St. Kitt’s – It’s Not JUST a Landfill

We continue with the insurmountable endeavor that is me catching up on my travelogue from four months ago, but whatever.

The next stop on the Cruise that was and will always be – St. Kitts! I assure you, this time I brought my damn camera.

We start it off with proof that apparently St. Kitt’s has cloud kissed mountains. Win.

This was my second solo excursion on the trip. Yes, they had the option to horseback ride in the ocean again, but I’d already done that in St. Lucia so I couldn’t justify going at it again when the first time had been so moving and so undocumented. By now I had cemented my love of excursions that require exercise. There’s something so fantastic about actually taking part in your activity. Sure, there’s double decker buses and five star restaurants, but those don’t compare to getting off your lazy ass and doing something!

I went kayaking.

It isn’t the first time I’ve kayaked (I actually own a kayak. It’s orange, because the hardcore kayaker knows that if you’re in an orange kayak, they’ll be able to spot you more easily when the coast guard has to come rescue you after you cock up and lose your oar. Words of wisdom people. Suck em up, they won’t always be free.)

Just the monkey infested roadway that led to the kayaking location was breathtaking. There was little in the department of overpopulation. Lush landscape and beautiful beaches…and super ritzy resorts. On top of resorts. I found that interesting given the high local population I’d witnessed in St. Lucia and the completely under populated (but overgrown rainforest covered) island of Dominica. This was a strange melange of the two and odd given that my honey had just returned from St. Kitt’s with stories of landfills (yes landfills) at every turn. Apparently St. Kitt’s charges an arm and leg to dispose of trash, so when a ritzier house produces more garbage than they want to pay to dispose of, they drive the bag to the poor part of the island and dump it in a front yard.

Keeping it classy, St. Kitt’s.

This is my kayak. (Notice I chose orange. I’m no fool, ladies and gentlemen.)

We arrived on a bitch of a beach which was all stones and pebbles and awesome. They sent us into the water with snorkel masks and a warning that some fire algae and sea urchins were present and had been informed of our arrival and were ready to kill. I chose to refrain from touching aforementioned haters, but I took underwater pictures of them, that’s for damn sure! (Not sure what I did with said pictures now that I am writing this. Damn! …wait.)

FOUND EM!

Prepare to be astounded with mediocre underwater photography, but first –

This was one of the friendly guides that helped us discover the joys of kayaking. There were three of them and they were all quite friendly, helpful young fellows who were happy to make their money on the tourist trade. One of them was blatantly a relocated American who’d found his niche in the carribean, snorkeling and kayaking and making merry. He actually directed me to a stingray that was hiding a dozen feet under water. When I told him he was bat shit crazy and I didn’t see a thing, he dove to the bottom of the ocean to rouse the bastard.

It was real.

It wasn’t imaginary.

No, I did not in fact get a picture of it, but I did get a great picture of nothing whilst pointing the camera in the general direction of the stingray, so that will have to do.

We now commence with the mediocre underwater photography!

See how the fish are completely out of focus? Totally intentional!

This excursion (and the one to follow) are a good part of the reason why I have sworn to buy a QUALITY nikon underwater camera within the next five years. I’m tired of taking pictures just on land. It limits me! No more, I say!

So after the near hour of time they let us waste just snorkeling around the beach area, dodging the random charge of some angry fire coral here and there, we were to lay waste to the water in our kayaks – of doom! We were all paired up with someone and sent on our merry way. The guides told us to let the strong rower sit at the back of the two person kayak. Since I am conveniently out of shape, but still utterly badass and have experience behind a kayak, I took the rear.

Oh the jokes one could make.

We quickly took off like a shot, rowing like beasts at a startling clip of -1 mile per hour, heading toward the far off beach that had been declared our destination. We meandered, catching glimpses of caves, empty cliff side beach houses, and cliff dwelling goats and we decided we needed to get a closer look. We dillied and dallied, zigzagging our way through the water. Before long we noticed we’d not only taken a strong and ever growing lead ahead of the rest of our excursion buddies, but one kayak had already been relieved of its riders due to Fail.

In those hours of free time that my kayak mate and I passed together, with my riveting dialogue directed at the back of her head, I found out that I was partnered with a dear and personal friend of Jackie Chan, my fecking hero. We talked about the man, the fact that we were all Aries and that I loved the Jackie Chan comic that she had actually been a producer of. Despite the conversation, I never learned her name, or at least didn’t remember. I know, my bad, but hell of a story to tell my friends who are fully aware that I would have Jackie Chan’s babies.

Oh by the way, the previous shots are of the shack where we perched after our three mile kayak was complete and the delicious layout that was left for us by our kayak guide whose name was something like Winston or Harrington or something equally fucking awesome. These were fresh coconut, mango candies, pineapple, and of course, my absolute favorite, ice cold passion fruit juice. After doing most of the rowing on a three mile kayak, I was ready for a swig. So amazing.

After sitting for a spell and joking about the distance and the time it took us to complete our beautiful row, we piled into our shuttle bus and headed back to the ship (where I discovered I’d magically missed my knees when slathering on sunscreen. That was a hoot, but I digress).

Whether this island has a landfill side to it, I never saw it with my own eyes, so I don’t know. But the world from my eyes while on St. Kitt’s was gorgeous.

And I’m thinking of claiming that abandoned beach house.

Wouldn’t you?

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4 thoughts on “St. Kitt’s – It’s Not JUST a Landfill

  1. You saw the Hispanic, i.e the Spanish, i.e. the Conquistador side of the isle. Reading this makes me wish I had. :-/ Cruise-endorsed excursions steer totally clear of any sourness, any poverty, anything other than shiny good times. Me and the boy had zero planning…so we just randomly picked excursions off the street. In our case we met up with “the Duke” who ran “Duke of Earl” tours.

    If this man was a Duke, then I am a goddamn Lord.

    Regardless! He was clearly too aristocratic in his toothless ways to guide us himself, so he dispatched a lackey (after making a whole group of like 9 people wait on me and B to go back to the ship for our swimming clothes just so he could get our $$$ aaahahhaha) to guide us. This lackey was even more toothless!

    And he took the straightest point between two lines to get us where we needed to go. It was eye-opening. We passed through shanty-town after garbage-strewn shanty town. If you haven’t seen the “Welcome to Massacre” sign (a town called Massacre, where the Spanish and British temporarily agreed on a truce during their battle over the island, just so they could obliterate the Carib tribe present… yeah, the Carib’s gave the Caribbean it’s name. We met a few remaining members on Dominica) and the town it’s attached to, then you really haven’t got a sense for St Kitts.

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