Chronicles Of A Chronic Caribbean Chronicler By Earl Bousquet
I awoke on Christmas Morning quite happy, with several invitational options for where to go to eat, drink and party, or just stay home.
But, if your imagination is sufficiently elastic, you’ll understand I actually did a-little-bit-of-all: ate more, drank less – and didn’t drive at-all…
Best-of-all that day, however, was spending a couple of afternoon hours over a traditional creole lunch with old friends from the last century, fellow centennial hopefuls I often describe as ‘Saint Lucia’s Last Mohicans’.
I never read ‘Last of the Mohicans’, the classic novel by James Fenimore Cooper set in 1747 during the French-Indian war, but I do know the moral behind that story is the importance of respecting different cultures.

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I’ve always respected other cultures, but one of my big fears is unfolding before our very eyes: important aspects of our history and culture are simply disappearing quickly, or being made invisible.
I’ve always held that after the diminishing generation of us between 60 and 80, it’ll be left only to the millennials and the advanced artificial intelligentsia of the 2030s and 2040s to fight for Humankind’s survival by the 1950s, against more-intelligent talking machines – the 21st Century stone-age equivalents of which are already hosting press conferences today.
I sat with a few fellow ‘Lucian Mohicans’ on Christmas Day afternoon in Daphne’s Corinthian Balcony, sipping Sangria between other island-mixers, us driving recklessly down Memory Lane in ways that convinced the two younger souls among us that there actually was Life before Internet and Wi-Fi.
The likes of Leo ‘Spa’ St. Helene, Derek Walcott, Dunstan St. Omer, George Odlum, Neville Skeete, et al, would no-doubt have felt quite at-home that…
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