If You Don't Write it Down, You'll Forget It

Bathsheba, East Coast, Barbados

"One more drink tonight!" This seemed to be the theme of the Caribbean lifestyle. This was an island where everyone has the potential to be a new friend or the perfect charm to bring old friends back together.

But let's back up for a second. I did the cliche spin a globe and pick a spot trick when my finger landed in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "Hm...what's close?" I asked myself. "Ok, Barbados it is." I also intended to go alone and spend time alone writing and having existential internal experiences. So I booked an Airbnb with a private room and no real plans but hanging out on the beach and swimming with the turtles. Key word here: ALONE.

Within my first five minutes on arrival, I met the girl who was staying downstairs, and it just so happened that she came to Barbados with the same intention of traveling completely alone. We were both 27, both solo travelers, and we both worked from home. What a coincidence.

On my way out to my private dinner that evening, the girl downstairs (who I learned was named Julia from Lithuania) was playing cards on the back deck with our Rastafarian host. She asked me where I was dining. "NO! Don't go there. Keep walking ten minutes away past two beaches and go to Surfer's Cafe. Order the chicken caesar salad. Seriously it's the best I've ever had." I followed her advice and did just that. And my very jetlagged brain jammed out to some true island reggae at the lovely oceanside spot while I sipped on a local beer. By the end of the evening, I had met two Americans just down the bar from me. He was a doctor and she was a nurse and they were looking to get into some fun for their last few days in town. We exchanged information and promised to meet up at the Fish Fry on Friday evening.

By day two, Julia had our whole day planned out. The morning would be spent tasting rum at Mount Gay, the birthplace of the lovely liquid, followed by an afternoon in underground caves, and a sunset on the East side of the island, known for its surf waves and rugged coastline. All of this was led by our Rasta "dad", Gregory.

We hopped onto one of the fastest public city buses I've ever been on to zip up to Bridgetown. Gregory walked us around the neighborhood he grew up in, waving at what seemed like everyone there. "Respect, bruddah" was a constant greeting. Once we reached Mount Gay and finished learning about the history and distillation of rum, we were finally able to taste the assortment of deliciously aged rums.  The tour guide asked if we wanted a man, woman, or wimp pour. Each time, Julia and I excitedly turned to one another as we placed our snifters on the bar and shouted, "man pour!"

After a comfortable buzz, we walked to find a taxi that rode us through fields of sugar cane and up through hilltops and farmland toward the underground caves. Remnants of sugar plantations were still intact, harsh reminders of the oh-so-recent past. I asked the taxi driver if he knew anything about it. In his lovely accent, he answered, "Oh yes, my great grandfather worked the sugar factories. It was dangerous work. He lost a couple of fingers."

Once we reached the caves, we enjoyed the quiet of the countryside after the crazy, constant buzz of Bridgetown. Climbing down toward the caves, we saw monkeys scaling the jungle walls. Vines and huge tropical plants overtook the green landscape. The caves were a fun time for nerding out on geology with all the stalagmites and stalactites and also a nice, cool break from the tropical temperatures above ground.

After our time underground, we returned to the surface to board the most fun and probably dangerous bus ride of my life. The man driving whipped around country road corners at high speeds and crazy turns, totally missing bus stops with screaming and angry Barbadians but we just held on and thanked our lucky stars that we made the bus.

Once we reached the east coast, the sun was perfectly positioned to make the surroundings seem even more surreal. Huge rocks lined the pebble beach and I walked along in the tide pools collecting sea glass. I met a lady on the beach from England who thought that I was a lifeguard because I just "had that look about me."  After a nice walk, we all sat and enjoyed the sunset together as the surfers pushed out to sea for one more good wave.

Our final "bus" (small, speedy van) took us home for the evening. With all the windows down, reggae beats blasting, and friendly locals singing along, this was the perfect end to an already incredible day.

But it wasn't over because this island never slept. I told Julia that we were required to go find a Guinness because it was St. Paddy's Day. Not even a stone's throw from where we were, we found a great bar to enjoy our Irish celebration on a British isle while trying to figure out the rules to cricket that played on the TV.

After a few good beers, we walked back together and she said, "In the morning, let's go to the beach and eat pancakes." How could anyone say no to that?

It was in this moment that I laughed to myself that I ever thought I would spend my week there alone. You meet some of the most incredible people while traveling who change your life forever.

All of this...and then I realized I still had six more days in this wonderful place.

Waiting for the bus in Bridgetown with Julia and Gregory