Day 5 - we was ROBBED. . .

Day 5

Eventful Day. We began with a drive to a hike. The hike was to take us to a swimming hole in the jungle. When we arrived at the entrance to the road to the trailhead, we ran into a german couple that is staying here at Calibishie, and they had hired a guide. A guy named Wendy. That is not a typo. We were lucky to have someone to follow into this trail, as we would have quickly given up on our own. Driving up the steeps up the mountainside took us through a remote village. We snaked through its centre following the patchwork of potholes and hardened tar. We stopped to ask a local woman which way to go at the many forks - “Up, go up. You only go up” was her reply. Up we went. The road quickly deteriorated into a cart track, flanked by grass and banana trees we could sometimes not see over. The plants assaulted both sides of our car, as we tried to shift our suzuki’s path left and right to avoid having the strewn boulders collide with our undercarriage, which did happen a few times. At the trail head, Wendy led us through high tropical pastures and banana plantations. On one side the ocean could be seen between the wedges formed by steep mountain hillsides. On the other, Morne Diablotin – the island’s tallest peak – could be seen up to its neck, it’s misty peak shrouded in cloud. Wendy led us into the steamy jungle, stopping intermittently to show us some native fruit or useful tree. Hearing about the Carib culture, the uses of the plants, and witnessing their interdependence firsthand brought a sense of familiarity with the rest of the earth, as the same story is told all over the planet, only the languages, plants, and people are different. As we stared, rapt, up the trunk of a goumiere tree, we noted its top at around 60 feet. The trunk was as thick as an old Canadian beech. We were flabbergasted to find out it only took 10 years to get this way. The Caribs would hollow out it’s trunk to make dug out canoes, and would burn its pitch, which smelled exactly like pine sap, as ceremonial incense. The tree did not look remotely like an evergreen, but the sap was apparently high in terpenes. At the end of the hike, we hopped over some boulders to cross some fast streams and small rivers. We rouned a cliffy bend and were greeted by a beautiful waterfall crashing into a deep blue and green pool. Wendy encouraged me to jump the cliff I came across as I climbed up to explore the pool, and I obliged, 5 or 6 times. After walking and driving back out, we decided to visit Batibou beach. This is a secluded paradise where 4x4 is required to access. The beach is exactly what you imagine a deserted island beach to look like. White sand, green blue water, coral reef in the distance, palm trees bending lazily over the shore, casting their shadow down, and not a soul in sight. The green foamy waves are free to crash upon ochre cliffs undisturbed. I snorkeled and my parents walked, and upon our return to our belongings the impossible had happened. Someone had made their way down the muddy rock path in, or through the jungle, and had found my father’s camcorder and his wallet. They had taken all the money out of the latter, and stolen the former. We couldn’t believe this was possible in such a secluded place. It would take 25 or 20 minutes to get in if you knew the way well, and you were on foot. The thief’s timing was impeccable. After this the owner of the property and some surrounding places came down and greeted us. One of the men with him had seen a known thief walking in our direction earlier that day, the owner took the description and signed the paper, handing it to us and urging us to go to the Calibishie police, which we did. After passing the station 4 times, first not recognizing it as a station, and later trying to find a good place to stop and turn around to get the right angle to enter the driveway (it was a 1 foot drop to a rutty dirt path, up to a small brick building with doorless doorways and windowless windows) we eventually made it. The officer eagerly took the description and dispatched one of the police. It was nice to see them at least try to help, even if the prognosis was not good. Hopefully Pato, the suspect, will be found with the camera, the police having been on his trail within hours, unbeknownst to him. I look forward to meeting him, as we were told a confrontation would be necessary for us to identify our things. I think the laws here will work in our favour if he is caught. Punishment for many small things includeds jailtime. Personally I would like to just sit down and tell him a few things about stealing, and then maybe cane him myself. I doubt that is allowed though. . .

On the walk out I found this really wierd looking seed. I thought at first it must be a bead, because of how brilliantly coloured it is - glossy black juxtaposed with blood red. It's known as a precatory bean. Turns our it's one of the world's deadliest seeds. Maybe I could feed it to Pato?