Remember Chief Iron Eyes Cody?
My friend YY, Grenadian blogger extraordinaire, posted this regarding the development threatening to spoil Grand Anse Beach.
Will we ever learn?
My hope is that this project will stall indefinitely, meeting the same fate as some other ill-advised plans for the "development" of Grenada, eventually falling by the wayside as money runs out and frustration runs in. This won't be due to activist Grenadians protecting their national treasure, but rather simple inertia. Say what.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
a modern fairy tale
On April 7, 2005, mere days before I first set foot on Grenadian soil, I emailed my mom to ask what kind of clothes I should bring and what she needed me to bring for her. She replied:
M, bring for yourself capri pants or med/long skirts, tops with short sleeves/sleeveless, sneakers, jeans, a hat or two, 1 pair socks, umbrella, sunscreen, a kerchief, sandals and flip-flops, one office-type outfit (for church and/or house-shopping), and bathing suit and cover up.
What do I need? A good chef's knife. Black licorice from Trader Joe's, if you can get there. Born of Earth has good licorice too. R stocked me up otherwise.
My DVD wish list includes the last picture show, an officer and a gentleman, top gun, gone with the wind, bravo two zero, one flew over the cuckoo's nest, it's a wonderful life, back to the future, the godfather, french kiss, zorba the greek, roots, MASH, la cage aux folles. May I borrow some of yours? Just buy 4.
Boat looks, feels great, pulsing with R's energy.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
back & forth
I've lost count by now. How many times have I gone back and forth?
It starts the night before when I change my wallet and charge the other cell phone. The one is shiny silver, full of American-style plastic and receipts from places like Target and Starbucks, matchbooks from Manhattan restaurants that were too trendy in 2003, perfect now. The other one is a little hand batik purse that zips, green and white, and sometimes carries my tongue ring or ipod, but usually just cash.
Then comes shoes. I always say that the only time I put on sneakers in Grenada is when I'm getting dressed for the airport, and I'm not exaggerating. After nearly three years in the West Indies, socks just make me sad. In the rain forest and while sailing I wear tevas. Otherwise it's flip flops. At the peak of my slipper lunacy, I had over thirty pairs, of all imaginable colors and varieties. When I'm going from New York to Grenada, I wear sneakers, of course, but change while collecting my luggage.
These years have been haunted by a vague sense of dislocation. I'm always separated from half my stuff. But it's not about *stuff*, per se. It's about the small questions that punch holes in my reality: Didn't I just buy a ton of trouser socks? Where's my favorite pair of jeans? That cocktail dress jacket, did I ever have the shoulder pads taken out? Which uncle has my son's (non-replaceable) birth certificate filed away? Where am I registered to vote?
It starts the night before when I change my wallet and charge the other cell phone. The one is shiny silver, full of American-style plastic and receipts from places like Target and Starbucks, matchbooks from Manhattan restaurants that were too trendy in 2003, perfect now. The other one is a little hand batik purse that zips, green and white, and sometimes carries my tongue ring or ipod, but usually just cash.
Then comes shoes. I always say that the only time I put on sneakers in Grenada is when I'm getting dressed for the airport, and I'm not exaggerating. After nearly three years in the West Indies, socks just make me sad. In the rain forest and while sailing I wear tevas. Otherwise it's flip flops. At the peak of my slipper lunacy, I had over thirty pairs, of all imaginable colors and varieties. When I'm going from New York to Grenada, I wear sneakers, of course, but change while collecting my luggage.
These years have been haunted by a vague sense of dislocation. I'm always separated from half my stuff. But it's not about *stuff*, per se. It's about the small questions that punch holes in my reality: Didn't I just buy a ton of trouser socks? Where's my favorite pair of jeans? That cocktail dress jacket, did I ever have the shoulder pads taken out? Which uncle has my son's (non-replaceable) birth certificate filed away? Where am I registered to vote?
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
top ten: Grenada
Top ten totally awesome things about Grenada:
1. The prime minister. Never have I witnessed a public official so spectacularly lacking in compunction. Never have I seen such posturing, such casual falsehoods about matters of state. It is fabulously entertaining to watch.
2. The newspaper! The letters to the editor are not to be believed. Airing of personal grievances regarding a moved cow or the dumping of junked vehicles? Oh yes. Thinly veiled outing of pedophiles in the community, unverified and printed unsigned and as written? Indeed. Half-page ads bought for the sole purpose of wishing a little boy a happy fifth birthday? You betcha.
3. Carnival. Carnival, like sex, can be good even when it's bad. Carnival is especially thrilling if you dig soca, calypso and/or getting half-naked and painting yourself with used motor oil. The voyeurs among you can just watch.
4. The remarkably refreshing manner in which people will comment negatively on the most personal thing, effectively neutralizing (at least my) very American inability to speak honestly about those things. Put on a few pounds? Got a ugly kid? Rest assured, your friends will tell you about it.
5. Gossip. I've been chuckling to myself for over a week now about a conversation I had with a former client. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that they've been speculating amongst themselves re: what I've been doing for the last few months...
6. The buses. They are individually owned, subject to rules but nothing remotely resembling a municipal fleet. This can be a good thing. There's actually music playing on the bus, and it's usually pretty good. Though I have never done it, I have considered asking the driver where he got the cd. Also, almost all of the buses have NAMES. Can you imagine? My favorite? A toss-up between "Jah Vibes" and "The Master Plan".
7. The unfailingly complimentary attitude of the men. If you grew up in a cold place, you will never have heard such sweetness from the mouths of complete strangers.
8. Time. I find it both uncomfortable and repetitive to engage in any extended conversation about time in the Caribbean. As a New Yorker, I found the attitude towards time profoundly healing. Relaxing/taking your time is actually a survival tactic, one rooted in a deep understanding of what it means to take care of yourself.
9. Cheese from New Zealand, fruit juice from South Africa, hair care products from Venezuela, over-the-counter painkillers from England, bacon from Trinidad, perfect instant coffee from Colombia, bold fabrics from Africa, yogurt from France and amber from the Dominican Republic. Then there's the local fruits and vegetables and spices, mango and papaya, ochroe and pumpkin, nutmeg, curry and cloves.
10. I get to wear my rx sunglasses almost all the time, a privilege I have been known to abuse indoors. Wearing sunglasses all the time is useful for a variety of reasons. One of my favorites is that no one can be quite sure where my attention is. I've also enjoyed being told that I look like a movie star, an occurrence unique to Grenada lovely Grenada.
Top ten mortally frightening things about Grenada:
1. Everybody wants something from you... or at least it feels that way.
2. Two words: Phone. Manners.
3. The prime minister. Officially, he's to be addressed as "Doctor, the Honorable...". I cringe.
4. The remarkably intrusive, rude and presumptuous manner in which people -- who you may not even know -- will comment on the most personal things. Like, "I heard you were pregnant, but did you lose the baby? Or maybe it's Tom Thumb you got in there?"
5. Gossip. Nothing is sacred.
6. The buses. They are private, and subject to rules but not really. Most likely, your driver will *not* have been drinking rum in the terminal for the 90 minutes he had to wait his turn to pick up passengers... but you never know. More likely is that you will find yourself subjected to the worst kind of Jesus music. (There is palatable Jesus music out there, don't get me wrong. Just not on the buses in Grenada.)
7. The unfailingly complimentary attitude of the men. You can be eight months pregnant, sweaty and swollen. It does not matter. After a while, on particularly hard days, when you're feeling sensitive or worn out or fed up in general, it can get annoying, even infuriating. You may find yourself fuming at a bemused Rastafarian, threatening to throw your water coconut.
8. Time. I find it both uncomfortable and repetitive to engage in any extended conversation about time in the Caribbean. It takes some getting used to, understanding that when a Grenadian says "in a while", they might mean "very soon", they might mean "in a while", but most likely, they mean "stop asking me when, it'll be when it is".
9. Every couple of months or so, the entire island runs out of diet Coke.
10. I absolutely must wear sunglasses any time I venture outdoors under that tropic sun. With my vision, I'd otherwise develop cataracts by 40.
1. The prime minister. Never have I witnessed a public official so spectacularly lacking in compunction. Never have I seen such posturing, such casual falsehoods about matters of state. It is fabulously entertaining to watch.
2. The newspaper! The letters to the editor are not to be believed. Airing of personal grievances regarding a moved cow or the dumping of junked vehicles? Oh yes. Thinly veiled outing of pedophiles in the community, unverified and printed unsigned and as written? Indeed. Half-page ads bought for the sole purpose of wishing a little boy a happy fifth birthday? You betcha.
3. Carnival. Carnival, like sex, can be good even when it's bad. Carnival is especially thrilling if you dig soca, calypso and/or getting half-naked and painting yourself with used motor oil. The voyeurs among you can just watch.
4. The remarkably refreshing manner in which people will comment negatively on the most personal thing, effectively neutralizing (at least my) very American inability to speak honestly about those things. Put on a few pounds? Got a ugly kid? Rest assured, your friends will tell you about it.
5. Gossip. I've been chuckling to myself for over a week now about a conversation I had with a former client. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that they've been speculating amongst themselves re: what I've been doing for the last few months...
6. The buses. They are individually owned, subject to rules but nothing remotely resembling a municipal fleet. This can be a good thing. There's actually music playing on the bus, and it's usually pretty good. Though I have never done it, I have considered asking the driver where he got the cd. Also, almost all of the buses have NAMES. Can you imagine? My favorite? A toss-up between "Jah Vibes" and "The Master Plan".
7. The unfailingly complimentary attitude of the men. If you grew up in a cold place, you will never have heard such sweetness from the mouths of complete strangers.
8. Time. I find it both uncomfortable and repetitive to engage in any extended conversation about time in the Caribbean. As a New Yorker, I found the attitude towards time profoundly healing. Relaxing/taking your time is actually a survival tactic, one rooted in a deep understanding of what it means to take care of yourself.
9. Cheese from New Zealand, fruit juice from South Africa, hair care products from Venezuela, over-the-counter painkillers from England, bacon from Trinidad, perfect instant coffee from Colombia, bold fabrics from Africa, yogurt from France and amber from the Dominican Republic. Then there's the local fruits and vegetables and spices, mango and papaya, ochroe and pumpkin, nutmeg, curry and cloves.
10. I get to wear my rx sunglasses almost all the time, a privilege I have been known to abuse indoors. Wearing sunglasses all the time is useful for a variety of reasons. One of my favorites is that no one can be quite sure where my attention is. I've also enjoyed being told that I look like a movie star, an occurrence unique to Grenada lovely Grenada.
Top ten mortally frightening things about Grenada:
1. Everybody wants something from you... or at least it feels that way.
2. Two words: Phone. Manners.
3. The prime minister. Officially, he's to be addressed as "Doctor, the Honorable...". I cringe.
4. The remarkably intrusive, rude and presumptuous manner in which people -- who you may not even know -- will comment on the most personal things. Like, "I heard you were pregnant, but did you lose the baby? Or maybe it's Tom Thumb you got in there?"
5. Gossip. Nothing is sacred.
6. The buses. They are private, and subject to rules but not really. Most likely, your driver will *not* have been drinking rum in the terminal for the 90 minutes he had to wait his turn to pick up passengers... but you never know. More likely is that you will find yourself subjected to the worst kind of Jesus music. (There is palatable Jesus music out there, don't get me wrong. Just not on the buses in Grenada.)
7. The unfailingly complimentary attitude of the men. You can be eight months pregnant, sweaty and swollen. It does not matter. After a while, on particularly hard days, when you're feeling sensitive or worn out or fed up in general, it can get annoying, even infuriating. You may find yourself fuming at a bemused Rastafarian, threatening to throw your water coconut.
8. Time. I find it both uncomfortable and repetitive to engage in any extended conversation about time in the Caribbean. It takes some getting used to, understanding that when a Grenadian says "in a while", they might mean "very soon", they might mean "in a while", but most likely, they mean "stop asking me when, it'll be when it is".
9. Every couple of months or so, the entire island runs out of diet Coke.
10. I absolutely must wear sunglasses any time I venture outdoors under that tropic sun. With my vision, I'd otherwise develop cataracts by 40.
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