We never do beach trips. Well, almost never: last year we went to Barbados for our anniversary and liked it well enough that surprise! here we are again, lounging on the shore.
We flew in last Saturday. The long five hour flight was pleasant enough -- Terri found a great deal on business class seats -- but we ran into some unpleasantness with a rude immigration agent because the AA flight attendant had given us incorrect information about the proper forms. We got that straightened out with an amiable agent and eventually were on our way, checking in at Southern Palms around 9.
Sunday morning we went out for breakfast. The first place we stopped at was crowded but with only one waiter, so we were the ones doing the waiting. We gave up after fifteen minutes and walked to another place further down the road. The waitress gave us menus and then, once more, we waited. And waited. We gave up and headed to yet a third place. We were promptly served one of the biggest breakfasts I've ever had: eggs and bacon and sausage and potatoes and baked beans and a huge stack of toast. Between the waiting and the eating, our breakfast excursion took two hours.
Sunday, our first full day here, Terri wanted us to go on a scenic bus tour provided by the Barbados Transport Board. That meant getting into Bridgetown, the capital, so we walked out to the main road to catch a bus. We waited and waited, but no bus. We did, however, see a 'route taxi' every minute or two, a mini-van packed with people that honked its horn, screeched to a stop and flung open a door when they saw us, but we waved them off. ('Route taxis' are a type of transport common in developing countries; the mini-vans travel along standard routes, often the same as the regular buses, picking up and dropping off passengers along the way. The driving can be fast and hazardous, and the passengers get to listen to loud reggae music as the van careens from stop to stop.) Again a route taxi stopped and this time the conductor was so insistent and persuasive that we hopped on board. We had been warned about these route taxis, but in the event all was fine, there were open seats, the people were friendly, we arrived safely, and the music was catchy.
After wandering around Bridgetown for a short while we got on a real bus for our 2 p.m. scenic tour. We began with 10 people on one bus but fifteen minutes later we were in a caravan of five buses, every one packed with families, mothers and grandmothers and children and infants and strollers and picnic coolers. What we thought was an outing for tourists turned out to be a popular way for Barbadians to get out and enjoy a Sunday afternoon. And the tour itself was over five hours long, up the middle of the island to Cherry Tree Hill, then over to the Atlantic coast, to Little Bay and River Bay, where we stopped at the picnic grounds. It was such fun and so pleasant to be with and talk to so many nice people enjoying themselves.
Monday morning went more smoothly, beginning with a hearty breakfast across the street. Around noon, almost 48 hours after we had arrived, I got to do what I most wanted to do all along: sit on the beach.
And that's what we did all day Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday. We begin by putting a couple of lounge chairs in the shade of a palm tree. We get up every so often and wade out into the cool, bracing surf. We lie in the sun sometimes. We move the lounge chairs as the sun travels overhead to keep them in the shade. We watch the waves and stare out at the beautiful blue waters.
I cannot capture in a photograph the sublime peace and contentment of sitting on a beach, but I have taken a few snaps nonetheless. Here's my Flickr photos.
