Go Native in Barbados

The island is 20 miles long and 14 miles wide, 250,000 people, summer temperature of about 85 degrees, and the US dollar vs the Barbados dollar is 2/1. Tourism is the largest industry with sugar cane at second. The literacy rate is at 98% here, so most people are educated and articulate. Although they speak English very rapidly compared to us Texans, you eventually get used to it after a few days. Even though tourism is the leading source of funds for the island, the government here has wisely kept the vultures, namely McDonalds and the like, at bay and out of the country. There is only one fast food chain here and it is locally owned. I think this allows Barbados to maintain their cultural identity.

Personally, I like two things about Barbados. The variety of the beaches and the people. Each side of the island has a different type of water to experience, which is interesting. The West Coast is calm, shallow, secluded and more for locals. The North side of the island is rugged and mountainous with a wildlife reserve and good hiking tours to be had. The South Coast is calm, shallow and the center of tourism. The East Coast is the rugged Atlantic side, best known for surfing, rocky beaches and some very challenging swimming. All around the island though, the water is clear and the sand is slightly pink. The people here are very friendly. Usually, the locals keep tourists at arm's length. Willing to take our money but not have any prolonged contact. But here, everyone has been exceptionally nice in a very easy, natural way. You almost get the feeling you are making friends, which is refreshing. Although we knew they relied on money from tourism to survive, it was still nice to get to know the local culture a bit, which wasn't the case in Jamaica or Grand Cayman.

After our twelve hour trip to Barbados and two hours waiting in line at Customs, our taxi driver, Harold, drove us quickly down narrow streets to our condo. Since we had rented the condo on the net, Brian and I had began half-joking with each other that maybe the condo didn't exist and with that in our minds as we drove down dark and secluded streets, we wondered if we were being whisked away to our deaths. Our doubts were allayed as we arrived at our condo and were greeted by the manager of the complex, Pat. Dressed in a papery cotton nightgown with a black bra and panties clearly visible underneath, she greeted us with nothing short of warmth in a British accent. The condo complex was a slightly worn-down white stucco building, which was like most of the buildings in Barbados. Inside was an open-aired living room that opened out to a balcony, a small fully functional kitchen, and an air-conditioned bedroom and bathroom. There was no distinguishing style to the place, but it was clean. Especially for the price we paid. It wasn't until then that I was able to relax and accept that we hadn't been ripped off.

We quickly put our bags down and decided to go out for our first meal. Unfortunately, we had arrived too late and all the kitchens were closed. So we decided to have a liquid dinner instead. Following our belief that the most crowded bar is the best bar, we stopped in at Bennys. It had the look of a local hangout, but it wouldn't be until the next day that we found out we were wrong. We drank a few Banks beers (the beer of Barbados) and sat on the curb as little British soccer boys flitted past in the street in their long surf shorts and front-flip hairstyles. We hung out for another hour, but there was no sign of him so we went back to the condo and watched Big Daddy. For some reason, we would continue to make references to Scuba Steve for the remainder of our vacation. Mainly when Brian put on his scuba mask...

Today we had to go to the grocery store, which was a block away, to get breakfast and lunch food and a few beers. But first we stopped at Flint Patissirie for some coffee and a croissant. Brian can spot a good coffee spot a mile away, I tell you. At the supermarket, as they call it here, we could only buy what we could carry back down the street, not realizing yet that we could pay one of the bag boys to walk it back for us. We wondered why, when we paid, that he had looked so disappointed when we declined his assistance, we had robbed him of a tip. So we walked back with our goods and I went back for three(!) bags of ice while Brian prepared us for the beach. When I returned, I was so hot I declared the bedroom to be our Inner Sanctum and decided to keep the window unit on low all day everyday in case we needed a reprieve from the heat during the day. While we were unpacking our goods, a very dark, muscular Black man in his 30's knocked on the door and came in. Wearing a gold necklace, two gold bracelets and four or five gold rings, he introduced himself as Chris, the gardener. From what we could understand, he offered to help us anyway he could.

We took our bucket of Banks, bottle of sunscreen, two books, and beach towels down to the beach. We decided to get in the water to cool off and we weren't in there 30 minutes before Brian stepped on something sharp. "Was it a piece of glass?" I asked. "No, it hurts way more than that!" he said hurrying to get out of the water. I braced myself to see his foot cut in half as he brought it out of the water, but all I could see were three dots of blood on his heel. I was secretly relieved, I tell you, although he appeared to be in excruciating pain which worried me. On the shore, a couple from Germany had witnessed our hasty exit from the water and came over to "inquire of our health." Tyrone, the wave runner rental guy, came up and took a look at Brian's foot and said he had stepped on a land fish and that we should go immediately to the doctor. The urgency in his voice merely increased the already pumping adrenaline in Brian's system and I can honestly say I have never seen a man who was in such a hurry to go to the doctor. While Brian lay sprawled on the bottom step to the condo, I fumbled with the fifteen locks, which all had different unlabeled keys, dropped off our bucket of beer and bag, and retrieved my wallet from the safe. Then I relocked the fifteen locks and we hobbled down the street to the doctor who was luckily only a block away. We described what Tyrone had told us and were told that Brian had indeed stepped on such a fish and that the poison was moving up his leg, which was causing the tremendous pain Brian was feeling. He was given antibiotics and Codeine and told to take it for a week and keep his bandaged foot dry and reclined for two days. For the rest of the day, Brian was in immense pain and ended up taking well over the recommended amount of codeine before it kicked in a little, but became almost bearable for a few hours.

That night, I walked down the street past the neighborhood bar, waved to Chris, and continued on to Angry Annie's for some takeout. While I waited for our food, I went and sat next to Chris (dressed in a Banks muscle shirt that would be the only shirt we would ever see him in) and his friends. Chris raised his hand in the traditional Black man handshake, much resembling an arm wrestling position, and I took it and sat down. Men of all ages sat under the awning of bar and on dilapidated cast iron patio chairs (w/o cushions or seat bottoms) on all corners of the intersection at which the bar sat. People drove by and honked and talked to the men who just all seemed to be tired from working. A tall, athletic man in wet swim trunks carried a beer over to me from across the street. "For the pretty lady," he said. I was starting to like this place... Because I knew Chris, people were comfortable with me and soon I relaxed. I wasn't sure how I would be interpreted when I first walked up. Here I was a white girl, obviously a tourist, in a sea of black men whom I probably had nothing in common with and, for all I knew, couldn't communicate with. Although I could understand Chris' English, I had a hard time understanding complete sentences of the other men. I got about every three or four words, which felt a lot like using the Evelyn Woods speed reading rule of skimming paragraphs for key words. Whether or not this is true or not, I think I was able to use my facial expressions to convey that I knew what they were saying and able to get in phrases like "true, true", "that's right" and "oh yeah". But there was a time when I completely didn't understand what they were saying and yet they all laughed, so who knows if I was successful or not. All I know for certain is that having the courage to sit there alone with them meant something to them because from that point on they were very friendly to us. I explained that my husband had gotten bit by a land fish and that I had better go check on my food and then left, thanking them for the beer. Brian and I dined al fresco on our balcony on flying fish fillets and grilled shrimp at tourist prices. Brian slept fitfully that night with the pain coming and going all night. He took 5-6 codeine pills before the pain was even affected. The last I heard him say before he dozed off was "I don't think I'll be able to go to sleep for awhile.' I chuckled to myself and looked over 15 minutes later to see his eyes closed.

We woke up and made French press coffee and had a bowl of Frosted Flakes on the balcony. The love birds, always traveling in pairs, would come up and beg for scraps. Brian shooed them away but gradually came to like the little boogers, I think... The doctor had asked that Brian come back in this morning so we walked down to his office when we were done with our coffee. A guy I had met the night before, Jeffrey, was sitting on the patio of the local bar as we walked by. The doctor redressed Brian's wound and told him to continue staying off of it and out of the water until Tuesday, at which time he should come back to the doctor. If he made it past Tuesday unscathed, he was home free. It had already been difficult to keep Brian from walking on it so I jokingly asked the doctor what I should do if he doesn't do what I say, to which he quietly replied "cut him off" with his very dry sense of humor.

We left the doctor's office and stopped off at the bar for a beer and a sandwich. The night before, I had seen someone eating a very good-looking sandwich and I wanted to check them out to make sure I wasn't missing anything. After all, the beers here were $1 versus the $3 we were paying a block over at Benny's, so the food had to by just as cheap and probably tasted better. So we walked up to the burglar-barred door and asked the girl carrying a baby on her hip for two ham sandwiches ($2ea) and two Banks. Apparently, a whole family lived in the bar, which you weren't allowed to enter. You merely shouted through the bars and they would come to the door to help you. What a strange life that would be, I thought. As we ate our sandwiches with the local pepper sauce on them, we sat and talked to Jeffrey and a Bob Marley lookalike who never revealed his name to us. Jeffrey began talking about how he went to Scotland for four weeks back in 1994 and how people like to drink over there but they get mean when they're drunk. He went into, what I believe was, a conversation about the importance of respect among people. Remember, I can only get every 2-3 words. But I get the gist of the conversation. Meanwhile, Bob next to us has offered us a cigarette to which we reply that we don't smoke. We continue "talking" to Jeffrey for awhile longer. He is a sweet, thoughtful guy, about 100lbs, black as night, with a seemingly genuine smile and a yellowish tinge to the whites of his eyes. Later, I would discover this was a sign of frequent heroin use. I struggled to listen to his words, so that I didn't hurt his feelings by giving him the impression that I wasn't paying attention to him. I got the impression he doesn't have anyone to talk to about serious topics. Eventually we bid him adieu and went to laze about on the beach. Brian wears a snorkeling sock over his foot to keep the sand out and I swim alone in the sea. We figure if we just move to different spots where Brian can keep his foot up, he would be less bored on what should be his vacation. I am sad that he cannot enjoy the water with me. Tyrone, a 40-ish Black man with plastic-framed glasses and graying hair, comes by to ask about his foot. He tells us the fish Brian stepped on looks like a lion, which is why it is called a Lion fish, not a Land fish as we had initially thought he had called it. We felt like tourists now. Eventually, we go upstairs for fresh drinks and a slice of watermelon.

I had chosen a couple of nice restaurants I wanted to check out and tonight I had made reservations at La Terra, which was within walking distance. Brian said he could walk on the ball of his foot, so we hoofed it to save some coin. The food was truly excellent. We started with ricotta gnocchi with grilled snapper and seared Yellow Fin Tuna for entrees and a bread pudding for dessert. All of it had a very imaginative flavor, which is always a good quality I think! We came back to our room for our 12-hour sleep quotient.

Most everything is closed on Sunday, so we sat on the beach from noon to 4:00. This would, however, be the day I found out a key piece of information that would greatly influence our trip to Barbados. I asked Chris where he ate lunch and he told us about a woman named Princess who sells Bajan food out of a van behind the grocery store. I made a note to check it out tomorrow. While on the beach under our umbrella, a Rastafarian guy with dreds and mirrored Oakleys walked up and offered to take us out on his boat for $30. As he introduced himself, we did our best not to laugh out loud. His name was Ice Man. We declined his services and as he walked away Brian said, in the voice of a very small boy, "Thanks Ice Man." I, of course, had to chuckle%u2026 Eventually, we came in from the beach, showered, and went out to eat dinner at Olives a block away. Sunday is karaoke night at the local bar so there were lots of locals singing and dancing in the street as we walked by after dinner. It was funny because next door is another bar called Ragamuffins that is rarely crowded, but is said to have good food. Anyway, when we walked up, it caught our eye that all the black people were at the local bar and Ragamuffins was packed with white people all hanging out on the balcony. The nonconformist in me rejected Ragamuffins, but it reminded me that Barbados used to be an English colony and home to thousands of slaves which were eventually carted off to other lands. That meant that the locals were all descendants of slaves and I immediately felt compassion for them. We hung around for a beer at the local bar, but eventually rushed home to get into the Inner Sanctum.

We drank our coffee on the balcony while eating bagels and listened to the sound of the ocean. Brian couldn't really walk very far because his foot was hurting again, so I walked down to the supermarket for juice (for our frosty beverages), beer and to look for Princess. Sure enough, there she was. People were lined up at the back of the van choosing what they wanted. The inside of the van was stacked with metal food servers (much like Dots) containing various foods. Mashed potatoes, pork chops, fried tuna steaks, barbequed chicken, pasta, saffron and beef rice, and salad. I ordered the pork shops and tuna steak with rice and pasta. It was enough food for two meals and it cost us about $12 total! I just love finding bargains like this, you know?? And it tasted SO good too... Afterward, Brian sat on the beach while I went shopping for a Bajan cookbook. I ended up being gone for three hours and coming back with some really nice jewelry. In the cab back from Bridgetown (the small shopping mecca in Barbados), the driver talked to me about places we passed and about the Crop Over Festival, which signaled the end of harvest time, next weekend. As we passed The Sands Hotel, which I remember was priced at $300 a night and up, he remarked that there were a lot of lonely people in there. "Some sad bastards," he said. When I asked why, he explained that men he picks up or drops off there don't want drugs, but they want women instead. He thought it was odd that they couldn't get women on their own with all the money they had. Then we had this serious moment where we both agreed that you only need enough money to make you just barely happy.

When I got back, Brian was hungry, so we decided to go down to St Lawrence Gap for dinner. The Gap, as it is called, is known for its nightlife and was where most of the tourists were, so we decided to see what it was all about. So we got in a taxi and for $25, we were taken for a 30 minute ride down to the southern end of the island. As with everywhere else, the streets were very narrow and one-way, but the bars and restaurants looked very charming as we passed by. We had decided to try McBride's Pub for a little variety and because we had had good luck with the irish pub on Grand Cayman. The food was good, but the service left a little to be desired and I got a really bad drink with flat Coke. So we finished up and walked down the street to see what we could see. We stopped in at Sweet Potatoes for a drink and complied with the waiter who apparently sized us up immediately and offered to make us something he knew we would like. He returned with a banana, Baileys, and pina colada drink for me and a dark rum and pineapple, grapefruit drink for Brian. Then we traveled further down the street, but eventually decided to just go back to our neighborhood bar and hang out. So we grabbed a taxi and headed back to the west coast. We caved in again and decided to go back into the Inner Sanctum for microwave popcorn in bed.

We woke up late and had coffee on the balcony again. Brian had what we hoped would be his last doctor's appointment this morning, so we prepared to go down the street. After resting most of the day yesterday, he was now able to put pressure on his heel if he was wearing shoes. While he went to the doctor, I went to get food from Princess. I got enough for dinner as well. We were almost out of ice and rum, so we walked to the supermarket afterward. Then we came back and began to plan Brian's fishing and boating trips for the rest of the week. On Thursday we would go for our sunset cruise on a catamaran and on Friday he would go deep sea diving. We sat on the beach the rest of the day. A guy came up to us on the beach and asked us if we wanted any Horse, but we declined. I learned that Horse was a euphemism for heroin. Brian got a clean bill of health from the doctor, so he was finally able to get back in the ocean again. I told him to look for that Lion fish and let's grill it up, but he never saw one. He snorkeled around in the swimming area while I floated on my raft with my frosty rum beverage in hand. Its very difficult to swim without getting water in your drink, you know. When the sun began going down, we moved to the pool for the first time. Its water was warmer than the ocean's. Chris came by and asked if we wanted to go out on his boat sometime. I, of course, jumped on it and told him to just say the word and we'd be there! That night was unusually cool because it had rained earlier in the day, so we decided to stay in and eat our leftovers.

After our morning coffee, the maid arrived and, since I don't like people around when I'm cleaning, so we left and went to the grocery store for ice, beer and Dramamine for Brian's fishing trip. We also stopped by Princess' van for lunch and carried it all back to the condo. We passed Chris in the street and he said he would come by and get us to go out on the boat in a couple of hours. Brian and I dined on barbequed pork ribs, rice and macaroni. We fixed ourselves a couple of cold beverages and headed down to the beach to sit. Chris waved at us from his boat and we got in. We drove down the beach for an hour or so as he explained who owned what property. We learned that the most expensive hotel on the island has a certain kind of tree on its beach that, when the sap falls, will cause blisters. It doesn't bode well for them because their beach is completely lined with the trees, which is why all their lounge chairs have umbrellas. Then he told us about some English guy that owns three properties right next to each other and that the locals who own property on the beach are unable to hold on to their land because the taxes are too high for them to afford. He told us that he and Pat live together and that they move around to different units within the complex, depending on what is available at the time. They have three interesting looking cats who are white except for big orange spots all over them. When we got back to the condo, we gave Chris a Romeo e Julieta cigar and $20 for his trouble.

We sat on the beach and swam until the sun began to set. Then we came in and showered to watch the sun go down. Then we rode the bus to Speightstown to The Fisherman's Pub for dinner, which wasn't too great. It was featured in a travel guide as "real local cuisine" and they served the same exact food as Princess, only the place was filled with tourists and it wasn't as good. It was located on the beach, but even its location couldn't save it in my opinion, so we just ate and left.

Today is a bank holiday, so many places are closed. We decided to go to Flint Patissirie again for coffee, which is where we discovered that it was a holiday. Then we thought we'd check to see if Princess was there, but she was not and the supermarket was closed. So we went to Cocomo's, which is a restaurant just down the beach from us. Iceman once told us that is where he hangs out, so it couldn't be all that uncool, unless it is where the customers/tourists are... The fish and chips were pretty decent though and although we were facing the beach and surrounded by windows, by the time we were done, we were drenched in sweat. As we prepared to walk back to our condo via the beach, we passed Ice Man at the bar who promptly offered to give us a boat ride to the Crop Over Festival on Saturday if we were interested. Tomorrow was his birthday, so he said he would look for us on Saturday to see if we wanted to go. When we got back to the condo, we realized we had two and a half hours on the beach before we had to meet the cab that would take us to Bridgetown for our sunset cruise. So we went out for an hour or so. The man who had bought me a beer at the local bar a few nights ago came up and talked to us awhile. Told Brian he was a lucky man and all that stuff, which I obviously enjoyed... Then Chris came up and introduced us to a guy who had a green monkey that he sometimes brings on the beach. His name was Edward and he didn't have the monkey with him today but he wanted to sell me a necklace instead, so I figured I was more likely to see the monkey tomorrow if I bought a necklace today. I also figured if I bought one he would be one less person bothering us on the beach. We would still have the aloe vera salesman, the ragamuffin doll saleswoman, and palm tree hat maker to decline though, along with the 5-6 other jewelry salesmen there were. Jeffrey came by while Edward was there and I tried unsuccessfully to gauge whether or not he thought I was getting ripped off. To me, the biggest language barrier is eye contact. Although some things are obvious in their body language, it is almost impossible to read the eyes of someone in another culture. Jeffery didn't smile while the guy was there, but he seemed to be looking deep into my eyes as if he was trying to convey something. Our worlds and experiences were too different.

At 3:00 we met the cabdriver who would take us to Bridgetown. Along the way, he talked about the Crop Over Festival and pointed out where the food and beer stalls would be this weekend from Friday to Monday. This was, in fact, the topic of conversation with just about everyone we came in contact with now, so our interest was piqued. We paid our $120 to get on the catamaran, the Rubiat, and soon we and 15 others were off on our cruise. We went back down the west coast, apparently that is where the waters are calmer, with our rum drinks in hand. We stopped at a shipwreck so everyone could snorkel and then we ate dinner which was, again, the exact same foods that Princess served, only, again, not as good. We still don't know what's up with that... By the time we docked in Bridgetown, we were buzzing so we asked the cab driver to take us to the closest restaurant that HE would eat at. Being one who doesn't eat out, he said he heard his friends talking about Brown Sugar and that they served real Bajan food. So we decided to check it out and asked him to come back in an hour and a half. Brian had peppered fish and I had fried prawns that were all very good. Very spicy%u2026 Plus, its hard to complain about fresh seafood. Afterwards, we considered going out to a bar for some drinks, but we had Brian's snorkeling gear, so we decided to just come back to the condo. Brian passed out while I watched The Replacements. Not much to choose from (four channels) compared to home.

I got up at 6am and couldn't go back to sleep, so I decided to venture out of the Inner Sanctum and see what the beach looked like so early in the morning for once. It was light outside, but it was also very hazy and eerily quiet. So I went back to bed for a couple of hours. We made the last of our Bajan coffee and sat on the balcony. When the maid arrived, we left and went and got some food from Princess and came back to the room so that Brian wouldn't go hungry during his fishing trip. At 11:00 we called Joel, the taxi driver from last night, to pick us up at 12:30 and take us to Bridgetown. I rode down with Brian because I wanted to find the clay patio lights I had seen hanging from all the restaurants in town. It took me awhile to figure out where it was, but when all was said and done, I ended up taking a taxi inland to the Earthworks Pottery Studio. It was situated on a hill and it was quite breathtaking up there, really. Except for the ocean in the distance, pictures of Tuscany came to mind as I looked out at the sugarcane fields below. By the time I was done it was almost time for Brian to be back from fishing, so I called Joel and we went over to the wharf to wait. For two hours. I had a beer and a hot dog while we waited. Joel and I exchanged terminology. Limin' and laggin' means to hang or chill out. I gave him booty-licious, which he thought was funny after I explained its meaning. Brian didn't have any luck fishing though and he looked very tired from being in the sun. We went back to the condo and relaxed since we knew tomorrow was going to be a busy day. We ordered pizza from a place called Pizazz that wasn't hot or very good. In fact, we suspect the cheese on it was bad because Brian had some problems the next day. We do not recommend having pizza in Barbados.

This was the first celebration day of the Crop Over Festival and we wanted to be sure to check it out. Our top-o-the-morning plan was to go to the festival from 11-1:00, come back for an afternoon in the sun and sea, and then go back to the festival for the soca music that night. It took us an hour or more to get to the actual grounds because we were cheap and took a bus downtown, which doesn't drop you off at the right spot and its difficult to tell in which direction to walk from there, so we asked some old men having some sort of old-man debate on a stoop as we walked by. They said to walk down the street no more than a mile and we'd be there, so we did. It was one long street lined with food, beer, craft and toy booths. Soca music blared from large speakers set up every 200 feet on the blocked off street. We stopped first for a Banks, then we had some fish cakes, which were like hushpuppies made out of cod. Very yummy... Then we had some more beer and kept walking. Today was also the only day you can get the traditional Bajan dish of pudding and souse, which sounded good in the Barbados travel guide I had. We finally found a booth that sold it and stood in line. Let me just say that the pudding and souse wasn't for me, so I ended up eating some of Brian's cou-cou and fried chicken, which was out of this world, I tell you. The story behind the pudding and souse is that I had been going on and on about it most of the week and how it sounded really good, while Brian silently believed I wouldn't like it once I knew what it really was. When Saturday came, it became the main reason I wanted to go to the festival, but Brian didn't really think I'd like it anyway so he didn't want to go to the festival. I ended up persuading him that I at least wanted to try it, so we went, only to find out he was right after all... Oh well, at least he can't accuse me of not trying new things, right!?

Anyway, so we hung around the crafts tent and bought some straw bags and began our walk out of the festival. The entire road was blocked so we had to walk a considerable distance to get to where the taxis were allowed to park. Needless to say, we were ready to get in the water by the time we got back to our condo. It was 3:00. The taxi let us out at the local bar and Chris was drinking rum and coke with his friends, so we stopped for a beer. His friend said he wasn't going to the festival because he didn't like the riff-raff down there and about how kids don't respect older people anymore. They aren't raised right. We began to think maybe Chris had more money than most of the guys that hang out there because he is always sharing his rum bottle and cigs. Chris introduced us to an older man who made wire sculptures of people and they looked kinda' cool so we bought one from him. We didn't stay long because we really wanted to get out of the heat and into the water. We swam out to the dock that was moored out about 500 feet from shore and laid out in the sun for a couple of hours. I just can't begin to describe the feeling of absolute contentedness I felt out there. The breeze off the water, the gentle rocking of the dock, man, I nearly fell asleep. Brian snorkeled and pulled me back to shore in the float afterwards. I didn't think I could get more relaxed, but apparently I was wrong. We came in at 5:30 to shower and decide what to do for dinner. We decided to live it up a little and go to a fancy-schmancy place called Lone Star, whose name we decided was probably only cheesy to people from Texas. The food description sounded interesting and it was located on the beach, so it couldn't be bad. It turned out to actually be very good. We put it at #3 on our list so far (under Princess and La Terra). Brian had half a jerk chicken with a salad and I had a medley of prawns, seared tuna and spring rolls in a plum sauce. Not too imaginative, but good quality food. For dessert, we had fried bananas that seemed pan-fried in a brown sugar and butter batter with fried wontons and ice cream on the side. You can probably guess whether they were good or not...

Afterwards, we dashed our plans of going back to the festival. Not only were we full, but we were tired from walking and being in the heat all day. We watched Sex in the City for the third time this week and fell asleep by midnight.

I woke up before Brian and went down the street for coffee and pastries at the Patissirie. By the time I returned he was awake, but tired, since he hadn't gotten his 12 hours. Only 8 actually... I decided I had better go to the supermarket and cash our last traveler's check and get a jug of pepper sauce to carry home with us. When I came back, Brian was snorkeling and we sat on the beach for a while in the shade. We walked down the beach to Cocomos for the French fries I had been craving since last night. As we sat there, we began to sweat profusely and eventually decided to get back in the water so we came back to the condo. Along the way, Brian told me about all the cool bottles he had seen underwater that had washed up to shore and softened by being pounded for no telling how many years by the sand and water. I had noticed the green and blue pieces of glass in the sand, but I guess I thought someone just dropped a bottle or something. Anyway, this intrigued me so I picked up as many as I could find to bring home with me. Maybe I can make something with them, who knows! When I got back to the condo, Brian said he was mad because Jeffery had come by and asked him for money so he gave him a buck and a half. Something about him having a hole in his pocket and all his money falling out, Brian gave him a buck and half. We spent the remainder of the afternoon on the beach.

I made a pitcher of rum/vodka punch so that we could finish all of the liquor we had bought and we tried our best to drink it all. Mr. Reasonable ("what is it with these nicknames?" we asked ourselves) came by to offer us some Horse and we declined. At 6:30 we dragged ourselves out of the water and came in to shower and watch the sunset. We realized that this is exactly what we do at home, except we're on a porch and we don't have the ocean in front of us. I guess we're more creatures of habit than I'd like to think we are... Anyway, for dinner we decided to check out the creole restaurant just down the street. On the way, we passed Chris and his friends out in the street drinking rum and coke. Tonight was karaoke night again at the local bar. At the restaurant, Amanda's, we had fish cakes, seafood gumbo and crab-stuffed chicken with paprika potatoes. Not very creole, but it was good and the price was right. The summer season is so slow, restaurant owners practically beg people to come in off the street. Until now, we had passed them by, but we were glad we stopped in. We knew we had to pack our bags tonight, but we stopped by the local bar for a beer to watch people sing karaoke anyway. There were probably 30-40 people all standing out in the street, while occasionally someone would get up to sing something. Usually, it was Lionel Ritchie, which is quite funny when being sung in a Bajan accent. In fact, while we were eating dinner, we could clearly hear the karaoke. Brian remarked that this would never happen in the US. People would be bitching about how loud the music was and everything. We stayed for a few minutes, but we really wanted to get back to pack so that we could have a relaxing morning before send-off.

We got up early to maximize our morning, made coffee, and sat on the balcony one last time. Barbados is a great place to visit, but we don't think it would be a good place to retire. In fact, I wouldn't bring my kids, especially teenagers, here for vacation because there seems to be quite a large drug trade on the beach itself. Brian and I can spot a dealer in a second, but if some of these tourists knew they were talking to one (and not a guy selling just boat rides), they probably wouldn't come here. Its weird that most of the people we met here in Holetown were either using or selling drugs and financed their habit renting out jet skis and taking people for boat rides. We speculated about the possible class structure here in Holetown that is determined by the amount of gold jewelry a man wears. Chris had, by far, the most jewelry, which explains how he was able to share his drugs and rum with his friends. Most people, though, had yellowish eyes and slurred speech, some had no teeth, and some were incoherent. On the average, the people are what make Barbados a good place to take a vacation. It was weird, but although they were probably on drugs, they were still friendly and nice to us.