St. Lucia Day 3: alarmingly tricky hike

Day 3 was the day we were going for a hike to a waterfall. I was supposed to set an alarm to wake us up well in advance of said hike to the waterfall, so we could take our time and get breakfast. I did set the alarm, honest to God I did, it just turns out that I actually accidentally set it for a weekday and this was the weekend. So, whilst I technically did set it and no one can say that I can’t, it didn’t exactly go off because I didn’t exactly do it quite right. But it’s all fine, because we woke up in time… it was just that it was 3 minutes before we needed to be there waiting for transport. Oops!

We missed breakfast, but fortunately we were given a box of fruit to keep us sustained on our hike, so I inhaled most of that during the drive there. The fruit is great in St Lucia everything is so fresh and juicy and yummy and tasty and I could genuinely have just lived off all the fruity yumminess whilst I was there, but I don’t think my tummy would have liked me for that. We were on this hike with a couple named Deborah and Pete and the guide decided it would be the right thing to do, to shorten their name to ‘DP’, which we both thought was tres amusant, especially as they clearly didn’t get the reference. The guides name was Smith and if you put that together with his DP-related humour, I’m sure you can imagine exactly what he was like.

Smith was possibly the most pants guide I have ever experienced, but in all of the best ways. He was much more interested in chatting about his life, telling us what an excellent person he was, as well as providing us with Shaggy-esque renditions of his own rap lyrics. In fact, I’m pretty sure that he didn’t have any idea about any of the nature and wildlife we were wandering past. At one point we heard the call of the rarely seen St Lucian parrot, in all fairness he drew our attention to the call of said parrot, but then promptly dragged us down the path so we couldn’t spend any time looking for it in the trees (clearly he had something better waiting for him at home).

Some of the journey down was a bit on the perilous side, and I’d chosen to wear white trainers and the hike turned out to be exceptionally muddy, leaving my trainers in a rather sorry state – no one told me it would be muddy, you see. After some half-hearted facts about some of the native trees and a less than satisfactory answer to my questions about why bamboo was brought to St Lucia (‘just cos’ was about the essence of it) we arrived at the waterfall. Considering I’m now sweating profusely, it seems like a sensible idea to throw myself under the waterfall to cool off. So that’s exactly what I do. Smith was particularly insistent that he should take some photos of us under the waterfall (despite my protestations that I was only going to look like a slightly rotund drowned rat wearing trousers).

It turns out that he spent most of his time not taking photos of us under the waterfall, but taking selfies of himself with the waterfall in the background. There was precisely one photo, ONE photo that he’d taken selfie-style where we were even in it. ONE!! And even in that one, we are completely not in focus and clearly not the focus of the photo even slightly. Cool. I look like a chubby drowned rat and I’m not even in half of the photos on my own phone. Thanks a bunch Smith.

Now the real fun begins, and when I say ‘real fun’ I actually mean ‘not fun at all’ because it wasn’t even remotely fun, not even a bit ever slightly. We had to walk back up to the top. Now, walking isn’t my favourite thing at the best of times, walking up a hill is worse, walking up what is definitely a mountain is worser and walking up what is definitely a mountain, in a rainforest which is practically dripping it is so humid, in 30-degree heat, is the worst of the absolutely worser worstest.

The trek back up this mountain was so unbelievably difficult that I thought I was going to die, or worse, vomit. It took all my worldly effort to not throw up down my front. This was so strenuous, that genuinely wouldn’t have minded if meteor had struck me right there and then because I was that desperate to put out of my misery. I honestly wouldn’t have minded. What made it even worse, was that DP were finding the whole thing impossibly easy. They were bounding up this mountain like mountain goats, in their weird open sandal hiking shoes. We eventually get to the top and I am literally gasping for air, clearly the altitude is getting to me (nothing to do with me being a bit unfit). We still have a sludgy road to trudge down and I’m sulking, walking on my own whilst Smith is trying to sell a private bird watching tour to my companion on the down low (I can only imagine this would involve precisely no bird watching).

I throw myself into the back of the transport, absolutely shattered and very ready to get back to the hotel and get out of the clothes I am in which are soaked with a mixture of waterfall water and sweat. DP leap into the back with us and I can just about hear them say (over my heavy breathing) that they were ‘glad that the hike wasn’t too hard’ and that it was ‘just the right amount of difficulty for the heat’. At this point I internally lose my shit. How is this even a thing? I literally thought I was going to die on the walk back up this bastard mountain and here you are, HERE YOU ARE saying that it wasn’t even that difficult. There are literally no words for these thin, thin people whose knees are wider than their thighs. NO WORDS.

Once I was over the mental destruction caused by the comments of the thin people, we made it down to the beach for a chilled afternoon on the beach and went snorkelling again (but plastered in sun-cream this time to avoid any further burning). We had dinner at the beach bar of the hotel, which attracted an extraordinary number of cats. I’ve no idea where all these kitties were coming from, seeing as we weren’t anywhere near anything residential, so I can only assume they came together via boat.

We went to the bar for a nightcap where they had a band and a load of people were dancing. We pulled up a pew, because there is no better way to pass the time than by watching slightly drunk people attempt to dance with one another whilst wearing flip-flops. Our eyes soon came to this slightly older man who had a rather interesting dancing technique. By ‘interesting’ I mean that he was literally humping about the dance floor. Any woman who passed by him got gyrated in the direction of. It was not a pretty sight. Watching woman skirt around and away from this man thrusting towards them was the absolutely highlight of the day. There is no better viewing, than the viewing of an exceedingly uncomfortable situation.

Bonnie