Rodney Bay, St. Lucia
14.04.319N
60.57.157W

Happy Birthday James! We love you and miss you.

It rained most of today, so we walked around the shops of Rodney Bay and the mall that is located off to the side of the lagoon where we are anchored. Neither one of us had ever had a roti before, so we ordered one for lunch. Turns out its a mix of beef and potatoes in a curry sauce rolled up into a tortilla. Yum!

Our original plan was to take a picnic dinner with us to the Jazz Festival but when we found out that Chris wasn’t going to pick us up until after 6:00pm, we decided to eat on the boat before we went.

Boy were we glad that we hired Chris. I don’t think Roger or Dale or any combination of the two would have been able to get us to that festival and find a parking place. The streets are hardly big enough for two cars to pass, but when you start parking cars along the sides it gets downright crazy.

Chris dropped us off at the door and told us that he would pick us back up again at the corner to where the park was. We entered what looked like a baseball field through a single door. We had to open our cooler to show that we only brought unbreakable bottles and leave Dale‘s pocket knife (all 1.5“ of it) with Ross, the big guy in the military uniform at the door. I had vacuum sealed our ponchos so I had to get Ross to open them for us. He was very nice.

We bought some over priced popcorn and headed to the top row on the bleachers. The jazz playing on the PA system was wonderful and we settled in for a relaxing evening of Jazz in the park.

Gus, the manager of the marina restaurant, had told us that the only thing that ever starts on time in St. Lucia is Jazz Festival. He wasn’t wrong. The only problem was . . . It wasn’t any type of jazz that we recognized. They advertised Nancy Wilson, Freddie Cole, (Nate King Cole’s brother), Babyface and some really big names in classical jazz. What we got was reggie (not bad), jump up (what?) socca (some sort of hiphop with African origins), and rap. Now I like some rap but these guys couldn’t sing on tune or speak understandable words. All of it was loud. Very loud. Dale likened it to reggie/rap crossed with a Richard Simmons exercise tape. Everyone was bouncing in place. Bouncing to the left, bouncing to the right. Bouncing up and down with the faint smell of marijuana smoke wafting in the air; at least that‘s what Dale said that it was.

After 3 hours, we decided we’d had enough. I thought Roger would blow a gasket since he is really quite the jazz aficionado but he just grumbled about his ears being numb and that it wasn‘t jazz. Dale & Elaine started jumping around and waving their arms; I just watched, praying that neither one of them would keel over with a heart attack. I collected our little knife from Ross as we headed out the gate and ventured outside and down to the corner. The place was swarming with people. A good number of them, I’d try to avoid at any time of the day much less 11:00 at night.

Thank heavens, as promised, Chris was waiting for us. In the minivan, two other ladies had come to the festival but upon hearing the music from outside the park, they decided they’d just stay in the van.

Chris deposited all of us back at the marina, safe and sound, with the promise that he would be back on Monday at 8:30am to take us on an around the island tour.