Escape from Grenada

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One of my people here at work honeymooned in Grenada during Hurricane Ivan. Here is her husband's account of the trip. I wasn't quite sure where to post this, but I figured this counted as current events. I found it a damn good read.

Enjoy.

We arrived in Grenada on Sunday, September 5th at about 10pm. We landed with birth certificates and driver’s licenses, which are acceptable in Grenada. Our first honeymoon experience on Grenada was a 20-minute hassle with the immigrations officials, who questioned the validity of my birth certificate because it was not labeled “BIRTH CERTIFICATE.” Eventually, my pleading and sighs (and probably our fat American wallets) finally convinced them to let us in.

The cab ride from the airport to the True Blue Bay Resort was uneventful, except for the occasional cow in the road. If a cow (or pedestrian) is in the way, the cabbies simply beep at it, and then swerve out of the way at the last minute if it doesn’t move. The cows obviously never move, so we did a lot of swerving. Our driver didn’t say much except when it began to drizzle, when he commented, “it is the rainy season, don’t you know?” Oh yes, we know now.

Sunday night and Monday proceeded as a normal honeymoon. We partook in a bottle of champagne left in the room and passed out early on Sunday night, and went to beautiful Grand Anse Beach on Monday. It was about 90 degrees and sunny. The first we heard that Hurricane Ivan was headed in our general direction was on Monday morning, when we bumped into the resort owner, Russ. He informed us of a meeting at 6PM that night to discuss Hurricane preparation at True Blue. After talking with him, we decided it was prudent to pick up some groceries before heading back for the meeting. We grabbed some bread, peanut butter, jelly, water, alcohol, and some other odds and ends, and headed back for the meeting.

We were unable to get any accurate information from the news outlets regarding Ivan (Grenadian TV carries American weather channel, CNN, etc), because the American stations were primarily concerned with tropical depression Frances, which was now dropping apparently tragic and deadly amounts of rain on Georgia and the Carolinas, threatening 0 lives. But our meeting was a bit more illuminating. The resort owners, Russ and Magdalena, perhaps two of the finest people one might ever hope to meet, informed us that the hurricane’s southern track could take it right over Grenada, but in any event, it was going to be messy. We would certainly lose electricity and the telephone, because Grenada has all above-ground lines and little resources to effect immediate repairs. Because the resort was at only about half capacity, they were able to move some of us who were in more vulnerable rooms and buildings down to units that were a bit safer. We were moved from our “Bayview” room to the room on the second floor of the two-floor “Indigo” buildings, in the unlikely event that the storm tracked south and threatened to damage the Bayviews. Russ believed that, if the storm tracked as anticipated, we would be able to have a “post hurricane party” on Tuesday night to swap stories. We drank away the rest of the night with our new German friends, Angelica and Connie.

The following morning, we were awoken by a call from Russ, who said we should finish moving our things to Indigo 10 ASAP, as the storm had strengthened and tracked as far south as possible, speeding west with Grenada as its bulls-eye. We did so, and hunkered down, worried only slightly about the two large trees that hung over our unit on the top floor over the Indigos. Russ thought that one might fall. He also advised that, in the highly unlikely event the roof blew off, we should escape to one of the lower units, which was much more shielded from the winds.

The rain and winds gradually began around 1PM on Tuesday, and we lost power within an hour. The wind whipped through the trees on the side of our building, rapidly dropping a number of large branches on our roof, which were quickly blown off onto the ground into the walkway in front of our front door. At about 3PM, we began watching the roof of a small cottage across the path from us as the tin on its roof peeled back. We watched carefully, under the assumption that the damage to that roof was similar to ours. That roof quickly lost its tin covering, which began dangerously whipping around the immediate area, with the plywood underneath slowly peeling back as well. We figured at this point that our roof had taken serious damage, so we began to pack up our backpacks with essentials in preparation for flight. Water quickly began to flood underneath the door to the back deck, which we fruitlessly tried to ward off with bath towels. The pressure in the room began to build up so great that our ears were popping, and the back window then blew out. We decided to make a run for the lower units. I had to use two hands and one leg up on the wall to open the door, with the pressure still so great in the room. After opening the door, I went out to check the wind to make sure Roberta wouldn’t be blown around like the rest of the rubble in the air. I couldn’t even hold my hand out straight, but we had to move. We butt-scooted down a small hill to the lower unit, and our German friends quickly opened the door and led us in.

Soon after, around 4PM, the eye of the hurricane passed through. Russ left his family to ensure that all of the guests moved to safer quarters, as many guests lost their roofs. With 4-15 people (including Russ and two of his staff) crammed into each of 5 one-bedroom rooms, we all weathered the second half of the hurricane.

It rained and the wind was heavy all night long, and Roberta and I slept on chairs in the Germans’ room with Joseph, one of Russ’s staff members (it is worth mentioning that Joseph has family on the north side of the island, and as of Thursday had yet to return home to check on them because, he said, it was his responsibility to make sure we were safe, and then he would check on them. We found that this kind of selflessness is remarkably common among Grenadians). Upon sunrise at about 5:50, we got up and headed down to breakfast, assessing with disbelief the damage along the way. The storm had knocked several water heater/solar panel roof units to the ground. There was tin and other roof materials everywhere, and very few trees or bushes still stood. As we approached the restaurant on the water, we began to clear out some debris from the walkway so other guests could reach it. We cleared the restaurant of large amounts of roofing and wall material, branches, etc, and fretted the loss of Stuart’s Bar out on the point of a nearby dock, which was nearly completely washed away.

When the remaining guests, Russ, and Magdalena arrived, most were in a state of disbelief. True Blue had sustained a large amount of damage, losing several roofs, nearly all of its landscaping and trees, electricity, gas connections, and water lines, among countless other things. Russ explained that he was short-staffed and needed help, and the guests volunteered to cook and to do some cleanup and repair. Soon, the walkways were clear, a couple of roofs had been repaired, and a generator was placed above the restaurant to provide at least some power for cooking and dining. We had a big lunch and a bigger dinner, with Russ and Magdalena quickly using up the perishables before they spoiled in the now-warm refrigerator and freezer. We managed to sweep the water out of our second floor Indigo unit and clean it up to make it habitable, even though we still had to flush the toilet with dirty pool water. We also managed to place a quick phone call to Roberta’s parents on a pay phone that was inexplicably working, using our last three EC coins for a one-minute, $2.60 call. Throughout the day, several helicopters buzzed around the island (identified by several as British choppers), and a number of planes landed at the nearby airport, reportedly to drop off troops from Trinidad.

At dinner, Russ mentioned that there was some concern over looters, but most guests were unaware of the scale of the looting. We fell asleep around 7:30 PM, soon after the 6 PM sunset. I slept uneasy that night, having blocked off both doors with tables and chairs and locking the windows. Roberta slept soundly, convinced that I was overreacting as usual. But I awoke early Thursday morning to M-16 fire, which sounded like it was right outside. It was a rather humorous scene where I got up with my 6-inch Buck knife and tiptoed to all the doors and windows, determined to stab anything that moved. After spotting a police car in the distance, I managed to lie back down and doze off. Later we learned that the gunfire was from local security forces breaking up looters across the bay at the university, which had been decimated by the storm.

The next morning (Thursday), we awoke at 6 AM, soon after sunrise. I was a bit uneasy, but Roberta tried to calm me down. I had the sneaking suspicion, however, that we were in more trouble than was evident. A British guy at breakfast had gone over to the airport, and reported that the airport no longer existed. The towers were destroyed, and the only thing that remained functional was much of the runway. Russ and Magdalena were running out of food supplies, with over 50 guests to feed and widespread looting occurring on the island. We bumped into Russ in the morning, and he asked if we wanted to get out of there. We responded with an affirmative “yes,” and he mentioned that there might be a charter sailboat offshore of the capital, St. Georges, that could evacuate us to Trinidad. We ran to pack up our things, and within an hour we were on a taxi to a ship that might or might not have been there. Russ encouraged all Americans at True Blue to take the chance, because only the British government had made any visible efforts to organize an evacuation for their citizens.

The drive from True Blue to what was left of the seaport was arguably the saddest moment of our lives. We drove through some small shanty towns on the way that were 100% destroyed, with the locals milling about picking through the rubble of their homes. We saw many obvious looters roaming the streets with boxes of water and alcohol. Several of the resorts that we nearly booked for our trip were completely destroyed. Boats from the “safe harbor” were stacked up upon one another nearly in the street. As we neared the capital there were several military checkpoints, where heavily armed local security milled about appearing quite clueless. At one point we were able to see the charted sailboat in the harbor, near two British military ships as the only ships in the harbor. Our taxi driver constantly beeped at the locals, waving and checking on everyone when he wasn’t speeding and swerving around debris-filled streets. Most locals appeared to be in remarkably good spirits, chatting and smiling as they went about rebuilding their lives. Our friend John from Queens took the taxi with us, and took some rather sobering video of the drive to the boat of which we have a copy.

When we arrived at the remains of the seaport, several of the boat crew led us over some rubble to small dinghies, which buzzed us out to our salvation, the Yankee Clipper. We were the second group of 6 to arrive at the boat. Windjammer, the company that owns the boat, had about 30 paid customers that were due to be on the ship. The previous Friday, the Windjammer crew left all 30 people on Grenada, telling them to seek shelter while the crew fled south to Trinidad to protect the ship. When the Windjammer crew returned Thursday morning, they went about finding those 30 paid guests, who had scattered to various resorts, in a stunning illustration of what the guests called “COA” (Covering Our Asses). Remarkably, by the end of the day, the crew had returned with all 30 people (and 10 “stowaways,” two of which we were quite thankful to be). We stayed anchored until the Friday morning to allow some of the crew to tend to their families in Grenada.

The stowaways were made to pay US $110 apiece for the taxes associate with our passage to Trinidad, which was a bargain not even considering the 4 excellent meals we received. The weather was beautiful, and the trip to Trinidad was unexpectedly nice. We spoke with some people with some incredible stories. One group of four was staying at a resort where the owner abandoned the guests, telling them that they were on their own, and that their safest bet would be to all stay in the conference room. He never returned after the storm, and the guests raided the stockroom and cooked meals for themselves. Others said that they were supposed to be transferred to shelters that were later destroyed in the storm. Comparatively, we were unbelievably fortunate to have stayed at True Blue, where we were treated royally even while Russ and Magdalena tended to their family and dealt with the loss of much of their biggest asset.

We arrived at the seaport in Trinidad at about 6PM, and it was 9PM before we finally docked. The captain and crew were suddenly silent about the details of our landing, saying only that they were waiting for local customs agents. When we did finally dock, several local officials boarded the ship and disappeared, leaving the guests with no information. The “stowaways” quickly learned that the crew had arranged flights for the paid guests, but was evidently planning on simply abandoning the rest of us. Finally, I confronted the captain as he passed and told him in no uncertain terms that we wished to leave the ship. He had one of the crew members escort me to the onshore customs office, while Roberta had our bags checked with an onboard agent (the bag-checking process went something like this: Agent: “Are you carrying any guns or drugs?” Roberta: “No.” Agent: “Okay, you’re all set.”)

When I arrived at the customs office, the officer said that I would need to get my wife, as we had some additional paperwork to fill out because Trinidad required passports (which, of course, we lacked because were planning to visit only Grenada). I sent the crewmember back for her, and she was startled as the crewmember quickly escorted her through some dark alleys up to the nondescript, second floor customs office. After some explanation and paperwork, the agent allowed us into Trinidad on a “Rejection Notice,” a yellow piece of paper that essentially states that you are unwelcome in Trinidad, but that you were let in under some unforeseen circumstance.

As we hurried back to the boat to get our luggage, we asked around for assistance in hailing a taxi. It was an obviously rough neighborhood; one in which we had no desire to stand around hailing a taxi when taxis might not even exist. One of the ship’s crewmembers said he would take care of it, and within 5 minutes we were getting into an unmarked car with two guys we never met, but they seemed friendly enough. It was our strategy all along to take chances in trusting the locals, a reasonable strategy when abandoned in an unfamiliar and dangerous place. It worked in every case, including this one, because the two cabbies were quite helpful. Evidently, the crewmember knew a guy, who knew another guy who knew a cabbie in the area, and the cab was there within a couple minutes. We have no idea how these things worked, but we had many similar experiences on the trip.

We arrived at Trinidad’s major airport in Port of Spain around 11PM, and quickly began to barter with the only open airline, BWIA, for tickets on the 1AM flight to New York. This airline offers simply the worst service I have ever experienced in any industry. They claimed that there was no 1 AM flight, that the TV monitors were incorrect. But, they told us, that even if there was a 1 AM flight, that it was too late to buy any tickets because the ticket computer was closed until 4:30AM, and that the earliest flight to the East Coast was a 1PM to Washington DC for US $750 apiece. While I haggled with the useless BWIA clerk, Roberta made a call to her father and asked him to contact American Airlines, on which we were supposed to fly out of Grenada on Tuesday, 9/14. She then called Expedia, through which we made the reservation, which then contacted American and reported that our flight from Grenada had been changed to a flight from Trinidad to Boston through Miami, leaving at 7:30AM. Understandably, we did not want to chance leaving the airport for a hotel, so we slept in the Trinidad airport on nice, soft, comfortable chairs (Roberta) and on the cold floor across the bags (me) for two hours or so until check in time. At last, we were on our way home.

We flew hassle-free to Miami, meeting up with Roberta’s friend Nicole, a US Customs agent, while between flights. She buzzed us through customs (I knew I should have bought a box of Cubans in Grenada!), and we were off to Boston.

We learned some interesting information in the last few days. The Island of Grenada suffered either serious damage or complete destruction of 95% of the buildings on the island. Most of the residences we saw were simply rubble, with the wealthier homes of stone and the retail and commercial buildings fairing a little bit better. The “prison break” story that broke claiming that the prison wall broke down in the storm, resulting in mass looting and crime, was bogus. The prisoners were let loose prior to the storm, and told to tend to their families, and most of the looting was done by desperate (and non-incarcerated) citizens. The prison wall did collapse, and would’ve killed many had they not evacuated it. The current death toll, about 30, is inaccurate. As of right now, the local security and any military and rescue teams that have landed have yet to dig under the rubble of many homes and shelters, which collapsed during the storm. Most people injured in the storm could not reach the hospital (which was virtually undamaged, incredibly) due to damaged roads, inept traffic regulation by the local security, and sheer physical inability. The response by the sizable nearby governments like Venezuela and especially the US was pathetically non-existent. While we sat in the harbor for nearly 18 hours on Thursday/Friday, a full 2+ days after the storm, we saw one supply ship arrive to the shore from Trinidad loaded with plywood and water, which was, according to the ship crew on the island, quickly looted.

Finally, we were amazed by the selflessness of the local people. Without an incredibly fortunate series of events placed in motion by Russ and continued with the taxi drivers and ship crew, we would likely be on our last bit of peanut butter, jelly, and water, waiting for the US to start the mass evacuation of 1500 American tourists that was supposed to begin Saturday afternoon. And this is making the somewhat dubious assumption that True Blue has yet to be looted, a likely fate but for the fact that the Grenadian Prime Minister is now staying, presumably heavily guarded, in a room at True Blue.