Rain, Rain, Rain

In the night, it rained. Oh my it rained.

I had given our Eager Crew the rundown on the head, the shower, the necessity of always holding on to something, etc. We had discussed the weather and the rain that would, inevitably, fall. I failed to tell them about that little porthole in their berth. The one over the hullside cabinet. The one right over where you automatically put things like magazines. The magazines you have brought to feed your hosts’ need for reading material.

It rained cats and dogs on Thursday night. The magazines were, for the most part, dry by Saturday. The Walrus and the most recent New Yorker had taken the brunt of the damage. They were laid out on a towel and their pages gently turned. I tended to them every hour or two, separating their pages. Their sanctuary was WW’s and my berth during the day, the salon table at night. They are now (Saturday) both being read. So that’s alright, O Best Beloved, do you see?

On Friday, it rained pretty much nonstop all day. Which was fine, because we had decided to hold provisioning until D and E could join us. I spent an hour in a Kingstown Internet cafe while the other three pottered about in a mildly exploratory mode. D found some great sandals for next to nothing, so we went back to her store and WW and I each got a pair. They are very comfy.

Then we went to the market, which is wonderful. With bags full of callaloo, ginger, green onions, carrots, oranges, star fruit (carambola), plantain, tomatoes and limes, we were led by WW to the fish market. A raucous place, we viewed the fish available. Small silvery things, big tunny, and a mass of red speckled fish looking very grouperish. They turned out to be red hinds, among the finest of eating fish. WW chose three and they were turned over the the fish cleaning guy. Wielding an immense machete-like cleaver, he whacked off their fins with amazing accuracy. Then he scaled them. Then he fileted them. Then he asked if I wanted to make soup. Yeah, ok. He trimmed the gills and, with one pull, out came gills and guts. He cut the heads from spines and put them in the bag with our filets. That bag went into a bag of ice and we went outside to pay.

WW had read or been given a recommendation for a restaurant called Aggie’s. We asked on the street and were told it was a long long way. “Go to KFC. Turn left and go up the hill. Look to the right at the Carib Cell dealer.”

Our experience has been that these long long ways are maybe a 10-minute walk. So we set off to find KFC. As we were walking along, a chalkboard advertised a rooftop cafe. We decided to explore. It was great. Sandwiches and hamburgers and, of course, beer. We cancelled the climb to Aggie’s and ate there.

After lunch, we went to a nearby supermarket to get the last of our provisions. WW called Preacher and he was outside by the time we were done. We schlepped our bags of goodies through the rain, back to the van, where Preacher asked if we minded him giving a lift to one of his sisters in the Lord. The first time WW heard the expression, he thought it was sister-in-law. By now, we were all well versed in Preacher’s healing ways, his exorcisms, his laying on of hands. The spirit of the Lord is strong in Preacher. I found it a serious pleasure to ride around with him, listening to his tales.

Back on Django, we decided to leave the marina and go to a nearby anchorage for the night. It was a brief motor, but gave our eager crew a chance to help cast off and moor.

That evening, the weather was overcast but not actively raining. WW grilled the red hind in packages with onion and tomato. I experimented with the remaining breadfruit, WW having announced that he did not like it. At all. I grated it, rinsed it, added grated onions and made a sort of breadfruit rösti. It was a hit.

Then we sat outside, sipped fabulous Barbados rum, and sang songs till we could sing no more.