The store that proved most worthwhile to reach by dinghy, despite being visually similar to European supermarkets and lacking a wide selection, offered the easiest way to transport our purchases. However, we decided to search for something more substantial in the capital, requiring us to rent a vehicle.
We managed to rent a car for a few days, using the opportunity not only to replenish our food and supplies depleted during the Atlantic crossing but also to explore the island. St. Lucia is stunningly green, with beautiful beaches and coves, rainforests, waterfalls, and the majestic Pitons, the island’s second major landmark.
In a small village, we stopped at a scenic overlook with a fantastic view of a bay and a fishing village. We encountered a local selling hand-painted coconut bowls for only $20 USD, which probably isn’t much for an American, but we passed on the souvenirs. Unsuccessful in making a sale, he decided to try another approach, offering to sing and play some Bob Marley tunes for us… and then promptly launched into a rap repertoire.
St. Lucia is a volcanic island, home to a large crater containing an active volcano with bubbling sulphur springs. It’s supposedly the only drive-in volcano in the world, allowing you to enter the crater by car. As we approached, the volcano came into view, and we passed through the French town of Soufrière, located near the crater.
Near the volcano is a waterfall where swimming is permitted, although there’s an entrance fee. Souvenirs are sold at every tourist hotspot, though this particular area didn’t seem overly crowded. Most tourists likely arrive on cruise ships that dock at the international cruise terminal in the capital.
Close to the volcano stood Petit Piton and Gros Piton, the island’s highest peak. The Pitons, as they’re known, are extinct volcanic plugs that dominate the landscape of this part of the island. As the road wound through the forest, these massive peaks would appear in their full glory for brief moments. We stopped at an estate for lunch, which appeared to be a former cocoa farm turned restaurant.
While exploring the small towns by car, we decided to buy some bananas. We stopped near a plantation and asked a woman selling bananas by the roadside if we could buy an entire stalk. She spoke a local patois, a mix of English, French, and another language I didn’t recognize. She began talking, gesturing towards the plantation, then drawing in the dirt before pointing back to the plantation and finally stating a price in Caribbean dollars… We looked at each other, confused. After doing a quick calculation, we realized she was asking for around $15,000 USD… We laughed and started to leave, at which point she began shouting and calling for her husband. I braced myself for a confrontation, but then she said $10,000 USD… We exchanged glances and realized she was trying to sell us the entire plantation.
After 10-15 minutes of hand gestures, broken English (I don’t speak a word of French), we somehow managed to explain that we just wanted to buy some bananas and offered her all the cash I had on me—about $20 USD in Caribbean dollars. The woman took the money, her eyes lit up, and a huge grin spread across her face. “Let’s go get some bananas!” she said. I followed her into the plantation.
I took a few steps down a steep slope and promptly found myself sliding down on my backside into the undergrowth. Covered in mud, I got back up. She traversed the terrain as if she were strolling along a promenade, while my feet sank into the mud up to my ankles. Armed with a machete, she led me to a group of unharvested trees and told me to choose whichever I wanted. I picked a tree, and with a quick swing of her machete, she chopped down a huge stalk laden with green, unripe bananas. The two of us could barely carry it back to the car, where we managed to cram it into the trunk, which was now completely full. The woman, saying we’d given her a good price, brought even more bananas, which we piled onto the back seat. We had at least 50 kg, maybe more, of bananas.
When we arrived back at the marina with our banana haul, we had to get a trolley to transport everything to the boat. The trolley was overflowing with bananas. A Frenchman stopped us and asked if we were selling them. We were taken aback; white people here don’t usually do any work; it’s mostly black people doing the labor while white people supervise. I told him we’d bought them for ourselves. He thought he’d buy a kilo or so. I grabbed a handful of bananas and gave them to the Frenchman. He offered to pay, but we declined. “White people don’t sell bananas,” I said. The man laughed and walked away happy, while we continued pushing the trolley to the boat and unloading our bounty. It was going to be a long night.