9 Cubans, 1 Kansan and a Kittitian circle the island

Waiting for the Marriott crew (with JR in the background)


Caribelle Batik Shop at Romney Manor (closed on Sundays)


Lily, Israel, Shawn, Martha and Betty at Romney Manor

Brimstone Hill Fortress

Mami and Maggie at Brimstone

Rawlins Plantation


Black Rocks

My mother and her ass.

Final day in St. Kitts, we decided we may as well see St. Kitts. We had explored the more upscale sister island, Nevis, we had gone deep into the rain forest, we had hit every bar along the Frigate Bay strip, some of them twice, but we had not actually driven around the island we were staying on. Due to the previous evening's van-related fiasco, the driving would now actually be done by JR aka Robert, a cab driver we had met the first day on the island and my brother would follow with the Marriott crew in his rental car. After some initial difficulties in meeting up, due mainly to the fact that my mother was given the actual meeting time, as opposed to a fictitious much earlier start time that might, maybe hopefully have her ready to go at the actual hour, we were on the road (and I do mean "the" road....there is only one). Our first stop was at Caribelle Batiks, a store located on the grounds of Romney Manor, a former sugar plantation. Although the store was closed, the grounds were lovely enough to keep us snap happy for the better part of an hour. Next stop (after an obligatory Carib stop, of course) was the Brimstone Hill Fortress, a surprisingly well preserved British fort and UNESCO World Heritage site with sweeping views of the nearby islands. Having done what the French could not and conquered the fort (or at least heavily photographed it), we were off for our long-since passed lunch reservations at the highly recommended Rawlins Plantation, yet another restored former sugar plantation. The restaurant and its adjacent hotel were all Old World beauty and gentility, with a nary a nod to the uglier truths of the plantation life and its inherent rascism, something that was common to all the plantations that we visited. But for a look into how the monied lived and lounged, not to mention, for some really good food, Rawlins could not be beat. Cheap hostel lover that I am, I would not mind splurging and spending a night at Rawlins next time around. Bellies full and memory cards almost at capacity, it was time for the last stop of the tour, the Black Rocks, a series of dramatic volcanic formations that jut out of the water, a locale that, for better or worse, will best be remembered as the place where my mother got chased, relentlessly, by a donkey. Now my mother, while very fit and active, is at an age where one should step in if she is being pursued by an amorous ass, but we were all too busy laughing and reaching for cameras to even consider intervening. In the end, the donkey did relent and was rewarded with many offers of snacks and water (thus probably setting up the next gullible tourist that comes around the Black Rocks). Finally, 6 hours after it had started, our tour of St. Kitts had come to an end, as well as our weekend together on this memorable island. I can not stress enough how great it was, particularly since I would be leaving to Holland for the summer in 2 short days, to have my friends and family united like that. My sincere thanks to all who joined in. Keep your calenders open so we can do this again sometime. And please, next time, no plastic turds.