| 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.
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