High Seas, Trois

I should actually be doing the numbers in Portugese, as we are en route to Brazil, but I don't know any numbers in Portugese.  And since my counting in French is pretty limited too, I may have to change the way that I title posts!

Spent yesterday (was it just yesterday??) in port at Bridgetown, Barbados.  We found a cabbie, David, (or he found us) who squired us around, first to the Barbados Museum, housed in an old army prison, a well-done set of displays on the history, flora and fauna of the island. The setting itself is pretty impressive:  a hollow square surrounding a lush, shady courtyard, deep overhangs and shuttered windows that make even the non-air-conditioned rooms pretty comfortable. (Displays are climate controlled, though.) After reading about the architecture and rationale for "chattel houses" (chattel meaning simply "movable property or belongings"), we then SAW chattel houses as we drove through town. They have a steeply pitched roof to shed rain, symmetric door and window placement, and, frequently, a rear flat-roofed shed. A second (or third) unit can be added as the family's fortunes (and numbers) expand.

The drive through town was something of an adventure in itself, as David is a driver after my own heart -- frequent mostly-friendly honking, passing on curves, impatience with traffic. You go, David! 

At  our next stop, the Mount Gay rum tour, we walked through the history of the rum industry (and thus a big part of the island's) with about a dozen other tourists and our very personable guide, who admitted up front that an important goal of the tour was to ensure that we all purchased rum before leaving, and then proceeded to charm and educate us all.  (And we did indeed buy our quota of spirits.) You are allowed one six-pack or two bottles per person, per port, and the crew checks you in when you reboard the ship. Before sugar cane cultivation cranked up in Barbados and other Caribbean islands, the average British citizen consumed about as much sugar PER YEAR as is in one can of modern Coke. The islands, and slave labor, allowed that to rise and fortunes to be made in Britain, France, Portugal and Spain.

When we rejoined David after the rum tour, he had news from the hospital: his fiance had delivered their baby girl, Aria.  We look forward to Ms. Aria Williams being Prime Minister of Barbados in about thirty years  :  )

David then took us to a "local" place to eat, which was pretty near downtown and your basic down-home lunch counter kind of place, but with rice & peas and flying fish on the day's menu.  The plate also had an inch-thick triangle of some softish, pale yellow, somewhat fibrous, ahh, stuff. It tasted pretty good, but we have no clue what it was. (The flying fish was mild.) (And not flying at the moment.)

Then we moseyed back toward the port, carrying, unfortunately, our heavy rum, and made a variety of other purchases along the way (but I can't tell you what b/c some of you readers -- assuming there are any -- may be getting them as gifts).    More soon.    Another 24 hours or so to the equator! ! !