12/23/03

This is Caroline’s mom. Looks like no one else is going to write a journal entry so I guess it falls to me. (Insert big maternal guilt-producing sigh here.)

I have been back home now for nearly two weeks and there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t slide off into reveries, thinking about how Somewhere there is greenness and blue sky and turquoise water and flowers. That somewhere is definitely not Wisconsin, but at least we got to taste a few days of a summery December in St. Lucia.

Jane (my cousin) and I had a lovely eight days there with Caroline. We had talked Jane into driving on the island and I think she came to thoroughly regret it, but she was a good sport about it all—the tire-swallowing ditches at the side of the road, the mountain roads, the hairpin turns, the lack of guardrails, the people walking right in the road, the goats walking right in the road, and the crowning delight of having to deal with all of this while driving on the left. And many of the roads Could Use A Little Work…

Jane—we owe you a huge debt of gratitude.

We did lots of eating while we were there and I don’t think one meal was indoors—another nugget to savor all winter. Coconut and sweetsop gelato is a particular memory. We also shopped, spent not quite enough time on the beach, and did the requisite sight-seeing. The top of Pigeon Island was just fabulous, but for me nothing beats the sight of those Pitons as you drive that hair-raising road down into Soufriere.

I love St. Lucia. Its friendly residents speak to us as we pass on the street, "All right?" "Good afternoon." It’s charming and small-town and I hope they always retain that custom.

We kidnapped Caroline and ferried over to Martinique for the weekend. Martinique was great once we found a place to stay. Travelers—beware of L’Auberge de L’Anse Mitan in Anse Mitan. We had reservations but the woman sort of didn’t know us when we got there and refused us a room. Spunky little Caroline got right in the woman’s face and said, "You WILL find a hotel for us!!" And the woman did.

We ended up at Le Hotel Bambou, which was full of French tourists and looked like something out of Munchkinland—little miniature streets of tiny cottages with funny roof angles, surrounded by huge palms and ferns. We got to party with the French folk and to enjoy Le Punch Planteur at the pool, but it was a little like being at the eighth grade dance and having no friends. Everyone else was partying away in French and Jane, Caroline and I were kind of the wallflowers.  But after a couple glasses of that very potent punch, we didn't care.

In Martinique, one experience stands out. Here is why I like to research my own foreign travel and not rely on tours or all-inclusive resorts providing a Disneyland version of the Caribbean:

It’s a brilliantly sunny Sunday morning. We are sitting on a wall next to a pier waiting for the water taxi to come to ferry us across the bay to Fort De France. As far as we can see, to the left and to the right, is perfect Caribbean beach. Next to where we are sitting is a small bare wood cottage. There is no glass in the windows and the shutters are thrown open. Someone in that cottage is cooking something that smells very good. And then, in a perfect and clear a cappella soprano, a woman inside the cottage sings the Ave Maria. Absolute magic. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. For the rest of my life whenever I hear that song, it will transport me to that beach in Martinique.

The folks at Sandals may have had a great vacation, but they didn't get to experience THAT!

As all good things do, the trip had to end and we returned to our real world. And the dark shadows were waiting for us—five days after we returned home, Jane’s father passed away. He was my father’s youngest brother and the last of that family. The wheel of life doesn’t stop even if we think we have other plans.

So Caroline is back on her own, able to rest up from her triple onslaught of houseguests in November and December, and (we hope) able to enjoy a quiet Christmas. Thanks for being the perfect hostess and guide. Love you.

Tjebe wed!