This fall, I was given an opportunity to house-sit in Barbados in exchange for some artwork that would hang on the house's walls. This was too good to pass up. The house was empty in January, and I booked a flight a week after New Year to give myself a chance to take a small break after the holiday and do some post-Christmas print sales catch-up (apparently a thing in recent years!)
The flight from Ottawa to Barbados is a tough one. With a 430am check-in, 6am departure to Toronto, 8:45am depart from Toronto and landing mid-afternoon, jumping ahead an hour… the upside is adding about 30 degrees on the thermometer.
I do feel strange about travelling or even enjoying life in such tumultuous times - with horrific wars in Europe and the Middle East - not to mention the fact Tr**p is running for President for the third time in my middle adult years. I have many thoughts on these things; some may come out through these missives. I have had intentions to write about my geopolitical thoughts in other posts (unfortunately, I just keep delaying doing it, and more shit keeps happening… going figure)
I set an alarm for 2:45am, after getting in bed at 11:30 after packing all day, and barely slept. My Blue Line driver is 10 minutes early at 3:35am, but I'm ready. I wear sneakers, multiple layers of clothing, and a light jacket in -10 and 2 inches of snow to get to the car, knowing I can't travel in boots or a heavy jacket. Still, this will be good to get me through a chilly plane ride.
The cab driver tells me he just started his shift and works until noon. Work has just gotten busy for him again after the holiday break. People are coming back or leaving this weekend. I had hoped to miss the holiday travel by going on the first Monday after the New Year week, but alas, my assumption was false. The cab driver and I laugh about everyone returning to work this week - except the politicians, who will surely enjoy another few weeks of holiday. God bless them. Inshallah.
The ride is smooth, but the airport at 4:10am is a f*****g madhouse, packed with maskless people, running free and speaking at incredible decibel levels given the hour. Handbag-sized dogs are travelling, apparently. Normal-sized dogs are also travelling. People seem as if they have had multiple cups of coffee already, and I just wonder what the f**k. What is wrong with people?! Air travel is a subjective form of psychological torture, and I've been prepared to do it for almost two months, but now I'm thick in the middle of it. F**k these people! (Ok, I’ll admit, I’m in a sour mood at this point!)
Waiting to check in and donate luggage to the Travel Gods takes about 20-30 minutes. As soon as the next check-in desk was free, the woman behind me informed me the desk was free. "Thank you," I tell her, as if I was unaware, and still politely wait for the people leaving to pass me by before I "barge ahead," as the woman behind me would have it. F**k. These. People. Honestly, go burn in the fires of the Travel Gods, you impatient maskless lunatic.
The check-in lady is an absolute delight and takes me 3 minutes - a record for our queue. I expect the woman behind me to give me an award.
Next is the line to go through security. Again, the two guys behind me - very awake and chatty- are mainly talking about their shoes and purchasing shoes. Fair enough. One has a Jays hat on - ok, fine, let’s sign Vladdy long term baby - and the other has one of the entirely black Canada Flags on his backpack, so I don’t know what to make of that.
I dump my tap water out, blessing the Travel Water Gods, before going through screening. I'm briefly set aside for a second look, but no issues. Phase 1 is complete after figuring out how to refill my water bottle (thankfully, this airport has free faucets (not fountains), which is the most civil thing I've seen all morning).
Soon, I'm on the short-haul to Toronto. I'm on the aisle, and the person in the middle aisle doesn't acknowledge me; perhaps he's unsettled by the mask. Literally, everyone on the plane seems to be sick (I was worried I would be the offensive one on the plane - I was sick with not-Covid over Christmas and have had a lingering cough since recovering at New Year's.… according to the news, everyone in North America has a lingering cough). I feel better already. I read a few pages of my book and stare at the beautiful seat in front of me until landing. The flight was slightly delayed, so others on quick connecting flights were granted immediate departure, and I racked up 2500 steps going to Gate E in Pearson for the flight to Bridgetown. I make it there about 10 minutes before boarding and 25 minutes before I'm allowed to board.
I've selected another aisle seat, and it's beside one window seat. The woman sitting there is literally half my size - quite elderly - wearing a mask - and Begian. I say hello, and she greets me immediately, and we quickly exchange pleasantries. She tells me she was born in Barbados but moved to Quebec and now lives in Toronto. She is returning home to visit along with her adult children, who are probably around my age. They are sitting a half row up in the middle, and the grown son turns around a few minutes later - looks at his Mom directly and mouths, "Are you ok?" - which I take to mean, "Are you ok with sitting beside this giant wild haired man?" I wave to him and say, "Hello, how you doing?" which he doesn't respond to, and his mother motions for him to 'leave her alone, thank you very much, she'd much rather talk to me than switch seats with him.'
We have a lovely 4.5-hour flight. I don't watch movies or TV, and neither does she, and she remarks on how nice it is that I have a book and actually read. She tells me some stories of Barbados - basically, the entire island is worth sketching; she can't pinpoint one area. She tells me a story about how she almost drowned as an 18-year-old on the Atlantic coast (the East coast side, which is quite rough), but thankfully, the water was kind to her and let her go free. I tell her about my years as a whitewater raft guide and my appreciation for the power of water. She tells me to buy mangos and about Banks Beer - the local beer on the island. I'm kicking myself for not having a business card with me (I'd put a stack in my checked suitcase) and had no way of giving her a way to find me, but here is some hope that I will reconnect with Norma from Barbados. She leaves the plane in her wheelchair, and I leave the aircraft with popped ears, unable to hear much of anything out of my right ear, which is quite disconcerting.
Customs and baggage claims are quick and have no real issues. I'm hot, walking off the plane directly onto the tarmac and starting to take off as many of my 4 upper layers as possible, knowing this would be the situation. My Mom, nephew, and sister-in-law are here to pick me up. The artwork is for my extended in-laws; my family has been in their house for the past week. We have a few days of overlap, and it's nice to get picked up from the airport, given my condition. I feel like shit, a headache, my ear is really bothering me, and I'm exhausted. I power through the ride home, shower, and settle in. We have an evening swim as the sun sets, and my brother has prepared some curries for dinner, along with Banks beer - I tell them about how I already know about Banks thanks to Norma. We recount some travel stories. I manage to stay up to around 10 and then pass out.
The next day is orientation - after a leisurely coffee and breakfast, my sister-in-law takes me driving to get used to the roads and driving on the left-hand side. I've been worried about this aspect of the project since I agreed to it. Still, I'm immediately comfortable with the car and how to deal with oncoming traffic and the roads - She is a good coach. She was lucky to have a very cautious driver as a student. J is notorious for being an "aggressive" driver, but we are both confident in our own ways. Her only issue is that I'm often driving too close to the side of the road (no shoulders). At one point, she gives me grief for clipping some shrubbery (which she tells me could be hiding rocks) - and I start to see what she means about not getting too close to the edge of the roads. Dodging potholes is another challenge - you drive in the middle to avoid them, then move when cars come. If you see an oncoming bus, you bend the knee to the Bus Gods.
After driving and a tour of the local grocery store and a few nearby shops (I immediately buy a local shirt) - we return home to gather Mom and my Nephew to head to a beach, where we spend the afternoon surfing waves and attempting to build a sandcastle. Later, we head to dinner at a local grill - it's a Tuesday night, so many places are closed, and this one is busy - for some reason, they have the same queue to buy beer in the same line as ordering food. The grill is delicious, and we share our platters (aside from my young nephew's hot dog).
The next day, we make another trip to a different beach (one with seats), but the family is packing up to leave, and I will be on my own from here on out. My quest here is to capture the island over the next few weeks, but my first quest after I'm alone is to try to get a haircut, as I've left my hair growing out since the fall.
After my local salon (Aline's) in Chinatown closed, I started going to another nearby (affordable) spot. Although the haircuts were decent, I could not return after the owner/barber told me about her theory that Joe Biden is, in fact, controlled by Obama - "who hates all white people" - and Tr**p is the only one who can save the world. I found this quite odd coming from any human, let alone a middle-aged Vietnamese salon owner - and could not ethically return to give her money. I haven't found a replacement barber since and decided to try to get a cut in Barbados. I knew they wouldn't be shocked by my hair, at least.
Late in the afternoon, I took the car into the nearby town and tried to find the only barber that came up on Google. After wandering a bit and eventually asking someone, I found the place in a touristy outdoor mall. It's 3:30pm, and the shop is closed (hours are until 6) - a nearby shopkeeper tells me he's left for the day. Enough with that; I decide to get a sketch or two before getting more groceries.
I wander and do my first one by the water - finding a place in front of a hotel patio with a path out front and large coral rocks pilled on the shore, sailboats in the distance. I'm in the direct sun but work quickly, so I don't spend much time in it. The sketch is decent, but I drop my pencil as I finish and dent the tip - thankfully, I brought a spare, but now I need to be careful.
I head toward the grocery store and do another of the Chattel stores in Holetown - these are touristy spots, but sort of classic little buildings, and I make a sketch of one where they feature a lot of Jill Walker artwork and where I bought my bird shirt. It's a quick sketch; I'm in the shade but sweating. I try to capture some of the street life before me, but I'm bothered by the dented pen and head towards groceries.
Once home, I drink a Banks and do a final sketch, looking out over the hills towards the sea as the sun sets. It's a spectacular view. There is a cruise ship in the distance, and the sea is indistinguishable from the sky at the time I'm sketching. The crickets have come out, and I really feel I could live full-time in a Carribean or Mediterranean lifestyle.
Dinner is leftover curry; I watch the replay of the Raptors-Lakers game - at least some comfort of routine can be kept here thanks to sports.
Next up - exploring more of the island and seeing how much sketching I can get done each day.