Sniffles

I’d only 26 hours in Saint Kitts and Nevis. 26 hours is not enough time to get to know any country, let alone two islands. Normally, when I arrived on an island in the Caribbean, I’d walk it, hike it, do something interesting, but not today. Today got off to an auspicious start, rising at 3am that morning in Antigua, I‘d walked to the airport, getting caught in torrential rain 10 minutes from arriving.On the bright side, LIAT airways gave all the plane passengers (five of us), ponchos so we didn’t get wet boarding.

In Saint Kitts, it was also pissing rain. The 20 minute flight from Antigua hadn’t changed the forecast. I called my brother back in Ireland, telling him about the antics of the last while. It was also pissing rain at home, that made me feel better. We got into a conversation about out planned meet up later this year in Japan, and with this coronavirus going around, we might have to make contingency plans and meet in Orlando or somewhere closer instead. I mentioned I’d read an article on it in Antigua, that argued that China is definitely fudging the numbers, by realising them along roughly a quadratic equation formula, which wouldn’t work for a virus, as it would be an exponential equation. It was an interesting read. I’d the sniffles from the rain when I landed in Saint Kitts, and wary after the phone call, I tried my best to blow my nose before going through immigration, just in case.

Exhausted and still recovering from the yachtie party in Antigua, the first port of call was to drop off my bag at Greenhouse Bar, where the German guy I met in St Lucia, Fred, said I could stay the night for free. I’d got no reply from the owner on whatsapp, so said I’d call down in person. I’d the address from Fred, and walked 45 minutes from the airport with my bag, climbed a hill and walked the 2km street of north pelican drive, only to find it wasn’t there, it was two streets down. Lost, and tired, I went into a bakery to ask for directions, the lads in the bakery were amused at the state of me, sopping wet and looking for a bar at 9am. Greenhouse Bar is a hippie bar, and the man behind the counter hadn’t heard I was coming, but waved me on to the room. The owner, as it turns out, never came. I love the Caribbean attitude. The room, and little hut in general, was surprisingly nice. Hanging flags, full bookcases, walls plastered with Bob Marley and Rasta photos, lots of mosquitos on the ceiling. It could be worse.

After reading a few bits (The Best American Travel Stories 2001 had some gems), I walked to Basseterre not feeling the joy and excitement of travel. It’s like a ghost town when no cruises are in town, and today in the rain, was an especially quiet day. The cruise terminal had stalls boarded up, not a soul in sight, it was like being in an empty theme park. Almost apocalyptic. When the rain came falling from the sky again, it matched my mood. I spent the afternoon reading the signs around town. The one on Independence Square has translations in French, Spanish, English and German, but only the German translation has an extra line saying it used to be a market place. Odd, and a suitably odd atmosphere.

Nothing to do but go back to the bar I guess. It was getting towards evening, maybe someone would come around and it’d be a bit of craic, so I sat at the bar, hopping in beside a fella on his phone and ordered a beer, with the news on in the background. The news was as depressing as the day, this virus going around could stop cruise ships from docking, and Basseterre would be like this all the time. Not ideal.

The coldness of the beer made me sneeze. The guy sitting next to me looked up from his phone. Then I sneezed again. He looked again. I sneezed again. The look turned to staring. You could feel the anxiety thicken. The sneezing continued. 6 sneezes in, yer man got up in a hurry, and ran out, beer unfinished. 10 consecutive sneezes later I felt like I had done an ab workout. Nobody else came to the bar, and the barman kept his distance, wary. I had a few more and put myself to bed.

Still raining the next morning, I got a lift to the airport with a woman who was going to pick up her friend. Typical, on the way out of the country I finally got chatting to someone. I’d a tissue ready, just in case. But as much of a legend as she was, it was time to say goodbye to Saint Kitts and fly to the good ole U S of A. They won’t be superstitious about some virus.