Back in Barbados

Our 3rd visit to this wonderful island where we feel so comfortable, after staying at the charmingly quirky Island Inn twice we fancied a change.

The Club

Our choice this year to stay at the all inclusive Club was influenced by its location, being only a 10 minute walk into Holetown on the lovely west coast of this fabulous island. This just pipped it over Crystal Cove, maybe next time. The hotel is around 150 rooms in 10 blocks positioned in a horseshoe shape around the pools and

garden and 2 blocks of ocean view rooms right by the water. Central to this the Sunset restaurant, the venue for most meals, with the friendly, lively Beach Bar just outside; both with super ocean and sunset views. There’s also Enid’s restaurant and rum bar for a different experience and the atmospheric piano bar for late nights.

Drinks

For me it’s the staff who can make or break a hotel, although we’re not fans of large hotels, and for us this qualifies as large. In truth we’d had enough of “people” by the end of our stay, not least the queues for the feeding trough.

Our first visit to the Beach bar after unpacking set the tone, Sophia was an absolute star, singing and dancing along to the music (Dirty Dancing Time of My Life was most memorable) and always happy to serve you and more importantly get to know you. We learned she wakes each day at 4 to take a walk and visit the gym each day, at 62 she’s an inspiration but not without sadness in her life as she shared her family story with us. She’s an asset to the business, ever wearing a smile. Then there’s Kareen, always went out of her way to say hello to us and ask about our days. The 2 of them together provided lots of low key, genuine entertainment.

Vinny definitely needs a mention, asked my name at the get go and never forgot it, made consistently excellent G & T’s and soon learnt exactly how we liked it. He looked a real character, shiny headed, smartly dressed, wiry, worldly wise and probably dodgy but harmless and his chemistry with the ladies was a joy to watch, lots of banter. Guy with an “e” was less outgoing but friendly and his referral to the menu for the ingredients each time you asked for a cocktail was endearing. We liked less a younger girl who would serve here occasionally, didn’t catch her name but something about her put us on edge. When on evening shift she was first to close the bar early, and unpleasant with it. Her hairstyle, and squeaky voice reminded me of Minnie Mouse.

Hygiene at the bar was perhaps not to UK standard with glasses shared after just a rinse and plunge into a vat of dirty soapy water; might explain the events yet to unfold. That said it was lovely to have this on tap for afternoon cocktails, pre and post dinner G & T and it was a sociable place and we enjoyed chatting to fellow guests. I’d say it was 50/50 USA and UK guests and we hadn’t appreciated it would be so transient as it seems used as a cruise location, with people either setting off or waiting flights home. There’s certainly oneupmanship going on here, hearing tales of glamourised travels each trying to outdo each other, oh yes we always holiday on a private yacht in Martinique.

We met a couple from Formby who were about to take a cruise on a clipper, he loved his brandy and ginger and on the first night (& several after) he was well oiled, with Tracey having to guide his glass back to the bar as he’d usually miss. He’d know idea where their room was at the end of the evening as we watched his partner hold him upright. His excess had no affect next day, up before us and tucking into a full English breakfast. We found him amusingly opinionated and entertaining, having zero filters.

We fell into an easy friendship with a lovely couple who lived not far from us, and as we got to know each other we’d learned he’d had a stroke whilst on a cruise and was awaiting insurance and medical clearance to fly home. We can only imagine how they felt below the surface as they waited a week at the hotel before they could return, with frustrating bureaucratic bungles adding a few days. Happily he is well, and it was lovely to feel so comfortable with them, chatting at the bar and singing along late into the evening in the Piano Bar.

There’s a lot of alcohol consumed, with a good selection and we often had to remind them to pare back a little on the measures. Monday nights was the Managers Cocktail party with a BBQ and entertainment, “beautiful beautiful Barbados” sung by a Whitney wannabe was an annoying ear worm we had the pleasure of on the 2 Mondays of our stay. The 2nd Monday party we were stuck with a drunk at the bar, who asked us probably 7 times when we go home “tomorrow” I’d say wearily after the 6th time. He was over enthusiastic about Mount Gay rum and had been on a distillery tour that day, hence out of his tree. Adamant you could only get it in Barbados, Tracey pissed on his chips when she told him Tesco sell it.

The Piano Bar

The Piano Bar I mentioned we didn’t discover until a good few days in, it’s a tiny circular building near the entrance to the hotel, open till 2:00 am nighly you’d be advised not to be in a room in an adjacent block. It’s an atmospheric place, with a nightclub feel to it, with the best seating along the wall opposite the piano stage.

The dreadlocked Lyndon provides the entertainment, and it’s certainly memorable. He’ll play requests, googling lyrics and music to tracks he doesn’t know, Tracey & Katrina were in hysterics as he tried to balance his iPhone on the stand to follow the music only for it to repeatedly slip off with Lyndon then scrabbling to retrieve it from under the piano. For some odd reason his staples were The Happy Wanderer, Those were The Days (Mary Hopkins) and Henry The Eighth, I Am (or Henry The Fucking Eighth as we called it, not able to get it out of our heads) which Michelle, the Roseanne Barre like American guest murdered each night in karaoke with us all clapping along whooping ironic encouragement; good fun though and she was a great sport; husband looked like a slightly overweight Bruce Willis. Lyndon also churned out Piano Man, Sweet Caroline & a selection of Sinitra; didn’t want to do Thunderstruck by AC/DC though. Some nights he’d run a karaoke, unbeknownst to people making requests-the price of the request being handed the microphone.

One evening late on a young American chap latched on to me, drawing me on where I was from which led to an annoying discussion about football and him being convinced Derby didn’t exist and we were from Dobby, and therefore Hogwarts. It was at the end of this evening, and literally staggering back to the room with Tracey commenting that I was pretty bad “wobbling all over the place” then lying down, room spinning which led to another story next day. Turns out, despite drinking quite a lot of rum, I was not pissed but not well. More on that a little later.

Feeding Time

The dining was ok, certainly not the 4 star claimed, but good generally. The main dining area is The Sunset Restaurant (I believe it used to be called Horizons when the complex was Almond Beach in a previous guise) hosts buffets 3 nights a week (Mon, Thursday & Saturday) which is a bit of a feeding time at the zoo event with guests piling high odd combinations; plates of rice, pasta, chips, wraps, grilled fish, curry, stews, seafood and fruit were not unusual. The A La Carte evenings were more refined and the meals good, we enjoyed steaks, Mahi Mahi, lamb, pork etc all nicely presented and cooked. Service was usually great, just a wobble on one night with a very small, but excellent duck starter taking an hour to waddle to the table; main course another hour and we gave up on the desert, walked out just as the waitress proudly, but slowly, emerged from the kitchen carrying the wrong puddings some 2 hours after we first sat down. Otherwise the service team were fabulous, they got to know us and it was great to see them having a laugh and clearly enjoying their roles.

To be fair, Caroline the hotel manager is exceptional and as she manned the breakfast check in personally the following morning (asking each guest how they were and if everything is ok) we mentioned this and she properly and professionally followed up on it, we received special treatment that evening with a complementary champagne and apology. Very impressed with how I heard Caroline respond to other admittedly rare complaints. She’s on it.

Natasha is another star of this place, a smiling typically Caribbean lady who greets everyone at breakfast with a smile and always laughing and happy as she cooks on request; omelettes and eggs anyway you like. Similarly at lunchtime burgers and toasted sandwiches as you wish, we had some drama with my lunch as the bread stuck in the conveyor toaster and she couldn’t retrieve it or turn it off. Smoke puthering, black toast but still laughing. Thank you Natasha for a lovely start to each day!

Enid’s is the quirky Caribbean restaurant with table service and a less “peopley” feel, our meals are a little more fine dining (yes, small) and reflect local fare. We were baffled to get a bottle of bubbly in an ice bucket on our first visit, we were told we were “special”, that’s not wrong clearly but still no idea why. Excellent meals each time, well worth a visit.

The Beach

There is no beach, it’s really not difficult to learn this with a bit of research so fuck knows why people then complain about the lack of one on Trip Advisor etc. Just read about a place before you book ffs! Apparently there used to be a beach but erosion and rising sea levels did their thing, that’s probably the bigger issue. The reviews say you can access Sandy Lane beach by using steps on the south end of the frontage; we never saw that as possible during our stay. The tide was always too high, it was choppy and rocky. Similarly to the north, no meaningful beach. We did access the sea to swim directly from the sea wall, this is fine when it’s calm but during our stay for around half the time red flags were flying and it was simply too rough and dangerous, a few people were injured by being swept into rocks. None of this was an issue particularly though, because we knew. Simply walk onto the road, head toward Holetown and there’s easy access to beautiful beaches, bars, sunbeds to rent and calm, sheltered water just 10 minutes walk. Our go to spot was the beach just after the Sandpiper and just before the headland boardwalk leading to Folkestone Marine Park, another 5 mins further for decent reef snorkelling.

We were walking back one day from this beach when Tracey heard a familiar voice, it was Anita and her husband; a couple we met in Javea during our 3 month stint in Spain last summer. A wealthy, friendly couple who live in Jersey, they had rented a house nearby for 6 weeks and this inspired us to maybe consider similar next time. Helpfully they tipped us off as to why we’d always managed to get a shady spot on the beach, we were directly beneath a coconut palm; with the bowling ball like coconuts quivering and poised to drop on us. What a way to go observed Anita’s husband, “Twatted by a Coconut on a Caribbean Beach” is quite an epitaph.

If you want Sandy Lane and Payton Beach, both gorgeous, turn right out of the hotel walk down the road until the public access paths between the posh hotels, they can’t stop you as all beaches public.

Our routine on several days would be a morning on the beach, back to the hotel for lunch and then sunbeds at the hotel, either by the sea wall or round the pool. We also read about sunbed reservation tactics but didn’t really find it an issue, it ebbs and flows and we always found somewhere. The sand covered sea wall area is a lovely spot for afternoon sunbathing, watching the boats drift by and the sun set with easy access to unlimited cocktails. Sunsets were spectacular, well photographed and memorable.

On our first Monday we’d arranged to meet our friends Rene and Carmen who we’d holidayed together with Maxine and Adam for the last 2 years on Barbados, staying at the Island Inn where we’d made some fabulous memories and had great times in our 6 strong “holiday family” We took the 20 minute sweltering walk to meet them at the Mango Bay, sister hotel to Island Inn and both felt sweaty messes by the time we met them. A lovely afternoon was had though wiry Carmen as usual playing her kind hostess role and properly looking after us, free drinks from the hotel as well!

Our Room

We splashed out on a Superior Ocean View room, located on the 3rd floor and right on the sea wall it was certainly a wow moment when walking in for the first time. The bay window contained 2 comfortable tub chairs with the view like that from a cruise liner, just a Juliette balcony; but we knew that as well so no need for hysteria on Trip Advisor. The room was nicely decorated, clean, everything worked and the bed super comfortable and huge.

On reflection, having the sea so close, whilst appearing idyllic turned out to be a bit of a pain; not the expected gentle lapping of waves lightly brushing the beautiful gentle slope of the white sand, but more a crashing maelstrom of rough white crested rolling and relentless waves breaking on the sea defence rocks directly below us, although it sounded like the waves were breaking on our window. Slightly fucking annoying at 4 in the morning after the 4th night of more than gentle breezes. I might write a strongly worded letter saying the sea was too noisy! I have actually seen this, that said.

A walk to Speightstown

On the second Saturday, a little overcast but still hot we decided to walk the 7 miles to Speightstown from the hotel. It was lovely just to follow the road and see some real Bajan life at a slow pace. The contrast between the exclusive grand hotels and opulent, often hiding private houses worth tens of millions on this Platinum coast and the Chattel houses on the opposite side of the road was marked. These plantation houses, initially designed as portable to allow workers to reside nearby the work are surely a goldmine for their owners despite the lack of a seaview they are literally seconds from the spectacular beaches of the west coast. There is evidence of some owners taking the cash, as properties spring up.

A drink break was had at a nice little restaurant with a lovely beach view just beyond the LoneStar, where I received an odd look for mistakenly handing over half as many notes as the bill was, folded over in my wallet I counted each note twice; once for one half and again for the other. Nearly got away with it I joked, “twat” she no doubt thought. We enjoyed the glimpses of narrow beaches as we walked on, stopping for another drink break at the pretty Mullins Beach before the last stretch into Speightstown.

I like this town, it feels authentic and is full of life albeit looking quite run down with market stalls set in the palisades of closed stores. We enjoyed a pleasant lunch at The Orange Street Grocer followed by a beer at the infamous and Bajan iconic Fisherman Pub accompanied by a steel band playing inside. It was a memorable and enjoyable day out, equally memorable was the bouncy bus ride back. We chose the more civilised government bus over the Reggae Reggae bus, fixed price of 3.50 wherever you need to go. It was packed, bumpy and good fun as it crashed and banged along the pot holed roads, impressive that it’s electric though.

Sandy Crest Medical Centre

On the Wednesday evening we accompanied our friends into the Piano Bar, some good laughs and a few more rums were enjoyed and Tracey commented I was a “bit wobbly” on the way back. I suspected I was in trouble as the room span alarmingly as I lay down, I was out in seconds though. Next morning a tentative eye open first, didn’t feel too bad but the walk to breakfast I said “I’m still pissed” as the path heaved and fell as I zig zagged dizzily toward the restaurant. It wasn’t the rum…after a day lying down and afraid to move I ended up in Sandy Crest Medical Cenre, just down the road from The Club. Going through triage my anxiety kicked in, heart rate and blood pressure soaring, sending the nurse into a panic and talking about getting a cardiologist to see me. It was all going a bit wrong, and I became a little concerned as the Doctor tried to calm me down and deal with the issue I came in with. I was quickly diagnosed with Labyrinthitis, an inner ear infection given a shot of Gravol to stop me throwing up and a course of antibiotics. Then dispatched with a big bill and strong advice to see an ENT specialist and a GP about the ticker. No one thought to ask if I’d done a Covid test, this turns out to be an important detail; I just did not know it yet.

I should mention that the duty manager went out of her way to see if I was ok the following day, as I initially rang reception for advice. A nice touch I thought, they seem to follow up and genuinely care.

Flying home

I think I fucking hate flying, sometimes I’m not sure why I put myself through it and the thought of 8 hours on a plane makes me wonder if it’s worth it. Looking back, lying in bed, awake early through jet lag a few days after getting home, I do get myself in a bit of a state before I fly and this definitely spoils things a little, and I thought maybe sharing my experience and feelings might help. I say I “think” I hate flying because I enjoy the technical experience; marvelling at the views, power, size, technology and speed (623 mph on the way home ffs!)

I’m pretty sure the medication is not helpful; Imodium to bung my arse up, decongestant because conversely at the other end my nose and ears are bunged up and motion sickness tablets (for both the journey and the issue I’ve told of) all feel like they may be fighting each other, making friends & then ganging up on me. With our pick up from the hotel not until 5 pm and flight at 9pm we kicked our heels a little after check out and this, to me, adds to the tension, a couple of cocktails after lunch led to the familiar rumblings and growling in my belly followed by an urgent need to visit the loo in the bar having to first skirt the slightly odd and definitely dreadful afternoon karaoke sesión without being dragged up to sing. This would have been messy for several reasons had they spotted me quickly walking by, sweating and with arse clenched, every 20 minutes.

The cross country taxi ride didn’t help either, the inland roads through the Chattel villages are generally in a poor state and Leanne, our driver, used her local knowledge to zig zag us across the island to avoid the usual heavy traffic. With the sun beating through the window this did not help my travel sickness. Once at the airport inevitably a few beers were needed at Gate Zero bar, and I tested the effectiveness of my anti Pooh tablets as this would normally trigger me again. Delighted that only ones, not twos needed; as this is a major cause of anxiety on a plane. The urgent need for a Pooh, when the “seatbelt” sign is lit and/or Mrs H has got comfortable and doesn’t want to move for me (as I have to be in a window seat) is right up there in my list of worse places to be.

I understand turbulence and have experienced lots of it, and not died yet because of it; but it still keeps me awake. It feels to me I can sense it coming, the subtle wobbles growing until the bing of the seatbelt sign lighting up and the announcement to return to your seats rudely interrupting the film. I tell myself that it’s ok as the cabin crew continue their critical selling of duty free, but panic when there’s a further announcement of the suspension of service of hot drinks for safety reasons. On this flight we had 2 bouts of this, each lasting about an hour although I did find it interesting the pilot rapidly climbed up a few thousand feet and increased speed to minimise the discomfort. I think the impact of my Labyrinthitis made me more sensitive to movement and each time I closed my eyes to try sleeping, not only was I anxious about the shaking but I also felt nauseous and uncomfortable, being in the cheap seats, so sleep escaped me.

We survived, and after enjoying a fabulous view over London whilst in a holding pattern (saw all the landmarks, which was stunning and memorable decision not to photograph but just enjoy the moment) landed smoothly and ahead of time. On the bus back to the car park there was only us, along with the pilots who flew us and the cabin crew; I chatted to the friendly pilots and mentioned the turbulence “sorry about that” he said! The usual tired drive home followed, struggling to stay awake and denied a sleep at the charming Toddington Services I think in reality we were in more danger from the drive than the flight, just wish my brain would accept that. That said I think my flying anxiety is more about feeling ill, missing the plane or something else going wrong than crashing.

Beyond Barbados ———————--

Visiting my GP to follow up on my inner ear problem the day after I got home led to me being hooked up to an ECG, whisked off to see the on call doctor and being put on beta blockers to reduce my, too fast, pulse rate picked up on a routine check after mentioning the events in the medical centre. With a diagnosis of an excess of adrenaline rather than anything being wrong, as the ECG is normal, it is likely a stress response (fight or flight) which is bizarre after 12 days in the Caribbean! Again not one nurse or doctor asked me if I had Covid. I can only think and reflect on it being a build up of “stuff” over recent weeks, which just goes to show, as we no longer work, stress can be surprising.

In another twist, Tracey brought back the gift of Covid, feeling rough and clearly poorly she tested positive 3 days after we got back. Thought I’d be best to take a test myself, although I wasn’t too bad, this was also positive! Rang our GP this morning to confess I’ve probably infected half their staff and a waiting room full of patients, albeit innocently. “That’ll explain your racing heart rate then” she said. Maybe I’m not scared of flying after all.

We need a holiday!