We leave Lemmon Cay relatively early, but not before a visit from some local women and children in a canoe selling molas and shells. I have to say that I am not particularly taken with the molas, even though some of them are exquisitely made. These ‘mangy bits of cloth’ as Jim described them, are squares of printed or sown cloth, joined together traditionally to make clothes or soft furnishings. Most seem to depict animals or leaves but they just aren’t to my taste. I always feel guilty not buying these but don’t want to arrive home with a boat load of stuff I don’t like. Instead I buy a huge beautiful shell, and soften the blow of not buying a mola by giving cans of lemonade and some balloons to the children.
We motor over to Chichime Island where there is a rendezvous organised by WCC in the way of a Pot Luck Party, where we all take a dish and have lunch together. But first there’s a mast to be hoisted up and photographs to be taken! I get in my giant nappy and Mike winches me up.
I have such a cavalier attitude to doing this today that I am shocked by quite how different it is going up, at anchor, in a breeze, to going up when the boat is out of the water like it was last time in Grenada Marine. I am thrown around like mad, bumping into the mast, the spreaders and scraping against the ropes and lazy jacks. It hurts! The higher I get, the worse it gets but I want those photos so I keep telling Mike to winch me higher. In the end I don’t go to the top because there’s nothing up there to cling to so spin myself around to take photos, but even so, taking the photos proves to be a real challenge. Firstly we have forgotten to tie the camera to the hoist so I am terrified of dropping it. Secondly, I can’t keep still enough to focus on what I am trying to photograph (as I find out later when I realise I have chopped the edges off the things I shoot at). It ends up being a bit of a disappointment, and Mike slowly lowers me back down. The inside of my thighs are covered with a film of white from gripping the mast so tightly and I feel bruised and battered. I will do it again, but will wear trousers next time to protect me more – and pick a completely windless day!
I make a rice salad and we go over to the party at lunchtime. Most of the crews are there and a table is spread with all the dishes.
We are offered a tender coconut and rum drink – the island’s chief opens the coconuts with a machete and Nick pours the rum in. It’s a bit strong for me ie I can taste the rum (what a waste of tender coconut) so I give mine to Mike.
We spend a couple of hours eating, drinking and chatting to other crews, most of whom we haven’t seen since St Lucia then Mike and I go for a walk along the beach.
The local women have set up their molas on lines and have beaded bracelets and necklaces to sell too but I am still not taken by them although they make a lovely display hanging in the breeze.
Eventually, hot and sleepy we go back to Jeannius and have a long nap, not waking up until nearly 7pm. No one feels like eating a meal so we have a few biscuits and some chocolate and luxuriate in the air conditioning while the water maker does its thing, then its an early night.
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