The New Zealand of The Caribbean

Dominica, not to be confused with its neighbour the Dominican Republic, is another small Caribbean island, with 71000 souls calling it home. You can fly in, or get the Express des’Iles ferry to Roseau from the French islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique. The youngest of the Caribbean islands, it’s highly volcanic, with activity everywhere, natural thermal hot springs, noxious gases and poisonous water from black streams, and champagne pools in the sea, from the gases leaking underwater. It’s tropical, with a large mountain range dividing the island in two, one side where there’s a rain shadow, and rainforest on the hills, the other where it’s almost dry scrubland. Dominica earns its epitaph, The Nature Island of the Caribbean.

I had a few days to explore the island, and John, my couchsurfing host, suggested Trafalgar Falls as a good place to start. I took his advice, and hitchhiked up to the falls with a local fella who was testing the head gasket on his car. He was testing it on steep hills, with no safety rails, and dropped me off at a viewpoint overlooking the Trafalgar Falls. Two waterfalls, the mama and papa, with a hot spring underneath the papa falls. Though the hot spring was a bitch to get too, a lot of scrambling over wet rocks, to hop into tepid water. Worth it, but not relaxing. One thing that differentiates Dominica and some of the other islands, is that in Dominica, you’re let interact with nature. There’s no one stopping you getting in under the waterfalls, there’s no barriers to protect you, if you slip and break a leg, that's on you. Surprisingly for a cruise destination, but I appreciate countries that embrace Darwinism.

Walking into Trafalgar Falls,, a local flute vendor asked me where I’m from, and after a quick response, he started into Danny Boy(His version). It was so unexpected, I didn’t recognise it, causing some offense. He took some more when he tried to sell me his bamboo flute, and I. I didn’t take him up on the offer. Walking back out of the falls, refreshed and in a better mood, I thought about it, and said if he was there on my way back I’d buy one. Could be a bit of craic playing tunes on the flute while in the hammock. Dannyboy had left unfortunately.

The next morning, I was up at 6:15, breakfast in and ready to go by 6:45. I chatted away to John as I was waking up- he gets up at 5am, everyday. Madman. Probably thinks I’m a lazy bastard. Johns a conversationalist. He’s a man who has a broad range of knowledge on a vast scope of topics, and our chats ranged from Dominican politics, to Cuban women, to Chinese global politics to the Haitian revolution, and the best thing about John is that he asks a lot of questions, giving the impression he's genuinely interested in you. He runs a bar in Grande Bay, and drives a pickup around the island. This morning, he dropped me off for the bus to Roseau, where I’d walk past Trafalgar and hike to the boiling lake in the middle of the island.

Maps.me said it was 2 hours 20 each way, the trail said 3 hours. The trail was well travelled, and easy to follow, yet, similar to Saint Lucia, a guide was highly encouraged. The trail climbs to the summit of a mountain on route, surprisingly not mentioned on the board at the start, although as I climbed, clouds were enveloping the mountain, leaving a non-existent view, instead stimulating another sense. The sweet sweet smell of rotten eggs from the sulphur hits you now and then with the breeze, and smells produce more vivid memories than other senses: I was hit with a bunch of New Zealand memories, Rotorua, Wai-o-tapu Thermal Wonderland, the burning sulphur smell is so distinctive, you never forget it. The entire hike reminded me of New Zealand's North Island, steep cliffs, rugged mountains, all covered in green green forest, with a cloudy/misty sky. A mystery island, that you can never quite grasp firmly, or know completely.

I followed a black stream up a steep, incredibly windy path, with a crosswind threatening to blow me off. I was heading for the ‘Valley of Desolation’, open rock with steam rising from cracks, where the mantle itself is breathing. The hills surrounding the valley are verdant rainforest green. It stinks of sulphur, the water is a range of unnatural colours, and it’s out of this world to see, it’s hard to believe that it’s real. The steam is hot, so when the wind turns it on you, it’s like being hit with a warm breeze- that smells like rotten eggs, and sticks to your clothes like smoke.

The water is all warm and definitely not drinkable, and the path is kind of ‘make your own way’ here, and it narrows into a river path, with steep edges, keeping you on your toes. By this stage, I had caught up with some tour groups, I was 25 minutes away from the lake, and had been hiking for about an hour and a half, maybe more. I slowed down here, taking in the valleys, the unnatural natural yellows and whites from the sulphur, and took a few photos.

The actual finish at the boiling lake itself was initially underwhelming- the whole thing was covered in smoke/steam/cloud. But there was a moment, where the sun came out, the wind picked up, and you got to see the whole thing- and it was pretty damn impressive. A big geyser of constantly boiling water, the lake fed by waterfalls, the occasional view of the trees on the far side through the steam, a sight well worth seeing. A few minutes after the tour groups finished, I stood alone at the boiling lake, watching the white smoke billowing up, and I understood how the ancients believed in Gods.

Along the way back, a Scottish couple from outside Aberdeen let me pass them before a bridge. Then, as the rain came in and I began the long walk down to Roseau, they called out to me, picked me up and gave me a lift down to the capital.

Up at 6 again, I chatted to John who’d already had breakfast and his coffee. He’s big into politics, and explained the difference between the two parties in Dominica, blues and reds. He’s a staunch blue party man, after running for candidate in Grande Bay, got elected, and worked as junior minister for tourism for a few years. It explains his conversation skills, and we had good chats on how to develop the infrastructure of Dominica to grow its tourism. It’s got massive potential, but so far is a well kept secret. I was leaving this evening, but had time for one last hike, and John dropped me to a trailhead on the dividing ridge of the island. Grande Bay on one side, Soufriere on the other. The third Soufriere I’ve visited in the Caribbean, the French were not creative with their naming system. The hike down was treacherous- even more so as I had far too much coffee in the morning and had ‘la cigar au bord de la levres’. Basically ended up climbing down mud paths, holding onto rubber piping for dear life, and hoping I wouldn’t shite myself. Great views, and in comparison to the valley of Desolation, this hike was jungle rainforest. Signs informed me I was hiking down the Waitikabuli Stage 2, something to tick off the bucket list. I came across natural hot springs at the bottom of the hike. No pay, no buildings, just mildly warm black water and nature all around.

Outside Soufriere is the Champagne Reef, where the geothermal activity hits the sea, like in Hot Water Beach in New Zealand. Except here it comes out in bubbles on a reef, so while you are snorkelling, surrounded by tropical fish, bubbles come from the seabed all around you. With the sun shining down it’s surreal. Really, I’ve never experienced anything like that before. And the snorkel rental is 5 or 10 EC, depending on the mood of the owner. There were eels on the reef, flatfish, pipe fish, and innumerable unnamed colourful swimmers. As far as snorkelling goes, it was much more impressive than in Tobago Cays in Saint Vincent. Leaving to catch the airport bus, to fly to Antigua, I gave John a manhug, and told him he needs to advertise Dominica as “The New Zealand of the Caribbean”.