Barbados: Yes Please

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By the time the weekend blows in, the resort pool bar is crowded with Brits on holiday, like pink cherries floating in a blue cocktail. Barbados is a massively popular destination with the UK. Its capital Bridgetown was one of only four destinations with regular non-stop scheduled flights on the Concorde. Because of this fact, one of the decommissioned Concordes sits in a hanger museum adjacent to Grantley Adams International. We took a peek, getting a tour on the supersonic luxury jet that seemed so ahead of its time, and so prohibitively expensive to run. 26,000 gallons of fuel burned on a single flight, 4 hours max flying time, a marvel of human engineering. Inside the skinny cabin, with a small hold at the back for luggage (there was only one level on the Concorde, and strict weight allowances) I can barely see out the tiny windows that were capable of handling the stratospheric pressure at Mach 2. I sit on narrow designer leather chairs, and learn that the cheapest bottle of wine onboard cost around $800, and was served complimentary with lobster and truffles. No seat back screens, but there was a defunct promotional video about passengers bumping into rock stars, royalty, and people who could spend $10,000 per ticket. It’s a great way to kill an hour or two, and hey, now I can say I’ve been on the Concorde. So what if it was grounded. It’s the closest thing to a rocket ship. Oh wait, I went inside a real rocket ship at the Space Centre outside Moscow. You know what, this job is getting kind of ridiculous these days (he says with a shit-eating grin).

Friday night at Oistins fish market is THE night out in Barbados, as thousands of locals and tourists gather to eat fresh flying fish with mac and pie, chased with a cold Banks beer, perhaps a few drops of excellent yellow scotch pepper hot sauce. There’s dozens of fish shacks, some have long line-ups, some don’t, but you can’t really go wrong. There’s a stage pumping groovy reggae tunes, and a large crowd has gathered around it, although nobody’s really dancing yet. Since all the world’s a stage, I get on it and shake my booty, to general disapproval. I try pull some locals up since Sean is filming all of this of course, and am told, in no polite terms, No Please! There’s something a little less-irie on this stage, but further up there’s a small square with more mature local couples dancing to country music. It’s a hot night, swarms of horny English girls chatting up smooth talking local guys in dreads, and I wish I had the energy to follow them to the Gap where the music gets louder and the drinks get stronger, but I don’t. It’s been a busy couple weeks, 19 days of hectic travel, and besides, my ass still smarts from the polo.

Gonzo Gallery for Barbados: Yes Please

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