Barbados - Oct 11, 2008

10:52AM

I'm sitting poolside with Alice underneath an umbrella table. She's ordering things online now that we've had breakfast at the hotel buffet. Hardly "going native."

11:58AM

It's our final full day before we leave and we've finally made it to the beach at our hotel. I ordered a few books from Amazon.com after we went back to the room. What can I say? I just can't resist a little modern convenience.
We grabbed a couple of lounge chairs and posted up in the shade of a short palm-type tree with long, sharp leaves and a few medium-sized, unripe looking fruit dangling in such a way that we hope gravity doesn't bring them down on our heads. The shade is essential now that we are nursing sun burns over about 70% of our bodies. Our catamarantrip yesterday, while lovely, left us exposed for several hours to a tropical sun that is unkind and unforgiving to white night-accustomed flesh. Despite our best efforts, the wearing of hats and the constant reapplication of sunscreen, the all-to-familiar rubicund hue, accompanied by the associated burning sensation in the worse spots, has set in. My mother, a sun seeker on only the most unhealthiest of levels, would be proud.

Yesterday, our shuttle to the boat picked us up around 20 minutes late, which was fine by us. Within a few minutes we were squared away on board with the rest of the group, mostly consisting of older British people and a few French Canadians.
As we sailed up the West Coast of the island, the weather was beautiful, but menacing dark clouds spewing the kind of torrential downpour we had been dodging for the previous couple of days could be seen in the distance.

After about 45 minutes, we pulled into a small cove with clean looking blue water and a few other catamaran that were far more crowded looking than ours.
The crew told us that this was a prime spot for sea-turtles, and it was. Unfortunately, we never caught more than a glimpse. From the minute we hit the water, Alice's snorkeling gear began giving us problems. Her life vest, not being adjusted properly, kept riding up into her neck and causing her to incessantly roll onto her back. Every time I rolled her onto her front, the super-buoyant front part of the vest pulled skyward, twirling her around like a cork tossed into a tumultuous sea. An improperly adjusted mask which allowed the saline water into her nose far from increased her comfort level. Compounded by her inexperience with swimming in ocean water, these difficulties made for a frustrating first snorkeling experience. And all the while trying to fix our technical problems while bobbing in the sea, a 30ish French-Canadian woman kept yelling at us to "look at ze turtle! Look! He's right there by your right leg! Look! Look!" almost chastizing us for not admiring the view while simultaneously trying not to drown.

Back aboard the ship, the captain/guide told us that their usual second snorkeling spot was too near the oncoming storms so we were going to a secondary location further south. We had chalked our first snorkeling attempt up to practice and vowed that the second would be better, which it was. Alice's vest and mask were properly adjusted which allowed her the freedom to do what we came to do.

The second site featured two shipwrecks: one, an old French tugboat sunk in 1919, and another, a party boat, sunk in 2001.
We snorkeled out over the old tug. Schools of small silver fish with black stripes teemed. Other, longer fish with with long silver snouts lolled near the surface. One of the catamaran's crew, equipped with scuba fins and an ease in the water probably acquire from birth, took long dives down into the wreck, much to hte amusement of us, his charges. I deflated my vest and attempted to swim down, but I dont think I made it more than 12 feet or so.
Lunch aboard the boat was excellent. Prepared by the crew, it featured chicken kebabs, lasagna, garlic bread, macaroni salad, garden salad, coleslaw and mahi mahi in what I believe was a garlic, oil and lemon marinade.
After lunch, I snorkeled off on my own and found two old dock pilings under the water with coral attached and a school of fish around each. I dove down repeatedly, experimenting wth various settings on the waterproof camera.
Our final cruise of the trip was a straight run west under pure sail power. The crew handled the boat masterfully, all while serving us drinks and ice cream. A short nap on the deck of the boat rounded out the voyage. I saw one flying fish leap from the waves, which of course made me instantly hungry.

Back at the hotel, we lounged in the hot tub and took funny pictures of each other in the pool before showering and heading to Oistins, a small fishing village on the South coast, for the weekly Fish-fry, supposedly a must for the newly minted flying fish lover like myself.
We waited for the bus across the street from hotel for about fifteen minutes. Several of the smaller white busses (the rough equivalent of our "dollar-vans") pulled up, asking if we were going to Oistins. We waved them each on, citing concerns that Alice would not be able to sit comfortably in the small crowded vans.

The Oistins Fish-fry is held every weekend. It's essentially a street festival where the local booth style restaurants set up grills outside and cook the days catch bought from the local fishermen. The makeup was probably 60% locals and 40% tourists. Each fish stand has someone who stands outside and tries to convince passersby that their food is the best. We settled on one called "Marcia's Place" as it seemed to have something to offer both of us; fried flying fish for me, and baked chicken for Alice, both served with rice and peas, macaroni pie (Bajan for casserole style macaroni and cheese), macaroni salad, garden salad and a slice of breadfruit. The flying fish was a bit tougher than the previous night's, but the filets were larger, less greasy and the batter more flavorful. Alice's chicken was moist and savory, baked in a Caribbean style marinade. The macaroni pie was moist but not overly cheesy, and the breadfruit was dry (hence the name) and soft, almost like a potato with more structure. Alice drank a Banks. I had two.

After dinner, we perused the trinket stands set up for the festival but nothing caught Alice's eye. We got ice cream cones for desert; Dutch Chocolate for Alice and Rum Raisin for me, which we ate sitting beneath my hand-held umbrella as a light rain began to fall.

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