Rule# 1 Have complete confidence in bus and cab drivers. This will be difficult at first, however for your own peace of mind you must put away your fear of heights, hair pin turns taken at forty miles an hour and your own innate discomfort with traveling on the left. You will soon realize that the drivers of these vehicles are perfectly trained in heel and toe work, not to mention the well timed toot of a horn warning. The roads are about as wide as the average middle class American driveway. They have no curbs, but rather are abutted by either narrow two foot deep gutters, or precipices that drop immediately into fifty or one hundred foot chasms filled with dense rain forest, or the ocean. Guard rails are an after thought, tail gating is as common as palm trees, passing on a hill while approaching a blind curve is an art form. Absolute terror will be your initial reaction, but do not fear. Grenadian drivers, while eccentric to the extreme, by American standards, are pros.

Rule#2 You are a scant seven hundred twenty miles north of the equator. Bring industrial strength sun block.

Rule#3 Everyone will stare at you as you pass, but if you wave or say hello they WILL return your greeting.

Rule#4 If you don't want to sweat, don't go.

Rule#5 There is a local brand of rum there called "River's Grand". It is made at a distillery that has been operating continuously since 1785. It is so deadly that the authorities won't let a single bottle of it off the island. Not even and absinthe swilling fool like Van Gogh would mess with this stuff. The light alcohol version of it, the blandly named, "River's Rum" comes in at 138 proof. Unless you want to go blind, proceed with extraordinary caution.

Indeed, there are serious drinkers on Grenada. No one blinks an eye when the local beer, Carib is ordered at ten in the morning. At 5.2% alcohol it is considered not much more than water.

Chicken, fish, vegetables, fruit and rice are the staples. According to our trusted guide Mandoo, periodically the odd monkey or armadillo is slaughtered for meat, but that is the exception. Beef as an entree is practically unheard of. Pork dishes are rare.

A few other facts: There are a little over 100,000 Grenadians, sixty percent of them are under the age of twenty-five, most will live to the age of 70.5 years. There are six murders a year. The cops on the beat don't carry guns.

Everyone seems to know everyone, or at least have a mutual friend. Except in the capital of St. George's the streets are only randomly identified. A Grenadian five minutes equals about ten American minutes. At four pm the whistle blows and everyone, absolutely everyone goes home.

Cricket is the national game.

At the old deserted airport, north of Grenville there is the rusting hulk of a Soviet twin prop plane that was strafed by American helicopter gun ships when we invaded the island in 1983. While we were there the war, if it can be called that, did not come up in casual conversation. The locals seemed too polite to mention it.

Early on our day long tour, Mandoo pointed out the old communist party headquarters. It was built by the East Germans. It is out in the country side and is also slowly being consumed by the elements and the lush vegetation.

Ron Reagan's greatest military achievement is visible here, but you'd best hurry, rust never sleeps.

Strangely I felt no pride, or sense of victory when I saw these things. Perhaps it is because I too like to think of myself as polite.

Learn more about this author, Sid Howard.
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