St, Lucia

Wow. It's Friday afternoon, and since Wednesday morning I've been from Chicago to New York, Vieux Fort in St. Lucia, and now, a 40 minute drive through the mountains, I find myself in Soufriere. The traveling has been wearing-- my carry on bag broke in 5 minutes, JFK was completely shut down Thursday due to a security breech and taxi drivers want all the money they can get from Americans-- but having my dad and the Caribbean sun has made things more than worthwhile.

The town of Vieux Forte was not far from the St. Lucia airport-- which was fully equipped with tarmacs and the tiniest "customs" area I've ever seen-- and didn't have much to it. On a walk through the town we discovered restaurants closed at dinner time and, besides being heckled by a few money hungry locals, there wasn't much to do. The town was poor, a few streets of small restaurants and businesses, and locals bumming around the streets goggling at the two white tourists. The buildings were dilapidated, with bits of scrap metal replacing fences and roofs, but the architecture of  old colonists was apparent. Below the cracked siding and falling porches were the skeletons of past wealth and European influence.
  We rented a studio apartment for 50 American dollars (150 East Caribbean dollars) with an amazing view of the ocean, nice people, and 4 college aged American tools talking about their sexual escapades. Overall, excellent experience. After days of traveling we found ourselves dozing off around 830, just enough time to have a couple of rumjuice cocktails and a local beer called Piton, named after a local geological formation.

First picture is me at the hotel restauraunt, being pensive and deep. The second is the view from the balcony. The hotel was on a hill, and it looks down on the ocean and Vieux Forte. The third is a piton. The cab driver had the idea to stop and get a really good picture of it on the way into Soufriere. Everyone is really kind at the right price.


Now we're in Soufriere. It is much busier-- and as my dad just said coming in from the balcony, "There's a lot of fucked up people out there. Just drunks, and bums, and stoners..."-- also more tourists and money hungry tourist hecklers. That's to say the least. The overwhelming smell of marijuana poors in through the balcony doors. MMMM illegal drugs. This very well may be paradise (that's a joke). My first friend I made here is named Sunshine (later I found out his name was Nelson...). He brought my 70 pound bag in on his head..up four flights of stairs. He then said he could get me any sort of taxi, that he knew all of the good restaurants, and all the good pot. Thanks dude. He followed us around for a while, and then so did his friend, whose name I forgot, maybe Victor, who parled the Francais for he was born in Martinique.

It's getting closerrrr.

There's Tim and some boats. Then me and one of the pitons. Then there's me on a dock infront of the restaurant we ate at (creole mmm) then a shot from the balcony of the hotel on the town of Soufriere. Excellent!