Neville A. Edwards' A1 Appetiser

Our grand favourite hot sauce is that made by Neville A. Edwards, of Long Gap, Spooner's Hill, St Michael.

It is "made from the finest selected Peppers, Onions and Radishes. Also Salt, Mustard and 5 per cent Alcohol." I think it is the combination of mustard and alcohol that gives Bajan hot sauce its incomparably flavourful piquancy.

We have a long list of hot-sauce dependents. People from as far away as Singapore, Arizona, New York and Unionville, Ontario, depend on us for their hot sauce supply. My mum likes to have it with her Bak Kut Teh. So I guess this means we are duty-bound to return to Barbados every year for as long as we live.

We had a bit of a scare this year when we went along to our usual supermarket in Holetown and couldn't find a single bottle of Neville A. Edwards on the shelves. It was definitely a face-blanching moment. Luckily, we found the next day that Jordan's of Speightstown was well stocked in the stuff, so we came away with eight bottles.

A few days later, we went to the Holetown supermarket again, just to have a look. Sure enough, the A1 Appetiser had been restored to its rightful place on the shelves, so all was well in the universe again.

It must have been a hiccup in their supply chain. Either that or someone very like myself had just hit the place ahead of me.

Hot Sauce, Hot Sauce, Hot Sauce!!!

I can't believe it. I have been writing this blog (admittedly intermittently) for three years, and I have not posted on hot sauce.

I first tasted Bajan hot sauce when my friend The Curmudgeon brought some over to dinner—oh, about twenty years ago now. Coming as I do from Southeast Asia, with its fiery sambals and curries, tom yums and laksas, I thought "Yeah, whatever." But as soon as I tasted some, well, I literally ran around my kitchen whooping for joy.

This picture was taken surreptitiously in a Holetown supermarket. As you can see, Barbadians take their hot sauce (sometimes called pepper sauce) SERIOUSLY. Over the years, we have found that an excellent way to break the ice with Bajans (who can be a little shy) is to ask them which brand they like the best. We have tried several kinds—Delish (meh), Aunt May (meh to good), Country Boy (pretty good), S-Bend (pretty damn good).

The Curmudgeon's Mum (bless her heart) likes Windmill. We always buy her a bottle, but have never tried it ourselves. We're sure it's great.

And then there is the off-label, home-made kind that some restaurants commission from their own private suppliers. I'm sure you could write an entire book about those.

But our favourite brand of hot sauce deserves a post of its own ...

The Kindness of Bajans Part II

In 2012, I observed a rather heartwarming incident on the Connelltown bus ride up to River Bay. Towards the end of the route, the bus wends its way through a complicated warren of residential streets that makes me thankful we are not the car-renting type.

This is about as far from the glitzy, touristy Barbados as you can get. Apart from the Animal Flower Cave, there isn't much that draws tourists as far north as this (I don't know why, as the coast is spectacular). I love to look at the houses and gardens—none are opulent, and a few are in lamentable condition, but even the most shaky-looking chattel house will have something to admire about it, whether it is a bougainvillea in full bloom, spilling over a wall made of cinder blocks, or a poinsettia six feet tall.

While rumbling through one of these neighbourhoods, the bus suddenly drew to a stop alongside a house. A lady (still in her Sunday best) ran down the garden path, frantically waving and smiling. Without a word, the bus driver handed her through his side window a handbag, which she had obviously left behind on the bus earlier that day. Then, with a wave, he drove off, while she walked back to her house beaming and clutching her bag.

I've tried, but I can't quite picture this happening on Toronto transit.

The Kindness of Bajans Part I

When I left off writing this blog in 2010, I was in the middle of recounting our efforts to avoid the Oistins Fish Fry Traffic Jam by visiting Bottom Bay in the afternoon before going to Oistins for supper (from the opposite direction to everyone else!).

It turned out to be a hot and slightly uncomfortable walk from Bottom Bay back to where we could catch a bus. We found ourselves sitting on the kerb in a small settlement on a sleepy Bajan afternoon. Behind us in a vacant lot, three or four young men were sitting and shooting the breeze in a peaceable way.

We noticed another man walking around unsteadily on the street in front of us. He was obviously rather inebriated (I'll call him Mr Cups) and, unusually for a Bajan, just a little on the surly side. He came and squatted down in front of us and started asking us why we were looking at him. I didn't feel threatened, but it was plain that he was invading our personal space. We really did not want to offend him, so we kept smiling and saying that we were just trying to be friendly. However, he didn't go away—just kept staring and questioning.

One of the young men from the vacant lot came over and told him to stop harassing us. When Mr Cups refused, the young man grabbed a fallen palm frond and chased him off with it, making like he was thrashing Mr Cups' behind. Everyone started laughing—including Mr Cups—and the tension was broken.

Watching the young man chase the town drunk down the street with his makeshift whip, we felt like we were watching a scene that has probably played itself over and over, all around the world, for hundreds and hundreds of years. It was touching to me that a stranger would come to our assistance this way, and that he would do it humorously and without either physical or verbal violence. There's not many places in the world you could count on that happening. While I was rather sorry that we had caused a little scene (one reason I've neglected my blog for over a year), I also felt like I had gained an insight into local Bajan life that we'd have missed if we'd stuck to the tourist tracks.

Fairchild Street Bus Terminal, Bridgetown

Bridgetown has two bus terminals, the main one on Fairchild Street and a secondary, open-air one on Alice Street. The Fairchild Street terminal lies just across the O'Neal Bridge, which is what Bridge Street is called where it spans the Careenage.

The Fairchild Street terminal is a slightly claustrophobic building, but like the Speighstown bus terminal it is efficient and well signposted. The Sam Lord's Castle bus leaves every half hour from Gate 12.

This is the bus that goes along the southern coast where most of the tourist resorts are located, so it was packed with a fair number of tourists. At the end of the stretch, as the bus turned away from the coast just past Oistins, we were the only conspicuous non-locals left on board.

The driver was so concerned that we had missed our stop that he shouted back to make sure we knew where we were going! Just one of many instances of kindness we've met in Barbados, and a major reason we keep going back there.

Sandy Crest Medical Centre, Holetown

Very fortunately, our hosts P. and D.H. arrived at Gibbs Beach in their car just moments after the Good Hubby had had his accident. They drove us to the Sandy Crest Medical Centre in Holetown.

I can't say enough good things about the treatment that the GH got there. The attending physician, Dr Trudy Weeks, found that the force of the wave in dragging his chin along the bottom had opened up a deep laceration inside his mouth, essentially ripping the flesh away from his jawbone. The laceration was full of sand.

His right eye was similarly rather sandy, so the first task was to irrigate this eye and clean it out as much as possible. Miraculously, although it was already clear he would have a huge shiner, his vision was unaffected.

Also miraculously, he had all his teeth, so the main task was to sew the hole in his chin back together again, after all the sand was cleaned out (she did this by poking her finger in the hole repeatedly!) I assisted in the suturing by holding his bottom lip open so that Dr Weeks could see what she was doing. So I'm afraid I've now seen my husband's jawbone.

There was very little tissue left on the bone, so Dr Weeks had a difficult time trying to attach the other side of the laceration back to the gum. But she was very patient and also quite deft with her hands. It took about an hour for her to put all the sutures in and to close up the hole.

She then ordered x-rays as she was convinced that the GH had broken his orbital bone. Luckily this was not the case, but I was rather impressed by how modern the x-ray facilities at Sandy Crest were (my father is a retired radiologist so I have a faint interest in these things).

I was most impressed by how kind and cheerful everybody was. In many countries that are as touristed as Barbados, the prevailing attitude might be one of impatience or disdain for a tourist that had got himself into trouble this way, but both the nurse and Dr Weeks were extremely sympathetic and unrushed in attending to us.

In the reception area of Sandy Crest, there is a framed photo and letter from Tony and Cherie Blair, thanking the staff of the centre for their kind treatment. Not a big fan myself, but I think I can say we couldn't have been treated any better if we had been celebrity politicians!

Barclays Park

Barclays Park (so named after the banking institution, I believe) is a pleasant picnic spot about ten minutes' drive north of Bathsheba.

The bus from Speightstown passes by on its way to Bathsheba at about 20 minutes before an even hour (i.e. 40 minutes after it has left the bus terminal).

The bus to Speightstown passes by at about 10 minutes past an even hour.

It took us about an hour and a half to walk to Barclays Park along the beach from Bathsheba. We dawdled along the way, of course.

On weekends, Barclays Park is a popular picnic spot for Barbadian families. Especially on Sundays, they always look awfully properly dressed for being on the beach. But perhaps for Barbadians, going to the beach isn't the rare occasion it is for us and so there just isn't the same enthusiasm for stepping out in hobo attire when it happens.

More likely, we are just incurable slobs.

Fortunately, this doesn't seem to discourage acts of great friendliness. Last year, just as the Speightstown bus was pulling up, a lady whose family was picnicking nearby came to ask us if we would like to ride back with her in her car.

We were so taken aback by her generosity--and flustered by the fact that the bus was fast approaching--that we declined, thanking her profusely as we hopped on board. We felt bad afterwards, as we felt we might have been rude and also that we had missed out on a chance to get to know some local people better.

Barclays Park is also where I saw my first ever mongoose. It's a nice place.

"My Island Is Smaller Than Yours"

The first time I ever met a Barbadian, I got very excited when I realized that here, finally, was someone from an even smaller island than the one I'm from (Singapore).

I crowed, I stamped, I clapped. But, far from being insulted, my friend (let's call him The Curmudgeon) seemed quietly pleased.

I've since realized that Bajans are quite proud of their island's smallness. It is all of 430 square kilometres (or 167 square miles). Compare Singapore, at a bloated 705 sq km (272 sq mi) and getting bigger all the time, thanks to land reclamation projects.

When entering the country one time, an immigration official looked at my passport and asked me, with a twinkle in his eye, "How large is Singapore?"

"About twice the size of Barbados," I answered, stoutly.

He chuckled and shook his head with smug satisfaction.

If I were actually as clever as I tend to imagine I am, I would have added, "But only half as a nice!"

West Coast Barbados Beaches

Here I must pause to rhapsodize a little about the beaches in Barbados. The West Coast of the island faces the Caribbean Sea, which for the most part is as shown here. Calm and gentle, warm and clean.

The most amazing thing about Barbados beaches is not just how beautiful they are but how free of litter. Where I come from in Southeast Asia, people treat the sea like a rubbish dump. You can't go to a beach without tripping over discarded water bottles, plastic bags, styrofoam clamshells, and other things too gross to mention.

In Barbados, however, you can walk for miles on the beach without seeing so much as a candy wrapper. I think I once saw a page of newsprint floating in the sea off Fitts Village in Paynes Bay, but that was it.

I sort of imagine that the Barbadian government employs an army of trash collectors to comb the beaches every night when all the tourists are sleeping.

Barbados Bus Stop Appreciation Part II

Away from the more populated parts of Barbados, the bus stops look like this.

Those pointing towards Bridgetown say "To City", while those pointing away say "Out of City".

It couldn't be simpler or more reassuring.

These stops are obviously fairly spare, but Barbados is an unpretentious place and no one will bat an eyelid if you find a nice spot of shade nearby and squat in it.

At some of these stops, an unofficial seat has been fashioned from a log or a tree root.

We've had some of our most interesting conversations with Bajans at such stops. Last year we met a man who was a lifeguard on a public beach on the West Coast. He said he had pulled more tourists from the water than he could count. He was very polite about it, but we gathered that most of these people had been plastered when they threw themselves into the water.

It's sad when tourists are not as dignified as the country they're visiting.

Barbados Bus Stop Appreciation Part I

You can tell a lot about a country from its bus stops. After all, waiting at bus stops is a big part of travelling by bus. If the government of a country really cares about its people, this will be manifested in bus stop design and construction.

This bus stop (located in St Peter's Parish) quite warmed my heart when I first saw it. You know you're in a nice country when the bus stops look like this.

There's shelter from the elements, a place to sit down, even a receptacle for trash. And it's set back from the road so you're not too close to the traffic going by. The design and materials are simple, yet elegant.

It makes me want to hug whoever was responsible.

The Yellow Bus is Fun but a Tad Frenetic

These yellow buses are privately run and they buzz around the island in an exuberant, hair-raising manner.

Like the blue government buses, it costs only BBD 1.50 per ride. The advantage of taking a yellow bus is that you can get change when paying your fare. In fact, you can pay in US dollars, but you will get your change in Barbados currency.

It's a good way to get a lot of small change, fast.

Another advantage of taking the yellow bus is that you don't have to schlep yourself all the way to the nearest bus stop. Just flag 'em down from wherever you are standing; they will screech to a halt nearby.

You'll be sharing the bus with lots of people. There will also be loud music playing; sometimes the entire busload of passengers will sing along too. And when yellow bus drivers sound their horns, it's often the first bar of La Cucaracha that blares out as the bus skids around the corner.

So the yellow bus is fun but a tad frenetic. Definitely a great way to travel with the locals, but if you're feeling tired after a day of sightseeing, it may be worth waiting a few minutes at the bus stop for the blue bus. Calmness and efficiency are part of Bajan culture too!