We ran out of coffee. That is not necessarily a bad thing in the
Caribbean, because opportunity for fresh, indigenous coffee abounds here. On
this occasion, we were anchored in Falmouth Harbour and heard about a coffee
roaster high in the hills that surrounded us. It was Sunday, so the “bus” (
actually a guy with a van who circles the area) was not running. The beanery,
we were told, was at the top of the highest peak we could see. I suggested we
hike it.
This sounded like a good idea at
the time, but less so two hours in,
about 700 feet up, the sun high and
scorching, no beanery in sight. No sign of civilization. We were told the beanery roasts
their beans every day, and that we would smell the aroma as we got close. We kept our sweaty noses glued to the air,
sniffing, hoping. .
Finally, a clearing, and there it was. Except that it was
Sunday. No aroma. No roasting. No coffee. Locked door. I don’t drink it, but
Joe does not do well without his morning joe, so I knew the walk down was to be
cheerless. The consolation: the view
from the top.
Julianne
January 15th, 2017
The next day, the bus was running, and back we went. The
beans had been brought in from the plantation that morning and were still
roasting so we waited. As we waited, boat chefs from the monster yachts poured
in to procure their pre-ordered bags of coffee specially roasted to their owner’s
taste. The beanery proprietor gave us a private
tour of the small facility. Joe’s
patience was rewarded with coffee he has been enjoying for days and will continue
to do so as we head south for several weeks.
 |
| Toasting our persistence |
 |
| The Beanery, all alone at the top of a mountain |
