Before I go into the details of my four days on St. Lucia, a small sovereign island in the eastern Caribbean, I want to assure my readers that everything you might imagine about this island, or any given island, is true. Yes, it's absolutely gorgeous; yes, the people are laid back and relaxed; yes, the beaches are quiet and pristine; yes, the sand really is that lovely pale color and the water really does transition through all those beautiful shades of turquoise and blue juxtaposed with lush green cliffs. If any part of you is wondering if it is as stunning and relaxing as it is in all the brochures and banner ads and your own personal pipe dreams, the answer is yes.
It's also underdeveloped and poor as shit and potentially slightly intimidating to a white American woman looking for an authentic experience. But more on that later.
I headed to St. Lucia on Friday morning to be the matron of honor for my friend's wedding. She and I have known each other since my second semester of grad school (seven years now). After she got engaged last year, I promised her that I would book my ticket for the wedding as soon as I was back in the country and gainfully employed. So, when I landed my job at the health department in July, I dutifully logged onto Priceline and booked my ticket. Luckily for me, the department that I transitioned into as an epidemiologist allowed me to work extra hours in advance of the vacation so I wouldn't have to deal with taking leave during my probation (the first six months on the job, during which I am not allowed to take annual leave - though it still accrues).
The trip to the island went without much fuss - my bus to Houston was delayed by an hour and a half (fuck you, Megabus!), but my flight wasn't until five the following morning, so that was more an annoyance than anything else. My mother picked me up in Houston and graciously took me to the airport at 3 a.m. the next day. Thankfully, all the flights were on time, so I sailed through Miami and was on my way.
Paradise, Day One: Canadians and Chikungunya
I touched down in the Caribbean at 1:30 p.m., local time. I must have had a massively stupid grin on my face walking off the plane, but it soon faded as I faced my first task: crossing the island. I landed at Hewanorra, the main airport on the southern tip of the island in the town of Vieux Fort. My hotel (and the resort) was in the port city of Castries, on the northern end. It's only about an hour drive or so on a good day, but a taxi for that much is pretty expensive (about US$80), so I had resolved to make my way into town and take a bus (which the internet assured me was safe, easy to figure out, and much cheaper).
Taxi driver: Ey, come on ladies, where you goin? I take you to a ATM in town, you can pay me.
Me: I'm not going to Vieux Fort, I need to get to Castries.
TD: I can take you dere, too.
Me: No, no, I'm going to take the bus. I need cash for the bus.
TD: Oh, you don't wanna take de bus. Cab drive is much nicer.
Me: Yeah, but it's expensive.
Other lady: How much is the bus up to Castries?
Me: Cheaper than a cab. I read that a cab that far is almost a hundred bucks.
TD: Dis ATM is broken. I take you into town, you can go to da ATM and take de bus dere.
Me: How much for a cab into town?
TD: Maybe twenty, thirty dollars EC. [This refers to the Eastern Caribbean dollar, which is exchanged at a rate of 2.50 EC to 1 USD.]
Me: No, it's fine. I'll just walk.
OL: No! You don't want to walk all that way.
Me: It's only a mile or so.
TD: No, it's more dan dat. It's too far, and it's hot. No, no, you can't walk it, my girl.
OL: Here, I have five dollars EC, and five US. Take it and get a cab.
Me: No, it's fine. It's still not enough for the trip into town.
OL: Well, if it will help you, you're welcome to have it. It's not much.
Me: No, really, it's okay. I'll just wait for this ATM to get fixed.
OL: Hold on, I'm gonna call my husband.
At this point, the woman gets on the phone and explains to her husband that the ATM is broken. Apparently she lives here and needs the cash to get her truck out of the parking lot. After chatting for a few minutes and deciding to come back for the truck the next day, she hangs up.
OL: You're going to Castries, you said?
Me: Yes.
OL: Alright, we'll drive you. It's on the way to where we're going.
I hardly know what to say.
Me: Really? Are you sure it's no trouble?
OL: Not at all. Come on.
My first stroke of luck was a Canadian woman named Donna. She explained that her husband worked for one of the resort companies that operates in the Caribbean. The family had been living in Rodney Bay (a resort town just north of Castries) for about two years, and had lived in Barbados before that. After meeting her husband and ten-year-old daughter, we all crammed into the car and headed north. We chatted a bit about our respective experiences living abroad, and she gave me some recommendations for what to do on the island after I was finished with my obligations. Then (after explaining what an epidemiologist is) we got to discussing Ebola, dengue fever and Chikungunya - at which point I discovered, to my horror, that it had spread to the island.
Donna told me that she had apparently contracted both vector-borne diseases at the same time and was just now recovering. Meanwhile, I contemplated my chanced of catching one or both. Although dengue fever is endemic in Brazil, I've never gotten it, and mosquitoes tend to not like me very much. Still, she exhorted me to make sure that I had a mosquito net around my bed and screens on my windows.
The lovely Canadian family dropped me off in the city, so I hopped into a cab after getting money from the ATM and gave him the hotel address. There are no meters in the cabs, and I had read that it is important to agree on a price (and verify the currency - EC dollars and USD are used interchangeably pretty much everywhere) before the ride, so we settled on a fare and drove off. Lucky for me, too, because at first he took me to the wrong hotel. Eventually we got there, though, and I headed to reception to check in.
Thus, my earlier luck was balanced out by my first reality check: my budget "hotel" (if you can even call it that) had no toiletries, no mosquito nets or window screens, no shower curtain - and no air conditioning. The "hotel" attendant turned on the TV to the weather channel, gave me my room key, and left.
I weighed some decisions for a few minutes. I had chosen the hotel because it was close to both my departure airport and the Sandals resort where my friend was getting married. If I cancelled my reservation, I would have to pay for at least the first night, and I didn't know of any other hotels, or how expensive they would be. I could leave the window open to keep the room a bit cooler, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to take my chances with the mosquitoes. After a few minutes, I threw my purse down on the chair, moved the fan to the foot of the bed, and closed the window. I would have to make do with taking cold showers and sleeping naked.
I quickly got changed and asked the front desk to call a cab to take me to the resort, which led to reality check number two: apparently, the cab rates for certain routes - e.g., between towns and the resorts - are fixed, so he wanted to charge me 60 EC (about $25) for a seven-minute drive. I balked and haggled him down to 50 EC ($20). He took me to Sandals and gave me his card, and I promised to call him when it was time to go home.
The rehearsal dinner was pleasant and relaxed. I hadn't seen my friend in over three years, so we greeted each other enthusiastically and headed up to the room. I navigated my way through introductions and re-introductions (the grandmothers didn't remember me from my first trip to meet her family) and lost track of how many times everybody thanked me so much for making it. The food was pretty good and the groom's friends (who comprised all of the guest list besides family) were all from the military, so they were well-traveled, funny, and down to earth. After finishing the meal, we hung out for a bit in one of the bars on the upper level of the resort and then watched a "fashion show" (attractive hotel staff modeling clothing and items from the resort gift shop) downstairs. After availing myself to the ubiquitous open bars, I excused myself and called Cletus (the cab driver from earlier) to come pick me up. We chatted for a bit on the ride back, and then I made my way up to my hot, humid room for the second cold shower of the day and a lumpy bed.
On the flip side, the hotel did have wifi.
Paradise, Day Two: Beach wedding and party
The next morning, I woke up with a dry throat and a dull headache. Instantly, I began to panic. Had I contracted Chikungunya after all? Was I really so unlucky? Did I have the strength to make it through a wedding with fever, malaise, joint pain, and possibly a horrible rash?
I thought for a moment, and then checked my phone. Average time of incubation: 3-7 days. I chuckled at my own stupidity. I was just slightly hung over.
After another cold shower and a few Tylenol, I was refreshed and in full matron-of-honor mode. I tossed my bridesmaid dress and shoes, various emergency and back-up supplies, and my phone into a bag and called my trusty cab driver again to head to the resort for my hair appointment. The bride asked me to slip into her room through the patio door to hang our dresses up together for the photographer, so I made my way there and breezed through the sliding glass door, promptly scaring the bejeezus out of the groom. (Luckily for both of us, he was decently dressed.) Soon afterwards, his buddies came for him, and I headed to the spa to get my hair beach-curled. Lunch, dresses, parents of the bride, and then BAM! - wedding time.
The nuptials was short and simple. The presider was an older black woman, gravely serious and simply dressed. Several resort staff members were on hand to make sure the ceremony went smoothly and the photos were flawless. Vows were exchanged, parents cried, and a grandmother even fell backwards in her chair. Not bad for a beach wedding, methinks.
The reception was lively, with music, dancing, and a few speeches, including my own nervously delivered tribute (I have a persistent case of stage fright that I still haven't shaken after all these years). After drinking, dancing, and making merry for several hours, I went back to my spartan hotel once more and planned my first excursion into the real St. Lucia.
Paradise, Day Three: Castries Market and Dreams Realized (complete with love note!)
Saturday was my only full free day on the island, so I decided to go to the Castries open-air market in the morning (there is a regular food market, plus a flea market that only operates on Saturdays) and then head to the beach for the true laid-back Caribbean experience in the afternoon. I woke up early and walked into town, snapping a few pictures along the way.
About halfway there, I came to an intersection that wasn't clearly marked, so a local woman approached me while I was studying my map and agreed to take me the rest of the way into the city. She showed me how to get to the market and the correct bus stop to take me back to my hotel. I thanked her and plunged into the market, perusing spice stands and vendor collections of everything from hand-crafted earrings to religious books and questionable soaps.
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| When I asked this stall vendor if I could take pictures, she held this one up and said, "Take a picture of this one and show it to your friends." Still wondering if it was meant as an insult for not buying anything. |
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| Breakfast, which I ate against my better judgment. I haven't died yet, but I'm on the lookout for symptoms indicative of intestinal parasites. |
To be perfectly honest, the market was not all that interesting - it was hot and dirty and loud, and I'm used to Korean markets which are cleaner, and where the vendors are less pushy. Unfortunately, I also showed up a bit early, so many of the vendors hadn't set up until about 10 o'clock, which is when I headed back to the bus stop. But seeing as I was trying not to spend too much money, it all worked out.
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| The only things I bought: four cans of pineapple juice and a carved stone turtle. |
I headed back to my hotel, grabbed my beach bag, slathered on some sunscreen, and then jumped on the bus heading north to the Gros Islet/Rodney Bay. Based on recommendations from the internet and Donna the Canadian, I set my sights on Reduit beach, a popular spot for both tourists and locals. If I'd had more time, I would have gone to Pigeon Island, but at this point I was just looking for a picturesque stretch of sand to park myself on and read. As it turns out, Reduit provided just that. I haggled a bit with the guy setting up beach chairs and umbrellas, staked out a spot for 20 EC (about 8 USD), and settled in for the afternoon.
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| Lunch! A burrito-like concoction with chicken and potato curry inside. Filling and delicious. |
Like I said, perfect: quiet, clean, and postcard-quality. It was, quite simply, perfect. I chatted a bit with another local woman and an English man named Graham, but for the most part I just read my book, watched other tourists attempt water sports, and took a couple of dips in the clear, beautiful water. I even found a little note slipped in by my beloved.
After several blissful hours of doing nothing, I packed up and headed back to the bus stop, grabbing a sandwich and a smoothie from Rodney Bay Mall on the way out.
Paradise, Day Four: Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception Cathedral and Airports Galore
I had a few hours on Sunday morning before I had to fly out, so I headed back into Castries on the bus to the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. Unfortunately I didn't know the Mass times, so I showed up halfway through one Mass and didn't have time to attend the second one before my flight. I waited until the service was over, then headed in to snap a couple of pictures and pray a Rosary.
All in all, not a bad trip.
There were a couple of things I noticed. I personally have always been curious about the "beach resort experience" - we have stayed in a ski resort before, but that's very different because your express purpose in being there is obviously to ski. I learned quite a bit. The beach resorts go to great lengths to entertain their guests, many of whom only leave the resort to go on snorkeling or diving trips specifically designed for tourists, or to see specific landmarks. They are beautifully designed and have everything that most people need or want - a stretch of beach, a series of pools, multiple restaurants and (open) bars that only charge you for top-shelf liquor. They are impeccably landscaped and unreasonably clean. I don't think there is anything wrong with enjoying that kind of experience - you certainly pay good money for it, and most of the locals I talked to said that they thought the resorts were good for the island as a way to contribute to the economy and provide jobs (though I have no idea if the sentiment was genuine) - but after spending time there, I don't think it's quite to my taste. I liked being a guest for two days, but I think I would tire of the production after much longer.
The "real" St. Lucia, like the rest of the Caribbean, I suspect, is poor and underdeveloped. The houses, though colorful, are old and dilapidated. The streets are dirty. The locals wear very simple clothes, and you can tell that a lot of them are second-hand clothes that were originally sold in the US or Europe. Shop signs were simple and faded. The Canadians I met explained that they had to go to Miami to get specialized medical care, as they island is medically underserved and there simply aren't enough medical specialists for the need. They also told me about a massive rainstorm that shut the island down on Christmas Eve last year; the mudslides were so bad that many of the roads were impassible for days, and several homes were washed away. There were legitimate fears of Ebola reaching the island, simply because everyone knew that the health system there would not be able to contain it.
I tried to chat with the locals as much as I could. I asked my cab driver about how business was in the high and low tourist seasons and what it was like when the cruise ships docked. I asked the hairdressers at the resort what local weddings were like. I talked to the wedding photographer about where he went to school. I asked people about their kids, about island life and local health issues, about the cost of university. I tried to learn - simply because I wanted to catch a glimpse, however small, of the island's true character.
I also want to address the issue of traveling alone as a woman, because I suspect that concerns may occur to some of my readers. I never felt unsafe per se, but I took my cab driver's advice and never ventured out after sunset. Being well-traveled, I am also familiar with standard precautions like only carrying small amounts of cash, hiding my passport in my hotel room, and generally being aware of my surroundings. That said, there were more than a few uncomfortable moments: I got lots of kissing noises from men that I passed on the street (those were weird), and constant catcalls.
"Lookin' good, baby!"
"Beautiful!"
"Hey, gal, you look so fine, come ova hea."
"Ey, lady, how you doin'?"
Or this delightful exchange:
Guy: Brazil - I like your shirt!
Me: Thank you!
Guy: I like you, too!
One of the vendors on the beach trying to recruit people for water sports came around three times and tried to talk to me every time, even after I told him I was married and didn't want to jet ski. The last thing he said to me? "I just want to tell you that you are looking so good, so sexy. Keep it up." Uh, thanks...I think.
Traveling solo was as intimidating as it was invigorating. I really missed my other half, not only for his company but also for the sense of safety I have when we explore new places together. At the same time, I was quite proud of myself for being able to figure everything out on my own. I know there are those who might scold me for "putting myself into questionable situations," but I think such outrage would be better directed toward the fact that a woman can be considered in peril simply by virtue of being alone.
All things considered, though, it was a pretty good vacation.
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