16th February to 21st March 2026

Before I sail back east across the Atlantic, back to Europe, I’ll tell you a bit about the East Caribbean and roughly how I’ve spent some of the past few weeks.

Lots of sailing, swimming, snorkelling and sweating, with brain turning to mush on account of overheated enervating days and silly amounts of rum. That’s more or less it. 

There have been periods of intense sociability, new and old friends along the way, and spells of peacefulness and solitude; large crowded busy anchorages followed by peaceful isolation in tiny coves. Maybe that doesn’t sound too bad if you’ve just emerged from a soggy and chilly winter in Britain or elsewhere in Northern Europe or America, your body pale and recently layered in thermals and waterproofs? But sailing in the Caribbean is not really my idea of ‘living the dream’ (Goodness knows what that may be).

Arrival in Martinique back in early February coincided with Carnaval, every day and some nights a riot of colour and noise, wild processions and excited participants. It’s a treat to experience such enthusiasm and creativity. Though I wasn’t in the capital, Fort de France, where the most exotic and ear-shattering events take place, there was noise all over the island. Lots of rum too. Back on earth, Henrietta’s genoa was repaired and I revisited favourite places from earlier stays (I’ve been here several times, many months in total.)

From Martinique I followed a time-honoured popular route northwards through the island nations of: Dominica (a land of lush forests, waterfalls and rainbows, plus multi-flavoured rum); Guadaloupe, including stays at its islands of Les Saintes and Marie Galante (historic forts, snorkelling, French tourism, plus rhum agricole); Antigua (super yachts and hyper super yachts, and lots of yachts, plus rum tots with thanks to the Royal Navy Tot Club); Sint Eustatius or Statia (Dutch architecture, happy folk and not a drop of local rum); and then back south via Montserrat, Les Saintes, Dominica and Martinique yet again. Nearly a thousand miles altogether.

The photos show snapshots from these places.

But, as readers may know, whilst appreciating my escape from a cold overcast European winter, I’m not a big fan of the Eastern Caribbean – even though I know lots of folk who love it. I look forward to resuming life in Europe. Why is it I wonder that despite the Caribbean sunshine, fine anchorages, varied scenery, excellent sailing winds, clean clear sea, beautiful picture postcard beaches, and challenging treks, why do I feel vaguely uncomfortable, a bit uneasy? There must be more to my discomfort than just finding it rather too hot.

Here, it’s a higgledy piggledy world of small countries permanently inhabited with some lovely friendly folk, overwhelmingly the descendants of 17th and 18th century slaves and a scattering of wealthy outsiders and others, visited in the winter by swarms of us lot, predominantly a relatively well heeled bunch of amiable wrinklies from Europe and North America (with apologies to those who are neither well heeled nor wrinkly). In strict terms of person numbers, of course visiting yacht sailors are vastly outnumbered by cruise ship passengers and regular airborne tourists (also well heeled and wrinkly), but most yacht crews stay much longer, see a lot more and spend more. (At one extreme, Antigua receives nearly a million cruise ship passengers a year (the country’s population is less than 100,000), and an estimated 50,000 people on 13,000 yachts. Apparently cruise passengers contribute $70 -100M to the economy, yachties $20-60M +. That’s per year, and together with hotel guests, is the mainstay of the economy in Antigua, one of the better-off independent countries.)

Some of us boat owners (though not me) could perhaps buy entire countries with the small change from our vast capitalist enterprises (NB. most islands are not for sale!). The superyachts in Antigua for example, seemed extremely big and shiny ten years ago; yet now they seem far grander, shinier and more numerous, a reflection of the increasing stupendous wealth of the super rich.

Such amazing craft are often beautiful, a joy to see under sail and a credit to designers and crew. To give you some idea, just the maintenance of a J Class yacht (there was a fine specimen in English Harbour, Antigua) costs over £3 million a year, not including the cost of maintaining its exceedingly smart tender. And ‘Black Pearl’, at anchor when I passed by, pictured above, is an extreme example but she is thought to have cost over £300 million. (The original oligarch owner died of covid alas, family allegedly still squabbling over it.) There are hundreds of millions being splashed out to keep them afloat and shining –  a hobby and ultimate status symbol for billionaires only. Yet a stone’s throw away, there is poverty, homesteads with peeling paint, rotting timber and inadequate roofs, roads are deeply extensively potholed and litter is scattered everywhere.

 Am I naïve or have us human beings gone completely mad!

The economies of many independent countries in the eastern Caribbean are almost wholly dependent on visiting tourists, the wealthier the better. These countries are I suppose the ‘beneficiaries’ of ‘trickle down economics’. If, like Dominica, your economy mainly relies on agriculture, bananas for example, then your people stay relatively poor.

I suspect part of the reason I enjoyed the tiny island of Sint Eustatius (a part of the Dutch Caribbean) so much is that it receives very few tourists and no cruise ships. Everyone seemed happy, helpful and friendly. Of course, the Dutch government helps fund it! Likewise the French government pours many  many millions of euros into the economies of Martinique and Guadeloupe. 

At this point I’ll stop. I’d written a lot more – but know I’m neither economist nor politician. So I’ve deleted it! Suffice to say, I know how fortunate and privileged I am; I’m simply uncomfortable with such extreme and gross wealth disparities. Over reliance on tourism doesn’t make for secure independence. Charity and generosity only go so far. Perhaps my discomfort in some of the Caribbean is as much to do with unfair political structures as it is to do with the heat, some absurd bureaucracy and petty crime.

I’ve enjoyed my days here, have met lots of extraordinary and friendly people and loved the natural worlds of mountains, jungles and sea. But it seems unlikely that I shall return.

When the weather looks more settled in the North Atlantic and rigging repairs are completed, hopefully next week, I’ll head for Europe.