In 'da Carribean Mon!

'Mama take your badge off-a me…..cause I can’t use it…any more..'

The smokey tones of Bankie Banx bounced off the vintage teak deck and across into the vast Carribean sea.  The three-chord progression was getting tiring but I didn’t mind. I stuck to the basics and tried not to lose my timing. It is not every day you get to jam with a Carribean music legend!

Only moments before Banxie had put down his cigarette and walked over to his harmonica bag, rummaged around to find one in the key of E. Soon he was jamming along to my original song ‘Wainui’, his bringing the simple instrumental to life. 

The Prana regatta crew – made up of world class designers, sailors were heading off the yacht as I my song ’Wainui’ came to an end and we began on Bob Dylan classic - Knocking on Heaven's Door.  The famous Gisborne beach that had inspired my song certainly seemed a long way from St Barts, Gustavia Harbour right now!

A few hours earlier we had navigated our way through the driving rain towards Prana.  The Russian superyacht moved stealthy in the mist, searching for a safe spot to anchor. ‘That...over there is Rupert Murdoch’s boat…and that one….is the third wealthiest one in the world'.  I stood dumfounded as these nautical bohemoths appeared before me in eerie fog.  'Thats the Maltese Falcon!’ my friend John yelled above the roar of the outboard motor, referring to the controversial three-masted beauty that was famous the world over.

I hadn’t see John McGrath in years, since I lived in Wellington post University. And here I was heading towards a super yacht with him in the middle of the Carribean sea! Sure I was mates with him on facebook and had been following his travels in the French Alps, Aspen and in the Mediterranean chefing for wealthy clients.  He had fallen into financial strife in NZ and left the country to begin a new life in the super yacht industry.  I had caught up with him earlier that day as we prepared the feast for 40 odd sailors and guests that now stood beneath me at the floor of the tender. The warmth of the villa we had drunk rose and ate the boss's caviar while catching up on years gone by was now was far from my mind.

'Hold on!' the boson yelled as a surging wave lifted the tender high in the ocean.  We stood and sculled some cognac from the vessel. Lobster, tenderloins soaking in garlic and worcester sauce, caviar - all lay getting splashed at my feet, along with my guitar! I stood soaking wet. This better be worth it I thought!

It wasn’t long til I was on board the Prana and enjoying a fine French Champagne. Towelled off and now dressed like the rest of the crew, I began helping John in the kitchen assemble the feast. I was introduced to the crew and guests as 'a famous musician from New Zealand', and as a result it wasn’t long til I was encouraged to jump up and entertain the  party of around 40.  The Russian billionaire owner Andre, was an avid music fan and helped me plug in my guitar. We fumbled around the leads and mic cords and were away, pumping out some classics like Dire Straits and Neil Young, along with my own compositions.  It was long until Bankie Banx took to the stage for his headline set and we continued to jam together until it was time to pack down and head back to shore.

I had come to the Carribean on a whim, to relax after 10 years of creating and running my business Rhythm and Vines Limited, and to begin writing a book.  After all I was enamoured by the quote by author Sebastian Faulks who had strived to create his writing routine to the great James Bond author Ian Flemming, who would write in the Carribean at his Goldeneye retreat. 

Flemming would write 1500 words in the morning, have lunch, go snorkeling and then write another 1500 before cocktails and entertaining in the evening. Sounded like bliss. The West Indies is an intriguing part of the world for me, one us kiwis are not bought up with having access to. Whenever I heard of the Carribean I have romantic visions of the clear, blue water, of cocktails and of palm trees. It was always somewhere where I longed to go.

The West Indies are a complex set of islands. I had heard all sort of stories - from carnivals to muggings to cocktails and dreams. A friend I knew was in St Martin working on a boat so I booked a ticket and headed south from Miami, indesperate need of some R&R post Winter Music Conference. I spent a couple of days catching up with friends Stef Smyth and Mike Isbey and checking out the famous Sunset Bar where the planes fly perilously close to the sunbathers. I fitted in some surfing, standup paddle boarding, reading while lounging by the pool in Simpson's Bay.

It was then I saw John’s post and dropped him a line.  ‘You have to be in St Barts this weekend. The Bucket is on' he replied. 'I’ll sort you a room at the villa just book your ticket.’

The weekend was nothing short of ridiculous. My guitar antics had earnt me a spot at the Bucket race dinner the following night at Bagatelle. We enjoyed foie gras and truffle pizza entrees, prime rib and duck fat fries, splashed down with magnums of Dom Perignon and shots of Patron. Then the dancing began as the restaurant turned into a night club with the latest euro beats.

Was great to catch up with some kiwi friends Scott Ryan and Kat Miller who were working on the superyacht and preparing for the Atlantic crossing to begin the Mediterranean season. We stumbled out of Yacht Club in the wee smalls and I made my way back to the villa I was housed at with the race crew.

St Barts is a charming oasis of luxury and I felt very fortunate to get the opportunity to visit.  In the last 10 years the place has frequented by movie stars and European royalty, along with the super wealthy.  I bought some famous La Pinta Vanilla Rum from the local bottle store to take with me as a reminder of a memorable weekend. As the ferry pulled out on Easter Monday, I surveyed where I hope to park my boat one day.

So this is where I started writing my book. I hope you enjoy it when I get around to finishing!