Sunday, 3rd June. Our third full day in the west of Grenada, and there’s not much to do. We have three full days left on the island and despite not having done most of what’s written on our cat-scratched paper itinerary, ambitiously prepared before we really got the hang of Caribbean pace of life, we still had today down for “fuck all. Everything is closed.”
Not quite everything, tbh. A very lazy morning with a brief dip in the apparently cold and invigorating sea was followed by a few chores - washing up, take the rubbish out, etc - and I consulted numerous guides for how to reach the West Indies Beer Conpany by bus.
Basically you don’t. No buses, except for university shuttles, go particularly near the bit of L’anse aux Épines (“lance-a-peens”). That’s fine, we’ll get the 1 to the big roundabout and walk down.
Hang on. Where are the buses? Why aren’t we being hailed? Much to our surprise, even with moderately busy traffic there were precious few buses. We expected it to die down in late afternoon, but not at 1:35pm.
Eventually one hails us. There’s no conductor and only a handful of people. Sunday service? Just past the roundabout a bloke taps on the window to request our stop because like an idiot I didn’t think of doing that myself, and we’re off, 6EC lighter (3EC each).
As is now a depressing norm, I’ve underestimated the length of walk to our destination. Sigh. Past the Carib brewery, some fancy apartments, a big church and the US consulate - I convince Helen not to go and “have a word about their president, and while I’m at it, the gun laws” - and hello, brewery.
There’s a table of four adults and two sausage dogs, and a guy at the bar, and that’s it. Ace. No aircon because it’s all open. The barman gives us a friendly “happy Sunday!” welcome and you know what, let’s have beer..