Visiting the Chocolate Factory

            I spend a considerable amount of time at our desk, writing, painting, surfing, etc.  When I take momentary breaks from whatever I’m engrossed in, I usually end up looking out our back window.  It’s not a bad view; in between the intersecting branches of our “backyard’s” few trees, I can see True Blue Bay and the flashy indigo corner of Dodgy Dock, nestled against a backdrop of modest mountains and the heavy clouds that skim their peaks.  Then I have the misfortune of casting my eyes lower and spotting the ever-present lurker who likes to haunt the bench in our backyard.  He’s an SGU worker—and I use the term loosely—a Grenadian with an SGU maintenance uniform and Rasta hat.  For hours he just lounges on that bench with his shirt spread open and a great heap of flesh spilling out.

Each picture was taken on a different day. I feel like I want his job...

            Last Sunday I went on a field trip with the photography club.  The main attraction was Belmont Estates, though we also stopped at Pearls Airport and drove through Grand Etang to visit the monkeys’ hangout.

I think they were disappointed that no one brought bananas for them

            I have to say that this trip to Belmont was much better than my last.  This time, they were actually expecting us, so they had the whole tour planned out and samples prepared.  We visited the birds and the monkeys and, while the rest of the group was enjoying their (rather expensive) buffet-style lunch, Natalie and I got to visit with Carl, the goat, and Chocolate and Vanilla, the donkeys.  Since the whole photography club was there, I didn’t feel awkward about living behind my camera.  Everyone was.  We were basically a group of walking shutterbugs.

First stop: Pearls Airport

Fresh cocoa beans to sample

Dried cocoa bean

Bellmont kitty

One of the turtles at Bellmont's "petting zoo" area

One of the adolescent monkeys reaching out for rocks

Young Mona Monkeys

Vanilla, the donkey

Chocolate, the donkey

Carl, the goat

Cocoa tea samples

            Speaking of bugs…  I wore insecticide for our visit.  I’m happy to say that it kept the mosquitoes at bay.  By the time we left, I was bite-free.  Or so I thought.  That evening I discovered two things about sand flies: 1.) They are unperturbed by bug spray and 2.) their bites are unmercifully itchy, hours after the attack.  My legs looked like a novel written in Brale.

Ho Hum to the Humdrum

            I didn’t blog last week; I know.  It’s not like I didn’t consider it.  I looked at my blog and said to myself, “But all I have to report is the same old thing.”  And it’s true.  I’ve been busy doing the same things I did the week before and the week before.

            I went on a hash.  Are you surprised?  Of course not; I’ve been writing about hashing every week.  This one was pretty short.  Half of the run was through a creek and how I managed not to slip on the rocks, I’ll never know.  When we emerged from the water, we found ourselves in a pasture, having to bounce back and forth across the path, dodging cow pies, while their producers watched bemusedly.

Forever Twenty-Nine, The Spider Hunter

            In many ways I am like my father: bony, monkey-toed, dorky.  I looked like a freckled pale Gumby as a kid and… oh, wait! I still do.  But I’m pretty sure that’s a Gray gene I also share with my old man.  Last Saturday, our similarities caused a minor panic attack for me, though.

            Despite my apparent inability to regulate my body’s temperature—or even effectively breathe for that matter—in Grenada’s humidity and heat, I opted for the running trail on Hash #745 last Saturday.  Though initially fooled by the easy, even trail/paved road, I was brought to my senses when hash-reality collided with me in the form of a 60-degree one-thousand-foot incline.  (Insert expletive.)  My saving grace during the gasping, single file march (actually, more like a crawl because you’d better believe I was using all resources at my disposal to lurch forward, including extra limbs), was Elly, the cute little dog brought along by a couple friends.  When Elly needed to stop for a drink, we all got to stop for a drink!  Ah what a break will do when you’re on the brink of heat stroke and watering the jungle with your sweat!

Taken from the middle of our ascent

Holy Guacamole!

            We’ve been on the island for about a month and a half now, and I’m ashamed to admit that my first visit back to the beach was last Saturday.  I’ve sort of fallen into a nasty habit of saying, “Well, the beach isn’t going anywhere.”  Too often I forget that I am.  Maybe I need to write on my bathroom mirror You’re Not Going to Be Here Forever in the most vivid shade of lipstick I own.

            Last weekend was Family Weekend at SGU.  The school organized three days’ worth of events and activities as it played host to many students’ visiting families.  As Ivan’s wife and, therefore, family, I signed up to take part in a couple of the free events.  That is how Ivan and I found ourselves, Saturday morning, enjoying a free brunch with friends.  We followed the complimentary meal with rum tasting (also free).  Actually, I didn’t take part in the rum tasting since I’m not a fan of rum (gasp!) or, really, any hard liquor (double gasp!).  After the boozing, we watched about half of a chocolatier’s demonstration before hastily changing into beach gear and catching a bus to Magazine Beach.

Mmmm... free fried food!

Pig foot soup, complete with hairy pig feet!

What Lurks Beneath the Fort

            In my last post, I talked a lot about fruit.  In particular, I mentioned revisiting my opinion of passion fruit.  True to my word, we let our last passion fruit ripen another five days before cutting into it and trying the gooey center again.  My revised opinion: no change.  Actually, the fruit may have become more bitter with time!  I’ve been told eating the passion fruit with sugar and mixed up in a drink is far better than trying it raw.  Since that was our last fruit, though, I’m probably not going to be in any big hurry to try it again.

            On Sunday we took our usual stroll to our favorite fruit stand.  There we were pleasantly surprised to find two of our favorite types of mangoes!  One is the larger, plumper type, with small pits and soft flesh that is almost completely free of the bothersome fibers in most mangoes.  The fruit vendor referred to them as “rich people mangoes.”  The other type I’d only had once before when they were sold on campus last term.  They are very large—almost unidentifiable as a mango—and elongated, like an eggplant.  They have very thin, long pits and the flesh is almost buttery soft and bursting with flavor.  A single one of these mangoes makes for a meal!  After doing a little snooping, I believe the “rich people mangoes” are manila mangoes and the eggplant variety is a Madame Francis mango.  (Of course that’s subject to change if and when I learn better.)