#for a long time i could not tell you what nutmeg or mace or star anise etc tasted like on their own

[anime-scarves]

I'm losing my mind lol. I finally got around to getting some proper ceylon cinnamon and things that I thought were imitation cinnamon flavors are actually ceylon or meant to taste like ceylon. Turns out I'm used to tasting cassia and not true cinnamon.

[aplanehebuilt]

Stumbling Over the Fence

I squirmed in the lobby of the Radisson St. George in Grenada. Business people dragged rolling suitcases around bright-cushioned rattan sofas. This Resort was several notches above how Roy and I usually travel and felt like a world away from local culture.

The saving grace was the lovely beach in front of the hotel. After Roy and I dumped our bags in our room, I threw on my swimsuit and made a bee-line for the water. A low white picket fence blocked my path. All of the beaches in Grenada are public, and there were people out there swimming, jogging, and relaxing in the sun. I longed to be out there. If only I could find a gate. I thought about climbing over it, then pictured my post-55 body hanging there with my shorts hung up on a fence post. What a terrible twist of fate that would be – to fly a 100 miles over the ocean, only to be impaled by a fence at a 4-star resort. The bartender caught my eye and pointed to the gate.

After a dunk in the ocean, I ordered a vodka tonic, and gave in to being a tourist.

The next morning Roy and I squiggled in to a van with our RV fliers group for a tour of the island. Our first stop was the Nutmeg factory. We paid our admission fee and stood in a polite semi-circle while our disinterested guide gave us a route speech on nutmeg’s journey from flower, to nut, to apple pie. It took less than minutes for me to tune this out. I inhaled the rich scent of spice, and studied the people at work. My brain re-played the soundtrack of my own voice at work, complaining that my chair was not ergonomically correct, or that coffee was now 25 cents a cup instead of 10.

It was raining when we walked under the arch of the remains of the aqueduct at the chocolate plantation. Our guide disappeared under a tree, and to her surprise we followed her. She plucked a cocoa pod off the tree and broke it open. I tried to follow her explanation of how pods are selected at just the right time to ferment the fruit to turn it in to chocolate, but I was captivated by her lovely auburn braids, the lilting accent of her voice, the humid smell of earth and decaying leaves, and how all of our varied colors melded with the collage of yellows, and greens and browns of the cocoa tree.

She captured us in a spell of luscious cocoa fruit and we followed her like obedient school children to the production plant. She stopped and turned to us, her fingers held to her lips. She pointed to a tree. “Shhhhh,” she said. “I’ve been watching it grow for two weeks. Don’t tell the workers here. They’ll chase it away.”

The water wheel that runs the cane grinder was built in 1785, our guide explained. A young boy jogged up beside me. I smiled at him. “Is that your Mom?” He shook his head. “No,” he smiled back at me. “I work here.”

The child of one of the workers, my brain insisted. When we cannot make sense of something, our minds are happy to fill in the blanks with information that better fits our paradigm.

Our tour guide explained the fermentation and distillation process. She was bright, articulate, enthusiastic, and again, my attention was drawn away. I watched the men working around the fermentation vats. Had they worked here since they were boys? Will the boy next to me with his bright smile become the tired man sleeping in the portico? My mind bent under pressure.

Two days later, I woke myself up snorting. “Oh, no,” I nudged Roy with my elbow. “I can’t breathe.” My sinuses were completely clogged. “There’s no way I’m going scuba diving today.” I raised up on one elbow and looked at him. He opened an eye. “Are you disappointed?” I asked. He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We’ll find something else to do and it’ll be great.”

I rolled out of bed and picked up the phone. “Hey, Cookie, are you going hiking to the waterfall today? Have room for two more?”

It was unlikely there would be sharks at the waterfalls. I reminisced on the previous day as I packed our things for hiking. I was so excited to go scuba diving. I’d sat on the rolling dive boat, strapped in to my gear, squeezed in between Roy and another fellow and listened to our dive master give us the briefing. “We’re going down the ledge to a sunken boat, and on the reef past that, we’ll hunt for Lionfish, and we will probably see some Reef Sharks.”

I turned to Roy. “What? Sharks? That’s crazy. I’m not diving with Sharks.”

“I’ve been diving with shark’s lots. It’ll be fine.”

“No,” I shook my head. “Sharks are not fine.”

I saw them off in the distance. Maybe they’ll stay over there, I thought. Then I watched the dive master stab a lion fish with a long, yellow pole and feed it to the sharks. It was like feeding the geese at the park. Since Roy said he’d dove with sharks many times. I didn’t think he’d mind if I crawled over his tank and put him between the sharks and me.

Finding my mermaid self at the underwater sculpture garden was much more my speed.

Our taxi driver sent his sons with us as tour guides for our hike to the falls. They pointed out brilliant pink feathered cashew blossoms. The Beatles song, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, played in my head as blossoms exploded in a cacophony of color around us. Fruit hung in luscious plenty - bananas, mango, guava, cocoa. 

Nutmeg with its outer skin of mace

Cookie holding cloves

Cashews!

I chatted with the younger of our guides. In a soft, shy voice he told me he is half way through high-school. He loves art, and will go to college to study art. He plays in a band with his brother.

“I have a daughter a little older than you,” I said, “And she loves art too. And I live in a rain-forest, but it’s very different than this.” In so many ways… this is the goal, to stumble over the fence, to breathe in the spice, to step under the tree, to fall in to the water, to see that we are all so very different and so much the same.

We shucked off our disguises of responsible adults and joined our young guides for a swim