It’s Friday morning. I feel tired from the trip to Bridgetown the day before; it was a draining experience. I was debating going to the South side of the Island - which is far for me, but I don't feel like it. Instead, I decide to go for nature and rural, the north and east. There is a 'scenic lookout' on a mountain about a 15-minute drive north - I passed it on the way home the other day, and it's a simple enough drive. I figure I may have a quiet day, the opposite of Bridgetown.
Pulling into the park, there are people at the gate. They charge a small parking fee. One woman collets me money and gives me a receipt. I ask if I have to put it on the dash, and she motions to the man in the security uniform, "Nah, he see you; you good."
At this point, a third person, an elderly woman, also sitting with them, says something to me. I can't understand; she comes closer. She seems eccentric and asks me if I'm Christian. The security guard and ticket lady sort of throw up their arms a bit, realizing this is a strange first question to ask.
"I'm secular."
"Explain," she says, I think not understanding the word.
"I was raised in a non-religious household."
"Ah - so you an atheist."
The employees are trying to pull her away from the car and motioning me onwards.
"No, not atheist - agnostic."
"So you believe in something larger. Spiritual."
"Well, I don't know… I can't say one way or another…"
They seem to accept this, and the security guy makes sure I drive onwards. "Pretend this conversation never happened," he says. On my way out a few hours later, it's just him at the gate. "I got rid of the troublemakers.”
I park and head up to the view. There are no cars around, though some workers are setting up something for a concert or event. At the top of the lookout is a car parked (I wasn't able to drive up here, but they were able to - not sure why). I take a photo of a stray cat near the car and look out over the entire east of the Island. A man and woman in the car say hello as I approach.
We talk about how pleasant the weather is - they're enjoying the breeze. "It's cool," they say.
"It's lovely; it's like a warm bath to me."
I get into about a twenty-minute conversation with them. The man lives part-time in Canada - Toronto - working as a jazz singer, doing backup vocals on tracks and performing shows. His wife/partner is also a singer. "She has a better voice than me," but she lives down here full time.
I show them my little collection of sketches I'm building. They recognize the Fish Hut on the coast road. "This place is run by a Rasta."
"That's right."
"His name is I-Wayne," says the woman.
I show them the fruit shop in Speightstown.
The man in the car - (also named Wayne) - zooms in and points to the woman who runs the shop: "Shelley - I went to school with her."
I ask them what they are doing. "Just on a day off, wanted to come enjoy some air, tour around, go for a drive.”
"You're on a Sunday drive on a Friday; that's good," I say.
Wayne loves this and laughs boisterously.
We do the usual talk comparing Canada-Barbados, Toronto's living cost, etc. At this point, I'm no longer surprised that any Bajan I talk to - especially those older than me - knows so much about Canada. Many of them know people there.
We exchange cards and parted ways. I find a bench and spend a couple hours doing a sketch. The wind is full on the entire time, and even though I'm in shorts and short sleeves, I never get chilly once.
It's early afternoon when I wrap up, and I decide to drive a bit further east to find the rum shop I passed the other day. It's not far, maybe another 10-15 minutes of driving.
I come to the place. About 4-5 men are hanging out in the shade by a tree out front. The storefront is beautifully worn, authentic, and gorgeous. A chicken clucks around out front. I pull over on the far side of the road, then do a U-turn and pull into a bumpy gravel parking space out front of the shop.
As I get out, the men look at me like I must be lost or confused. They greet me kindly.
"All right… 'Ow ya" one says
I tell them I'm good and ask them how they're doing.
"Life is good," another says; they all have beer or glasses of rum in their hands.
I tell them I love the look of the shop; I passed by it the other day and wanted to come back. I say hang on - let me get something, and return to the car to get my bag, which has business cards and the iPad in it.
I give out a few business cards and pull out the iPad. I explain about the corner stores on the business cards and that I'm looking for similar places in Barbados.
"Ah, artist," one man says
I show them some of the Barbados sketches.
"You real man… this is good shit."
They tell me this place has been here for decades. It's now run by a "younger person" - none of these guys are the owners; they are the clientele, and maybe 10-15 years older than me. The younger person is inside, he's got grey hair and is closer to my age.
These men are real, genuine characters. They seem gentle and sweet and real, undoubtedly enjoying life. They offer me a beer. They offer me rum.
"Thank you, but I'm okay - I'm driving."
"You ent driving right now," one of them says, and they all laugh. I do too, but I don't think this would stand up in court.
"Still, I'm okay - I will have a beer when I'm home and done driving. It's not my car," I explain. I don't bother explaining that I never even have a single beer before driving in Canada, and I'm definitely not doing it in another country.
I discuss my plan, I want to sketch, from across the road, but I need shade. It's full sun across the road, and it’s hot, but there is a small house and a tree a little down the road. I re-park the car across the road; I'm debating sitting in the car with AC on - but even though it's electric, I would rather not do this - it's also a busy enough highway, and I don't like the car being parked on the shoulder (there is actually a shoulder here!) The tree could work, but it puts me at an angle, and I want the building face on. There's also some refuse there, and the ground is soft, it’s kind of in a ditch and I think it would be difficult.
I return to the men outside the bar and ask them about the house.
"Do you know the people who live there? Do you think they would mind if I used the side of the house for shade?"
"Ah no, she's friendly, go ask," one man says. I feel a bit strange about this. At this point, someone arrives at the rum shop - a young man. The old men say something to him. They've slipped into not-talking-to-me dialect, so I don’t understand, and the young man nods and crosses the road. He goes to the back door of the house. "He's asking for you," says one of the patrons. I cross the road, and the young man comes out of the house, nods, and says it's okay. I later find out that the young man is the son-in-law of woman who lives in the house. I thank everyone and head to the house, where I am greeted by an elderly lady - a grandmother - her name is Vilma.
I explain what I'm doing - she gets a card, sees the sketches, and I say I'd just like to stand by the side of the house and sketch. She brings me a chair and offers me the porch, but I think I want the side of the house to stand (I already sat at the park, and I'd rather avoid sitting again.)
She leans on the railing above me - she's on a porch, so her head is maybe 3-4 feet above mine. We chat a bit. I explain my project and my interest in these types of places. After a few minutes, she says, "Okay, well… I can leave you in quiet and to work."
"Oh no… it's okay… I don't mind talking… I can talk and draw; I do it all the time."
Vilma leans on her rail and watches me sketch for over 2 hours.
I ask her some questions as I'm working, but we have periods of silence, especially as I'm starting to concentrate on finishing up towards the end. At a few junctures in the sketch, I explain what I'm doing.
I tell her the guys at the bar were very friendly.
"Ohh yeah, that's good."
"They cause a bit of trouble?"
"Not so much, they good people; I know them. They always here.”
"Do you ever goto the bar?"
"No… I don't drink, not like that. They drink all the time… they always here drinking…"
"What time does the place close?"
“Whenever the owner leaves… 10… 11…”
"That's not too late."
"They all leave when he leaves."
I ask her where she was born.
"Over the mountain."
I motion to the mountain directly behind the bar. Yes, that mountain, she nods.
"Why'd you move here?"
"Because we bought a house here - my husband and me. He's dead now."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have other family?"
"Kids, grandkids. They live nearby."
"What did your husband do?"
"He was a painter. But not like this. Houses."
"Well, there sure are a lot of beautifully painted houses in Barbados."
I ask her if she works or how she spends her time.
"I got hurt working. I got compensation, and now I don't work; I just stay here and do errands and look after my grandkids."
"You're retired, that's good. What did you do today?"
"I went into Speightstown to pay some bills."
"That's not fun."
"But you gotta do it. Paid electricity, water, internet."
"All the important stuff."
After a while, a car pulls up, and she waves; two children hop out. 5 and 8 years old, girls in school uniforms. I say hello to the 5-year-old, and she is perplexed as to what I’m doing here, even though Granny is right there.
"I'm drawing the bar across the road. Look," I show her. She looks - still seems very confused and then heads up the porch. The 8-year-old is a little more receptive and understanding - but not really. They both go inside.
"What are they going to do now?" I ask Vilma.
"Play. Probably watch TV."
"That's what I would do when I got home from school. And you'll make them dinner?"
"I'll make dinner, yes…"
I ask her how they watch TV here.
"Oh, we have FLOW internet and just bundle TV and cell and everything there. Then get Netflix or whatever."
"So, exactly the same as how I do it in Canada."
The internet and data has been great in Barbados. It's a blessing.
It's getting late in the afternoon, my iPad battery is dying, and I want to drive before the sun gets too low in the sky. I'm quite pleased with the sketch; it really looks like the place - I've just isolated the building, even though there is an incredible landscape behind it. I might fill this in later or make a second version; I don't know. I explain to Vilma that the last annoying thing is doing the lattice, which act as the windows. The building is basically open-air. I've always found lattice frustrating, but I work out a way to 'reverse' draw it by erasing the black, and this serves the purpose of getting the feel and working quickly. I explain all this to Vilma, and she agrees - that it looks like lattice.
It's time to go. I say I will WhatsApp her the sketch. She calls for one of the grandkids to bring her her phone because she doesn't remember the number. I text it over and say farewell.
"Well, did you ever think you'd spend your afternoon with a strange Canadian sketching this bar?"
"Not ever," she says.
"It was an absolute pleasure to meet you; thank you so much for letting me use your shade. I really enjoyed talking to you. I hope to return here someday with paper prints of this place."
We shake hands, and I cross the road to say farewell to the men.
First, I go into the shop (it's basically a front door with a small bar and some chips and bottles and such) - the owner, Rodney, is there. I show him the sketch and WhatsApp it to him as well. He looks at it closely on his phone.
"I like this," he says approvingly.
I go back outside. The big, quiet man who was sitting under the tree when I arrived is now on a bench. He is bigger than me. I could see him frightening people, but he was quiet and seemed gentle. He loves seeing the sketch. "You got d'place mon."
One of the more talkative, boisterous men from earlier returns on his moped at this point (he lives down the road, they say, and clearly, they don't have the same concerns about driving that I do.)
"Let me see," he exclaims, taking off his helmet.
"Oh fuck mon, you got it - that's fucking real mon…."
I point to the man in the blue outfit in the sketch - him.
"Oh fuck… Man got me… Him got m'belly and e'rything!" he laughs, he's absolutely overjoyed. A few other people come over and look. “Got the rooster and everything!”
I can't either understand or make out much of what is said between these 4 gentlemen for the next few minutes. They all agree that this is exactly the rum shop.
The man in blue points at his forehead pointedly and says, "People call me Cheese." I introduce myself.
A man in a red shirt - who wasn't in the sketch as he arrived late, tells me this place has been around for 60-70 years. It's the first building on this road. He has trouble getting my name. He thinks it's Carlin. His name is John. “That one is easy,” I say. He says he was born in the UK and came over here as a young boy and picked up the Bajan accent. I have to recognize it might be just as hard for them to understand my accent as it is for me. In the timelapse video you hear Cheese and John speaking to me as they look at the sketch.
It's time to go; the sun is preparing to set in about an hour, and I don't want to drive at dusk. I say my farewells to these gentlemen, saying that Rodney, the bar owner, has the sketch on his phone and he can send it to them. But - I hope to return someday with prints or postcards or something for them. They insist I come back. I really hope to.
I had intended to have a quiet day in nature, but my decision to return to this rum shop was one of the best impromptu choices I've made on the Island so far.
