I wake up feeling fresh, the weather seems fine, and I think it's a good day to visit Bridgetown. I even looked at a website for cruise ship dockings, and none seemed to be arriving that day, but a few are coming over the weekend.
I park in the same covered garage; in fact, I see the same parking spot open with a few spaces beside it free and back in. Nothing like a good routine. I decide to walk to the top of the parking garage to see what the view is like. Mostly rusty rooftops.
Before heading back to Swan St, where I intend to make a second sketch, I pop by a nearby street with two print shops. They both seem like "proper shops," but neither will turn some cards around in the afternoon - maybe a day or a couple of days, which brings me into the last week here.
I wander up and down Swan St again, looking for a complimentary angle to the first sketch; I don't want to repeat the buildings in the background. Ideally, I like some fruit vendors in it, but there is no great overlap between fruit vendors and interesting buildings.
I'm sure I look confused to some locals - walking slowly, pacing a bit, looking for shade, walking back and forth and returning to spots. At one busy intersection a young man asks me if I want a haircut; "Haircut? Just a fade?"
"Oh man, I just had a cut a week ago," I say.
"How long you here?"
"Another ten days or so… maybe I'll come get one before I leave."
"Do that; I'll give you a nice fade."
He shows me his Instagram - he does designs in hair - letters, initials, stars, all sorts of things. He asks me if I want a design.
"I don't think I could pull that off…" I laugh.
"You could… I could give you a star… a letter…”
"When I was 11 or 12, we would put 3 lines along the sides of our head. Steps. I don't know why… I think because some NBA players were doing it."
"I could give you some steps.”
"Ok… let me think about it."
We add each other to Instagram. I also show him my work, and he offers up the stool he is sitting on if I decide to sketch this view.
In the end, I sketch slightly down the street. The setup isn't as good (no stool), but I have shade, and as I scope the spot, a nearby vendor (selling hats) engages me. I show him some of the sketches, and he wants me to sketch the scene he looks at - the umbrellas and the curving street. He says it's ok if I set up across from him, and I confirm with the lady selling her wares nearby as well.
I get most of the linework done in the early part of the afternoon, then need a break. I look at a few of the shops selling clothing - I'd like a shirt ideally made or stylized in Barbados, but I don't think this exists - everything seems imported. I try to find a bakery for some salt bread (buns) to take home.
It starts to rain, and I take shelter in a narrow alley near where I'm sketching - full of umbrellas. I help some of the local vendors pull plastic over their wages to keep them dry.
One of them - Nicole - offers me some "five-fingered fruit" she just bought a bag of. I haven't had this yet; it tastes like it’s in the pear family but sour, which I like. It has 5 ribs that you eat and throw away the core. I ask Nicole how long she has been selling stuff here (clothing) - and she says, "My Mother-in-law RUNS this alley."
"What do you mean? She owns all these shops?"
"Nah - she RUNS it."
"So - she owns the buildings and lets people sell stuff out front?"
"No - she just runs the street - she's like the mafia. We like the mob.”
Nicole is very nice - she doesn't seem like a member of the mob, but I am curious as to how this works.
"I spoke with a fellow up on Swan Street” — (he tried to sell me some shoes, then moved to trying to sell me weed, then molly) — “he said they just need to buy a vendor license, and they can set up shop.” (This same fellow also suggested I buy the building across the street to sell artwork. “How much is the building?” - “Man, I have no idea!” It also didn’t appear for sale.)
Nicole says, “You need a vendor's license, but then they need my Mother-in-law's permission to set up shop here. She's been here a long time."
I accept this as an answer. My guess is it may be a squatter's rights - or a first come, first serve type situation. In any case, they have a nice alley and a good little community. Some fruit vendors, some clothing vendors, and a little cart selling fish cakes, which I have later in the day.
A fellow vendor nearby, all decked out in red with dreadlocks asks me if I'm from the ship - I guess there must be a cruise ship docked. "No, no, I'm here for another couple of weeks." I show him some of my work, and we get to talking about Canada. Many people I speak to here know more about Canada than literally most Americans would. They know more than one city. They often know the capital. They know we don’t live in snow forts. And they usually know people who have lived there or still do. This fellow - KJ - lives part-time here and part-time in Boston, where he has children.
His job/hustle works like this… He buys up shirts and clothing in the USA… Every few weeks, he flies to Barbados - suitcases packed with new clothes. He sells them in the alley market for a few weeks, then returns to the US for a while, then repeats.
"So - you're like - definitely NOT declaring anything each time you fly in?”
"Helllllllllll no - it's just clothes."
I try to make sense of this a bit. His flights are probably a bit cheaper than mine. Plus, he's got to buy the shirts in dollars. I didn't ask what his living/housing costs were, but it seemed like a tight overhead. He said it worked, though. “Of course it works. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it.”
Nicole returns to KJ’s stall with some popcorn. "It's good for you. It helps move your bowels," she informs me, which is news to me. “One time KJ here was backed up and I gave him some popcorn and it worked right away.” It looks delicious, my bowels are fine, but now I want some. She takes me around the corner where someone is freshly popping corn. It's damn delicious. I eat a third of it and save the rest for later because I also want these fish cakes. The rain is finally letting up, but it's taken a hit out of my sketching time.
I have some fish cakes, they are plum-sized balls of bread and deep-fried fish mixed together. 0.75 Bajan each. Damn delicious - they will get me home.
I call it a day; the sun is setting, and I have to drive out in traffic. I've got enough of the sketch done I can finish up the rest another day or from a photo if need be. I say goodbye to KJ, Nicole, and their crew on the street, thanking them for the shelter in the rain, the fruit, the popcorn, and the fish cakes.
On my way back to the car, I pass the original fruit stand I sketched a few days ago. I nod at Fabian - the guy who runs it (in the Bass Pro Shop shirt a few days ago.)
"You finish it?" he says, noticing me walking.
"I have." I pull out the iPad and show him the final result. His crew gathers around and laughs and points themselves out. The rasta loves that I captured his chain. “Y’got m’fking’chain”
I WhatsApp the artwork to Fabian with my IG in the message. "Send it to whoever you want, but pass on my IG too. I haven't posted it on Instagram because I feel terrible posting tropical scenes when most people following me there are back in snow and cold."
Fabian tells me to come and set up shop here and sell prints. I tell him I'll think about it.
I head back to the car and get out of the city. I'm leaving a bit later than I hoped, and it's rush hour and slower going towards home. Still, I make it in time for a sunset sketch.
