At times it was painful to watch passengers milling about the harbour on cruise ship days. They always looked so confused, there was little for them to do other than look at the souvenirs being hawked under the almond tree. Often ships did not stay in port long enough for them to spend a day at the beach, and back then a day at the beach or a taxi ride around the Island was pretty much all Bequia had to offer.
One day I was in line at the gas station and noticed a cruise ship passenger approaching. He was a portly fellow, and his open shirt showed off his very sunburned stomach. I heard him exclaim to his wife, “Geez! Would yah look at the price of gas! That’s a lot of money for a gallon of gas!”. Leaning out my window, I informed him that the gallons were Imperial gallons not American gallons, and that the price was EC dollars, not American dollars. “What’s an EC dollar?”, he asked, to which I replied, “we use the Eastern Caribbean dollar here on Bequia.” Well, this truly stumped the poor man, who turned to his wife and said, “Bequia? What’s Bequia? I thought we were going to Bermuda!” This tourist was seriously misinformed!
I always tried to steer cruise ship passengers towards Sargeant’s Model Boat shop in Ocar, where they could find beautifully crafted vessels of all shapes and sizes. In my opinion the model boats were true Bequia souvenirs as opposed to the trinkets being sold under the tree, and visitors could watch the craftsmen as they worked. The bigger the ship the less interested passengers seemed to be, either they felt it was too hot to walk all the way to Ocar or they didn’t want to spend more than a few dollars on the Island. The longer a ship stayed in port the more interested visitors were in the model boats. The Captains or Pursers of these ships made an effort to educate the passengers about the Island, and those visitors enjoyed their stay.
One Saturday morning I got a call from Laura Antoine, Barclay Bank’s fearsome manager. I was surprised by the call as Saturday was not a banking day, but Miss Antoine soon made her reason for calling quite clear. In a clipped voice she requested my presence at the bank, and I dropped what I was doing and ran. When I arrived I saw a crowd milling around a man wearing a ship’s uniform clutching tightly to a megaphone. The fellow was being harangued heatedly by Miss Antoine, who was obviously extremely angry. Our bank manager was always stylish, her clothing and makeup carefully chosen. That particular day was the first and only time I ever saw her in a disheveled state, and the only time I ever saw her lose her cool.
As I entered the fray Miss Antoine shouted, “Judy Simmons, you are in charge of tourism on this Island. Do something about this imbecile!” She pointed with disdain (something that Miss Antoine did really really well) at the poor crew member and said, “send him back to his ship where he belongs, and tell his Captain to educate him before turning him loose on Bequia again!” I looked at the passengers, who were wide-eyed as they listened, and at the tour guide cowering before this formidable woman. Stifling my laughter because Miss Antoine was obviously upset, I asked what had happened to cause such confusion. Laura said, “Judy, this ignorant man stood under my balcony with his stupid megaphone and told these people that the Island natives, yes he said NATIVES, wash their hair with the aloe plant! Get him out of here before I hurt him!”
I took the tour guide in hand and led him back to the ship’s tender. He admitted that he was new to the ship and had never been to Bequia before. He was quite upset that the woman had objected to being called a “native”, and said he would never make that mistake again. It never occurred to him that Miss Antoine was angry about the aloe.