Leaving Barbados

Along with a bunch of other weary travelers, I trudged up the metal stairs of a charter bus parked on the pier alongside the cruise ship at 7:16 a.m. After we checked that our suitcases were lumped in with all the neatly stacked rows of luggage inside the terminal, we were driven uneventfully to the airport. It was mostly sunny with just a few high thin clouds, unlike the tropical rain storm that flooded the streets of Oistins the week before, when Andrew the taxi driver drove us in his Toyota Landcruiser through ankle deep water. My sinuses hurt, dripped here and there. Kim had been generous with her cold. My throat tickled off and on. I tried not to cough or hack. Kept a Kleenex handy.

Arriving at the airport, we off loaded and Kim rushed to the check in area while I gathered up our luggage from the bus. The check in and baggage check took over 30 minutes; none of the airline employees was in a hurry. The same at the "most annoying crepe shop ever" inside the terminal where many locals stood assembled by the counter in their airport uniforms (pilots, maintenance workers, one well-dressed lady who probably worked in one of the duty free shops) patiently waiting for coffee and maybe a savory crepe, but the lady behind the counter could only do one thing at a time. Ease a plastic glove from a bag. Slip it over one hand. Then the other hand. Then unwrap another plastic baggy. Pull out a crepe. Slowly lift a lid for a container of chicken or cheese. Because she had no bacon. No egg. No ham as indicated on the menu board. I had skipped the breakfast served on the ship because it was served at 6:30 a.m., much too early. After a customer carefully sorted some dozen coins onto the counter to pay for her order, the crepe lady fingered them one at a time, the dollar coins, the 50 cent coins, the 25 cent coins, and then the 10 cent coins, and deposited them with the pace and grace of an alligator inching down a river bank in the jungle.

I wondered if I would a) get a breakfast and if so b) would I then have time to buy some local rum from one of the many duty free shops in the terminal. I had this hankering to purchase a bottle of El Dorado rum I had sipped from a brandy glass at the Cafe Luna in Oistins, a rum made in Guyana and aged for 15 years. While I stood watching the frustratingly slow process unfold behind the counter, the concrete floor in the terminal felt like it was mildly rolling, pulsing, floating, as my sea legs unconsciously swayed my body slowly left and slowly right - part of my brain was still on that ship.

Finally I abandoned the crepe idea and walked to the nearby cafe where I had a ham and cheese croissant warmed in a microwave, a french yogurt, and a bottle of locally made citrus punch. Two ladies behind the counter, who nearly kept pace with hummingbirds, at least in comparison to the crepe lady, popped the goods into white paper bags, and rang up the purchase on a modern touchscreen, and Kim paid with a brightly colored $50 Barbados bill ($25 US). And I bought my Guyanian rum, which the man behind the counter was kind enough to squeeze into a protective cardboard container with a grip, and he taped it shut with strand after strand of strapping tape so that I could easily carry it on board for the American Airlines Flight 615 to Dallas - Fort Worth. The plane taxied down the runway at 10:16 a.m. and we were away.

Copyright 2011 by Tom Flynn

Comments

[Stef]

Barbados sounds wonderful, it's on my list to do, I am glad you're there to experience it.

[holiday rentals london]

Barbados is absolutely beautiful place I just wish some day to have the chance to go there.