Here are our “Barbados Top 7”: Our favorite memories from our stay there and our top recommendations to anyone going there. We had an amazing time on this charming, beautiful, welcoming island, and we definitely see ourselves returning some day.
(1) Snorkeling with sea turtles and jet skiing
We snorkeled with sea turtles: Such an uber touristy thing to do in Barbados, but we really loved it! We took a ride in a glass bottomed boat, which sounds cooler than it is because the glass part is pretty small and you can’t actually see much through it, BUT the boat stopped twice to let us off to snorkel, once with a shipwreck and once with sea turtles. We had a blast and I got to check snorkeling off my 30 before 30 list. We also went jet skiing for the first time ever!
Protips: No advanced reservations necessary, just show up at Pebbles Beach and someone will find you within five minutes and ask you if you want to take a glass bottomed boat out to snorkel with sea turtles. The price they’ll suggest is negotiable: You can and should bargain it down! Snorkel gear is provided. Jet skis can be rented from the same people, for 15 minutes at a time.
(2) Swimming in the most beautiful turquoise water
Does it get any better than that? It was hot in July, and the water was so, so perfect. Accra Beach and Pebbles Beach were our favorites.
(3) Exploring Harrison’s Cave
I’d never seen a cave before, and it was somewhat different from what I expected. I don’t know why, but I expected stalactites shimmering in blues and purples and greens. There were stalactites alright, but they weren’t colorful. I guess my image of caves came from cartoons maybe? Anyway, I was thrilled to get to see my first cave, because I love doing things I’ve never done before.
Protips: You can get here from the south or west coast very cheap by public transportation, but it will take a while! We didn’t mind because we enjoyed getting to see some parts of the island other than the beaches. Some water will drip on you during the cave tour, so wear clothing you don’t mind getting a bit wet. But don’t expect a hard core adventure trek or anything: You’ll be riding through the cave in a small open train with a guide. It’s totally safe. You do get a few chances to step out of the train and walk around.
(4) Eating lots and lots of fish
From beachside “cutters” at Cuz’s fish shack to late-night fried marlin at Baxter’s Road, we ate a lot of delicious fish in Barbados. Foods we sampled for the first time ever included marlin, dolphin, and flying fish, as well as breadfruit, macaroni pie, salt bread, ackee, and coucou. More yummy Barbados food photos and recommendations right here.
(5) Strolling through St. Lawrence Gap
With its lovely views, fun hip vibes, and plenty of food and drink options, St. Lawrence Gap was the perfect place to spend a warm summer evening.
Protips: Don’t miss the two for one happy hour specials or the famous “gap burger,” and check out Scoopie’s for live music!
(6) Enjoying coffee and dessert with some friendly ducks at Graeme Hall Nature Sanctuary
We stumbled into this lovely little nature sanctuary by accident when we got caught in a sudden rainstorm on our way to St. Lawrence Gap. We ended up spending at least an hour here. There’s a little cafe, indoor and outdoor seating, beautiful lush green scenery, and interesting wildlife, including ducks that waddled right up to us hoping we might share our food.
(7) Riding in ZR vans
We used ZR vans to get around the island, rather than taxis. We loved this means of transportation because it reminded us SO MUCH of Kenya’s matatus! The van arrives at a gallop, tooting its fun, goofy-sounding horn, windows open, reggae music blaring, and you climb in with ten or so other passengers. Such fun.
Protip: Just jump in a van going the direction you want to go (toward the East or West coast?) and tell the driver or a passenger where you’re going. They’ll let you know when to get off.
Barbados was our first visit to the Caribbean (another first!) and we absolutely loved it. We can’t wait to go back!
The hubs and I took a trip to Barbados this summer, thanks to an incredibly cheap ticket (shoutout, secretflying.com) and the fact that neither of us needed a visa to go there. More pictures coming soon, but for starters, I absolutely have to do a food post. We ate very well in Barbados, and managed to keep most of our meals in the $5-$10 per person range. Food can be surprisingly expensive in Barbados, so if you’re traveling on a budget, definitely check out these places! And let me know if you’re planning a trip there and looking for a place to stay, because I would 1000% recommend our airbnb host. The majority of these food recs came from him. Foods we tried for the first time on this trip included marlin, dolphin, flying fish, breadfruit, macaroni pie, ackee, and coucou.
Tender, savory ribs at a rum shop called Kermitt’s Bar, where everything is painted green, from the walls to the tables to the pickup truck:
Ackee fruit from a roadside vendor:
Fresh fried marlin and breadfruit near Bridgetown at Baxter’s Road, which used to be the hot fish fry spot before Oistins. The fish here was cheaper and in my opinion possibly even better than Oistins!
For a mid-afternoon coffee and dessert pick-me-up, Graeme Hall Nature Sanctuary has a cafe with lovely outdoor seating, boasting beautiful views and some overly friendly ducks.
Cuz’s Fish Shack on Pebbles Beach is the place to go for delicious fish cutters (sandwiches). The perfect beach lunch! We went back for seconds!
In St. Lawrence Gap, we found opportunities to take in gorgeous ocean views while sampling Barbados’ own Mount Gay rum in the form of drinks you can really only ever order at the beach.
And around sunset in St. Lawrence Gap, grills and red umbrellas suddenly appear, and you can get an amazingly delicious “gap burger” for $5, grilled for you right there. We’ve since tried to recreate this burger on our own grill back home!
While strolling around St. Lawrence Gap in the evening, we wandered into this jazz bar, Scoopie’s, drawn in by the sound of live music. We loved it! Definitely recommend.
The fish shacks at Oistins are of course a must. We had dolphin at Mo’s. Sadly, we left on a Friday morning and missed the famous Friday night fish fry, when Oistins gets much more crowded and lively, so I hear. I guess we’ll just have to come back!
Sharing the Bajan herb chicken, a salad, and macaroni pie at BBQ Barn in Rockley:
We started our mornings with egg cutters on Bajan salt bread, followed by walks to The Coffee Bean, a coffee shop with this lovely view just outside:
And finally, coucou and stew just before heading to the airport:
We had flying fish cutters at the airport before boarding our flight. Not the best flying fish I’m sure, but they were yummy and we couldn’t leave Barbados without trying flying fish at least once, even if it was out of season!
The hubs and I spent a lovely weekend in Venice celebrating a friend’s wedding. Afterwards, we had some extra time to spend sightseeing. I originally had a whole itinerary planned, with every minute accounted for, but a last minute visa problem cut our trip shorter than we had planned. As I flipped through the guidebook trying to figure out a new itinerary, I suddenly remembered the way I used to travel: Show up and wander. Get lost. Take in all the sights and sounds and smells of the city. And so, aside from an obligatory Saint Mark’s Basilica visit, because you can’t really go to Venice for the first time and not do that, wander is what we did. We meandered though narrow streets and across bridges, no deadlines or specific destinations, just exploring Venice. And it was lovely. Here are a few snapshots. Venice is a destination we definitely plan to return to with more time to spend, but this weekend was a lovely introduction to a gorgeous city!
December 31, 2014, aboard an Emirates aircraft somewhere between Madrid and Dubai, I experienced my strangest and most unforgettable New Year’s Eve.
First of all, I was alone.
Well, not exactly.
I was smushed in an economy cabin with three hundred other people. Across the aisle to my left: a cute, wide-eyed, curly brown haired toddler. It must have been way past her bedtime. I tried to guess which language of babytalk she was happily babbling to her parents in. Was it Arabic? Seated next to me on my right: an elderly Chinese man who said one word- “Whiskey!” – to every flight attendant who passed by, until I started furtively gesturing at them to cut him off. In front of me: A row of twentysomethings, clearly friends, wearing giant glittering party hats and brandishing sparkling wands, chatting excitedly in Spanish and trying to see out the windows even though we were in the middle row.
But I wasn’t with family or friends, and that was odd. I felt like an observer, peeking into someone’s house, watching strangers’ New Year’s Eve festivities through a snow-frosted window.
Time zones were muddled in my mind as they always are on international flights. But I guessed the time in Madrid was approaching midnight, because the Spanish friends were adjusting their party hats and passing out plastic champagne flutes and noisemakers. How they managed to bring a bottle of bubbly on this plane I do not know. I guess they bought it at duty free.
The toddler giggled and bounced on her mother’s lap. The flight attendant and her cart glided slowly down the narrow aisle. The gentleman to my right called out, “Whiskey!” She told him her cart had only tea and coffee. He looked confused.
What time would it be in Dubai? Or in Morocco, my home of the moment? What about in Nairobi, where my fiance’s family was waiting for me? I thought for a brief instant, then gave up on the math. In the air, time is suspended. On a thirty hour trip spanning three continents- Tangier to Madrid to Dubai to Nairobi- it doesn’t matter what time it is. There’s nowhere I could possibly go other than this plane and where it’s headed, no appointments I could possibly make other than our projected landing time, and my only clock, my cell phone, is turned off anyway. Until the wheels touch the runway, there is no such thing as time.
Except on New Year’s Eve, when wherever you are, even cruising at an altitude of 30,000 feet, you are pressed with a need to know what time it is, down to the very second, and so you latch on to the nearest time zone and find a way to count.
Diez… nueve… ocho…
The Spanish friends were standing on their seats, leaning on each other, touching the ceiling of the plane for balance, standing in the aisles. A blonde girl was passing out green grapes- to her friends, to strangers, to everyone who would take them.
Midnight struck. Not in Dubai, or Nairobi, or Boston, or Tangier, and probably not even in whatever place we were currently flying over, but in Madrid, it was midnight, it was January first, 2015. The Spanish friends were popping grapes into their mouths. Twelve green grapes, one for each stroke of midnight, twelve grapes for twelve months of good luck. Champagne glasses were clinking, people were hugging and kissing, a stranger hugged me, the elderly Chinese man was filming the Spanish revelers with one hand and waving one of his empty mini bottles with the other, a wide grin across his face, the baby was laughing, people were dancing on the seats of the airplane, cheering, laughing, dancing in the aisles. Flight attendants were telling everyone to sit down. No one was listening.
I wished my fiance was there so we could kiss on the stroke of midnight-in-Madrid and share this moment. I wished my friends and family were there so we could dance on the airplane seats and laugh together and tell each other happy new year thousands of feet above the ground. But I was also somehow strangely content. There was something peaceful about looking through the figurative windows at this moment of happy reveling, sparkling hats, green grapes, and joyous disregard for the concerned flight attendants urging everyone to sit down.
At last, the pilot’s stern voice over the intercom put an end to the reveling, at least the dancing on seats part of it.
This year, I celebrated New Year’s Eve with friends, on the firm ground, six hours later than Madrid. But as we huddled together under umbrellas in Copley Square, too excited and full of good food and drink to care about the light drizzle, watching the glowing clock projected onto Boston Public Library, I had a bag of green grapes in my hand. Twelve grapes for twelve strokes of midnight. Twelve grapes for twelve months of prosperity, or at least, for the non-superstitious, twelve grapes to bring people together- whether friends in Boston or strangers on a plane somewhere between Madrid and Dubai- in a moment of newness and anticipation and hope.
We’re leaving for the airport early tomorrow morning. Home for the Holidays, here we come! Boston Logan is typically a relatively calm and uneventful airport, but around the holidays, traveling is like a box of chocolates. You don’t know what you’re gonna get. While I procrastinate on my packing and present-wrapping, here are my all-time best airport stories, a sequel to my weird stories on trains and buses. Moments in airports that just made me do a double take and think to myself, “Wait a minute, did that actually just happen?”
Cairo International Airport, March 2015
With my cohort of fellow Fulbrighters, I boarded an EgyptAir flight from Casablanca to Cairo to Amman for a spring conference. Here are some highlights from our EgyptAir experience:
The plane food looked very questionable, so I did not eat it and was starving by the time we got to Amman. But that was okay because…
Everyone who did eat it got food poisoning.
The plane was dirty.
The pilot said a prayer over the intercom before we left, and I had very mixed feelings about this because on the one hand I entirely support praying for safe travels and often do so myself, but I also want some reassurance that the pilot has confidence in himself and the plane, you know?
We flew home in three separate groups (as some left directly after the conference while I and a few other stayed to wander around Jordan). The second legs of ALL THREE flights were canceled, no explanation given, and we all got stranded in Cairo overnight.
So there we were in the Cairo airport late at night, in need of visas to leave the airport and go to a hotel. We’d thought this through beforehand, as we’d heard about the cancellation before our flight left Amman. While we were waiting in the Amman airport, we had traded our leftover Jordanian dinar for Egyptian pounds rather than Moroccan dirhams. So we all had enough Egyptian cash on hand to purchase our visas.
An airport officer pointed to six currency exchange kiosks surrounding the baggage claim area and told us we could get our visas at any of them.
So we approached the closest kiosk.
“Hi, could I get a visa, please? Our flight was canceled. We’ll just be in Cairo till tomorrow morning.” (hands over passport and form)
“Certainly. That will be twenty-five dollars.”
“Actually, can I pay in Egyptian pounds?”
“No, just dollars or euros.”
“I don’t have dollars.”
“Yes, but I’ve been outside the U.S. for the past seven months. I don’t have any American money.”
“How about euros?”
“I don’t have euros. I only have Moroccan dirhams and Egyptian pounds- how much does the visa cost in Egyptian pounds?”
“I’m sorry, I can only accept dollars or euros. You can try one of the other kiosks.”
So we made our way from kiosk to kiosk, and this conversation repeated itself at every kiosk, and when we finally desperately tried the sixth and last kiosk, I lost it and yelled, loudly enough that everyone in the baggage claim area could hear me- “You’re telling me that I can’t purchase an EGYPTIAN visa with EGYPTIAN currency IN EGPYT?!???”
The man behind the kiosk looked around nervously, slid an Egyptian visa across the counter, and said in a hurried whisper, “Ok, ok, just this once, and just for you. You can pay in Egyptian pounds.”
So, PSA, if you’re going to Egypt, bring your dollars.
Mohammed V International Airport (Casablanca), March 2015
As I sat in the domestic terminal, waiting for my flight to Ouarzazate, a stray cat wandered calmly through the departure gate waiting areas. People reacted exactly how they should have: They glanced at the cat, shrugged- just a cat- and went back to their newspapers or cell phones or coffee cups. A totally normal response that felt excessively strange to me because, let’s be real here, in an American airport this cat would have caused a terminal-wide code red freak-out. It’s a terrorist cat. There’s a bomb inside it. It’s an improvised explosive cat. It’s a cat full of drugs. Where is its passport? Where is its owner? It’s about to detonate! HELP! Run for your lives!
Marrakesh Menara Airport, April 2015
This is the story of how I learned a very valuable life lesson called you get what you pay for.
A friend invited myself and two other girls to go to Italy with her to spend Easter with her cousins. We all readily accepted. We found a $16 flight from Marrakesh to Rome on an airline called Vueling. A deal almost too good to be true. We snapped it up. We’d never flown Vueling before, but we knew Ryanair pretty well and we were cool with those super-cheap no-frills European airlines. We bought a second (and equally cheap) flight from Rome to Lamezia- our final destination in southern Italy- on Ryanair.
Marrakesh was a ten hour train trip away from where I lived, but trains in Morocco are inexpensive and comfortable and I had no problem making such a long trek if it meant that $16 flight and being able to travel with my friends. I took that ten hour ONCF journey, meeting up with one of the girls in Rabat along the way and traveling with her for the final four hours, and we all ended up in the Marrakesh airport by midnight to catch our 2:00 a.m. flight.
Yes, you heard that right. Our flight had a two a.m. departure time. Whatever, it was worth it for $16. And ours was the only flight departing from Marrakesh at anywhere near that time, making a delay less likely.
Oh, wait. Take that back. Two o’clock became two thirty, two forty-five, three… and we were still waiting at our departure gate. No explanation was given. Just as we were starting to get worried about missing our connecting flight in Rome, we were finally allowed to board.
So we boarded…
…and proceeded to sit on the runway for another hour.
Once again, no explanation was given for the delay.
We found a flight attendant and asked her what was going on. We told her we had a connecting flight on another airline that we were likely to miss at that point- would Vueling be able to do anything about that? Could she give us a ballpark estimate of when we might be taking off?
The flight attendant simply shrugged at us- “like a sassy diva,” my friend said, and I can vouch that that is a very realistic description and no exaggeration.
It was now past 4:00 a.m. and passengers were getting very antsy and starting to complain loudly.
A man in an orange vest came on the plane and told us, and I swear I am not making this up, that they would have to turn the plane off and turn it back on again. He quickly ducked out of the plane before anyone had a chance to ask questions.
Rebooting a plane apparently takes at least half an hour.
So we continued to wait.
Some passengers got out of their seats and loudly demanded to get off the flight. They argued back and forth with the flight attendants and the man in the vest who reappeared out of nowhere and another airline guy in a suit. The guy in the suit and the guy in the vest disappeared, then reappeared, and announced to everyone that the mechanical problem had been fixed and the plan was ready for takeoff, but since some passengers wanted to get off the plane there would be another forty minute delay while their baggage was retrieved from the hold.
And that was IT.
Pandemonium broke loose.
Passengers were screaming and yelling in Italian, Arabic, and English. Yelling at each other, yelling at the people getting off the plane, yelling at the man in the suit and the man in the vest and the flight attendants, who were of course all yelling back. Babies were crying. Some guys shoved each other. Someone punched the back of my seat. It was nuts.
So the pilot employed an age-old trick passed down from kindergarten teacher to kindergarten teacher for generations. He turned off the lights for five minutes until we all calmed down.
We missed our connecting flight in Rome and had to cough up sixty euros for a train ticket to Lamezia and then sit on a train for seven or eight hours.
At least we made it in time for Easter dinner!
You get what you pay for. And sometimes what you get is a good story.
Abed Amani Karume International Airport (Zanzibar), July 2015
My husband and I flew from Nairobi to Zanzibar for the second half of our honeymoon. As we stepped off the plane, we were immediately greeted by giant, bright yellow signs: All travelers must show proof of yellow fever immunization. I had my yellow WHO card with me, but my husband did not have his, though he’d been vaccinated about eight years before. We were given two options. “You can wait here for the next flight back to Nairobi, or we can vaccinate you here.” My husband chose the latter option. So the TSA officer- and, I repeat, not a nurse, the TSA officer- opened a mini fridge, took out a needle, showed my husband that it was sterile, and proceeded to jab him in the arm right there by the baggage claim.
I like to end this story with “annnddd now he’s autistic.”
PSA, get your yellow fever shot before you go to Tanzania and don’t lose your WHO card cause they don’t play.
George Bush Intercontinental Airport (Houston), August 2014
The man in line in front of me at Starbucks was wearing cowboy boots and a giant cowboy hat completely non-ironically. Maybe that’s normal in Texas, but I’m an urban New England girl. It was weird.
Philadelphia International Airport, May 2016
On my way home from a girls’ weekend away, I was strolling through the Philadelphia airport in the direction of my gate, casually looking around, when, as I passed an information desk, the woman at the desk called out to me, “Starbucks is over that way!”
Should I be amused or offended? Do I really give off that strong of a “basic white girl” vibe? Should I work on that? Siiiiigh.
(The worst part: I actually was looking for a Starbucks.)
There are some other good ones too, but that’s it for today!
“Kayakstination”: Noun. (1) To procrastinate by plugging random airports on faraway continents into Kayak and searching for inexpensive flights to Bangkok, Istanbul, Tehran, Dakar, anywhere. (2) My favorite method of procrastination.
Today, I caught myself checking ticket prices to Lima next summer. Yes, we’re thinking of going to Peru! Kenya’s also on our travel menu for next year, as always, and I’m hoping we’ll have a chance to swing by Ethiopia while we’re over there. I love planning trips, even when I know they’re trips that might or might not happen. I love dreaming about visas being stamped into passports and foreign languages in my ears like music and that thrill you get when you step off the plane into a place you’ve never been before in your life and you don’t know what to expect but you know you’ll remember it forever. I want to hug the whole world in my arms. I want to go everywhere.
But sometimes I wonder if my mind is searching for elsewhere a little too much. If I’m not living in the moment enough. If I’m not appreciating the here and the now.
Earlier this year, a friend and I were wandering my urban neighborhood, savoring the precious short New England summer, when we discovered this gem. A tiny rose garden tucked away in one of the busiest parts of Boston. I found my way back to the rose garden last weekend. Those warm summer days were long gone, but to my surprise, the roses were still blooming, and a little bird was singing cheerfully in a fountain. An oasis of green and fuschia peace.
A few years ago, at twenty-three and in the midst of a full blown quarter life crisis, I was talking to my grandmother one day, and she told me, “Bloom where you’re planted.” She told me to treasure every moment of those uncertain, beautifully struggling years of early-twenties-hood, because I’d always look back on them and be thankful for them. She was right then and she’s right now.
I don’t want to miss any more rose gardens, whether physical “happy places” or intangible moments. This is my reality. This is my life, and though I’m here and not on a plane to somewhere far away, this life here- yes, here and now- has depth and beauty and adventure and there is always something to discover right around the corner if I’m present enough to look for it.
Travel is awesome, but adventure isn’t always a plane flight away.