Royal Visitors

Bequia as we've not seen it. For the last few days, all the public spaces have been bustling with workers carrying rakes and paint brushes and such. Potted palms line the path to the Belmont Walkway, past Mrs. Taylor's Porthole Restaurant and the entrance to Tommy's Cantina. Major cleanup of all visible trash, including scooping out the drainage channels to the sea that run through town; dump trucks of sand spreading their loads along the water's edge to enhance the beach. Pressure washed immigration building. Suddenly-appearing new plantings along the garden strip between the sidewalk and the street. Cars are parked in an orderly way, and most of the local boats off the beach and in the water. Vendors have been shooed away for the day, I heard. And a red carpet is already spread on the jetty where the motor launch from St. Vincent will appear this afternoon with Prince Edward, Sophie, and their entourage, including St. Vincent Prime Minister Ralph Gonsalves. There's a big white tarp set up with folding chairs underneath it for what will probably be boring, pontificating, welcoming speeches. We encountered the former Prime Minister, Sir James Mitchell, who lives here, on the path this morning, and I spoke to him. "Big doings today," I said. "Indeed," he replied. Mitchell is a Bequia native, and owns the hotel we're staying in and also the next one down the walkway. He's getting slightly stooped these days, and has a definite little pot belly. After all, he's 80. But he's still an impressive presence to me.

Noel, our cab driver, remembers when the queen visited in 1985. She and Prince Phillip planted a couple of long-gone trees, but the plaques remain half buried in the sand. That time our landlord from our last visit, Lawson Sargeant, presented the queen with a model of the Britannia that he built. He and his brothers make the most amazing, beautiful model boats. Today's event will be the planting of a pair of royal palms in new planters that were built for the purpose just this week.

Lunch in Lower Bay today, at De Reef. The head waiter caught a ride to work in our cab (pickup trucks with padded benches and roofs). It took a full 45 minutes to get our meal. I'm getting a little cranky with that particular Caribbean experience, but when the mahi mahi arrived, along with a melange of aubergine and other vegetables, salad and fries, all was forgiven. Excellent, as every meal has been here. Well, almost. Nine out of ten. But, you know that Las Vegas ad, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? I fear the French fries will follow me home from Bequia.


Okay, it's later and we did see the arrival of the royal personage.

There was a crowd waiting for a good hour past the advertised arrival time. Local people, of course, because St. Vincent is part of the Commonwealth, and Prince Edward is the Queen's baby boy. And probably most of the Brits visiting the island, as well as curiosity seekers like ourselves. Around 3:00 a big frigate came around the point into the harbor and tootled at the island, and then sat way out there for a long, long time before finally the escort boats and the little launch came in. We didn't stay for the speeches, but satisfied our curiosity anyway by watching the arrival. After dinner we sat on our porch with our Londoner neighbor, Jasmine, and watched the baby moon sink into the harbor.

Yesterday we went over to Industry Bay, on the quiet Atlantic side of the island, with  Jasmine. She's a charming, talkative party animal who has been coming here for 35 years or so. She has opinions about everything, usually a little snarky, or as she calls it, scratchy. She takes 25 pills a day because she has kidney transplants. I think she's very brave. The drinking, which she often mentions, probably serves to ward off germs -- she does have an understandably compromised immune system. But I don't think she drinks as much as she claims. In fact, I don't think any of our acquaintances here drink as much as they claim. I did have a couple of excellent Margaritas at Tommy's Cantina last night, but I'm not bragging. We watched the quarter moon sinking into the sea with Venus close behind. Earlier we watched sunset as well, but no green flash this time. Could be I'm bragging about that.

And the previous day we took the bus down to Paget Farm, which is the far end of the island next to the little airport, which can handle only little planes. It's named after the previously mentioned Sir James. We got on the bus because it looked like it was ready to head out -- these are minivans, stuffed as full as possible with folks. After we sat for a while, and the driver's girlfriend went and got him some salt fish and green banana, we made a loop around town looking for more fares, and then right back to where we started, which was the ferry dock, to wait for more riders on the next ferry. Eventually we made it, however, to a place that had been recommended to us by our friend Rick, who is always searching out local places to eat. This time it was the Step Down Bar. Toko, the proprietor, had been doing some construction work on the place but he sent someone to get him a shirt, which he put on and cooked us a delicious fish plate with some shark and some barracuda. And more of those french fries. The bus back was more direct.

We have three more nights here before starting our trek home. I love it here, but I think I'm ready to get back to life as it is in Southern California. I hear the gas prices are atrocious now. Luckily we have a hybrid! And I need to start walking off these french fries anyway.

Written Saturday, posted Sunday