The Shangri La was moored in Antigua for 2 weeks in 2003. Andrew flew back to America for his brother's graduation while I stayed with Captain Stu. The boat was tied with spring lines running from the bow to the dock, and to disembark one had to somehow swing themselves along the thick line, twisting in a manner so as to land feet first on the wooden dock. I worked with Stu during the morning; sanding, sewing some sails, doing what needed to be done until the afternoons, which were mine. We were moored in English Harbour, another harbour was just a short walk away over what was called the 'middle ground'..so every afternoon I slung a small bag with my book over my shoulder and headed towards the end of the cliffs. The area was known as Nelson's Dockyard, all grey stone, and eighteenth century buildings, ruined forts and embattlements to clamber over..very beautiful and gothic. A steep little path lead me up over the mountain. A Spanish mountain side, or somehow Australian, red coloured dirt with khaki scrubby bushes. Goats scared the hell out of me and I actually picked up a decent sized rock. Tourists then gave me more of a fright and startled me into dropping my rock out of fear I would scare them...After about 40 minutes the path wound its way down to Falmouth Harbour. I treaded through the dusty carpark to the open sandy beach. A decent swim, a lie in the sun, another swim. Then walk back under the sun, late now, but still hot, damp from the sea and buzzing from the salt. The wind buffeting me about me as I crested the 'middle ground', looking down to each harbour to see boats anchored on both sides.
Stu and I spent the evenings sitting on stools at a wooden bar, getting drunk on rum punch and talking, often politics....he was an earnest conversationalist, and the conversation would inevitably run on until we would miraculously get ourselves back on board, and I remember one night gorging on canned corn in my cabin before crashing out into rum punch bliss.
