Barbados

I was tempted to just stay in Miami. We had a sizable layover. So we took advantage of the time by booking a spot on the Little Havana culinary tour. Our Uber arrived early, so we explored a little before the tour began. The heat was holding us tightly, as if we would try to escape at any moment. We walked along the vibrant and sexy city which is rich in all things Latino. It had been nearly a decade since my last visit. I privately scolded myself for taking so long to return. We found the Agustin Gainza Art Gallery with ease. It was the place we had been instructed to meet for the tour. Mr. Gainza and a few of his staff were looking over artwork when we arrived. I asked for a picture with him, and he happily granted my request. His white hair, black glasses and thick Cuban accent made him adorable. His life story was inspiring (he was sent to jail for 2 years for trying to escape Cuba by boat in the 60's). His story was as inspirational as his work. What talent! His art, which you can see here: http://www.agustingainza.com/ is refreshingly lovely and very good, like a mojito.

Jennifer, the culinary tour guide arrived and was as pleasant as she could be. She kept the tour interesting and fun. Treating us like friends, she made small talk with us about our upcoming plans to Barbados. She answered all of our questions and made sure we sampled everything on the tour. We had: Cuban coffee, a Mojito (Ball and Chain), an empanada, a Cuban sandwich, a guava pastry, Abuela Maria Ice Cream (Azucar), just to name a few of the treats. We paused at the Bay of Pigs memorial, Domino Park and at an African tree where Santeria is practiced.

Check out some of the amazing STREET ART we passed in Little Havana!

By the time the tour was over, we were full and drained from walking in the Floridian humidity. I practiced Spanish with Guillermo, our Uber driver before he dropped us off at our airline’s gate.

WELCOME TO BARABDOS
Due to the full flight and my window seat preference, none of us sat together. Instead, seated next to me, was a gentleman from Grand Cayman, originally from Guyana, who was nice to talk with. We skipped the in-flight entertainment that the airline provided. We opted to watch, the movie, Trainwreck (Amy Schumer) instead and giggled at the raunchier moments. Eventually, my battery died and as if on cue, the flight crew delivered our customs forms in preparation for landing.

We touched Bajan ground with a thud. Only a few people clapped when we landed. We waited patiently until it was our turn to step down to the tarmac. We used the air stairs (that metal portable staircase) to deplane. The first photo of a smiling Rihanna, greeted us overhead from a banner. The bearded European in socks and sandals kept coughing and inching closer, irritating me a little. Also, there was no central air in this part of the airport. The sizable structure had a central hub but then giant tents served as a ceiling for most of the perimeter. An unsmiling Bajan woman sitting in a glass booth and asked me the following:

“Where are you from?”
“Where are you staying?”
“How long will you be here?”
She ended with a declarative statement, “Welcome to Barbados.”

We paid $16 American to be driven swiftly and on the wrong side of the road (as is custom in England as well) to the St. Lawrence Gap--a tourist hub of shops, hotels, restaurants and bars. Ocean 2 staff greeted us with a cold towel and a smile. While we waited for our room to be ready, we were given a glass of local fruit juice decorated with a slice of pineapple. Yum.
The first glimpse of the shore took me by surprise like a strikingly handsome man. Staring out at that turquoise translucent water, made me feel like I had suddenly woken from a long nap. All of my senses were coming back to life.

*Because this could turn into a lengthy account that borders from blog into a novel… I’ll just give concise summaries from this point on.

Later.
Sitting on the terrace of our suite, I was still in awe of the unreal ocean scene that was before me. Barbados is your beautiful older sibling who has their crap together. You know, with a handsome or pretty spouse, good-looking, well-behaved kids and a house (just big enough) that sits off the ocean. Barbados never gets mad about anything and cooks well but never gains weight.

If 297,000 people live on this island where murder and violence is almost never in the headlines, could it be a utopia? Native Bajans are mostly African descendants that have been there for more than 400 years. I found myself studying them. I was transfixed, wondering what my life would be like if my bloodline stayed here. (Note: All Slaves who passed through to the Caribbean and the States stopped at some point in Barbados—as it is the most eastern point (en route from Africa to the Americas).

I couldn’t believe that the nation had only been independent from England for a mere 49 years. I’m jealous of Barbados, where I hope, racism couldn’t possibly be a thing. Classicism, it seems, of course, is inescapable. One of tour guides alluded to what some call the, Gold or Platinum coast. This is a stretch of shore with a private marina and condos that range from $7,000 a night to $28,000 ($US). All beaches in Barbados are free to the public. However, there is concern that when resorts are so tightly occupy the coast, it’s almost impossible for the locals to gain access to them. I even noticed, one afternoon as I walked along the beach, how there was a cutoff point. After a quarter of a mile or so, one would have to climb over into a rocking landing in order to get to where the beach continued. This point, of course was the beginning of another hotel’s beachfront. We were also told that the all-inclusive hotels were bad for the country. Money for meals or drinks typically spent among local bars and restaurants was essentially leaving the island.

Oistins Fish Fry

While the US dollar is equal to two Bajan dollars, don’t think you can ball out while there. Actually, prices tend to be a bit higher for meals and other items (especially in the tourist areas). For example, a combo meal at the airport was $22 Bajan and a bottle of Coppertone was $38. I was in utter shock when the waitress at Oistin’s Fish Fry told me my total was $40 US. I had a big slice a mac-n-cheese pie, a 6 ounce lobster, plantains and 2 small cups of rum punch. I was told later that lobster is not an easy catch. Most of the lobster was, in fact, imported from neighboring shores.
We had been told that an Oistin’s Fish Fry on a Friday night was an island must! So, I was a little disappointed when I showed up, completely overdressed for what turned out to be just a fish fry. Oistin’s is on the beach and consists of maybe 50 or so vendors. There are yards of picnic table-style seating, plastic chairs placed under tents. Think backyard bar-b-que, only mostly fish and chicken. We sat, as luck would have it next to a couple from Boston. The husband who taught at a university before retiring told us everything about the island. His grandfather had been from there. So we got our fill of fish and of dish.

The next morning, we took breakfast on the beach. A table over was a group of Bajan groomsmen for a wedding that was being held later that day. Why they thought it was cool to be from the states, was strange to me. I supposed the grass is always greener on the other side.

I think they may've been renewing their vows, actually. So sweet. (Rain is good luck on your wedding day.)

*As it turns out, there was another wedding going on that weekend on sight. (Can someone explain the kilt?)

The Island Safari Jeep Tour actually took place in a Toyota. Our guide, Glynne said, as we passed a cotton mill that exports exclusively to Japan. “They love our cotton and we love their Toyotas!”
Glynne was lively and drove like he was drunk off rum punch. As promised, he took us through back roads and covered 80 miles of Bajan territory. We bounced and shook as though on a roller coaster, flying it seemed at times around the perimeter of the island not without using shortcuts. When we stopped on the north shore, he asked us what our ethnicity was. “Your hair is singed at the ends, it’s almost on fire.” He said to me. He was unsatisfied with the answer that we were “just” American.

“You should trace your roots,” he said. Glynne explained that people didn’t live in areas where the beaches were rough and the riptide fatal. This of course made sense but what I thought was odd was where the people did live. Homes ranged from tiny tin-roofed shacks to solid cement structures with grand staircases leading to the front and side doors. We would drive for acres along open fields overrun with vegetation, only to find a house sitting at the top or the bottom, in a cluster or by itself. In some cases, shacks and million-dollar properties shared the same yard. Fishermen, goat/sheep farmers, corporate types lived in one world.

We passed over a bridge built in the 1600’s—made in part of egg whites!!!

We stood on the cliffs kissed by ocean spray.

I tried to imagine the 500 sugarcane plantations that once covered the island but simply couldn’t. Not anymore. Feral cats, wild chickens and roosters begged for our food when we stopped for lunch. I had the macaroni pie again with the flying fish this time. It was included in the cost of the tour so I had seconds.
When the tour was over we were exhausted, but I will say, this was my favorite excursion. http://www.islandsafari.bb/

MOUNT GAY RUM TOUR

Like most great discoveries, Rum was accidental. Apparently, some dude left some molasses alone for too long and discovered rum. John Gay perfected it. Rommel, the Mount Gay Tour guide with eyes the color of brown sugar, explained to a large group of us. We tasted shot-sized samples of the variations of the rum. We got an additional courtesy shot because it was my friend’s birthday. After the tour, Mount Gay Rum hosted a cocktail mixing contest. We partnered with an older couple of Brits against a pair of New Yorkers, a group of 20's something British guys, Canadians and a group of Canadian-Caymans. We lost, opting for fruity over fiery. They gave us several bottles of rum to use in the competition with the leftovers being made into our personal drinks. (Woooohooooo!) Needless to say we all were friendly and having an amazing time, even those of us who had lost the competition. (*Side note: there are not a Mount Gay in Barbados. Actually, the island is relatively flat, but there was indeed a John Gay.)

HARRISON’S CAVE
I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.