No, we are not of Italian heritage - the sunset cruise

Joanna's more of a doer than I am.  Neither of us is into history... So we decided we weren't going to do a rum plantain tour (I mean, we've been tasting rum every day, right? Joanna says) and there's a cave with large stalagmites but we're not really excited about that, either.  But Joanna wants to go to one fancy dinner and she wants to go on this catamaran cruise, so even though I could really give a shit about either, I go along with her.  It's $80 including all drinks and buffet dinner for a four hour sunset cruise 3-7 pm. 

My friends Heather and Ryan, who come here every year, AND Davette recommend the "Cool Runnings" catamaran tour.  That's right.... Like the jamaican bobsled team movie.  I look up the number in a guide book Davette has, and it's some boat with he richest, whitest, blondest, people on it.  You know, being used to seeing ads in the states where there's always a multicolored variety of faces on it... Seeing an ad where everyone is sparkling white is a little unsettling and disconcerting.  But who am I kidding?  This is for tourists, and most of the tourists are sparkling white.  And lobster red.

We get picked up and brought to the dock.  There's a bar called the Jolly Roger and there's two very wasted tourist women screaming and shrieking and taking pictures with every black guy that passed by them.  One was unremarkable, but the other had very long bleached blond hair and a huge floppy black hat and a black lace shirt and shorts... She stuck out like a sore thumb and was loud and drunk as hell.  I started calling her "ab fab" (like British TV show) and Joanna and I were getting so much of a kick out of her ridiculousness we almost missed it when everyone started embarking.

We get on the catamaran and, big shocker, we're surrounded by Brits, mostly older, some families, and smattering of Canadian couples.  There was about 6 guys running the boat... All very handsome and very sweet, friendly, and entertaining.  They were very adept at entertaining all of us... Telling corny jokes to the kids, making the uptight Brits feel at home, and fucking around with the two American girls who think they're cooler than everyone.

It seems that the Jolly Roger bar has a Jolly Roger pirate party boat associated with it. You can't miss it... It looks like a Disney-themed pirate ship loaded with drunk white people singing "YMCA."  Joanna and I remark that we're really happy not to be on THAT boat.

If you haven't guessed, one of my pet peeves is being surrounded by massive numbers  of drunk white people.

Not 15 minutes even pass and we're anchored to snorkel.  I did NOT have a good experience the last time I snorkeled... I felt so uncomfortable breathing through that tube.  I'm slightly asthmatic, so it reminds me of not being able to breathe, which makes me nervous, which makes it harder to breathe.  A self-fulfilling prophecy.  I jump in the water, and realize that i needed to take the Invisalign out, so when I jump back in the water, I was behind the group.  I swim really quickly to everyone else, and we're surrounded by beautiful fish and three giant turtles, which you can pet.  Really awesome.  

Joanna starts reacting to the snorkeling equipment like I did in Belize, and one of the guys on the ship overhears us and tells Joanna that she's not going back, but he's going to pull her along so she can see everything.  So sweet, and so professional.  He didn't leave her side, even though there were a good 30 people on that boat.  And he was really hot to boot.  I told Joanna that she was faking, and I was gonna fake it, too, next time.

Back on the boat, and I meet the only other American.  He's probably about 45, tanned and sunstreaked hair, wearing Columbia travel gear, big fat camera.  He's from Alabama, and I have more trouble understanding him than any Bajan I've met.  He is me if he can take a pic with me.  I agree, although I have no idea why he wants a pic of me, but as soon as the woman he's with takes the camera, he whispers in my ear "you are very beautiful.  Are you of Italian heritage?  You're a great swimmer.  That's really sexy.  I liked the way your butt bounced up and down."

Uh, thanks dude,  that's.... Great.  Joanna is horrified.  I just said that I had a high tolerance and as long as he doesn't follow me around I'm not worried. 

15 minutes later, and we're anchored again to see a shipwreck.  I guess they heard Joanna was worried, because one guy comes to us and tells us we're going with him, and no one else.  I personally like to think it was because we were the only non-partnered ladies there, and we are gorgeous, and he won some kind of bet.  Either way, the whole boat went with two guys and we had our own private chaperone.  

Back on the catamaran, and we realize only an hour had passed.  We wound up talking to some really nice young couples from Nova Scotia.  We like Canadians.  They're like Americans, but nicer.  At some point, they bring out dinner: grilled fish, baked chicken, salad and vegetables.  Pretty damn good considering we were on a boat.

The music is playing, the men on the boat are spinning on the poles, and some young boy does the same.  I tell his mom that my dad always tells me that his only job in life was to keep me off the pole.  She hugs her daughter and says she's not getting on it, either.

We... Meaning Joanna, one of the Canadians, me, and the workers, are dancing.  At some point, Alabama comes over, and as If to prove me wrong, starts following me around and taking pictures of me.  He replaces "swimming" with "dancing," as in "I like the way your butt moves when you dance," and I decide to avoid him by jumping up to where Chris, the one who gave us our private snorkeling, was dj'ing and I whisper in his ear, "man, Alabama is CREEPY."

In his ear, and evidently, also on the mic that was on.

Well, he didn't bother me for the rest of the ride.

He went to Joanna instead.  "You of Italian heritage?"  He asks.  She wasn't having it for a second.

Becky's by the sea... Our home away from home

We wake up and drink some coffee, and we cannot get off this porch.  Davette is too damn entertaining.  She is, by far, the best damned thing about this island.  

We eventually get our ass moving to go to a spot Davette recommends next to a beach bar called JuJu a bit north of us.  The buses are bright yellow and really tiny.  You flag them down, try to find a seat, and eventually the man on the bus will come by and take your money.  The aisle is so narrow you can barely walk without turning sideways to squeeze through.  All of them blast soca music and nobody looks like they give a damn.  They also don't seem to give a damn about the couple of tourists sitting right next to them.

The beach is small, and well-serviced by this restaurant and the beach chair guy.  We pay about $20 for us to have a couple of padded beach loungers and an umbrella.  One guy comes by to peddle jewelry.  I say no, and he coyly replies, "you know, there's another word you could have said instead!" And when we say no again, he politely tells us to have a nice day and moves on.  There's not a lot of high-pressure touristy sales shit here, and it's delightfully refreshing.

The beach is filled with Brits.  Lobster-colored, blonde Brits.  I talk to everyone, and they are all pretty goddamn uptight.  Two young men, probably about 18-20, dressed in what looked like very expensive beachwear, walk by us, each struggling to carry about 4 beers apiece.  I say, "want me to take one of those off your hands?"  Deadpan, one of them says "uh, no" and looks at me like I was out of my mind.

I mean, shit, he probably thought I was Mrs. Robinson.  

The water is impeccably clean and fresh.

There's one of those huge round rafts that get dragged by a speedboat.  Joanna really wants to go on one.  I don't really care.  I decide for $20 it's worth it, but $30 it's not.  And we didn't have a a ton of cash on us.  At some point, the guys come towards shore, and I send Joanna over to talk to them.  She has the tits in our relationship; I figure it's gotta work for something.  She screams back at me $25, and she successfully negotiates them down to $20.

Tits.  Works every time.

His name is Derrick, and we tell him to come find us after we've eaten.  He makes us promise we're not going anywhere.

We sit down at jujus and she tells us to order at the bar; make sure there's something we'd want to eat.  I said "why wouldn't we want to eat something here?" And she gave me a strange look.  We ordered some fish (they call it dolphin but it's not) and fries at the bar, and the woman who took our order really seemed none too pleased with us, or none too pleased with working.  She even demanded we pay first, because lots of people run off without paying.

It was like that Denny's scandal, with the races revered.  It didn't bother us... They must have had some bad experiences with people not paying.  And the fish was delicious, so in the end that was all that mattered.  

Derrick come back and sits on our chair and talks to us.  He is so lovely.  It starts to rain and he tells us we should wait it out, so we hang out with him for a while and he takes us out.  We ask what the deal is with the British people.  Evidently they are really uptight until they get drunk.  And the family of the boy I fucked with is super rich... Mom is wearing a diamond tennis bracelet on the beach.  

If you ever have an opportunity to ride on one of these things... It is way more fun than it has any right to be.  You're attached by a string to a speed boat, you're grabbing on to the handles for dear life, while they  drag you behind them and across the wake of the boat.  When it's over, we're hysterical, and I say to Derrick and his partner Jamal, "man, you really know how to make a girl scream!"

They liked that.  Maybe a little too much.  Bajans men, we've found, are very complimentary and friendly, but when they find out you're not available, they immediately back off.  "Does your man know how lucky he is?" Is a very nice thing to hear, even if I already known the answer is "yes."  If you ever want a boost of confidence, Barbados is the place to go.

We go back home, and Davette has her friend Malcolm cook us some dinner.  They keep asking us when we're going to go out, into town, but when you've got someone cooking for you, and the rum punch is flowing, and the company is so good, what's the point?

Trouble is, Davette is the best part of this trip.  We don't want to leave her!

"The smaller the pincers..." A first day in Barbados

A five hour flight after a one hour delay, and a 20 minute taxi ride and we arrived at our airbnb in Fitts village on the west coast of Barbados.

Davette owns a beautiful 3 bedroom home with a patio in front, a roof deck, and a yard full of fruit trees: mangoes, limes, pomegranate, tamarind.  There's a mom cat and her kittens running around the back.  Davette grew up in queens, went to a neighboring high school, and lived in bed-stay until she moved here 6 years ago.  She worked in education administration, and as such, she was excited to have a couple of New York teachers in the house.  She greets us with a rum punch and says "my teachers!" and tells us to go across the street with them to check out the beach. ACROSS THE STREET.  "Is this legal?" We ask.  "Everything's legal in Barbados," she replies.

This is a good sign.

Davette made us a lovely curried chicken with quinoa and kale, special for us (because we're teachers,) but mostly because there's nothing really open close by on a Sunday.  Within the hour, we're absolutely in love with her.  She is lovely, radiant, warm, spunky and funny.  She offers to take us out with her to holetown, for Sunday night drinking, dancing, and karaoke.  

1st street in Holetown is a small street behind a large mall filled with big, American brands like Louis Vuitton and Michael Kors, and some diamond companies... The kind of place you'd expect to see in a fancy island resort destination.  But 1st street is a little place with local places, and street food, and an outdoor karaoke bar that runs every Sunday night.

Miss Davette is like the mayor.  She shows up, and all the gentlemen at the place clamor to her to say hi.  The thing to do, according to Davette's friend, is to order 4 beers for $5.  Davette orders a fifth of Absolut vodka, a bottle of soda, and gets a styrofoam bowl of ice.  For herself.  Cause that is also how it's done, it seems.  So as I wasn't about to Joanna and I get a fifth of Mount Gay Barbados Rum, a bottle of ginger ale, and a bottle of ice.  Bottle service, Barbados style, about $6 for us both.

We sit down and Davette introduces us to her friends.  We got there on the early side, and it's Davette and her friends, a couple of drunk local dudes and A LOT of middle aged, overly tanned British people.  It seems that this island is full of them... A lot of people come back year after year.  I guess the Brits have a hard time letting go of their colonial past, but they did all seem very respectful and loving of all the Bajans at least.  Everybody talked to everyone and seem to get on fine.   The karaoke is run by the DJ, who intermittently interrupts the karaoke singers with the PEOOO-PEOOO-PEOOO air horn that is always blasted on morning Caribbean radio and in soca and dancehall music.  The book is completely disorganized, and all I find that I usually sing is Rihanna.  I CANNOT come to Barbados and sing Rihanna.  They will boo my ass out of this country trying to singe Barbados' #1 export.  Some older, bleach blonde Canadian lady sings some rock song.  She's good.  One by one, all of the regulars start singing... Mostly soca hits and American standards by Sinatra and Elton John.  I guess Sinatra knows no intentional bounds... Karaoke people LOVE singing "my way."  I finally find my go-to "total eclipse of the heart" in the disheveled mess of a songbook, and place my order. 

The soca music is infectious, and Joanna and I start to dance.  Everyone is watching, and one of the young, hip, local gay guys (who plugged his fashion line in the middle of his karaoke song) starts dancing with me.  Miss Davette calls me over and says, "don't take this the wrong way, but you don't dance like a white girl.  Are you Puerto Rican?"

This is a variant of my favorite compliment... Telling me I don't dance like a white girl and asking what flavor of light-skinned Latina I am.

And then the hot-pink colored Brits start coming over to ask me if I was a professional dancer... Which is ludicrous but is often asked by people who have no semblance of rhythm whatsoever.  

All of this has lead me to the conclusion that no one in this country has ever seen a white girl who can dance before.  

Joanna and I talk to everyone.  Everyone is super friendly and just lovely. Someone remarks that we're really nice for Americans.  This is not surprising.

My song comes on, and at this point the street is packed full of people.  I don't need any courageous, liquid or otherwise, to sing... I can sing this song in my sleep.  I get about 10 bars in, when I turn around (no pun intended) and the local drag queen is right up on me singing backup for me.   Amazing.

Joanna and I are tired, but we can't let Ms. Davette outlast us.  She nearly did.

A guy named Boston takes us in his cab.  I say I'll get in the front.  He says, "ok, but you keep your hands to yourself."  I shake his hands, and he comments on how small my hands are.  He says "ooh you have small hands.  You know what they say... The smaller the pincers, the wider the air (ear?) holes."

Yep.  Boston suggested I had a wide vagina.  

Davette is impressed that I understand Bajans as well as I do... They often speak in idioms that I've never heard before, and some of the accents are very strong.  Very colorful.  She said that once, when she first got here, a gentleman was eating a mango off her tree, and he said something to her, which she didn't understand, so she just said "mmmmm-hmmmmm" in agreement.  Turns out later she found out he said, "this is as sweet as a woman's pussy" and she just nodded in agreement.

Thank god I knew better than to agree with Mr. Boston.