Tag: caribbean

3 reasons to travel while grieving
I’ve been absent here for a while. And it’s not because I haven’t traveled. I spent a week in Banff, Canada and its environs at the end of June, a trip I hope to write about in coming weeks. I just haven’t been up to writing.

On June 5, in the middle of the night, my good boy Felix passed away in his sleep.

Felix

He was about 13 and had started showing his age the previous fall. We had a cool spring here in Washington, DC, but as the weather started warming up, he visibly struggled to walk, plopping down and panting even on a short walk. A few times I had to carry him part of the way home (and he wasn’t light).

Exercise intolerance aside, he was still hanging in and showing joy in life until the last week, when after one bad night, he was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension. He declined rapidly, ate up until his final day (he did love to eat), and passed away at a time of his own choosing.

This post isn’t about Felix’s death, though, not really. It’s about healing when a beloved someone passes, and how travel can be a vital part of that healing process. I’m focused on pets here because that’s most recent to me, but I think the lessons here could equally apply to humans as well.

I’ve been through a lot of death in my life, both human and animal. All of my grandparents and my dad are gone. We had three cats when I was a kid, and as an adult, I’ve had three pets of my own, all overlapping, for the last 18 years.

First was Amber, who passed away in 2019 at 12 years old, just a few months after my dad had passed.

Amber

Second was Frankie, who just passed away last year at 13 years old.¹

Frankie

Both cats had been with me since kittenhood.

I rescued Felix in 2017 after Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico, when he was already around 6 years old. He was probably around 13 when he died in June, leaving me petless for the first time since grad school.

After each of my pets died, I traveled. Here are the three ways that I think it helped:

Getting away from home gets you away from the ghosts

Within two weeks of Amber’s passing, I was in Miami Beach, staying with a friend who was living in one of those iconic high rises with views of aqua waters.

Miami Beach

I needed to be anywhere but at home, where Amber’s ghost still roamed the halls, and her fur still clung to the sheets.

Pets imprint themselves upon your life in infinite ways. After they are gone, they linger on their favorite chairs, rugs, and corners of the bed. You even miss their even their most annoying habits. Frankie’s howling at 5 am for someone to wake up and pay attention to him. Felix barking like mad every time the buzzer rang for a delivery. (Amber had no annoying habits, she was an angel.)

You even miss the pet hair, which you will still find in surprising places months and years later, a physical reminder that this beloved little creature really lived and shared your space.

Felix shed a lot, and now that he’s gone my condo is much cleaner. No more piles of black and grey hair collecting in the corners of rooms. I no longer trip over stuffed toys all over the living room. The new cleanliness feels like emptiness, and I don’t welcome it.

The ghosts of dogs are are more mobile than cats because in life they travel so many more places with you. Yes, Felix was on the couch, on the bed, greeting me at the door when I got home, begging for food in the kitchen, digging through his massive basket of stuffed toys. But he was also in the backseat of my car, rolling on the patch of grass in front of my condo building, frolicking on my favorite local hiking trails.

Felix on a hike

When he passed, I wanted to be anywhere but home. I almost got in the car and drove three hours to the ocean. I wanted to be free of his memory, as if I could actually forget my grief no matter where I was. Still, getting away from the places where his ghost lived offered the promise of relief from pain at a time when memory felt unbearable.

Getting away from normal responsibilities gives you mental space to grieve

In Miami Beach, I spent a few days there with my friend, exploring the beaches, eating Cuban food, and spending a memorable day on a sailboat, sunbathing to the rhythms of yacht rock.

Afterwards, I relocated solo to the Breezes Resort on Cable Beach, west of Nassau, Bahamas. For the first few days I was there, I did nothing. That is to say, I woke up in the morning, brought my Kindle out to the beach, and claimed a hammock under a palm-thatched roof. I laid in the hammock and read for hours on end, gently rocking back and forth in the hammock. Gazing out at the aqua waters. Occasionally grabbing a drink.

my hammock in the Bahamas

I’m typically a busy traveler. If I’ve taken the effort to get somewhere, I don’t like to waste time in the hotel, sleeping in, or walled off in some resort where I only interact with other American tourists. I try to cram in as much local sights, food, experiences, shopping, and culture as possible.

For the first few days in the Bahamas, I did none of that. I told myself I had nothing that I needed to do. No chores, no responsibilities, no obligation to do anything. And those days of utter, blissful inaction helped. My brain, heart, and soul had time to process what they needed to process. When I got home, I hurt less, and was able to—if not move on—at least function like a human again.

I already had the trip to Banff booked before Felix passed. One of my close friends had decided a year before that she intended to spend the full month of her 40^th birthday in Banff. She rented a place and invited friends and family visit for however much time they could. Another friend and I had planned for a week.

The trip started two weeks to the day after he died. In the intervening time, I actually had to pull myself together for important things like job interviews, which felt like a prodigious act of valor. In between moments of semi-human-functioning, I snuggled Felix’s stuffed toys and cried.

My friends and I settled on seating arrangements in the Subaru early on. The birthday girl was driving, as it was her car. The other friend was prone to carsickness, so she took shotgun. I willingly took the backseat, where I was a little isolated from the conversation in the front seat, chiming in when I felt like it, singing along to songs that moved me.

But mostly I was looking out the window, taking in the scenery and searching for wildlife, while swimming in deep pools of grief.

For the preceding two weeks, I hadn’t really let myself remember everything that had happened the day Felix died. Waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, stepping in poo, going to check on him, finding him cold, debating if he was really dead or not, stroking his dead body to comfort him just in case, moving his stiff corpse, waiting sleeplessly till morning when I could call someone, wrapping him up in a blanket, carrying his stiff body down three flights of steps, stuffing him into the car, and carrying him into the vet’s.

Having a pet die at home means confronting the physical realities of a dead body in ways that you don’t have to when you put them to sleep at the vet’s. There were a thousand tiny little visceral details that I took in stride at the time out of necessity, but may have traumatized me more than I realized.

I relived them all, looking out the window of my friend’s Subaru, simultaneously heartbroken and awe-struck by the mountains, streams, and lakes. At times, a stray tear trickled down my face, and I hoped I wiped it away before my friends saw it.

I’m sure I wasn’t the best travel companion on that trip. I was quiet, withdrawn, and probably not my most fun. I certainly participated very little in planning our days, and I was immensely grateful that I didn’t have to. The last night I got drunk and finally spilled my guts about how much I was struggling and how I’d been spending my time in the backseat.

Adventures remind you that you still have a lot to live for

I didn’t come home feeling rejuvenated after Banff the same way I did after the Bahamas. Here I am, almost three months later, just getting to the point where I feel like I can post again. Other things have happened in the interim too, mostly work bullshit that felt like the universe was repeatedly kicking me while I was down. I’ve been trying to give myself grace to recover, all the while feeling like “he was a dog, not a human, I shouldn’t be grieving this hard.” Apparently, that’s a common feeling when a pet dies.

Still, Banff was awesome in the original “awe-inspiring” sense of the word. Not just Banff, but Jasper and Yoho National Parks too. So many waterfalls, lakes, mountains, not to mention all the creatures! We saw black bear, mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, deer, and even—for a fleetingly wonderful instant (and from the safety of the car)—a pack of wolves. No amount of grief could subsume the wonder of that moment. More on the trip to follow, but here’s just a taste.

Lake Edith, in Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada

By the last couple of days of my trip to the Bahamas, I finally felt capable of venturing off the resort. I snorkeled with some sharks and viewed the island where Captain Jack Sparrow gets marooned in Pirates of the Caribbean. I took a little jaunt around Nassau on a non-cruise-ship day, and delighted in the Pirates of Nassau Museum (especially the tales of lady pirates!).

Even though these were small excursions, I returned to the white sand of Cable Beach afterwards and was overcome with gratitude that I’m fortunate enough to be able to see so many of the world’s beautiful places. People will die, pets will die, but I want to keep going until I can see as much of the world as I can.
1. Frankie features shockingly little in this story of grief. He was indeed the little misfit of the family. Where Amber was a gentle soul, and Felix was a charmer, Frankie was, in my mom’s words “a little off.” It was less than a month after his death that I went to Dominica. But I don’t really recall being in mourning still then. Maybe I loved my misfit middle child a little less. Maybe I had just made my peace with his passing before it came. Poor Frankie. ↩︎
2024-08-29
practical tips if you’re planning a trip to dominica

You definitely should plan a trip to Dominica if…

You are the type of person who enjoys slightly more off-the-beaten track travel and don’t mind being deprived of some of the comforts of home. If that’s you, and you enjoy hiking, snorkeling, or diving, there are tons of options. We only hit a couple of hiking trails, and many would have been beyond my capabilities, but if you are hardier than me, you can really go nuts here.

It’s also a great spot for whale watching, which we did not get a chance to do. It seemed like most of the boats went out on Saturdays, so include a Saturday in your itinerary if you want to do this.

If you are looking for a vacation where you can combine fun adventures with pure peace, relaxation, and beauty, this is an island well worth a visit.

On the other hand, being in a country that doesn’t cater to tourists has its downsides. You probably should not plan a trip to Dominica if…

You’re the type of person who likes to be waited on hand and foot while on vacation, who likes to have all the amenities, or even who wants to spend much of a Caribbean vacation on the beach. It’s not an island known for its beaches, and it is not a highly developed island, so some things are just difficult or inconvenient.

If you want to take it easy on vacation and not have to problem-solve, this is probably not the island for you.

If you’re going to give it a try, here are some practical things to be aware of before you go:

driving

In previous posts, I promised more on the driving. In some ways it’s easy. If you are comfortable or willing to get comfortable with left-side driving, there’s one major road that circumnavigates the island, and one that cuts across. Just know where you are relative to the sea, and it’s pretty hard to get lost.

But most roads aren’t well-maintained. The Roseau-Portsmouth road was a notable exception. There aren’t many sidewalks or parking spaces, so you you’re always dodging the hazards of people, cars parked on either side of narrow streets, and the gullies.

Gullies were our term for massive gutters that line the streets in certain areas. They are initially terrifying because they are obviously wide and deep enough to engulf your tire and ruin your day. Navigating them while also getting used to the dimensions of a new rental car and left-side driving is a bit of a nail-biting experience.

Then of course there’s the mountainous, curvy roads are probably steeper grades in some places than would be allowed in US road construction. If you’re comfortable on mountain roads already, this part is the least of your problems. But if you’re not, or if you’re a nervous driver generally, you’re probably going to have a rough time. I am comfortable on mountain roads and not a nervous driver, and it took me about two days as the primary driver to adjust. (Although I was also adjusting to driving on the left.)

driving down this mountain was a blast

weekends and holidays

Much but not all of the country shuts down on Sundays, so plan accordingly. We correctly anticipated that many things would also be closed for International Labor Day (1 May) on Monday. We had not anticipated bonus Labor Day on Tuesday. We had planned around a 2-day gap of everything being closed, but the third day threw us off. We basically lost a day of sightseeing, and I was legitimately worried that we would be forced to live off Kind bars and trail mix the whole day before we finally found lunch.

finding food

Speaking of which, unless you’re staying in Roseau, bring some snacks with you. I wasn’t kidding about the Kind bars and trail mix. I always bring snacks like this when I travel, and I almost never need them, but in Dominica I really did. For the most part, we ate one real meal a day and subsisted on snacks brought with us from the US, local mangoes and other fruit (a highlight!), and what little food we could scrounge from the “grocery stores”, most of which were not really worthy of the name.

Imagine trying to live off what you can buy at a 7/11 for a week (just the dry goods part, not the revolting hot dogs and pizza). You could get rice, beans, frozen meat, shelf-stable veggies like onions and potatoes, eggs, and bread, but for the most part the shelves were stocked with canned foods. We did have a local fruit and veggie stand, which was handy when there was someone there.

our local fruit and veggie stand

If we had been smart, we would have asked the caretaker or the housekeeper how to get fresh fish at the beginning of the trip (we learned too late that there was apparently a fish truck that comes around Calibishie blowing a conch shell), and then we might have been able to cook more at the house.

I will say we stopped at a grocery store in Roseau, and that one was stocked with pretty much everything you would expect in a western-style grocery store. But Roseau was more than an hour away, and it appeared to be the exception country-wide (even in Portsmouth).

money

Credit cards were accepted some places, but it was mostly a cash economy. The country uses the East Caribbean Dollar (XCD), but also accepts USD pretty widely. As a rule, I hate being that American who insists on paying in USD. Although I came armed with 500 USD in cash as a backup, my plan was to take out XCD from an ATM and mostly rely upon that.

However, the functioning of the ATMs (or perhaps their connectivity to US banks) was spotty, and at times our supply of XCD dwindled perilously low while we waited for the ATM gods to smile upon us. Most people were willing to take USD, but Bank of America gave me my $500 in Benjamins, so breaking them was a challenge.

At the Red Rocks Bar, when XCD were running very low, I asked the bartender if we could buy 2 beers with a 100-dollar-bill and get our change in XCD. He initially told me yes, of course, but didn’t actually have enough XCD in the till. Lesson here is bring your ATM card, but also plenty of small denomination US bills.

safety

Those were all the inconveniences. One thing we never worried about though was safety. We were two women in our late 30s-early 40s, and literally never had any physical concerns for our safety or even a real fear of being robbed.

(Don’t get me wrong, we locked the house and the car, but that’s just what city-dwelling Americans do.)

Truly the people were lovely, friendly, and helpful everywhere we went, but in a way that felt authentic—not the phony, overly trained customer service that you find in resorts or heavily touristed areas (totally picturing a White Lotus resort right now), but genuine niceness.

In Portsmouth, a man approached us with a gallon-sized Ziploc full of weed in his coat, and even he was perfectly lovely when we politely declined to purchase his wares. “Dominica, where even the drug dealers are kind.” Free offering for the Dominica tourist board.

where to stay

I can’t recommend the Villa Passiflora more. Someone put a lot of thought into the construction of this house—sustainable hardwood decking, trim, and shutters. A layout that captures the breeze and makes air conditioning largely unnecessary. Beautiful furnishings and knickknacks all supposedly sourced from local craftsmen. The view is amazing, the water temperature in the infinity pool was perfect, and the landscaping was meticulously maintained. We had many avian visitors, both inside and outside the house.

a morning visitor

There were just two of us, so one of the three bedrooms went un-opened. But the third one looked to be the same size as the one I stayed in, which was smaller than the master bedroom where my friend stayed. I would say you could fit up to three couples, a family of 4-5, or a friend group of 3-6 (depending on how comfortable you all are sharing beds).

Staying on the north side of the island had its plusses and minuses. On the plus side, it was an easy drive from the airport in Marigot, so when we arrived near sundown we didn’t have to drive too far in the dark. The area is known for being heavier on the ex-pats (although we didn’t seem many), and there was plenty to see and do in our immediate area. On the other hand, see notes above about the food / grocery situation.

If you want more resort comforts, there are a few around Portsmouth, including an Intercontinental. Aside from that, I would not stay in Portsmouth. If you want more convenience, like a Western-style grocery store, you could look for AirBnBs or hotels around Roseau (the Fort Young Hotel looked appropriately swanky). We didn’t make it down that way, but the southern side of the island caters more to divers. If I ever went back I might spend a few days at a dive resort down there to experience that side of the island more.

So that is it! My final post on Dominica. Stay tuned for my next series on my summer Alaskan cruise!

2023-10-14
the end of the island
On our last day in Dominica, we headed south again… all the way south this time. We returned to Roseau, where we visited the botanical gardens. This was on the wishlist of my travel companion, and we had run out of time to visit on Wednesday, our previous day in the south.

the capital, roseau

She enjoyed taking pictures of all the tropical plants. I assisted by scanning the plants with my plant-identifying app, Picture This, and providing the species names, since the plants were mostly unlabeled. She said, more expertly than I, that many of the plants would have been difficult to encounter elsewhere, making it a worthwhile venture for those so inclined.

We found the Old Town of Roseau generally unimpressive, with only a few buildings that even evoked a French Caribbean charm. For the most full-on bougie moment of the whole trip, we stopped for a drink at the Fort Young Hotel’s Palisades restaurant. It was by far the fanciest place we’d been the whole trip, and we enjoyed a lovely mojito by the water.

scott’s head

Scott’s Head lies at the southernmost tip of the island. It was there that we journeyed on our final afternoon to feel that we had experienced the island tip to tip. We stopped at a nice seafood shack called Chez Wen and soaked up the ocean views for one last day. I ordered cajun shrimp with garlic bread (an excellent choice, because I could dip the garlic bread in the sauce) and “banana salad” which was kind of like a potato salad with unripe bananas as the base.

a rowboat on the beach in Scott’s Head

At the final tip of the island lies the Cachacrou Peninsula, which hosts the remains of a British fort, used to defend the island from the French in the 18^th century. The drive up was intimidatingly steep but the view was worth it. (Indeed, this is the quintessential postcard view of Dominica.) Even from above, we could tell how perfect the waters would be for snorkeling.

Scotts Head, as seen from Cachacrou Peninsula

champagne reef

Speaking of, our last stop was Champagne Bay, one of Dominica’s top tourist sites. Snorkeling had been on our must-do list, but our day where nothing went as planned forced us to delay to the final day.

I’m a certified (though still fairly novice) scuba diver, so I’ve done by share of beach entries. They’re always harder than boat entries, especially with scuba gear, but even without this was a rough entry. The beach was rocky with a gradual drop off, but the flippers they gave you weren’t the kind that came with booties to assist with walking on rough terrain. The choices were walk in with flippers on, or struggle over the rocks barefoot, and there was no way to do either with anything resembling grace.

Aside from the rough entry, it was a spectacular snorkeling site. I will say that I found the site’s nominal draw—the “champagne” part of the reef, where underwater geothermal activity is supposed to make you feel like you’re swimming in a glass of champagne—a bit underwhelming. But it was a well-structured reef with lots of the same fish you’d see anywhere in the Caribbean. I also saw Caribbean Reef Squid, all lined up like they were in a regiment, which was new to me. Best of all, I saw a Hawksbill sea turtle, whom I watched for such a long time that he probably thought it was being stalked.

On our swim back, I floated along the edge of the reef, which dropped off dramatically into an azure abyss.

Driving, packing, and airport bustle aside—so ended our time in Dominica.

previous posts on dominica
2023-10-01
the best $2 we’d ever spent
When we looked out from our house in Calibishie, and from various points around town, we could see an expanse of red rocks beside the ocean. We had not yet found an obvious way to get to them, so after a restful morning, we set out to explore the sights closer to home.

calibishie’s red rocks

The Bradt guide led us to a tiny maze of narrow roads only a short distance from our house. After a few wrong turns, we found ourselves at Red Rocks Bar, where there was a sign saying that the path to the red rocks cost $2 (USD). A kindly bartender took our $4, pointed us towards the path, and informed us that his dog Roxy would likely join us.

roxy the tour dog

And she did! Our canine tour guide accompanied us for a short walk down to a sprawling expanse of wind- and water-worn cliffs of vibrant, rusty red, which contrasted sharply against the dark blue and aqua waters beyond.

I literally had to hold on to my hat due to a steady, cooling wind, which drowned out all other sounds. We each wandered solo to all the corners the sprawling rocks, perfectly smooth but for the occasional pockmark. The roar of the wind created its own kind of silence that in turn inspired a long moment of solitary contemplation, a sort of walking meditation with Roxy as our guru.

calibishie’s red rocks

We agreed it was the best $2 we’d ever spent.

We probably could have stayed longer, but if we had, we probably would have baked ourselves to a crisp unknowingly because the wind was. Back at the bar, we drank a couple beers and chatted with the bartender, who lit up a fat doobie.

batibou beach

Batibou Beach has the reputation of being one of the best beaches in Dominica, not known for its beaches. Tour books cautioned that you had to pay if you wanted to drive down onto the beach, which we were happy to do, following a narrow, unpaved trail through the trees and down a gradual slope to the stand. (In fact, the attendants claimed everyone had to pay, whether you drove or not, so good call on our part.)

batibou beach

It was a white sand beach, with palm trees, picnic tables, and a dude named William who had a small fire going next to a palm-frond hut. He was cooking up fish, a fruit called “bread fruit” (which did in fact taste like bread), and mango, all served on a banana leaf. For dessert, he hacked open a coconut with a cutlass (the term Dominicans use for machete), and we drank it straight from the coconut. (I found the trick to be imagining I was a Pawneean drinking from a water fountain.)

lunch on batibou beach

After lunch, we swam and did beachy things for a while before heading back to town for dinner at Rainbow Beach Bar in Calibishie. We had some bad luck with the drinks there (some truly disgusting rum liqueur thing that we mistakenly thought was going to be a rum punch), but damn the food was good. I ordered the lobster, and I got 3 small Caribbean lobsters, sliced in half for easy eating, grilled and flavorful, with garlic butter sauce. And from there we watched the sun set over Morne au Diable.

sunset from rainbow beach bar

previous posts on dominica
2023-10-01
the waters of dominica
Our tour books said that as long as no cruise ships were in port in Roseau, we would not encounter large crowds, even at the larger tourist attractions like Trafalgar Falls. (Tip: cruise ships stop calling in May and don’t return till October. Yes, it’s hurricane season, live a little!)

Wednesday of the first week in May, we put this to the test and drove south towards Roseau, the capital city where the cruise ships port, and thus the most “heavily touristed” part of the country.

trafalgar falls

We got up early and made it to Trafalgar Falls by about 9 am. At that hour, the site was completely deserted—not even an attendant present to check our passes to the parks! It was a very short walk to the falls (10 min, not quite handicapped accessible, but easy).

Trafalgar Falls are an impressive pair of waterfalls, sprouting from opposite sides of a dark, forested escarpment. They are dramatic in the way that major tourist destination waterfalls tend to be, though personally I prefer the humbler, hidden ones, like Bwa Nef and Emerald Pool. But I have to admit that it’s a rare thing to see big dramatic waterfalls like this without fighting with a single other tourist.

It was too bad that 9 am also corresponded with the absolute worst time for photography. The sun was just rising behind the cliff, and the glare was unforgiving. Otherwise, the photographs unspoiled by other humans would have been fantastic.

We stayed for about a half hour, trying to get pictures for a while before we gave up and soaked up the experience. I did get some great pictures of lizards. (Did I mention that I was taking pictures of lizards everywhere in Dominica? I was. You’ll find I love taking pictures of wildlife, no matter how small.) By the time we left, a few other tourists and the staff had arrived.

one of the many lizards of dominica

Dominica is mountainous, so there are hiking trails all over the island, many of them very challenging. I enjoy hiking very much, but I am, let’s just say, a moderate trail hiker. I can walk for long distances, but steep vertical gains are not my friends and I do not pretend that I am up for them. My friend was recovering from a leg injury, and she was even less game for a challenging hike than I was.

(And you’ll note that nowhere in any of these Dominica posts do I even mention Boiling Lake, one of Dominica’s top tourist attractions. See previous paragraph. Also, a challenging hike that ends in a lake that I can’t even jump into to cool off? Double no thank you.)

boeri lake

We decided instead to take a trail that led to a lake that we could hop in at the top: Boeri Lake. Its trailhead was a short 15 or 20 minute drive from Trafalgar Falls. The initial vertical gain was fairly steep, but the views were worth it. The lush green mountains cascaded down to the shores of the Atlantic, which mirrored the sky so perfectly it was hard to tell where water ended and sky began.

view of the atlantic from the trail to boeri lake

The mountain peaks towards which we hiked swathed in gently meandering clouds, which dampened and cooled the land the farther north we climbed.

Lake Boeri was a smallish lake to look at it, its waters a bold shamrock green. Cool cloud forest or not, I was steamy by the time we reached the top and hopped in as quickly as I could deposit my bags and rip off my clothes. I was wearing a bathing suit underneath, to be clear, but honestly I didn’t need to be—not another soul was sharing the lake with us.

mountain swathed in clouds on the boeri lake hike

I set out to swim to the opposite shore, but realized quickly that the lake was actually quite a lot larger than it appeared. The water was delightfully cool and fresh, so much so that we took our chances and filled our water bottles without sterilizing (to no ill aftereffects).

Boeri Lake

I will say of the hike, for the benefit of those with mobility issues, it was a lot more challenging than the books make it out to be. The Bradt guide rated it as roughly equivalent to the Bwa Nef hike. It was far harder. For me, a woman in her 40s in reasonably good condition, it was an easily manageable, moderate hike. After the initial vertical gain, I found the most challenging part to be navigating the rocks on the trail, which were often quite slick from the mists.

For my friend recovering from a leg injury, it was definitely too much. It was only about a mile in-and-back hike, but our progress was slow so the hike took us hours. I spent a lot of time watching the clouds drift over the mountains and taking selfies and pictures of lizards and flowers while waiting for her to catch up. To her credit, she soldiered on.

another beautiful view from the trail

Boeri Lake had taken up far more time than we planned, so sadly we did not have time to make to the hot springs in Wotten Waven. Instead we grabbed a meal in Roseau and headed home via a new route. The coastal road from Roseau to Portsmouth runs along the west coast of the island between its two largest cities, and is by far the best road on the island. We watched the sun set over the Caribbean from our trusty car, as we ended our fifth day in Dominica.

previous posts on dominica
2023-09-30
the one where nothing goes as planned
In my experience, on every trip, you’re almost guaranteed to have at least one day that doesn’t go as planned. Where everything is harder than it should be. On this trip, that day was Tuesday. We knew many things would be closed on Sunday, and Labor Day on Monday, and we planned accordingly. We expected that by Tuesday, everything would have reopened.

portsmouth

We planned to travel west to Portsmouth, Dominica’s second largest city and its original capital. We’d check out the fish market, get some lunch, do some snorkeling, and head back to Calibishie via the scenic route across the island’s northern peninsula.

We checked out the fish market. Maybe we were too late arriving, but the fish selection was limited to these tiny sardine-like fish that I would not have known how to cook. We did buy some plantains for frying up later, and coconut water that was bottled fresh out of the coconut by a man with small stand. We also met the friendliest drug dealer we’d ever met, who merely wished a lovely day when we declined the gallon bag of weed he pulled from his jacket.

We walked north out of Portsmouth, up the beach to the string of restaurants and water sports places that catered to tourists. It was dead. We found one open beachside bar and ordered a drink that turned out to be the best mixed drink we’d have the whole trip—a coconut rum and lime concoction that was apparently popular with the French tourists. (I believe it was this, but with a local coconut rum.)

deserted beach north of Portsmouth

Abandoning Portsmouth, we drove north to Toucari Bay in search of some more activity, and—of increasing importance—actual food. I had wanted to check out Keepin’ It Real, which seemed to be on everyone’s lists of the best restaurants in Dominica. Toucari Bay is also renowned for its snorkeling. Alas, this restaurant too was closed, and no snorkeling was on offer.

We returned to Portsmouth, thinking that the second largest city in Dominica would surely have some open restaurants to feed two, by this time, starving tourists. We tried a restaurant called the Purple Turtle, which had looked open, but it turned out we had just seen a bunch of locals hanging there playing games.

Finally, a man called—no joke—Buddha came to our rescue. He explained that Labor Day was continuing for a second day, so yes, everything was still closed. On his advice, we headed to the Portsmouth Beach Hotel, which catered to westerners. There we had a lovely lunch of more mahi-mahi and fried plantains.

Once again, the fish was good, but the plantains were dry and bland. Also disappointing—the waitress clearly was just filling in because the regular server was on holiday, so she didn’t know the menu well. When I asked if the prices were in US or Caribbean dollars, she said they accepted both. But when pressed to answer which currency the prices on the menu were quoted in, she said US. 130 USD for a seafood platter for 2 would have been a little more than we were prepared to pay, but would have been an excellent price in East Caribbean dollars (about 1/3 the cost). Sadly, we learned that the waitress was mistaken far too late to change our orders.

dominica’s northern peninsula

It was now 1:30 or so and we were finally fed. But we had accomplished none of the things we planned to for the day. We gave up on snorkeling and decided to just move on to the last thing on our agenda—taking the scenic route through the mountains of the northern peninsula.

By this time, I was comfortable driving in Dominica. (This was no small feat—I have a whole post about the driving still to come.) I spent a lot of my youth in the Mountain West, and I adore driving on steep, switchbacky-roads. This was one of my favorite roads of all time.

Driving north out of Portsmouth, we rapidly ascended Morne au Diable, straining our poor rental car so badly she needed a break at the top. But it was a fantastic spot to stop, trapse out among knee high grasses, and enjoy the view from the top of a mountain that dropped precipitously down to smooth Caribbean waters.

view from the top of Morne au Diable

From here, the road crossed the inside of the crater of a quasi-dormant volcano. Books and Buddha had told us to stop a Cold Soufrière, a cold sulfur spring that could be reached by an easy 5 minute walk from the road. I found the site to be a little underwhelming as a tourist attraction. It smelled like sulfur and was cold, as advertised. Having enjoyed my share of natural hot springs out west, I found the cold sulfur water was novel in its incongruity. But it was a small and not terribly picturesque spring.

Morne au Diable, seen from the east

bwa nef waterfall

Buddha had also recommended Bwa Nef waterfall. Google Maps did not do a great job leading us to the trailhead, so we endured one failed attempt that resulted in us driving throughout a car graveyard ending up among some sheep, one of whom was very angry at our presence.

The actual trailhead was further down the mountain, and it was well-marked with space to park. We were the only car. The hike to the falls was easy for me (a 40+ woman in average shape), but my friend was recovering from a leg injury and found it a bit of a struggle. Along the way we met the proprietor, who assured her that it was not much further, so she persisted. (On our return, he asked for a tip, as we were crossing his land, which we gave him.)

Bwa Nef Waterfall

The falls was one of the more unique ones I’ve been to. Two sharp black cliffs towered on either side of us, so tightly spaced that it felt as if we were entering a cave. Two boulders perched atop a narrow strip of ceiling open to the skies. The boulders looked almost precarious, but the proprietor had already assured us they have been there for years and never fallen.

We ended our day satisfied with the unexpected adventure at Bwa Nef. Sometimes the best parts of a trip are unplanned.

previous posts on dominica
2023-09-24
a journey into caribbean history
Before we left, I had a vague game plan that on the days we ventured away from our immediate environs, one day we would head east, one day we would head south, and one day we would head west.

The main draw in the east was the Kalinago territory, which is the only reservation in the Caribbean for the pre-Columbian indigenous population. When Dominica was first encountered by Europeans on Columbus’ second voyage (on a Sunday, hence the Latin name “Dominica”), the island was populated by the Kalinago (called the Caribs by the Europeans).

a bit about dominican history

The Kalinago on Dominica resisted European colonization for centuries after Columbus, but starting in the 17^th century, the island fell alternately under the control of British and French colonizers. During this time most of the Kalinago population was wiped out and, as in most of the Caribbean, replaced by enslaved peoples from Africa brought to work on plantations.

But unlike in the rest of the Caribbean, the Kalinago population was not wiped out entirely. Today the Kalinago comprise over 3 percent of the population—a total only in the thousands, but a significant rebound from its nadir in the hundreds in the early 20^th century.

Under the Carib Reserve Act, passed after Dominica’s independence from Britain in 1978, the Kalinago have their own self-governing territory in the east. It was to this territory that we headed on Monday.

A primary school in Kalinago territory

onward to kalinago territory

Our travel guides had said that this was the poorest part of the island, and the poverty was immediately apparent from the state of the roads. The roads on the island were generally not in the best condition, but everywhere else, they were at least reliably paved. As soon as we branched off the main road to head towards Kalinago territory, the road turned to gravel. We found stray dogs and chickens roaming freely as we gingerly made our way along the unpaved coastal road.

Kalinago Barane Aute is the main tourist attraction in Kalinago territory. It has a small but well-done museum about Kalinago life and the destruction to it wrought by colonialism. (I found it refreshingly undiplomatic about this.) After that you are free to wander a loop through a model village situated along the craggy cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. The Crayfish River flows through the village and cascades down to the Atlantic at the picturesque Isulukati Falls. In retrospect, I wish I had a guide to show me around the village. I enjoyed the beauty, but didn’t feel that I walked away with as deep an understanding of Kalinago culture as I would have liked.

Kalinago head carvings

At the end of the loop are a few shops selling Kalinago crafts. The Kalinago are particularly known for their baskets, which are made of dried reeds, dyed yellow, brown, black, and pink using natural techniques. They also made crafts out of calabash gourds, hollowed, dried, and etched with designs evoking the island.

emerald pool

After Kalinago Barane Aute, we departed the Kalinago territory (roads immediately improved), and continued south and west to the Emerald Pool. It was an easy hike in and down to a small pool (which was not quite emerald, perhaps more of a jade) fed by a waterfall that plunged from the rainforest overhead.

Emerald Pool

It reminded me of being inside a cenote in the Yucatan, except that the cenote was cut in half. The cliffs above formed a semi-circle around the waterfall, and plants and vines hung down into the chasm. After the pool, the water flowed away from the semi-circle, down the side of a mountain where it presumably joined up with other streams to form a river and eventually meet the sea.

The pool looked small, but it was delightfully cool and deep enough that there were spots I couldn’t touch. I swam up under the waterfall and got pummeled by the water, while braver souls jumped off the rocks behind the waterfall. (I would have been game for this, but the pool wasn’t quite that deep).

That’s me, swimming in Emerald Pool

Did I mention it was May 1, International Labor Day? Someone had told us the day before that there would be a big party in Marigot, which was about 30 min east of Calibishie and on our way back from our day’s adventures.

party in marigot

Hilariously, the party was KFC-sponsored (we later determined there was one KFC in Roseau, and it appeared to be the only fast-food chain on the island). People were playing beach volleyball and other sports along the shore, while pop music pounded from loudspeakers.

Passing by the KFC, we instead ate at a quiet little beach bar beyond the main festivities called the Last Flight (presumably named after the inoperable plane parked beside it). We had a couple Caribe beers and ordered red snapper (again, good fish, forgettable sides). As the sun set, the sky opened up in a downpour and we ended the day drenched as we walked back to the car.

previous posts on dominica
- Dimanche à dominica
- Where the hell is dominica?
2023-09-24
dimanche à dominica

The sky was alive with color when we picked up our rental car—a older model Honda HRV—at the Avis rental place a short walk from the terminal. I’ve owned Hondas for over a decade, so the car was pretty familiar to me, aside from the fact that the driver’s seat was on the opposite side. This was my first time driving in a country that drives on the left, and I have to say the 30 min from the airport to the Villa Passiflora in Calibishie in the waning light was a harrowing experience. I will have much more to say about the driving later.

After checking in with the villa’s caretaker, we ventured out into the town to get some dinner and essentials at Coral Reef Bar & Restaurant, which had a little grocery store (more like a convenience store) attached. We sat on the porch just at the water’s edge, which we couldn’t really enjoy because by this point darkness had truly fallen.

That first night we enjoyed a seafood feast that set the model for most of the meals we would enjoy on the trip: amazing seafood + sides that were just “meh”. I had a delightfully seasoned mahi-mahi, paired with fries that appeared to come out of an Ore-Ida bag. We drank the local beer, Kubuli, which I found to be a bit too hoppy for my (admittedly anti-hoppy) tastes. At the convenience store, we picked up basics, including a bottle of the rum that would become our staple, Belfast Estate BB Rum.

We knew most things would be shut down on Sunday, which was fine by us, as we were both looking for a vacation with some built in chill time. Waking up to this view, I was pretty content to stay put.

Perched up in the hills, the house was largely open to the elements. The porches on the first and second levels were nearly as large as the enclosed rooms themselves, of which there were really only four (not counting bathrooms)—a kitchen on the first floor, a master suite on the second floor, and two other bedrooms (one on each floor). Each one could be fully opened up in fair weather, with plantation shutters and French doors and for the most part that’s how we left the house.

Fans and natural breezes provided all the cooling we needed—and when they didn’t, there was always the infinity pool, which is where we spent most of our first day. Laying in the sun, floating in the pool, drinking a Dark & Stormy. Rinse, repeat.

Mid-afternoon (after sobering up from the Dark & Stormy), we ventured out to find some real food (the off-brand corn flakes I’d bought the previous night could only tide us for so long) and explore the local town by the light of day.

We drove west through Calibishie and beyond, along the coastal road that rings most of the island.

After passing through town, the road swept up onto the cliffs and plunged down again to the shoreline. The only challenge was finding places where we could safely pull over to take in the view of the aqua blue, rocky coastline.

We found a fun little beach in a town called Thibou (Tee-bow)—the armpit of the island, as my friend called it, not because it wasn’t nice, but because it was right in the crevasse before the northern peninsula juts up.

Finding an open grocery store on a Sunday proved a challenge, and stores that were open were rather limited in their selections. We managed to cobble together enough ingredients to pull off a chicken curry back at the house, where we watched the sun set on our first full day in Dominica. Despite the challenges of driving and finding food, we felt at peace and confident that we’d chosen our island destination well.

2023-09-23
where the hell is dominica?

Upon our approach to Dominica’s Douglas-Charles Airport (DOM) in the golden light before sundown, my first impression was of elevation—multiple thickly forested peaks plunged down towards roiling cobalt seas, sometimes with a gentle decline, but more often with a sheer black cliff. An isle of luxurious sand beaches this was not.

But let me back up. Many of you are probably thinking, “Isn’t it usually called the Dominican Republic?” or, “But the Dominican Republic has lots of beaches.” If you are confused, don’t worry, you’re not alone. I was basically in the same boat you are prior to about 6 months ago. I knew Dominica was a Caribbean island, and I knew it was a different place than the Dominican Republic. But I couldn’t have told you where in the Caribbean it was (answer: Lesser Antilles, between Guadeloupe and Martinique), the name of its capital (answer: Roseau, which is not pronounced like the 18^th century political philosopher), or whether it had been a British, French, or Dutch colony (answer: both British and French, but mostly British, and now independent).

So how did I end up booking an unlikely trip to an island I had just barely heard of? This spring, a friend and I were both desperate for a girl’s trip to escape the winter office drudgery, and we spent days researching the various Caribbean islands to find the one that best suited our needs. The Caymans were too commercialized. We would have had to fly to Martinique from DC by way of Paris (not really, but it may as well have been so). We researched the vibe of the different islands, and tried to decide what it was we were really looking for out of our Caribbean escape. Barbados looked lovely, but so did St. Lucia, and Bonaire, and did we really consider Jamaica? We were paralyzed with indecision.

Finally, my friend found an AirBnB in Dominica called the Villa Passiflora that looked absolutely gorgeous, with an infinity pool, panoramic ocean views, four-poster beds, dark wooden timbers, and impeccable tropical landscaping.

Flights to DOM from Washington-Dulles routed through San Juan, Puerto Rico at convenient enough times. “We love the house, let’s just book it” I told her, and the rest is history.

Now we had to figure out what to do once we got there. We were somewhat enthused by the absence of tour books on Dominica by the usual suspect publishers—no Lonely Planets or Fodors here. That told us that this island was truly off-the-beaten path. Sure, Time had named it one of its top destinations for 2023, but everything we read suggested it was still largely untouristed and more authentic than many Caribbean islands.

(My friend ended up with the Bradt guide from 2016, and I bought this completely off brand book written by former Peace Corps volunteers from 2011. Both were dated, but serviceable.)

By the time we got there we had a bit of a plan. It involved some lounging on the deck chairs by our infinity pool, reading and drinking rum. Some hiking and snorkeling and seeking out hidden waterfalls. Lots of eating seafood.

I will say that we accomplished most of what we set out to do. But we did find that Dominica was an island where you can’t get too fixated on your own plans—which really, is part of the fun of travel.

The setting sun illuminated puffy clouds in salmon pink as our prop plane landed on the single runway at DOM one Saturday evening at the end of April. We had no idea what unexpected adventures really lay ahead of us.

2023-09-17
how to stop worrying and love a layover in san juan

Ok, I wasn’t actually worried—I was thrilled that my May escape-the-office-with-the-girls vacation to Dominica (about which, more to follow in separate posts) would involve a day-long layover in San Juan, Puerto Rico on our return. It was like a bonus trip, and a challenge: experience as much of San Juan as we could in about 24 hours.

A dear friend from Puerto Rico had advised me to find three things in San Juan: mofongos, Medalla beer, and seafood. With such a short stay, my travel companion and I weren’t willing to limit ourselves to only experiencing the food and booze. (Although we did check all the items of her list, and more!)

When we were booking this part of our trip, we did just enough research to decide that we should stay in Old San Juan, rather than the towering tourist villages just west of the airport, where you can find such tourist staples as the Hilton and the Morton’s Steakhouse. This was absolutely the right choice.

Old San Juan (Viejo San Juan or San Juan Antiguo) is everything you want out of a historic city, easily walkable narrow streets with something to see on every inch of every street on the little peninsula the old town occupies. Everything was brightly colored, from the paint on the multihued townhomes, to the turquoise waters of the Atlantic on the north side and the Caribbean on the south side, to the fuchsia bougainvillea that spilled over terraces, to the tiny little mosaics that marked the street numbers of houses or depicted the patron saints of churches. The old town teemed with restaurants, cafes, and bars, all contained within imposing fortifications that encircle the town and provide excellent vantage points for selfies.

The fortifications are the dominant feature of the little peninsula. On the east side, across from the Puerto Rican Capitol, you’ll find Castillo San Cristobal, while at the western end of the peninsula, you’ll find the Castillo San Felipe del Morro, or “El Morro”. The entire city in between is encircled by stone walls.

We spent just long enough in El Morro to take some selfies on the walls and skim through the history exhibits, which taught us a bit about the purpose of El Morro, Castillo San Cristobal, and all the walls in between. The island had been hotly contested among European colonial powers during the Age of Sail as the gateway to the Caribbean, and had been caught up in many battles. The city’s defenders had built up the walls and castles incrementally from the 16th century onward to fortify the island amid the persistent risk of war.

The trek to and from El Morro, while a short distance on a map (and, in fact), was made unusually punishing by the heat. Even the locals were complaining that it was exceptionally hot for May. By the time we made it back from El Morro to the city proper, we sought out any place with air conditioning and food like two women seeking an oasis in the Sahara.

We stopped for lunch at a place called Tropical Taste, which I found by following my Puerto Rican friend’s advice to seek out mofongos. This place came up in Google searches for both “best restaurants in San Juan” and “mofongos near me”, and if we hadn’t been looking for it, we never would have found it because it was strangely situated at the back of a shop.

Mofongos are a delightful Puerto Rican plantain-based specialty, savory and served with the meat of your choosing. I went with the churrasco, a spicy grilled beef. I had eaten mofongos before (at a dearly departed restaurant in DC called Banana Café), and these were, I must say, just as good as advertised. If you like a savory plantain, you will love mofongos—they are roasted and lightly mashed with garlic and I don’t know what other goodness. We also tried the Medalla at Tropical Taste. It was a nice light lager, similar to other Caribbean beers we’d enjoyed previously on the trip.

After lunch, we meandered some shops and art galleries and stopped by the Paseo de Sombrillas on Calle Fortaleza to snap some quick photos. In another town, this would just be a boring, official street that passes in front of the governor’s mansion. Not in San Juan. Here, the street is graced by a canopy of upside-down umbrellas, colored pink, blue, green, yellow, purple, that sway in the wind like psychedelic boughs. (Trip Advisor informs me the colors change throughout the year.)

From there, we descended down the walls on the south side of the city, and perused the artisan tents on the Paseo de la Princesa. At this point, we were again lured indoors by the prospect of air conditioning—and two-for-one mojitos. But though the two-for-one mojitos sign drew us to the Princesa Cocina Cultura, the cocktail menu looked interesting enough that we opted for some undiscounted specialty cocktails instead.

I went for the bartender’s own rum-based take on an Old Fashioned, which showed me I was dealing with a true mixology expert. So I felt in good hands when I made my next request: I told him that we were only in Puerto Rico for 24 hours and wanted to taste the “best” Puerto Rican rums, however he chose to define that. He chose quite well and introduced us to Ron del Barrilito (my friend’s preference) and Don Q (my preference). He also told us this story about Ron del Barrilito’s the Freedom Barrel, which will only be opened when Puerto Rico gains its independence. Both were so good that we bought bottles of our favorites at duty free the next morning.

After that we headed back to check in to our hotel, a boutique hotel called La Terraza de San Juan on the quiet Calle Sol. Much like the city itself, there was something to see in nearly every square inch of the common areas of La Terraza—delightful murals, frescos, tiles, upholstery. In contrast, our room was fairly spare, but it did have the one feature we most valued—air conditioning! (I truly could not recall if the room I booked had air conditioning before we stepped foot in it, so this was a moment of bliss.)

En route to dinner, we did a mini pub crawl, stopping for bad mojitos at one bar (made with Sprite, really?), before stumbling upon some excellent live music and cervezas at a brew pub called Cervercería del Callejón.

Dinner was at El Asador, which was situated in a lovely old hacienda-style building that felt a bit fancier than the food proved to be. Following up on my friend’s three must-dos in San Juan, I was hoping for a seafood feast. We had ceviche as an appetizer and dulce de leche crêpe for dessert, both of which were excellent. None of the seafood entrees really called to me, so I ended up with a lobster risotto. I’ve had better. On the plus side, we witnessed the real-life start of some joke when two parrots walked into a bar.

Before turning in, we stopped for one more drink at a speakeasy called La Grieta, which served exclusively tequila- and mezcal-based drinks, including a spicy drink whose name I unfortunately do not recall. I am always on the hunt for good spicy drinks, and this one packed delightful amount of heat.

For all intents and purposes, that last drink was the end of our time in San Juan—because some of us are over 40 and no longer up for raging all night like the freshly minted 21-year-olds with whom we shared that final bar.

So that’s 24 hours in San Juan. Verdict: would definitely go back! It would be a fun place to spend a few days for a girl’s weekend, bachelorette party, or as a launch of the more comprehensive exploration of Puerto Rico.

2023-09-16