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Turning turtle
It was a bad day for George Clarke, aged 73, of the Warrens, St Michael. It seems George had a heart attack at the wheel and by the time we arrived on the scene in Broad Street, Bridgetown’s main road, his car was straddling the pavement in front of Colombian Emeralds, having knocked over a large plant container and come to rest against a rather, by-then, bent looking street lamp. Unfortunately for George, he didn’t live to tell the tale.
It was probably an inglorious farewell to Bridgetown, our work there having been completed, or as close to being finished as need be buying bits and pieces for Fleur’s apartment. That done, we headed up the west coast to the Folkestone Marine Park, narrowly missing a wayward monkey which darted out across the road in front of us, to meet Monica and Michael from Westwater Adventures for a glass-bottom boat trip. And what a cracking little trip it was, out over coral reefs and a sunken boat and then onwards for a swim with the turtles. It is quite sensational to swim with these most curious of creatures, perhaps fifteen of them in the open sea, ranging from about one foot long to more than three feet. There were two rules; no hanging on and no swimming immediately behind them; aside from that we were free to enjoy their company, and enjoy it we did. All snorkeled up, we accompanied them for perhaps twenty-five minutes. One bloke, off another boat, with a bag of fish scraps was hand feeding one of the biggest turtles and we coat tailed, quite indescribable to watch it all from below the surface, and more the pity we didn’t have an underwater camera to record the action. Deeper, a large stingray circled menacingly and Lorenzo, the boat skipper’s son, dived down for Marty’s benefit to disturb a flatfish camouflaged on the sandy bottom.
With turtle-time up, we returned to the reef for a crash course on the various forms of coral (viewed through the glass bottom) and the dangers flame coral poses if it touches naked skin. It’s not called flame for no reason and the only known antidote to its burning sensation is urine, so perhaps the precaution is to swim with at least a half-full bladder. From the reef, we journeyed a short distance to the shipwreck to feed and swim with the coloured fishes. As in Phuket, these fish are so used to being fed that the water becomes a seething mass once food is thrown to them and, for those in the water with snorkeling gear, the scene is once again amazing. Neon coloured fish abound, from purples to yellows and greens, and among them plain old grey fish-coloured ones. Despite his father lamenting his son’s unsociable teenage traits, Lorenzo took it upon himself to guide Marty, pointing out various types of fish and then onto the reef for an underwater look at the coral. Not ones easily given to tipping, such was the trip we rewarded father and son handsomely.
From the sea we could see the various onshore luxury hotel developments along this part of the island; this is where the rich and famous hang out. The skipper ran through a list of stars that stay or who own property along this shore, and told us of seeing David Beckham and Wayne Rooney with his own two eyes. While this might be a playground for the beautiful he clearly had us marked. Don’t eat at the restaurants on this part of the island, he warned, they are just there to remove your money and charge about $B60 ($NZ45) a course just for lunch when you can get a perfectly good selection at the supermarket deli for about $10.
Good advice we thought as we headed to the Sunbury Plantation House, a 300 year old heritage home which gives an insight to life in a sugar plantation in the 18th and 19th centuries. Well, it gives an impression of how the white owners lived because we saw no evidence of how the approximately 250 slaves and apprentices (slaves in disguise) lived, slavery not having been abolished here until 1834. According to the guidebook Sunbury has been restored to the era of the planter elite, full of mahogany furniture and glassware, with a fine selection of prints portraying the island’s history. As well as being restored, and it is a tribute to fine architectural design, there is a excellent museum collection of buggies, saddles, cameras and, of all things, optical machinery and sight-testing equipment; most of the latter looking for all the world like instruments of torture. And if food on the west coast was expensive, the guide told us was that, for $US100 per person, we could enjoy a five course meal at Sunbury. If $US100 seemed a lot, we even balked at the Magnum ice creams in the gift shop at $US3.50 each.
This is a country of roundabouts, most named after someone famous (the latest being Ryan Brathwaite), but our favourite is the Emancipation Roundabout with its statue of a slave named Bussa, his chains shackles broken free, who in April 1816, led a revolt which led to reforms which eventually resulted in the end of slavery. It may have ended then but the freed slaves simply became tenants without rights and whose labour remained forced. And Sunbury is probably a reminder that not a hell of a lot has changed.