The brochure description of the tour went as follows: "Not suitable for passengers with mobility
difficulties; some uneven paths slippery paths. Walking tour of the Rain Forest Nature Trail will last
four hours and cover two or three miles."
Old, decrepit and discarded perhaps but this still sounded possible especially as a previous rainforest
trek had been similarly described and at least three people made it round with one or more walking
sticks.
St Vincent is dissimilar to Holland in every way but one. Heat and humidity are at different ends of the scale and the only thing that is flat about St Vincent is the surface of the sheer cliffs. Holland has a high standard of living and St Vincent does not. Holland has dykes and rivers around every corner, St Vincent is so steep that water doesn't have the chance to get itself organised into rivers or streams before it has fallen off the island. There are two exceptions - rivers that flow towards Kingstown.
"Hello and welcome to St Vincent. My name is Elroy and I'm your guide. We are driving through Kingstown, our capital . . . mmmm. This is not Kingston, Jamaica . . . no." At the end of each sentence Elroy reinforced the sentiment with either a slow, knowing nod of his head or an equally slow, denying shake of his head.
"I am a trained guide and I have done the Government training and exams . . mmmm. The old government didn't train nobody . . no. The new government has the good training programme . . mmmm."
Pointing to an old, flaking building, peeling bright pink paint revealing a layer of peeling, bright yellow paint, "Dat is the Ministry of Internal Affairs. .mmmm. With the old government you didn't want to go there . . no. But with the new government that is where I did my exams . . mmmm"
The building had no windows and single, padlocked door.
"There are three streets in Kingstown . . mmmm. Middle Street, Upper Street and Lower Street . . .mmmm." The three streets are close together and create a grid with many, narrow intersecting streets which provided the corners for knots of men to lean and lounge, chewing the fat or probably the lean. "We are on Middle Street but soon we go onto Upper Street . . . mmmm." Timed to perfection the small coach lurched to the right and went up a road where no road had the right to be. Passengers were thrown back into their seats as if someone had simultaneously pulled the recline lever on all twenty seats.
"Now we are on Upper Street . . .mmmm. And then we go up into the country . . mmmm." Each up had a down that was just as steep but half as long so the potholed roller-coaster carried us ever higher through villages of huts and sheds propped up against the hillside. Front doors on the road and the back of the house supported on twenty foot posts.
It was Sunday and the coach negotiated its way around the ladies of the communities making their way to church in ones and twos.
"The women go to church while the men cook the Sunday dinner . . .mmmm."
These pedestrians were mesmerising in their Sunday best, bare-footed beneath dresses of modesty and grace. Poise which finishing schools taught with books on debutante's heads was evident in all these beautiful people of all shapes and sizes who carried loads each day except Sundays when their heads were filled with righteousness and carried only their finest hats. Languid grace that gave each hand-me-down dress a flow and sheen, an unspoiled elegance that made Ascot pale into vulgar insignificance. Carriage that gifted the young and old with beauty in equal measure.
"I grew up in Kingstown but moved out to this village twenty years ago . . . mmmm. It was quieter and the pace of life was easier . . . mmmm."
People in the street obviously recognised Elroy, they waved and smiled.
"They're going to a funeral . . . mmmm. Very sad . . . mmmm."
More beaming faces looked into the mini-bus and Elroy beamed back.
St Vincent is dissimilar to Holland in every way but one. Heat and humidity are at different ends of the scale and the only thing that is flat about St Vincent is the surface of the sheer cliffs. Holland has a high standard of living and St Vincent does not. Holland has dykes and rivers around every corner, St Vincent is so steep that water doesn't have the chance to get itself organised into rivers or streams before it has fallen off the island. There are two exceptions - rivers that flow towards Kingstown.
"Hello and welcome to St Vincent. My name is Elroy and I'm your guide. We are driving through Kingstown, our capital . . . mmmm. This is not Kingston, Jamaica . . . no." At the end of each sentence Elroy reinforced the sentiment with either a slow, knowing nod of his head or an equally slow, denying shake of his head.
"I am a trained guide and I have done the Government training and exams . . mmmm. The old government didn't train nobody . . no. The new government has the good training programme . . mmmm."
Pointing to an old, flaking building, peeling bright pink paint revealing a layer of peeling, bright yellow paint, "Dat is the Ministry of Internal Affairs. .mmmm. With the old government you didn't want to go there . . no. But with the new government that is where I did my exams . . mmmm"
The building had no windows and single, padlocked door.
"There are three streets in Kingstown . . mmmm. Middle Street, Upper Street and Lower Street . . .mmmm." The three streets are close together and create a grid with many, narrow intersecting streets which provided the corners for knots of men to lean and lounge, chewing the fat or probably the lean. "We are on Middle Street but soon we go onto Upper Street . . . mmmm." Timed to perfection the small coach lurched to the right and went up a road where no road had the right to be. Passengers were thrown back into their seats as if someone had simultaneously pulled the recline lever on all twenty seats.
"Now we are on Upper Street . . .mmmm. And then we go up into the country . . mmmm." Each up had a down that was just as steep but half as long so the potholed roller-coaster carried us ever higher through villages of huts and sheds propped up against the hillside. Front doors on the road and the back of the house supported on twenty foot posts.
It was Sunday and the coach negotiated its way around the ladies of the communities making their way to church in ones and twos.
"The women go to church while the men cook the Sunday dinner . . .mmmm."
These pedestrians were mesmerising in their Sunday best, bare-footed beneath dresses of modesty and grace. Poise which finishing schools taught with books on debutante's heads was evident in all these beautiful people of all shapes and sizes who carried loads each day except Sundays when their heads were filled with righteousness and carried only their finest hats. Languid grace that gave each hand-me-down dress a flow and sheen, an unspoiled elegance that made Ascot pale into vulgar insignificance. Carriage that gifted the young and old with beauty in equal measure.
"I grew up in Kingstown but moved out to this village twenty years ago . . . mmmm. It was quieter and the pace of life was easier . . . mmmm."
People in the street obviously recognised Elroy, they waved and smiled.
"They're going to a funeral . . . mmmm. Very sad . . . mmmm."
More beaming faces looked into the mini-bus and Elroy beamed back.
---OOO---
A road sign with the arrow pointing vertically usually means straight ahead but in this case it meant
what it said: the driver slammed the box into first, swung right and ascended an impossible hill.
"We are nearly there . . .mmmm," commented Elroy. 'Nearly where?' was the unspoken rejoinder,
'Heaven - indubitably - one slip on the steering wheel and that would be curtains for a group of
nondescript tourist on some Caribbean Isle - Black Diamond Bay!'
"The Chinese are investing in our island . . . mmmm. They don't want anything for their money . . . no. Just if there is a vote in the UN they like our support . . . mmmm."
It was now possible to understand what the children did while daddy cooked Sunday lunch - they
coloured tee-shirts. The visitors' centre had a small shop that sold "Hand-made Tee Shirts", each
coloured by a child who would make Tracy Emin look like an artist. It also had toilet facilities and
these attract excursionists like celebrities attract journalists. Waiting to set off provided an
opportunity to explore the immediate vicinity. By the entrance to the park fields had been cleared on
slopes of 1:1 or more. A few cattle grazed on one of the fields, each accompanied by its own retinue of
crisp white Egrets. A long, thin orange wasp flew past, unhurried with long hind legs hanging down
like jesses.
Eventually the toilet block disgorged its last user and Elroy led the way along a paved path towards the forest. Near a timber and tile construction, much like an open sided bus shelter, he stopped and explained the significance of the breadfruit tree and offered an account of Captain Bligh that depended rather more on the film than on history. A number of passengers gathered in the shade of the shelter to hear Bligh being slandered but none of them looked up. Only when one noticed the Bug Man's camera pointing up above their heads did they notice the twelve open sided wasps' nest under construction with the constant stream of long, thin, orange wasps arriving with food or further construction material or departing in search of the same. People are programmed to perceive and, as they did not see black and yellow stripes these fascinating creatures did not trigger their concept of wasp.
"Oh, what are they?"
"Wasps," said while edging closer for a more detailed shot.
"Wasps?"
"Yes - look you can see, four wings, a petiole joining the thorax to the abdomen and they are engaging in classic social nest building behaviour. Look, the cells are perfect hexagons."
All but the "Yes" had been wasted, the shelter had emptied faster than the air escaping a burst balloon. The party was now divided between those listening to Elroy's description of Bligh as a cat o' nine tail wielding maritime sadist, no better than a salt water Saddam Hussein and those standing ghoulishly watching and waiting for the wasps to sting the Bug Man.
"Can they sting?"
"Probably."
"Will they?"
"Hope not but you never know. They have no reason to sting, I'm not moving quickly or alarming them."
"Do we have a first aid kit with us if they do?"
"Not sure what good that will do if they get me. Mind you they're not attacking the geckos that keep snaffling the odd wasp."
Elroy had now moved his attention from the Breadfruit to Mimosa pudica - the Sensitive Plant. He demonstrated how the leaves would fold if touched and then suggested that the plant had a nervous system for, if you applied heat to one leaf it would close and send messages to other leaves that would close in turn. He was huddled over the plant with alighted match obscuring the view of this phenomenon from all but the most ardent Jostlers.
"You see it is a train reaction . . . mmmm - a train reaction . . . mmmm."
Braver folk amongst those awaiting developments with the wasps edged forward holding their cameras out in front of them like protective talismans, hoping to get a shot of the geckos. A large fly circled the group, selected a likely landing stage (the bare left arm of the Man Who Laughed at his Own Jokes), and alighted with no idea of the trouble it was about to ensue. Initially the reaction was balletic. Simultaneously he jumped into the air, swiped wildly at his left arm with his right hand and yelped.
"The Chinese are investing in our island . . . mmmm. They don't want anything for their money . . . no. Just if there is a vote in the UN they like our support . . . mmmm."
 |
Eventually the toilet block disgorged its last user and Elroy led the way along a paved path towards the forest. Near a timber and tile construction, much like an open sided bus shelter, he stopped and explained the significance of the breadfruit tree and offered an account of Captain Bligh that depended rather more on the film than on history. A number of passengers gathered in the shade of the shelter to hear Bligh being slandered but none of them looked up. Only when one noticed the Bug Man's camera pointing up above their heads did they notice the twelve open sided wasps' nest under construction with the constant stream of long, thin, orange wasps arriving with food or further construction material or departing in search of the same. People are programmed to perceive and, as they did not see black and yellow stripes these fascinating creatures did not trigger their concept of wasp.
"Oh, what are they?"
"Wasps," said while edging closer for a more detailed shot.
"Wasps?"
"Yes - look you can see, four wings, a petiole joining the thorax to the abdomen and they are engaging in classic social nest building behaviour. Look, the cells are perfect hexagons."
All but the "Yes" had been wasted, the shelter had emptied faster than the air escaping a burst balloon. The party was now divided between those listening to Elroy's description of Bligh as a cat o' nine tail wielding maritime sadist, no better than a salt water Saddam Hussein and those standing ghoulishly watching and waiting for the wasps to sting the Bug Man.
"Can they sting?"
"Probably."
"Will they?"
"Hope not but you never know. They have no reason to sting, I'm not moving quickly or alarming them."
"Do we have a first aid kit with us if they do?"
"Not sure what good that will do if they get me. Mind you they're not attacking the geckos that keep snaffling the odd wasp."
Elroy had now moved his attention from the Breadfruit to Mimosa pudica - the Sensitive Plant. He demonstrated how the leaves would fold if touched and then suggested that the plant had a nervous system for, if you applied heat to one leaf it would close and send messages to other leaves that would close in turn. He was huddled over the plant with alighted match obscuring the view of this phenomenon from all but the most ardent Jostlers.
"You see it is a train reaction . . . mmmm - a train reaction . . . mmmm."
Braver folk amongst those awaiting developments with the wasps edged forward holding their cameras out in front of them like protective talismans, hoping to get a shot of the geckos. A large fly circled the group, selected a likely landing stage (the bare left arm of the Man Who Laughed at his Own Jokes), and alighted with no idea of the trouble it was about to ensue. Initially the reaction was balletic. Simultaneously he jumped into the air, swiped wildly at his left arm with his right hand and yelped.
Maybe more in common with Morris Dancing than ballet but impressive nonetheless. A group howl
went up "Waaaaassssp" and, as Elroy would have it, a train reaction was begun. In ever increasing
circles people began the wasp dance: arms flailing, heads shaking and feet trying to run fast but barely
travelling anywhere. It looked like a meeting of the Church of the Flapping Brethren.
Elroy didn't look up. "Yes a train reaction . . . mmmm.”
Leaving wasps behind the party entered the rain forest over a shaded wooden bridge, the planks more slippery and treacherous than Tony Blair. The first to slide reached out for the handrail and was at least mildly disappointed when the section came away in her hand. She dropped it into the water (thus inventing a new game - panic Pooh sticks), shrieked and was steadied by Elroy.
"The old government's bridge building was no good . . . no. The new Government will replace that with a good rail . . . yes."
From the first bridge a flight of 30 log and mud steps took the party to a second bridge of more recent construction. The surface was covered with chicken wire and footing was good.
"Did the new government build this one, Elroy?"
"They did, they did . . mmmm. The old bridge was built by the old government but he didn't last . . no - he didn't last . . no."
The path climbed steadily for a hundred yards and then ascended another flight of uncertain steps, some forty or fifty on this occasion which provided the jostlers with ample opportunity to push and elbow their way to the front. Elroy halted the line by a fine, buttress rooted tree and offered a brief explanation of the formation before launching into a party political broadcast about per capita spending on education under the new government.. The speech included a few slogans including "Education, education, education." It had always been a mystery where Nu Labour had come up with such a corker. Progress continued along these lines up more than 1,000 steps with stops in the shadiest and most mosquito infested spots.
"Oh, I've been bitten and I treated myself with a tisane of tansy in spring water."
"Did it have DEET in it?"
"Oh no, I don't like using chemicals. Ow, I've been bitten again."
At times the path was closely hemmed by trees and under storey providing a prickly but welcome barrier that obscured the precipice below. Sometimes the path edged its way past gaps where the trees below had given in to the inexorable force of gravity and tumbled into the chasm below. A lady slipped and tumbled the first few feet down a near vertical slope, luckily her fall was arrested by a line of figs. Those uncomfortable with heights stared resolutely at their feet and wondered whether jumping would be better than the anxiety of waiting for the inevitable slip and tumble. The line of twenty excursionists now stretched over 200 linear yards and nearly as many vertical feet. Some were struggling and the question was passed along the line. "How much longer, Elroy?"
Twenty minutes after Elroy gave the answer, "two minutes . . . mmmm" the front of the line reached a rickety platform that jutted out over the tops of the trees below. Remembering the handrail a surprisingly large number of people ventured to the creaking edge of the construction.
"This is the parrot platform . . . mmmm. At the right time of day you can see the famous St Lucian parrot . . . mmmm. He's very rare . . . mmmm Only 500 left so we have a breeding programme in the Botanical Gardens back in Kingstown . . . mmmm."
Stragglers joined the group every few minutes and discussed the route back.
"When is the right time of day to see the parrots, Elroy?"
"In the early morning or late afternoon . . . mmmm We won't see any now . . . no." It was hard to resist asking if the new government was going to do anything about this. A parrot squawked and then another heralding their flight high, high above the trees on the far side of the abyss, two black dots too far away to offer the yellows, blues and greens of their plumage.
"Elroy, how far have we climbed?"
"About 6 to 700 feet . . . mmmm."
"Do you think the coach has driven up here? We can't possibly have to go back so far." Quite where the speaker thought the coach could have driven in this terrain beggared belief.
Elroy didn't look up. "Yes a train reaction . . . mmmm.”
---OOO---
Leaving wasps behind the party entered the rain forest over a shaded wooden bridge, the planks more slippery and treacherous than Tony Blair. The first to slide reached out for the handrail and was at least mildly disappointed when the section came away in her hand. She dropped it into the water (thus inventing a new game - panic Pooh sticks), shrieked and was steadied by Elroy.
"The old government's bridge building was no good . . . no. The new Government will replace that with a good rail . . . yes."
From the first bridge a flight of 30 log and mud steps took the party to a second bridge of more recent construction. The surface was covered with chicken wire and footing was good.
"Did the new government build this one, Elroy?"
"They did, they did . . mmmm. The old bridge was built by the old government but he didn't last . . no - he didn't last . . no."
The path climbed steadily for a hundred yards and then ascended another flight of uncertain steps, some forty or fifty on this occasion which provided the jostlers with ample opportunity to push and elbow their way to the front. Elroy halted the line by a fine, buttress rooted tree and offered a brief explanation of the formation before launching into a party political broadcast about per capita spending on education under the new government.. The speech included a few slogans including "Education, education, education." It had always been a mystery where Nu Labour had come up with such a corker. Progress continued along these lines up more than 1,000 steps with stops in the shadiest and most mosquito infested spots.
"Oh, I've been bitten and I treated myself with a tisane of tansy in spring water."
"Did it have DEET in it?"
"Oh no, I don't like using chemicals. Ow, I've been bitten again."
At times the path was closely hemmed by trees and under storey providing a prickly but welcome barrier that obscured the precipice below. Sometimes the path edged its way past gaps where the trees below had given in to the inexorable force of gravity and tumbled into the chasm below. A lady slipped and tumbled the first few feet down a near vertical slope, luckily her fall was arrested by a line of figs. Those uncomfortable with heights stared resolutely at their feet and wondered whether jumping would be better than the anxiety of waiting for the inevitable slip and tumble. The line of twenty excursionists now stretched over 200 linear yards and nearly as many vertical feet. Some were struggling and the question was passed along the line. "How much longer, Elroy?"
Twenty minutes after Elroy gave the answer, "two minutes . . . mmmm" the front of the line reached a rickety platform that jutted out over the tops of the trees below. Remembering the handrail a surprisingly large number of people ventured to the creaking edge of the construction.
"This is the parrot platform . . . mmmm. At the right time of day you can see the famous St Lucian parrot . . . mmmm. He's very rare . . . mmmm Only 500 left so we have a breeding programme in the Botanical Gardens back in Kingstown . . . mmmm."
Stragglers joined the group every few minutes and discussed the route back.
"When is the right time of day to see the parrots, Elroy?"
"In the early morning or late afternoon . . . mmmm We won't see any now . . . no." It was hard to resist asking if the new government was going to do anything about this. A parrot squawked and then another heralding their flight high, high above the trees on the far side of the abyss, two black dots too far away to offer the yellows, blues and greens of their plumage.
"Elroy, how far have we climbed?"
"About 6 to 700 feet . . . mmmm."
"Do you think the coach has driven up here? We can't possibly have to go back so far." Quite where the speaker thought the coach could have driven in this terrain beggared belief.
"I don't think the coach could make it up here but there will be an easier route down without steps,"
and similar vain attempts to allow hope to triumph over reality became the mantra of the group.
"OK ladies and gentlemen, we go down now . . . mmmm," and Elroy led the way back down along the same route. At the first narrow section the second group were met, heading towards the platform. A series of rather intimate passings had to take place to ensure that no one plummeted over the edge. At the end of the other line stood the ship's doctor and his GP wife.
"Ah, doctor, good job you're here, my knees are playing up and going down all those steps is going to be difficult. Have you got anything that will help?"
It was an unlikely place to carry out a knee replacement and the physiotherapy time might have made it difficult to get back to the ship on time. The doctor looked thoughtful and then solemnly handed the man his walking stave - a piece of equipment that had been offered to everyone at the start.
"Would you like to come past?" asked the dumpy lady.
"No, no, it's fine this is quite fast enough for me, thank you," and then, unspoken, "if you go over you will roll crushing anyone in front or knocking them from the path like a marble through toy soldiers."
A fellow broke down about 200 yards from the hard path.
"Leave me, leave me."
"Don't be stupid, get up," ordered his wife with all the sympathy of a brick.
"My knee's gone, my left knee."
"I'm going on," announced his wife, "he always makes a fuss when I'm around."
At brisk pace she disappeared over the last bridge.
"Come on, we can get you up." Eventually he was helped to his feet and with arms around strong shoulders on either side he hopped and was dragged from the forest.
By the coach was a tree and under the tree was a table upon which stood a large cool box. The medivac team brought in the wounded and sat him on the bench by the table. He flinched as his left foot touched the ground.
"See I told you he'd stop making a fuss once I'd gone," she said knowingly.
"Thank you," he said to his rescuers, "don't mind her she was a doctor."
Hmm - some uneven paths, well it is to be accepted that steps are not even ground but it was stretching the description a little. There was talk of complaining but it was never likely to go any further than the apparently enjoyable moaning.
The chilled rum punch from the cool box was welcome as was the air-conditioning on the coach but not some of the roller-coaster views from the window but, remarkably its brakes did not fade and the group returned to the ship to discover that lunch had been extended to account for the late return. It should be noted that the thought of lunch did seem to have a curative effect on many knees as the weary adventurers gained their second wind in the race for the best seats in the restaurant.
"Hello, did you enjoy your trip this morning, we were in the second group?" It was the lady whose father studied butterflies.
"Yes, thank you although it was harder going than the brochure suggested."
"You're not kidding."
"What are your plans of the afternoon?"
"I was thinking of walking to the Botanical Gardens or getting a cab."
"Ooo would you mind if we shared a cab?"
"Not at all."
"We'll be ten minutes, is that OK?"
"See you on the quay in ten minutes or so."
"Great, see you soon."
"OK ladies and gentlemen, we go down now . . . mmmm," and Elroy led the way back down along the same route. At the first narrow section the second group were met, heading towards the platform. A series of rather intimate passings had to take place to ensure that no one plummeted over the edge. At the end of the other line stood the ship's doctor and his GP wife.
"Ah, doctor, good job you're here, my knees are playing up and going down all those steps is going to be difficult. Have you got anything that will help?"
It was an unlikely place to carry out a knee replacement and the physiotherapy time might have made it difficult to get back to the ship on time. The doctor looked thoughtful and then solemnly handed the man his walking stave - a piece of equipment that had been offered to everyone at the start.
"Would you like to come past?" asked the dumpy lady.
"No, no, it's fine this is quite fast enough for me, thank you," and then, unspoken, "if you go over you will roll crushing anyone in front or knocking them from the path like a marble through toy soldiers."
A fellow broke down about 200 yards from the hard path.
"Leave me, leave me."
"Don't be stupid, get up," ordered his wife with all the sympathy of a brick.
"My knee's gone, my left knee."
"I'm going on," announced his wife, "he always makes a fuss when I'm around."
At brisk pace she disappeared over the last bridge.
"Come on, we can get you up." Eventually he was helped to his feet and with arms around strong shoulders on either side he hopped and was dragged from the forest.
By the coach was a tree and under the tree was a table upon which stood a large cool box. The medivac team brought in the wounded and sat him on the bench by the table. He flinched as his left foot touched the ground.
"See I told you he'd stop making a fuss once I'd gone," she said knowingly.
"Thank you," he said to his rescuers, "don't mind her she was a doctor."
Hmm - some uneven paths, well it is to be accepted that steps are not even ground but it was stretching the description a little. There was talk of complaining but it was never likely to go any further than the apparently enjoyable moaning.
The chilled rum punch from the cool box was welcome as was the air-conditioning on the coach but not some of the roller-coaster views from the window but, remarkably its brakes did not fade and the group returned to the ship to discover that lunch had been extended to account for the late return. It should be noted that the thought of lunch did seem to have a curative effect on many knees as the weary adventurers gained their second wind in the race for the best seats in the restaurant.
---OOO---
A walk through the town to the botanical gardens seemed to be reasonable plan for the afternoon.
"Hello, did you enjoy your trip this morning, we were in the second group?" It was the lady whose father studied butterflies.
"Yes, thank you although it was harder going than the brochure suggested."
"You're not kidding."
"What are your plans of the afternoon?"
"I was thinking of walking to the Botanical Gardens or getting a cab."
"Ooo would you mind if we shared a cab?"
"Not at all."
"We'll be ten minutes, is that OK?"
"See you on the quay in ten minutes or so."
"Great, see you soon."
Members of the crew, with shore leave, were plunging into the clear waters from the other side of the
quay. Some climbed to the top of a navigation light tower and jumped from thirty feet or more. Just the
sight of it stirred large Lepidoptera in the stomach.
"I mean, I work and spend my money on building me house and then the new government comes along and says I have to pay tax so I go to the office and pay some tax but they want tax for last year and the year before that and so on. They want thousands of dollars. I told them that was the old government's money and I would pay them only what was owing since they came to power. They are greedy men the tax men and the new government. They can't have the old government's money."
"There's the tax office there." He pointed to a decrepit building squeezed between a sort of super market that wasn't too super and a rum bar whose inhabitants did look pretty rum. The driver spat ferociously out of the window. Mary, the butterfly lady, sitting in the back was thankful that her window was closed.
The driver agreed to a pick up at the top of the gardens in an hour and a half's time. "Do you mind if we tag along with you? It will be like having our own expert."
"That's fine but I'm no expert."
"Do you know what the passengers call you?"
"The Bug Man or that lunatic who is on deck all night poking around with creepy crawlies.'"
"Well they do call you the Bug Man but they also call you the Professor."
Like all compliments this was difficult to take but, for once, fate intervened.
"Hello I'm Zachariah St John George and I would like to be your tour guide for the gardens."
"It's alright, we've brought our own," Gavin responded breezily punting his arm towards the embarrassed Professor.
Zachariah looked disappointed to the point of desolation.
"How much for the tour Zachariah?"
"The New Government say $5 US per person for an hour is a good price."
"I think we should take Zachariah on - he'll know the best way around the gardens."
"OK, good idea."
And so it was that the group of three set off with Zachariah into the splendour of Kingstown's Botanic Garden.
"Now we are friends you must call me Zac."
Knowledgeable, enthusiastic and tolerant he both guided and, when something caught Mary's eye, followed.
"This is a breadfruit plant that comes from a cutting from the first breadfruit that Captain Bligh."
"He was a cruel captain wasn't he Professor?" asked Mary.
"There are different points of view. He was a fantastic navigator, Bligh. Got a bad press for the mutiny but was liked and respected by many who sailed with him. He sailed with Cook as a Master Mariner. Suppose he was always going to come out of it badly against Clark Gable or Marlon Brando as Fletcher Christian."
"The Professor knows his stuff," said Zac.
The party came to an ornamental pond in the centre of the garden where a small cloud of damselflies skittered and danced.
Zac looked across, "This is your department I think."
A brief discourse and a partnership was formed: being on Zac's team worked well. No longer polite deference but a common enthusiasm with Mary and Gavin delighted by the result.
Halfway through the visit and the group reached the site of the captive breeding programme for the St Vincent Parrot. The birds were magnificent, the quarters adequate, if Victorian, and the 'keeper' passionate.
"Go into the cage and get really close," urged Zac, "just give the keeper a dollar or two. US of course." If currency means the "quality of being generally in use" then the East Caribbean Dollar is a currency only in name. The exchange rate is about 2.5 EC dollars to the US dollar but on the street the EC dollar is pretty much worthless. A US dollar will buy a bottle of chilled water whereas 5 EC dollars would be unenthusiastically required.
---OOO---
The taxi driver was not a fan of the new government and his dislike may have had something to do
with his tale of tax woe."I mean, I work and spend my money on building me house and then the new government comes along and says I have to pay tax so I go to the office and pay some tax but they want tax for last year and the year before that and so on. They want thousands of dollars. I told them that was the old government's money and I would pay them only what was owing since they came to power. They are greedy men the tax men and the new government. They can't have the old government's money."
"There's the tax office there." He pointed to a decrepit building squeezed between a sort of super market that wasn't too super and a rum bar whose inhabitants did look pretty rum. The driver spat ferociously out of the window. Mary, the butterfly lady, sitting in the back was thankful that her window was closed.
The driver agreed to a pick up at the top of the gardens in an hour and a half's time. "Do you mind if we tag along with you? It will be like having our own expert."
"That's fine but I'm no expert."
"Do you know what the passengers call you?"
"The Bug Man or that lunatic who is on deck all night poking around with creepy crawlies.'"
"Well they do call you the Bug Man but they also call you the Professor."
Like all compliments this was difficult to take but, for once, fate intervened.
"Hello I'm Zachariah St John George and I would like to be your tour guide for the gardens."
"It's alright, we've brought our own," Gavin responded breezily punting his arm towards the embarrassed Professor.
Zachariah looked disappointed to the point of desolation.
"How much for the tour Zachariah?"
"The New Government say $5 US per person for an hour is a good price."
"I think we should take Zachariah on - he'll know the best way around the gardens."
"OK, good idea."
And so it was that the group of three set off with Zachariah into the splendour of Kingstown's Botanic Garden.
"Now we are friends you must call me Zac."
Knowledgeable, enthusiastic and tolerant he both guided and, when something caught Mary's eye, followed.
"This is a breadfruit plant that comes from a cutting from the first breadfruit that Captain Bligh."
"He was a cruel captain wasn't he Professor?" asked Mary.
"There are different points of view. He was a fantastic navigator, Bligh. Got a bad press for the mutiny but was liked and respected by many who sailed with him. He sailed with Cook as a Master Mariner. Suppose he was always going to come out of it badly against Clark Gable or Marlon Brando as Fletcher Christian."
"The Professor knows his stuff," said Zac.
The party came to an ornamental pond in the centre of the garden where a small cloud of damselflies skittered and danced.
Zac looked across, "This is your department I think."
A brief discourse and a partnership was formed: being on Zac's team worked well. No longer polite deference but a common enthusiasm with Mary and Gavin delighted by the result.
Halfway through the visit and the group reached the site of the captive breeding programme for the St Vincent Parrot. The birds were magnificent, the quarters adequate, if Victorian, and the 'keeper' passionate.
"Go into the cage and get really close," urged Zac, "just give the keeper a dollar or two. US of course." If currency means the "quality of being generally in use" then the East Caribbean Dollar is a currency only in name. The exchange rate is about 2.5 EC dollars to the US dollar but on the street the EC dollar is pretty much worthless. A US dollar will buy a bottle of chilled water whereas 5 EC dollars would be unenthusiastically required.
"How successful is the breeding programme?"
"We have bred good numbers in captivity but have not yet released any into the wild. It is very difficult to prepare them in a setting such as this where people are always around. To fund the programme we need the visitors to fund the centre but they only donate enough money if we let them get close to the parrots.
"Hello," all three looked round to greet the newcomer but there was no one there.
"Hello, Hello. Good boy, good boy."
"That's a major problem," said the keeper, "not only are they not afraid of humans, when a single specimen can fetch $10,000 from an unscrupulous collector, but we can't stop the damn things from learning to talk."
Thinking back to the morning and the slippery, rickety parrot viewing platform it was hard not to imagine standing in the top of the rain-forest with guttural, parrot voices calling out, "hello, hello, good boy, US dollars please, hello good boy."
"Maybe you could teach them to say what they are to help twitchers, now a bird that knew its name in English and Latin would be a marvel.
"Hello, Saint Vincent Parrot, Amazona guildingii." Well it would make bird spotting easier.
"We have bred good numbers in captivity but have not yet released any into the wild. It is very difficult to prepare them in a setting such as this where people are always around. To fund the programme we need the visitors to fund the centre but they only donate enough money if we let them get close to the parrots.
"Hello," all three looked round to greet the newcomer but there was no one there.
"Hello, Hello. Good boy, good boy."
"That's a major problem," said the keeper, "not only are they not afraid of humans, when a single specimen can fetch $10,000 from an unscrupulous collector, but we can't stop the damn things from learning to talk."
Thinking back to the morning and the slippery, rickety parrot viewing platform it was hard not to imagine standing in the top of the rain-forest with guttural, parrot voices calling out, "hello, hello, good boy, US dollars please, hello good boy."
"Maybe you could teach them to say what they are to help twitchers, now a bird that knew its name in English and Latin would be a marvel.
"Hello, Saint Vincent Parrot, Amazona guildingii." Well it would make bird spotting easier.
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