Heading Home from our COVID19 Sanctuary....Almost

Carriacou dive map.  Peter and I have basically walked the entire island, some places a number of times.  We were anchored in Tyrrel Bay with over 100 others.

After 103 days, we were leaving our home during COVID-19 quarantine/lockdown/curfew/restrictions.  Carriacou had proved to be one of the best places to be on the planet.  Zero COVID cases because of strict and pretty well-practiced rules.  The entire island was cut off from all visiting boats, including supply/cargo boats for at least two weeks and then only one ship per week for what seemed like ages.  Supplies were slim but cases of infection were nil.

Every night at sunset, the boats in the anchorage blew a horn of some sort.  We were lucky to have been given an enormous conch shell which Peter made into the quintessential horn from the sea.  At first, the horns were meant to acknowledge and thank the frontline workers on the island but it fast became a way of bonding with others in our community.  Peter started with a sputter but after 103 x2 blows his sound has become loud, confident and sonorous.

Locals took very good care of the cruisers who were not allowed to put even a big toe on land.  Diane and Richard of Lumba Dive, voluntarily picked up groceries, free of charge - we couldn't have managed without them.  When restrictions eased a bit, other entrepreneurs delivered necessities including beer and wine, pizzas, fruit and veggies to boats.  Still later, when we were allowed on shore, locals were kind, helpful and happy to see us, masks and all.

By the time, our day of departure arrived we had been hiking, biking and diving.  Domino matches at restaurants and once on Milly were becoming regular events.  Two organized beach clean-ups made us feel like we were giving back a tiny bit of the hospitality we'd received from the islanders.  A covert beach party or two on a deserted island where many of us gathered for a few days all went without a hiccup - even though against protocol, we had all been isolated for more than three months and were hidden from the population by palm trees, sandbanks and a large expanse of water.  And then there was all the work to ready Milly - cleaning every surface and all things fabric, eating as much of the stored food as possible, readying the engines, fixing smaller items.  All told the list to leave included over 100 items, taking minutes to days and scheduled for days in advance or after hauling out.

Dominos on Milly.  From left to right, crews of Milly, Victoria's Ghost, English Rose and Mehalah.

We had made some very good friends who I hope we will meet again sometime, somewhere.  It was very difficult to leave.  The morning after our farewell party, Peter steered Milly by some of the boats saying, "good-bye" over the hailer as we went.  Many came out on deck to wave and blow kisses.  By the mouth of the bay, I was blubbering.  No surprise!  Thank you, dear friends!

The first of our exotic holidays to Sandy Island, essentially a sandbank.  After a hurricane devastated the island several years ago, the Kayaks - nickname for the locals on Carriacou - replanted palms.  Huge banks of coral thrown up by the waves protect the windward side from erosion.  It is now idyllic.  Wonderful snorkelling on the northern tip.  Peter, like any good Canadian, built several tall, sturdy inukshuks. 

After a rollicking game of Molkii - a Finish lawn bowling type game we learned in Turkey! - with friends, we enjoyed a sunset through the palms.

Another night away to Anse La Roche at the northern tip of Carriacou.  We were the only overnight boat at the beach but there were leatherback turtle trails out of the sea and up the sand to obvious nests so we probably did have nocturnal company unknown to us.  Huge iguanas visited the beach at sunset to dig for something or other.  

Another sunset at Sandy.  It never gets old!

The first stage of our planned trip to Toronto, although delayed from mid-May, was on a scheduled Air Canada flight on July 6th.  The Prime Minister had promised to open the airport to international commercial flights on July 1.  St. Lucia and Antigua had already opened in June.  During the last week in Carriacou, an ex-pat told us that she had been speaking with someone at the Ministry of Tourism who reported that the industry would not be ready with protocol requirements until the end of July.  Even Rufus, the local veggie man, seemed doubtful that the PM would keep his promise.  We were optimistic - surely flights to Canada would take place.

These tortoises are supposed to be endangered but we saw several on every hike.  Sweet little guys.  

Forever hopeful, we left our Carriacou sanctuary on June 28.  By the time we reached Grenada after a glorious sail, several friends had emailed that the PM had made a speech the night before saying the airport would not open on July 1 and opening would be "reassessed" on July 25 at the earliest.  His reasoning was that the bulk of Grenada's tourists were from USA and allowing their holiday-making put the health of the islanders at jeopardy.

We remained positive.  The Air Canada flight to Toronto was sold out and I counted 35 seats sold on the flight from Toronto to Grenada.  This seemed like a positive business event for AC.  Hopefully Canadians were considered to be less risky.  By noon, though we had our disappointing email - the flight was canceled.

The mood was subdued on Milly.  We had looked forward to quarantining at our cottage with our son, Tom, who was also flying on July 6th from Finland where he has been for months.  Our list of projects was long.  Emily was going to stock the cottage with food and drink and jigsaw puzzles.  We would be busy and happy in fun company.  Emily and Gid had already delayed their wedding from the end of July but hoped for some sort of celebration in October with a bigger, brighter party eventually.  We needed/wanted to get home!

And one more, this time from our longterm anchorage in Tyrrel Bay.  Sunsets were rarely clear so only one or two green flashes but the clouds made them particularly colourful.

Social media in Grenada went into high gear.  I, along with many others, wrote to the Canadian High Commissioner office in Barbados who immediately responded saying they had informed "Headquarters" of the problem and were requesting a repatriation flight.  Others were contacting airlines to see how to arrange a charter flight - which was allowed at the Grenada airport.  Still others were planning an exorbitantly expensive private 8-seater charter to Barbados where international commercial flights were promised - again another promise - to begin on July 12.

By June 30, the Canadian government had emailed a form letter saying that there would be no more repatriation flights.  An Air Canada or Sunwing charter looked difficult to arrange and doubtful.  Most people were opting for the Barbados layover.  By today, July 1, Canadians were now thinking Barbados seemed too uncertain.  Back to direct charter flights - even more expensive.  The fee is ridiculous but the opening of the airport is not even promised, let alone with a date.  What to do?

Milly was one of about 130 boats who made Tyrrel Bay their safe harbour during the Covid-19 storm.  It was home!

We are waiting to see what happens...we are practiced at this, as is the rest of the world.  But frustration and disappointment is now part of the equation.  Granted, we will make the most of our time here.  It is a beautiful island with lots to do.  Restrictions are gradually lifting.  We have a few friends here and are sure to meet more.  We're ready to haul Milly and race to the airport if the opportunity arises.  Fingers crossed!  Arrrrgh!