A Week in Deepest Rural France

Day 1
As I travelled on the bus from my town to the airport I was wondering what it would be like? I knew I had wanted to get away and I had always kept a card that advertised “Sidsmums” travellers retreat in a draw, ever since my daughter had been there some 6 or 7 years ago. I was booked in to sleep in the dormitory which I knew from the website could sleep 5 people. The last time I had stayed in places like this was back in the Mid 1970’s when I had hitch-hiked all around Europe but now I am older and I know it can’t be like it was when I was a young man and it was easy to make friends with other young travellers. Thoughts ran through my mind, would I spend most of the week on my own? Was this the right thing to do? Would the young travellers think I was strange to stay in such a place?

I had once met Sid many years ago one Sunday afternoon as he was a friend of Beki’s then partner, but I doubted if he would remember me, what about Sid’s Mum, Jan? I wasn’t sure if I had ever met her before. All I knew of Jan was that her email the day before confirming my booking had an odd message attached which indicated that she was partial to a slice or two of Ginger cake. I thought it might be a good idea to provide one.

I arrived at Carcassonne airport and telephoned the number on the card, and told Jan that there was a ginger cake waiting to be collected and maybe she could give me a lift also. Soon I was being driven to the village of Preixan, I felt more at ease as Jan said she had met me once and anyway, my daughter had told her who I was.
I also met for the 1st time Georges, a friendly grey dog who sat on the back seat looking about.

After I arrived at the retreat, I was taken to the next village by Jo-Anne who was a volunteer, so I could get some provisions from the nearest shop, 3k’s away in the village of Rouffiac. Jo-Anne pointed out the best wine to buy and with bread, cheese, and tomatoes I was well set to keep the wolf from the door.

Upon our return I discovered what was to be very important throughout that week……the benches and table outside where I would spend most of my time when at the retreat, eating cheese, sausage, olives and amazing dinners, and drinking wines from around the area with an array of people who quickly became friends.

Day 2
Both Jo-Anne and Jan had suggested that a trip to the Market in Carcassonne was the thing to do on a Saturday morning so I found myself in the minibus along with Louise and Alun who lived in Ireland, Cat from Canada ,Jan, Jo-Anne and Ian and others heading into town.

Jan told us that before going around the market it was best to sit outside “Le Chocolateur” and have a coffee and watch market life going on. I discovered that this was code for “a coffee and a piece of chocolate cake with cream around it”. As far as I could ascertain, the chocolate cake must have been made up of a highly illegal amount of calories, and I could observe a number of addicts tucking in. Being conscious that I needed to keep my weight down I ordered the small coffee only but even that came with a syrup drenched half bread half cake slice.

The market was good, the produce was top quality, but even I could not bring myself to buy a donkey sausage from the stall and stayed with the ordinary pork variety.
There was also a covered market where meat and fish could be purchased, incredibly cheap sardines and a tuna steak being my choice, unfortunately I cannot eat crab otherwise I could have picked one out from the ones that were strutting about in their basket.

Upon returning to the retreat we found a new couple had arrived so Nick and Linda joined the other six of us booked in to the local restaurant for a meal that evening.
The ladies dressed up, the men dressed down, and off we went. On the way I made my first encounter with the “Ugly Sisters” a male and female pair of Bulldogs who lurched into the road as we came along. I thought of them from then on as “Stagger” and “Wallow” as that was how they moved whilst trying to get in your way.

The 4 course meal was superb but after a few of us failed to finish the main course. I thought that we might be in for a fifth course, a severe punishment from the owner as her dominatrix type scowl showing her disapproval at plates not being licked clean was highly evident. However it was not to be and I staggered and wallowed back to enjoy a nine hour sleep.

Day 3
Enjoyed a Sunday stroll to the river with Nick and Linda and Anne, we found the way thanks to the detailed map lent to me by Jan and enjoyed a snack of red wine and cheese.
Later Anthony, a young New Zealander student arrived and joined me at the table and we demolished a fair amount of wine. Luckily just as we ran out we discovered that Jan kept a few bottles for sale and were able to keep going with our tasting session.
A number of us led by Anthony then cobbled together a meal, during which I learnt from watching Ian in action, how to crush garlic using a special local saucer with spikes in it and a New Zealand method of grating tomatoes so that the skins didn’t go into the mix. I retired to bed feeling quite mellow.

Day 4
I got up early but as I was making coffee in the kitchen and looking out at the amazing view toward Carcassonne I heard what I thought was an electric strimmer being used.

My first thought was that Ian was up making an early start but as I got to the doorway I could see Georges scratching his back against the wall and the plants hanging over and the effect was causing him to make this almighty noise. Louise and Alun appeared shortly after and then following a discussion, I remembered that Anthony had declared late the previous evening that he would cook a risotto for all, this night coming.

Louise and Alun were going to Toulouse and would get the ingredients so I decided I would walk to the village after Rouffiac, a place called Pomas, to purchase some wine. I set off, it was a beautiful day, Sun shining, blue sky, and as I left the village the fields of vines with their bunches of almost ripe grapes stretched away up the slopes on both sides of the lane I was walking down. Preixan is a “circulade” village going back a thousand years and most of the buildings looked like it was a thousand years since any paint was applied. It is a place of great charm, a place where the church bells are rung twice in case you missed the number of strokes the first time around. I mused to myself that my father would have loved this area. During the 1930’s and again in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s he had often taken the boat to Calais and then just walked. There is no shop but there is a baker’s. The ficelle loaf is so light you think its going to float home by itself, the so called french sticks at home just do not compare.

Sometimes you feel that it could be anytime when you walk in such countryside, it probably hasn’t changed for many years. After passing through Rouffiac I had to briefly walk through the vineyards beside a dual carriage way which was lined with trees. By now the heat was drawing the smells up from the herbs growing along the way. Suddenly I could remember travelling along similar roads in Macedonia and Greece 30 odd years ago and I felt really good again. Those were the days when I would step out onto a highway in the morning with a destination sign and my backpack and not know where I would be that night, a whole new adventure lying ahead.

The shop in Pomas was disappointing with not much choice of wine, I bought the best two bottles and went looking for the bar but that was closed, I was too early. I headed back and arrived at the retreat and sat eating bread, cheese, and sausage washed down with wine. Anthony appeared and then Anne and we walked up into the hills and saw a view I will not forget, the Medieval Cite of Carcassonne shimmering in the heat way over in the distance.

By the time we returned the sun was over the yardarm and Anthony and I broached a new bottle, purchased almost the remainder of Jan’s stock of Corbieres and settled down at the tables to wait for Louise and Alun to arrive with the ingredients for the Risotto.

Now, recently on TV in England there had been a series of programs trying to find a champion chef and it had soon been apparent that whoever attempted to get through the rounds cooking risotto was doomed to failure. Anthony’s risotto with the help of Ian was a masterpiece. I have to take my hat off to them; it was a great meal that had been prepared for 9 people to eat. With side dishes of salad, cheeses, sausage, and bread (Jan’s rule…do not cut, just tear and share) and good wines it was a truly memorable evening.
Again I retired to bed feeling quite mellow.

Day 5
Got up early and went into Carcassonne on the bus with Louise, Alun and Anthony.
We sat having breakfast in a café and our discussions turned to “Sidsmums”.
We all agreed that staying there was much better than staying in a Bed and Breakfast as Jan herself was a tremendous hostess who seemed to put in a large amount of effort to ensure that new arrivals got introduced to those already there, and also ensured that guests enjoyed themselves. Jan also joined in and brought a lot of fun to the proceedings.
After breakfast we went to the market in the main square. The Wednesday market was not as large as the Saturday market but I was able, with the help of Anthony speaking in French, to purchase some wonderful fresh black olives that came from Provence. Then it was time for our boat trip along the canal. We were taken through a lock and then along a scenic route from which we were able to see the old medieval cite. We went down to another lock and then turned around and returned, the whole journey taking about 90 minutes. It was excellent value for the 8 euros charged and explanations were given in good English.

Just before noon we returned to the main square where I purchased 2 cheeses, a sheep’s cheese and another, following which we adjourned to “Le Chocolateur” where Alun and louise sampled the cakes. Another million calories consumed, we then made our way to the old cite.

Each time we stopped a smell seemed to envelope us, not unpleasant to me, a pungent slightly rotting smell. After a few of these occasions I remembered the cheese I had bought and realised that they must be ripening in my small rucksack. I had unfortunately, had to negotiate their purchase using English and my miniscule French as Anthony was not at the stall with me. As a result I had purchased 2 mighty great lumps! I looked forward to tasting these and the olives at the table that evening.

Once we arrived in the old cite we stopped to sample the beer, in fact we stopped every 10 minutes or so to sit and sample the beer. The conversation flowed on these occasions and I realised more and more how lucky I was to have met my companions, and that staying at “Sidsmums” was making this a great holiday.

Upon arriving back at the main square we visited the supermarket to pick up more provisions, well, wine and sausage, basically. Anthony then went off to the station to meet his girlfriend Ruth who was also coming to stay.

At 5.15pm Louise, Alun and I faced a serious challenge, we had by now made our way back to the street where the buses waited but could not work out which bus to embark. Eventually we got on one that would take us to the bus station where we could get the one to take us back to Preixan. I learnt at the station that it is not wise to rely on the Inspector to give the correct information as to which stand to wait at and luckily, Alun spotted our bus further along, Still its all part of the fun of going to a foreign country with inadequate language skills.

I’m not sure if the other passengers quite liked the cheesy smell’s as much as I did, or whether it was just a trifle warm, but within a few minutes most windows around me had been opened. I sat smiling; I was remembering the occasion when I had suggested that a party of friends I was with took lunch at the “Cheesy Cave” (the cave de fromager) restaurant in Boulogne. Half had refused at the doorway; others had entered but then left rapidly to eat elsewhere. Only the brave few could take it!

Upon arriving back at Preixan, Jan informed us that she would be cooking for us this evening and as the sun was over the yardarm, we set about sampling the olives, cheese and sausage, and of course, the wine.

A delightful evening followed during which we introduced Ruth into our evening ritual, eating and drinking the local produce, conversation flowing. Lot’s of fun.

The dish that Jan made was called Tartiflette. It contained lardons, diced potatoes, onions, creme fraiche and tartiflette cheese to top it off. It was cooked in the oven until the cheese melted over it. Without a doubt this woman knows how to cook.
It was absolutely delicious accompanied with salad and bread (tear, and share).

And yes, you have guessed correctly, once again I retired to bed feeling quite mellow.

Day 6
Louise decided to stay home today so the hunter-gatherers, Alun and I, set off on a long walk. Alun reckoned that we did at least 15 kilometres, I reckoned more like 18 kilometres, Jan reckoned we were talking like fishermen bragging about their catch. Anyway we set off walking down the lane to Rouffiac, the sun was shining, and we were in for a hot day.

At Rouffiac we found the shop after taking a walk around the village, not by design, I’ll admit because we got lost. We purchased wine; I bought again the claret that Jo-Anne had recommended to me on the 1st day. It was called Domaine de Lassalle and had a medal as it had won an award. I always had a suspicion that the French kept their best wines to themselves, I have never come across this one in England.

I had come to this conclusion after tasting Beaujolais Nouveau on the day in November when it 1st arrives in England. I would go as far as saying that I think the French invented that day and the race that takes place to get it back to England, in order to make a market for a substandard product that they themselves do not drink.

After Rouffiac, we turned right up the lane that would take us up to Montclar, what a beautiful part of the world, the lane twisted and turned up the hillside through the vineyards and woods and suddenly there it was in front of us, the place where the Domaine de Lassalle came from. The way became even steeper as we walked up into Montclar and stopped at a bench in some shade to eat. A man went by on a bicycle and growled bonjour; unbelievably he was wearing a beret and scruffy old clothes with a French loaf on the rack, just like in the old comedy films.

The best part of the walk came next, out of the village the road followed the ridge of the hill and as it changed direction we had, in that afternoon light, stunning views of the Corbieres to the south east, the Fenouilledes to the south and as the road twisted to the north east, we could see way out beyond Carcassonne to the hills behind the slopes where the Minervois comes from. It’s a good job that the French name their produce with the place it comes from; it makes it easier for me to remember.

As the road went into more wooded countryside we saw signs indicating that wild boar might be about and saw 2 magnificent horses standing under some trees in the shade. We decided that it was too hot to go hunting for boar, besides we had plenty of cheese and sausage that we had hunted down yesterday, to keep us going.

Before getting to Roullens we turned right and headed back down the track that took us back to Preixan. Once again we could see the medieval cite shimmering in the heat haze way over to our left, and the village down on its low hill, way ahead of us. Sidsmums was clearly visible in the distance.

We arrived back at about the hottest part of the day and sat basking in our glory at our achievement with a glass of red to revive us, ignoring the female comments about alleged exaggeration regarding the distance done!

That evening Jan, perfect hostess as usual, took us in the minibus to the old cite where she had booked us a table at a restaurant frequented by local people. Another wonderful fixed price meal was served up, this time 3 courses which was more manageable than the meal we had eaten on the terrace of the restaurant in Preixan. I think Alun and I had earned that meal. I slept soundly that night.

Day 7
I decided that I would have a lazy last full day. As with other mornings, I went first to the boulongerie to get a ficelle to eat with the morning coffee. Later in the morning I ambled down to the shop in Rouffiac with Alun and louise and then returned to Sidsmums to chill out.

I noticed that Georges was leaving his big stick right in front of the doorway to my room and moved it so that I wouldn’t trip on it. Shortly after it was back in front of the doorway so I moved it again. A little later sitting at the table, I felt something hard being smacked onto my backside and turned to see Georges standing there, stick in mouth about to smack me again wanting to play! We played about for awhile and then I went to the kitchen to cook up my sardines that had been kept for me in the freezer.

Even sardines fried in olive oil tasted special sitting in that garden in the midday warmth, accompanied by bread baked that morning, washed down with a glass of local wine, just another perfect occasion in a lovely relaxing setting.

I sat for awhile talking and drinking coffee with Jan in the heat of the early afternoon on the terrace. Later as the shadows lengthened, new people arrived and the others came back from their various excursions, we sat together and talked our way through the late afternoon and early evening until yet another meal cooked by Anthony and Louise, with help from Jan, Jo-Anne, Ian, Alun, and Ruth…………and moral support from me, was served up. I did do the washing up.

Day 8
Sadly my time at Sidsmums (http://www.sidsmums.com/) was at an end, the time had come to say goodbye to the strangers who had become friends. After breakfast we drove up the road, past Stagger and Wallow still trying to get in our way, out of the village and on towards Carcassonne. After a last coffee in the square Jan took me to the airport and my flight back to England. I sat on the plane and thought about my time there, someone asked did you have a good time, I was smiling; it had been a great week. As Arnie says “I’ll be back”.

Barbados Day 10 – Torrential rain, taxi, and the flight home

I arrived back from the shop just in time, at 7.30am it started to rain and this time it did not stop until 1pm. Beki went to work at 8am and I sat on the veranda reading and listening to the rain beating down on the corrugated iron roofs. The taxi man’s son stepped off the pavement and his shoes disappeared in to the river running down the road, back indoors to change, his daughters were wiser; they used an umbrella and avoided the river. A little later the taxi man returned with his daughters, no school for them today. Glen, Sam’s cousin didn’t arrive to open his hairdressing business either.
When it rains something’s just don’t happen on the Island. “Hey Boss it’s raining, can’t get in today”, think I’ll try that one!

Sam gets home at midday and we have a last rum and lime and at 1pm the taxi man reverses up to the door and I’m on my way, along past the KPMG office, the Bank, the Royal Caribbean hotel, and the Virgin Atlantic Office. Then we pass OPA’s, Bubba’s, Rockley beach, Mojo’s, the supermarket and the Ernst and Young office. This stretch of the coast has become so familiar over my times here, I know every pothole. A last look at the ocean and at the Gap we turn up towards the ABC highway and soon the airport comes into view. It’s all quite modern now, with its Concorde cabin and nose shaped roofs all pointing in different directions. I book in and then spend the last money on a couple of beers whilst chatting to a British Merchant navy officer flying home with BA to his wife, children and a DIY list that will keep him going for his 4 months leave. He tells me about Guyana customs and paperwork problems.

We take off on time after the champagne and rise up into a truly fantastic sunset; the clouds are red, pink, and purple. I can see the south east coast, the Crane, Bottom bay and the east point, and then we turn north east and I can see the Atlantic east coast stretching away and then as we rise up towards the cruising altitude, darkness envelopes us. I eat the dinner, accompanied by red wine and Bailey’s and sleep until only 1 hour from Gatwick.

Barbados Day 9 – The best time of the day

The best time to drive in this country is during the half hour before sunrise when it’s still only half light and even the shabby buildings look good with the silhouettes of the palm trees behind them. We drop Sam off at the radio station at 5.15am and head off to Oistens to watch the sunrise and get a few photos taken. As we pass Garrison Savannah, the grooms are walking the racehorses along the road to take them to the beach, these are young ones, two year olds playing up, in the half light you just see their shapes, and the detail is obscured. At 5.30 Sam is reading the news bulletin, and then says hello to us.

We arrive at Oistens and get the pictures taken as the sun comes up and Barbados comes alive, people appear waiting for the first buses to take them to work, the traffic volume increases, a man swims out to his boat in his underpants with his snorkeling gear and his fish spear ready to start his day, a guy is sweeping around the front of a shop, a pointless futile task as he sweeps the same 3 pieces of rubbish from one side to another and then leaves them there. Give a man a broom and we can conquer unemployment!

Some chickens wonder up to the door of Debbie's rum shop, lunch is walking itself to the table this morning, a young dog appears and starts rounding the chickens up but they take no notice and congregate around the car pecking at the dirt.

In the fish market there are a few people, probably waiting for boats to come in so the catch can be gutted. There is a sign on a tree saying that the fruit is poisonous and do not sit or stand under the tree as any water dripping off will cause blisters. There is a table and two benches positioned under its branches, only in Barbados…….

Later we go into Bridgetown and I decide I’ll walk back along the beaches; Carlisle Bay is magnificent, last year I saw it from the sea sitting eating lunch on a catamaran. I get down to Coconut beach and see Ed and Lou sitting there, they were at the bar the first time I went there and had also joined us at the Rooster so I sat and drank through the lunchtime happy hour in the rain with them. Ed’s moved from the Rum to the Bank’s beer over the past few days, a wise choice. Another young woman comes up and starts talking in a animated way about how she had been to Mojo’s the night before and spent the night partying with what sounded suspiciously like Garvey and his friends, they had been playing there last night. She had quite a smile on her face. I just smiled inwardly.

I picked up some more beers from the Tigermart and a liver cutter for my lunch and got back home just before the next bout of rain unleashed itself on the Island.

Well my holiday this year is nearly over, I guess I’ll just have to start planning next year’s trip to Little England.

One Love. Easy Man.

Barbados Day 8 – Is it going to rain all day?

Monday morning it rained quite hard up to just before 8am, the road turned into a river at times. There is a taxi just outside here and every morning at about 6.30am a guy comes along and washes it, even this morning he was out there cleaning away, sheltering from the rain each time it came. About 8am I take my clothes to the laundry, you could probably lean out of the window and throw the bag in through the laundry doorway, it’s that close. Beki is out at the Gallery and Sam’s on the Radio and I’m just taking it easy.

At 10am my clothes have been washed, dried, and folded ready for me to collect, what a good service. I take a leisurely stroll along the road up to the supermarket and the tax free shop and drop in to Mojo’s for a couple of beers. This bar has walls covered in pictures of old rock stars, Janis Joplin, Keith Richards, the Beatles, Bob Dylan and of course Bob Marley, and many others. Mojo’s has recently been taken over by friends of Beki and Sam’s but they have kept the décor the same.

On the way back there is a washing line strung up between 2 trees with tee shirts for sale, Bob Marley and Che Guevara being on 90 per cent of them, I’ve never seen anyone buying anything here.

At Rockley beach I’m pleased to see that “I’m here to help you” is not there to help me and I get some lunch to take home from the food truck. For only 10 BBD’s you get a plate full of whatever is being sold, it was enough for both Sam and I and we sat on the veranda as the next load of rain came across. This time I couldn’t see the ocean which is only 150 yards away. I read my book for awhile and play on Sam’s guitar.

Later I get down to the beach which is quite empty, only two fat old women at the hotel beach bar, I don't go there. Then I went up to the garage to pick up some beers to drink during the next rainfall.

Just another lazy Monday.

Barbados Day 7 – Woman, be there on Friday

Sunday morning, lazy time read my book, shower, wonder down to the nearest garage, called Tigermart, that’s Esso in England, remember the old advertisement “we’ll put a tiger in the tank”. I pick up eggs and bread; the eggs are loose so you have you be careful carrying them home. I buy Fishcakes; they have a hot cupboard with fast food items in there, chicken wings and fishcakes etc. Fishcakes are not really Fishcakes, they are Fishballs cooked like One Hung Lo would cook prawns in batter in a Chinese restaurant and they are delicious and extremely cheap. I wonder back in the sunshine past the beaches where the surf is pounding in and the wind is sighing through the palm trees, a bit like a Sunday morning in England! Eggs and bacon and toast for breakfast, very familiar. This place is not called Little England for no reason and Sunday is quite English, more English than England is these days, people are dressed up for Church and shops shut at 1pm. It’s a quiet day, but not so quiet for Sam who has been out since early morning working.

Now you should be feeling quite envious, as I go with Sam and Beki to Bathsheba on the Atlantic coast to watch filming on location being carried out. Imagine bikini clad actress’s standing in the surf in this Tropical paradise with some dreadlocked lean mean vision of a young Bajan like Garvey making all the women feel real hot, with some cool rum punch on a table, everybody suntanned while we all look on sitting in the shade in chairs with Director written on the back with an ice cold drink. Carry on dreaming.

Sam arrived back from the morning filming done here in Bridgetown and we head off to the location shoot. First we go up to the Pines area to pick up Barbados’s latest superstar, a young guy called Hal Linton. Sam describes The Pines area as Bad Boy Alley and Hal actually tells me that sometime back he had been shot at. We slowly make our way up to Bathsheba which is an amazing place where people come to surf in the Soup bowl.

We pull up outside a Minimart shop, this is our location. The owner closes up at 1pm and we are inside a shop which is impossible to keep cool, with hot lights, cameras, 7 people sweating like crazy, in order to get a few seconds of film for a Digitel Q Points advert.
(That’s like advertising for say Orange in England). The 1st 45 minutes are taken up with positioning the equipment, keeping Hal from looking too sweaty, and placing the right advertising material over the window behind the shop counter and ensuring that the shop assistant is seated correctly and smiles at the right time. Hal is pacing around practicing walking up to the counter, flipping his mobile phone open, pointing his phone at the advert behind the assistant and saying top me up with some of those.

Eventually all is ready, even though the shop has a big closed sign up outside, people still try to get in past the camera set up in the doorway. We have been here an hour and then it starts to roll, half a dozen takes, followed by Sam barking instructions, and another dozen takes and about 1 second of advert is in the can, as they say. Now we get down to the close up of the receipt being printed out and the shop assistant handing Hal the receipt from the electronic point of sale machine, she’s not bad, this shop assistant, she obviously done this a lot, and 15 minutes later another second of advert is also in the can. We are now pouring water from the cool cabinet down our throats, as everything gets set up for the big bit. Hal now has to use the phone to call the bikini clad women he had been chatting too earlier by a pool somewhere to ask for a date next Friday.( all that part of the Advert with the bikini clad girl had been done in the morning back in Bridgetown). They didn’t use the one we had photographed on Day 1, she was apparently too short for the clients liking.

Just as Hal is about to speak an Ice Cream van goes past, but it didn’t matter as the microphone on the hairy boom 2 inches from his face wasn’t working. That was put right, Hal started his call, and half way in a local rummy enters the shop wanting cigarettes. Hal recomposes himself and a dozen takes later another few seconds of advert is in the can.
It’s now 3pm.

Beki, Sam, and I leave the crew to pack up and take Hal back home, and we head up the road to the Atlantis hotel where we are now too late for the lunchtime buffet but, who you know and all that, the owner is quite happy to supply us with plates of whatever there is still available and we sit at the best table in the house overlooking the ocean. The beers arrive just as the rain starts, driven in off the Atlantic by a ferocious wind which has us all gripping the tablecloth to keep it down. Beki gets some photos of the rainbow, whilst the owner chats to Sam about theatre matters and another beer arrives. When the rain stops, the plates of food are brought to the table, we had seen no menu; nobody had asked what we wanted although Beki had said she was vegetarian. I had chicken, macaroni pie, rice and peas, roasted vegetables, battered deep fried pumpkin and a side plate of beans, pickled pork and salad, a wonderful spread.
Later we stopped at the end of the airport runway and took pictures of the sunset and planes coming in. I had a rum punch on the veranda and was asleep by 9pm

Barbados Day 6 – Roadhouse at the Red Rooster

OPA’s on the Friday night was good, Garvey and Alex playing acoustic guitar and singing with Toby Armstrong putting in a guest appearance. The beer came in an ice bucket, 5 bottles for 20 BBD’s. Beki and I went on to the Gap where Salsa dancing was the order of the day. Got to sleep at 2.30am and was woken up again at 5.30am to go selling at the Farmers market this morning. Did some celebrity spotting there, Mike Atherton is on the Island.

Friday at OPA’s turned out to be good but Saturday’s entertainment was outstanding and the day will long be remembered for the performance given at the Rooster by the members of Roadhouse. I walked down there with Sam who was standing in on Bass, he hadn’t played with the band for a long time and they gave him no mercy, immediately introducing him as Samud “Rusty” Ali.

Kirk the drummer sat up the corner keeping up an impeccable beat throughout the performance. A lot of old greats were played, the band was fronted by “Black Magic” Garvey Griffith and Toby “Fender Bender” Armstrong, great singing by Garvey whose accomplished acoustic guitar playing provided an excellent platform for Toby Armstrong’s stunning lead riffs. That guitar was made to cry, scream, laugh, and howl, no mercy being shown, a joy to listen to. We were treated to Black Magic Woman, All along the Watchtower, Jamming, No woman no Cry, amongst others, which had the mixed audience of tourists and locals jumping and clamoring for more. Even a cricket wandered in and leaped about for awhile during happy hour. Humorous banter from the band filled in between songs and their biggest fan was introduced…….it was 3 foot square and white being held up by the bar manager keeping the guys cool. Sam played well throughout and sang one time, and during Knocking on Heaven’s Door, Alex got out of his seat and took over the singing earning great applause.

Perhaps one day they will get the chance to play in England, I hope so.

Beki spent most of the evening up in the Bush, otherwise called St Lucy’s parish, taking photos at a client’s family party. She got the “I’m here to help you” routine from the Valet so I reckon that Local Government training manual is doing the rounds

Barbados Day 5 – Northern Dancer
Still rules OK

I forgot to say yesterday that I was quite pleased to see that the art world does not change as the year pass by. At the gallery as we were looking at the pictures, the owner was taking down all the artwork that one particular artist had produced and was placing it onto a table. We asked what’s happening here and were told that some potential buyer was coming to view this artist’s work. Beki then said “Oh right has he died then”. The answer came back, “No but he is quite ill” followed later by “Of course I hope he gets better”…….Its good to see that, as it’s always been, an artists work is expected to be more valuable when the artist is no longer alive. I just didn’t realize that vulture culture was so up front.

This morning we visited the printer again and picked up the canvas version of Ayers Rock. It was absolutely superb, the rest of the order was not ready, it was running in Bajan time. We went to the fish market and I was pleased to see that fish was being sold by the pound weight, unlike at home where we can only sell England by the Kilo these days. I wondered what PC Tourist Tone would have said if he had ever bothered to visit the Bridgetown fish market. Tonight Sam and I eat Flying Fish, and in the freezer we now have a large amount of Tuna and Marlin to eat later. It was unbelievably cheap.

I decided after finishing the Rum Punch at lunchtime and then making up a new jug full I would spend the afternoon down at the local beach which is behind a large old hotel. I found my way there and ordered a beer at the hotel’s beach bar. I soon found myself in conversation with some of the hotel guests and the barman. As the afternoon went on an very old lady came along leaning heavily on her stick. The barman mixed up a drink which I perceived to be a mixture of white wine and tomato juice, but I could be persuaded that I was wrong. As the old lady arrived he handed her the drink and helped her into a chair.

After she had finished the drink it seemed she no longer required the assistance of the stick and joined us at the bar where she proceeded to wind up the barman and the hotel’s security guard about football and the significance of a number 9 shirt. All this was going on as she downed another of her favorite concoction. As the argument got more intense and the Security guard had reeled off the names of a number of star players who over the years had worn a number 10 shirt, I suggested that she had achieved her goal of winding up the other people and perhaps we could call it a draw. She said that she just loved sport and enjoyed talking about it, I asked if she was Canadian as that was what her accent seemed to be and she explained that she had lived in Barbados for 44 years having married and divorced a Bajan. She had nothing much good to say about Bajan men, either white or black and cracked up when I told her about the American comedian who had said that he had no problem with Gays getting married because then they could be as miserable as any Man and his wife.

Suddenly she sprang a sporting question on me, “who was the greatest Canadian racehorse” To most people I guess they would have thought that this was a trick question, but (yes I am going to brag a little here) my Bank’s soaked brain realized that there was only one answer and I replied “Well it has to be Northern Dancer born in 1961”. Suddenly she was animated; nobody had ever given her the answer before. She tried to catch me with another question about an American Triple Crown winner but again I got it right, we were talking about Seattle Slew. She tried once more and asked me about a great racehorse who was around in America way back in the early part of the 20th Century. As I mentioned Man O’War she capitulated and bought me a beer. I asked her out of curiosity what had she done in the 44 years she had lived in Barbados and she told me she had owned and ran this hotel until recently passing the reins onto her children.

The printer delivered the rest of the canvasses just now and when Beki has finished sorting them out we’ll be heading down to OPA’s to listen to Garvy play guitar and sing

Barbados Day 4 – Photo Shoot, Green Monkeys and Rum Punch

Yesterday Beki fired me as her assistant because I forgot to remind her to get some prints done but this morning I was reinstated and promoted to Lighting Assistant, We arrived at this large house up in St Joseph’s parish to take some shots of an artists work for a magazine article, and she had to take photos of 8 paintings. This house was amazing; most of the rooms were huge, bigger even than the office I work in back in England. The Studio was up on the 1st floor and there was a huge veranda which overlooked the sugar cane fields and various fields belonging to the farm next door.

The green monkeys were climbing up the breadfruit trees, and then going down across the road into a sugar cane field. Green Monkeys are quite malicious and the artist told us about one of them that lived up in the nature reserve. Apparently up there they breed rabbits, mostly as food for the large snakes they keep, and this particular monkey enjoyed leaping onto a rabbits back, grabbing both its ears with one hand and then spanking the rabbit on its backside with its other hand, and then as the rabbit took off would dig its feet in and ride on it Kieran Fallon style.

Well this being Barbados, I’d say that was quite plausible. After we finished the shoot we went back home and I then made up some Rum Punch. Sam swears that my Rum Punch is the best on the island and I have to say that 2 of those and you are fighting fit.

There are many sides to Barbados, I guess that mostly people from Europe see it as a tropical paradise but there are other sides to it which I am lucky to see. I’ll write more about all that another day before I consume any Rum Punch. Tonight I eat Marlin...... I didn’t fancy the thoroughbred rabbit that was on the menu.

Barbados Day 3 - Traffic Jams in Bridgetown.

I had a strange dream in the night, a green monkey was standing on the roof opposite talking to me, guess what he was saying, “I’m here to help you”, oh no not again.
Perhaps I should just write about the ordinary, give my mind a rest.

. In the morning we were OK, we left home about 11am and I got to see local people working. We took the Datastick to the printer who lived and working in an area of Bridgetown up behind the cinema, the workshop room was air-conditioned which was a great help, as it was so hot his 2 dogs couldn’t be bothered to even get up to see who we were.. I got to see a 36 by 16inch picture being printed out. Ayers Rock before the sun came up, something Beki was working on for a client, it was most impressive. Now it will be printed out on canvass, along with my own orders and a whole lot of other stuff.

We left there for the west coast, the platinum coast as its known, that’s the Caribbean sea, its hotter there as the winds are not noticeable, the winds usually come in from Africa, so the east and south coasts are more breezier. The west coast is where the big money goes on holiday. We sat at the surfside bar which is not where the big money goes to eat but is actually a great place to watch the sun go down as that coincides nicely with the happy hour as I had found out 2 years ago. This is a bar that some journo described as seedy after he had followed Tony Blair there last year when tourist Tone wanted to see a football match on the telly.

After a late lunch of Dolphin fish (nothing to do with dolphins) I sat in the sea and then coming back from lazing on the Surfside beach up the West Coast we hit the early evening rush hour traffic, 1 hour to do 5 miles, the M25 doesn’t even begin to compare with this. Still it gave me time to take a good look at the 100ft high advertisement hanging from the bank building, my son in law looks quite good in that one, sort of like a pleasantly benevolent bank manager welcoming you in, reality has nothing to do with it. George Orwells 1984 came to mind, He was also in the supermarket as we saw later advertising something else.

Champers gallery was good, full of local artists paintings, some brilliant cricket paintings and lots of other good works, some with price tags the value of a backstreet in Sunderland and some that were very expensive. Beki’s exhibits were positively moderately priced in comparison. We had also been to Tides on the west coast which has lots of art on display and the good news is they want some of her work next month to be displayed there.

No surreal events to write up today.

Barbados Day 2 - I Am Here To Help…You

I decided to go to Rockley Beach whilst Beki was busy at the Mall, so as I walk onto the beach I am immediately asked if I require a deckchair. The man didn’t seem too impressed as I answered with the words, 5 dollars? However he agreed the price and I explained that after I had been up the beach I would return and hire a chair.

I walked up the beach and took a look around and returned to where the chairs were. The man rose to his feet and took my 5 dollars, he was old thin and white and spoke with a broad Irish accent. I asked him where he came from and he told me he had always lived in Barbados. Next came the story, its how it works out here, the beggars in London could learn a thing or two from this man. I got the “it was my birthday last week” opening gambit and of course I asked if he had a good day, The reply was no, he had suffered a fall the day before and all his spare money had to be used up for medical bills and what with the cost of everything else he had no money for food. I answered with the words “so that’s why you work this concession then to earn money to live”. This was evidently not what was expected, I was probably supposed to say “how sad, here’s 20 dollars, get over to the food truck by the Taxi’s and get a meal”. I then got the full works “I don’t own the chairs; I’m working for the owner. It’s very hard”

Being kind hearted I said that I was going to the huts to get a beer and before I could speak further he said “you can get me a coke“He went on to say he would of course keep an eye on my bag and used the phrase spoken slowly with deliberate pauses between words “I am here to help you”. I thought this sounded remarkably like some phrase from say, perhaps a local Government customer care training manual.

I got my beer and Lester’s coke and settled down to read my book and soak up some sunshine. About 20 minutes passed and Lester was standing beside my chair saying that if I wanted to go into the water he would of course look after my things, again finishing with the words “I am here to help you” but adding this time that “I was also there to help him”. I said that maybe I would go into the water later but for now I was quite happy reading my book and he wondered back to his spot under the trees.

20 minutes later. He was back standing in the way of the sun, “I’m here to help you, and you are here to help me” I replied that is the way of this world and he repeated the phrase and then chatted on about his problems for a minute before being interrupted by a potential new customer.

Another 20 minutes passed and yes you’ve guessed it, there he is again “I’m here to help you and you are here to help me” I’m starting to wonder what’s going on, hasn’t he realized he’s not getting any more money, Perhaps he’s actually some form of manufactured automaton programmed to repeat every 20 minutes, It’s a bit unnerving when every part of the phrase is being repeated exactly the same each time, and what’s worse he’s not doing it to anybody else. I decided it was time to move on so I read for another 19 minutes and then abruptly got up, and said “I’m off now” that bamboozled him, he stopped motionless halfway between sitting and getting up and then slowly sat down again.

I went along the beach; a young Bajan with dreadlocks approached me and asked if I required a deckchair, I thought about it briefly, I was almost tempted to say “I’m here to help you” but thought better of it, said “nah man I’m good” and went on my way.