I walked out into the suburbs a few times on my visits there. Overlooking the town to the west was Fort Charlotte. Although rather dilapidated, it had fabulous views over to Bequia, the next island down. Looking like a sea serpent with its switchback volcanic peaks, it stretched some five miles across the panorama. Beyond was only sea, the other Grenadines either obscured or too far away to be seen.
Another walk took me up to the Botanic Gardens, the oldest in the western world. Although many come to see the breadfruit that was reputedly grown from a seed that was on a tree planted by Captain Bligh of Bounty fame (what a contorted claim to fame it seemed to be), the layout of all the gardens are very pleasant.
I also walked east out of town, not because there was anything major I wanted to see, but just to get out of Kingstown. Although a fabulous setting for a city, being surrounded on three sides by steep hills and the fourth by the sea makes it very claustrophobic. I was interested to see what was outside. I went up a back street and joined the main road at a little col above town.
Looking back, the city laid out in front of me, some cricket was going on at the high school pitch at the back, a cruise ship was laid up at the new dock at the east end. On the other side of the col, I could see the airport, one of the most confined in the world, jutting out into the sea, and behind that the National Sports stadium at Arnos Vale where one-day cricket internationals occasionally take place. I walked through the Arnos Vale area, past the smoking landfill site (chosen most inopportunely as the first sight people see as they come in through the airport), past the squatter settlement next door, the tiny houses clinging to the cliff faces, past the entrance to the airport and then the long deviation round the far end of the airfield. Most of the houses in the little villages along that south east coast are quite prosperous and I saw nothing outstanding, but the patchwork of houses, shops and small fields showed how ordinary Vincentians lived. I had a drink one of the small hotels along the way, and sat on the beach looking across at Young Island. If the island is rather low in physical stature, it makes up for it by being one of the highest class resorts. And next door, a sugar-loaf style island capped with Fort Duvernette dominated the scenery. And off in the distance, the islands of Battowa and Baliceaux looked on. As I dabbled my feet in the Caribbean, I said to myself, you know, I could live here.