Getting Closer

We had a light breakfast in the hotel restaurant, then attempted a bit of a walk. Although the hotel appeared to be in a residential area, that areas was minute. We'd walk a block and run into an industrial area, try another block and find a highway, yet another led us to a dead end. Then it started to rain. Well, at least we hadn't got lost.

WW had managed to lose his ballpoint pen and his credit card. While he and the hotel reception person tried to work things out, I went through his briefcase for a third time. I finally found the credit card tucked into his little address book, which he'd had out to look up our friend Tasha's email address. So it's all her fault. We'd like to know what she did with the pen.

At the airport, we were handed more forms. We had to fill these out -- in blue or black ink -- before we could check in. Forgetting for a minute that we'd found another pen, we set off to buy an appropriate Trinidadian-form-filling one...then WW remembered. We filled in the wretched forms with me swearing I would never set foot on the [unprintable] island again. We braced ourselves for all manner of misery on Grenada.

The flight was uneventful and the Grenadian authorities were a blissful change from the Trinidadian stormtroopers. They glanced at out papers and waved us through. We were at the Port Salines Airport, inches from our wee boat.

As always, chaps were standing around outside the doors, offering taxi services. After a brief visit to a cash point to get Eastern Caribbean dollars, we accepted one such. He knew Spice Island Marina. We were almost back.