Grenada: sun and spice

A Caribbean visit filled with simple pleasures

Author: By Robin Lloyd, Globe Correspondent

Date: SUNDAY, January 18, 1998

Page: M21

Section: Travel

Our driver, Andy, a young Grenadian, was predictably unfazed by this narrow road, smiling at my visible discomfort as our tires passed just inches from the edge of the cliff. Originally I'd had visions of our family touring this mountainous 12-mile by 21-mile island with me driving in an open jeep, but I quickly gave up that idea. Traffic stays on the left in Grenada, and driving protocol seems to follow the perilous dictate of going fast around the curves and honk at anything in the way.

We had planned this trip to the ``Isle of Spice,'' as Grenada is often called, because we thought it would offer a more exotic, less well-trodden week in the sun. My wife and I wanted to show our daughters (12 and 15) something more than just sunsets and beaches. So we were planning to visit old spice plantations, nutmeg cooperatives and some of the local villages. Give them a snapshot of Caribbean history and lifestyle. That was our thought. We would also be traveling 34 miles by boat to the nearby Grenadian island of Carriacou where we hoped to see centuries-old sugar mills, and do some snorkeling around that much smaller, less visited island, which the Carib Indians had referred to as Kayryouacou or ``place surrounded by reefs.''

Even as we studiously attempted to navigate away from some of the more well-known tourist areas, we had opted to stay at a hotel on Grenada's two-mile-long tourist esplanade -- the Grand Anse Beach. This popular tourist foothold on the southern end of Grenada is a magnificent crescent of white sand on the outskirts of St. George's Harbor. My wife -- wise as she is in the ways of teenage girls -- thought our girls would need some ``beach time'' -- code language for sunbathing.

But on our first day, we were focused on exploring the island. First stop, Concord Falls, where we'd been promised a cool, fresh-water swim. On our way there, Andy showed us not only nutmeg trees but also cacao trees, cinnamon trees, and the vanilla and ginger plants. It was a driving tour through one gigantic spice forest. Grenada also produces cloves, allspice, pimento, bay leaf, and tumeric (known locally as saffron).

The jagged forested peaks of Grenada's mountaintops kept getting closer as we continued to climb higher. I watched with amazement as one small farmer tended a small vegetable garden at an almost perpendicular angle. Giant African tulip trees exploding with orange blossoms reached upward like brightly colored fireworks. Grenada's tallest peak, Mount St. Catherine rises 2,756 feet above sea level. Like so many of the Caribbean islands, Grenada is volcanic, but happily it's volcano is dormant. The crater is actually a lake, which, according to some highly questionable island lore, is of unknown depth.

Concord Falls was a delightful grotto tucked into the mountain where we had the luxury of swimming by ourselves. The water was cold but refreshing. Samantha -- our 12-year-old, dived in with us, but 15-year-old Marisa decided to just get her feet wet. Unexpectedly we found some good buys on spices and black coral jewelry from some local vendors. The latter was a big hit with our girls.

Next stop was a nutmeg cooperative in the picturesque fishing village of Gouyave. As we arrived there, a group of fishermen was pulling its nets onto the beach. Hungry seagulls circled overhead. We spent half an hour watching teams of local women sorting nutmegs for export and then headed for lunch at Kelly's Hot Spot (a recommendation of Andy's) where the girls got their first taste of local Grenadian cuisine. This was a no-frills, local eatery with a fixed menu. The waitress arrived with a mixed plate of rice, callalou, and fish

Kelly's was the first of several forays to sample native cuisine, and certainly the most down-to-earth. At the other extreme was Canboulay, considered to be one of the better restaurants on the island, but I think our favorite spot -- for real down-home Caribbean cooking -- was Betty Mascoll's Plantation on the northern tip of the island in Mome Fendue. We didn't get there until our second day after a long morning of bouncing on a torturous, bumpy road through the mountains in Andy's minibus. We stopped at the Grand Etang Lake and walked around, gazing at this watery gateway into the earth's inner depths. Then after a roller-coaster ride down to the northeastern side of the island through small villages and spice-laden forests, we stopped at Bathway Beach, a wonderful swimming area protected by a coral breakwater. We also saw the cliff at the far northern end of the island where the last remaining Carib indians on the island in the 18th century jumped to their deaths rather than be captured by French soldiers.

Betty Mascoll's plantation house is perched on top of a hill with stunning views of the mountains. I've never forgotten the driveway; it's made of millions of nutmeg shells that noisily crunch under your feet. The house, a stone Victorian, was built at the turn of the century by Mascoll's father, who came over from Scotland. Now it offers a splendid glimpse into Grenada's colonial past.

As we walked into the dining area, I immediately noticed on the walls that we were hardly the first Americans there. The 82d Airborne had left behind a certificate of appreciation for Mascoll's leadership efforts when they dropped in as part of the US invasion of the island in 1983. President Reagan sent the troops into Grenada ostensibly to rescue American medical students, but he made no secret of his strong dislike of the Grenadian government's pro-Castro leanings. Presumably the paratroopers were fed well. Or perhaps they found the nutmeg-flavored rum punches as tasty as we did. In any case, we fully supported the 82d Airborne's choice in restaurants. We savored our lunch of pepper pot stew, cristophene squash, local peas, and carnival rice. The bottle of local Scotch bonnet hot sauce was enough to make anyone airborne.

As part of our tour of the island, Andy gave us play-by-play accounts of where the American troops came in, where they encountered the most resistance. ``That's where the American troops were beaten back by heavy fire,'' he pointed out as we passed the old radio station building. ``They had to bring the tanks in to take the building.''

Throughout our wanderings from village to village, I was amazed at how many young people seemed to have nothing to do. There seemed to be surprisingly few canneries or food-processing factories despite the overwhelming amount of produce. At another waterfall we visited in the Grand Etang National Forest -- Annandale Falls -- we were first approached by a calypso singer who began making up a song for us. Before we could even pay him for his efforts, we were confronted by a group of five young men, two of whose names were Butterfly and SuperSplash. We soon found out the reasons for their unusual nicknames. They jumped off the 100-foot waterfall into the pond below and then demanded to be paid. We looked at Andy, who suggested $5 or $10 for these unsolicited feats of daring.

So far, we'd gotten a sense of contemporary and colonial history on the island, but, as my wife knew, ``beach time'' did prove to be important for the girls. Our hotel, the Flamboyant, was situated on the far corner of the Grande Anse Beach on the slope of a hill. Our cottage, plainly decorated but comfortable, looked out on a magnificent panorama of mountain peaks and a white crescent beach. Stairs wound down the cliff to a small pool and the hotel's restaurant. The girls found this setting quite desirable; so, not surprisingly, one afternoon they staged a ``sit down,'' and refused to do anything but sunbathe. No more touring, they said. We gave in and left them in the hands of some local hairbraiders on Grand Anse Beach who specialize in giving tourists a more West Indian look.

While the girls sunbathed, we toured St. George's, which is certainly one of the prettiest harbor towns in the West Indies. It was Saturday, and we mingled at the crowded, open market, ogling all the spices and exotic fruits. It was a colorful sea of hucksters and vendors jostling, bargaining, and selling. There were huge rolls of cinnamon, tables filled with unprocessed red mace, bottles of curry, and killer island hot sauces. The rest of our vacation was devoted to more traditional pursuits on a Caribbean vacation -- sun and sea. We headed for the neighboring island of Carriacou, a much smaller and more arid -- not to mention slower-paced -- island. This is the southern end of the chain of islands called the Grenadines, a paradise for snorkelers, divers, and sailors. There are daily flights from Grenada as well as a fast motor launch service called the Osprey Express that operates twice a day and leaves you off at the small town of Hillsborough. From there, you can hire a taxi to tour the island or a boat taxi to get to a remote beach.

The town of Hillsborough was definitely off the beaten path. There were some quaint West Indian cottages but mostly modern concrete buildings. The main street couldn't have been more than 200 yards long. We hired a driver to tour the 13-square-mile island. There are some stunning views to be had from the top of Hospital Hill, and two magnificent old stone windmills, which our driver told us were built by the French in the 18th century. There are also some old estate houses that were built in the early 19th century.

But we had come to Carriacou to enjoy the swimming and snorkeling.

As we'd arrived at Carriacou by sea, we decided to return to Grenada by air. We had great views of both islands, but I must admit I felt a little disconcerted in this small commuter plane: My seat was in a wobbly state of disrepair.

On our last day, we toured the other major tourist/hotel area on Grenada, called L'Anse aux Epines, where we stopped at the Calabash Hotel -- certainly one of the island's more expensive hotels. They were serving up a special beach-side barbecue. It was a great spot for our last meal on the island.

While my wife and I had enjoyed the spice and simplicity of the island, it was obvious our two girls had liked the sun and the sea.

Where to Stay

We stayed at the Flamboyant Hotel, one of the less expensive on the Grande Anse Beach. This is an older hotel. We found the accommodations somewhat sparse but with a kitchenette in each apartment -- quite adequate. For information, call 809-444-4247. Our driver, Andy, was recommended by the hotel.