St. John's, Antigua

 

St. John’s, Antigua                                                                       Monday, March 7

Stepping off the ship, we were instantly met by a strong, dry wind that matched the landscape reminiscent of eastern Wyoming: hills with dry shrubs.  The odd additional features were cacti and coconut trees.

It took us about 20 minutes to find the company who would give us today’s tour.  As it turned out, we were being joined by a group from another cruise ship that had not yet docked, so were offered the choice to have our own private tour and intersect with the 20 or so others along the route.  We jumped at the private tour option, so “Kev” loaded us into a taxi and off we went to explore this still developing island.  They had just finished building a fifth pier—a deep water port.  China is building their own port.  Reliant on the tourist industry, Covid taught them to work on agriculture more.  Currently, they export nothing.

Antigua, first discovered by Christopher Columbus(if you ignore the indigenous people), is about 106 square miles with a population of about 100,000.  It boasts 8 forts built to protect the various bays but the forts were never used which I believe translates to never fired their cannons at approaching ships.   One has been restored and the others are waiting. We visited the remains of Fort James built in 1776.

Our second stop was to the home of a woman who would tell us some history of the island and allow us to tour her home.  Mrs. Mac Millan was a small redhead of age perhaps 78 who lives on a hillside with a few cattle and sheep below.  On the island, sheep have adapted to resemble goats.  The only way to tell them apart is that sheep tails go down while goat tails stick up.  Mrs. M. was waving away a 20-passenger tour bus on her narrow driveway as our taxi found a parking spot away from the bus.  Then the next tour bus drove in.  Oh my!  She welcomed us in the wind and invited us in to any place that had an open door, cautioning us of her pet parrot whose words cannot be trusted. 

We were astonished to walk in to her two-story cottage and be reminded of the 1920-ish cottage our family owned on Lake Okoboji.  This one, though, was chock-full of anything that could be collected: shells, local artwork, photos, photos of artwork, wall hangings from various travels and from various religions, with almost no empty spaces anywhere.  

A recording came over some small speakers and her voice said that the current family had moved here from upstate New York in the 1950s, could trace ancestry of their family on this land back to the 1600s, mentioned the number of children and grandchildren, then ended with “This collector’s home wishes to leave you with a memory of your Antiguan Vacation.”  She served a taste of homemade tea with lemon grass and ginger, we gawked at her 4 parrots, one that chuckled delightedly, then we left, still a bit astonished.  Next stop was the Antiguan Black Pineapple Farm, which looked like other pineapple farms we’ve seen, but the soil is rich and black from the ash carried over from previous volcanic eruptions from nearby Montserrat.   Last stop was to a beach area with a catered meal and opportunity to dip into the salt water for a half hour.  We had fun listening to a steel drummer and maybe a little less fun listening to a wild women singing with him.  Not a great singer but her energy and joy were infectious.  We both decided we’d had plenty of salt water, so we were dropped off at the ship at about 2 for a nap.