… other yachts moored here when we arrived. Vieux Fort is a quiet fishing port and one recommended fairly enthusiastically in our copy of Chris Doyle’s cruising guide for the Windward Islands. It’s well protected and quiet with scant if any concessions to tourism or holidaymakers. Mooring here is wonderfully peaceful – only the lap of the waves and the cries of the endlessly circling frigate birds. These huge pterodactyl-looking creatures, big black witchy-birds, with their angular wings and strange forked tail used for steering, wheel above in twos or threes, tirelessly scouring the sea below for signs of fish. The tranquil waters and shelter from the wind are most welcome. So too the long wooden fishing boats that chug out at early dawn – brightly painted craft with biblical names – Proverb, Hallelujah, Blessings, Angel.
We’re swinging off the hook in a good muddy holding and despite some strong gusty winds, Butterfly is nicely secure and rocks very little. Not so the boat that a day after we arrived moored close alongside and which drifted so perilously close today, we upped anchor and pootered off to a safer distance. Before we could warn them about their slipping anchor, a pilot boat helping a big container ship out of its berth, asked them to move anyway, so all are safe.
The fishing port itself is small but lively and gives an immediate taster of St Lucia’s laid-back charms and sunny ramshackle character. Getting ashore means running the gauntlet of an excitable gathering of local lads – ragged, barefooted boys aged 6 to 10 or thereabouts – eager to help for a few dollars or cents. “I wash your boat, skippah!” they cry – they mean “watch” – and eager hands stretch out to grab the tender’s painter, to relieve you of your garbage bag, to take your laundry – anything that might earn them a coin or several. For all that it’s a battle finding a foothold climbing ashore among them, they’re a cheerful friendly lot and to a kid, sunny natured.
The customs office for clearing-in is a short walk away, out beyond the fish stalls that line the docking area, up the main high street, turn right part way, along a couple of back roads, turning left at a fork and up a slight hill. It doesn’t look very promising as routes to officialdom go, but you do eventually arrive at some security gates and a generously-girthed guard and beyond him, the scrappy, down-at-heel customs building. Alternatively, you can pooter in the rib to the slipway that lies in front of the same building and make your way from there – or, at least, we think you can. We’ll try this approach when clearing out.
The high street is a revelation – a real shanty town thronging with life and colourful characters and worried-eyed, ribby dogs, and some of the most gorgeously dilapidated wooden and corrugated tin architecture a photographer could wish for. One strong blow and it looks as if the whole town would just collapse into a pile of sticks and tiles and splintered timber. There are chickens pecking at the roadside and in the alleyways and vegetable vendors with their wares laid out on old rugs on the hit and miss pavement. The elderly sit outside sunning themselves in rickety chairs and on crumbling concrete steps, watching with rheumy, seen-it-all eyes, the world and its loud, jostling, busy wife go by. Deep and wide floodwater gulleys border the narrow road, making it narrower still – and you’ve only to experience a serious St Lucia downpour, as we did today, to understand why these gulleys are the size and depth they are. When the mood takes, the Caribbean heavens release monsoon measures of the wet stuff in minutes.
Most of the shops seem to sell cheap casual clothes – or hardware, and the latter are endlessly fascinating: the sort of establishments that happily find room for screwdrivers and whisks and rugs and bright umbrellas and pegs and washing line and day-glo socks and any number and assortment of domestic bits and pieces you can think of – and all nestling in a higgledy-piggledy cluttered harmony from floor to ceiling and in every last dusty inch of alcove and cranny.
A surprising number of so-called ‘beauty’ shops, too. Not quite sure what services they offer, nor which body bits they beautify, but the cheerful wobbly-painted sign above suggests enthusiasm rather than finesse and are all the more endearing for that. Similarly, if you need your haircut, you’ll be spoiled for choice here. For proper food shopping, there’s a good supermarket a short distance on the road out of the town and the range is such that you can get most provisions you’ll need. Prices aren’t cheap, but nor are they eyebrow-raising either.
We’ve also discovered the delights of The Reef – a beachside café/bar/restaurant that caters for wind and kite surfers (you can hire the gear there and arrange tuition), and – usefully for us – it provides a free wifi internet service. Take your laptop and off you go – no code or key needed. This place, set beside a pretty, pale sandy beach is popular and with good reason – it’s a lovely spot for watching the surfers, the restaurant/bar is clean, attractive and well run and there’s an easy welcoming ambience that hits just the right slightly bohemian note. That Cecile who owns and runs The Reef, is a keen animal welfare supporter and has the charming kittens and cats milling around to prove it, only makes it all the more attractive – at least for the animal lovers amongst us.
Anthony hired a car for the three days he spent here, and we did some touring and exploring – though didn’t get to see the east coast of the island very much. In fact we spent far too long driving to Rodney Bay Marina and Castries, trying to find a telephone shop to buy a SIM card that would allow us to link up on-line using our laptop and phone. All to no avail, as it turned out. However, we have established that Rodney Bay Marina is awash with yachting facilities and services and a haven for yachties looking to repair their slightly banjaxed Butterflies, so not surprisingly, we’ll be checking in there very soon if there’s space for a couple of days intensive boat TLC. The rest of the island we’ll explore later – once we get ourselves sorted with some progress on the more pressing boat concerns.
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