Grey and threatening, the high rolling clouds are billowing across the sky as I get up around 8 this morning. John has, as usual, been up earlier than me, coffee had and checking email at the computer. Yes, even in this remote part of the world, we have complete internet access. I mention that it looks like rain and he replies with 'it's been pouring since I got up...”.He his heading out for his first dive at 10:30 and I plan a rainy morning of reading and lounging...what vactaion is all about.


I wanderthrough occasional mistings of rain down, down into The Bottom to explore and find a very quaint, red-roofed village literally 'at the bottom' of the craggy gorge. Lots of construction work happening, people out cleaning their walks, a solitary young women sits writing in thechurch. I wander a bit, saying good morning to practically everyone.









The Bottom

I am stopped on my return walk by a curious local gentleman who reminds me somewhat of Gandhi. I am quickly introduced to Brother Riley, a local Bottom-ite who is now retired from various Sabian jobs over the course of his 79 years. He proceeds to ask me if I am Dutch because “I sure look Dutch”. I assure him that no, I am not Dutch but in fact Canadian. He obviously wants to tell me a story so I patiently and politely listen to the very spry old man with a quick grin and a single gold tooth flashing in the hot noon sun. Brother Riley explains to me that he ran a boat service some 50+ years ago before there was a harbour and an airport on Saba. One of his claims to fame (he appears to have several, but ultimately infamous with island police as a drunkard and a brawler until he “found the good Lord above and He changed my life...”) was that he had the pleasure of bringing the teen-aged Princess Julianna to shore from her ship when she was visiting the island all those years ago. “I sat right beside her.” As Queen Julianna, she returned years later to visit Saba and at her walk about in The Bottom, Brother Riley broke through the crowd and it appears, all protocol aside, thrust his hand out at the Queen and introduced himself as her boatman of so many years ago and asked whether she remembered him? 'Of course', was her reply. And of course whether she did in fact remember him is perhaps all in Brother Riley's fading and colourful memory but it is indeed a lovely memory. And to prove his story, he invites me into his modest home (through the front door, he insists) and shows me a picture of Queen Julianna shaking his hand in the crowd all those years later. His living room is crowded with many pictures of his children and of those of students whom he has befriended at the local Medical Univerity up the road. Some Dutch, some American and some Canadian. Amongst the many and jumbled memories are numerous open bibles and other religious paraphanalia. Brother Riley it appears, has 6 or 7 bibles on the go, all apparently abandoned and left mid-verse. I thank him politely and wish him a good day and as I attempt to move away, he shouts out to me 'just ask anyone about Brother Riley, they will know me' and indeed I do later in the day and that evening and yes, Brother Riley is truly infamous in The Bottom.


Brother Riley

I grab a quick chicken sandwich and a Heinecken on the front veranda of the Family Deli and Bakery, read my book and watch the noon-time comings and goings in The Bottom. Not too busy but certainly enough to keep me amused for a good hour or so before I huff and puff myself back up the very steep roadway to the hotel and a nap and to update our blog. The rain continues to mist with the occasional break of sun. John is home by 3:30 from his dive and we plan our evening and dinner at 'Brigadoon' in Windwardside.

The drive is unusally foggy and misty. We feel in good hands with George the Taxi Guy. Some of the staff from the Hotel are sharing the taxi with us tonight to Brigadoon and we arrive just before 7 pm. There has been a diving presentation at 5:30 at the restaurant and 6 people from the dive boat, including the dive master Dick and his wife, are having dinner at Brigadoon(there aren't that many places to eat on Saba). The 50 something wife-of-owner and front-of-house-cum-waitress, waltzes up to us, toothy grin and all and welcomes us in a boozy, floozy kind of way. I mention that the weather is appropirate for Brigadoon: all misty and foggy on the highlands...she doesn't get it. I suspect that the evening isn't going to go well. We order our meal and a very nice Chateaneuf du Pape, and proceed to wait over an hour and a quarter for our apps to arrive: a simple green salad for me and John has the seafood chowder...how difficult is that? The mains arrive a half hour later and it is not what I thought that Tricia had described to me. Of course they come around and ask how everything is and of course, I tell them. Followsummer.com does not recommend Brigadoon on the island of Saba. 1 star for the food and less that 1 for the service and ambiance.

The evening ends exactly as it started this morning: a driving rain continues to fall from low hanging, mountain-clinging clouds and continues to blow and rain most of the entire night.


John's Story

A leisurely morning. Dives 2 and 3 of the trip, and after yesterday's dive I am feeling much more confident about hitting the water. I am wearing Greg's mask as we have concluded, after 3 very waterlogged dives, that mine has bitten the biscuit. And there is a happy ending – no face full of water today.

The camaraderie on the boat is great – due, I am sure, to the fact that half the people on the boat, are Canadians including Fred and Kelly, husband and wife divemasters from Ottawa (who lived in BVI for 2 years, and just relocated to Saba). Boat time is minimal, however – to a depth of 200 feet the entire coast of Saba is a national marine park, and so there is wonderful diving just outside the port. And that is the leeward side of the island, so less choppy than other parts.

The dives are both lovely – although still a bit murky, they are clearer than Sunday afternoon's was. The coral gardens are just incredible and the fish, although not plentiful, is friendlier than I have ever experienced. Somehow, on some level, they know that they are in a protected space and do not need to worry about being hunted and fried for dinner.

We see some great things – a spotted eel, lots of turtles, barracuda, and lots of beautiful fish! And I enjoy it thoroughly.

Sunday in the blue Caribbean...we have arranged a wake up call but both John and I are up so much earlier than the annoying 'bleep bleep' of the hotel phone when the call finally arrives at 7 am. Our room is a 'Garden view room'. The view is across the parking lot and the bustling main road in to Marigot but it seems that the small and large boat cranes and the garbage dumpsters with the early morning crashing of broken glass is the view that we have paid for. Oh well, it was only one night and quite a restless one at that. We shower and head down to a breakfast of coffee, fresh fruit, toast, scrambled eggs: a very familiar followsummer routine. We grab a table and nosh, the view an unencumbered 'Ocean View' across the pool and out to the moored yachts and sail boats, bobbing gently in the Sunday morning sun. We will have to wait a bit this morning for a taxi to the airport and Saba (it is Sunday) and when one finally arrives, we discover that Sunday also affects the taxi rates too. Tariffs are much higher it seems on a lazy Caribbean Sunday.

The airport is virtually deserted at 9:00 am but we join others in a short line, others who are going to Saba, Nevis, St. Thomas or St. Kitts on the short puddle jumpers they call airplanes here. We get hand-written boarding passes and walk across the tarmac to our waiting plane and take a deep breath and hold it as we taxi out and take off for our 9 minute flight to Saba. Yikes! The plane is full; twenty of us and the two pilots: Some Sabians obviously returning home and Dutch tourists, like us, who are snapping pictures and wondering if we are going to make it or not. We bank left and head right down onto a very short run way that has been miraculousy carved out of the rugged volcanic moutainside, roar right to the end of the runway and look wayyyyyyy dowwwwnnnn over the cliff into the blue Caribbean... Welcome to Saba.



Welcome to Saba

We gather our luggage and our cab is already there, a lovely and chatty man named George who drives us to the dive shop to organize our gear for our dive this afternoon...it is only 10:00 am. As we are leaving, a cab roars up to the one room terminal building and a frantic women rushes out, tremendously upset about missing the flight that is now taxiing down the runway as it heads to its next destination. A call on the radio, the plane slows and turns around, and, of course, she gets on. Just like hailing the bus before it pulls away from the curb, right? And as John points out...probably a breach of the rules because the propellers just kept on going throughout.

All set for our afternoon dive, George continues the windy road towards our hotel for the next few days, The Queens Gardens. Perched high above a craggy gorge, with sweeping views toward the ocean and the tiny red-roofed town (village?) of The Bottom, we settle into our comfortable suite with an open air jacuzzi, four-poster bed, ipod enabled sound system and flat screened television. And of course the view. We have an hour to explore a bit before we are being picked up and taken to the dive boat and our dive this afternoon leaving from Fort Bay. The hotel is lovely and appears to be quite quiet. Open bar terrace leading down to a swimming pool and surrounded by lovely red roofed and green and white shuttered spacious rooms. And again, all commanding the expansive view across the hamlet of The Bottom and towards the Caribbean. We have lunch in the hotel restaurant, quick and simple club sandwich with a Caribbean edge for me and a fresh snapper sandwich for John. The staff are all Dutch, hailing mostly from in and around Amsterdam and all share that blonde, rosy cheeked and polite approach that only the Dutch seem to have.




A new cab driver arrives to take us to the Dive Boat and we wind our way down into Fort Bay and the only harbour (and we are told, the only gas station) on the entire island, and head out for a very quick 10 minute ride to our mooring point within Saba's Marine Park. We are a large Canadian contingent today and including dive master and staff, we only number 9 in total. We get into our wet suits, BCDs ready and fins on and jump in. The other 4 divers in my group are already in and underneath waiting for me at the mooring line. I adjust, adjust again, roll over on my back to kick to the moor line to go down and PANIC. Kelly, the dive master, tells me just to 'go down' and not bother wasting energy and air getting to the moor line. I attempt to submerge but am not weighted enough to let me drop. Can't adjust my mask, people are waiting for me down below.......I bail. Swimming back to the boat, my heart is beating like a drum and I haul myself out of the water.

I sit with Fred, the boat master, who assures me that there is no shame in bailing. We talk about what brought him and his wife Kelly to the Caribbean via Tortolla from Ottawa and share other dive stories from followsummer, and wait for the others to return 55 minutes later.. My ego is still smarting.




We have all panicked during our diving histories but this seemed to be additionally so. I decide at this point that there should be some ultimate enjoyment in this process and don't really want to stress myself out over the next few days and especially with two deep dives scheduled. I ultimately decide not to continue diving for the 3 days we are here in Saba. Fred has told me that 10 days ago there were huge storms in the vicinity and the swells stirred up the bottom quite significantly and visibilty continues to be murky, at best. John confirms this on his surfacing and this cements my decision not to continue the diving. If we were dealing with incredible underwater scenery, full of colour and wildlife, then this certainly would have swayed my descion to continue. It is true that this island is ranked number 6 in the world as one of the great places to dive but if I am stressed and cannot really see anything, what is the point?

I am somewhat disappointed about bailing on the diving but mostly at myself and we continue to discuss our options over a rather ho hum dinner in Windwardside at 'The Scout', a honky-tonk pub cum restaurant that caters to, coincidentally, the diving groups that pass this way. George, the Taxi Guy is our driver again tonight and we witness an incredible sunset slowly sinking between Thais Hill and St. John's Flat (which, contrary to name, is definitely NOT flat – the only part of Saba that is flat is the airport runway) as we wind our way into Windwardside and our dinner. By 9:30, John is asleep and I am finishing up a travel article on Paris, our next destination in May with our neice, Kim.

John's Story

I jump in the water, heart pounding. The swell is bigger than I though. Greg and I talked about this first dive a number of times over the last few days, and we have both seen that the other is apprehensive – our last dives were 1 year ago in Hawai'i, in perfect conditions. Today's are not.

I panic – I can't get my mask to fit, and it keeps filling with water. But I am sinking nicely, and the minute I get under the surface, the swells are irrelevant. I get to the bottom of the mooring line, and we wait – for Greg. After a couple of minutes, Kelly arrives, sans Greg, and I realize he must have bailed. I am disappointed, and wonder if I could have done anything to help, but know that if I had waited on the surface for him, I would have bailed too.

I put Greg out of my mind – or try to. One of the things that I really love about diving is that your life depends on being in the moment – if you think about all those things that normally occupy your thoughts, you can get into real trouble. And, to a large extent, I let myself go and relax and enjoy the dive. Good Pisces that I am.

The dive is murky, but we see some good things. Despite which, I will be very disappointed if the diving tomorrow and Tuesday is not better than today.

Other than my mask, which continues to fill with water regularly, the dive goes well. The best test of all, how long your air lasts, goes well, because my air lasts at least as long as everybody elses. The minute I am clear to rise to the surface, tho, I bolt up, because I am chilled. (I dove in a shorty wetsuit, and found the last fifteen minutes “cool”.) And through the dive, if I've thought of anything else, I've wondered what happened to Greg.

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