4/9/15
There are so many famous expressions about the past, some of the quite
contradictory. “What’s past is
prologue.” “Those who cannot learn from
the mistakes of history are doomed to repeat themselves.” “What’s past is past.” “Don’t dwell on the past.” “History repeats itself.” “The future will resemble the past.”
There is merit to all of those quotes, but
the last one would have to be my favorite. Reader, if you flip a switch for a light bulb, why do you think it will
turn on? Are you an electrical
engineer? Did you wire the circuit
yourself? No, of course not. You believe it because you believe that the
future will resemble the past. (Almost)
every time you have flipped that switch, the light bulb has turned on, and
because the future will resemble the past, you believe that it will turn on
again. If it doesn’t, you believe that
the lightbulb is out, and you need to replace it. Life is so much like that, too, and, ever
since I first heard that phrase (often shortened “The future resembles the
past” or abbreviated FRP), it has provided me great comfort.
Whenever I am upset about something or
doubting something, all I have to say to myself is “FRP,” and my doubts go
away. It’s not perfect, there are times
when the present doesn’t resemble anything in the future, but it’s a very good
motto. Now, if we want to get into deep
philosophy, the only reason that we know that the future resembles the past is
that in the past the future has resembled the past, so we have no reason to
believe that in the future the future will resemble the past other than that in
the past the future has resembled the past, but you can take that up with
Hume. (Spoiler alert: he’s long
dead.)
In a couple of hours, I will be
embarking on a journey to the past.
Historic Bridgetown and its Garrison.
Ere the sun sets, I will say, “Lesser Antilles Complete,” and I will
have almost 72 hours to enjoy in Barbados before I fly home. This was always meant to be the final
destination of the trip. Oh, wait, no I
won’t be able to say it until I have dinner.
Well, what a celebratory meal it will be if I can say it there.
I believe that Bridgetown, more than any
other city in the Lesser Antilles preserves the remnants of the British
Colonial period. It should be, for me,
the crown jewel of my travels to the Lesser Antilles, and I’m quite glad that
I’ll have plenty of time there. A flag
pin and a picture at Parliament, that’s all I need.
Okay, so what happened after I closed? I published my entry, lit up a Flor del
Antilles, and put on my movie. I loved
every minute of it. There is no other
Disney movie between Mulan (1998) and Tangled (2010) that compares. While Tangled is considered the beginning of
the Second Disney Renaissance, it would be remiss to exclude The Princess and
the Frog (2009) from that discussion. It
was 1 AM by the time I got to sleep, and there was a work emergency that needed
my attention first thing in the morning.
I was in no state to work on the sensitive project after four shots of
rum.
I woke up and went straight to work
as soon as I got to the breakfast table.
I had the same thing as yesterday, and it was delicious, but I had no
appetite, I was so engrossed in the work project. I lit up a Camacho as I ate, and I went back
to my porch to finish everything up. Everything was sorted from my end by the time I was done with the cigar,
but I knew that I would be stressed until the final product was submitted to
the client. I was right. I wrote about depression last night. The thing about depression is that the little
bad things seem awful while the good things have no savor, or they have no
savor beyond the time they last. I
thought about writing one last entry from the porch, but it didn’t have the
same allure as the one in Grenada. I
figured the airport entry would be better.
I got ready and headed into town to the restaurant I was told would have
fried jack fish and breadfruit. They did
not, so I got smoked herring and provisions, along with the local beer. Again, it was delicious, but, again, I had no
appetite. I think I ate less than half
my meal, along with a VSG, which I am still smoking. I got a taxi to take me to the airport,
stopping at the hotel. The check-in
process hadn’t even begun when I got to the airport. The airport is tiny, and there is no outdoor
seating area. I went to sit by the
entrance on the curb, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now
close so that I can finish my cigar and check in.
Aboard LI 756, En route SVD-BGI
A LIAT flight has been a staple of each of my trips to the Lesser
Antilles, whether it was the DOM-SLU flight that got cancelled two years, the
ANT-SKB flight that was “only” delayed by 40 minutes last year, the GND-SVD
flight a few days ago, or this one today where everything went perfectly. It is fitting that I have now flown LIAT four
times, and this is the first flight that has been on time. It is also my last LIAT flight. It is a brief flight, so it will be a brief
entry. They just reminded us that it was
a “Non-smoking” flight.
I hate LIAT, but
is also fitting that this flight to BGI, my last LIAT flight, will take me to
where I need to be to say “Lesser Antilles Complete.” I still have the DR, Haiti, Cuba, and the
Bahamas to finish off the West Indies, but those all have direct flights on
American carriers from JFK or MIA. They
will probably each also get their own trip, since combining Haiti and the DR
could be tricky. “Lesser Antilles
Complete” will be one of the biggest geographical “completes” of my journey so
far, and the one that has required the most work with three separate trips, all
meticulously planned. Actually, this one
wasn’t meticulously planned. It was just
executed well.
When I get back to my
office and stick up the last of the eight flag pins from the Lesser Antilles, I will not be able to
describe how important that is to me.
Actually, my reader should understand at this point. After I closed, I went to check in and then
security. The airport was tiny, but it
was not as small as some of the airports we utilized in Alaska or the Canadian
North. I guess Gustavus had the smallest
I can remember. They said they had a
lighter in my jacket. I actually had
three, so I reached in my and handed over the cheapest one. Oh well.
I still have my torch in my checked luggage to last me in Barbados,
assuming my bag makes it there. Yeah,
that’s something that LIAT could still fuck up on this flight. I will never forget when I landed on the AA
flight to Dominica, and the worker there was shocked that everyone got their
bag. Yeah, American carriers tend to do
that. I uploaded my photos to Facebook, followed up with the office on the project, and bought a bottle of rum. It was not long before we were boarding. Once we were airborne, I reached up to grab
my laptop and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close. When I next write (from Bridgetown), the
first words will, hopefully, be “Barbados Complete. Lesser Antilles Complete.”
Bridgetown, Barbados
I grabbed a fish cake with my chopsticks and dipped it in pepper
sauce. “Barbados Complete.” I paused to fight back tears of joy. The next three words were what this trip (and
the three trips I have taken over the past three years) has been leading to. I was going to savor this moment
forever. “Lesser Antilles
Complete.” What could I add to make to
make the quote even more spectacular?
“And I don’t see how the Greater Antilles could possibly be
greater.”
Reader, there 8 countries in
the Lesser Antilles, 4 in the Greater Antilles, 3 in North America proper, 7 in
Central America, and The Bahamas. That
makes 23 (plus Greenland and Iceland if I want to count them). I have now Officially visited 18 of them, and
I have visited Parliament/Congress at each one, too. I’ve been to 50 countries total, now, I just
realized, and that is a hell of a milestone.
Of those 18 countries in the continental landmass, I have Completed 15
of them, now. There are still lots of
WHS for me to visit in the three countries in North America proper. After I closed, we were soon landing.
I have been calling Barbados the crown jewel
of the British West Indies, but that is something I made up, though it is not
without merit. Even before we landed, I
knew that it was unmatched anywhere I have visited in the Lesser Antilles or
the British West Indies as a whole. The
view as we were landing, unmatched. The
quality of the airport, unmatched, and it puts LGA to shame. This was a major international airport with
flights coming in from England, Germany, and Italy. Actually, maybe the airport in Kingston could
compete.
There was no line for
Immigration, them having more than enough stations to quickly service the
relatively small LIAT flight. My bag
came out quickly. I exchanged my money
for Barbados dollars, and I got a perfectly good exchange rate, better than
what Google says is the rate, even, just having to pay a nominal fee (the price
of a regular cup of coffee at Starbucks).
I bought a bottle of premium Mount Gay rum, which I look forward to
enjoying over the weekend. The taxi for
the hotel was waiting for me outside.
Oh, right, the hotel. I started
to get a little concerned at Immigration.
The officer asked me where my hotel was.
She had never heard of it, which was not a good sign. She looked it up on the computer, and it said
Brittons Hill. Is that a suburb of
Bridgetown or a neighborhood? I can’t get
a straight answer from anyone. It’s only
2 miles from Parliament, though. I was
concerned. Were there hotels closer in
town? I had already prepaid, but “Brittons
Hill, Barbados” just doesn’t have the same ring to it as “Bridgetown, Barbados”
for my dateline. If it was a
neighborhood on the outskirts but within city limits, that wasn’t a
problem. If I was writing from 125th
Street, it would be “New York, New York,” not “Harlem, New York,” but, if I was
writing from Atlantic Avenue, it would be “Brooklyn, New York.” Google Maps says it’s in Bridgetown, and that
is my default guide when in doubt, but I suppose I could add a parenthetical
just to be safe.
The exchange clerk also
never heard of the hotel. In fact, no
one has. What did I get myself
into? I arrived at the hotel, and the
clerk seemed dead set on letting me relax before I checked in. I didn’t have time to relax. I needed my picture at Parliament before
sunset. He was as nice as could be, but,
eventually, I just had to ask him, “Can I have my key?” He showed me to my room. To call it rustic would be an understatement. I have stayed in all sorts of hotels in my
travels, but most have them are just a bed and a place to smoke and
write my
entry.
This trip is different. This trip I need hotels with living areas,
too. The one in Grenada had the balcony
where I spent most of my time, but it was not a good “live-in” hotel. The location was unbeatable, though. In Saint Vincent, that was a great “live-in”
hotel with the porch and the bar and the lounge. This brings it to a whole other level. The room is great. It has wooden windows. By that, I mean wooden slats that function as
windows. It has a bed outside. Reader, recall all the times I have dragged
mattresses outside? This one already has
the bed outside, with outlets! The porch
alone, with the bed, a table, two chairs, and a couch, is about the size of my
apartment.
My taxi was ready before I
changed into my casual clothes. I was
ready to do this. I asked the driver
where to go for souvenirs. She thought
everything would be closed by now, but the duty free shop might have
souvenirs. She dropped me off at
Parliament. I was ready for this. Remember, three countries, three flag pins,
three Parliaments. Was Robin Williams
still on my side? Would he grant me my
three wishes? I lit up my Partagas, and
I was so ready. I was born ready. I suppose that only my original readers can
fully appreciate the significance of the next hour for me, but I ask everyone
else to follow along.
I was literally
skipping around the plaza of Parliament as I took my pictures. Eight countries in the Lesser Antilles, eight
Parliaments now, but only seven flag pins.
Time to find that last flag pin.
All the souvenir shops were closed (it wasn’t even yet 6 PM), but the
duty free shop was open. They had it all,
the mug, the shot glasses, the key chains, the t-shirts, and, yes, the flag
pin. They also had rum and cigars, but I
passed on that, having enough rum already and the cigars being overpriced. It was raining when I left, but I just needed
to walk across the famous, historic bridge after which this city is named to
get to dinner, the last piece of the puzzle to make everything Official and
Complete. I ditched the Partagas on the
way, but I knew I’d want another cigar with dinner.
I sat outside, and my table had a stunning
view of Parliament. Reader, did I
mention that Historic Bridgetown and its Garrison is a WHS, and Parliament is
the Official nomination photo? In my
excitement of visiting Parliament, I had completely forgotten. However, as I sat down to dinner, I
remembered, and the significance of it was not lost. They had the local specialties: fish cakes
and cou cou with flying fish. Of course
I ordered that, along with the local beer.
When my fish cakes came, the scene I mentioned at the beginning of this
entry occurred, and then, I started singing, “God Save the Queen,” though I pay
homage neither to God nor the Queen.
Now, I’m singing it again. I got
some rum to go with the main course, my third drink of the day, and now I’m
regretting it. I lit up a Jericho Hill
to go with the main course, and it lasted all the back to the hotel, which the
driver had trouble finding, since he’d never heard of it, either.
I got situated on the porch, where I lit up a
Perdomo (I forgot to mention the Perdomo I had Tuesday when I went to the trade
center Parliament in St. George’s) and proceeded to write this entry, which I
will close so that I can publish it and also write a proposal that I promised I’d
have ready for review by midnight. I
guess no Disney Night tonight.
Oh, wait,
I’m calling today “Journey to the Past” for a reason. Everything about this country, well, visually
and architecturally feels like it’s from a different era. It doesn’t feel like I’m staying in a
hotel. I truly am staying in a manor
house. The streets and buildings in
Bridgetown are from another era. It is
not the modern Parliament I am used to seeing here. It is a building that has stood for
centuries. Save my laptop and cell phone
and clothing, you could take a picture of me on this porch, and it would seem
just as accurate as from Colonial times.
While I am working with the most modern of technology tomorrow, it will
be nice to feel like I am actually living in the past.
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