Wild Wild East

Where as Mustique is a fake world of perfection, and Bequia is a clichéd example of paradise, the next closest island to us, St Vincent is quite something else.  It is wild and crazy, and has no rules.  Whenever any crime happens in here in Bequia, it is typically attributed to a St Vincien.  For example, this happened last year when some dickhead left our back door open (yes, me) and we got robbed in the night. 

give me back my ipad bitches

People who have had thieves in their house can relate to the feeling of violation.  It really sux.  I remember as a child we had several break-ins at my parents house.  One in particular stands out.  A large group of blundstone boot wearing dudes basically had a party at our place one night when we were all away.  The booze cupboards had been raided and demolished, they’d tried on our ski gear and had had sword fights with the skis.  There was piss on our walls and perhaps most disturbingly a large antique bottle that had contained red ink had been smashed, poured all over, and trodden across my parents beloved pale minty green carpet.  Jesus they were uptight about that carpet.  It was shoes off at all times and not a skerrick of tucker to be munched while standing on it’s plushy beautifulness.  So you can imagine when it was covered in red ink and blundstone boot footprints.  Although at least I could eat my vegemite on toast in front of the TV for a couple of weeks until it got replaced.

Our robbery wasn’t quite as violating.  True there was mess – stuff tipped out everywhere.  My brand new ipad of 3 weeks had been knocked off which could or could have not been karma (I was doing an incredible amount of boasting about it).  The theft of Chalky’s iphone with all business contacts in it was quite a blow…..to him.  As was several hundred bucks in cash.  But perhaps the worst for me – which we discovered much later, was the theft of two of my rings.  One was my engagement number and although sentimental, it was luckily just a temporary until I was able to get my greasy mitts on a real rock.  But another really special one ended up at some pawnshop somewhere, or perhaps melted down for a tooth filing. 

Really, we just breathed a sigh of relief that they didn’t decide to hold a knife to our throats and try for some bigger loot.  If we’d had to call the cops, or should I say cop, we would have been waiting a long time.  The robbers would have had enough time to not only murder us, but dissolve our bodies in lime to get rid of the evidence.  Bequia’s sole policeman wasn’t exactly in a hurry to come up here, and upon meeting him we immediately lost hope that anything would be recovered.  However, if you’ve got a baby goat that’s stuck in a ditch, he’s your man and I can give you his number.

all aboard

If you want to visit St Vincent from Bequia, you have to take a one hour ferry trip.  You can drive your car on board if you like.  A top idea – with the sun and the heat, the last thing you want to be doing is wandering around Kingstown until 5.30pm.  The main town itself is very third-worldish.  Fruit and veggie stands all over the sides of the road, mangy dogs, puddles of dirty water, rubbish, hecklers, and a hot hot sun.  Fun to be a part of……until I crack the shits because I’m too hot and want to go back to the air-conditioned car. 

not exactly loving it either

off to see a volcano

The nature itself is just like the people.  Wild and out of control.  The jungle is so lush, that it literally drips down the hills to the black sand beaches.  These beaches owe their dark hue to St Vincent’s active volcano La Soufriere.  Old Soufers hasn’t blown its lid since 1979, but when she does, she doesn’t muck around.  Thousands of people are killed in explosions that can last for 10 months, while many villages are evacuated.  But because of the volcano, St Vincent has an incredibly lush fertile soil.  All the fruits and vegetables sold around this region all come from St Vincent.  But, by far it’s biggest cash crop is every uni student’s and dole bludger’s favourite – good old green gold.  In fact the amount of pot coming out of St Vincent is so prolific that the prime minister of Barbados went absolutely mental at the St Vincent’s prime minister a few years back.  I think he wanted him to clean up his country’s act.  It didn’t work and the buds just keep on blooming.

Why would he shut it down?  It's the sole reason his country keeps afloat, and he, himself can buy a few stone mansions around the place.  Seriously, the country has no industry.  If you check it out, bananas are listed solely as the only exported commodity.  It really is the country of "make it up as you go along". It's a broken down, crappy dump, where nothing works or is ready within anywhere near the timeframe you need it by.  That's mainly because everybody's stoned.  What a brilliant place.

a tempting night out beckons

irresistible chickeny goodness

St Vincent has also just finished it’s major event of the year – Vincy Mas.  Carnival time in the Caribbean goes sick nuts, and the St Vincent’s celebrations are one of the sickest of all nuts.  It’s a ten day party of drinking, dancing , dress ups,  and tits and arse shaking.  My god, there has never been more bumping and grinding going on than by the ladies of Caribbean Carnivals.  They put rap artist videos to shame.   Then there are the Jab Jabs.  The spooky motor oil and molasses covered revellers of the night that come down out of the hills and dance the streets with the aim of terrifying the onlookers. I’d be definitely terrified.  Terrified I might get that bloody motor oil on my dress.  To cover people in that black sticky shit is their aim, so hugs and grabbing abounds……

OK then.....

piss off buddy

scarier than the jab jab

This year we missed Vincy Mas, but next year we are going all out.  I’ve already started building up my butt with fried chicken and breadfruit so I can strap on one of those sparkly numbers and shake it all night.  However, it just doesn’t work so well for white people though – and my embarrassing lack of rhythm puts a spanner in the works really as well.  I think I’d rather sit back and watch with a large joint of St Vincent's finest in my hand, fend off the Jab Jabs and search women's hands for my pink sapphire ring.  That failing, there's always Mount Coke......Vive Vincy Mas……