Unless it’s pouring down rain, sunsets in the Caribbean range from lovely to spectacular. Last night was on the “lovely” end of the scale, with the last rays of the sun skimming the tops of puffy cumulus clouds. While not jaw-dropping, it was a fine end to an enjoyable day in the BVI.
This morning we docked in St. John’s, the capital of Antigua and Barbuda. (By the way, the country – number 111 on my list – is pronounced in a “now U say it, now U don’t” manner: Barbuda is “Barbyuda” and Antigua is “Antiga.”)
Thus far, I’ve restrained myself from peppering my posts with musical references, but that’s about to change. If today’s write-up doesn’t leave you with a couple of earworms, I have failed in my mission. (The silliness below has nothing to do with the rum punch I had at the end of the tour.)
I’m writing this back on the ship, having wandered in from the city of St. John’s, but with all dimes still in my possession because the market was empty by early afternoon. Now, in my opinion, one can never go wrong alluding to Steely Dan (“The Royal Scam”). In this case, however, the British Invasion is more apropos; after all, Antigua and Barbuda only gained full independence from Britain in 1981, and today I toured through parishes named John, Paul and George (after the saints, not the Beatles, but in any event, Ringo once again got short shrift, and he deserves sainthood for what he put up with from John and Paul).
Not only that, but the guitar god himself, Eric Clapton, has a sprawling villa set on 45 acres here. Inexplicably, it’s not Cream-colored, but when he’s not around you can Lay(la) down (Sally) your head there for prices “starting at” five thousand dollars per night. (Clapton also established an addiction treatment center here.)
Antigua also has soul, man – we passed the Sam and Dave laundromat along the way. I scrambled to extricate my phone from my pocket for a picture and pulled out … a tin of Altoids, which, while curiously strong, was not up to the task.
Back to the business at hand: today’s tour (“Best of Antigua”) brought us to several of Antigua’s historical sites, all of which related to Admiral Nelson. I’m not sure how he’d feel about being featured so prominently in present-day Antigua – he complained that the island was a “mosquito-infested hell-hole.”
During the tour, we also passed dozens of churches, including one built of bricks used as ballast on British slave ships. I’m not sure how the colonizers justified constructing a house of god from such tainted material, but it has somehow withstood dozens of hurricanes and remains intact three centuries after it was erected.
Along the roads, several billboards celebrate Antigua’s centenarians. Our excellent guide, Joe, said his grandmother, who lived to 101, attributed her longevity to drinking rum and “taking time to feed the birds” – that is, to relax – each day. I’m willing to give it a try!
(Joe’s company, Tropical Adventures Antigua, is on TripAdvisor, or you can book a tour directly on their website.)
On the way back to the ship, Joe asked each of us what we found most notable about Antigua. Several people mentioned the friendliness of the people, the natural beauty, the laid-back atmosphere, and the colorful houses (not including Mr. Clapton’s, which looks rather drab, at least from far away).
Tomorrow we head to Martinique. Right now, it’s not just five o’clock somewhere, it’s five o’clock here. Time to start working on my longevity.
PS – I apologize for the paucity of pictures in today’s post. Much of today’s tour was on a bus, where I sat (needless to say) on the sunny side, rendering many of my photos unusable.
