3 Days, 2 Nights in Barbados

by: Onika Nkrumah

Traveling on a free ticket to Barbados, the author takes in the bonhomie at a rundown bar and discovers the joys of traveling solo.  

Years of promiscuous use of my credit card, had earned me enough points to make it possible.  A free return plane ticket to Barbados! 

My choices were limited. Staying in a hotel was a non-option.  I was already on a spartan budget courtesy of my upcoming wedding.  But, I had no intention of letting a little thing like being accommodation-less and alone in a strange country curb my enthusiasm.

My sister’s ex-husband had relatives in Barbados. A weak link but still worth the phone call.  After getting a cheery assurance that they were willing to put up with me for three days and two nights, I was off to the Tourism board contrived “Land of the Flying Fish”.

On my first day, I recruited the services of the next door neighbor of my hosts, as a tour guide.  Tall and stocky, Kevin was an agreeable sort who agreed to show me around in his red car.

I have always been a voyeur.  The pre-packaged and picturesque for its own sake, held no appeal for my ‘life on a limb’ nature and eager to avoid the beaten track, I asked him to show me the offbeat of the City.

Tucked away next to the Oistin’s fish market and all but invisible from the road is Lexie’s – a ramshackle, zinc little thing skirting its own patch of beach.  Lexie’s has so far escaped the Barbados construction boom. Festooned across its ceiling, christmas lights flash on and off highlighting the liquid cheer of its patrons.

The malodorous odor of fish wafts in periodically but does nothing to dampen the sweaty fervor within.  Twenty or thirty people are doing an intricate step dance to an ole time calypso.  My embarrassment at not knowing the moves stops me from joining their ranks.   I opt instead, to perch on a barstool and survey my find.

A collection of vintage Bajans and a sprinkling of even more antique, sunburned Europeans drink bottles of Bank’s beer while puffing on Pall Malls.  The place has a delightful, kitschy feel. I step outside by a coconut tree to enjoy the cool, night air, lapping waves and Barbados Rum. 

Soon we are off to find other uncommon adventures.  We leave Oistins behind on the south coast and set out on the winding, ocean view road that leads east to Bridgetown.

Sea-blast and the sweet scent of the nocturnal ‘lady of the night’ flower accompany us, my eardrums still recovering from the too-loud music of the bar.

As we pass by St Lawrence’s Gap, my guide comes alive again to point out the stylish restaurants and nightclubs with contact sport invoking names like X-treme and Jungle. I decide to take in their charms on my last day and we keep moving.

Black ceremonial cannons stand guard but the twinkling harbor lights beckon you in.  The capital of Bridgetown was colonized by the ubiquitous British during the 17^th century and their hallmarks remain in the Architecture and place names.  The Chamberlain bridge like its counterpart, the Tower Bridge in London opens to allow catamarans into the Careenage.  A few of the backstreets are narrow and cobbled and resemble the E.C area of London, others are broader and potholed.  A lot of renovations were underway due to the 2007 Cricket World Cup.

Ivory catamarans docked against the infinitesimally shifting boardwalk, gives Bridgetown a cosmopolitan feel.  We are summoned from our walkabout by the airy notes of jazz emanating from one of the cafes that line the Careenage.

At the Limelight Café, a live cabaret show gives the visitor a capsule of Barbadian culture.  A man dressed as a monkey leaps onto our table and off the walls.  My guide and I share a bottle of red wine on the verandah as he points out the centerpiece of the boardwalk.

An amphitheatre bathed in the blue and yellow glow of glass tiles.  A statue of Errol Barrow, the first prime minister of the island graces the square.  The City is beautiful and romantic and I make a mental note to return for my honeymoon!

Leaving the city lights behind, we drive through a Red Light district known aptly as Bush Hill.  Here, Guyanese and Dominican prostitutes parade in a no-frills, flesh fair.  The pungent odor of marijuana, piss and garbage jostle for dominance.  In dim alleyways, dark figures withdraw at the approaching headlights, their business preferring the anonymity of the dark.  The melodious, pulsating sound of Reggae is a soundtrack tailor-made for the night.

It’s now 3a.m and I am not at all sleepy but my tour guide’s tale of a previous shooting in the area coupled with my fiancé repeat phone calls, convince me that I should leave something for tomorrow. 

St Lawrence’s Gap, is a pedestrian-friendly 1.3km stretch of promontory in Christchurch.  A strip of fine boutique hotels, shopping, cuisine, dining and nightlife.

The smell of sautéed onions and flying fish rallies my stomach to rebel and I decide on the simpler, bound to be tastier, fare prepared by a roadside food vendor. There was no way that those restaurant gourmet chefs could compete with this large Barbadian woman wearing an apron and a smile.  Besides, I was on a shoestring budget!

She did not disappoint -Bajans are very fond of their seafood.  Every weekend, there is a big Fish fry held in Oistins.  Every variety of fish can be sampled in an open air bazaar - full of good vibes.

My last day on the island.  I awake early and head to the Miami beach, minus my tour guide who had to attend to his day job.  A motley crew of peddlers of tie dyed sarongs and beads adorn the sand.  I purchase a pack of cigarettes and a bottled water sold from a re-converted old minibus and settle down on a bench under a huge poui tree, to write in my journal. 

My reverie is short-lived.  A thick Bajan twang asks if I require his services as a “bodyguard”.  I tell him “no” but he is not convinced.  His persistence is in vain this time. I leave him looking flummoxed and decide to take a dip in the Caribbean Sea.  Beach boys cater for the sex tourists, mainly Europeans with generous cash and keen for a ‘native’ experience.

Back at the house, I thank my hosts for their hospitality and head off to the airport. Three days and two nights, sure does go quickly when you’re in a tropical paradise!