Author: Abbie

The Jungle

The interior of Grenada feels like a different world from where we live. Even in the dry season, the forest is lush in the mountains. We are prepared for a muddy hiking trail up to Mount Qua Qua.

It is rainforest, with an average rainfall of over 3 meters (~120 inches) per year in Grand Etang National Forest. In St. George’s, an average of 1.5 meters (~60 inches) of rain falls every year, compared with about 46 inches annually at our place in New York.

Our hike begins by the lake at Grand Etang. We took the bus up from St. George’s, bringing along a neighbor friend of Stella’s. Even before we begin hiking, some young mona monkeys greet us from the trees, dangling to reach the bananas we offer them. Then we walk down the paved road to the lake in a crater.

Standing by the lake, we cannot see the top of Mt. Qua Qua, which is shrouded by clouds. From lake level, the trail heads up stairs cut into the exposed earth. We are lucky in getting a pretty dry day. The trail is solid for now, but I can imagine how fast it could turn into a slick, goopy hike.

We follow the clear trail as it winds up and up towards a ridge. Long before we reach the summit of Mount Qua Qua, the views are spectacular. Along the way, we get a series of perspectives on the Grand Etang lake. From the ridge, we can look southwest, seeing all the way to the white curve of Grand Anse Beach. Further on, we can look northeast and see Telescope Point, near Grenville.

The whole way up, I am gasping, but not from effort. I keep stopping, arrested by beauty. The verdant mountains rolling to the sea. The pink-purple orchids. The lake crowned by its quiet crater. The ferns that are burgundy when unfolding and new, then turn glossy green. I feel like Grover in the old Sesame Street sketch: Near….Far….Near….Far.

The trail has only a few signs, marking the turn-off to Annandale Falls, then—not far from the summit—the trail down to Concord Falls. Someone scratched off Concord Falls and wrote “Dead End” above it. Someone else countered with “Is Possible,” also etched into the peeling paint. It makes us want to try it sometime.

About a month earlier, Andrew and Sam hiked this island from coast to coast over the highest point, Mount Saint Catherine (~2575 feet elevation). Their hike started by taking the bus to Grenville. From there, they headed west up to the summit. A trail led down the other side from the summit, taking them through beautiful farms and past the Diamond Chocolate Factory, all the way to Victoria on the west coast. In Victoria, they got the bus back to St. George’s, completing the loop with over twelve miles of hiking under their feet.

On Mount Qua Qua, Sam beats the rest of us to the top by about thirty minutes. When he arrives, the clouds surround the summit. By the time we get there, the view is clear. Wisps of clouds move through as we sit and eat our peanut butter and jelly or Nutella sandwiches.

On our way back to the lake, it rains briefly, but the views are unmarred. The girls play with the straggly cats while we wait for the bus. We have promised them ice cream back in St. George’s after a good hike.

The Visitors

On the squiggling road from Grand Etang, we take a hard right turn. It’s the kind of turn that folds back onto itself downhill, requiring stopping and reversing several times. We are in a rented Honda CRV, with our friends Amy, Dan, Killian, and Linda following in the rental car they’ve nicknamed The Shoebox. The driving is powered by steady encouragement (passengers) and intermittent profanity (driver).

We safely park beside a small building where they take an entrance fee and sell us a couple of souvenirs for friends. Beside the building are some macaws in a cage with a sign on it: Danger—Velociraptor Containment.

A paved path beyond the macaws leads past a small bar and restaurant to the falls. Annandale Falls is a 30-foot falls surrounded, as Lonely Planet says, “by a grotto of lush vegetation.” It’s true. There’s also a concrete platform for jumping.

Our first visit to Annandale Falls—just the four of us—was on a Saturday. Local teenagers lounged on the rocks and platform, joking and taking running jumps to leap into the pool below the falls. Some of them shampooed their hair, then jumped in again. They shouted and laughed. One kid offered to let me photograph him jumping from the top of the falls themselves, for a small donation.

Some days, the locals avoid Annandale Falls. When the enormous cruise ships dock in St. George’s, their human cargo disperses by bus taxi and water taxi. They fill the lovely and easily accessed places like Annandale Falls and Grand Etang and Grand Anse Beach. Places we love, too.

With our friends, though, we have the falls and jumping platform to ourselves. Sam jumps first. He pushes off to clear the rocks, then tucks his long legs to maximize splashing. Some of the rest of us follow.

The water is cold and fresh. I have become so accustomed to the sea water that I expect salt on my lips. Freshwater is sweet.

When we’ve had our fill of jumping, we towel off and return to the cars and the drive back to sea level. Our timing takes us through downtown St. George’s at the chaotic rush hour after school dismissal. School kids in uniform move along and across the streets in groups. The road past the bus terminal is clogged with people and buses and traffic. At last, we spool out of town onto the curve around the Carenage, heading home.

On another day, we go the other direction past Spiceland Mall and up a hill through a resort under construction. It will be sleek and grand, with a glass lobby overlooking the length of Gran Anse The sign identifies it as one of Grenada’s Citizenship By Investment Projects, where you buy a condo starting at $200,000 and get a Grenadian passport as part of the deal.

From the hilltop, we overlook Morne Rouge Beach (also called BBC Beach), a U-shaped cove filled with turquoise water edged with gleaming white sand. It seems unreal.

Our first time there, I had packed PBJ sandwiches and dragged a reluctant Stella to check out the beach. We took the bus to Spiceland Mall, then walked up over the hill in the hottest part of the day. Having spent our walking energy, we lay our blanket on the nearest patch of beach with patchy shade. It was extra windy, blowing fine sand at us, coating our sweaty sunscreen skin and filling every crevice. We left grumpy, proof that it is even possible to be grumpy in paradise.

During their stay here, my sister and her family visited the beach without us one morning. It was gorgeous, they said. The fish tacos were amazing. Try it again! They were right.

From the hilltop, we follow the road as it switches back down to the concrete steps. Beside the steps, La Plywood Bar looks just like it should, with wooden pallets and boards. Next to La Plywood is Sur la Mer Restaurant, which sounds really fancy but you can walk up to the window in your swimsuit and sandy feet to order delicious rotis and fish tacos and cold drinks. And we do.

Just over halfway down the beach is our favorite spot. Three sea almond trees form a triangle, perfect for hanging two hammocks and spreading a beach blanket in deep shade. Small pink blossoms blow onto us from a different nearby tree, as if sprinkled for our delight. Behind a fence, someone’s reggae is just the right volume.

Here, the waves barely form waves. We can bob around and swim, completely relaxed. We visit this beach again and again, craving the idyllic combination of shade trees and calm water.

There isn’t much to see with a snorkel mask, but one day our friend Dan fishes up a nice pair of sunglasses from the bottom with his toes. With our friends Bruce and Jake, I have the rare treat of a true hammock nap. With the Revell-Craft family, the kids excavated sand and built castles.

From beaches to mountain waterfalls, Grenada is a beauty. In September 2004, though, Hurricane Ivan raged across the island. It damaged or destroyed 90% of buildings, devastated nutmeg orchards, and ripped down swaths of rainforest. Prior to 2004, Grenada’s economy relied on agriculture, but thanks to the 2003 construction of a cruise ship pier, tourism was poised to rebound quickly. The first post-hurricane cruise ship docked in November 2004. Yachting and sailing gained popularity. Tourism grew to almost half of Grenada’s GDP, with around 500,000 tourists visiting annually (fewer at the height of the pandemic).

Despite these astonishing numbers, Grenada seems to retain much of its character. They have rebuilt and recovered since Ivan, but much of the island is hard to access, physically and culturally. Even as they share with us a taste of the island’s natural beauty, the nitty-gritty of life here still belongs to the Grenadian people.

The Revolution

Standing on the wide stone wall of Fort George, I can feel the layers of history. The view of the city is beautiful. Cannons on either side of me point towards the turquoise ocean. The stones are weathered. Poised above the entry to the port, the strategic advantage of Fort George is clear. From here, the French, then British, could defend its harbors.

During their reign, Britain developed a plantation economy—primarily nutmeg and cocoa—by abducting and enslaving people from Nigeria and Ghana. By the time enslaved people were emancipated in 1834, the “Spice Island” population was mostly of African descent.

For the next hundred years, Britain ran Grenada from afar by appointing a governor and limiting voting rights to the elite. Eric Matthew Gairy led the trade union in violent resistance to this system, and Britain ultimately granted Grenada their independence in 1974.

Eric Gairy became prime minister of the newly independent nation, but his political party—Grenada United Labour Party (yes, GULP)—became corrupted. Gairy maintained a private group of militants called the Mongoose Gang. As opposition to him grew, people were attacked or disappeared. In breaking up one protest, the Mongoose Gang killed a man named Rupert Bishop, father of Maurice.

The left-wing New Jewel Movement formed, gaining popular support for change. Maurice Bishop emerged as a leader. On March 13, 1979, the armed movement took control in a nearly bloodless coup while Gairy was abroad. Maurice Bishop became prime minister of the People’s Revolutionary Government.

Incidentally, Andrew was just under a year old at the time and living with his parents and older sister in the tiny fishing town of Gouyave along Grenada’s west coast. They were somewhat removed from the main action in St. George’s, but still found their lives and movements affected by shifting unrest and curfews. They completed their time in Grenada later that summer as the new government dug into its agenda.

With Marxist underpinnings and their motto, “Forward Ever, Backward Never,” the People’s Revolutionary Government (PRG) set to work improving education, employment, health care, infrastructure, and agriculture. They posted billboards proclaiming, “Never Too Old To Learn,” and trained people of all ages. They enacted laws to protect fair pay and maternity leave for women. With help from Castro’s Cuba, they began building a runway on the Southern end of the island, which is today’s airport. They were ambitious. They made mistakes.

From their interactions with Grenadians, the Gaschos retain an impression of the revolution as damaging and disruptive to people’s lives. There is also evidence for people’s significant support of the revolution. Today—only 44 years after the coup—opinions still run strong in support or critique of Gairy and Bishop.

Within and surrounding this new government, disagreement festered. Gairy supporters remained. The PRG banned the capitalist newspaper and handled dissent by jailing vocal opponents. Division inside the party resulted in Bernard Coard—Bishop’s deputy—taking control. Maurice Bishop was placed on house arrest by his own army.

On October 19, 1983, the people filled the streets and marched to his house, freeing him. They convened at Fort George. The army arrived. Violence ensued. Some people escaped by road or by jumping from the fort walls. Maurice Bishop (age 39) and ten others were then executed by firing squad.

I turn from the cannons and the ocean now to look down into the large square courtyard. So much happened on this spot in this nation about twice the size of Staten Island. So much was dreamed and lost.

On October 19, the army immediately enacted a strict curfew across the island. Citing concern for American medical students and fear of Russia gaining another communist foothold in the Caribbean, U.S. president Ronald Reagan deployed nearly 2,000 U.S. troops to the tiny island nation.

In justifying this military action, Reagan did not mention the scant intelligence they possessed regarding Grenada, the speculative nature of his concerns, or the desire for a America-bolstering success on the heels of the devastating October 23 attack on U.S. military barracks in Lebanon.

On October 25, 1983, the United States invaded Grenada in the controversial and inaptly named Operation Urgent Fury. The People’s Revolutionary Government was unseated. A U.S.-approved interim government was installed, headed by Governor-General Paul Scoon. In 1984, the New National Party won general elections, and Grenada has maintained a democratic constitutional government.

Grenada still contains this turbulent political history, but it is also a small island of around 120,000 people. I look across Fort George at the town of St. George’s, where political opponents—even those who were once armed against each other—are living as cousins and neighbors and in-laws and coworkers, as they were before the revolution.

Today, there is a rejuvenated civic energy under the recently elected Prime Minister Dickon Mitchell. He is a young (my age) forward thinker who has been compared in some ways with Maurice Bishop. The future of Grenada holds possibility. Meanwhile, Grenada is evidence of a small population’s ability to live together somehow, despite deeply held philosophical differences and a painful history of division.

The Forts

After 1657, the island belonged to the French for just over a hundred years. It became an exporter of sugar cane (also distilled into rum). They constructed Fort Royal on a small hill along the ocean near what would become the town of St. George’s.

In 1763, as part of the Treaty of Paris, France ceded Grenada to Britain, who renamed the strategic fort overlooking the port and ocean: Fort George.

In an apparently rapid change of heart, the French invaded Grenada in 1779 and defeated the British. During their four-year tenure, the French built high hilltop forts facing inland, which would have stopped their own invasion if the British had thought to build them. The forts never fired a shot, though, since the Treaty of Versailles gave the island back to the British in 1783.

We like to explore the forts in the last hour of daylight, then watch the sun set over the ocean.

Fort Matthew is larger and sits slightly below Fort Frederick on Richmond Hill. Since being a military bunker, Fort Matthew has also been a mental institution. The U.S. Invasion in 1983 left it in ruins, but some websites state that you can still reserve it for private events.

Today, the fort is mostly stone and weeds. There is an 18^th century kitchen with an arched brick ceiling and big wood-heated kettles, but also some mid-20^th century cabinets and electrical wiring. We leave the kitchen and walk past a sign indicating where not to urinate.

Beyond another wall is a courtyard with a stage. Behind the stage is a row of cells with wooden doors and small barred windows. Several of them have signs stating, “Dressing Room.”

Stairs lead to a lower level, past a huge room with the wooden floor rotted out and replaced by vegetation. Around the back wall, a tunnel leads into the darkness. We like to follow it, bent to avoid the low curved ceiling. The dropping sun pours in side tunnels, lighting our way. Bats begin to leave their hanging spots, fluttering into the evening. The whole thing is deliciously creepy and seems like it should be off-limits, but is open for us to explore.

We leave Fort Matthew and climb to Fort Frederick, which has a couple of interpretive signs. This fort features stone-walled levels with open grassy areas. The views are breathtaking in all directions.

Inland, the green-carpeted mountains layer up and away from us, with folds and valleys. We can see Sam’s turquoise school building with the adjacent open sports field in the high sloping valley of Tempe. Facing South, we can see the peninsulas of Fort Jeudy and Lance aux Epines and the uniformly peach-colored buildings of St. George’s University.

To the west, the sun eases to the horizon. Below us, the town of St. George’s glows in pastels, houses stacked up the hillside behind Fort George, which is in our direct line of sight.

One evening, two men arrive on top of Fort Frederick with a huge kite. Kites are popular in Grenada around Easter, and although this type of hexagonal kite makes a grating buzzing sound while flying, I love to see people of all ages enjoying the pull of wind on a string. These men launch their kite into the setting sun.

On another evening, we brought some beers and watched the kids cartwheel around the grass while the sky grew orange and pink. Most evenings, a few people meet there to practice Kung Fu.

The wind blows steadily at the top of Fort Frederick. At sunset, the island feels peaceful, despite the original purpose of these walls and a rocky history.

Life has gotten away from my ability to write about it. During the past month, we’ve been all over the place with friends and family who have visited here. To catch up, I’m going to post nine installments over the next few weeks, not in chronological or ranked order, but with each piece centered on a place, an experience, some history, and some thoughts. Nine Days of Grenada.

Day One: The Leapers

In the beginning, there were volcanoes. Starting around two million years ago, volcanic eruptions emerged from the ocean about 500 miles north of today’s Venezuela. They rose to over 2,500 feet above the sea formed the 120-square-mile island of Grenada into peaks and folds and crater lakes.

Then, plants and animals arrived from South America, finding home on the now-dormant volcano. Rain fell heavily in the higher elevations, so rivers tumbled down the mountains and rainforests grew. In the lower coastal areas, leguminous trees and cactus species adapted to drier conditions.

The first people on Grenada were Taino (or Arawak), an indigenous South American people who arrived maybe three thousand years ago. Around 1000 AD, the Kalinago (or Carib) people arrived and either killed or absorbed the Taino. The Kalinago people guarded the island when Columbus first glimpsed it in 1498, and they chased off the British attempt to settle here in 1609.

In 1650, the French arrived. They spent the next seven years taking the island from the Kalinago people, who put up a strong resistance. It culminated in the French pursuit of the last small group of Kalinago women, children, and men to a precipice over the sea at the north end. When the French closed around them, they jumped to their deaths to avoid capture. This cliff and the town that grew up around it bear the name Sauteurs (sah-teers)—Leapers.

We decide to take the bus the length of the island to stand at that spot. Leaper’s Hill. We hail a number one bus to St. George’s terminal, then get on a number five bound for Sauteurs. The bus passengers include several small children and one baby, all with their moms, as well as a few young men and one older woman who snoozes in the backseat beside Andrew, also snoozing. The ride takes almost an hour and a half, long enough to feel some sort of camaraderie with our fellow passengers.

It’s after noon when we tumble out on main street, Sauteurs. The sun is hot and wind is fresh and salty. I walk out on a long pier to photograph Leaper’s Hill from below. Then we find lunch—a couple of chicken rotis (bone-in) and some bakery items including a meatloaf (flat bread with a thin layer of maybe pepperoni in the middle of it) and a piece of fry bread folded like a taco filled with shredded saltfish, cabbage, and carrots.

We carry the lunch up to the St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Church cemetery, which fills the space up to the cliff edge. We sit at the base of the Leaper’s Hill monument, chewing our food and thinking of the people who jumped from here.

The story’s specifics vary. Maybe it was thirty people; maybe the men took the children into their arms as they leapt. Their voices fell from the narrative, so we cannot know. I imagine their despair. Their desperate choice.

Today, my fried saltfish bread taco is delicious. We rinse the roti from Stella’s fingers before walking back to town via the ruins of a previous structure, a crumbling covered deck overlooking the same leap. From there, it does not take long to walk the length of Sauteurs to Irvin’s Bay, where Andrew spent a childhood summer. Stella fiddles with hermit crabs until we’re ready to head home.

On the road south, our number five bus driver handles the bus like a go-kart, at maximal speed with plenty of steering wheel action. A few months ago, this ride would have twisted me into spasms of panic. Now I am grinning as I flop around in the very back corner. I am loose and relaxed, catching air on the bigger bumps.

We careen along the coast between Sauteurs and St. George’s. The driver lays on the horn, passing another bus, then a car, then whipping around a curve. Everything rattles. Reggae fills in the cracks. The bus stops to lose or gain passengers, a sack of potatoes, some crates of beer bottles. At one stop, a woman reaches out the window to hand off two tickets for Reggae-fest to a waiting teenager.

A man climbs aboard with a gleaming hand-carved wooden cane and greying locs. He grins and rants about music and The White Man, then he seat-dances with dramatic arm and hand poses and big facial expressions until all of us sitting behind him are smiling.

When the bus comes to a stop at the St. George’s terminal, I feel like I’ve been in a vigorous massage chair inside a sauna. I walk up to the market for onions and callaloo, which come with a marriage proposal from the old man selling them from a grocery cart. I continue down the street and buy a squash and fresh thyme and a pineapple before getting the relatively placid number one bus back to our neighborhood.

Later, I see that although I walked less than a mile today, my phone has recorded 4.4 miles of turbulence. It seems accurate. Distance has been traveled.