Last week, my landlords (Mr. and Mrs. Forte) went up to the market in Grenville, and they invited me to come along.  Grenville is the second largest city on the island, and at about 20km/12-ish miles, it takes almost an hour to get there.  But it’s a lovely ride through the country, and now that it has stopped raining and the entire island has turned green, it’s almost a completely different drive than the first time I went a few months ago.

Grenville is actually not very big, and only has about 2,500 people living there.  It’s maybe 1/3 the size of St. George’s, but their fish market is terrific, and Mrs. Forte thinks that the ladies that operate the fish market in St. George are a bit too “cheeky”, so she prefers to go to Grenville when she can.  And she also thinks the prices are better in Grenville as well, which I can certainly appreciate.

The Fortes have a car, but Mrs. Forte doesn’t feel comfortable driving all over the island yet.  I don’t blame her with how hilly and loaded with blind curves the roads are.  So for our trip, she had a family friend (Elvis) drive us.

The market in Grenville also has folks that sell local vegetables, but just like in St. George, almost everyone has the exact same things to sell.  Unless you have a favorite merchant to patronize, I didn’t see much difference in the quality from one potato to the next.

I really only went up there for the fish though.  And I like the Fortes.  They are lovely, kind people and they also constantly crack me up.

The first time I ever went upstairs to their apartment for something or other after we moved here, Mrs. Forte had me come in and sit down.  She made a little polite small talk, but after a few minutes Mr. Forte said in a loud voice, “ARE BOTH OF YOUR PARENTS ALIVE?”  Mrs. Forte immediately looked a bit embarrassed and said back to him, “Alvin, are you going to ask next what color her knickers are?”  I knew right then we were all going to get along just fine.

I’m not sure exactly how old they are, but I’m guessing that they’re in their very late 60s.  Mrs. Forte is from Jamaica, but spent most of her life in England, and so retains a strong English accent.  I find her to be incredibly patient, since she takes care of the house, and her husband (who became disabled after a stroke a couple of years ago).  And, of course she deals with the endless parade of unreliable plumbers, contractors, and other handymen that she needs to keep this place in shape. She’s always in good spirits, and I am impressed because I think with just having to deal with the repairmen, I would get pretty cranky some days.

Mr. Forte was born in Grenada (they met in England and settled there), and even though he was away for many years, you can still hear his Grenadian patois.  He is as pleasant and jolly a man as I’ve ever met.  Because of the stroke, Mr. Forte is also quite hard of hearing.  So throughout our ride to Grenville, Mrs. Forte would say something to him, and he would not respond, so then she would punch him in the shoulder and he’d turn around with a big grin.  Then she would repeat herself, and he would answer.

This went on all morning, and was pretty hilarious.

Fishing boats come into Grenville almost every hour (from very early morning until about noon).  So there is  great deal of fish to be had.  I got steaks from a whole barracuda and a whole tuna for the equivalent of about $16 US, so I was very happy about my purchases.

Here are some photos from the day:

There are about 6 stalls like this, next to each other right next to the docks, with people selling fish all day.

I didn’t realize that there was an “Authorized Fish Cleaner’s Station”, so I gave over my fish to the first kid that hustled up to me and asked if I needed my purchases filleted.  There seems to be a group of teenage kids that comes to the docks and cleans fish for tips.

All of the guys who cleaned fish there did the entire job with a machete.  That is amazing, I think.  And they did a very good job.  Some guy came up and started an argument with one of the fish cleaners.  But in my opinion, you do not argue with the man who has the machete.