the Dig and Flow

We Fry A Puddingwife

On the way home from Grand Etang, we stopped at the downtown fish market and bought produce from the street vendors. Our countertop back home that evening held thirteen types of fruits and vegetables, some of which I knew how to eat.

I’d purchased a bunch of green plantain-looking fruit. The seller assured me they were not plantains, but bluggo—a starchier banana relative used in soups or stews. When I asked if I could fry them, she advised me to slice them thin and eat like chips. They were indeed not quite plantains. The thick peels were hard to remove and left a residue on my fingers reminiscent of how astringent persimmons feel on my teeth. I sliced them thinly so the hot oil could do its work.

Meanwhile, Andrew addressed the fish. We used our Caribbean coastal fishes field guide to identify the largest blue beauty as a puddingwife (Haliochoeres radiatus), which we had hoped to see sometime while snorkeling or to reel in while fishing. The red fish with tiny blue spots was a coney (Cephalopholis fulva), a species Sam briefly caught while fishing last week. The other two were red hinds (Epinephelus guttatus). Our guidebook noted that both coney and red hind are hermaphroditic, just for our information.

Lucky for me, Andrew was glad to make sure the food had no eyes by the time it arrived on our plates. He dusted the filets with Fish-Fri we had brought from home for just such an occasion, then pan-fried them to perfection. They were all mild in flavor, and the puddingwife was slightly sweet, just as the fish market lady had promised. Sam had them in a bun. Stella had her bun with melted cheese.

The fried bluggo chips tasted like nothing, so we made a dip for them using Green Seasoning sauce. It’s a mild, thyme-based puree, useful as marinade or as a condiment for just about anything. We’ve also been putting the local scotch bonnet pepper hot sauce on just about everything. We boiled some potatoes to have with hot sauce and ketchup and chopped a cabbage salad.

For tonight’s supper, I have decided to use the rest of the bluggo in a stew, as recommended. I’m learning.

Monkeying Around in the Mountains

Grand Etang National Park and Forest Reserve is a chunk of over 6,000 protected acres of mountainous forest in the middle of Grenada. Yesterday, we took the #6 bus from the St. George’s terminal up to Grand Etang Lake, the water-filled crater of a volcano that last erupted around 12,000 years ago. The Grand Etang (French for “large lake”) sits at 1740 feet above sea level.

On the way, our bus driver had a particularly heavy foot and willingness to pass slower vehicles on the narrow road that folded on itself up and up. My soul left my body halfway there.

We tumbled out of the bus into cool breezy weather. Two vendors displayed their colorful fabrics and spices beside the parking lot. The visitor’s center perched on a hill, and strings of red, green, and yellow pennants—Grenada’s colours—adorned the path leading up to it. After I lowered my head between my knees for a bit, I could appreciate how beautiful it was there.

We walked down the paved road from the visitor center towards the lake. A park employee in a booth asked if we had seen the monkeys yet, then emerged from his booth with a bag of banana pieces. He led the way, scanning the treetops and saying, “Hoom hoomm.” A group with a tour guide stopped their van and joined us, so we embraced being monkey-seeking tourists.

With coaxing—the bananas and mangoes pickpocketed from Andrew’s backpack pouch—two Mona monkeys clambered onto the shoulders of willing participants. I cannot deny my complete delight in the soft padded foot-fingers and balanced weight on my arms and shoulders, even though the whole thing was contrived. Their tufted ears and the piercing dark eyes. The cheek-beards!

From there, we finished the short walk down to lakeside and admired the Koi fish rising around the dock. Local lore said Grand Etang was bottomless, but it measures about 20 feet deep. Marshy grasses rim the lake, then the land rises steeply to surrounding peaks.

We left the pavement for the shoreline trail to walk around the lake. This is one of several trails, and we hope to return to hike the one leading up to Mt. Qua Qua (elevation 2,339 ft). The shoreline trail, a classic narrow, muddy rainforest path, wound through boisterous vegetation. We spied an Antillean crested hummingbird, and got a good binocular-aided look at its purple mohawk and iridescent green back. Skipping the full loop, we backtracked our muddy sneakers to have PBJ’s by the visitor’s center.

To my intense relief, our return bus driver took it at half the speed and careful on the turns. I was able to enjoy the views from a front seat as we dropped back to sea level and the now-familiar heat and bustle of town.

Launching Our Kids

Sam left first today. It was his second day of school, and he’s already confident hailing the #1 bus all the way into the bus terminal in St. George’s. This ride is a rollercoaster, up to the top of the hill town and hairpinning back down again. You are certain that any minute the bus will clip a parked car or pedestrian on one side or dip a wheel into the deep concrete gutter on the other. It seems like in Harry Potter, where fixed objects jump out of the way of the careening Knight Bus.

At the terminal, Sam gets the #7 bus around the bend, past the national cricket stadium, and uphill on Tempe Rd. Around 7:30am, the bus carries many students, all in various versions of a school uniform, which gets them a discounted fare. It’s pretty neat to see how the bus drivers and tenders look out for all the uniformed school kids as they disperse throughout the city. Sam knocks a knuckle on the window for a stop just steps from his school.

Sam is attending St. George’s Institute. It’s a private secondary school of just over a hundred co-ed students, mostly Grenadian. The school has multiple buildings with large classroom windows to catch the breeze across the hill. The system has British origins. They nominate student leaders as prefects and have a house system for good-natured school competitions. Sam has sorted into the Amber Lions, who face off against Turquoise Tigers and Sterling Stallions. Their informal uniform is a gold polo shirt with dress slacks. On Mondays, though, they wear white dress shirts and a tie. They change into shorts for physical education.

Stella left second this morning for her first day of school, wearing her own uniform. She dresses each day in a navy-blue polo shirt and pleated khaki skirt. It’s her new favorite outfit. I accompany her in hopping on a #1 bus, heading towards Grand Anse, in the opposite direction from Sam. It’s a quick ride, winding down the busy main road. We knock the window at the Food Fair, across from the Radisson Beach Resort, and then walk about five minutes uphill to her school.

Stella is attending Island Montessori school. It has students from pre-primary through primary school (6^th grade) and some secondary school students. Stella’s in a classroom of twelve students, aged 9-12 years, and is lucky to have air conditioning in that classroom. The Montessori school also has houses: Earth (Stella’s house), Fire, and Water. When I picked her up outside the school gates this afternoon, she had just finished Kung Fu—their Thursday physical education.

Neither of our kids has ever been the new kid in school before. It’s big. Plus, there are schedule surprises and different maths and a Grenadian dialect to which to tune their ears. We’re rooting for them as they practice doing hard things.

For my part, I got my first solo time since we left New York. From Stella’s school this morning, I walked downhill and across to Grand Anse Beach. It was people-quiet. Most of the rows of lounge chairs were empty. I walked that piece of firm, damp sand with the waves just covering my ankles and splashing my calves. I walked to the far South end where the waves got bigger and broke on the rocks at the base of the cliff. From this view, I could see the entire curving beach. Grand Anse was moody today. The waves were a bit rowdy. Big cumulus clouds moved across the sky, looking like the breaking waves. Rain mist clung to the distant hills. The whole place mirrored my own mood after launching our kids.

Then I walked North, stopping once for a swim and once to buy mangoes and starfruit and golden apples. I walked to the other end, where concrete steps led up to the main road. I stood on the steps under a sea almond tree just in time for a cloudbursting rain. Watching the scenery disappear in heavy rain, I felt invigorated and also like I could take a nap. Everything is so much here. I was dripping wet from sweat and the swim and the rain. I wanted to drink in everything. The rain passed. I walked home.

Blackbelly Sheep & Elusive Doves

On Sunday, we took a giant, somewhat miscalculated walkabout to the backside of nowhere. It was pretty great.

Since we had a whole day with no other agenda, we schemed some kind of exploration to take us beyond what we’ve already seen. Hog Island seemed like a cool destination. It’s a small, undeveloped island reachable mostly by boat—if you have a boat—but also reachable by walking through Mt. Hartman National Forest, sanctuary of the critically endangered Grenada dove. Say no more.

We figured a bus could get us pretty close to Mt. Hartman, and we’d enjoy getting out of the city for a hike. We just didn’t estimate distances very well. We hopped off the bus and still had some walking before turning off at the Dove Sanctuary sign. As the road led out of town, the ratio of sheep to houses increased. The most common sheep we’re seeing here is the goat-looking Barbados Blackbelly sheep, an African-origin hair sheep (no wool) bred to survive heat, humidity, and parasites. Small fields of pigeon peas had scarecrows that looked like they might be outgrown school uniform shirts. There was an occasional cow. And dogs. Always dogs.

To Stella’s delight, the road was surfaced with pumice-y volcanic rocks. Soon, there were mostly trees lining the road. Even Andrew didn’t know the names of these trees, but some looked like they might grow bananas or papayas and many had fronds of tiny leaves and seed pods, sized from finger length to arm length.

We did not see any doves, which isn’t too surprising since there are only like 140 of them left in the world. The Grenada dove (Leptotila wellsi) is the National Bird of Grenada. They are, apparently, kind of chunky for a dove and, in my opinion, lovely. A thin black circle lines their eyes and they have white underside, light tan head and neck, with dark taupe wings and back. You can take a look at them and check out conservation efforts.

At some point—when the road tapered to a trail—we recalibrated. Hog Island was still a distance away, and while it sounded neat, the only way home after enjoying it would be retracing our steps. We veered right to follow the actual road, heading towards the peninsula of Lance aux Epines. This route took us through some seriously scrubby area, then an industrial area where a security guy eyeballed us—probably wondering how these tourists can get themselves so lost. After a turn through a narrow, woodsy stretch, we popped out by the immaculate Secret Harbour Boutique Hotel & Marina. Again and always, I am fascinated by the juxtaposition of things.

This slice of Grenada—Lance aux Epines—features many rental homes for vacationers and university folks and, as such, has a different vibe than our neighborhood. We wove our way up past some mansion-like houses perched in viewsy locations, then down past white people walking dogs on leashes and students waiting for the St. George’s University bus. With a bit of direction, we found the public access to Lance au Epines beach and sat in the shade of a palm for peanut butter sandwiches and mangoes.

Swimming refreshed us, then we brushed off the sand, reapplied socks and sneakers, and zigzagged back to the main road to catch a #1 bus back home. It was Sunday, so most of the buses were having a rest day. A guy driving a bus marked #1, which was not running as a #1 bus that day, stopped anyway because he saw us looking like we were stuck needing a bus. He only runs as a #1 sometimes because most of his business is as a taxi for university people, which pays better. Anyway, after four miles of walking, we were grateful for the lift home, where we all had a siesta.

We have not given up on the idea of walking to Hog Island, or on seeing Grenada doves. At some point, we’ll give it another try.

Barbados Blackbelly Sheep and Authentic Island Dog

What’s For Supper?

There is arriving, and there is daily living. There are the basic questions our bodies are asking us. Most pressing: What’s for supper?

To be clear, we are not roughing it here. Our Villa has electricity and running water (albeit not recommended for drinking). The kitchen is equipped with necessities for cooking and eating. Even so, it’s been a while since we’ve had a completely naked-inside refrigerator. We brought some dry goods in our suitcases, including the mac & cheese, but needed to stock up on everything else.

Foodland—”Your Family’s Favourite Food Store!”—is an easy walk, just under half a mile down the main road. So far, it has been a good place for basic things, plus jugs of bottled water. Food prices here are generally higher than home, with some items being astonishingly expensive. Our menu choices will bend to what is most reasonably available. This island of spice grows crops like nutmeg, and local fare features curry flavors. Walking the neighborhoods, the smells of stewing curry and grilling meat hit you in waves.

Within our family, we have a spectrum of palates. Stella prefers neutral tones, featuring vanilla and dairy products and predictability. She will try many new things as long as they are not fruit or fish or weird meat. Sam will eat any fruit, fish, or weird meat. He prefers to have some control over what and when he is eating. I will eat most things as long as they don’t disagree with my gut and are not things like fish eyeballs. Andrew will eat anything. Anything, I tell you.

St. George’s has a whole world of food beyond Foodland. On Day Two, Andrew and Sam headed out in pursuit of fruit and didn’t have to go far to find a stand along the street. They brought home passionfruit, mangoes, bananas, ripe plantains, limes, and a soursop that needed to ripen a few days. We’ve been squeezing limes into our water and tried the soursop today. The flesh is soft and fibrous, with a tangy flavor between papaya and melon or something. Its smooth black seeds remind us of pawpaws, but are smaller. Passionfruit is very seedy with a strong tart flavor all its own.

On Day Three, we all walked into downtown St. George’s, which is double the chaos of our own neighborhood and deserves its own blog posts. We delighted in the market, where we stocked up on the spices that make Grenada famous—nutmeg, curry, cinnamon, paprika, bay leaf, all sold in little baggies. We also bought produce—breadfruit, papaya, callaloo, cabbage, onions. One vendor, a woman about my age, was kind enough to explain the identity of some clumps of dried, squiggly, tan-colored stuff everyone was selling. Sea moss. She also explained how to make it into a smoothie, so I bought some.

Meanwhile, Andrew and Sam wove their way to the fish market. They returned with a tuna chopped into steaks, plus half the head, all packed on ice. That night we seared the tuna steaks for supper, then the next night, seasoned them into fish burritos with cabbage in lime dressing and a side of fried breadfruit, which tastes like potato.

As a treat, we sat down for lunch at BB’s Crabback Caribbean Restaurant—”I Can Resist Everything But Temptation”—in a lovely spot beside the harbor. As the food took an hour to be served, it was good practice in sitting still and taking in the light on the water and the salty breeze. We had the lunch special of creole fish or chicken, fried plantains, and rice & beans, and one order of mac & cheese and French fries. It was all delicious and soothing to the spirits.

Not all our meals are so exotic, though. We are also eating spaghetti and peanut butter sandwiches, and the kids have tapped the pop tarts we brought. It seems true that where ever you go, there your appetite is.