Twenty-one days of living off the hook in St. George’s Harbor, and we finally have a dry mattress and departure date of 12/6. Oh, how I will miss our morning ritual of folding the tempurpedic like a taco, stuffing it through the companionway and dragging it through the rigging to the bow without falling overboard.
In 21 days, Stephen continued to amaze me while he poured over the guts of various systems on the boat, one by one bringing corroded and shorted pieces of machinery back to life. As I assisted him, I enjoyed watching the process so evident on his face. He would talk through scenarios with me as realizations flooded his mind faster than I could keep up with. As if I knew what he was talking about – he could have been speaking another language. “Sure, sounds logical to me.”
Engineering would have been the perfect field of study for him. It was actually a little bit scary at times, reminiscent of scenes from “A Beautiful Mind,” as his thoughts seemed to race with equations. What is truly scary though, are his trips up the mast. That mathematical mind of his figured that our rig must be slightly off-center, accounting for the slight speed differences on each tack. This and concern that our jib halyard was chafing led him to the top with me hoisting and lowering him from the deck (see speck on deck in photo above).
While 75% of these days were filled with boat projects, repairs, and hours of cursing at the engine, it our mission to explore Bermuda. Sometimes this meant braving the elements like wet dinghy rides and a turbulent start to a Sea Taxi commute to Hamilton. This managed to bring uneasy glances and laughter out of the most stoic of Brits. As we headed through the pass out of St. George’s Harbor and straight into 20 knot winds, the ferry went full throttle, pounding down on the waves, creating walls of sea spray as high as the double decker ferry. Steve and I laughed at the large amounts of seaweed flying through the air. This only lasted 5 minutes, until we rounded up the coast. It still seemed scarier than braving the waters on our own boat. It was something about being at the hands of another captain –and without sail or the ability for the boat to right itself in the event of a takedown. No power yacht cruises for me.
Hamilton, the capital, is a surprisingly busy city that I would never want to drive through during rush hour. Front Street that runs along the water, was congested for miles. And as for the roundabouts…good luck. I spotted an elderly lady behind the wheel and said a prayer for her. As in England, they drive on the left side of the road which is disorienting when getting used to crossing the street. Narrow and steep winding roads with few sidewalks (with the exception of downtown Hamilton) make for vigilant pedestrians.
I noticed right away how economical and low key most of the cars are on the island were. Occasionally you’d spot the one that added some bling. Imagine my old Geo Metro with tinted windows and rims. But even the most expensive looking homes had modest cars in the driveway. We were told the average home value is over a million. A nice one bedroom apartment can rent for $2,200 or more. Few Bermudians are able to have cars, so just the privilege of owning one seems to denote status. Gasoline costs $6 a gallon.
Since tourists couldn't rent cars and scooters were both seemingly dangerous and hella expensive, we took the bus everywhere. As many things in Bermuda, including the sand itself, the buses are pink and abundant. It was no problem to find a stop no matter where you were on the island – just look for the double arched shelters along the side of the road. On average, they run about every 15 minutes, up until 11:45 PM, and don’t let the color pink fool you – you better hang on to your seat. During daylight, bus rides were pretty pleasant with lots of ocean views. Around quitting time, the buses usually became rowdy with locals and drivers engaging in shouting matches over the rules of the bus which were part-serious in tone, usually at the start. Complaints soon developed into teasing which seemed harsh but apparently playful, only because everyone was smiling and laughing together. Stephen and I remained quiet bystanders, taking it all in.
One custom that just wouldn’t grow on me, no matter how many times I tried to look at it with a fresh pair of eyes was the odd business style of shirt & tie with shorts and dark knee socks. I saw it on older and younger men with all kinds of shirt & short color combos. I still couldn’t stop giggling while taking undercover photos. Maybe it was the images I conjured up of every man in my life sporting this look: Stephen, Tony, Daddy, Dad Toman, Raj & Greg!
Here I was in Bermuda, with a new Queen – one you didn’t want to mess with – the Queen of England, arriving at the Anglican Church of the “Most Holy Trinity” on this very day to commemorate Bermuda’s 400th anniversary. “Dress Down Day” for Bermuda was permitting it’s citizenry to show a little leg at the high price of compromising good fashion sense. Fashion aside, I began to button up and attempt to hide my bikini straps, afraid that if spotted by the Queen, I may have to serve detention in the Magistrates Court downtown.
While 75% of these days were filled with boat projects, repairs, and hours of cursing at the engine, it our mission to explore Bermuda. Sometimes this meant braving the elements like wet dinghy rides and a turbulent start to a Sea Taxi commute to Hamilton. This managed to bring uneasy glances and laughter out of the most stoic of Brits. As we headed through the pass out of St. George’s Harbor and straight into 20 knot winds, the ferry went full throttle, pounding down on the waves, creating walls of sea spray as high as the double decker ferry. Steve and I laughed at the large amounts of seaweed flying through the air. This only lasted 5 minutes, until we rounded up the coast. It still seemed scarier than braving the waters on our own boat. It was something about being at the hands of another captain –and without sail or the ability for the boat to right itself in the event of a takedown. No power yacht cruises for me.
Hamilton, the capital, is a surprisingly busy city that I would never want to drive through during rush hour. Front Street that runs along the water, was congested for miles. And as for the roundabouts…good luck. I spotted an elderly lady behind the wheel and said a prayer for her. As in England, they drive on the left side of the road which is disorienting when getting used to crossing the street. Narrow and steep winding roads with few sidewalks (with the exception of downtown Hamilton) make for vigilant pedestrians.
I noticed right away how economical and low key most of the cars are on the island were. Occasionally you’d spot the one that added some bling. Imagine my old Geo Metro with tinted windows and rims. But even the most expensive looking homes had modest cars in the driveway. We were told the average home value is over a million. A nice one bedroom apartment can rent for $2,200 or more. Few Bermudians are able to have cars, so just the privilege of owning one seems to denote status. Gasoline costs $6 a gallon.Scooters are abundant and by law, everyone must wear a helmet for damn good reason. There is plenty of parking for scooters everywhere and it’s cool to see women dressed up in suits, high heels and helmets driving their scooters to work. What I don’t get is why cel phone use while operating a scooter hasn’t been banned. Fortunately, I only saw one guy doing this. But I saw countless others smoking while riding.
Since tourists couldn't rent cars and scooters were both seemingly dangerous and hella expensive, we took the bus everywhere. As many things in Bermuda, including the sand itself, the buses are pink and abundant. It was no problem to find a stop no matter where you were on the island – just look for the double arched shelters along the side of the road. On average, they run about every 15 minutes, up until 11:45 PM, and don’t let the color pink fool you – you better hang on to your seat. During daylight, bus rides were pretty pleasant with lots of ocean views. Around quitting time, the buses usually became rowdy with locals and drivers engaging in shouting matches over the rules of the bus which were part-serious in tone, usually at the start. Complaints soon developed into teasing which seemed harsh but apparently playful, only because everyone was smiling and laughing together. Stephen and I remained quiet bystanders, taking it all in.
One custom that just wouldn’t grow on me, no matter how many times I tried to look at it with a fresh pair of eyes was the odd business style of shirt & tie with shorts and dark knee socks. I saw it on older and younger men with all kinds of shirt & short color combos. I still couldn’t stop giggling while taking undercover photos. Maybe it was the images I conjured up of every man in my life sporting this look: Stephen, Tony, Daddy, Dad Toman, Raj & Greg! I still find it hilarious. I had read in a tourism guide that Bermuda’s dress was very conservative. That we weren’t to even think about going out in public without covering up – many women in skirts and shorts below the knees and shirts with some kind of sleeve or a sweater overlay. To get into some clubs and restaurants, men were required to wear collared shirts and dress slacks with the suggestion of a suit jacket and tie. I realized quickly that I had made a mistake in allowing my bathing suit to show through my top when I asked a man seated next to me a question about uploading files, while using free internet at the phone company. He looked me up and down in a disapproving sort of way and was short in his reply. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. You be careful now, you hear?” Be careful? I felt like I was mistaken for a prostitute, who used the code lingo of “uploading files” to solicit customers.
I had a flashback from high school, overcome with the same feeling of defiance as when Mrs. Theic wanted to measure my skirt. Suddenly, the Bermuda shorts thing made sense. It’s just like Delone Catholic High School’s “Dress Down Day” with limitations. Theic’s voice over the PA system boomed through the deepest caverns of my repressed memories….”You can wear sneakers but NO JEANS!” This will be enforced with detention. “Please people,” said my favorite philosophy teacher, Mr. Franko, “Queen Maureen (his nickname for the principal) has no fashion sense. You’ll all be walking around here looking like dorks.”
Here I was in Bermuda, with a new Queen – one you didn’t want to mess with – the Queen of England, arriving at the Anglican Church of the “Most Holy Trinity” on this very day to commemorate Bermuda’s 400th anniversary. “Dress Down Day” for Bermuda was permitting it’s citizenry to show a little leg at the high price of compromising good fashion sense. Fashion aside, I began to button up and attempt to hide my bikini straps, afraid that if spotted by the Queen, I may have to serve detention in the Magistrates Court downtown. Fortunately, the crowds poured out into the street in huge numbers, blocking me from getting a good glimpse of her. I managed to photograph the back of her head, donned in a turquoise blue bonnet, while Stephen got the greatest shot of her in her motorcade (Look through the windshield of the range rover in the slideshow's motorcade pics).
I had also read in the tourism guide that Bermuda was “big on manners” – more like hypervigilant. The paradox being that pleasantries were sometimes enforced and debased with a defensive rudeness which seemed to result from misperception. Fortunately, countless others counteracted this sentiment with exceptional friendliness and authenticity. As we learned more about Bermuda’s history, economic, and social issues from its residents, I gained insight into the tough exterior, with a new understanding and appreciation for an outspoken, yet loyal and fun-loving breed akin to my Wagner heritage.
Looking at Bermuda from a geographical perspective also sheds light on the nature of its people. Jagged cliffs and boulders form tumultuous shores and sea states. But inside its borders lies a peaceful, hilly green island with small farms and pastures, vegetable and flower gardens and other diverse trees and vegetation. Formed from lava and volcanic rock, smack dab in the middle of the ocean, it is far enough from any other land mass to feel somewhat “cut off” from ease of access to both resources and opportunity.
Looking at Bermuda from a geographical perspective also sheds light on the nature of its people. Jagged cliffs and boulders form tumultuous shores and sea states. But inside its borders lies a peaceful, hilly green island with small farms and pastures, vegetable and flower gardens and other diverse trees and vegetation. Formed from lava and volcanic rock, smack dab in the middle of the ocean, it is far enough from any other land mass to feel somewhat “cut off” from ease of access to both resources and opportunity. As anywhere, there are two sides to every story. Some local business owners will tell you that they have tried to recruit Bermudians to learn their trade amidst a shortage of workers, but were received with lack of interest. Others tell a story of years of hard work and dedication without promise of being promoted within. They have accepted entry-level positions, some despite experience and education received abroad, and grow frustrated as foreign workers get hired for the positions they had aspired to.
A five minute walk through the grocery store left me with sticker shock and a half-filled basket. I realized why the chickens and roosters that roam the island run like hell when they see you coming. If I lived here, I think I’d start hunting my own. Six bucks for a loaf of bread or a box of cereal (not the organic kind). Over $2 for a single tomato, $3 for a head of lettuce and $4 for a HALF gallon of milk. Even pumpkin, a local staple, was expensive. And snack foods…forget about it. They were outrageously priced. A bag of Snyder’s of Hanover (flavored pretzel bites) was not within reach of my budget as it was nearly $7. Ferrero rochere chocolates, which we could get in the States for less than $2 were $6 here.
We rarely ate out, 'cause even when we made it a point to order the least expensive items on the menu we were still dropping a wad of cash. We split a “Bermuda blooming onion” and one cheeseburger with fries at the White Horse Pub. Add two pints of beer and tip, and we said goodbye to a fifty. A Pizza/Chinese restaurant called “The Upper Crust,” charged $34 for a 14 inch pie. “Where’s the lower crust?” asked Stephen. “We want to eat there.” We would only go to the pub when we were really craving a good pint of beer. The Frog & Onion featured above was a traditional English pub located at the Naval Dockyard, and the only place we found serving local brews.
We found out about Goslings Black Seal Rum very early in our trip. This delicious, caramel-tasting syrupy sweet rum made it easy to stay away from the bars. A bottle of Goslings and a bottle of Ginger Beer and you're set with “Dark n’ Stormies” – a popular Bermuda drink for the week. Another popular one is the “Rum Swizzle.” I read that it is made Goslings, club soda, lime juice and sugar cane, but everytime I’ve ordered it, it’s pink like a rum runner. One too many of these at a Birthday party we walked right into at "Club Ovation," and I had a severe case of the Sunday flu.
We became great at hunting for the best deals on everything. It became like a game, devising creative meals around the cheapest foods. One Sunday we took the day off to make our own Bermudian brunch, instead of paying no less than $30 a head elsewhere. The traditional style brunch includes salted codfish and boiled potatoes in tomato sauce with hardboiled eggs, bananas and avocado. Yeah...it's a meal with a lot of texture, but yummy!
After Lover’s cove (“kiddie pool” by day), had finally cleared out, we climbed the rocks despite "Keep Off the Rocks" signs. Hey man, the other kids were doing it. You've gotta try for the best view. The ocean from up there looked so vast beyond Bermuda. We spotted some other lagoons and happened upon “Andy” who was really interested in talking about Bermuda’s nudist population and how we should "really try it out," - sunbathing naked while in Bermuda, that is. No thanks, Andy. Not after I felt ashamed about showing my bikini straps in the city. But have yourself a blast out there. “Will you mind taking our picture?”
There was a trail heading out of Horeshoe that went both over and around the bluffs to adjacent and very deserted beaches. The latter could only be walked during low tide. I wouldn’t want to be caught in waves pounding against rock once it starts coming back in. My favorite part of exploring Bermuda’s beaches was discovering the wildlife, like live conchs in craters that have formed permanent pools of water and birds like the cranes and the Kiskadee, (photo above) which is native to Bermuda. These yellow birds seem to travel in pairs and chirp the sounds “Kis-ka-dee.” Stephen seemed most enamored by these alien-looking pods that contain some kind of clam or conch-like creature that embed themselves into rock and water with a suction that Stephen could not pry loose, although he was determined to. “Man! These are tenacious little suckers!” he kept repeating. We have yet to find out what they were.
Horeshoe was the most popular, but Elbow Beach was my favorite. It sat below a huge bluff with stairs carved out of the side, winding up to some resort. Since it’s off-season, it was very secluded. Stephen and I parked our chairs in our own little cove and philosophized about the world’s problems over meatloaf sandwiches and a bottle of wine. I think we concluded that it’s all Wal-mart’s fault. An empire that can manage to make a cynic out of Daddy must be pure evil.
Twenty-one days of putting ourselves back together helped us appreciate the finer points of life like sunsets, cold milk thanks to fixed refrigeration, a dry place to sleep, Doritos, and remembering that you can still watch DVDs on your computer. By the time Thanksgiving Day came, we missed our families and the prospect of eating Michele’s bacon wrapped turkey and her “corn thing” dish. Still, our hearts were filled more with gratitude than longing, and we looked for weeks for the best meal in town, narrowing it down to “The Chapel of Ease” dinner at the church or the R.A.A. Club’s “All You Can Eat” buffet. Stephen was interested in mass quantities of food, I had one request, “I don’t care where we eat, they’ve gotta have stuffing.”
The day before Thanksgiving, desperate to find an Internet café that would actually let me get on my blog, we wondered into Carol Richard’s store. Now at the top of our list of things to be thankful for: the kindness and generosity of strangers like Carol (wearing pink in the photo) and her clan, a Bermudian family who quickly made us one of their own. Since the regular computers for customers would limit access to the blog, Carol let me use her main frame to finally share our story about the passage. As I clicked away, she and Stephen had much to talk about, including roots in New York. It turned out Carol grew up in the same part of Queens as Mom Toman. Despite our mission to finish the blog and head to the beach, we enjoyed talking with her so much - she's a well-traveled lady. The time evaporated and suddenly we were being invited to her home for Thanksgiving Dinner.
Feeling pressed for time after working on the boat all day, we were convinced we were running late and just had enough time to grab wine and dessert before catching a bus. Carol lives under Gibb’s Lighthouse on one of the highest points of the island in Southampton Parish. Her home was big and beautiful with large, open rooms and tons of skylights and windows for natural lighting. She picked us up at the bus stop against a gorgeous sunset over the beach and gave us a quick tour of her neighborhood. To our relief, Carol’s family was super laid back and for once in our life we were early. “We Bermudians are always late,” informed her niece, Jill.
We got to spend time with Carol, Bryant Sr., and Jill while Carol’s 7-year-old niece did her homework – an essay on what she was thankful for. Bryant gave us a tour of their home that has grown substantially over the years, becoming their own community of both family and tenants -soon to become part of the family. Both people and food started pouring in quickly as we were introduced to sons Duane, Bryant Jr. and countless friends and relatives from virtually all over the world: Nikki & her husband Flavio from Italy, Becca from Canada, Kevin and Annie from the Dominican Republic.
And then there was Robert, introduced to us as "WAbert", Carol’s nephew from Singapore who we got to know better hanging out in St. George's Parish. Robert is one of those guys who is as witty as he is charming. A genuine guy that invited us to hang out with his group of friends on his birthday after only knowing us for a day. Robert talked fondly of “Auntie Carol,” as he told us about all the relatives who didn’t make it. They were back in New York with the Tomans. Robert first came to visit his aunts in Bermuda over 20 years ago, and stayed. While Singapore is still home, he spends 6 months out of every year in Bermuda.
Wherever the problems lie, the resulting gap in income and opportunity are becoming visible. To remedy the unemployment rate among native Bermudians, foreign workers are beginning to experience longer delays with applications for work permits/visas. But Bermudians are still taking whatever work they can get, often piece meal through temp agencies and part-time work. And the prices after steep “duties,” will make you wonder how they make ends meet, until you spot signs of their resourcefulness, such as stepping roofs in order to collect their own rain water. We were told these roof designs have won awards in the architectural communitiy.
A five minute walk through the grocery store left me with sticker shock and a half-filled basket. I realized why the chickens and roosters that roam the island run like hell when they see you coming. If I lived here, I think I’d start hunting my own. Six bucks for a loaf of bread or a box of cereal (not the organic kind). Over $2 for a single tomato, $3 for a head of lettuce and $4 for a HALF gallon of milk. Even pumpkin, a local staple, was expensive. And snack foods…forget about it. They were outrageously priced. A bag of Snyder’s of Hanover (flavored pretzel bites) was not within reach of my budget as it was nearly $7. Ferrero rochere chocolates, which we could get in the States for less than $2 were $6 here.
We rarely ate out, 'cause even when we made it a point to order the least expensive items on the menu we were still dropping a wad of cash. We split a “Bermuda blooming onion” and one cheeseburger with fries at the White Horse Pub. Add two pints of beer and tip, and we said goodbye to a fifty. A Pizza/Chinese restaurant called “The Upper Crust,” charged $34 for a 14 inch pie. “Where’s the lower crust?” asked Stephen. “We want to eat there.” We would only go to the pub when we were really craving a good pint of beer. The Frog & Onion featured above was a traditional English pub located at the Naval Dockyard, and the only place we found serving local brews.
We found out about Goslings Black Seal Rum very early in our trip. This delicious, caramel-tasting syrupy sweet rum made it easy to stay away from the bars. A bottle of Goslings and a bottle of Ginger Beer and you're set with “Dark n’ Stormies” – a popular Bermuda drink for the week. Another popular one is the “Rum Swizzle.” I read that it is made Goslings, club soda, lime juice and sugar cane, but everytime I’ve ordered it, it’s pink like a rum runner. One too many of these at a Birthday party we walked right into at "Club Ovation," and I had a severe case of the Sunday flu.
We became great at hunting for the best deals on everything. It became like a game, devising creative meals around the cheapest foods. One Sunday we took the day off to make our own Bermudian brunch, instead of paying no less than $30 a head elsewhere. The traditional style brunch includes salted codfish and boiled potatoes in tomato sauce with hardboiled eggs, bananas and avocado. Yeah...it's a meal with a lot of texture, but yummy! 
While cooking and eating local foods is one of the things I love about cruising, I love days at the beach the most. We made it to Horshoe Bay, Bermuda’s most popular with sand that appears pink in the right lighting from all the tiny pebbles of red coral deposited from the tide. We talked to two men harvesting seaweed that grew in piles along the shore. Fall is the season for seaweed and while the government tries to appease tourists by hauling it away, these two farmers taught us about its importance to maintaining stability in the ecosystem and its usefulness as a natural fertilizer for crops.
After Lover’s cove (“kiddie pool” by day), had finally cleared out, we climbed the rocks despite "Keep Off the Rocks" signs. Hey man, the other kids were doing it. You've gotta try for the best view. The ocean from up there looked so vast beyond Bermuda. We spotted some other lagoons and happened upon “Andy” who was really interested in talking about Bermuda’s nudist population and how we should "really try it out," - sunbathing naked while in Bermuda, that is. No thanks, Andy. Not after I felt ashamed about showing my bikini straps in the city. But have yourself a blast out there. “Will you mind taking our picture?”
There was a trail heading out of Horeshoe that went both over and around the bluffs to adjacent and very deserted beaches. The latter could only be walked during low tide. I wouldn’t want to be caught in waves pounding against rock once it starts coming back in. My favorite part of exploring Bermuda’s beaches was discovering the wildlife, like live conchs in craters that have formed permanent pools of water and birds like the cranes and the Kiskadee, (photo above) which is native to Bermuda. These yellow birds seem to travel in pairs and chirp the sounds “Kis-ka-dee.” Stephen seemed most enamored by these alien-looking pods that contain some kind of clam or conch-like creature that embed themselves into rock and water with a suction that Stephen could not pry loose, although he was determined to. “Man! These are tenacious little suckers!” he kept repeating. We have yet to find out what they were.
Horeshoe was the most popular, but Elbow Beach was my favorite. It sat below a huge bluff with stairs carved out of the side, winding up to some resort. Since it’s off-season, it was very secluded. Stephen and I parked our chairs in our own little cove and philosophized about the world’s problems over meatloaf sandwiches and a bottle of wine. I think we concluded that it’s all Wal-mart’s fault. An empire that can manage to make a cynic out of Daddy must be pure evil.
Twenty-one days of putting ourselves back together helped us appreciate the finer points of life like sunsets, cold milk thanks to fixed refrigeration, a dry place to sleep, Doritos, and remembering that you can still watch DVDs on your computer. By the time Thanksgiving Day came, we missed our families and the prospect of eating Michele’s bacon wrapped turkey and her “corn thing” dish. Still, our hearts were filled more with gratitude than longing, and we looked for weeks for the best meal in town, narrowing it down to “The Chapel of Ease” dinner at the church or the R.A.A. Club’s “All You Can Eat” buffet. Stephen was interested in mass quantities of food, I had one request, “I don’t care where we eat, they’ve gotta have stuffing.”
The day before Thanksgiving, desperate to find an Internet café that would actually let me get on my blog, we wondered into Carol Richard’s store. Now at the top of our list of things to be thankful for: the kindness and generosity of strangers like Carol (wearing pink in the photo) and her clan, a Bermudian family who quickly made us one of their own. Since the regular computers for customers would limit access to the blog, Carol let me use her main frame to finally share our story about the passage. As I clicked away, she and Stephen had much to talk about, including roots in New York. It turned out Carol grew up in the same part of Queens as Mom Toman. Despite our mission to finish the blog and head to the beach, we enjoyed talking with her so much - she's a well-traveled lady. The time evaporated and suddenly we were being invited to her home for Thanksgiving Dinner.
This unforseen option, was the best of all. Not only was there stuffing, but we were introduced to new local dishes like cassava pie (chicken baked between two layers of cassava dough), fried turkey, beets and a pumpkin dish mashed like potatoes. As first time guests in her and Bryant Sr.’s home, we were made to feel extremely special. Each time we offered to help, we were told to “just relax” and were granted first dibs on the food. I didn’t know what to expect in terms of how formal or casual this dinner would be.
Feeling pressed for time after working on the boat all day, we were convinced we were running late and just had enough time to grab wine and dessert before catching a bus. Carol lives under Gibb’s Lighthouse on one of the highest points of the island in Southampton Parish. Her home was big and beautiful with large, open rooms and tons of skylights and windows for natural lighting. She picked us up at the bus stop against a gorgeous sunset over the beach and gave us a quick tour of her neighborhood. To our relief, Carol’s family was super laid back and for once in our life we were early. “We Bermudians are always late,” informed her niece, Jill.
We got to spend time with Carol, Bryant Sr., and Jill while Carol’s 7-year-old niece did her homework – an essay on what she was thankful for. Bryant gave us a tour of their home that has grown substantially over the years, becoming their own community of both family and tenants -soon to become part of the family. Both people and food started pouring in quickly as we were introduced to sons Duane, Bryant Jr. and countless friends and relatives from virtually all over the world: Nikki & her husband Flavio from Italy, Becca from Canada, Kevin and Annie from the Dominican Republic.
And then there was Robert, introduced to us as "WAbert", Carol’s nephew from Singapore who we got to know better hanging out in St. George's Parish. Robert is one of those guys who is as witty as he is charming. A genuine guy that invited us to hang out with his group of friends on his birthday after only knowing us for a day. Robert talked fondly of “Auntie Carol,” as he told us about all the relatives who didn’t make it. They were back in New York with the Tomans. Robert first came to visit his aunts in Bermuda over 20 years ago, and stayed. While Singapore is still home, he spends 6 months out of every year in Bermuda.
As we joined hands with Carol’s family before dinner, I gave thanks for rare and precious people like her, and experiences like these. The kind that happen while traveling that you can’t plan for but remind you that at any given moment you are part of something greater than the plan itself. I am thankful for the discovery of a family that shares similar personalities, viewpoints and values as my own. I thank my Mom and Dad for teaching me the importance of being inclusive of others - for welcoming friends, co-workers, neighbors as well as family to our table on many occasions. I thank Auntie Carol for reminding me of this, and for being my family away from home.
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