Cap Juluca

You are currently browsing the archive for the Cap Juluca category.

To the bat (shit) cave, Robin!

Friday, August 2, 2013 in Anguilla, Cap Juluca, Caribbean | 1 comment

Iguana Cave, Anguilla

Lloyd laughing as he leads Bail-Out out of Iguana Cave (which should really be called Bat-Shit Cave). Photo by David Lansing.

When Luscious and I had dinner at Jacala recently, I asked the owner, Jacque, who is from France, why he liked Anguilla.

“Because there is nothing to do here!” he said in that inimitable French way.

What he meant was that there are no zip-lines or helicopter tours or that sort of thing. The tourism industry on the island is very primitive. And most people who come to Anguilla (like Liam Neeson, Uma Thurman, Billy Crystal, Robin Williams, Michael Jordan, Paul McCartney, etc.) come here specifically because there’s nothing to do.

Except, our guide Lloyd told us, hike down to the Iguana Cave. Now I can’t say everyone was overly enthusiastic about a hike through a quasi rainforest and down a treacherous rock path blocked by belligerent hermit crabs. Luscious and Mrs. Poopsie were wearing heals and T-Bone was in flip-flops—not the best thing to wear hiking. Besides, there were spider webs and strange noises out in the forest which, Lloyd said, had been a lot thicker before Hurricane Luis cleaned it out in 1995.

Anyway, after hiking for several days (okay, maybe it was 20 minutes), we got to an area of rock scrabble that, if you scampered down, led you to the cave’s opening. “I’m not going down there,” said Luscious. “Me neither,” said Mrs. Poopsie.

That left T-Bone, Bail-Out, and me. So down the trail we went. When we got to the cave’s entrance, we all just stood there. Frankly, I’m not a big cave guy. They’re usually dark, moist, and full of weird objects. This one appeared to be no exception.

“They used to mine phosphates here,” Lloyd said. “Back in the 19th century.”

That should have been a clue as to what was inside the cave. Phosphates, you know, come from bird shit. Like bats. But I didn’t put two-and-two together at the time. Instead, I followed Lloyd in to the cave. Where we discovered…bats. Lots of them. Swirling around the roof of the cave like an evil vortex. I’m not sure if T-Bone pushed me out of the way as she ran to get out of the cave or I pushed her, but we both got out of there in a real hurry.

But the good news is that I think I’ve now come up with a name for our band: Bat Shit.

Tags: , , ,

At The Pumphouse, No Woman, No Cry

Thursday, August 1, 2013 in Anguilla, Cap Juluca, Caribbean

Our musical guide, Lloyd, in front of The Pumphouse in Anguilla. Photo by David Lansing.

We’d had two (maybe three rum punches) and still no Elvis. Which is when Lloyd suggested we head across the street to The Pumphouse, another well-known musical destination in Anguilla.

“You know Bankie Banx?” Lloyd asked. I didn’t but nodded as if I did. “Well, his son, Omari Banks, plays at The Pumphouse all da time.”

If I don’t know Bankie Banx it’s probably a good bet I don’t know Omari Banks, right? And how come the father and son can’t agree on how to spell their last name?

I told Lloyd I wasn’t a big reggae fan. So Lloyd asked me what sort of music we played. I told him I had no idea.

“You don’t know what kind of music you play?”

“We’ve actually never played together before,” I told him.

“Never?”

“Never.” And then I added, as if this might explain everything, that we were still sort of trying to figure things out. In fact, I told him, we didn’t have a name for our band yet. And we didn’t know any songs.

Lloyd thought about this while slowly nodding his head. “Maybe you should play reggae,” he concluded. “Anybody can play reggae.”

I nodded in agreement but I have to admit that it’s very unlikely that a bunch of mostly white folk playing the viola, ukulele, mandolin, and violin are going to be jammin’ and jammin’ (’till the jam is through).

Besides, I think if I have to listen to No Woman, No Cry one more time in my life I’m going to stick chopsticks in my ears and burst my ear drums. Anyway, I was more interested in The Pumphouse’s salt history than its reggae cred. See, before there was any tourism on Anguilla (mind you, the island didn’t have electricity until the ‘70s), salt mining was just about the only industry. From the 1600s until 1986, they pulled salt out of the pond behind The Pumphouse, which was used to regulate the water in the salt ponds.

If you’ve read some of my previous blogs about harvesting sea salt in Hawaii or France, you’ll know I like sea salt a lot more than I like reggae. So I was very sorry to hear that you could no longer buy any Anguillan salt. I mean, I’m sure listening to Omari Banks is great. But, frankly, I’d rather stick my head in a bag of sal de mer any time.

Before there was a Bob Marley, there were Anguillans like this hauling out salt from the Road Salt Pond.

 

See that building in the background? That’s now The Pumphouse.

Tags: , , , ,

Searching for Elvis in Anguilla

Wednesday, July 31, 2013 in Anguilla, Cap Juluca, Caribbean | 1 comment

Photo by David Lansing.

The Band needed a break. We’d been practicing since…well, actually, we hadn’t started practicing yet. Which is why we decided we needed a break.

The Band’s official driver, Mr. Glennis Connor, the Anguillan Patron Saint of Lost Luggage, evidently needed a break as well since instead of giving us a musical tour of Anguilla, as he’d promised, he asked Lloyd to do it. Lloyd is good. Nothing against Lloyd at all. It’s just that he’s not Mr. Glennis Connor.

We told Lloyd our mission was to make a musical pilgrimage around Anguilla. Get inspired. Hear the sounds, dig the beat, feel the love.

“Well then,” said Lloyd as we pulled away from Cap Juluca, “I suppose the first thing you’ll want to see is Elvis’.”

We all perked up at that. Even The Man, who had had a very late night, sat up straight and opened his eyes for the first time all morning. “Is Elvis in the building?” asked The Man.

“That’s hard to say,” said Lloyd. “Sometimes Elvis is in the building and sometimes he’s not, if you know what I mean. But we can go by and see.”

Now it just so happens that Elvis’ is next door to Johnno’s. The thing is, Johnno’s is more of a jazz joint. On a typical Sunday there, you’re likely to catch Mo Melin on sax, Peter Sorton on bass, and Jaiden Fleming on drums (or sometimes Fred). Whereas Elvis, of course, is more old school.

Elvis’ Rum Punch.

We asked Lloyd how Elvis was doing. He said he’s good, that these days he’s thin and lanky, the way he used to be (before Vegas). And that if he was around, we’d probably find him behind the 16-foot-boat-turned-bar pouring his signature drink, Elvis’ Rum Punch (Mount Gay rum, Amaretto, oj, pineapple juice, guava juice, lime juice, bitters and nutmeg).

So we went to Elvis’. The bartender told us he was out at the moment. So we ordered a round of rum punches. And then another. Just, you know, for inspiration while waiting for Elvis.

Tags: , , ,

The band arrives in Anguilla

Tuesday, July 30, 2013 in Anguilla, Cap Juluca, Caribbean | 2 comments

The band, left to right: Me, Cricket, T-Bone, Bail-Out, Mrs. Pookie, and The Man. Luscious was taking the photo. I don’t know where our official band photographer was…Oh, wait! We don’t have one!

One by one the band arrived, although, frankly, Mrs. Pookie almost didn’t make it; she snagged a pro-golfer on the ferry ride over from St. Maarten and had to give a hard-think to whether she wanted to rock her viola with us or let the golf pro show her how to gracefully exit a sand trap, if you know what I mean. In the end, she chose the band (although she gave the golf pro her number, so we’ll see what happens).

Bail-Out, traveling from Boston, forgot to bring his mandolin. How do you come to Anguilla for band rehearsals and forget your mandolin? Anyway, as soon as he arrived, he hit the beach—sans sun screen. Just like him. That’s why he’s called Bail-Out. He’s our own little Steven Van Zandt. Part of the reason he’s so hard to schedule for band rehearsals is because he’s always doing some bit in an indie movie or some play in Boston. To be honest, I don’t think he’s really dedicated to his music.

T-Bone arrived right on time. Despite the name, T-Bone doesn’t do steak. Nor chicken nor fish. In fact, T-Bone grooves on a plant-based diet only—no cheese, no milk, no butter, no nada. She’s so tiny it always amazes me that she plays her electric violin with such gusto. But that girl can rock.

Mike “The Man” Espindle got held up in Rome or something, Luscious tells me. Driving a Jaguar around Umbria when he should have been packing his drum kit. He finally showed up in the middle of dinner last night, after way too many cocktails on the flight over, with some cutey on his arm who, evidently, just got married and is honeymooning here. And not to The Man. Have you ever noticed how drummers are always the flakiest musicians in a band (think Spinal Tap)?

Cricket, our keyboardist, lives on Anguilla. He’s the reason we decided to rehearse here, since he swore he could score us free rooms at the Cap Juluca resort (we’ll see what happens when we check-out). And, of course, Luscious, our vocalist and I (electric ukulele) have been here for a couple of days already. So we’re finally good to go.

Now if we could only figure out what to call ourselves. Oh, and write a couple of songs.

This is Luscious. You’ll have to ask her why she’s called that. Photo by David Lansing.

Tags: , ,

Lunch on Sandy Island

Monday, July 29, 2013 in Anguilla, Cap Juluca, Caribbean

That’s Dion behind the bar on Sandy Island. Notice the mural with the boat with Bliss and Happiness painted on it. Bliss is the name of the other boat to Sandy Island. Photo by David Lansing.

The man in charge of Happiness, as it turns out, was named Darrel. Darrel spent about 10 minutes giving us a safety check aboard Happiness, which was about twice as long as the trip over to Sandy Island itself.

About Sandy Island: It’s actually an atoll, meaning it is made up of coral from the surrounding reef, and is shapped like an arrowhead. It is approximately 150 yards long and 25 yards across at its widest point. To walk around Sandy Island takes about 10 minutes. In short, there’s not much to it. Still, it’s an extremely popular day trip. People go there because they have a little bbq shack that serves up excellent ribs, lobster, and fresh fish. They also go there to drink the rum cocktails with names like High Tide and JoJo’s Rum Punch.

JoJo is the bbq man on Sandy Island. You cannot rush JoJo. He is a master and like most masters he takes his time. Which is why almost as soon as we arrived, Dion, who makes the JoJo’s Rum Punch cocktails behind the bar, warned us that we should order lunch just as soon as we knew what we wanted.

“It’s still early,” he said, “but in another hour, we’ll be packed.”

Once when I was in France for two weeks I ate oysters every single day. Sometimes twice a day. So since I’d ordered lobster (or Anguilla crayfish) my first night on Anguilla and I knew the island was known for having some of the most delectable lobster in the Caribbean, I was thinking perhaps I’d order lobster every day. But then when Dion asked Luscious what she’d like for lunch, she said, “Lobster.”

Now I know that it was only a couple of days ago that I was making fun of people who don’t like to order the same thing their dining companion gets but it just so happens I’m also one of those people. Besides, I still had dinner to look forward to; I could get lobster at dinner. So I ordered JoJo’s ribs. Which I could smell cooking on the bbq.

I was tempted to get JoJo’s Rum Punch but since I knew we’d be on this little spit of an island for several hours, I decided to go slow and start with a glass of French rose. Afterall, it all felt very French—sitting on a beach in our bathing suits, speculating about the people showing up on tenders sent from their private yachts, drinking rose. There may not have been much to do on Sandy Island other than eat and drink and gossip, but I was finding that to be to my liking.

That’s Berecia and JoJo, the barbecue master, with ribs for me and lobster for Luscious. Photo by David Lansing.

Tags: , , , ,

« Older entries § Newer entries »