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Departing Tyrell Bay, we had a magnificent sail and arrived St. George's, Grenada, anchoring in the lagoon.   The anchorage was somewhat crowded and, the first time we dropped the hook, we swung so close to another boat that we could have stepped off onto it.  It took five attempts to get a good location but we are off to ourselves in a nice pool of water behind the reef. 

St. George's is a quaint town, reminiscent of some of the small island towns in Greece.  Anchoring is not allowed in the main harbor but it is only a short dinghy ride from the established anchorage in the lagoon.  Businesses front the U-shaped waterfront with houses on the steeply sloping hills behind.  In the setting sun, the buildings glow in the light. 

Saturday, we got up early and went to the open-air market.  A square block of stalls offered the freshest fruits and vegetables yet.  The further south we go, the better and cheaper the produce.  Bread and fresh chickens are also available as well as crafts, straw hats, etc.  Mangoes and pineapples have become a staple of our diet.  I had never eaten a mango and have learned that there are several kinds.  Both taste good, but the smaller one has such a large pit and stringy fruit that you can only suck the fruit off seed, not cut if off for a nice presentation.  The larger mango has a lot of fruit around the seed and can be peeled and cubed.  Both pineapples and mangoes can be bought at the peak of ripeness and are absolutely delicious.

Saturday night we were watching local television when there was a breaking news report, an out-of-control fire in the downtown area.  Fire equipment from the airport had sprayed foam used for burning planes but the fire was still raging.  We took the binoculars to the cockpit and located the smoke in the dark.  From time to time, there was a red glow on the back side of the hill but we never saw the actual flames.  Bright flashes like flashbulbs went off, so bright and large that they were obviously small explosions.   Blue flashing lights then red flashing lights accompanied by wailing sirens passed in front of the lagoon on the way to the scene.  We later learned that a huge hardware store was totally demolished.  Forty-eight hours later the ruins were still smoldering.   Occasionally when the wind shifted, we could get a whiff of acrid smoke.

A British destroyer, the HMS Cardiff, tied up to the town's dock just a stone's throw from where we were anchored.  Some of the cruisers met one of the engineers who invited them for a tour of the ship.  A group was invited to join them.  We arrived too early and were taken to the enlisted men's lounge and served stout, Guinness, and other kinds of beer on tap, both light and dark.  I personally don't care for beer, but most of our group imbibed.  We talked and drank for an hour and a half, then began the tour. Although the original plans for this class of vessel were larger, the first twenty-five built were scaled down to cost less so it's 60 feet shorter and considerably narrower than its newer sister ships.  Even so, it's pretty big when you're going up and down the exterior ladders and the interior hallways.  This particular ship has only seven more years of service before it's scrapped so the powers that be keep telling the guys to repair rather than replace engines and other parts.   Consequently, it's a labor intensive tour of duty for the engineers.  Its current mission is to assist the US Coast Guard in monitoring drug traffic in the West Indies.  The Brits call the eleven man Coast Guard contingent "Miami Mice."  One other American aboard is cross-training, swapping places with a Brit pilot; he flies the ship's helicopter which they refer to as the "petrol pigeon."   Our hosts were very entertaining, answering all our questions then giving us a tour of the engine control room, the mounted gun, the ground-to-air missiles, the head, the defense system in case of attack by a heat-seeking missile, and the bridge.  Apparently, ships of the Royal Navy graciously invite people to tour their vessels.

Bob's dad arrived on July 17^th.  We sailed from St. George's to Prickly Bay and anchored there one night just so he could experience the boat under way.  We returned to St. George's to finish provisioning and get ready for our trek to Venezuela.

One night, a group of about 25, including three of the British sailors, went to Patrick's for dinner.  Patrick does family style "home cooking" and serves on his front porch and in a large crawl space.  Our large group was placed in the crawl space where there was not much headroom so you had to stoop to walk around.  Despite the primitive surroundings, the food was outstanding.  The meal started with soup followed by 5-6 salads among which were chicken, lobster, breadfruit, slaw, avocado and tomato.   There were at least ten entree platters, lambi (conch), beef, pork, fried whole little fish, rabbit, lamb, and land crab.  Dessert was a rich chocolate cake and rum raisin ice cream.  What a pig out!  Bob's dad really seemed to enjoy himself.  Patrick, the proprietor, was padding around barefoot wearing loose long black pants and a red and green flowered-print shirt.  He was checking to see how the meal was progressing, giving us time to eat the many salads before the hot entrees were brought out.  He suddenly stopped, aghast, and limp-wristed in a falsetto voice, leaned down to say to Jan from the sailing vessel Cambia, "My dear, you're eating your salad with the dessert fork!"  Strange as it may seem, each place had been set with dinner knife and fork, salad fork, soupspoon, dessert spoon and fork.  Such a dichotomy with its crawl space ceiling and dirt floor!

A seagull standing on a piece of floating cling wrap while attempting to retrieve an enclosed morsel of food.

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