I had planned to return to Bridgetown today, but the morning was quite rainy, and I decided I didn't want to drive into the city in the rain. I look around the map a bit and decided it was time to go to the east coast (the Atlantic side) - a fishing village called Bathsheba which looked quite close to where I'm staying. Essentially, it's just down the hill to the east.
Google gives me directions; I take the same road I head to the west coast - but down the other side of the mountain, headed east.
This proves to be a more stressful drive than into Bridgetown a few days ago. The road is very steep in parts. One area is washed out by wet sand through a jungle. There are parts of the road completely torn up by potholes. Narrow sections and blind corners keep me on my toes. Google tells me it's a 20-minute drive, but it takes me 40 at my "granny pace" - I probably average 18km an hour; I could bike faster than this.
Eventually, I hit the coastal road on the east. It's freshly paved - it's smooth and dark. In fact, a few km along, I pass by workers paving the road - it's a work in progress. Immediately after this, the road turns into a series of steady bumps, like running your hand on a xylophone.
Getting into Bathsheba requires going up a steep hill, then a J-turn where there are a few shops, and back down into town on the coast. I'm relieved to arrive and park.
The sea is rough here - big waves - and beautiful big rocks are populating the seashore. I ask a local where I can walk upwards again to get some good views, and he points me in the right direction - the opposite hill from where I drove down, so new territory.
I walk up; it's not long until I start getting some views. There are some well-trodden paths and lookout areas. I scope out a few and then find one that looks towards the south (away from the village). There is a modest hill, a quaint house halfway up, a couple beached fishing boats at the bottom, and the rugged seascape beyond that. Telephone poles frame the interesting-looking boat, and I decided this is where I would sketch. There's also a picnic table I can use if needed.
I walk down the hill to look at the boat a bit closer and see if a few are there. It's interesting, but the best view is at the top. Walking down the mountain path I wonder about snakes - are there snakes here? I stomp a bit and text Jen later, asking about snakes. "I think all the mongoose on the island eat them," she reassures me. "Oh yeah - that tracks on the mongoose. God bless the mongoose!"
I get to work on my sketch. I've got about 1/2 the linework done when the first round of rain comes. I mean - it was obvious - I could see the dark sky over the Atlantic. The wind always comes from the Atlantic. It's like clockwork. Luckily, there are some shops and a restaurant behind me. I hide under an overhang, and the rain continues, so I move up to a more comfortable area near one of the shops. A woman is in the shop, and a man stands outside. I greet him, commiserating about the rain.
I ask him where he's from. "Right here," he says. "Well - over up that hill there," he points across town, perhaps near where I drove down the hill.
I show him the sketch I'm working on and a few others from recent days. I ask him what he does. "I work from home." His name is Roland.
"Working from home is good."
"I'm a baker; I make all sorts of things..."
"Ohhh shit… can I come get some?"
"I got nothing left today - you usually need to order ahead."
"Who do you sell to? Tourists or locals?"
"Locals, only locals - you gotta know."
I told him about buying some meat rolls and raisin rolls in Speightstown a few days ago, but I couldn't find any in Holetown or spend enough time in Bridgetown to find some.
He gives me his WhatsApp - and tells me to send him a message the next time I come this way, and he can have something ready for me or give me some options as to what he has going that day. He makes everything. I'm hungry just thinking about it. I give Roland a card, and as the rain stops, we head on our way.
I'm about 3/4 of the way through the sketch when a group of people wander nearby, looking at the same view. The first is an elderly man - maybe in his late 70s? They all appear to be locals, though I soon find out the man was born on St. Kitts and lived for 30 years in Toronto, as did some other members of his crew (family?) After I said hi to the elderly man, I asked him why he was wearing a Toronto Blue Jays hat. It's the ugly logo from the early 2000s but still recognizable.
He tells me he lived in Toronto from 69 to 93.
"So you were there when the Jays were formed and left just after they won the World Series."
He nods. I quiz him a bit more - does he still watch the team? What does he think of how things are now? He does watch but doesn't have strong opinions on the direction of the team like I do. I love that this man from St. Kitts is wandering around the cliffs of eastern Barbados with the bad Jay's logo hat on. His family engages me after we've been chatting for a while. Two women and a man, they are maybe 8-15 years older than me.
One of the women has also lived in Canada - Toronto - for about 30 years. She has children living in the sprawl outside Toronto.
We get into a little discussion about the pros and cons of living here versus Canada. She says, of course, things are not perfect here - far from it.
I say - major con - Canada has winter. She rolls her eyes in disgust, and I remind her that at least Toronto has better winters than Ottawa.
We talk a bit about affordability. She understands what it is like in Canada - for her kids and grandkids (ok, maybe she's a bit older than I assumed?), to fly down here to visit, it can cost a lot pretty quick. I say that to buy a home in Canada, you basically have to look at paying a million dollars. The food here is sort of expensive - but some things are basically the same or similar to Canada. Neither country is Spain cheap, let's put it that way.
I show this family my sketches and leave them with a few cards. Once again, they tell me I could be selling this stuff here.
A few minutes later a man from India walks nearby and greets me. He asks me where I'm from (this is how I learn he's Indian) and tells me he lives in the UK and has come here 18-19 times. He warms when I tell him I'm from Canada.
Although maybe not appropriate, I bring up the fact that Canada and India aren't exactly having the best of relations now. This leads to a sort of mutual rant about politicians wanting power - he reiterates how they want to control us and how we are not free - I don't entirely agree with this, but I suggest that I think that rather than "politics corrupts people" that "corrupt people are drawn to power" - he likes this. One of my favourite opinions of the past 10-15 years has been, "If someone wants to run for office, they should be banned from doing so." It doesn't completely hold water, I agree, but I like the sentiment that perhaps we could have corner store clerks or artists or fruit sellers or seamstresses who end up in a lottery like jury duty and become politicians for 8 years - pay your dues. I certainly can't see things being any worse if it was run that way!
I'm still not done with the drawing. Two women arrive - they are both well dressed - and ask me to take photographs of them. I take a bunch from different angles, and they can't stop laughing. They are from a nearby parish and ask me where I'm from and what I'm doing - I show them the sketch and some other work and ask them how they spend their time on the island. One is a waitress at a hotel, the other a 'butler' at a private house. They're on a day off - both have bottles of Smirnoff Ice and are enjoying themselves. They invite me to join them for food at a local spot down the hill (not the restaurant nearby, which caters to tourists). I want to finish the sketch but take them up on the opportunity.
Down the hill - the restaurant is also packed - some tour buses have come through town, and there are hardly any tables left. I know food is going to take an hour; I'm not really eating in the afternoons now, not too hungry, usually get hydrated and keep working. I'm a bit antsy to get back to my sketch. It becomes clear we're not going to have seats, so the ladies decide to move on and find food on the way home.
"Damn tour buses, eh," I say. "They looked at us and didn't see enough money."
They both laugh. We part ways, and I walk 5 minutes back up the hill to my spot in hopes of finally finishing the art!
I have a good run of no rain and no more visitors, and I complete the sketch to my satisfaction. I decide to walk up the nearby road, up the hill I did not drive down on. There are some rustic houses, one or two shops, and some good views of the sea. There's also a crew of road workers with a hole in the road. As I pass by, someone greets me. A big rasta, he doesn't appear to be part of the crew, but he's hanging out. I ask him if the fruit in the trees nearby is breadfruit. "It is. Where you from?"
I tell him. He knows all about Canada. Toronto, Montreal. Not so much about Ottawa. He has people up there.
"I'm sort of the supervisor here," he says. I don't know if this is a joke or if he's serious.
"I got that good good from Peru if you need it," he says.
I tell him to thank you, I'm good, and continue on the road up. I say I'll see him on the way down, and I do - hanging out at the fruit shack. "You sure you good?"
"Yes, sure, man, thank you."
"You sure sure?"
"I'm sure, sure."
I head back to the car and look along the seaside at the crazy rocks. I speak with a fisherman by the shore. He's got a huge pole dug into the sand; he's using sea urchins as bait. I can't understand the type of fish he is hoping to catch, but it's sort of big and flat. Maybe arm's length. He's waiting for the tide to come in and has a weight on his line. I can't understand how this is going to work; given the waves, I'm tempted to wait for something to happen but anxious to get on my drive.
As I leave, I pass by a woman on a bench. She's in a red "Gucci" jumpsuit, which frames her nicely against the sea. She engages me. "Where you from?" Then, "This is my hustle," showing me some necklaces. "Maybe you get some for your Mom?" There are some with shells, others with just beads, and some with a hardened seed from a local tree. They are sort of soft and smooth. "40 for tourists, but 25 for Bajan, I'll sell you one for 25." I'm not sure this is part of the hustle, and really not sure my Mom will wear one, but I like the hardered seeds. We keep chatting, and she says, "Ok, give me 20" - I give in. At the very least, my Mom might hang it in the kitchen. I confirm I'm not going to get stopped by customs from importing vegetation and she says I'm all good.
During my interactions with all of the locals, I mention my drive here. They understand what I've gone through. Roland, the baker, immediately told me how to get home. "Take the coast road north, turn up into Speightstown, then take the highway or coast road back home," I confirm this with the Bajan-Canadian crew later. The auntie gives me more exact directions. What to type into Google to get north, then the highway that leads me back home - I know this one. It all sounds counterintuitive, but it makes more sense to go around on better roads than up and through on terrible, windy, steep roads.
"How long is this going to take?" I ask the Canadian-Bajan Aunti
"It's Barbados - how long could it take?"
"20 minutes… everything seems to be 20 minutes."
It still takes me closer to 40.
On the way out of Bathsheba I stop at a grocery store looking for some veggies. The store is dark, and everything is packaged, but they direct me to the fruit stand just up the road. A man is asking for money outside. I tell him I'm going to go get some fruit and will give him change on the way back. He is respectful, not pushy, and tells me he will look after the car while I'm gone. The fruit stands are decently stocked. The red peppers are not as plush as the ones in the grocery store, but they are at least available, unlike yesterday at the fancy shop. A red pepper and onion cost me 5 Bajan. Maybe 3 CDN. When I arrive back at the car, the man is nearby; I give him 3 silver Bajan dollars.
On the rest of the way, I stop a few times to look at things; I drive slowly to check out the scenery along the road. I regret not stopping at an amazing-looking rum shop with people sitting out front - only about 10 minutes on my journey. I almost considered turning around to at least take a photo, but I'm anxious to figure out this new circular route home and just continue on.
I arrive home just as the rains start, the sky darkens, and no sunset appears in sight, but I do another sketch when the clouds reveal a bit of the sunset an hour later.
