Leaving Bridgetown the other day, the car beeped at me, and a warning graphic popped up saying the front left tire had low pressure. I was barely outside the city - I hit "ok" and just hoped for the best and continued home. I make it, but I let Jen and her Mom, "Mrs P" (the Patron of this project and owner of the car), know that something is amiss. They suggested I take the car to a nearby auto shop that dealt with the car a few months ago. The next day will be a car and errand day. I hope to get some sketching in. This is not bad, as I realize I cannot goto Bridgetown on back-to-back days.
There is a massive windstorm during the night. Accuweather tells me it's approaching "gale force" winds, which isn't enough to blow tree branches down but enough to keep me awake well into the night. I, therefore, have a slow morning and arrive at the auto body shop around noon. Google doesn't fail me.
On the way there, through the neighbourhood, I notice a ramshackle bar. Five or six people are sitting on the steps out front late morning. It’s got lots of character, but one could drive right by it. I pull over into a grass lot, park the car, and walk towards them. “How can I help y?” the matron asks.
“I love the look of your bar.”
“Welcome to Big Leg’s Bar,” she says (it takes me a second to comprehend the name, looking at the hand written sign helps)
“I’m from Canada, I’m an artist, doing drawings of local places like this. I wonder if I could take a picture of your place - I hope to return to draw it.”
She agrees to this. “When will you come back?”
“I don’t know - I have a car issue; I have to go to… Automotive Arts”
They know the place. She motions to a young man (her son?) “E knows about cars - E can help you.”
“No… no… I’m good, thank you - he’s got lots of chilling to do here.”
They laugh, it’s hot, and they look comfortable. I certainly don’t want someone helping me when I’m going to a garage.
I note the lack of shade, which will be bad for drawing, but she says I can go into the far lot and use a tree. She wants me to send her a sketch when it’s done.
I tell her I will - I don’t know when I will be back, but I hope to return; the place is worthy of a sketch.
It is a reasonably standard repair shop with a large parking lot, a polished modern interior, and relatively busy. I explain the issue and am dealt with reasonably quickly. I end up waiting around an hour and spend the time doing a Grammarly check on my (previous) Patreon post about Bridgetown. Once complete, they told me there was a nail in the front left tire; they removed, patched and repaired it. It costs half of the cheapest possible Uber Eats order in Ottawa - and they say things are expensive here.
My next mission is to stop by a print shop not far from the automotive shop to see if I can print some Barbados specifi postcards and business cards. I drive for ten minutes and end up in what seems to be a nice “well-kept” neighbourhood (nice looking classic bungalows) halfway up the hill, looking out over the sea. Nothing commercial in sight. I drive past the address Google gives me, and it's just houses. I park around the corner, where some people are sitting outside their home.
"Excuse me - I'm looking for a print shop - a place to print business cards - do you know of any place like this near here?"
The Bajan “auntie” looks confused as heck. "I've 'eard of nowhere near here like that m’boy.”
I tell her it's an address about halfway up the street. Can I park here and go look? She says go ahead.
I walk up the street - there's a pink house with a ton of trash out front, open doors, and I can see printer cartridges piled out front. This… must be the place.
I holler into the house. A young man comes out the open door. "Is this a print shop?" I ask. "Yes, it is," he says.
I explained that I was hoping to print some business cards and postcards. Can he give me a price? "I just do the production work; you need to email this address," he gives me the details. "Did you find this place on the Google address?" he asks, curious how I got here. "I sure did."
I tell him I'll email them for a quote. He says they can't take VISA, which would be my preference over cash. The other place I emailed wanted a bank transfer as a deposit, which is basically a no-go.
I try to leave - this is the first time Google really f**ks me over - sends me into a dead end. I re-direct the map, find my way to a highway down the coastal road, and return towards Holetown, where I'll run groceries.
On the way, I stop at another possible printing spot, a "photo" place. They can print business cards - but only one-sided - they can print postcards, but only one-sided. This is not the place.
I park in the grocery lot and I have about 2 hours to go for a walk and make a sketch. I walk the length of the coastal road in Holetown. It's tough going, with narrow sidewalks, fast traffic, and many buses spewing disgusting smoke.
There is a strange intersection containing a dozen stalls and food 'huts' - I've seen it while driving by and wander through it. Nothing is very compelling. There are not many people hanging around. The signage is either nonexistent or just modern bad design crap. As I pass through, a hustler engages me. "Ayo - what you looking for?"
"Just wandering, just looking around," I say
"You looking for some Bob Marley" he says, putting his fingers to his lips.
"No thanks," I laugh.
"You looking for some…sniff sniff..." he runs his finger below his nose.
"No, I'm good, thank you, just looking around."
He directs me to a nearby church - the first church in Barbados, which my brother had pointed out to me last week. He saw I was clearly not up for some vice and thought some religion was the better angle. Nothing to sketch in this food hut area, unfortunately.
I keep going down the road. The first church is lovely, but I can't figure out a comfortable way to sketch it, not in traffic or in the sun, so I will take some photographs. A little further on is a small shop selling drinks and some basic food. I'm on the far side of the busy street, but the woman in the shop hollers at me "How y'doing" she says. I wave, I'm good, and I wait for a pause in the traffic to cross over. The small shop is cute - I've noticed it before, but it's not busy, and it's also a hard place to sketch. I approach the two 'aunties' running the place.
They ask me how I'm doing and what I'm up to. I explain that I'm just wandering around and looking for things to sketch. I give them one of my business cards, which has some of my classic confectionaries on each side.
"Oh, you draw them rum shops in Canada."
I love that they immediately compare local corner stores in Canada and rum shops.
It's not a direct connection - not least of all because corner stores in Ontario are *still not legally allowed* to sell alcohol, let alone something as potent as rum.
But - there feels to be a lineage in the aesthetic - and I love that they immediately see it. It honestly makes me feel happy and sad at the same time. It's a beautiful disappearing history.
Even if there are rustic old corporate Coca-Cola signs on these "Mom and Pop" type places, they are still independent from the parasitical uniformity of the commercial aesthetic enveloping the planet.
I love these Aunties. I ask if they have lemonade. The one running the place - Margeret - says they don't, but they'll make me some. She instructs her partner (whose name I forgot) to make me some. It's on her, Margret says. She asks me my name. "Colin. I can remember that. My husband's name is Colis." I joke that her nickname must be Maggie, and she says her husband always calls her this.
The lemonade comes, and she refuses to accept payment, so I suggest I give them a tip and push some cash over. It's in a plastic mug, so I can walk back down the coastal road towards town.
The schoolchildren are out - some are already running to the shop as I leave. They are all in uniform. When I arrive back in the middle of town, I sketch a side street off the main street and incorporate some of the many school kids walking past. Later, when I showed the finished sketch to my Bajan-Canadian friend, he told me to capture as many of the uniforms as I could; 'They resonate with the Bajans."
