I wrote this after I took a trip awhile back. Enjoy.
Who ever heard of an island with no beach? Surely, the very definition of island suggests a land mass surrounded by water, and henceforth a beach. With the possible exception of Alcatraz (aptly nicknamed “the Rock”, just off the mainland of my beloved San Francisco Bay Area), I could think of no island that lacked a beach; especially not a Caribbean island. Well, not that I had a reference for Caribbean islands, but it just didn’t seem possible for me not to expect to be splashing around in the clear blue waters with the dolphins, sipping from freshly cracked coconuts. I had been seduced by the very inviting , goddess of a woman that emerged from the water on the beach of St. Croix, water glistening off her well-toned body, as her radiant platinum bikini confirmed the evidence of divine presence, in the 80s television spots that urged us to visit the Virgin Islands. I had been told to “Come to Jamaica” by colorfully clad Air Jamaica employees that danced off the plane with 10,000 mega-watt smiles.
Despite the warnings of a co-worker that the island of Dominica was “not much to write home about”, I refused to have any of it. In my mind, there was no way to go wrong with tropical weather, a Caribbean island, and exotic food as ingredients. Let’s not forget about the beach that I presumed to be the icing on the cake.
Having had a 36-hour layover in San Juan , Puerto Rico on the way to Dominica, I was all primed to lounge on the beach. Both my drink and I took cover from the bright sun under umbrellas as the waves crashed about 20 feet away.
Little did I know that my dreams of paradise would not be joining me in Dominica. Nor would my luggage…at least not immediately. There is one flight a day to Melville Hall airport via American Eagle from San Juan, and despite the fact that propeller planes are forbidden by my religious beliefs, I managed to be on it. Melville Hall is a quaint little airport about the size of the dressing rooms at a Bloomingdale’s department store. Don’t be fooled by its size though. It is every bit the equal of all the other international airports in the world in its ability to consume large chunks of your time as you gather your luggage, attempt to clear immigration, and secure transportation. You quickly gain an understanding of the fact that no one is really in a hurry to do anything in Dominica.
The capital city of Rousseau is about a 90 minute drive from Melville Hall Airport, through very mountainous terrain and windy roads. Did I mention that these are 1-lane roads with 2-lane traffic and as if that’s not enough, they drive on the WRONG side of the road? This drive is not for the faint of heart. Although paved at one time, the roads are in very poor condition and the local cab drivers seem hell-bent on proving that they missed their calling as Formula One drivers. This combination ensures that your ride will be a memorable one. Try not to think about it, or say a prayer if you have to, but don’t let these less than royal travel conditions cause you to miss the brightly colored houses in a town called Marigot. As you wind down this road past Pointe Augustine and Pagua Bay, you may see some of the locals going through the motions of their day.
Perhaps the most spectacular part of this drive is the part that takes you through the Central Forest Reserve. Dominica is actually quite world renown for its rainforests. Home to the highest mountains in the Caribbean, this Windward Island treasure reminds many of the Hawaiian islands with its forested mountains and five volcanoes. Home to more than 132 species of bird (including 2 parrots found nowhere else in the world- the Jacquot and Imperial) and having the richest biodiversity in the Lesser Antilles, Dominica has long been a haven for wildlife enthusiasts.
Finally in Roseau, I arrived at the Fort Young Hotel. Billed as the premier lodging in all of Dominica, the Fort Young is nestled on a cliff overlooking the Caribbean Sea. One accustomed to traveling in the United States or Europe might be less than impressed by the Fort Young’s open-air lobby, and cobblestone covered foyer. However, the courteous staff and breathtaking views quickly make these first impressions ancient history. I checked into my Ocean Front Suite and nearly forgot about my missing luggage. A very ornately decorated room, it somehow exuded relaxation and freedom from the rat race. Opening the sliding glass door to my wrap-around balcony, I could see the waves crashing on the rocks below my room, each erasing my big-city worries one at a time. The room was probably close to 600 square feet in all, complete with couch and wicker chairs in a lounge area and a whirlpool bath and shower opposite a rather large vanity mirror. I made a mental note to let MJ (both Jordan and Jackson) know that I had found him a place to relax when he didn’t want to be found for a few days.
Not trying the local foods will be missing out on Dominica. For a food lover like me, this was truly one of the best parts of the trip. You will be hard pressed to find any “bad” food in this city, unless you are utterly repulsed by Caribbean cuisine.
The real delicacy in Dominica is the crapaud (or mountain chicken) as it is called. Crapaud is a large frog and a dweller of some mountainous regions. It’s generally either fried or stewed in a sauce. The meat is tender and tastes similar to…yes, you guessed it: chicken. However, it is said to be much better. I had to take their word for it because this is not something I could bring myself to try. Two memorable meals were the Beef Satay Kebabs at La Robe Creole, and the Grouper that I had at the Marquis de Bouille inside the Fort Young Hotel.
La Robe Creole is a comfy, down-home type place with a friendly staff in the heart of the city. Adding to the exposed brick décor was the artwork (done by the owners daughter). Try this for lunch and dine either inside or out. For a more elegant, white table-cloth dining experience, the Marquis de Bouille is your spot. Sitting on the terrace, looking out onto the ocean and listening to the waves crashing below, I was moved to order Grouper. I know, this seems rather boring for such an exotic locale, but I assure you that they did a much better job than your local Red Lobster. Creole-style, spicy fish and chicken dishes are the specialty in Dominica. Heavy use of cinnamon, hot peppers, vanilla, cocoa and bay leaves is quite common in Dominican cuisine. Having said that, you may now be able to appreciate how good this Grouper was. It almost fell apart when touched with the fork, and melted in your mouth. Clearly, this fish was just caught about the time I stepped into the restaurant. The flying fish is most popular among the locals, but the Grouper was plenty satisfying for me.
Downtown Roseau is chock full of many shops and street vendors selling their wares. Nearly exempt from mass tourism due to its lack of a jet port, these shops are frequented by the very limited cruise boat tourism that arrives daily. Various souvenir trinkets and local garb are seemingly available on every corner of these small streets. Sticking to my custom, I was in search of a doll representative of a native to give to my mother. Unfortunately, on this shopping expedition I was also sticking to another one of my customs of shopping at the last minute. As a result, I rather hurriedly and indiscriminately chose a doll and headed back to the Fort Young in order to catch my taxi back to Melville Hall Airport. The events that followed this purchase lead me to believe that I inadvertently bought a voodoo doll of some sort. After the scheduled taxi arrived 30 minutes late, he subsequently tried his best to burn out the clutch of this very narrow mini-van, blew a tire on the aforementioned windy, pot-hole ridden, one-lane with two-lane traffic, wrong-way elevated expressway, and proceeded to have a very difficult time operating the jack and fixing the flat. Refusing to let us hop in another cab, apparently too proud to admit defeat to a fellow yellow-cab compadre, he finally managed to get the vehicle back in working order and did his best Bourne Identity driving impression in getting us to the airport at 2:25pm. Recall my mention of a mere one flight per day to and from this airport. This one was scheduled to leave at 2:50pm. Also recall my description of the sheer enormity of Melville Hall’s terminal. Well, despite the big puppy-dog eyes and sad story that I told the gate agent, she refused to allow me on the flight. Never mind the fact that I could see the plane through the backdoor a mere 100 feet away. Surely it could not take 25 minutes for my luggage and me to make it to the aircraft. I could even carry it there myself. I finally wore her down enough for her to allow me on the flight. Once again, however, my luggage became an issue. She insisted that she could not check my bags all the way through to my final destination and that I’d have to claim them and re-check them in San Juan. Perhaps this really was the case, but I tend to think that she had just received a fax transmission of a memo from the vendor alerting her that I was in possession of the doll. How else would you explain ), being re-routed on aLmissing my ensuing connection in San Juan ( ), and theJflight that would require an overnight stay in Miami ( severe cold front and near freezing rain that kept me off the strip in South Beach and stuck in a hotel eating Domino’s pizza?
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