A Unique Little Island

The young woman helped Carol down from the jetty onto the ferry – it was quite a step down. Moments later she was laying on the floor of the boat with her toolbox open pulling out levers and cogs. “I just got this new part in,” she said, “hopefully it’ll fix the rudder.” Reassembled, she wiped her hands and started the engine. Then she was up in the driving seat and the boat left the dock. It turned out Erica was our Captain. The ferry had filled up as she’d worked and we pulled away from the dock; the passengers all looked like locals returning home with purchases. On the Caribbean once again – it was a smooth ride this time. Just as well, a woman sat beside me balancing eight-dozen eggs on her lap in open, grey cartons.

We’d driven down from our villa in the morning and gone into Kayak Café for a cappuccino. We’d seen a small boat at the dock without realizing this was the ferry to Petite Martinique, or PM as the Grenadian’s call it. 

The sea was calm and we arrived at the pier on PM in less than 20 minutes. It was noon under the hot sun as we disembarked and walked along the beach searching for the Palm Beach restaurant. This is the only restaurant mentioned on the web, and it wasn’t difficult to find, but it seemed deserted as we walked up to the counter to order lunch. ‘Hello,’ I called, and a woman appeared. We made our selections from the menu, grabbed a beer, and walked out to sit in the shade under a beach umbrella. She soon brought our food – fresh shrimp – mmm. Refreshed, we headed into town.

PM is a unique little island with a reputation for going its own way. Known for shipbuilding, fishing, as well as smuggling, it has no Customs station and no visible signs of tourism – most Caribbean islands feature resorts or sailing clubs, but not here. And, it boasts some pretty unusual traditions, making a boat launch, a wedding, or a religious holiday (Whitsuntide) into a grand event, although sadly, we didn’t witness either. The community was established in the 1700 by a Frenchman named Mr. Pierre; he produced various crops employing African slaves but in his later years divided up the land and sold it to them. Despite subsequent attempts to re-enslave them the islanders have retained their autonomy and many of their original customs. Petite-Martinique

A boat launch involves all of the 700-or-so islanders with religious blessings, roving musicians, and a huge feast, as the boat rolls into the water on logs. And PM builds a lot of boats. 

The wedding ceremony lasts several days and again involves the whole island in a street festival. Two male dancers each wield a large flag, signifying the bride and the groom; later two women gyrate, each bearing a large cake. These sensual rituals represent the courtship and consummation of the marriage, all preceding a traditional Catholic wedding in the island’s only church, before the celebration continues.

A bright sign greets you as you enter the town, showing music and dancing, evoking the spirit of these ceremonies.  The town comprises a few streets hugging the harbour with two schools, the church, two stores, which were both open, and a combination post office and bar, which was closed. The island is also famous for lobster fishing, although much of its catch goes to the French island of Martinique, to the north. Not all though; later that evening we had our last meal on Carriacou and, of course, Carol had lobster. Now, this is not the cold water Atlantic Lobster we’re familiar with in Canada, this is the warm water Spiny Lobster, with a larger body but no claws. Just as delicious….

This lobster was served in the Green Roof Inn, a hotel and restaurant that we’d driven past several times a day since our arrival without realizing it was there. The restaurant was set on an elevated patio looking out over the Caribbean and the harbour of Hillsborough.

But, before we sailed back on Erica’s ferry, we walked out of the village to the north where we found some haunting, derelict houses – they looked like no one had lived in them for years – remains of strange ghostly, tall plants kept watch in their yards. We wondered what rituals they had witnessed...