyave Friday fish festival; stuffing ourselves with fish of all sorts and prepared in a 100 different ways; meeting the taxi driver Tony who always bring along a local board game in the back of his car just in case someone wish to challenge him, Saturday came, which meant celebration of labour day. This was done by attending a local barbecue on the shore.
Sunday came slow, reading, relaxing and hanging out.
Monday it was the time for taking a closer look at the island and what better way to do it than in a Maxi-Taxi. Full of spirit we got on the first taxi-bus and headed North. First stop was a little village one hour outside St. Georges, refreshment was needed. After a cold drink we got on a second bus and headed directly for the second largest city on the island, Grenville. The bus taking us there drove through the lush and beautiful nature of Grenada. Following a road which followed every little curve and turn of the landscape. New surprises were waiting around each corners of the road; goat standing as a proud captain on the top of a stone, children running home from school, mango trees reaching for the sky and so heavily covered with fruits that some of these fell for the ground and splashed on the road like colourful bombs of vitamins. The landscape was dotted with colourful houses, banana plants, smiling people and goats.
After many kilometers of greenness we finally reached our destination, and what a treasure. People were so friendly and greeted us with open arms. We sat out to buy a chess game and got one for free. An elderly lady in a souvenir shop presented us to her beautiful selection of postcard from the 70s, which all seemed to have lost a bit of their former glory in her drawer and she asked me whether is was right that Denmark is the country of milk. We ate the most tasteful Rotis made by a woman from Trinidad, who had emigrated to Grenada and who told us tales about Trinidad. And after a refreshing Stag(beer) we decided to return to our point of departure St. George. We got on the first bus that would take the mountain road. We soon realised that here was a driver with a mission, that mission being to make it to Formula1............we were shaken from side to side, and in the numerous curves one had to hang on to whatever with a firm grip. Hang on as was it a matter of life or death. My experience from this type of driver from Namibia came to good use here, and not at any point was I scared that he might would crash into another passing car or a mountain wall.
And this is how the Grenada tale ends, with sweet memories of the Island of Spices and a promise made to a dock boy about a dance the next time I am in town.
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Hvor poetisk
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