 |
|
|
We see mudslides, evidence of loose rocks, yawing stretches of space where there once was land. Highway crews are cleaning up the hard-hit east side of the island. The landscape defies this scruffy muddle of daily life, calling to the spirit of the islanders who exist calmly in paradise. The magnificence of perpetually clouded summits on rainforest hills meeting the sea becomes magical when the rainbow swaths the sky with its daily, misty double exposure of reality. Portsmouth town is divided by the Indian River; it hosts Ross Medical School, and offers an industrial maritime beachfront as well as a mixing of narrow streets that seem to mirror British colonial history on the island. This deepwater port once harbored both Columbus’ ships and Yankee whalers. Yachts and tall ships with international flags, commercial vessels loading bananas, cruise ships are moored in sight of Cabrits National Park. The squad of hawkers and tour guides have supplanted the original inhabitants of the island. The original inhabitants of Dominca, the Carib Indians, were relocated to the Central Forest Reserve south of the villages whose French names correspond to their purpose: Dos d’Ane (Donkey’s Back), La Source, Bornes (milestones). This Carib territory is distinct. It is still taboo to allow non-Carib men to live in the area for more than a few visiting days. Carib women who marry outside their clan must leave the region. The mountains, Morne aux Diables and Morne Diablotins to the south, are verdant, yet “morne” evokes dismal and denotes dreary. Could this signify the reported murders of the Carib chiefs when Dominca was fought over by English and French colonists, or does it denote the purported untimely deaths of unfaithful spouses who were forced to jump from the cliffs of the mountains? The quake aftermath impacts the people visibly in the serious demeanor at Christmas Eve Midnight Mass. The service is held at the Portsmouth Market, an open-air space, the roof of which is held up by columns. Tonight the market is a temple. The storage containers by the seawall stand silent like sentinels; rows of folding chairs face the altar decorated simply by a palm at its base. The choir, standing and facing the altar from the seawall side, sings in a melodious voice for an hour of song. People show each other respect with a handshake or hug; folks in elaborate straw hats and polyester tropical prints exchange blessings. Community is strengthened over coffee and cake which is sold to rebuild the church. Ritual in Dominica
is embedded in the daily rhythm of life as the same tasks are repeated
with deliberate attention to detail. Hiking is our ritual, and we set out
on Christmas morning to find Syndicate Falls, one of the falls that form
on the mountain streams that flow to the sea; we use roots and rocks as
footholds on our ascent. Our hope is to trek eight hours into the mountains
to Boiling Lake, the cauldron of volcanic steam, has been foiled; it stopped
boiling since the quake. We use our previous knowledge of the mountains
to find the Falls: they are by a mango tree, near a pineapple field, and
close to a small shack.
We spot a banana-green shack used by harvesters. I collect grapefruits that have fallen into the grass due to their weight and the strong winds. We arrive at a crossroads, staying to the right on a narrow trail cut between groves of bananas and oranges as heavy as grapefruits. A dirt-stained man in high, black boots who is cutting down his Christmas plantains with a machete directs us to the correct path. “They raise the price on bananas, but I get peanuts”, he states simply as we pass. My waterproof hiking boots are muddy, and I think of barefoot natives harvesting bananas in the rainy season. Driving in Dominica is an exercise in dexterity. Legend states that Columbus, when asked about the topography of the island by Queen Isabella, crumpled a balled piece of paper and dropped it to the ground. The reflexes of a jaguar, the sonar of a bat, and an eagle-eye are needed for survival on erratically twisting roads filled with continuous curves and blinding flora that juts into your face as you navigate narrow coastal roads. Many Dominicans do not drive at all, preferring to take the “transports” from village to village, or to walk. People used to live in villages linked only by mule transport up until the first road was built in the 1950’s. Dominicans have been driving for only a few decades, and approach the wheel of their favored Toyota, Nissan, or Mitsubishi with a teenager's abandonment. It’s not unusual to find them in the middle of roads with no yellow midlines, swerving to avoid potholes, marring the road every ten feet or so, cutting the air as they whiz by. Being bumped into a ditch could mean a fall of hundreds of feet into a gorge. Diving Dominica Along the Eastern Coast of Dominica, the the Rivière Blanche is dotted with villages until river meets the sea in a triumphant burst of surf at the southern point of the island near Grand Bay. As we stop to contemplate the distance to Martinique, we decide to stay at Grand Bay in the capital of Rouseau; there we can escape having to drive hairpin turns on the potholed roads that take you north to Portsmouth. Our friend Derek has invited us to snorkel at his place, a very appealing invitation. “Here it is! Stop!”, I exclaim, as we clip pass the enclosed blue-and-white villa. We put the jeep in reverse to enter the driveway, noticing the welcoming touches you often find in Dominica: a birdbath in the garden; the patio bar, a hot tub and pool under breadfruit trees; immaculate rooms with huge showers; the balcony dining room where we’ll soon swap tales over plates of creole rice and beans. Some claim Dominica is one of the best dive spots in the world because of its steep cliffs and volcanic past. Divers from all over the world come to Dominica to search for seahorses, batfish, and unusual marine life. Although most come from the States, there are also divers from France and Sweden on the island. The forgotten paperbacks in Italian, German, Dutch, and Japanese attest to the global clientele traveling great distances in order to dive in the waters of Dominica. Night divers breathing bubbles through tropical moonlit waters are the most daring. Phrases like “Awesome, and another world” ripple through their talk. After diving their wetsuits are slung over the railings of the villa. Out in the harbor, small motorboats pass other divers in the dying light of the day. Showered divers amble out to the patio for a rum punch; they wait for dinner to be served. Dinner is flying fish, tuna, whitefish, or mahi mahi - all caught in the harbor. The villa overlooks the spot where most divers spend their afternoon. Fish wll be served with vegetables or creole concoctions like breadfruit pie. Divers are a rugged lot, rising early to fuel up with a healthy breakfast of banana, papaya, and French toast before embarking on their morning dive. The people from Marseille hop onto the advanced dive boat with a “voilà” attitude. The rest of us travel 20 minutes out to the Marine Reserve, jump into a sea of sergeant majors, blue chromis, coral of all kinds, as well as barrel sponges that are wide enough to ‘swallow’ several of us. Our guide, Gus, snorkels 25 feet to the bottom, where he points out a moray eel, but no one is brave enough to get close. After returning for a conventional lunch, we’re ready for an afternoon whale safari. We soon observe the blue shadows of several sperm whales; we spot their blowholes from afar. The catamaran’s hydrophone enables us to zone in. One cetacean does her Christmas dance for us, alternating between hiding herself and sunning herself. We can observe a rainbow in the sky and in the distance we can see purple rain clouds move across the island. Our boat powers into the sunset, followed by dozens of dolphins that jump in and out of the ocean. They reappear just when we think they are out of our sight. It is a wondrous moment, watching the dolphins. We head back for a rum punch and into town where we watch local boys flirt with the stoic Swedes and French. Everyone smiles; it has been another Dominica day; another nature island day. To contact Claudia Click Here If you
would like to submit an article to Escape From America Magazine Click
Here
|
