Number One Beach

In the not-too-distant past, I had my first visit to Number One Beach.  Let's just say, it earns it's title.


It is this great expanse of white sand, which really you don't see that often in Dominica.  Our beaches are usually small, rocky expanses of black sand.  Off to one side, there is a calm little river, feeding into the ocean, so there is placid fresh water to play in if the waves of the Atlantic get a little too rough.  This makes it perfect for little people, but since I didn't bring one with me, I just enjoyed it for myself.

Since most of my views of big water are Caribbean in nature, I really enjoyed getting a glimpse, and a taste, of the Atlantic.  The waves are a little more boisterous, but gorgeous and so fun to play in.

The great mountains in the background also added to the overall effect:

Since I went with a bunch of other people's children I got the joy of seeing tiny footprints in the sand and thinking they were absolutely adorable.

For some reason, I also got to enjoy my own legs sparkling as though I were a Disney sea princess or something. 

The swirling water set off my pedicure quite nicely, I thought.

I did get one of my worst island sunburns yet at this beach, but I mostly didn't mind.

And then . . . and then . . . and then . . .

Also planned for part of the Coal Pot trip was a visit to nearby Dubique Falls. Heather, who planned the trip, had never been, but had read about it in a guide book. It was described as a short hike to see some waterfalls with pools we could swim in. After acknowledging that all of those things are, in fact, true, I must say that the trip was absolutely nothing like I imagined it.

When I think short hike, I think easy. I believe this was a common thought in the group of ten women. Apparently short is not defined by Webster as easy. Alas.

It started with a drive up a small and windy road, as do most things here since all the roads are small and windy (by this I mean that it wound around a lot, not that there was a lot of moving air. Is it spelled the same? Wonderman is dutifully studying, and I don't want to interrupt him to ask, especially since he'd probably laugh at me. Hmm, it just looks strange, doesn't it?), but this one was smaller than most. Our driver stopped and asked a few people for directions. The consensus seemed to be "just follow this road all the way up." That didn't take long. Then our driver got out and talked to some men that were there. Apparently one of them volunteered to take us to the falls, as he grabbed his machete and told us to follow him. The machete quickly proved necessary. Still, as we hiked, it crossed my mind more than once that perhaps hiking on unstable ground with a machete in one hand might not be the wisest choice, but no men were injured in the making of this hike. Phew.

Before continuing, I must say this: when I first got here, I read somewhere that we lived in the woodlands of Dominica, not the jungle. I laughed. It looked like the jungle to me. Now that I have seen the jungle, I see the vast difference. I really do live in the woodlands. It's all relative, I suppose.

I was toward the back of the train, so I didn't see how things went up front. I'm pretty sure there was no trail before Machete-man created one for us. There was dense foliage on all sides (our driver told me to be careful not to touch any leaves because then fire ants would get on me and bite me. I looked at him incredulously and walked on, touching every leaf because it was impossible not to. I only got two ant bites. Not bad). There were a lot of river crossings (small river - no big deal, mossy rocks - kind of a big deal). There were a lot of really steep spots where we were just climbing up mud, clinging to vines and bamboo stalks to pull ourselves up. Periodically there were deep holes we just had to point out to each other and carefully step around. There were steep and muddy inclines going under ginormous logs where I had to squat and contort myself into the strangest positions to get low enough to squiggle me and my little backpack under the log while at the same time push myself up the hill. The whole time going up I just kept thinking to myself, "Self, really? How are we all going to get down this? You are relatively experienced in the art of the hike and you are concerned. What about the girls who came in flip-flops? Or the girl who at the beginning of the hike said 'I'm not much of a hiker.' How is this going to go?" I didn't have a great answer, but nevertheless we kept pushing onward and upward. We were well rewarded by a gorgeous waterfall.

Machete-man told us there were actually three falls if we wanted to keep climbing. We laughed. We stayed put. Machete-man squatted down and lit a doobie, smoking calmly while we played in the water and ate our lunch amidst the uber-strong sweet smell of marijuana (this is definitely a different world). In addition to Machete-Man, there was a young-ish man who also helped guide us up (He was just wearing Crocs clogs, and he was fine. How can that be?). Instead of smoking, he slid down part of the waterfall into the pool below. I thought about trying it and showing the squealing girls that it really wasn't that big of a deal, because it did look fun. Then I remembered the last time I went down a waterslide and the broken hand that went with it. I decided to just eat my sandwich in peace avoiding crooked fingers as much as possible. Heather took care of the showboating though, and she went down for all of us. Here is the video I made of the guy on the waterslide (I do a little bit think that I should have done it and not been a sissy, but I guess that's just what I am. Alas):



The hike out was so much easier than I expected. I can say this because I had good shoes. I tried to help Angie all I could, but I think her hike down in wimpy Crocs sandals that BROKE was pretty miserable. She held up very well, and still smiled for me at the end of the hike. It was an incredible day, one that I'll not soon forget nor repeat.

No Regrets

So, there are many adventures of which to tell. Tonight perhaps I won't go into detail on the adventures, but I will say this: I love my new shoes. When I was in the states, spending monies upon monies on all the things I knew, believed, or hoped would be useful upon my return to Dominica, I purchased these shoes:

I couldn't decide if the purchase was really necessary (and with our budget, I try to stick to the really necessary [mostly]). I mean, I have two pairs of Chacos, which I love dearly, as mentioned briefly here. Was I longing to have these shoes, simply so I could look like all the other girls (even though mine are the much cheaper version, a.k.a. the Payless knock-off)? Perhaps. Was that so wrong? Perhaps not. Still, I decided that the toe protection would come in handy, and at the point which they came in handy I wouldn't be thinking about the money any longer.

I WAS RIGHT!!!!! Oh my goodness, I was right. Today I am grateful for my shoes. And my heart goes out to anyone who is forced to hike through a jungle, up muddy mountains, through raging rivers, and across mossy rocks in anything less (I'm so sorry).

Hippie-fied

In preparation for our big move, Wonderman decided he needed some new sandals that could survive water and other serious things. I, of course, began instantly trying to convince him that Chacos were the answer. At $95 a pop, it was a hard sell. However, Amazon and Backcountry.com came through for us. Sometimes it helps to have the oddly ginormous feet. Clearance can really help out at that point. Now I have a new Chaco-man. Doesn't he look totally hot? I've told him he may turn out to be more of a hippie than me. We'll see how that works out.