St. Kitts – Part Two

There aren’t a lot of businesses on St. Kitts. Most of the sugar cane plantations shut down about ten years ago because they couldn’t compete and were losing money. The only remnant of the island’s slavery cane past was the narrow gauge rail line that had serviced the largest sugar cane factory in the 1700’s, where they made molasses. The carnival train now carts tourists around the island for a narrated glimpse into the marvelous brutality of the island’s Colonial past.

We noticed a few small convenience stores and several rundown plants, making concrete from the native limestone. But most businesses on the island could easily fit in the bed of a pickup truck.

As with all of the islands in the Caribbean, tourism is tops. Ian called it, “white candy.”

Our next to last stop was Black Rock, a volcanic cliff where waves pounded the rocks relentlessly, sending sea spray into the air like white explosions. It was here that we met the “Monkey Lady”. Give her a buck and she would let her creepy monkey on a leash climb around on your head. Inna thought the monkey was very cute. Personally, I really like monkeys, but I don’t trust them. They are always messing with you with those little monkey hands.

Richard and I hung out with this old coot named Ringo Star who was selling these funky brown coconut shell turtles and crooked crosses glued to tiny magnets. Ringo wanted to be paid in beer. And there were old ladies in flowery print dresses selling dollar beers from large white coolers. So, it was a win-win for everybody.

By the time we left Black Rock, it was about two in the afternoon and Richard and I were pretty lit. We continued our circle tour along the coast and soon crested a steep hill dotted with expensive creamy houses and flowering cactus. Ian pulled the van into a large gravel parking area filled with other tour vans and loud vendors selling trinkets and frosty beverages.

The view was amazing. To our south was the Caribbean and to the north the Atlantic. Our cruise ship sparkled below us in the sunlight like a bright jewel.

Behind us lay Friars Bay Beach and Frigate Bay Beach, where the Marriott St. Kitts featured two championship golf links – the Atlantic and Caribbean courses – lushly laid out on the narrow green whale tail.

Richard and I bought another round of Carib beers and watched the tourons pay to have monkeys crawl on their heads and shoulders. It was all very amusing.

Ian walked over to our group with an interesting proposal. Every day when we stop here I do the Lion King Tourist Link Up on ZIZ 96. I have the radio feed equipment in the van. The DJ down in town will interview one of you you know, ask you a few questions about your visit to St. Kitts. So, who wants to be the spokesperson for da group?”l.

“Steve!” exclaimed my fellow tourons in unison.

I was half drunk and thought, “What the hell. Why not?”

At 3 PM sharp, a friendly DJ with a deep Caribbean voice, came on the air and after a brief intro from the Lion King, the interview began.

“What’s your name, Mon?” asked the DJ.

“My name is Steve. Steve Carr,” I replied with great gusto.

My friends giggled.

“Where you from, Steve?”

“I am from Washington, D.C.,” I answered proudly, “and I bring greetings from the great white father, Barack Obama, who is black.”

The DJ had not been expecting my crazy response and was a bit flummoxed. “Okay … thanks … that’s very interesting, Steve. But how do you like our island?”

“I LOVE St. Kitts!” I almost screamed. “Right now, I’m gazing down from a rocky perch atop an extinct volcano, on the luxurious Marriott Hotel where all the rich white boys and girls dressed in their colorful golfing outfits are hitting their little white balls around the tropical whale tail, and it’s looks like a smoking hot piece of paradise.”

There was dead silence on the other end. The Lion King was grinning from ear to ear and nodding for me to continue.

And so I did.

“We’re standing at this amazing overlook above two twinkling seas where monkeys are climbing on the tourons and there’s icy cold beer for all. Cruise ships are shimmering off in the distance. The Egrets are fishing. The lizards are dancing. The catfish are hopping. And the living is easy. So if you ask me, St. Kitts is the cat’s meow!”

The DJ burst out laughing and then cued some calypso music to take us on home.

Our little group was speechless. But not the Lion King.

“I have been interviewing tourists for years, but I have never heard anyone as crazy as you, Steve. Dat was the best! People all over da island heard dat interview and I bet dey are still laughing der asses off.”

Well, as it turned out, a lot more than the local Kittians had listened to my little rant. ZIZ 96 can be heard all over the West Indies. And I became an instant celebrity.

When we stopped at Dominica the next day, Peter greeted us as we left the ship, shaking his head. “Steve. You are a rock star. There are fifty tour guides at the end of this pier, and almost every one of them is waving a sign with your name on it. They all want to be the ones to give you an island tour.”

I thought he was pulling my leg. But he wasn’t. The islanders had heard me raving on the radio the day before, and they knew that our ship was coming there next. Every tour guide on Dominica wanted to be the one to show me the sights.

And for the rest of the cruise, whenever we came into an island port, this scene repeated itself. It became a running joke.

Which just goes to show that when you travel abroad, the unexpected often hits you without warning. So, you need to be flexible and always remember to pack a good sense of humor. And a couple of cold beers wouldn’t hurt either.