Shnykees, people. Avery turns ONE in a week and I’m still working on pics from when she was eight months old.
Ok, Barbados. Part five. Boom.
Funny, looking at those, Avery seems passively accepting of all that goes on around her. Maybe that’s relative to the whirling dervish we live with now. Have no fear, she was a bundle of joy back then as well.
So here we get to the super deluxe portion of the adventure: Crane Beach and Resort. Marjorie’s research had suggested that this was not to be missed. You wouldn’t have thunk it from the parking. That 5th frame there – the road that ends at the water – park where you will, that’s all there is. I wasn’t expecting much, so when we walked around the corner on those blazing hot concrete tiles and saw THAT beach, I was doubly amazed. Beautiful. And the resort that overlooks it, gorgeous.
Maybe that’s why I forgot to put the tether on my expensive new glasses. Or forgot to take them off. Or forgot to turn into rather than away from the wave that stole them off my face.
And forgot all of that and did the exact same thing two days later with the nice replacement sunnies. Exact. Same. Thing. Exact. Same. Place.
Moron.
We still had a very good time, not to worry. I was just squinty. Avery napped in the shade lovingly built and continually tended by Marjorie. And after Avery awoke, she thoroughly got past her fear of the great big ocean. That’s my girl. Initial caution soon overwhelmed by the love of adventure.
An important note for those who enjoy a nice rum punch: every rum punch you have ever tasted in your entire life, no matter how tantalizingly tangy, no matter how transportive, no matter how transcendent, is absolute poo compared to the nectar of the gods concocted by Cutters Deli. No joke. Get on a plane for this. If you are taken aback that a fella could go on for five lines about booze when he only used one word to describe the beach where he drank said booze, you’re not going to get it anyway, so move on.
Pretty tasty, is the general impression I’m trying to convey.
Nice thing about Cutters Deli – great food, celestial beverage, and they will bring it to you on the beach. With plenty of ice. Yep. Damned civilized.
I should have brought home a case of that punch. Gonna have to go back.
With vacation time running short, we gave daddy what he wanted: a tour of the Foursquare rum plantation/distillery/museum/ohnevermindit’sclosedforsomereason. Actually, while the main doors were tightly locked, the service door twenty feet to the side was wide open, so in we wandered. That’s right. Adventure.
I’ll say this: the sugar cane fermentation process does not smell anything like what one might call… “pleasant”. So Marjorie and Avery had a nice look around the first few displays and took the exit for fresh air. Adrian persevered to plunder more mysteries. Learned lots. Took a few pictures of an all but deserted distillery. Wandered beyond the rope a few times just because I could. Admired barrels upon barrels of rum. Figured it was near cocktail hour and rallied the troops.
Dinner, meanwhile, was at the Crane Resort, in their cliff’s edge posh posh restaurant. Had to check it out. Maybe it was because we were early, but for whatever reason, we were the only table. With that kind of choice we took the table closest to the water. The waves were literally crashing – booming – right under us. Marjorie and I took turns toddling Avery around while local musicians played quietly on the sound system and the breeze wafted in through the wide open doors.
I have no idea what I ate. But the setting and the company were perfection. On the way out, we booked breakfast for the next morning.
I believe that evening we finished the last of our Cutters VSRP by the pool and toasted all that is unbelievably good in our lives.
And then it was morning. Our last morning. And we packed all our luggage and loaded the car and said goodbye to our little villa and its one monstrous cockroach that nearly scared Marjorie to death.
All was not bittersweet. The airport, but first, a pitstop at the Crane Resort. Brunch was marvellous. A buffet to end all buffets. Two kinds of bacon. Three kinds of sausage. An omelette bar. Pancakes and waffles. Canadian maple syrup. Mountains of fresh fruit. Sunshine, surf, laughter. A local gospel choir that thought Avery was the bee’s knees, and she gave them smiles for miles. How perfect an ending is that?