Feliz Natal!

Well we’ve made it to the state of Rio Grande do Norte, to the far eastern tip of Brazil, jutting out into the Atlantic and just a short hop over to Senegal! Here in the city of Natal there is an historic, colonial core with some brightly painted and well-preserved churches. We stumbled upon an oasis of calm in a Franciscan monastery, exploring the small church and secluded cloisters, and then on to the Metropolitan cathedral, a concrete barn thrown up in a hurry and on a tight budget, where the roof didn’t quite meet up with the walls: in this heat, it’s not such a problem. We checked out two shopping malls, the first totally modern, massive and smart with fierce air-conditioning; the second more laid back with expensive fast food joints.
Meanwhile, back in the old part of the city, on the higher ground and known as the Cidade Alta, we halted on a street corner at a tiny café for a quick pit stop: salgados (fried savouries such as empanadas and pasteis) fresh pineapple juice and an avocado vitamina. One of our goals was to locate a Terreiro do Candomblé, but the address was far out of town and time was against us. But round the next corner was some consolation, for down an atmospheric side-street we found the Casa do Orixas, a small shop devoted to statues of saints, religious artefacts and all the paraphernalia associated with the cult of Umbanda. Here the statues were of dancers, old slaves and nestling on a lower shelf was Exu. But isn’t he a Candomblé deity rather than Umbanda? Syncretic cults can be confusing, and it’s not really possible to do anything more than just scratch the surface. But at least we’ve managed to make contact!
Wandering lost through narrow streets proved to be a great decision to round the day off as little did we know that we were shortly wandering alongside notorious favela territories, where the inhabitants gave us a mixture of looks; some smiling beside others that were dubiously straight-faced. To see the favelas close up was intriguing! Narrow paths winding up through no-go dwellings which locals had built from the basic bricks that they could find, the vast majority being terracotta except from the few houses that brightened up the scene with their brilliantly bright paint colour schemes. We were sure to stop and overlook the river where the fishermen were balancing on the thin, broken concrete ledges of the harbour side, forcibly hauling in their nets using all reserve muscle power. The multicoloured fishing boats with their unique names painted on their sides and rims tended to bob gently as a gentle breeze created weak rippling movements on the water’s surface.

Fortaleza

We’ve arrived in a city of 2.4 million people; the capital of the Brazilian state of
Ceará. As first impressions go, it was quite breathtaking to see the golden coastline hugged by rather futuristic high-rise blocks. Once on the ground it was a completely different story and from this aspect we became aware of the deceptive beach front and the underlying real life that many of the locals enjoy simultaneously with endurance. As it was Sunday when we arrived in Fortaleza, the city was comparatively silent by Brazilian standards and everybody seemed to have headed out of town to enjoy the idealistic lifestyle of a beach bum.
The local bus ride into the city centre was bewildering! We saw beauty and happiness in the street children, some of who were playing futebol whilst others were ‘soltando pipa’ (flying single-stringed kites). When Jon was living in the Zona Norte of Rio de Janeiro, he became involved in the joyful pipa game. Onto the roof of his house he climbed to set up for the contest, taking in an unforgettable view of the local Carioca neighbourhoods and favelas at the same time but also trying to spy out other peoples’ kites with whom he would play. To start playing, one has to fly their kite and if they are the only one doing so, somebody is guaranteed to eagerly join them within seconds. Once there are one or more kites high overhead, the aim of the game is to cut each others kite strings. The one remaining with their kite still flying is the winner (though some cheaters roll their cords in glass shards to give them that extra boost).
After disembarking the bus we admired an aqua blue and brilliant white colonial building before wandering up to the Mercado Central to admire some local handicrafts and re-hydrate. Curios stray cats and optimistic dogs scoured through clusters of rubbish that seemed to appear every so often along the way and we were always sure to cross to the opposite side of the street for fear of potential rabies transmission. The occasional street child looked at us imploringly, and the level of malnourishment was startling: perhaps even worse than the children we came across in Bangladesh. The market itself had many cheap t-shirts with humorous phrases printed on, plenty of clay figurines holding drums or accordions to illustrate the Forró music culture, and finely detailed wooden carvings of religious scenes, wildlife, architecture, you name it! We could have easily blown our life savings in that place but with a little discipline and willpower, we wandered across to the Cathedral without looking back. It was rather plain and was all white apart from the numerous beautiful stained glass windows and the crucifix which was illuminated with electric-blue lights from behind. Attentive church-goers watched as the bishop of Fortaleza was enthusiastically running the service, and a couple of needy street children walked by with open palms. Then it was off to a small street market with cobblestones covered with sand, plenty of beachwear for sale, and a coconut vendor who was able to quench our thirst handsomely!
The district of Iracema is slightly down-at-heel, and so we moved onwards via a supermarket, where we bought a variety of local chilled drinks, to a beach-side bar for ice-cold Chopp and chicken hearts. Yes, chicken hearts, and they were extremely tasty! Sundays in central Fortaleza are slightly tricky: our visit to the Centro Cultural Dragão do Mar proved to be fruitless as everything was closed! So what to do…hang on, this is Brazil, so off to the beach! The local buses are fantastic, and the journey past favellas and tiny streets with colourfully painted houses with red-tiled roofs and ad-hoc games of futebol captured the mood perfectly. The Praia do Futuro was packed: many thousands of people doing one of the things that Brazilians do best of all! This is the life! Had we been hungry here, vendors plied their trade in lollipops of cheese to whack upon their tiny, portable barbeques, almost like thuribles containing hot charcoal and swinging from a chain.
Meanwhile, back on the trail, we hit the Meireles strip just as the sun was setting. This can be best described as a cross between Miami beach and Benidorm. Past the tiny fishing beach, off which jangada fishing boats with their curved masts were anchored and accessible only from the tiny rowing boats piled up on the beach, and on to the large craft fair which commences each day at dusk. Fortaleza was gradually springing into life, and the promenade became highly animated with passers-by, street artists and circus acts. Suitably fortified with a fat tapioca, condensed milk and coconut delicacy from two elderly women pushing a street-vendor’s cart, we pushed onwards along the strip, taking in the vacation atmosphere of this massive resort, and enjoying the balmy, tropical evening.

Santarem and Alter do Chão

The city of Santarem is sited at the confluence of two mighty rivers: the Amazon and the Tapajós. The Amazon water is dense and muddy, laden with alluvial deposits and vegetable matter, whilst the Tapajós runs almost clear, and appears much darker to the eye. Just to the east of Santarem it’s possible to see the Ilha Grande do Tapartu and the place where the two rivers meet, flowing side-by-side for many miles, but refusing to mingle! Our goal is to travel further upstream of the Tapajós to the small village of Alter do Chão in search of a little slice of fluvial paradise. But will we find it?
Pink river dolphins were a great start to the nature of the Amazon. The numbers of this freshwater dolphin species have unfortunately been diminishing and they are such beautiful creatures. As the name suggests, they really are pink and most have grey markings on them too.
We made a visit to the large blue cathedral of Santarem founded by the Jesuits, and then straight to the fish market to check out some amazing varieties of Amazon river fish, one of which seems to have eyes decorating its tail fins! This may possibly be to deter predators. For one, these eyes appear much larger than the fish’s real eyes and an attacking predator may be fooled into thinking it’s much larger than it actually is and therefore may have consequences to pay should it decide to move in for the kill. Another reason that’s just as likely is that these spots are actually to mimic an animal’s head, thus disguising it as a tail. As predators are likely to attack the head/body regions, the advantage to this would be to grant the fish one final chance to escape. A small tear in the tail is certainly better than a wound to the head. In this case, these adaptations didn’t seem to outsmart the fishermen. The food hall within the market provides a few aromas to savour and salivate over.
As the noon heat began to scorch, we decided to crack on with things. We waited patiently for our bus to stop on Avenida Rui Barbosa. The time flew as we were also busy taking in the daily grind and awing over the ‘sorvete’ stands. So many ice-creams in so many flavours. Oh Yeah! Must keep an eye out for the bus! It was sometimes very unclear where some of the buses were headed for, be it small writing or no writing! A couple of times Jon held his arm out to flag down a bus and shouted “Isto onibus vai para Alter do Chão?”, but on both occasions they were going elsewhere. Moments after a bus approached speedily with “Alter do Chão” written boldly across the sign on the front. This was it! We were starting our hour long journey to a small oasis within the thick of the tropical rainforest. The journey was a little hair-raising as the driver seemed to be ignoring the speed limit signs and dust flew in through the windows when the good quality road transformed itself to a red dirt track. Travelling past the dense topical rainforest gave us the rare opportunity to compare it with our experiences in the Taman Negara of Malaysia and the slice of the Lowacherra rainforest we visited in Bangladesh.
We paid our bus fare at the end of the journey, exiting through a turnstile just like at a football ground and clambering down from the bus onto an intersection of the village laden with bars, cafes, small restaurants, pousadas and gift shops. All seemed to be closed for siesta time, and perhaps made this village seem rather more touristy than we had been led to expect. But the main praça revealed the magnificent vista of the river and the inviting Ilha do Amor, with its pristine white sandy beaches and glistening, blue water. The praça also contained plenty of small stalls which looked like they could spring into life at dusk, as well as a pretty colonial church.
We headed down a sandy dirt-track road, past the vultures waddling around, in search of our intended lodgings for the night: the Albergue do Floresta. Through a gateway in a fence made entirely from dried palm fronds, we entered into a small haven of tranquillity away from the bustle of village life, a world of brightly coloured hammocks and tiny blue wooden cabins, where only the chirp of a few insects could be heard. They assured us that there were no mosquitoes here, and that nets were unnecessary. So we bagged a hammock each and decided to swing around for a good few minutes to get used to this new, tropical method of relaxing, chilling, and later (much later…) sleeping.
Right then, let’s explore around the praça of Alter do Chão! We settle down for a quick pit stop of Frango Empanado (large chunks of chicken breast deep-fried in breadcrumbs) which arrive together with lashings of mayonaise jazzed up with plenty of ketchup, and an orange coloured Brazilian chilli sauce which, when poured liberally over the chicken, makes it sing in the mouth! Back down at the water’s edge, the time came to cool off with a small ice-lolly (picolé) before we paddled over to the waterside bar. Well actually, it’s more IN the water than beside it. You could easily swim right up to your table! Here we cool down once more with an amazingly flavoured refrigerated soft drink called Guarana.
By early evening we had managed to find an almost deserted beach to enjoy an astonishing sunset over the Rio Tapajós. The sun descended as a massive flaming ball, even penetrating through the cloud cover as it began to dip beneath the horizon of virgin rainforest miles away beyond the still river. The water in Amazonia right now is at a very low level, so the beaches stretch quite some distance and the floating pontoons stand marooned on the sand. Later in the year it will be a very different story. We start to explore once more around the centre of the village, ultimately seeking food but stumbling upon some amazing shops specialising in colourful local handicrafts, from brightly painted wooden macaws, to small latex armadillos amidst countless tribal spears, blowpipes and drums. Fantastic!
We opt for food local-style, not gringo style; you should know us by now from the last two years worth of blogs! A small stall with a roadside barbeque of magnificent skewers of roast chicken on the churrasquinho proves to be exactly the right choice. These kebabs can then be sprinkled liberally with crunchy corn-flower (farinha) and plenty of chilli sauce. This might just be the best BBQ chicken we’ve ever tasted! They asked us to try some passion fruit juice (maracuja) to wash it down with, and it would have been silly not to accept! And yes, mais dois se faz favor! Just a few paces away is a terrific ice-cream stall with a bewildering array of flavours to choose from. Jon finds tapioca ice-cream, which has a lush, rich flavour and an astonishing texture from the little pearls of tapioca hidden in each lick. The passion fruit ice cream was equally delectable, too!

The night in the hammock was quite frankly magical! All the insects of the forest had struck up their nocturnal symphony, which would continue until dawn. There would seem to be an infinite number of positions you can adopt when lying in your hammock, and it was fun trying out as many as possible until sleep would eventually intervene, but then at various points throughout the night you would re-adjust and then nod off again. A soothing tropical rain shower had helped lower the temperature around midnight, and whilst it was still pitch-black at 6 am, a rooster made sure that we stirred to great the coming day. Breakfast started for us along the river front with a fried tapioca pancake laden with condensed milk and coconut, progressing to a table at a tiny café on the square with a batida de abacate (avocado milkshake), a café preto and a cafezinho. As we chilled out here for a while we admired the bird life. One delightful specimen that caught our eyes had a shimmering mustard yellow belly and head, and was gliding through the air showing off its black wing and tail feathers. It was the size of a small blackbird but it’s ego was the size of an albatross!

This is what Brazil is all about; the friendly people, the awesome food and the spectacular wildlife.

Sailing up the Amazon

The sea was blue, the tropical Atlantic, as we travelled Southwest from French Guiana along the Brazilian seaboard. And then it was green, and perhaps grey, as the storm clouds gathered, as is the norm during the afternoons. But then something rather strange happened: the water started to change colour, and it gradually became quite a murky brown. As the shadows started to lengthen, we spied a procession of tiny white boats with green sails: a family flotilla of Brazilian fishing boats! As night drew on the water became calmer and much browner, becoming just like milky-white coffee. The scent of tropical rainforest humidity wafted on the night airs, as cicadas and bioluminescent insects flew round our heads, and up above the stars twinkled in the spacious firmament. We had crossed over the ‘bar’…
By morning it all became clear: we were slowly penetrating the heart of the Floresta Amazonica, past Macapa and along mangrove swamps, loose water hyacinths, floating grasses and magnificently tall, towering trees with the occasional cluster of vultures circling above. But as if this wasn’t quite enough, we were shortly to be greeted by friendly natives on their shallow, carved wooden rowing boats, waving excitedly at us. They had emerged from tiny river tributaries that had small, wooden huts (just like the Malaysian kampongs we discovered last year). We took no notice of a ghostly cloud of what appeared to be a thick mist which approached us from behind, give or take the twenty minutes of its stealthy approach. We were soon enjoying a thorough drenching of cool tropical rain, a soothing respite from the intense equatorial heat of noon. We also became acquainted with a hawk moth, many large beetles and a bee which landed on Jon’s arm, but resisted the temptation to sting him!

Guyene Francaise - French Guiana

We’re in one of the most sparsely populated countries of the world, exploring the paradise of Ile Royale, 10 miles off the coast! Well, almost paradise: the dense and varied vegetation, the undulations of the small hilly island and the fascinating animal and bird inhabitants make the place feel very special indeed. In fact, without even trying, Ile Royale has given even the Seychelles a run for their money in terms of atmosphere and experience. Our visit to the Iles du Salut have coincided with a massive tropical downpour (it’s the rainy season right now) and getting thoroughly drenched by cool rain in this incessant heat only adds to the magical experience. But here there are one or two things which detract from that first impression of paradise.
Firstly, there are no real beaches so to speak of, and the coastline is rocky and dramatic, which churns up the waves as they approach the shore. Swimming here would be impossible, the sea is so violent, and it’s far from that enticing turquoise blue of just a few days ago; it’s more green which reflects the dense palm forests which tumble down to the rocky water’s edge. But swimming would be a bad idea for the other obvious reason: these are shark-infested waters!
Perhaps that’s why the French established a prison colony here over 160 years ago. Nobody would ever be able to escape…
The tropical rain beats down as we explore overgrown paths, careful to avoid the falling coconuts, and weave in and out of the derelict buildings that remain from the prison. It was such a curious experience to be trekking both off and on road with the few gingerbread-like sandstone paths that actually exist probably having been built for the prison guards by the convicts that had been banished from France.
Ile Royale has a fantastic array of wildlife including the green-winged ara macaw, capuchin monkeys, even pheasants and cats (that had probably been introduced from France), but most of all, agoutis. Not to be missed! This is a species of rodent that resembles a slightly oversized ginuea pig with short front legs and disproportionately large hind legs. Goodness knows how they scamper so bleeding quickly! Their bristly pelage merges from a slate colour at the front to an almost ferric orange behind. In fact, one of us did comment on how it looked as if these agoutis had coconuts permanently capped over their hides. We were also fortunate enough to get a close up of an iguana, and just as fortunate not to have got so close to the lake below that caimans inhabit!. Anyway, it was the greenest iguana either of us had ever seen! Sadly we couldn’t get a picture as Jon stopping Simon in his tracks and almost winding him, just centimetres from where the iguana was perched, caused the iguana to twitch and she fell to her watery bed. The poor creature will have to spend a very long time climbing up again! Deepest apologies.
Out of the three Islands that make up Iles du Salut, the Ile du Diable (Devil’s Island) is the most difficult to access and is notorious for being the primary prison for French criminals of the past. The prisoners were often subjected to a lonesome stretch of time in small and uncomfortable individual brick huts, where they had a sea view from a window comparable to that of an artist’s viewfinder, if they were lucky. Not even a criminal deserves to be cooped up with barely any space to move around, with no escape from the intense tropical heat and humidity, nor from the invasive insects that no doubt caused intense aggravation from their bites, stings and just simply crawling over them. There couldn’t have been a moments peace.
Despite this inhumanity of the past, Devil’s Island remains very beautiful and untouched with coconut palms and rocks being it’s only inhabitants, although rumour has it that there are swarms of irritable bees there these days. We were fortunate enough to get a phenomenal glimpse of this Island from the Ile Royale, where we were. Our time there was just too short, but now we’re moving onwards to explore a sandy beach over 400 miles from the sea…

Trinidad: Port-of-Spain

The very first experience we have of this city is a steel pan band. It’s deafeningly loud, and exceptionally good! Then in the crowds around Frederick St, a local guy called Marcus strikes up a conversation with us about Manchester United. Immediately, Jon senses a ploy which might prove costly in terms of finance and time-management, so we quickly disengage. We walk right up to the north of town, up towards the hills which seem to look like the ridges in northern Venezuela. Well, geologically, they must be pretty much identical, for mainland Venezuela lies just 7 miles to the south of Trinidad.
At the Botanical Gardens we meet Lewis, who offers to drive us up into the mountains, but taxis are frankly a bit more expensive than converse and pavement, so we move onwards, drenched to the skin by a tropical storm, and happy to have found Jonny’s Coconut stall.
We arrive in Independence Square tired and hungry. How about trying the most important and famous street food of Trinidad and Tobago, ’Hot Doubles’? These consist of layers of fluffy pancakes upon which is spooned plenty of chickpeas in a fiery pepper sauce. Wow! There’s a strong chance that these might just be THE taste sensation of our entire expedition, and it’s only the second full day… Hot Doubles are in fact SO tasty that we return to the same stall an hour later for a repeat prescription. Back in Frederick St we manage to stumble upon a food hall where we try Callaloo, a very thick soupy dish made with okra. There’s a distinctive Indian presence here on the island, which extends from the shop owners to the local delicacies. But more of this later.
“Hey London guys!” Well it’s a small city centre, and Marcus had found us again.
“What you lookin’ for?” he drawled, and somewhat foolishly Simon started to answer the question: “Roti”
“Ok, come on!” and with that Marcus had already shot off, parting the crowd and beckoning us to follow. Slowly it began to dawn upon the travelling duo that at some point in this new friendship, money would be changing hands, and not necessarily in the credit column of team Jon and Simon. But what can you do? And after all, part of this trip will be ALL about the people we meet down on the street, and wow, this guys is being greeted by just about everybody he passes, so he must be a very familiar face around these parts. As the walk with Marcus progresses, the questions Jon is asking him start to illicit quite detailed information about his background. Yes, of course he’s a ’guide’ but not an ordinary sort of guide, he is part of an organisation which specialises in connecting tourists in Port-of-Spain with real Trinidadian life. So clearly Marcus had identified us in the crowd earlier and picked us as likely dudes for his services, but then this is a good thing, because what he knows and what he wants to show us is pretty much what we want to know and experience.
He’s served in the US Navy on the Alamo, and now he works with the underprivileged sectors of urban society and builds bridges between life in the ghetto and visitors to the city. But aren’t we on a sophisticated island, maybe part of the developed world, rich in bourgeois western values and lifestyles? Well lets just walk a few blocks east and take a hike down Charlotte St and down into George St. Woosh! We’re back where we love life best, it’s the street scene of the developing world, with its frenetic pace, distinctive aromas (not least of peeled lemons wafting on the breeze), pumping music, market stalls and the hardships of lives lead permanently in the shadow of poverty. And to the east of George St. lies a series of tenements riddled with barbed wire on every balcony. Marcus tells us that here is the no-go area, with gangland warfare, drug deals, gun-point robberies and high speed chases. We’re safe here with Marcus, they all know him, and he has an instinctive feeling for where we can go and when. We even pass a large workshop devoted to the production of steel pans. All this exploration has worked up some pretty strong hunger pangs, and so back in Independence Square we manage to track down a Roti shop, where we ask for the works. This is a whole meal wrapped up in a massive chapati, complete with some tasty pickled mango still on its stone and some chicken with many, many bones…
It’s time to buy some rum before we leave the Caribbean (until April, that is!) and we meet a wonderful elderly couple who run a liquor store: a sophisticated Indian gentleman, who, just like Simon’s dad, had spent his career working for ICI and his wife who is also the Philippino Consul to Trinidad. They have a great framed photograph of the time they met Prince Charles, and it turns out that she had even worked with Mother Teresa when they lived in Calcutta. We exchanged stories for quite some time!

Woah! We're going to Barbados!

It’s almost two years since we flew on Virgin Atlantic, first time around to Mauritius. Well, their version to Barbados was every bit as good! In fact, it was just like the song, and it felt as if we really were on Coconut Airways… Before we set off, there was time in the early hours of the morning to stop by Rockies in West Hounslow for a mind-blowing pizza laden with bird’s eye chillis just to get in the mood: this place is a great find and a must-visit whenever you are travelling from LHR, it’s run by a Sikh family and everybody speaks Punjabi, including all but two of the customers…
During the aircraft’s final approach to Grantly Adams International Airport, it was clear to see below us the turquoise blue sea, the white powder sand, the palm trees and the chattel houses lining the narrow roads. What a perfect image of the REAL Barbados; and pretty soon our task will be to connect with some real Bajan people and experience the way of life on the island rather than the enclaves of the all inclusive resorts…
We touched down at Bridgetown just as the sun was setting, and decided to hit the ground running and explore the capital of Barbados in-depth as night drew on. “’Sup, big man” was the greeting offered to us from a tall and imposing guy on the main street, and he went on “Is there anything I can get you?” Now that was kind, wasn’t it? He gave us the creeps but ’m sure he was just in need a little extra cash or a cigar. Within seconds we were fighting off offers from taxi drivers and well meaning chaps who offered us all manner of diversions and entertainments. But this wasn’t quite what we had in mind. But one thing was very refreshing: here there was no hard-sell, no obvious hassling or hustling; it’s all completely laid-back, chilled out and matter-of-fact. We located a great little row of rum stalls, doing a slow trade with just a few languid hangers-on, but two Polish guys were enjoying the local lager of the island, ‘Banks’ and seemed intent on finding a party. They wondered if we could help them, and the offer of a bottle of Banks seemed like quite a good idea under the circumstances. So we learned that Arek and Daniel were engineer cadets on a large cargo ship bound for Grenada.
Luckily for us another Bajan man had previously directed us to a party that was located just around the corner, down a side street which had a few people walking and cycling, and the occasional loner sitting on an empty plastic beer crate, dwelling on times past. A pool table caught the eye of Arek and so we ended up having a round of that before trundling away in search of the Heineken Bar that was apparently close by, according to the Polish men. They were pretty merry so to say, so I guess they can be forgiven for dragging us far to the outskirts of town to bar that didn’t exist. In fact, had it not been for this wild goose chase, we would never have stumbled upon a tiny, wooden shack that sold fish by day and beer by night, complete with two local Barbadians to pass some time with. The Polish guys didn’t seem to want to stay and hang so they wandered off into the distance in the search of another bar.
Meanwhile, we were invited to pull up one of the metal chairs each and exchange stories of our past trips with one of the Bajan guys who was casually sipping on a beer. This man had certainly been places! He was born in Barbados, but lived in the Bahamas, Canada and France, where he practised and sold his impressive artwork. He used to play football, but these days I think he prefers to chill, since experiencing the agony of a dislocated shoulder and another injury to the collarbone. He mentioned that when in France, the pain returns to where he was injured and stays, but when in Barbados or elsewhere in the Caribbean, the pain magically disappears. Maybe it’s a sign that Barbados is his true home and it’s where he’s meant to be.
The next morning, we headed straight into town to catch a glimpse of Bridgetown by day before checking out some of Barbados’ coastline. We followed some routes along the busy coastal roads, but crossing the roads was no hard task as every driver was so polite that they stopped in their tracks just to facilitate us in traversing the street. We found ourselves strolling along a beach where we found many weird and wonderful things, from sapphire blue and turquoise waters to a sand-smothered motor boat that seemed to have made some sort of emergency crash landing on the shore… Photo opportunity!

As we continued in our strides we noticed that this strip of beach was coming to an end and so we had to return to the road for a short while before getting back to some sand and sea. This section of beach wasn’t so large either and before we knew it we found ourselves scaling the historic walls of a characteristic fortress complete with rusty cannons. Perhaps we were following in the footsteps of pirates some 300 years before? Climbing up over the fence to where the cannons were was definitely our best and only option, since we were approaching a sharp cliff. Little did we know that by this time we had successfully trespassed into the Hilton Hotel’s swimming pool complex and their private beach. I must admit that I had started to feel a little guilty, but the sheer bliss of the beach took me to a whole new level! We stopped for a refreshing dip in the sea after walking a little further in the fine, talcum powder sand.
On the way back to base, it suddenly became compulsory to taste a ‘roti’, this being a mild chicken and potato curry all wrapped in a chapatti. It was really tasty, but it’s in Barbados, so we won’t be stopping there for a while.
This first Island-hop is slowly getting us used to the tropical heat, and it’s almost impossible to remember that cold winter that we just came from. Right now, some of that cold weather would be welcome, I say as drops of sweat from my forehead pounds the keyboard in front of me!