Experience is not what happens to a man.
It is what a man does with what happens to him.
-Aldous Huxley-
ANTIGUA!
As the wind was picking up and the squalls were intensifying, we dipped our toerails in Atlantic no more. For some unknown reason we sailed past English Harbour and entered Falmouth instead. Actually, the reason was that English Harbour in Antigua is famous and everyone goes there. I don't want to go where everyone goes. I also thought that Falmouth might be free while I knew that English Harbour would have a fee for anchoring. I was wrong. Both harbours have a fee for anchoring.
We picked a slot in the not-so-busy harbour, amongst about 20 or so cruising yachts. The marina (which we didn't intend to go anyway) turned out to be a collection of huge conrete piers for the customers that the Antigua yachting industry certainly embraces as their best friends; the mega-yachts. Choppers on the back deck and red lights up the masts. All lit by underwater lights and some poor bastard polishing the thing day and night. Running costs must be several thousand a day for some of these. Some people have little, some have much and some just have too much.
Immigration in Antigua was all smiles, the check-in was easy and all authorities were in the same room.
Annina and I have a strict routine for these arrival situations. As soon as anchor is down and Aliisa is secured, we concentrate on the most necessary tasks and make sure no effort is spared in getting them done. The number one is to pull out a cheap sparkling wine from the fridge and drink it as a celebration of what we have achieved. A celebration of being alive.
Number two is to take out all our external wi-fi antennas and see if we can find free internet. Oh yeah! Linksys gives us two bars and a steady connection. Emails, done. Annina's facebook, done. (I can't really stomach the commercially driven facebook. So I choose Skype and make a few calls.) Now that the most important things are done, we jump in for a swim and pump up the dinghy. Water is 29 C (it was 27 in open waters) and salty as shit. Well, shit is not salty. Actually, I don't know that. I don't wanna know.
Time to drive through the chop and say hello to the authorities. A short walk from Falmouth harbour takes us across the istmus to English Harbour and Nelson's Dockyard. The checking in is easy with only a little patience required. Customs guy is cool, a little bored and he'd rather be home. The harbour-master lady is in a bad mood, won't smile and won't give more than one word for an answer to any question. She takes the money. The immigration is a bunch of guys and one girl, all smiles and giggles. I joke around the best I can and think I'm making an Antiguan relax and smile. But nothing could be further from the truth.
The Maltese Falcon was available for charter. Eight guest cabins only. Gym. A little submarine. Only US 450000 per week. That's about 45 bucks a minute or less than a dollar a second! I was considering a very short charter but it turned out that the price does not include food or drinks.
You can't make an Antiguan relaxed and happy, because they already are. Within hours of cruising (by foot) around the area, we found an atmosphere that is almost unmatched in my travels. People greeted and smiled. I always like to greet the locals on the streets and here every greeting was met and often they got theirs in first. The Antiguans weren't bowing their heads or looking up to anyone. People were proud and polite, friendly and warm, helpful and kind. For a place swarming with yachts and mega-yachts, receiving over 250 000 visitors plus over half million cruise ships passagners, that's one amazingly wonderful attitude towards "another white fella walking down the street with a fucking camera around his neck". That's almost 10 times their own population in strangers each year and still they are down to the point, friendly and polite to every single one. Well... they were at us, anyway. Maybe we're special. We are special, aren't we? We all are. Nevermind...
The compulsory scenic shot from Shirley Hights, showing English Harbour on the foreground, Nelson's Dockyard (the little inner bay in the middle) and Falmouth Harbour on the far-side (Red arrow points Aliisa)
One-legged Byron was the only one in the neighborhood who was begging for money but even he was pretty tame in international standards. Of course our euphoria was accelerated by cheap rum, blazing hot tropical weather and being able to call the crossing of Atlantic a "piece of piss", "a walk in a park" and "a piece of cake". The good feeling was made better when our friends Amy and Sym from Sy Quartermoon arrived. We had a great time "drinking piss" and "crawling in the park". Huh. It was a blur of happiness. The intended 5-days stretched to 10 days due to "unforeseen circumstances." (We're the masters of "unforseen circumstances")
Zauda serving the standard drink - Da Rom Ponch - in Mad Mongoose.
The only pain in the ass was the charges. Something like 5 USD per day, I think, with a daily anchoring fee, clearing-in fee, rubbish disposal fee and whatever. I don't like having to pay for anchoring, but I wasn't game enough to skip clearing in and out. With yachts coming and going everywhere, I may have been easy, though we saw one little patrol boat driving in the anchorage. As much as I'm passionate about freedom and dispassionate about rules, I do feel strongly about respect for other people and about keeping my own integrity. So we paid and did everything by the book, out of respect and for keeping our own integrity.
There were two supermarkets and virtually everything was available. The prices were high - as they are everywhere today.
The local buses ran frequently and covered the island well. Most were air-conditioned too, not a bad thing in the local heat and a fully packed load of sweaty passengers
St. Johns - the capital - had many small eateries with basic food at a reasonable price.
Sissies as we are, we didn't want to leave in strong winds or squally weather. That pretty much makes us residents because squalls and wind are the weather here. Yet, we managed a beautiful downwind run with not one drop of rain and smooth seas, overnight to the most un-Caribbean place in Caribbean.
