It's 35 years since I first sighted Grenada, green and lush in the morning Caribbean sun.
We were bound from St. Vincent to Trinidad by sailboat and planned a week's stay on the island. Rounding a headland, we approached the harbour of St. George's -- surely the prettiest in the Caribbean -- and dropped sail. Waiting on the dock was Betty Mascoll, a friend of our skipper - and, as we were soon to learn, a Grenada legend. "You're late," she said, hustling us into her car. "We're due for lunch at Government House."
In those days, Grenada was still a British colony and Betty was looking after the governor's kids while he was in England. We put our feet up on the vice-regal veranda, relaxing with our gins and tonic, and as we lunched on china bearing the royal coat of arms ,Betty told us that she would be our island guide.
There were times when we wondered if we would survive the experience. When Betty drove, she was oblivious to anyone else on the road. Dogs and chickens ran for their lives, and we silently prayed we would reach Betty's home of Morne Fendue in one piece -- but we could not have had a better introduction to the tiny country.
Returning to Grenada recently brought back a flood of memories, and we were curious to see how the island had changed. After all, it had survived a revolution and a small war since we were last there, and our Air Canada Vacations flight from Toronto landed at an airport that didn't exist in the 1960s.
Point Salines airport, built by Cuban engineers and capable of military use, was the last straw for U.S. president Ronald Reagan. Rivalry in Grenada's Marxist government in October, 1983 resulted in rebels executing Prime Minister Maurice Bishop and 14 of his associates. U.S. forces then stormed the island, and the "war" was over within days. Years later, we learned that Betty Mascoll organized the women of the island to give the American troops a Thanksgiving dinner so they wouldn't feel homesick.
"That's where the Cuban military were based," our present-day guide says. "Over there is where the U.S. Black Hawk helicopters landed, and down there in the valley is where they set up camp."
In two places that history comes dramatically alive: One is a grey courtyard of Fort George, where a high stone wall is pock-marked by the bullets that killed Bishop and his colleagues. The other is the view from Fort Frederick of the grim 18th-century Richmond Hill Prison, where 16 leaders of the attempted coup remain incarcerated 20 years after a rigged trial.
The continued confinement of the prisoners remains an almost intractable issue in Grenada, but down below Fort George in the marketplace, life goes on as usual. The scent of cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg is intoxicating -- after all, this is the "Spice Island" -- and brightly coloured umbrellas shield vendors from the sun as cruise-ship visitors hunt for souvenirs.
During a day's drive around Grenada, I realized again that this is the quintessential Caribbean island. A rugged volcanic landscape slopes sharply to the sea, with lushly covered rain-forest hills at its core, picturesque houses clinging to the sides of steep valleys, colourful villages, palm-fringed beaches -- and not one high-rise hotel to be seen.
Betty Mascoll died a few years ago and her home of Morne Fendue, where she entertained a constant stream of friends and visitors, is now a guesthouse. We stopped for lunch there -- but it wasn't quite the same without Betty's magnetic personality filling the old house.
