Out eastWhat is it that makes a country adopt everything English? With four weeks down and only one to go, it seemed only proper to start really exploring the sights of Barbados before it is too late, our forays so far having been generally limited to the south of the island and shopping excursions. And exploring is where place names and maps come into play, it is like embarking on a journey through little England. Such things as towns called Hastings and Dover, the district of Christ Church, the international cricket stadium, Kensington Oval, Cheapside (although quite why you would want that one we don‘t know) and Beachy Head, although not known as a suicide spot. We aren’t sure what occurred at Cuckold Point but no doubt there is a history, and then there are the administrative parishes (like our local body councils), all but one with saints’ names and each centered on a state-subsidised Anglican church. St Philip, St John, St Michael, St James, there is even one for the women, St Lucy. But it is not exclusively English though, down the road from us is Joe Louis Boulevard, although the shingled lane would hardly resemble what we know as a boulevard, and further towards town a gap called Ella Fitzgerald, gap being the local terminology for a road or street.
Getting to some of these places can be a challenge; the only tourist route map of the island could never be described as particularly accurate and in places a complete absence of road markings and signs make direction finding almost impossible. Arrival at an intended destination can be a matter of chance, but the island is so small it is difficult to get too lost.
But it may only be a short time before this is remedied, at least in part. Fleur was chatting to a local woman on Friday night who has almost finished a self-appointed task of accurately road-mapping Barbados and she hopes to sell the completed product to the tourist board soon. Our advice would have been to have included satellite navigation points as well, but perhaps she already has a deal with SatNav Ken.
Notwithstanding inaccurate maps and rutted roads, on Sunday we found our way around the south-eastern tip of the island and up the east coast, firstly to Skeete's Bay, then Bath and Bathsheba. This is the Atlantic coast, far more rugged than the tourist-dominated west, and to some extent physically reminiscent of New Zealand’s west coast. The bays are reached down steep roads flanked on either side by palm trees and banana plantations, it is quite spectacular. We stopped first at Bath and couldn’t decide whether it was named after the historic English city or the fact that the sea water was positively tepid. We had expected the sea on the Atlantic Coast to be cooler but this wasn’t so, never have we swum in water so warm and it was clear the locals use it in which to bathe. We were the only white faces among several hundred locals, large family groups picnicking and relaxing, and dozens and dozens swimming, staying in the water forever without any of that teeth-chattering cold which permeates even the hardiest of bodies at home. Just down from us, a group of boys suspended an old sheet of plywood above their heads for others to take turns using as a springboard to somersault into the water. The scene would not have been complete without a huge bank of speakers in the domain across the roads reverberating with a Reggae homage to Bob Marley.
Further up the coast, Bathsheba, the main town on the east, is more accessible, its rocky shores home to surfers and with an overpriced café making the best from passing tourists; at $20 for three soft drinks, it would have been cheaper to buy beer.
Back south, Crane Beach, which is overlooked by the luxurious Crane Resort ($75 per person for Sunday brunch but it was booked out so we didn’t go), has been named by the defunct American television programme, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, as one of the ten best beaches of the world. It was certainly a nice beach, but if it is one of the ten best in the world, then the other nine could be in Gisborne, New Zealand, alone.
For a warm country there are surprisingly few unpleasant animals to dampen the enjoyment. There are no sharks in the seas for reasons we have yet established and no evidence of things like jellyfish. Snakes have been rendered extinct by an introduced species, the ravenous mongoose (is the plural mongeese?) and there are very few monkeys. The cane toads which come out after the rains are enormous, perhaps up to 8 inches across, and each day as we hang out the washing or tend to other domestic chores we startle little green geckos which dart to safety and then watch us from a distance. But best of all, when walking home from the beach the other day and looking out over a small bluff, there was a turtle which would have been at least three foot long swimming idly by through the crystal clear water. It’s not a bad old life.
Getting to some of these places can be a challenge; the only tourist route map of the island could never be described as particularly accurate and in places a complete absence of road markings and signs make direction finding almost impossible. Arrival at an intended destination can be a matter of chance, but the island is so small it is difficult to get too lost.
But it may only be a short time before this is remedied, at least in part. Fleur was chatting to a local woman on Friday night who has almost finished a self-appointed task of accurately road-mapping Barbados and she hopes to sell the completed product to the tourist board soon. Our advice would have been to have included satellite navigation points as well, but perhaps she already has a deal with SatNav Ken.
Notwithstanding inaccurate maps and rutted roads, on Sunday we found our way around the south-eastern tip of the island and up the east coast, firstly to Skeete's Bay, then Bath and Bathsheba. This is the Atlantic coast, far more rugged than the tourist-dominated west, and to some extent physically reminiscent of New Zealand’s west coast. The bays are reached down steep roads flanked on either side by palm trees and banana plantations, it is quite spectacular. We stopped first at Bath and couldn’t decide whether it was named after the historic English city or the fact that the sea water was positively tepid. We had expected the sea on the Atlantic Coast to be cooler but this wasn’t so, never have we swum in water so warm and it was clear the locals use it in which to bathe. We were the only white faces among several hundred locals, large family groups picnicking and relaxing, and dozens and dozens swimming, staying in the water forever without any of that teeth-chattering cold which permeates even the hardiest of bodies at home. Just down from us, a group of boys suspended an old sheet of plywood above their heads for others to take turns using as a springboard to somersault into the water. The scene would not have been complete without a huge bank of speakers in the domain across the roads reverberating with a Reggae homage to Bob Marley.
Further up the coast, Bathsheba, the main town on the east, is more accessible, its rocky shores home to surfers and with an overpriced café making the best from passing tourists; at $20 for three soft drinks, it would have been cheaper to buy beer.
Back south, Crane Beach, which is overlooked by the luxurious Crane Resort ($75 per person for Sunday brunch but it was booked out so we didn’t go), has been named by the defunct American television programme, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, as one of the ten best beaches of the world. It was certainly a nice beach, but if it is one of the ten best in the world, then the other nine could be in Gisborne, New Zealand, alone.
For a warm country there are surprisingly few unpleasant animals to dampen the enjoyment. There are no sharks in the seas for reasons we have yet established and no evidence of things like jellyfish. Snakes have been rendered extinct by an introduced species, the ravenous mongoose (is the plural mongeese?) and there are very few monkeys. The cane toads which come out after the rains are enormous, perhaps up to 8 inches across, and each day as we hang out the washing or tend to other domestic chores we startle little green geckos which dart to safety and then watch us from a distance. But best of all, when walking home from the beach the other day and looking out over a small bluff, there was a turtle which would have been at least three foot long swimming idly by through the crystal clear water. It’s not a bad old life.
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