Sailing in Antigua

Antigua Sailing Week.
(My trip to the Caribbean and back.)
24.4.01 – 9.5.01

This trip was organised in Rome, some of the original people dropped out because of other commitments. Two of our friends in Rome were asked if they were interested and if they knew of anybody who liked sailing and could make up the numbers. This is where Gabriella and I came in.
My flight from Heathrow was organised as an extra, the only scheduled flight available was a Lufthanser / British Midland to Paris Charles DeGaule. Leaving Tollesbury at 2.15 am arriving at Heathrow 4 a.m. Flight 6.30 to C.D.G 9a.m local time.
Charles DeGaule is huge; I arrived 15 minutes late at terminal one and had to meet the Italian party at terminal two, a bus ride away. After collecting my baggage I set off to find the bus (these aren’t as frequent as you’d think) on arrival at terminal two I discovered their plane was also late and they’d already left on another bus to Orly airport. Orly is the point of departure for Pointe a Pitre our destination on Guadeloupe. The bus to Orly from C.D.G is roughly the same as going from Heathrow to Gatwick via the M25 and just as traumatic. Eventually I arrived at the correct check in desks with 5 minutes until the gate closed. Gabriella was doing a very good impression of somebody pulling their hair out; she’d already told someone she wasn’t going if I didn’t make it. All was well in the end and we settled down to an eight hour flight to Guadeloupe.

In total there were 23 Italians and me. Three charter boats, eight per boat. Our crew consisted of Carlo (skipper) and Alessandra, Pierpaulo (Pippo) and Laura, our friends from Rome, Rita and Luciana, Gabriella and myself. On arrival at Pointe a Pitre a bus was laid onto the marina. A nice place but no facilities, you’re expected to ‘ablute’ on the boat. Nice boat for cruising Beneteau 38. Three double cabins, 1 forward, 2 aft and a mega settee berth + large galley and 2 heads with showers. We decided to have lottery for the cabins which worked out perfectly. The skipper and his wife got the fore peak, Pippo and Laura the port quarter, Gabriella and I the starboard quarter and Rita and Luciana the settee. We sort of split the chores but being the only English among 7 Italians, I wasn’t asked to cook (strange), I did get to wash up occasionally. My other job was to translate Caribbean English into broken Italian / English. That’s my broken Italian not theirs.

The first night we all went to a restaurant, BBQ meat on skewers that looked like swords, nice. Then basically crashed until morning, it’d been a long day.
Next day was spent shopping, two weeks worth in one hit, including a shopping trolley full of cans of Heineken (unfortunately) you can’t get real ale. Plus preparing the boat.
Carlo our skipper arrived from Venezuela (he works there). We ate on board. Italian of course. Later that evening we made our way to the south entrance of the canal that separates the two ports of Guadeloupe. We anchored with a number of other boats and went to bed. They open the bridge about 6 am.
The following morning I awoke to the sound of our engine, most of us had over slept; fortunately the skipper was on the ball. Off we went through the canal. The exit is a little like Tollesbury / Mersea on springs. A vast expanse of water but very shallow, so you have to follow a buoyed channel. Remember no tides to speak of, so if you stuff it aground there you have to wait until somebody comes to tow you off. If you’re lucky. At this point I should make the reader aware, the buoy system is American. Red to starboard, green to port going in.

Once in deep water we set sail heading north for Antigua. About an hour into sailing I as asked if I wouldn’t mind navigating, no probs, except I haven’t had to navigate in anger for nearly 10 years. Then I realised how much I’d forgotten.
The sea-state / swell was a little bigger than the North Sea and to cut a long story my middle ear was having none of it. After about half an hour below, my breakfast disappeared over the stern never to be seen again. The condition only lasted an hour and then I felt fine. To take my mind off sea-sickness it was suggested that I might take the helm for a little while.
I’d never steered a yacht with a wheel before and from sailing to windward we almost gybed. I can say absolutely I never want to own a yacht with a wheel, give me a tiller any day. Still I sort of got the hang of it in the end.
We arrived in Antigua, Nelsons Dockyard late afternoon and proceeded to spend what was left of the day with custom and immigration, filling in forms and copying the contents of all our passports onto yet another form. The Italians have an expression, translated ‘to break somebody’s balls.’ Customs tried really hard that day.
Then on to the harbour central office to register the boat and organise our berth. $248 for 6 days, (Ł30 a day) $50 for water (Ł35) + electric. Antigua’s a very nice place, but they get you every which way financially. For example in the dockyard, the main restaurant, was a flat rate $50 a head. Beer $7 for 2 bottles. If you’re going take plenty of money.
The racing its self was quite interesting for me. I spent most of the time on the mainsheet with Alessandra working the mainsheet track, rather like sailing a big dingy, or helping Pippo wind in the Genoa.
This type of racing is totally alien to me having spent the last 6 years or so sailing with Gayle Heard on Laura and now Tammy. Also when you’re being given instructions in Italian and you have to do a mental translation first, it slows you up a bit. Example Cazza / Cazzare, to pull in, Molla / Mollare to let go / out. Fiocco – jib, Randa – mainsail.
Cazza, Cazza fiocco! Or Molla, Molla Randa! Trust me it does your head in.
If you think it gets crowded on the start line for a race in Mersea week, don’t race in Antigua. Not only are there ten times more boats, but all the crews speak different languages. English sign language seemed to work best. I spent some time teaching my ship mates how to swear fluently in English, they became very good. Actual races were as follows, (1) Dickenson Bay. (2) Jolly Harbour. (3) Falmouth Harbour. (Day off.) (4) Nelsons dockyard. (5) Ocean Race. Race length varied but averaged 20 - 25 miles. We were division B, class – Bare boat 6, our name Belle Isle. Of our 5 races we did quite well except for race 4. We were protested and disqualified by a French boat (surprise, surprise) we got a little close to them. We were on port they were on starboard. I was told later, they protested some poor sod every day but it didn’t do them any good as they finished the week close to the bottom of the heap.
Of the 3 Italian boats (I think I’ve got my numbers correct) boat 1 got 1st overall, boat 2 got 6th and we got 12th in our class. 69th on the overall week, out of about 250 entrants, not bad for a scratch crew.
On our day off the rest of our crew wanted to go sailing, Gabriella and I decided we’d like to see a little more of the island. So we rented a scooter (more dosh) International driving licenses don’t count on Antigua you have to have one of theirs. With the cost of the license, insurance and scooter + fuel it came to nearly $100 a day. However when we got inland and met ordinary people they were great and so was the scenery. Everybody was very helpful and friendly so we had a great day just driving around.

At the end of the race week, we spent the Saturday just lounging around Nelsons Dockyard, Sunday was spent preparing the boat for a night sail to the Saints (Isle de Saint) a group of small islands just south of Guadeloupe. We arrived about 10 am at Terre Haut. This is a lovely island, French speaking, French food, very clean, very friendly and very reasonable prices (we could have got a scooter there for about Ł30 in all.) Gabriella and I like exploring new places, so when our friends decided to sail around to the next bay for a day of swimming and sun bathing, we decided to walk. We went ashore in the dingy and then to a little café where a very nice lady indulged me by suffering my very bad schoolboy French. She must have understood something because we came away with sandwiches and soft drinks for our trip.
In land it was HOT. We set out along a coast road in the general direction of the bay our friends had gone to. Gabriella nearly collapsed from exhaustion. She doesn’t tolerate hot weather very well. It took about 1 ˝ hours to reach the bay but it was worth it. Our friends collected us in the dingy and we spent the rest of the day swimming and sunbathing. I can’t swim but I still get into the sea, besides I’ve got a personal lifeguard. (Old sailor’s philosophy – swimming only prolongs your death!)
Our last sail was at night from The Saints to Guadeloupe, although relatively short the last couple of miles were quite hairy. They don’t maintain their buoys like here. I really struggled to see the marks in pitch black. Finally we arrived at our marina around 6 am. Our flight wasn’t until that evening, so we had plenty of time to pack, eat, shower and clean the boat before catching the bus to the airport.
And finally, - another little story.
For whatever reason, best known to the woman on the check-in desk at Guadeloupe, I was unable to get my boarding pass for Paris – London, the baggage yes, this was booked straight through. The Italians – Guadeloupe – Paris, Paris – Rome no probs. “you have to check-in in Paris” I was told.
The flight went well, nothing special although 8 hours on a Jumbo is enough for me. As explained previously my ticket was Lufthanser / British Midland Chares DeGaule. Terminal 1 is like a cart wheel with a central hub. So off I go in search of Lufthanser. This involves going through security, x-rayed baggage etc. and explaining why I haven’t got a boarding pass on arrival at the end of a tunnel. The Lufthanser desks were closed, no problem, plenty of time. 20 minutes later the desk opens, the lady looks at my ticket, “sorry you have to go to the British Midland desk” (the other side of the hub.) Off I go back through security, then more security, another x-ray. I’m surprised the rum I was carrying didn’t boil in the bag. Eventually I arrive at British Midland, explain about Guadeloupe and check-in. Now I have my boarding pass I feel a beer coming on, just as the man puts my beer on the counter, I hear on the tannoy, “will Mr. Rogers please go to British Midland check-in desk.”
I walked across the lounge only to be greeted by two policemen. “Are you Mr. Rogers?” "Yes" “Can I see your passport?” "Yes," passport now in policeman’s pocket, “come with us please!” not much choice really, off we go to a little room.
1st Policeman ... "Where have you come from? What did you do there? Why? Etc. etc. Oh and take your clothes off please."
2nd Policeman... "Checking through my baggage What’s this?"
Me... "Rum – look it says on the label."
2nd Policeman... "What’s this?"
Me... "Old Holborn, would you like one?"
2nd Policeman... "No"
Me... "Can I have one?"
2nd Policeman... "No"
1st Policeman... "What’s this?"
Me... "My shoe"
1st Policeman... "No this!"
Me... "It’s a plastic button on the sole, a maker’s logo, it came with the shoe."
Policeman tries to prize off the button.
2nd Policeman... Holding a bottle of rum over his head and tipping it backwards and forwards. "What’s this?" Pointing at the dissolved sugar.
Me... "Sugar."
2nd Policeman... "Oh yeah ha ha sugar, please open the bottle."
I open the bottle.
1st Policeman taps me on the shoulder from behind "What’s this?"
Me... "Toothpaste."
When I look back Policeman 2 has put the cap back on the bottle and is tipping it backwards and forwards again. At this point I thought, I’ve been screwed, I’m going to be in some French prison trying to convince the French courts I was stitched up by a French Policeman, Oh yeah!
One of the Policemen makes a phone call, I meanwhile put my clothes on, we wait around 15 minutes and another Policeman arrives carrying a suitcase full of testing equipment. He tested the rum, old Holborn and toothpaste – all clear. I ask “oh, does that mean I can go?” “Yes” and without further explanation or apology, I made my way to the departure lounge.
I arrived at my gate, I could see the aircraft at the end of the ramp, but the sign said ‘closed’ and the glass doors were locked. Having kept my composure throughout, the back of my neck became very hot and red. I hit the glass doors quit hard with the palms of my hands, it made quite a noise. A little French man standing the other side of the doors was waving his hands saying, Non! Non! At this point a lady from the check-in desk came over and called my name. Before she could explain that they were holding the plane for me and I could board shortly, I treated this poor innocent lady to a very long string of English expletives, without repartition, on the lack of virtues and heredity of the French and how they caused me to lose my flight. I think I’ll probably avoid France for a little while…..
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