There are two road maps of Grenada, the Tourist map and a very detailed Government map.  The tourist map is totally worthless and only shows about five major roads.  You cannot get anywhere interesting with this map.  The government map is a gem and is prized like treasure once you find one.  Even though it was published in 1985, it is still highly accurate.  It has EVERY road on the island on it.  We usually carry two or three of the government maps with us because if a tourist sees us looking at one, they run over and start negotiating to purchase it.  We always give them away or sell them at cost, but I’m convinced we could make a good side business out of marking up the price.

Most roads do not have any signage so I need to depend heavily (and completely) on the map. It is extremely accurate and shows every curve in every road so as we travel along, I’m tracing our path with my finger and watching for buildings that might have a town name on them.  This way I can confirm where we are and we only get slightly lost if we are in unfamiliar territory.  I find a town name, notice it’s not on our way and we turn around or I realize we are further along or not quite as far as I thought and recalibrate.   This year, I’m proud to say I’ve hardly used the map.  I know my way around and can usually figure out how to get somewhere I haven’t been to before with little trouble, but let’s be clear, I NEVER drive without maps in my purse and in the car.  We are even successfully taking shortcuts now!  Grenadians are often surprised that I know where their hometown is, even if it is way off the main roads or out in the country.  We’ve driven everywhere and probably to some places most Grenadians have never been to!

The government maps show 4 kinds of roads.  Thick red roads are major arteries – two lanes, YOOHOO!  Orange roads are secondary roads and are whimsically thought of as 2 lane roads – if there is nothing on the sides and both cars are creeping along, you can pass each other.  These roads may also be major ways to get between 2 places.  Next, are Yellow roads.  They are one and half lane roads, are usually paved (but not always, and not in all places) and then there are the little red roads – my personal favorites.

Little red roads mean ADVENTURE – tourists rarely travel these roads, the roads can stop at any time or they can take you to the best places – deserted beaches, tiny villages where you can find wonderful things and have a chance to talk to people for hours, old plantations, waterfalls, rivers, etc.  Little red roads start out with concrete or blacktop, then become broken up pavement, then grass, then small boulders and might go over small streams.  It’s reminiscent of the old print advertisement for either Range Rover or Land Rover that shows their vehicle bumping down a rutted road in a muddy stream and says “in some parts of the world, this is not off-road driving”.  YES, my kind of road – particularly when Michael is driving, bless his heart.  I didn’t really realize what I was putting him through until I started driving and my better sense would say – don’t go down that road, you might never get back and realizing he always did AND we got back.  That’s my wonderful guy.

The best little red road story starts one day when we went into the rain forest looking for an old plantation that had been turned into a delightful plant nursery.  This lovely place is a whole different story, but as we were coming back I saw a significant shortcut to get to St. Georges that would cut off at least 30 minutes of driving.  So off we go.  The road turns from concrete to blacktop, the blacktop begins to break down, the road then turns to dirt, then to two furrows of dirt with grass growing up in the middle, and, finally, really tall grass is growing in the middle.  All this time we are driving up, up, up to go over a mountain with St. Georges directly on the other side, tantalizingly close. As the road goes up, it keeps getting narrower and we begin to wonder if it will go all the way through, but there is no one to ask – no shops and no houses except a really tiny shack hanging off a cliff a ways back, but it was all closed up and no one was home so we couldn’t ask for directions.   I keep thinking if we just go a little further we’ll be good – it’s like a mirage.  It would be OK to keep driving on if we were sure it went through, but we didn’t know if it will just stop or get wider and head down the other side of the mountain.

Finally, Michael has had it – the first and only time he says we’re turning back.  This is a figure of speech.  The road is way too narrow to turn around.  In fact, I can touch the mountain on my side and Michael is inches from the steep drop off.  I wiggle my way out of the car – I can hardly get the door open a foot and I contort and then inch my way to the back of the car, leaning hard into the side of the car and feeling the bush brush my back.  I then begin directing Michael back down the mountain – 2 inches to the left, three inches to the right, as he slowly descends the curvy road.  Finally, I see someone driving a pickup truck up the road near the shack we had passed.  I tell Michael to stay put and I run down to meet him.  Even before I open my mouth, he gives the answer to my unasked question when he says, “Darling, what are you doing in this godforsaken place?”  The “road” ahead hasn’t been navigable by car for over 10 years.  Oh well, we continue to inch back down the mountain until we get to the shack and can turn around and drive normally.  My shortcut only took an extra hour and a half, but what an adventure!

The Government map is great navigation tool, but I also have to be very vigilant since the main roads and the secondary roads that lead off of them often look the same size and both are well-traveled.  And because the roads are so curvy, it’s often hard to determine the direction of the main road.  Often I’d look at a junction and tell Michael to go straight because looking at the map and then the roads it was obvious to me which way to go to stay on the main road.  He’d bellow in amazement that straight wasn’t an option (he’d be right) and I soon opted for saying ‘go up’ or ‘go down’ because left or right was often not accurate either.  You are always going up or down in Grenada, almost nothing is flat anywhere.

In addition to curvy, narrow roads, Grenadians have built roads straight up that make you dizzy just looking at them – forget actually driving on them.  They are that steep.  First you wonder how anything can drive up or down the road.  Then you get brave and try the road and are afraid your car will flip backwards before you reach the top of the hill, never mind that the road might curve right at the crest and if you could actually see something besides sky, you would know to turn your steering wheel sharply to the left or right to follow the road as you go over.  We were on one such road a few years ago and it began raining really hard.  We stopped for a moment and the car started slowly slipping backwards because we couldn’t get enough traction on the scored concrete with our balding tires to stay in one place.  So, what did Michael do?  He just slightly turned the wheel and let the car keep slipping until we backed into a wall, then turned around and inched down in first gear.  The seat belts were the only thing keeping us from falling into the windshield.  Unbelievable!

There are a couple of roads close by that I’m getting my courage up to drive over because I want to see what is at the end.  On one, I can see a group of houses and this is the only road in and out so someone is definitely driving on this road.  I almost had a heart attack watching a full-sized cement mixer head down with a full load the other day – inch by inch.  I never saw him come back up but I’m hopeful he’s not still down there.  (There is actually another place that has a large construction truck stuck at the bottom and odds are it will rust out there since they can’t get it back up the hill.)  The very steepest roads are often not 2 lanes wide (although they accommodate 2 way traffic by having one person pull over to let the other person pass) – if there is room to pull over.  Otherwise, one car has to back down part of the way until they reach a spot to be able to pullover so the other person can pass.  This can be a common occurrence depending on where you are driving and is nerve-racking to say the least.

My other favorite driving story is going down a narrow, curvy road and trying to inch around parked cars at a popular bakery.  This road had huge, deep drains on either side to move the immense amount of water that comes down during a big rainstorm.  I’d estimate the drains to be about 16 inches deep and 12 inches wide.  None of the drains have grates over them, you are just supposed to stay out of them.  As we were inching by, trying to follow the other cars, we dropped our front left tire into the drain, effectively bottoming out the car.  (This was probably because Michael was trying to keep a complete 2 inches of clearance on his side.)   Michael and I looked at each other wondering how we would ever get out of this situation while a bunch of Grenadians stood by laughing.  Then 8 or 9 men walked over, picked up our car, set it gently on the road, patted the trunk and we were on our way.  Amazing!  (They have since widened this road because the big trucks travel on this road, but now everyone parks along the sides so if feels just as tight as it used to.)

I’m laughing as I finish writing this because I’m wondering if anyone will drive here after this description, but we do it all the time, day and night, and other than being on hyper alert, it’s a Grenadian experience in and of itself.  This year, due to the economy, there are less drivers on the road.  The price of gas is just too high for most people to be able to afford it – so their cars sit and wait for better times.  I’m sad about this, but thankful because this makes it that much easier to get around.  I’ve been driving a lot by myself this year because Michael has had non-stop photo shoots and I’ve gotten really good and relaxed about driving .  I’m hoping my ability to navigate tight spaces and my increased confidence will make driving easier when the roads fill up again next year, “please God”, as the Grenadians say.

Happy Motoring!

Driving at night is another challenge. 95% of the roads have no signs so it helps if you already know the way to where you are going. There is no such thing as a center line to imply two sides of the road, often no streetlights and I never realized how much I relied on the white line on the side of the road to provide a clear boundary. Here, the edge of the dark road fades into more darkness and you never know what is lurking a few inches off the side of the road. Is it an uncovered drain, a sharp drop off, a sleeping dog? Are there potholes lurking (usually) or people walking (of course)? It’s the things that move – people, cars and animals that are most scary and have the most potential for disaster. Often a dark person, in dark clothes, is walking on a dark road while oncoming cars are blinding you with their headlights. Getting around at night, on foot or in a car, is not for the faint at heart.

The windshield is always blurry, covered with years of road grime and rubber from ancient windshield wipers. I know it sounds like an easy fix, to just wash the windows, but experience tells me it won’t help. We’ve washed our windshield multiple times this trip – with Windex at first, then vinegar and newspaper, then a green scrubber with a lot of elbow grease and a mixture of grease solvent and bleach – and the windshield doesn’t even look marginally better. So, as headlights are coming at you and are refracted by the dirt and therefore blinding you, you try to instantly memorize the curves and obstacles ahead, keep your eyes slightly diverted from the glare and remember, once again, how convenient that little white line on the side of the road would be in keeping you safe and on track, if only there was one. Driving at night is a series of starts and stops with many slowdowns in between and we always sigh with relief when we pull safely into our driveway.

If you are not inclined to drive, you can always opt for the shotgun seat. This is the Seat of Terror. You see and experience all the same views but with no control over the outcome. I first realized this when Michael’s Mom came to visit. Being polite, I seated her in front on the way home from the airport so she would have an unobstructed view of our beautiful island. The next time we went out, I offered the front seat again and she recoiled in terror and loudly proclaimed that she absolutely did NOT want to see where we were going, thank you very much. I think if I had a blindfold available she would have gladly taken it. Now I still offer visitors the privilege of the front seat but with more caution.

Grenada is a volcanic island and there is a beautiful dormant crater in the center of the island, high up in the rainforest. Of course, since this is Grenada, there is also a treacherous road that weaves its way up and over the mountain to the other side of the island linking the 2 largest cities – St Georges, the Capital on the west coast and Grenville, a large fishing and commercial center on the east coast. Since these are the two largest and most populous cities, and this is the only major road through the mountains that connects the two coasts, this is also the primary bus route between these cities and to other towns on each side of the island.

Buses are privately owned and operated and the more trips they make in a day, the more money they earn. This encourages trips at literally breakneck speeds over curvy, wet mountain switchbacks. If you are in front of them, they relentlessly tailgate you, inches from your bumper and constantly try to pass on the wrong side of the road, swerving back as a car comes around the next curve – and they also beep at you to speed up. Conventional wisdom says just pull over and let them pass – even if you have to do this many times. The only problem with this idea is there is often nowhere to pull over. Once in a while, you’ll see a place where the road is marginally wider but no sane person would stop – and you do, anyway. Finally relieved that the maniac behind you is leaving you in their dust, you start up again and within minutes there’s another bus taking its place. Buses don’t run on Sunday so that’s the most “relaxing” time to drive over the mountain and to enjoy the rainforest and the Grand Etang Lake at the center of the country. Recently, Grenada has tried to introduce the concept of a bus schedule which has slowed the busses down considerably. Now they are only a hair-raising nuisance on this treacherous road.

It’s a tossup on whether you want to be on the mountain side or cliff side of the car. On the mountain side you can literally reach out and almost touch the wall as it whizzes by. If you are lucky enough to be on the cliff side you have two choices – looking out the side window at the sharp drop off, inches from your door, OR watching out the front window and seeing the places where the road surface is disintegrating and falling away down the cliff. Otherwise, you have the pleasure of looking face to face with the driver careening towards you from the other direction, on a road you are sure is too small for both of you to fit. On each trip, you get to experience both sides and after many trips I sadly think the inside wall is only marginally better. The upside is the breathtaking views of the rainforest, other mountains, valleys and vistas all the way to the seas, every way you look.

In either case, you often get a wet, slippery road. It is the rainforest after all. Believe it or not, this is a ride I look forward to each year and encourage others to take for its dramatic beauty. You only get to enjoy the view if you are not driving. There is no time to take your eyes off the road for an instant if you are the driver. And as the navigator, you still need to be watching all the curves and side roads so you can make instantaneous decisions on which is the “main” road.

Then there is the concept of guard rails – be careful what you wish for. There are very few guard rails in Grenada. When you do see one, you notice it because it usually means the road has rotted away and they are trying to give you a chance of not completely falling off the road. The road is narrower at this point and often just a little bit soft as you drive by. Lovely. Guard rails are overrated anyway.

In one of our earliest trips to Grenada, when we were going from St. George’s to Grenville and back in the same day, I got us lost on the return trip. It would be way too easy if there was only one road, but no, there are multiple roads that veer off towards tiny villages.   These roads often don’t look any different from the main road. Plus, on this trip, when I realized we were off the main road (about 30 minutes later), I thought we could take an alternate road to St. Georges, based on the map. Of course, after following it for another 30 minutes or so we realized it was no longer useable so we had to backtrack for an hour and start again. By now it was getting dark and we were probably over an hour away from the edge of St Georges if you were driving in daylight, 2 hours in the dark – if we don’t get lost again. With a trusty flashlight, reading our map, I try to navigate Michael to safety. The only thing possibly scarier than looking off the cliffs during the day is seeing your headlights disappear in the darkness at night and trying to figure out where the road is going to turn next. Buses are still whizzing by, but too fast to use them as a beacon to follow for more than 1 or 2 curves, then back to the blackest black. Where are the guard rails and that little white line on the side of the road to guide us?

Finally, we pass a group of men and stop to check that we at least are on the right road and one person offers to jump in the car and direct us. We hesitate – do we want to pick up a stranger in an unknown place, when we don’t really know where we are going, or continue on our own? Michael and I look at each other and I open the back door to let him in. Of course, he is a great guy. Most people in Grenada are delightfully wonderful and the people are the main reason we loves this special place. He leans way into the front seat between us and directs us left, right, left, right, left, left, down, down, down the mountain and into town. After dropping him off, we head back to our villa. It is about 8:30. Michael has been driving on and off since about 10 AM, with the last 2 hours driving in the pitch black. He just sits in the driveway, staring into space while I try to pry his fingers off the steering wheel. No exaggeration. We go inside, I make him a Gin and Tonic and he doesn’t speak for 30 minutes. I still remember this trip in full detail 20 plus years later. I’m sure he does as well. We have never made this trip at night again.

The worst time to be driving in Grenada is around 5:00 PM on a Friday.  People are hurrying to get home to start their weekend, they have just gotten paid and are in a party mood, plus all the large construction vehicles are barreling through town and taking up more than their share of road.  These large trucks are filled with workers just barely hanging on and spilling over all the sides.  It feels like a recipe for disaster.

I think the worst specific place to be at 5:00 on a Friday evening is at the Sugarmill roundabout – a 2 lane roundabout that connects the arteries that lead to the Airport and the University, the main road into and out of Saint George’s (Grenada’s Capital and largest city), the main road to the Southeastern side of the country where the most people live and a major side road to one of the largest and oldest tourist areas.

And then there is me, …. trying to navigate through the madness …. I didn’t plan this …. I tried NOT to be here on this day, at this time, but the inevitable business delays that happen conspired to have me be exactly here – at exactly this time.

Imagine this scene – the roundabout, which is England’s answer to managing traffic without using a traffic light, is 2 lanes wide with four feeder roads converging.  Everyone (hopefully) is driving on the “wrong” side of the road, going around the “wrong” way – clockwise.  In addition to what feels like all of the country’s traffic trying to funnel through this insane intersection, add the following to the congestion – a major bank, one of the largest gas stations on the island, a supermarket, lots of small shops including the popular Fish and Chips take out plus multiple street vendors on the sides selling barbecued chicken, roasted corn, soups, drinks and anything else they think people with fresh money in their pockets may want.  This is also a major bus interchange with buses only sometimes stopping in their designated places.  Other times, they just stop in the road, blocking traffic.  Of course, this means there are a large number of people walking or running to catch a bus home. There is a cross walk right at the roundabout – but only across one road.  On the other sides, people just make a run for it.

And then, in someone’s wisdom, there is always someone learning how to drive.  The learner is always boldly identified with a large red L hanging off the back of their car.  They are clearly terrified and completely unpredictable – either jutting out into the traffic at the worst possible moment or squandering their chance by sharply braking for no apparent reason, distracted at something happening on the other side and missing a golden opportunity to head into this complicated dance of vehicles.  Logically, this makes sense, they will have to drive through this mess as an independent driver so they should get experience, but it makes everyone an emotional wreck.

Oh, and did I mention the goats?  Some man is taking his goats’ home for the evening and of course has to pass directly through the center of the roundabout.  He has the 7 adults tethered on individual ropes and is weaving them through the congested cars.  OK, that’s not too bad but he also has an uncountable number of baby goats as well.  Baby goats are rarely tethered since they will not stray far from their parents.  They are like the terrified learners and they dart and lurch unpredictably between all these cars, trucks and people.  Miraculously none get squashed and if you have the ability to step back and watch the scene as an observer, it is quite funny and amazing.  However, I don’t really have that luxury as I’m in the middle of this mess trying to navigate through it without killing myself or anyone else.  I finally shoot through the other side and feel like I’ve been expelled from a white water river current.   Now I just have to get through the valley and past the major marina construction site and then I’ll only have to contend with everyone racing home in one of two directions.  Piece of cake.

Driving is on the left and my steering wheel is on the right.  Most major roads are just barely 2 car widths wide (the others are smaller), there is no room for parking and no sidewalks so everyone walks in the street and people park anywhere they can.  This necessitates a complex dance of cars moving in opposite directions, continually stopping and swerving around human, animal and vehicular obstacles.  Many people run small shops along the road, sometimes out of the front of their houses, and on Friday night everyone is cooking and trying to pry a few dollars out of the hands of people passing by.

The Jamaican Jerk Chicken man is no exception and is well-known for his fabulous barbecue so people are pulling over, lining up, and now the road is barely one lane wide with traffic backed up in both directions.  If someone is slow to start up, everyone in the opposite direction guns their engines and starts a short convoy, nose to tail, trying to weave through the congestion.  Inevitably, a person or animal bolts out into traffic, cars stop, and then the folks waiting impatiently in the other direction careen through the small gap that has opened up.  This can happen five or six times in a short distance.  And if someone has called in a dinner order, they may stop right in the active road while someone runs their order out to the waiting car.  I’m sure the Jamaican Jerk man has somehow planned this – you have to stop, you get a brief moment to catch your breath and then smell his wonderful chicken.  Hmmmm, is there room to pull over and stop?

After maneuvering through this portion of the road, I get prepared for trucks.  Really big trucks, road hog trucks who know they own the road and take advantage of it.  I’m talking about full size cement mixers and huge construction trucks that make you wonder how they navigate the road at all, let alone when someone else is on the road – and with cars parked on both sides of the road, never directly across from each other because the road isn’t wide enough – but, of course, never all on one side because then where would the fun be?

The best you can hope for is to see one of these monsters on a straightway.  Yes, this means they will coming directly at you – fast and partially on your side – but at least you see them and can choose where you’re going to run yourself off the road so you can live for another day.  Next best thing is they might have a lead vehicle that is waving a large red flag letting you know a huge truck is following right behind or the big truck has the courtesy to be beeping as they round the curve – both clear signs to get out of the way, now, however you can.  Worst case is that the truck is by itself, the driver wants to get home, he is driving like a wild man and you round a curve with him coming right at your windshield, on your side of the road because these trucks don’t corner well and you pray as you swerve out of the way, hoping not to hit anyone or anything during your evasive driving tactics.  After passing, you don’t even have time to take a breath before the next obstacle presents itself.  It’s kind of like a fast paced video game except you don’t get a second life.  Drinks, anyone?

It astonishes me that I now feel “comfortable” driving in this madness.   Comfortable is not the right word really.  I’m always super alert, cautious, while trying to drive fast at the same time so people don’t pass me (by swerving into the other lane and essentially playing chicken).  Will they get by before the next curve?  Even with me braking to give them more room, will they pass before the car barreling towards us hits them and/or me?  You know, the one with the bus hugging its back bumper, trying to decide if he can pull out and pass at the same time.  I think I’m now at the point where I’m an “average” driver – definitely no longer the slowest, absolutely not the fastest, but holding my own.

When we first came to Grenada about 25 years ago, Michel drove and I was the navigator.  My job was to remind him to keep to the left side of the road and point out which way to drive around the roundabouts, as well as read the map and try to interpret the squiggly lines to determine which road was the “main” road and which road was the “secondary” road when everything looks like a secondary road.  After time, you kind of memorize the paths through and in your mind you see yourself going left around the roundabout before you get there.  It’s also helpful that other vehicles are driving in the correct direction and you go with the flow.

After a few trips, it made sense for me to start driving.  We started in a remote area with no traffic – a perfect place to begin to think about shifting with my left hand (no automatic jeeps in those days), signaling using my right hand (your automatic reaction is to signal by depressing the left lever and thus turning on the windshield wipers – again) and, most important, staying left.  We approached a small roundabout – no cars anywhere – and I made it to the correct road on the other side.  Michael smiled and said “Good job.  Next time drive around the other way.”  Yikes, with no context from other cars, I drove right, instead of left, around the roundabout.  It could only get better, right?

(Next up, Driving in Grenada – Part 2.)

Note: Special thanks to Michael for being willing to stand in the roundabout early one morning to take photos and then trying to capture more road pictures by shooting through the front windshield while I was driving.  I’d never ask him to do it on a Friday evening unless I was psyched to collect insurance money.  This was definitely above and beyond the call of duty!