I moved to Barbados – St Lawrence Gap, on the beach — in January ’08 and was fascinated by the Caribbean Sea right outside. I was also fearful of it.

Each morning I began my day by checking the sea outside, then, as though it were a sleeping newborn, I’d check in on it throughout the day. I still begin my day by throwing open the windows to the magical sea and imagine I always will; as Greg says, God does nice work.

Happily swimming, in the Caribbean Sea in Barbados

I’d look — but I wouldn’t go in. I’d watch Greg go in, but I stayed in the pool. I was scared.

My feelings about the Caribbean Sea roused conflicting feelings:

First, fascination: Its color is mind-blowing blue — or what I call Barbados Blue; Crayola should have such a color, at least in the 32-pack. It’s a blue that sparkles and shimmers in the light. On a sunny day it’s as clear as a glass of water.  When a storm threatens; it turns grumpy and dark.  Very cool … when I’m inside looking out.

Second, fear: Animals live in the sea. The sea moves around. And, it’s huge … there’s so much water.

I wanted to go in; I envied Greg going in …. I was like a child who wanted to play with the new family pet but fearfully backed off whenever I felt too close.

When I finally did venture in, I dressed for the occasion: I wore high-collar, long-sleeved zip-up jacket and long pants and water shoes. This was so that the animals couldn’t touch my skin. As I ventured in very slowly, Greg, whose hand I gripped, commented, “You’re a bit of an eccentric, aren’t you?” (No argument there.)

Gradually, I went into the sea more often. My progress was slow – I always I gripped Greg’s hand getting in and getting out, but at least I was giving it a go.

Then I started going into the sea wearing a swimsuit with just the long pants over it – no long-sleeved jacket zipped to the neck.

I graduated to wearing my swimsuit and shorts. Not sure what I was thinking – that the sea animals could nibble at my shins but my sacred thighs were safe? Truth is, I’ve never had a fish or any animal in the sea come anywhere near me.

About two weeks ago — two years and six months after moving to Barbados — I called Greg at work, asked if he’d come home early. I told him I was ready. And when he got home, I got on my swimsuit and only my swimsuit and went into the sea.  I loved it! Since then, I’ve been in, with Greg, every day.

This morning, I called Greg at work and told him I was Going in Alone. He said, “Great! Call me when you get out.” (Ha … so, if he doesn’t hear from me, he can come fish me out me later on…?)

I went in without fear. I breathed in a deep breath of the sea air, marveled at the warmth of the sea, and took the plunge.  I couldn’t believe how much fun I had, paddling around in the Caribbean Sea outside our home, all by myself! I felt free and happy and as proud as a school kid with a great report card. Who can finally play with the family pet.

….   xx Jane

Instead of kanoodling, some Barbadians spent Valentine’s Day weekend battling ten-foot waves crashing against the shoreline of our small island. The normally calm Caribbean Sea bashed the shoreline of the usually idyllic Mullins Bay in St Peter parish for two days, offering a striking example of the effects of erosion caused by the sea as it encroaches on land. I stopped by on Monday February 15 to view the damage to Mullins Restaurant and take these photos.

Mullins Restaurant closed midday on Valentine’s. The next day it was open again but appeared to be holding onto its deck using police tape:

After the storm: Mullins Restaurant on February 15, 2010, after a weekend of enduring ten-foot waves from an angry sea.

When Mullins Restaurant (to the right) was built some 20 years ago, the beach was so large that it was difficult to imagine there would ever be a problem with the sea's encroachment.

This photo and the next show the whittling away of the restaurant by the sea. Neither are $20+ million villas on Mullins Bay immune to the ravages of the sea.

As it swirls beneath the foundation, the sea really doesn't give a care whether Mullins Restaurant's stairway touches the sand. (It doesn't.)

The beach at Mullins Restaurant in years past; photo from www.Jencot.net

There’s Only So Much 300 Tons of Rocks Can Do…

In May of last year,  300 tons of boulders were placed along the shoreline of Mullins Bay by marine construction company Marenco. Marenco was hired by management of the beautiful private villa called The Great House, which last year had lost 8 feet of its seaside property to erosion.

Seawater threatens the foundation of all buildings and steps along Mullins Bay. (By the way, these rocks are coral, the very stuff Barbados is made of.)

The sea has scooped out the sand, exposing the roots of the Casuarina trees that have been there long before the restaurant was built 20 years ago. The restaurant was reinforced two years ago after the sea showed its might. It's a continual battle.

Beach Erosion: Are Groynes to Blame?

Owners of homes along Mullins Bay are watching their beloved homes slip into the sea bit by bit. The cause? That’s a very good question and a point of much contention.

Of course, erosion is a natural act of nature. Some say erosion is exacerbated by climate change. Others blame the groynes in the area (specifically the groynes near the St Peter’s Bay development).  A groyne is a perpendicular structure – in Barbados made of rock piles – extending from the shore into the sea.

The Idea Behind Groynes

According to Wikipedia, groynes build a beach by interrupting water flow and limiting the movement of sand.  Ironically, even while they’re designed to build beaches, groynes can also cause the erosion of what they call downdrift beaches … in other words, with a little help from humans, nature gives — but she taketh away, too.

Photo I took from a plane using my iPhone showing groynes on the south coast of Barbados.

So, while the praises of groynes are being sung (as they are here on the blog of the Ocean Two development), they are being roundly criticized (here, for instance, on the citizens blog for Mullins Bay).

Questions

What are the causes – definitively – of the erosion of our beaches? Once we know, what can we do to save the beautiful sugar-white beaches in Barbados? And when oh when will we start doing those things?

P.S. Would you dine on this cantilevered patio??

Perhaps a rum punch alters one's perspective of precariousness.

]]> http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?feed=rss2&p=1956 5 http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?p=1596 http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?p=1596#comments Wed, 06 Jan 2010 16:27:57 +0000 Jane Shattuck Hoyos http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?p=1596

Are you cold, wet, miserable? Do you feel as though winter will never end? Please don't despair, my chilly friends. What you see here - my Barbados holiday rental apartment - is just a flight away! (I took this photo yesterday ... January 5, one of the coldest winters our friends up north have ever seen.)

When Greg and I were in New York over Christmas and New Year’s I was reminded of what a Yank I am and how much I love efficient service, movie openings, sales, Starbucks, and great hamburgers.

This month marks my second anniversary of having moved from San Francisco to Barbados …. where I don’t get any of those things very often.  But you can’t move to a place and complain that the new place isn’t the old place, can you? I can’t think of a quicker route to misery than wanting Barbados to be San Francisco. Really now, life could be worse than waking to the view you see in the photo above.

Fortunately, the fantasy of Barbados as a tropical island is very much its reality as well. Perfect aqua Caribbean Sea. Sugar-white beaches. Gorgeous blue sky. Varied landscape. Ideal climate.

However.  I wish I’d known a few things about some aspects of life and people on the island of Barbados.  Things I wish someone had told me before I moved here. Such as:

1. “Service is usually slow – get over your Type A self and give into the pace island-time.” Relax already. Enjoy the fact that even though service is slow, no one is rushing you to finish your meal, either.

2. “Service is usually friendly except when it’s not. And when it’s not it’s not about you.” I used to think the rudeness was personal to me. It’s not.  Then again, maybe it is. I don’t know. I just know it took me a long time to know how to deal with it.

Two years ago, when a young male clerk at a fabric store ignored me and wouldn’t ring up my purchase, frustration and sense of powerlessness defeated me (i.e., I cried).  Today I don’t take it personally and I feel empowered to say, “Excuse me, young man, perhaps I can call Mr Abed (store owner) over here to ring me up since you are not interested in doing so.”

3. “This is how you learn to drive on the left-hand side of the street: As you drive, keep your body in the center of the road.” Once I was told, I never again turned off a street right or left into the wrong lane.

4. “When you pay for anything, remember that almost everything on the island is brought in from elsewhere.” Look at a map; Barbados is far, far away from everywhere (of course, in other respects this is a good thing). It’s expensive to ship cars, tomatoes, ink cartridges, and everything else here — and on top of shipment is duty, one of the few ways the government has to bring money into an economy that has nothing to export. So forgive how expensive life is in Barbados.

Dumb me. Took me 2 years to finally break down and buy a car.  My righteous indignation over the 100% to 300% duty held me back from the freedom that driving myself brings.

By the way, with respect to grocery store prices: Everyone pays the same price. Guests to the island ask me if residents receive a discount. No, they do not … the housekeepers who keep our holiday rental accommodations immaculate pay the same price for a loaf of bread as our far more affluent guests who come to stay in them.

5. “Bringing goods to Barbados in your suitcase doesn’t save you a cent in the long run.” I used to raid my San Francisco home to bring in sheets, towels, lamps, Splenda, etc, etc, etc.  Then I’d have to go out and buy replacements for the things I took out of the place in San Francisco. I created a nightmare routine of leaving Barbados with two empty suitcases and returning with two I couldn’t even lift. Make that four suitcases when Greg and I traveled together. I justified it by telling myself (and Greg) that I was “saving money.”

I paid overweight charges on airlines, threw my back out, and took advantage of my kind husband’s patience far too often before I finally learned to accept that even though selection is small and prices are high, life is much sweeter when I don’t try to beat the system. I now buy what I need here in Barbados. Plus, by buying goods on the island I’m contributing to Barbados’ economy. And I can travel with a small, light bag.

6. “When you throw away anything, remember that Barbados is a 14- by 21-mile island.” Consider how difficult a problem trash is in a small place like Barbados.

I was ridiculously cavalier about replacing very slightly used items (furniture mostly). The truth is, I’m only slightly less so now.  I’m afraid that living in a disposable goods culture is still a lesson this American needs to unlearn.

Mmm, mmm, love that tourist food!

Thx for the choice; I think I'll visit the Tourist Center.

I'm sure when you've just gotta go, you understand ...

Even though they’re in English, some signs in Barbados are pretty funny, too, particularly for a country with an impressive 99% literacy rate. My favorite is at the Barbados Yacht Club in the ladies’ loo, which says, “Flush After Being Used.” I wonder, are men also told to flush after being used or is this an advisement only to women? And if it is for women only, why the assumption that all women who use the loo at the Yacht Club are of … questionable reputation??

Barbados Yacht Club

Like all groups of people, Barbadians have a personality and traditions unique to their culture. It’s only 8 a.m. but already I’ve encountered a couple of them. So while I sit here in the Barbados airport awaiting flight to Jamaica with Greg, I’ll share a few with you.

1. Barbadians call themselves Bajans. Interesting that nothing happens quickly in Barbados except for the speaking of individual words. Say the word “Barbadian” (“Bar-bayyd-ian”) quickly and with a Barbadian accent and you get a word that sounds more like “Bar-bayy-junn,” which, when shortened, is “Bajan.” It’s sort of like “Injun” for “Indian” and “Cajun” for “Arcadian.”

2. Bajans are reserved. While the Trinidadian temperament is lively and “always up for a good time” and Jamaicans very confident and outgoing, Bajans are more reserved in polite company. It’s the English in them. Not back-slappers, not phony … very good-hearted. Crop Over and other festivals exempt from this characterization.

Flying Fish at the Barbados airport

3. Bajans are super-clean. Even if people are of very modest means, their homes are usually immaculate. I’ve never seen anything approaching “slum” in Barbados.

4. They paint their homes at Christmastime. My first December on the island I was staging a home that was going on the market; the home required painting. I couldn’t find an available painter to save my soul, and when I drove around the island I saw why: all painters, professional and non-professional alike, were painting homes, particularly the front porches. Turns out painting and sprucing up one’s home is a Christmastime tradition.

5. Bajans love their flying fish (and so do the tourists).  Sort of like leis in Hawaii, you see flying fish everywhere. Bajans don’t greet visitors to the island by throwing a fish around their necks, of course, but you see graphic representations of our fanciful fish that leap out of the sea on signs, t-shirts, hats, artwork, placemats, oven mitts, and so much more. Plus, of course, we eat lots and lots of flying fish: in cutters (sandwiches), fried up in Oistins on Friday nights, and Creole-style at more formal restaurants.

Uh oh, that’s only 5 fun things to know. I need to catch my flight so I’ll add another 5 another time. Have a great day!

Gosh, Barbados is wonderful place to be.  Such good-natured souls, a low crime rate, a fabulous climate, beauty all around, and, if not everything, then most of what a city girl like me needs to be comfortable. What Barbados may lack in department and upscale grocery stores it makes up for in creative business endeavors that tickle me to pieces. To wit:

1. A combination taxi/funeral business.  Located in St Michael, Bryan’s Taxi Car & Funeral Service can either help you get around … or leave for good.

2. The mattress factory.  I was told to go directly to the factory to get some window seats cushions I wanted cut. “Factory,” to my mind is defined as a building or group of buildings in which goods are manufactured. This one was a clearing in the country with a giant pile of foam, a man, and a saw. The chickens running around – what were they, factory workers? (No matter.  I left with my window seat cushions and a new definition.)

3. The ubiquitous under-the-tree mechanics surrounded by cars they can’t, won’t, or haven’t gotten around to repairing.

4. The mobile vendors. Usually of Indian descent, these folks sell clothes and household items from their cars to people living in the countryside of Barbados, often with a $1-down-$1-a-week payment option.

5. Sno-cone sellers. They push carts through the streets and I’m happy to see them on a hot day when a cup of ice drowned in sugary-sweet syrup hits the spot. With or without condensed milk added (with milk this is quite a decadent and delicious treat).

6. The used-book seller on Hwy 7 across from Accra Beach who is either ultra laid back or catatonic. Customers browse the handful of books that are not arranged in any particular order while the owner sits at a small desk reading. When I go in there, I want to shake this low-energy (contemplative?) soul until he sees he needs to make the place bright and cheerful, organize the books, create channels to keep the stock fresh and plentiful, and engage customers in conversation about books and travel and life … On the other hand, maybe he has the right idea: read the day away.

7. The 9 to 9 grocery store in Quayside that’s open 8 to 10.

8. The kite makers who, for the few weeks around Easter, the windiest time of year, sell their beautiful, colorful homemade kites at roadside stands.

9. Suicide transportation. They’re officially called route-taxis but are more commonly known as Zed-R vans for the “Z” designation on their license plates. The time-has-slowed pace of the Caribbean doesn’t apply to these reckless vans. They zip through Barbados streets, stopping anywhere and anytime on a dime to collect passengers, annoy other drivers, and terrify  wandering tourists. A Bajan told me that they’re not so much high-speed as they are low-flying transport.

10. Ice cream trucks that play “Home on the Range” and other campy tunes in a continuous loop. Now I know where that Good Humor man from my childhood disappeared to: He ran off to Barbados, changed his name to Blue Bunny, added soft serve to his product line, and is living happily ever after in the sunshine. Smart man.

However, as different as St Lucia is, in some respects it’s … just … like … Barbados.

Rodney Bay in St Lucia

(You can feel another “service” story coming, can’t you … ?)

I visited the little store at our hotel this morning to get a snack…

I walk in – so cute it is! – and poke around. Music’s playing, a warm breeze wraps itself around me, and I lose myself in the pretty hand-painted platters and other items.

Oh yes, I remind myself. The snack. I’m here for a snack. I spy a freezer. Ah, yes, I say to myself as I make a beeline for it. I’ve learned that freezers in little stores in the Caribbean contain riches. I’m rewarded well: Dove Bars. I take one. Then I grab two diet Cokes from the cooler. (I prefer to eat, not drink, my calories.)

I am approaching the counter when I realize that I’m all alone in the store. There is no clerk.

I figure the clerk’s on a bathroom run. No problem. I flip through coffee-table books on St Lucia to kill time.

Wait … beneath the beat of the music, am I hearing what I think I’m hearing? The unmistakable sound of … a snore? The clerk’s not on a bathroom break. He’s on a nap. I find him behind and beneath the front counter.

I lean over the counter and gently, so as not to startle, and say, “Excuse me, sir …” No movement. I say it again, more audibly.

But the guy’s really out. Evidently he really needs his sleep.

Hmm, I see a receipt pad. I slide it out from beneath his heavy arm. I rummage through my purse for a pen. In large letters I write on the pad, PLEASE CHARGE ONE DOVE BAR & TWO DIET COKES TO ROOM 323. GREG HOYOS. THANK YOU, and I leave.

I wander the sunny gardens of our hotel and enjoy my Dove Bar immensely.

I’m in our room when Greg returns from his meetings many hours later. I notice he’s eating something … He’s halfway through … a … Dove Bar.

“Hey,” I ask, “where’d you get that?”

“From the little store,” he says. “Funniest thing, though.”

My ears perk up. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I went to pay and said to the guy, ‘Just bill this to my room, 323.’ “And the guy looks and me, then says, ‘No worries, mon, it’s on the house.’

“How’s that,” says Greg, “for a super-nice St Lucian?”

Indeed.

Flying into Barbados

Located about 100 miles southeast of St. Lucia in the southern Caribbean, Barbados boasts a dramatic coastline on the Atlantic side and tranquil aquamarine bays on the Caribbean Sea. Watersports, golf, hiking, lush gardens and historic sites tied to sugar cultivation, slavery and more than 300 years of British colonial rule are enough to keep visitors busy for a week or more.

Here are a handful of money-saving tips for Barbados that can be tailored to suit many desirable locales.

Travel off-season

Traveling in the off-season is a gamble, but it’s a sure way to lop hundreds of dollars off your trip total.

Peak season in Barbados runs December through April. Hurricane season starts in June and ends in October, although major storms tend to bypass Barbados, which is the easternmost Caribbean island and slightly apart from the Lesser Antilles archipelago. Still, travel insurance is a good idea.

Summertime highs run in the mid-80s, and humidity is high, but pleasant sea breezes and cool, clear waters keep the heat at bay. Rainfall is higher in the off-season and often comes in brief bursts, which locals describe as “liquid sunshine.”

Rent a condo or house

Take a few steps back from the glittering resorts, save yourself a bundle and experience more of the island’s true flavor with a villa rental.

Savvy shoppers can find two-bedroom villas within a few minutes’ walk of popular west coast beaches for as little as $200 per night in the summer on vacation rental sites such as Homeaway.com and vrbo.com. (Hm, here’s a chance for me to insert a commercial break and plug the holiday rentals I represent at St Lawrence Beach Condos, listed on both HomeAway and VRBO. And, yes, they are $200 nightly during low season, such a buy! Okay, end of commercial break. Back to our regularly scheduled article… — Jane)

In December and January, when prices reach their peak, the same property may go for more than $400 per night. Still, at about $200 per room, it beats resort prices, and you get the benefit of a communal living space and kitchen. Some properties also have pools, housekeeping services and the option to hire a local cook for an additional fee.

The more affordable south coast is also a good choice for the budget-conscious. The east coast is spectacular, but rocky outcroppings and rough Atlantic surf make swimming dangerous.

Picnic and eat in

Slice a local mango, fry up some eggs and breakfast on your villa’s patio. Then load a cooler with sandwiches and snacks and head to the beach.

Shop for dinner at the fish market in Oistins, Speightstown or Bridgetown for flying fish and other local catch, and experiment with the rich Bajan fusion of Caribbean, African, West Indian and European flavors.

Drink local

Forget martinis, set champagne aside. This is rum country. Mount Gay Rum, produced in Barbados since 1703, bills itself as “the rum that invented rum.” The distillery’s visitor center offers tours and tastings.

Tiny rum shops dot the island, selling the rich spirit by the shot or bottle at bargain-basement prices. Split a bottle among friends for a couple of bucks per person, and check out a cricket match on TV.

For a sunset view, try a scenic beachfront bar. Some offer happy hour rum drinks for $4 or less. Or take happy hour back to your home away from home, and get creative with the blender.

If you’re rummed out, pick up a six-pack of local Banks beer for less than $6 at the nearest Super Centre grocery store, and pair it with tasty English cheddar (buy a huge 1-pound block for less than $4).

Take the bus

With blue and yellow buses whizzing by along narrow roads with minimal sidewalks, walking in busy areas can be somewhat terrifying. So why not get your thrills on the bus? For 75 cents, you can scoot over to Bridgetown for duty-free shopping or head to the Friday-night fish-fry in Oistins on the south coast.

Despite what seems like the rocket-fast speed of the bus between stops, it’s probably going to take a while to get where you’re going. So adopt island time and enjoy the ride. You may be lucky enough to land on a bus blasting reggae and soca dance music. Consider the proximity and frequency of bus service when selecting your accommodations.

To really explore the island, a car is a good idea, particularly for the gorgeous but remote northern and eastern parishes. Think about renting a soft-top Jeep or a Mini Moke — an open-air beach buggy — for a couple of days rather than springing for a full week’s rental.

A two-day high season December rental at Drive-A-Matic, which has a rental office at Grantley Adams International Airport, runs about $175 for a Moke, including collision insurance and a temporary driver’s permit. Look for free days and reduced rates in the summer months.

You know life is good when you're able to take a morning swim in the Caribbean Sea.

Guests who first arrive at St Lawrence Beach Condominiums for their Barbados holiday all do the same thing: they rush to the large picture windows overlooking the Caribbean Sea.  Their mouths drop.  And they say, “I didn’t think it would really look like that.”

I laugh because, of course, I had sent photos showing the sea outside their Barbados vacation rental. But a photo is a far cry from being up close and personal to the expanse of aqua.  And seeing it live confirms to new guests that I hadn’t Photoshopped the photos I sent!

Having the Caribbean Sea as our guests’ back yard creates a magical pull and during these hot days the respite is welcome.  I think pretty much everyone has been swimming; it’s fun because you can swim a long ways out and still only be thigh-deep in water.

During our early swim this morning, Greg and I glanced up to the balconies at St Lawrence Beach Condos and noticed a few guests up and stumbling about their balconies, cups of coffee in hand, residue of “glow” on their skin from last night’s Crop Over parties in which people wear color on their skin that glows when all the lights are turned off.  After swimming, we passed a guest taking a fishing rod to the jetty to try his luck at catching dinner.

A mellow morning. All’s well in Barbados. Enjoy your day, everyone.

History (and a bit of mischief): Tristan & Ethan having fun at Arlington House.

Greg and I took a double dose of vitamins on Wednesday morning so we could keep up with his grandsons Ethan and Tristan for the day while we explored a bit of our island home of Barbados.

We picked the boys up, swapped lots of hugs, caught up, laughed tons, and played word games on the drive to our …

First stop: Arlington House on Barbados’ west coast brings early Barbados history alive with fabulous interactive exhibits on three floors.  In the 1700s, the single-gabled home belonged to a merchant family that used the first floor for the marine shipping supplies it sold.

The museum is definitely worth a stop.  Meet the talking pirate on the floor set up as a working wharf and learn how much you’d be worth if you were a bag of Barbadian sugar.  (Greg’s weight in sugar translated to 93 cents; guess I won’t be selling him until the price goes up.)

Arlington House is located in Speightstown, which was a major port city from around 1640; in those days, the town was dubbed “Little Bristol” for the close trading relationship it had with that English port.

Our patient, well-informed, and enthusiastic tour guide Michelle.

Brief history lesson:  Did you know that in the 17th century, Barbados had a central role in “triangular trade” among Europe, Africa, and the Americas? From Europe to Africa, ships carried manufactured goods. From Africa to the West Indies, ships carried slaves and commodities. And from the West Indies to Europe, ships took sugar, tobacco, rum, rice, and cotton.

In the 18th century and into the 20th, the term “triangular trade” referred to the transport of goods from its colonies in British North America and the Caribbean.  From the former, Britain got fur, fish, and lumber and from the latter, sugar, molasses, and rum.  End of history lesson – now wasn’t that painless? And you don’t need to have kids in tow to have an excuse to go and play in the exhibits.

Arlington House Museum is on Queen Street in Speightstown in St Peter. It’s open 10am – 5pm Monday – Friday and 10am – 3pm on Saturday.  246-442-4064

As we left Arlington House, Greg mumbled something about really looking forward to a rum punch. That brings me to our

Second stop: Royal Westmoreland for lunch.

Lunch at Royal Westmoreland. The camera on my iPhone really doesn't do the beautiful setting justice.

This is a favorite place to golf (members and members’ guests only) and eat (come one, come all!).  The open-air setting is stunning, the tables large and chairs comfortable, the service friendly & impeccable, and the food delish.

In a case of once-a-mom-always-a-mom, I feel a little bad for having corrected the table manners of Tristan and Ethan as much as I did.  Example:

Me:  Tristan, honey, please take your napkin off the table and place it on your lap.

Tristan (quite sensibly):  But I’m using it!

In demonstration, he wiped from his face some wayward ketchup oozing from his generous hamburger.  Ah, yes, I thought to myself, such an efficient boy … why bother with that extra four inches down to his lap?  I stopped nagging.

And Greg got his rum punch.

Clubhouse menu & hours at Royal Westmoreland … and here’s a way better photo of the grounds than the one I took above.

Final stop: Carlisle Bay (also called Browne’s Beach) for a beach walk and swim.  We camped out at the Barbados Yacht Club, but anywhere along the beach offers a great place to set up temporary camp.  Ethan hunted white cockroaches along one of the embankment walls, collected them in a plastic cup, and, with the addition of each new one, darted over to to show us.  Tristan made like a fish.  Greg played with them; much mutual teasing and adorableness.  I sat on a beach towel admiring the trio’s enjoyment of one another.

Greg says he needs to play with Ethan and Tristan as much as possible right now because it won’t be long before they come to think that Papa-Greg is maybe not all that much fun.

I’ve been pretty down since my precious sister’s passing.  But on Wednesday I very simply loved my island home.  And I watched these three handsome Hoyos boys with wonder, thankful to be experiencing the sheer joy of living life.

In Barbados.

]]> http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?feed=rss2&p=1181 0 http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?p=1073 http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?p=1073#comments Wed, 17 Jun 2009 16:24:05 +0000 Jane Shattuck Hoyos http://onelovebarbados.com/?p=1073 It’s far easier – and strangely more satisfying – to stomp our feet and decry surly service in Barbados than it is to praise.  That means Barbados Free Press won’t likely pick up this post (although I thank those good folks for the attention they’ve given my various and sundry musings).

In the 18 months I’ve lived in Barbados, numerous incidents have shown me what extraordinarily kind people Bajans can be and usually are.

Pretty baubles (none mine).

One incident in particular.

It was my very first visit to the island.  I was coming to visit my sweetheart Greg.  I had flown all day from San Francisco, arriving BGI around 10:30 p.m.

While I awaited my bags, I visited the ladies room.  (Gosh, it was so clean!)  I removed my ring when I washed my hands.  Then returned to the baggage carousel, picked up my bag, and met Greg outside.  Happy kisses.  We drove home.

Around midnight I awoke with a start.  Where was my ring?? I quietly got out of bed and frantically searched my purse and still-unpacked bag.  No ring.  Heard my heart pounding.

The ring had been a gift from Greg. A tender symbol of our commitment and love.  I loved that ring.

Then I remembered: I had taken the ring off when I washed my hands in the ladies room at the airport.

I felt that panic you feel when you do something really stupid, something that with a single moment of thought needn’t have happened.

I woke Greg. “Honey,” I whispered as I shook his shoulder, “I have to go back to the airport.  I think I left my ring in the ladies rest room.”

“Janie, the airport is closed.  We’ll go get it tomorrow.”

“Get it tomorrow??” I countered.  “It won’t be there tomorrow.”  I calculated that the ring had disappeared about ten seconds after I left the rest room.  These things don’t last long.

A couple of years ago in Paris, I left my Chanel sunglasses on the table at a restaurant.  Stepping out into the sun, I remembered them.  But when I returned to the table, they were gone.

Last summer at San Francisco International Airport, I left my Oliver Peoples sunglasses on a short wall next to me at lunch.  We were walking toward our gate when I realized I’d forgotten them.  But they were gone within, say, the four minutes it took for me to return to the lunch place.

Years ago, I left my wallet at a phone booth (remember those?) in the symphony hall in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  It vanished in the two minutes it took for me to remember and turn back.

Yes, I figured the ring lasted about ten seconds.

Greg dozed back asleep.  I stewed.  Got philosophical.  Decided I was way too materialistic.  Got angry at society for its silly traditions (Why do people need things like rings to show commitment, anyway?).  Convinced myself that I shouldn’t be allowed rings – or expensive sunglasses, for that matter.  He slept; I self-flagellated. (By the way, nothing kills a romantic reunion faster than one person’s self-recriminations.)

When he woke up in the morning, I pronounced that I would buy myself another ring just like that one.  “It won’t quite be the same, of course,” I said self-pityingly. “It won’t hold the sentiment or romance of the one you gave me … “  Still, at least I’d have it. Maybe some day I’d forget my stupidity.  Or not.

Greg didn’t pay heed to my babbles.  Instead, he dialed the airport.  (How’d I end up with someone so sensible?)

“Yes,” said the person at BGI, “we have a ring here.  It was turned in last night by the woman who cleans the bathrooms.”

While ring-obsessing all night and that morning, I hadn’t even looked outside our bedroom window.  I hadn’t seen the glorious, god-given aqua sea that binds people’s hearts forever to Barbados.  Didn’t need to.  For me it was the kind Bajan cleaning woman … a person with a good heart and generous spirit … it was she who caused me to fall in love with Barbados.

I just wanted to share with you a photo of the inaugural guests, mother and daughter Jane & Francesca.  They arrived at 11 a.m. this morning and seem delighted to be in Barbados and in this spankin’ new apartment.

As you know, three weeks ago, #8 was nothing but, um, what you see here: no appliances, no hot water, no drapes, only one working electrical plug, no furniture, and no air-conditioning (the AC electrical wires hanging out of the wall, which I managed to poke my eye with more than once, are awfully attractive, though, don’t you think?):

Sampling color options ... (Btw, have you ever noticed that "before" pics are almost always fuzzy?)

What impressed me was that, even in such a state, this lovely Canadian was willing to rent the place 1) sight-unseen, 2) unfinished, 3) from a complete stranger whom she couldn’t necessarily trust to have it in good enough condition for habitation on such short notice, and 4) never having been to Barbados before.  I warned Jane that the appliances might not arrive before she did … she went ahead and rented it anyway.  She told me this morning she just had a good sense about it.

Fortunately, the place WAS finished on time, showing that Type A personalities are good for something … Hmm, but I do miss those eye-pokers hanging out of the wall ….

Welcome to Barbados, Jane & Francesca!

My little “before and after” show follows … (if you’re into this sort of thing, you can see some of my work here on my StagingBarbados site). I love before/afters. I blame long Jet Blue flights watching “Design on a Dime”-type shows five hours straight for this addiction.

(Hey, what are we doing inside so much these days??  Really, you and I both should get out more. In fact, this minute we should be dancing in the sunshine at Reggae on the Hill. Ahem, right after this …)

Living room, "before"

Same view, "after"

Living room "bar" wall, "before" (the wooden thing there is the day bed that would eventually go into the second bedroom)

Same area, "after"

Second bedroom, "before"

Second bedroom, "after"

Kitchen, "before"

Kitchen, "after" (no particular thanks to me on this one ... just shows the teeth filling in the gaps in the smile

Master bedroom, "before" (doesn't show mirrors to the right)

Master bedroom, same area, "after"

Master bedroom looking into living room, "before." (Gosh, these blurry photos really do enhance the before-ness, don't they? I thought I had auto-focus on on my camera, but I apparently didn't.)

Same view, "after"

My interest in photography exceeds my talent, so I'll be taking Ronnie's six-week course.

From the harbour in Bridgetown to Jack in the Box Gully to Cove Bay in St Lucy (more on Barbados geography here), we traveled through rugged country and quaint villages dotted with brightly painted chattel houses — and rum shops and churches, in equal number, and usually next door to each other.  Which is convenient: there is a rum shop in Barbados for every 150 adults; men go there to socialize as much as to drink, while Barbadian women tend to use the church as their social outlet.

Throughout the day, we laughed, learned, shot photos, and saw parts of the island off the beaten path.  Oh, if only school had taught its lessons so pleasurably.

Hey, did you know that Barbados was once two separate islands?

Or that this limestone coral island rose up from the sea some 500,000 years ago from the movement of two tectonic plates (giving rise to the question of which plate – and therefore which hemisphere – does Barbados belong to)?

Cruise passengers consistently rate the day trips they take with Ronnie Carrington their favorite activity.

Or that the rivers in Barbados flow underground through the limestone that comprises this island?

Or that Barbados has one of the best natural water supplies in the world?

(If you’re interested in the history of the island’s geography, climate, slavery, parishes, its status as the “foremost colonial possession of the Western Hemisphere,” and more, check out this classic tome, all 700+ pages of which are here as a free Google book: History of Barbados, by Robert Hermann Schomburgk, published in 1971.)

A Barbados bull with a knowing look ... yep, he's seen a tourist or two in his day.

In between photo-op stops, Ronnie regaled us with photo tips and amazing-but-true stories about Barbados history as we drove.  My favorite was a wonderful narrative about Winston Hall, a prisoner at Barbados’ prison who became a sort of folk hero because of his numerous escapes from prison lasting years at a time and facilitated by his excellent knowledge of the island’s 300 miles of gullys.

On his final imprisonment, the warden of the prison proclaimed that, with the improvements he’d made, “only Houdini could escape this time.”  When Hall did escape, he became known as Hall-Dini and the warden was fired. An article about Winston Hall’s last stand, in 2006, is here.

In wonderment of Barbados' beauty, Greg and I study beautiful Cove Bay.

Ronnie Carrington’s photography/island tour … a first-class way to spend a day in Barbados. $60US per person, including buffet lunch and plenty of great wine.  Find out more here.  If you’re interested in an all-inclusive photographic holiday with Ronnie, go here.

Gorgeous Bajan Butts at Crop Over 2005. Photo by Keith Clarke

Indeed, in the States, someone you know could gain a hundred pounds and NO ONE would say a word (to their face). Someone takes off five pounds and everyone says, “Hey, you’re looking terrific … ”

We Yanks Just Don’t Talk About It.  Not about that, not about getting fat. Legendary for our puritanical views of sex, we will ask about your sex life before we ask why you’re fattening up like Christmas goose. Obesity is our individual — and our national — shame.

So I was surprised when someone I barely know said to me one day last year, “Since you been comin’ to Barbados, girl, you’ve put on size.”

I glared at her. “Whaaaaaat did you say?”

She clarified what I had just heard clear as a bell: “Your ass gettin’ bigger,” she said.

I couldn’t believe the audacity!  I looked behind me as though my behind were standing back there like a sorry third party unable to defend itself.

Never mind that it was true, I pushed back, “Did you just say I am getting fat?”

She looked me as though I was making a big deal about nothing.  “Yes,” she glared back, “that’s what I said.”

I had never heard anyone mention my putting on size, as the Bajans call it.

Flash forward to yesterday: I ran into this woman again.  I hugged her.  I reminded her of this exchange and apologized for being so touchy.  It was a trigger response, I explained, because No One in America comments on another person’s fat, either being or getting.

In the year and 3 months I’ve lived here, I’ve learned that Bajans call a spade a spade .. and a fattie a fattie.

Now that I’m accustomed to it, I have to say, I love it — not getting chubby, which, of course, I hate … what I love is the freedom to say the obvious.  Taking it out of the dark, silent place it’s hidden removes the shame of picking up a few pounds.

It’s really No Big Deal here in Barbados to talk about fat.

Interestingly, my weight is more stable here in Barbados – even with all the Bajan sweets I love so – than it ever has been in my life.

P.S.  On, ahem, the same topic …. Have you had the Coconut-Rum Creme Brulee at Little Arches restaurants?  I did last night … so rummy, so coconutty, beautiful crust on top … it was sooooooo good … SO good in fact that I’m tempted to compare it to ….

Oops, almost forgot: we Americans don’t talk about sex.

The story is about a man who complains to his rabbi that his home is too small for the family.  Too crowded.  Chaotic.

Lord, could I relate.  Before my husband Greg and I gave up our apartment for a week so that a family from St Louis could have its Barbados holiday (see the story of my foul-up here), I regularly complained that our 1100-square-foot apartment was too small for us.

Yes, the view is beautiful, but the living space, I argued, was meant for people on holiday, not for two people to live day in and day out. Particularly with one of us working at home … Yep, I decided, the place was just too darned small.  Too crowded.  Chaotic.

I didn’t consult a rabbi; instead I proposed we buy Condo #1 here at St Lawrence Beach Condominiums.  It’s got three bedrooms and quite a bit more living space.

Crunching numbers, we realized we cannot afford Condo #1.

The man’s rabbi did not recommend he buy a larger condo.  Instead, he recommended the man bring some chickens and roosters into his home.

Puzzled, the man went home and brought the animals into his already-crowded house.  Things got worse.

Could I relate … The family from St Louis took our place and we moved into Condo #8 in the same building.

Things were way worse in #8 than they had ever been in our own place.  We may as well have had chickens for the chaos of our lives the week we spent in #8.  #8 actually hasn’t earned the title of “condo” yet as it’s hardly more than a construction site:  it has running water only in the two very small bathrooms, no draperies, no furniture, no AC, no appliances, no TV, no DVD.

Lots of dust and one bare bulb in the living room for reading at night.

We set up a king bed in the living room, bought a Styrofoam ice chest and made the best of things.  Trying to stay positive, Greg and I would periodically look at the other then outside, nod, and say, “great view.”

The man in the Yiddish parable went back to his rabbi and complained that now, with the chickens and roosters, everything was utter pandemonium in his household.

The rabbi told the man to bring in some goats.

“Oy vey,” the puzzled man said … he did as he was told and brought in goats.

The place was an utter madhouse.

As with us in #8, clothes piled on the dusty floors, dirty plastic bowls stacking up in what will someday be a kitchen, Greg and me arguing over who misplaced our two spoons, ice melting in our Styrofoam ice chest faster than we could dump the melted ice and get new.

Finally, in utter despair, the man said to the rabbi, “Rabbi, it’s horrible. I cannot stand my home.  It’s wretched and horrible and I’m going mad with the chaos.”

The rabbi said, “Go home and get rid of the chickens and the roosters and the goats.”

The man did so.

On Saturday evening, the folks from St Louis left and Greg and I moved back into our little two-bedroom condo.

Getting rid of the animals in his home, the man felt perfect peace … his place seemed quiet, peaceful, lovely in all ways.  He’d never known such happiness in his home. He thanked the rabbi for solving all his problems.

Likewise, Greg and I waltzed into our place and spun through it with complete joy.  “It’s so beautiful,” we exclaimed, as though we’d never seen our apartment before.  “Wow … space!” we exclaimed as we danced around.  “A place for everything!”

Did I used to complain about the paradise in which we live?  I can’t remember now … I just know I love our beautiful home.

Did I tell you how spacious it is?

Thank you, Mr Marley

Listen to Bob Marley’s “One Love”

2-09-shame-and-scandal

Jamaican Bob Marley is the defacto ambassador of the Caribbean islands.  His image is ubiquitous on every island I’ve visited (t-shirts mostly, but other things as well), his music is played with joy and reverence, and his Rastafarian belief in “One World, One Love” resonates today more than ever.

He was 36 in 1981 when he succumbed to cancer.

The official Bob Marley website claims the reason Mr Marley’s music still touches all ages and cultures of people around the globe is because it “embodies political repression, metaphysical and artistic insights, gangland warfare and various periods of mystical wilderness.”

I’m not sure what mystical wilderness is, but I do know his music is simply beautiful to listen to.

Like Seth’s.  Seth is not only a street vendor. He’s also a musician, a political rabble-rouser, and all-around character in St Lawrence Gap (and I suspect everywhere he goes).  I bought his CD, provocatively titled “Murder One,” a five-minute tune.  Okay, not tune, exactly — more of a political commentary with a beat.

The fanciful art of Seth, St Lawrence Gap, Barbados

I love Seth’s art.  He bends metal wire into fanciful characters depicting life in Barbados.  One figure is playing a bass, another is wielding a cricket bat.  The one that struck my fancy was a guy lounging in a hammock strung up between two palm trees.  Yes, that was the one I wanted.

While we were chatting about his art, Seth made me a little wire character on the spot.  I tried bending the wire myself and couldn’t even bend it into an “L” shape, while he was curving it and shaping it as though it were made of clay.

While he was deftly looping the wire between his fingers into a face and then a body and then a body animated, I asked Seth the source of his art and commented how satisfying it must be to create.  (Why oh why do I say these things?  I mean, “source of his art”?  “how satisfying?”  I’m so northern Californian I even make myself groan.)  But then, hey, Seth’s an artist, a man with a soul … So yes, I guess I did think I’d get a deeply contemplative — even philosophical — answer.

He looked me in the eye and responded deadpan, “I like to eat.”

I felt like an idiot.

Then again, when you’re hungry, that answer is deep.  Damn deep.

]]> http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?feed=rss2&p=480 7 http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?p=277 http://planetbarbadosblog.com/?p=277#comments Sun, 22 Feb 2009 17:59:49 +0000 Jane Shattuck Hoyos http://onelovebarbados.com/?p=277 I’m at my first Trinidad Carnival and from what I’ve seen so far — the children’s carnival and a steel pan competition  — it’s a whirl of color, music, dance, competitions, and fun all occurring at typically inefficient Caribbean speed.

Did I say ‘inefficent’?  I really need to stop using that term; I believe the socially correct term here in the Caribbean is “laid-back-hey-mon-wat’s-de-hurry” speed.  The children in the Kiddies’ Carnival were so adorable that I wasn’t bothered by the parade being stuck in one place much of the time.

But last night’s Panorama competition seemed unnecessarily slow, with up to 45 minutes of a single song being played over and over again until the next band’s 8-minute appearance on stage – playing the its interpretation of the song we’d just been listening to.

Still, once I got my Type-A self to take a back seat, I have to say the Pamorama competition was lots of fun and really super entertainment.  The talented, 100-strong group Silver Stars took the gold in the prestigious competition, winning $1m playing an upbeat rendition of “First In De Line.”  Waiting 45 minutes for them (and seven other bands) to come on?  Hey, mon, don’t worry ..

Our Trini holiday had auspicious beginnings. Or maybe not auspicious.  Maybe the events leading up to our holiday were just typically Caribbean.

The day before leaving Barbados the entire country spent much of the day without internet (here’s a wonderful piece from Barbados Free Press on a similar outage a few weeks ago).  Imagine if other whole countries were down for the better part of a day; economies would fall (further).  Here in the Caribbean?  Hey, mon, don’t worry …

The day we left for Trinidad, the toilets at Grantley Adams International Airport were not flushing.  Imagine if the same problem occurred at JFK or SFO or LAX.  On second thought, don’t imagine it … really, don’t.  Hey, mon, don’t worry …

We boarded Caribbean Airlines  on time but then sat waiting 40 minutes to take off because some doofus tourist had lost his wallet in the airport. Sweat the delay? Hey, mon, don’t worry …

The J’Ouvert souca bands play in the streets tomorrow beginning well before dawn; as an early bird, I really can’t wait; the energy will be wonderfully upbeat and loads of fun.   Muddy people hugging revelers like us is involved, so best to get a good night’s sleep and wear casual clothes.

Right now, we’re vegging in our hotel room at the Hilton, where we’ve called the front desk three times trying to get coffee sent up.  Need caffeine?  Hey, mon, don’t worry …

I won’t.

Miami Beach Delano Hotel Pool

If Miami Beach were a cat, it would be a sleek black panther wearing rings on 3 fingers and getting out of its red Ferrari … slowly, so that as many people as possible could see.

If Barbados were a cat, it would be a pretty little tabby stretched out in the warm sun with a rum punch nearby, smug in the knowledge that it was the very best cat anywhere, no need to roar about it.

I had a great time in sleek Miami Beach where, even in the current economic downturn (in Miami one might call it blight), there’s no bling shame.  The ‘haves’ show off their Astin Martins; the ‘used-to-haves’ relax next to the Delano pool in Gucci bikinis and charge it.

Both locales are seaside retreats, but like panther and tabby, the two places couldn’t be more different.

In Miami Beach, the buildings, like its women, are tall and sleek.  The hotels feature avant-garde art such as the table and chairs in the pool. Open-air cabanas next to the pools are air-conditioned.  The cute-little-purebred-dog population calls for doggie boutiques the size of Cave Shepard.

Our buildings are, like our island, petit.  ‘Avant-garde’ and ‘Barbados’ don’t belong in the same sentence.  The frugality built into our English heritage doesn’t allow for blatant waste of precious resources.  And here, mutts rule and not one of ‘em has its own sweater.

Miami Beach

There, beaches are as long as our entire perimeter.  The sand is brownish and chilly in the mornings.  The color of the sea is dusty blue; the water’s cold. Our beaches are as white as sugar, warm as toast, and our water as brilliant as Miami bling.

I had a blast. Loved every minute. Adored that Miami Beach keeps up appearances, just as the Rockefellers would if they fell on hard times.

I’ll return soon. But right now I’m happy to stretch out in the sun, rum punch nearby.

What’s with Barbados drivers and their horns?

My first morning ever in Barbados, a car passed I while I was out walking with a friend and sounded a trill from the car horn.  Instinctively I glanced at the car sounding his horn.

My Bajan friend didn’t even look up.  He knew the beep was not for us.

The man walking ahead of us, though, waved and yelled a greeting at the honking car without even looking at it.

The beep was for him and he knew it the same way a bird knows another bird’s chirp is for him.  The honkee knew the style of this honker’s signature and responded as though the sound of the horn had been a statement, not a sound.

My Bajan friend explained that when Bajans are behind the wheel of a car, they don’t just drive, they talk. In honks.

Honking is a personal and varied form of communication in Barbados. Most horns don’t even have a “honk” sound; most horns here are musical.

“Yankee Doodle Dandy” is a favorite. I’ve also heard trumpets. The drivers of the white-with-burgundy-stripe shuttles drive like demons, most of them, and their impotent high-pitched lilting honks belie their devil-may-car driving style.

Most blows of the horn are done with Barbadian laid-backness; they’re friendly. Rarely does a driver lean on his or her horn, New York City cabbie-style. There’s a warmth in the blowing of a horn here.

A brief, musical sounding of a horn says, “Hello, I know you and I acknowledge you.” If you don’t respond to the first toot, they’ll sound the call of the friendly horn again.

If you ignore them again, the honker takes it as a snub and you may as well forget getting invited to that person’s Christmas party.

If you do respond, you’re reinforcing social relationships and all is well.

Guys flirt with women with the musical call from their car. (I always wonder if men who call out to women using their car horn would dare speak to a woman if there was no car to protect their male egos.) Women don’t flirt with men the same way, though. They’re more subtle. Unless, of course, a whole carload of women are out trolling for cute men. Then, the horns will sound their mating call.

Then there’s headlight-flashing

The flash of headlights means “be my guest, I will yield to you.”  A lovely, quiet gesture and much-appreciated on our crowded streets.

You have a name – and you have a license plate number

On the way to a business meeting, I got lost.  I called the person I was meeting and told her I was … somewhere … I wasn’t sure where … on Enterprise Road … Yes, I answered her, I could see the lighthouse.

“Stay there,” she told me, “I’ll come find you.  What’s your license plate number?”

What’s my license plate number? “I don’t know what my license plate number is,” I answered.  “Wouldn’t it be easier to find me,” I asked, “if I told you the color and make of my car?”

She ignored my American naivete and came and found me.

I’ve since learned that nearly everyone knows the license plate numbers of their friends’, co-workers’ and even aquaintances’ cars. My husand and I pull into the parking lot at Dwellings and he notes that so-and-so and so-and-so are in the store.

Hm. One of the best things about living in a small place is that everyone knows your name – and license plate number.  One of the worst things about living in a small place is that everyone knows your name – and license plate number.

Holiday rental in Barbados

So Easy Anyone Can Do It!

Simply Choose One Word from Each of the Four Columns Below

Barbados                        Sandy                     Scape                     Hotel
Coral                               Reef                        Outlook                  Villas
Silver                              Beach                      View                       Club
Sugarcane                      Bay                          Vista                       Resort
Tropical                          Shallows                Coast                      Condominiums
Ocean                              Sands                     Heights                  Inn
Bella                                Surf                         Cliff                        House
Pink                                Cove                        Harbour                Cottages
Blue                                Lagoon                                                   On-the-Sea
White                             Mist                                                         East
Island                            Heaven                                                   West
Hibiscus (any tropical flower)                                                  Point
Butterfly                       Haven                                                     Suites
Almond                         Shores                                                    Court
Golden                                                                                           One
Sunset                                                                                            Two
Sunrise
Turtle
Clearwater
Tropical
Sand Dollar
Coconut
Pineapple

It’s not about the number of stars.  It’s about the ambiance of the place.  Look at this place … Nope, I wouldn’t and if I’m ever there, I won’t:

No-Name, No-Sex Hotel

I don’t care how much in love I am or how hot for my guy I might be … this environment is not gonna get him any.  Greg and I have a couple of times chosen, um, unwisely.  In Antigua recently, I chose the place we stayed. Looked pretty great online.  The place even looked okay from the outside once we got there.  But the moment we entered the room, I looked at him, and shook my head.  He knew.

He found us new accommodations the next morning.

I mention this because I rent out condos at the St Lawrence Beach Condominiums in Barbados.  And really and truly, no matter how great the view (and the sea views of these condos would knock the socks off even the most jaded traveler), the sex appeal of the actual accommodation itself still matters.  Greg and I live in one condo at St Lawrence Beach Condos and own a second one that we let as a holiday rental.

Now, before I get into the getting-cozy part, I need to give the uninitiated some background info on Barbados’ south coast buildings.

Here in Barbados buildings aren’t so much constructed as assembled. New places are going up down the Gap; I watch the workers erect large pre-manufactured concrete slabs to make walls, floors, and ceilings as though they’re giant kids’ toys.  One concrete slab, then another at a perpendicular angle, window and openings pre-cut. God help the workers who might mistake a wall for a floor and end up with windows in odd places …

The net effect of this building method is that structures here on the south coast of Barbados lack architectural charm.  Nary a detail suggests that a building might have been lovingly crafted or might have come from the imagination of a developer who wants to offer something to this beautiful island that is as special as the island itself.

I realize that building is expensive, but this method of so-called construction is a crying shame.

Yet I own two of them.  One concrete box is my home.  Another is my rental property.  The challenge for Miss-it’s-gotta-be-sexy is that the concrete box Greg and I live in needs to be cozy enough to be our home. The other concrete box needs to be cozy and attractive enough to charge money for.  A to-die-for view is fabulous to have, but it’s just not enough; anyway, you can’t see the dreamy aqua sea at night …

When I decorated both these places, the guiding force in my mind was: Would I want to get cozy here?

All my getting-cozy talk is hardly as salacious as it sounds (sorry) … it’s just a way to describe an atmosphere I wish to create for my new husband and me as well as for renters coming from halfway across the globe to visit Barbados.

I’m happy to report that, um, Greg and I have a cozy life together.  And from the glows of the people renting from us one floor below, I think I’ve done pretty well with the rental apartment, too.

There’s a Part II to this blog post; stay tuned.  In the meantime …

Let me slip into something more comfortable at #11, St Lawrence Beach Condominiums in Barbados

I lived in Albuquerque for 13 years.  The best thing I can say about Albuquerque is that it’s easy to find a parking spot there.

As a city, I didn’t love Albuquerque. But I learned something really important there:  You can’t tell how rich someone is by looking at them.  Not like you can on the East Coast where wealth is broadcast as plainly as a funny fez hat broadcasts membership in a men’s lodgers’ club. Let’s see, what’s the I-am-rich checklist in New York, New York, and Boston?  Louis Vuitton briefcase? Check.  Rolex watch? Check.  Manolo shoes?  Check.  Mercedes Benz?  Check.

In Albuquerque, the guy in jeans and a muddy cowboy boots might be as wealthy as the bling-y guy from Boston with the LV briefcase – you just wouldn’t see his wealth.

Actually, the same is true to a lesser extent in my home state of Colorado, where my ancestors homesteaded land that is still a working farm today.  When my uncle wrote me that he’d love to give me away at my wedding he asked if he could wear his overalls.  He was kidding, but I wasn’t kidding when I wrote back that I’d be proud if he did.

So. I didn’t know how to respond to the gentleman who inquired about a holiday rental at St Lawrence Beach Condominiums yesterday.  He asked me, “How would you classify the neighbourhood that the Condo is located in: high end, middle/average or Blue Collar?”

Meet Tony, owner of Silverback Gorilla Catamaran Rental, based on Dover Beach in St Lawrence Gap, Barbados

I actually had never thought about how one might characterize the south coast of Barbados or St Lawrence Gap with regard to wealth of the neighborhood.  I was flummoxed.  I’m so caught up in how blessedly authentic the south coast is as a holiday destination … Real people live and work and play here and that’s what I see.

We eat like kings seaside at Josef’s next door, walk hand-in-hand on Dover Beach, take an afternoon swim in the sea, kick back at Southern Palms with a rum punch, trade small talk with the street vendors … it’s not that money is completely unimportant – it’s just not the focus of life.  And whatever Four Seasons-type resort St Lawrence Gap lacks, it makes up for in character with its roosters and occasional green monkey, scruffy Reggae Lounge, and, er, actual characters.  God bless ‘em.

Still can’t answer the gentleman’s question.  What would you have said??  (Nothing snarky now…!)

I was never that hardy. But I could handle it.

But now … well, I’ve become a cold, cold chick.

Right now I’m in a hotel room in Williamsburg, Virginia, trying to get warm from having been outdoors where it’s 28 degrees F and quite grey, even though the sun is shining.  Greg and I thought it would be great fun to spend the holidays traipsing through Colonial Williamsburg watching butter being churned by folks dressed as 17th-century American settlers.

But my Bajan guy and me … our holiday has consisted primarily of visiting the fabulous William & Mary college bookstore and sipping hot cider wherever we can. We’re having lots of fun, but our goal is to have fun staying indoors.

From Barbados to Winnipeg

The same thing, on a smaller scale, happens to guests who stay in our Barbados holiday apartments (St Lawrence Beach Condos) … Once they’re back home in England, Scotland, Estonia, Canada, or all the other exotic cold climes from which they hail, they send me e-mails of longing for the brilliant blue (warm!) sea, the (warm!) December evenings they sat at a seaside restaurant in strapless dresses and shirt sleeves and enjoyed a fine Bajan meal, the suitcase they carried that contained nothing much more than a swimsuit and cover-up … because Barbados is warm.  And not just warm: it’s brilliantly colored in blues and aquas. Photos taken for Barbados post cards don’t need to be Photoshopped.

I took this photo off our balcony on Dec 16th, the day before we left on holiday to New York, DC, and Williamsburg.

So … I’ve been indoors now for nearly an hour now and am finally warming up … phew! Cold chick … cold, cold chick. Well, at least with my guy I’m cold in good company.

(Just so you know, this cold chick’s got a warm heart.)

I’ve been living in Barbados full-time since January 08.  I admit that living down the street from Whole Foods in San Francisco spoiled me a bit.  Being from the Land of Plenty made the come-down all the harder when I first encountered Big B.  I expected grocery stores here might not stock such esoteric products as my favorite Greek yogurt … but I fully expected lots of good produce.

Alas, oranges are small, seedy, and dry.  Pineapples are without flavor.  Berries are almost non-existent and when I find a sad little display of them they’re usually not worth buying.  I live on grapefruits and bananas, both plentiful and delicious (and mostly locally grown).

My partner Greg (a native Bajan) says that Big B’s goal is to take one’s expectations to zero so that they can easily exceed them.

In Big B this morning I spied bright red, big, fat, juicy-looking strawberries. They had a Driscoll’s sticker on them; I’ve had my issues with Driscoll in the States but snapped up several plastic containers of strawberries and happily paid the equivalent of $10.50US for each.

Home from Big B, I opened the first box and pulled one out as though it were a Maison du Chocolat morsel of heaven.

Darned good. And eaten with much gratitude. Absence does make the heart grow fonder … oh, not for my lover necessarily, but definitely for strawberries.