It’s not long after 6am when we arrive at the Breakfast Fete. Our driver, Jason, tries to get us as close to the entrance as possible, but he’s not enjoying much luck in negotiating the couple hundred cars packed into the muddied field.
We’re tired. It’s raining. And we’re now jumping over puddles and tip-toeing through the dirt in a bid to keep the runners clean. It doesn’t matter, really. It’s already abundantly clear that we’ve underdressed for the Breakfast Fete. Whatever that is. We still haven’t an iota as to what lies on the other side of the fence. All we can see are numerous white tents. What’s going on inside them is anyone’s guess.
We follow the hordes of locals – young and not so young – through the gate. Most are dressed as if they’re heading out for the night. Or morning, as is the case here.
Inside, the music blares and the drink flows. Remember now, it’s still only 6.30am. The touring party – including two of the friendliest Italians you could meet, one English, one French and yours truly – meander through the large crowd gathered in front of the main stage and up to the food stalls. Tickets for the event came in at $150 Eastern Caribbean dollars, entitling you to an unlimited supply of drink. They’re fairly generous with the food vouchers too.