Notice

Now, some of you may know this already, but this week I've handed in my notice at work - because in a couple of months time, Jo and I will be moving to Ireland...

It's such a shame to leave our current jobs - we love the people we work with, and have both had a good time here (we work in the same building at the moment), it was a very hard decision to bring things to a close here after 4 or 5 years, perhaps made harder as we're not just moving to the next street or next town, but to the next country...

In fact, this is an interesting move all round... We're leaving safe, sensible jobs and moving to a country that is not at its financially healthiest, we have no jobs lined up with no flat waiting for us over there... So it'll be a bit of an adventure at the least!

But it's not all doom and gloom - we're moving for good reasons, we have a safety net in Brighton should disaster strike and we're pretty confident that we can make this work. Plus a change of career, of pace, of environment sounds pretty exhilarating to me. I think we're both ready to get stuck into a new challenge and see what we can make of things so all in all we're very excited about the next few months...

Barbados. And home...

Wow. The final day of this 3 week adventure. I don’t know about Jo, but I was at a bit of a loss – our entire world had narrowed down to this one little spec of white in a vast blue sea, a few familiar faces and days out in tropical paradises, but now came the knowledge that it would soon be over. Too soon.

This was, of course, tempered by the knowledge that today we would be in Barbados – a place that so many people had told us is spectacular, so at least we thought we would end on a high.

Something else to change the pace of events today was that we’d only just decided on what we would do – until a couple of nights before we didn’t know if we’d have the opportunity to do anything here as until then there were no excursions available to book, so we’d started to assume we would arrive, get on a coach and go straight to the airport.

Luckily not.

As it happened we finally were given a sheet of paper with a selection of possible excursions on it, and there was only one that stood out as what we had to do – snorkeling with Turtles.

Leaving the ship, we made our way through the customs building and onto a waiting minibus where we met up with the Manchesters and a handful of others we’d seen on board (including the two ladies from the Dominican Republic, and the Costa del Geordies). When everyone was seated, the bus sped off around a couple of streets and into a little run-down looking shipyard where we got off and went through a gift shop and onto a beautiful sailing catamaran.

 

There were 4 or 5 crew members, or wanted to make sure we were safe and comfortable before handing out a selection of fruit juices to anyone who wanted them as we motored out of the harbour and into the open sea where the sail was unfurled and we were pushed along at a fair old speed even in such very light winds. By this point I think everyone was thinking this was a nice day out, the sun shining down as we whipped across the beautiful blue sea – a drink in our hands and not a small amount of anticipation at getting in the water and seeing Splinters’ mates in their natural habitat (but not the sewers, obviously…)

Before long we’d rounded a little headland, leaving the cruise ship well out of sight, and slowed down as we approached what looked like a lovely little sandy beach. Before getting there however we weighed anchor and the crew gathered us up for a little safety briefing and to let us know what we’d be doing – namely putting on more of those lovely snorkeling vests, a mask and pipe and then getting in to see what we could find.

At this point they did mention that there are of course no guarantees that we’ll see anything – they are wild animals and while they are often found at this spot, they might just not be there…

They lowered some steps at the bow of the boat and we all clambered down in single file to start bobbing about in the lovely water. One of the guides was already in ahead of us, lying on a large rubber ring and dropping bits of food in to the sea around him to attract some animals… And before long there they were – loads of little fish of different kinds, and then 1, no 2… no, 3… no 4! Loads of turtles, some bigger than others (at least one was about the size of my torso – which after 3 weeks on the cruise ship is pretty damn big!), were all around us – grabbing the bits of food as they sank down, bumping into us, looking really grumpy but sticking around us for ages.

Everywhere we looked, there was another turtle – sometimes they snuck up on us, so when I’d turn my head I was suddenly looking into the beady eye of something that looked like it had stared down T-Rex, Megalodon and had front row seats for the big bang (probably why they look so grumpy)

They were magnificent, and so much fun to be around. All too long however, other boats showed up and they were attracted to other people throwing food in – suddenly, we were old news and they were all gone. We splashed about a bit more, still looking at fish and getting the most out of our last days adventure, but pretty soon people began to drift back to the boat. I and a couple of others stayed in a little longer, roaming about to see if we could find some more turtles – which I did by swimming around some other boats! I followed (I hope he didn’t think “chased”) one over to another group which brought them much merriment as they’d also thought they were all gone.

Then we heard the bell ringing to bring us stragglers back on board (although there was a little time for diving* in again a few times)

And then we were done – everyone back on board, the sail unfurled once more and away we went… But the fun wasn’t quite over; as the last part of the experience was a rum party all the way back to port… Which was actually one of the best bits.

In fact, this was one of the best days of all – just such a shame it was the last day and had to be less than a full day what with the little matter of making it back in time to catch our flight…

Now, one thing that had been brought up over the whole cruise was how Jo and I hadn’t been getting much sun…. Unlike most people on the boat, we weren’t there for sunbathing, and getting a tan isn’t something that particularly drives us, so while we had naturally picked up some colour on our faces and arms, in general we’d been very careful with the sun cream and were still a lovely pasty shade of white pretty much everywhere else… But…! In Barbados we had already packed our sunscreen and had the general attitude that after 3 weeks in the sun we would be pretty well used to the sun so shouldn’t get too burned if we’re out in it for a while. All day we looked at ourselves and thought “yep, still not burned...”

We were wrong. So very very wrong.

When we got out of the sun, we could see that not only were we turning a lovely shade of pink, we were also starting to feel the burn in a serious way.

Good work us!

Sadly, by the time we’d realised this we were almost on our was home… The Manchesters had kindly offered us use of their extra days cabin (we’d all had to relinquish our own cabins this morning so they could be made ready for the new batch of people who were joining the ship in Barbados, but we did have the opportunity to pay for somewhere to be based on this last day which luckily for us, the Mancs did…), so we had somewhere to get changed into something more suitable for 8 hours on a plane and then a night time journey back to Brighton in the depths of winter…

Once suitably attired, we wended our way down to the quay side, signing out of the boat one last time, and then onto a waiting coach which took us to Grantley Adams Airport on the on the far side of the island, ready for a surprisingly cramped and long wait until we were allowed on the Dreamliner that would be taking us home.

While we waited, we had to pick up some cough mixture for Jo who wasn’t feeling all the perky (she hadn’t been 100% all day, but happily she had perked up a lot for the boat ride and turtle swim – as was pointed out to us at the time, a salt water spray could be an excellent cold remedy, and that’s basically what she had…), which gave me a good chance to sing along to a little Inner Circle, much to the two girls behind the counters’ admiration**

I also had a chance to chat with both Maurice Grumbleweed and Rod Taylor, who were very nice and who both wished us well in our marriage.

Then we were traipsing through the oh-so-hot departures lounge, out into the oh-so-even-hotter afternoon sun and onto an equally roasting bus which took us all the way to our waiting plane – a brand spanking new 787 Dreamliner.

As we’d be flying for about 8 hours, then getting off the plane, through the airport, onto a coach, back to Brighton and then pretty much heading straight to work, Jo and I had decided a while ago that it would be worth upgrading to the premium seats… Thomson don’t do “First Class” per se, but the premium seats at the front of the plane are the next best thing – and they were pretty damn premium… The only real downside to them at all as far as I could see was that Jo and I couldn’t sit together – unfortunately she was sat just in front of me (which I suppose could have been a lot worse… At least we could… sort of… talk…)

Aside from this, the only other thing I could possibly grumble about was that the seats don’t recline that far, but I know I’m really just picking holes in something that was otherwise great – comfy seats, my own TV, delicious food (the dinner we had – Thai red curry chicken - was actually lovely! Surely that’s a first for airline food?!)***

We had as much as we’d like to drink on board, and there were plenty of things to eat should we need them – but to be honest, I mainly slept. I did watch a couple of films, but the highlight was just being out of it, as I knew I’d be getting little enough more before getting back to work.

Lucky I did sleep really, as the flight was a particularly bumpy one – we rode a trail of turbulence almost the entire way from the Caribbean to London, which mainly meant for a lot of the time people weren’t allowed to go to the loo as the seat belt sign was on. Poor them… Lucky for me, I was very close to it and could just sneak in as required.

I should also say – what a cool loo! I know that’s a bit odd, but it was the most space age toilet I’ve ever used – cool automatic blue lights, automatic flush, taps, drier & door. Fancy.

Then we were landing and before I knew it, we were out of the airport and heading all the way home – ready to get 20 mins sleep, a shower and change of clothes and then straight into work.

It was over.

We were done.

I’ve never been so sad to see the end of a holiday… Beforehand I’d had the idea that after 3 weeks I’d be ready to get back to life but no. Not one little bit. We had such an amazing time – the people we met, the food we ate, the sight we saw, the places we swum and danced and drank and laughed and climbed and just relaxed… I loved my honeymoon. Now I want to do it all over again… We had our ups and downs throughout, but I’m not sure I would change a single thing if I did it over.

I don’t know if it was so special because it was our honeymoon, or because we were on a cruise, or where we were… Surely a mixture of all these things, but regardless – I urge you to do a cruise. I urge you to go to the Caribbean. I even urge you to get married to the next person you see if it means getting a holiday like that.

Maybe we can renew our vows... Is 1 month too soon to do so...?

*falling might be more accurate. Maybe a very graceful middle ground… Like a swan landing on a lake. A broken swan. 

**or hilarity. Not sure which.

***although I slept through breakfast, which I’m told was a massive disappointment…

Aruba

Aruba is quite a departure from the islands we’ve visited so far - it’s clearly far richer than most, the fact that it is looked after very well by the Netherlands is easy to see in the roads, the upkeep of buildings and the fact that the locals all seem very healthy and well educated - for instance, a taxi driver told us that everyone on the island speaks 4 languages – English, Dutch, Spanish and Papiamento (a Creole mix of Portuguese, Dutch, English, Spanish and a handful of West African languages).

We started off with a long walk from where we were docked into town, and our first stop was to be an internet café (so I could upload some more of this very blog). We wandered about for ages trying to find somewhere that was open until we made our way into a cool little bar that did some of the nicest lemonade I’ve ever had, but with the some of the slowest service I’ve ever seen. Mainly that was OK, as the drinks started off as an excuse to get online, but it is so hot in the Caribbean (you don’t say!) that before long the drinks became a vital necessity – and they just kept on not arriving.

Eventually we tracked them down, hammered them back and headed back to the boat to drop off the laptop, before catching a handy free bus back into town. From there we decided to hit the beach and so hopped in a taxi and pootled along to Eagle Beach.

This was one of two beaches recommended to us – the other is Palm Beach, which is by all the high rise main tourist areas, but Eagle we were assured, was closer, less busy and absolutely lovely.

We were not lied to.

Since returning to England I’ve seen that it has been rated as one of the best beaches in the world and I completely agree with that – it’s just a long stretch of fine white sand and lovely clear water with very little interruption by man (aside from a lot of palm-umbrella things, which are very handy...!)

We left our stuff with some others from the boat we bumped into and then did our best Baywatch impressions into the sea (which was refreshingly cool…. For the Caribbean…)

After an hour or two of enjoying the surf we thought we should get some lunch, so grabbed our bits and flagged down a bus heading back to town. While on board we asked the driver and guide where we should eat – the answer straight away was The Old Fisherman.

They also pointed out some Iguanas that were sunning themselves by the side of the road, and told us with no small amount of glee how delicious they are, but how sadly they are now protected and that Iguana soup is forbidden.

Man… I really could have gone for some Iguana about then.

We jumped off the bus and went over to The Old Fisherman for some food, but looking at it we thought we’d go elsewhere – it’s just a blue sign sticking out above a dark glass front, with nothing to make you think you want to eat there.

This then meant a long walk about the town (with its funky Dutch style houses), getting hungrier and hungrier before asking a few different people where to eat.

They all said The Old Fisherman. Clearly it was written in the stars that we would eat there, so we quickly strolled back, wrenched open the door and went inside.

First (well, second) impressions weren’t all that amazing – it just looked like an average café with wipe-clean table cloths and a few harried looking waitresses, but what can you do? We sat down, make our orders and waited to see what would happen.

What happened was a feast. A mountain of food, with a mountain of sides. Each and every part of it was DELICIOUS. If you go to Aruba, then eat there – you will like it! It wasn’t cheap, but it was certainly worth it – with Conch, calamari, a seafood medley and fish ceviche for the starters and mains, and we each got plantain, rice, chips, corn bread and coleslaw – each bit more tasty than the last.

After our feast, and with time running out before departure, we waddled back to the boat, happy to have seen a place we knew nothing about before-hand, and that our next stop was to be Barbados – but starting to realise that this journey was coming to an end – there’s only one day in Barbados, and from there we fly home.

Jamaica

Unlike a lot of people on the boat, we were very excited to get to Jamaica (though still sad to miss out on the Caymans and Stingrays!), especially Jo who had missed the evening in Cuba. Apparently however, there is a lot of crime in Jamaica and this meant many people were scared of going out that night – we were surprised at how many people stayed on the boat when they had such an interesting and vibrant place just beyond the port hole…

After being warned many times over to not venture beyond the tourist district, to not wear jewellery, to not go off alone & to be afraid… to be very afraid.

So we went off on our own and hopped into a taxi (not really on our own, we shared the taxi with 7 other cruisists) to take us to the Hip Strip, who all wanted to be picked up at 8 – we weren’t sure if we’d join them as we wanted to explore and see what was on offer, other than the Pork Pit, which a customs lady told us was the best place to go for food…

Well, we were more than a little peckish, so went off to see what this place was like, but sadly couldn’t find it anywhere. We did see some other… interesting… looking places (including a fast food place called the Pelican – which is apparently the only place you can eat actual Pelican! Sadly it was shut…) So instead we popped into a couple of shops – again with the hard sell, but nothing like as bad as we’d been led to expect, and almost non-existent compared to Cuba…

Then, as we went to cross a street, two police officers in funky colonial style white helmets jumped into the road and brought the traffic to a halt, just so we could walk across. We thought this was a bit weird, but I think they really don’t want dead tourists where they can help it… We thanked them and asked where we should go for food. They pointed to a place up the road, Chrystels Restaurant & Bar, and then led the way.

At that moment, the Indian lady from my night in Cuba saw me, and dashed out of the shop she was browsing to see if I was alright… “Are you following them, or have they got you?!” she cried. I couldn’t answer for laughing, but eventually assured her everything was OK.

The bar was brilliant, a ramshackle place on the first floor with a couple of tables and chairs, some loud reggae and couple of stoned looking gentlemen. We sat down next to a more adventurous group from the ship who were there for nothing more than the (liquid) atmosphere – who handily told us not to pay full price for the beers – they’d been told it was $4 a beer, but had got them down to $2.

We ordered a fried chicken and a chicken curry with a beer each to wash it down… Man, it was good! Especially as it came with loads of excellent hot sauce…. I realised during this meal that I’ve eaten a lot of chicken so far, but it seems to be a go to dish out here, so what are you gonna do?

We really liked the food, and the atmosphere was great, so we stuck around for another drink – this time Jo went for a rum and coke. Which actually came as an almost undrinkable RUM and coke. Whilst sat there we met a taxi driver looking for business who was a good laugh, and as he left he went for a fist bump which made me look like the smallest creature who ever lived. His hands were huge! He made Razor Ruddock look like the runt of the litter…

Anyway, after food and a new found feeling of inadequate hands, we headed back for another wander and to sample some shops, which were also very open to haggling and we walked away with some excellent tat bargains! About the only thing we didn’t buy was any of the weed on offer (but we all make mistakes, ay?) and then we went back to the boat as most of the bars were shut… Apparently no one told them we were coming (or, maybe they did…)

The next day we were up bright and early to do one of the excursions we were looking forward to the most – The Dunns River Falls and Jamaican Bobsled Adventure…

13 of us piled into a mini bus along with our tour guide for the day (Rochelle) and our driver (Gentles)…  At first we hadn’t realised how far we had to go, so didn’t expect the 2 and a half hour journey, but it was OK – we had the least excited guide ever to entertain us… I do feel bad for her, she started off with some enthusiasm, but clearly hadn’t taken into account that it was very early in the morning, and few people on the coach had met one another yet (1500 people is quite a lot after all), so she was generally replied to in grunts and groans which was a shame. A few of us tried to get into it more, including one older lady we’d seen about a few time who took up the job of talking for all of us J

After a while, Rochelle just about gave up – only pointing out such fascinating sights as “the car hire district” and “this area is mainly used for light industrial work”

…wow…

She did perk up some more when she got to the story of the White Witch of Rose Hall, which is a great grizzly little story about a young Haitian woman who came to Jamaica and was brought up by her aunt, a Haitian witch. The young girl, Annie Palmer, married a plantation owner. Apparently she loved him to death – poisoning him and inheriting his estate. She then married again (killed that one too) and got another plantation. Then a third husband came along who she also killed, along with his mistress (who she used voodoo to do away with).

She’s buried in an isolated grave with 3 crosses around it to prevent her from getting out to haunt the good people of Jamaica.

Unfortunately they didn’t put a cross on the fourth side, so…

After this, she (Rochelle) did perk up some more - perhaps imagining Annie marrying us tourists - and went on to tell us about more interesting things, like the shanty towns we passed – how they’re not really full of poor people, it’s just that in Jamaica no one wants to owe money to the bank, so they build their houses bit by bit, some walls one day, then when they have some more money, in go some floors, and a while later still on goes a roof and so on and so forth… In the meantime, they live in these little shacks by the road, saving up to get their real home finished.

Finally we arrived in the Ocho Rios area, where both activities take place. First up was the bobsled – which started out with a long ride in a chair lift all the way up a mountain… 

This was excellent – like being on a good sized ski lift but over tropical jungle. We shared the 15 minute ride (actually took a good bit longer as it kept stopping) with Marco, a Serbian masseuse from the boat who was gotten a rare day out to join us, who happened to be mildly scared of heights. He was a good laugh though and we chatted happily all the way up, admiring the view and trying not to make him think about crashing down to the jungle floor way, way below us. 

At the top, we wandered around the visitor centre, which was pretty cool – lots of displays about Jamaican and West Indian sporting heroes, the local rum, some history of the country and surrounding area as well as a trio of dancers going through an energetic routine in “ethnic” clothing – they were good, but what was better was the talky lady from the mini bus jumping up and joining straight in, much to everyone’s delight… and she may have been 3 times older than the girls, but she was straight into the routine, bumping and grinding with the best of them! Good woman!

After a leg stretch and giggle at the dancers, the 3 of us got into the queue for the big event, not really knowing what we were in for…. I mean, Jo and I had watched Cool Running’s in preparation of this moment, but we soon saw that John Candy wasn’t around to provide advice and encouragement… Luckily, we soon got an idea of what we were about to do – a twin track like a rollercoaster with a number of individual cart/pods was just in front of us. The carts were simple affairs – a seat enclosed in a plastic shell painted in the Jamaican colours, with only one control to worry about – the brake, which was a handle on each side of the cart – pull it back (or let go) to slow down, push forward to go fast. 

We had the option of joining our carts together - which apparently lets you go faster, but neither of us wanted to be slowed down by the other so we would have to do it by ourselves. Like a gentleman, I elbowed Jo out of the way and jumped in the first available pod – getting strapped in and ready to…

And then we were (well, I was) off! It started slowly enough, lulling me into a false sense of security… and then….

(Annoyingly, I took a video all the way down this ride, but I can't get it to upload. While I work on this, here is a video of it that someone else made...)

Yeah. I really liked that. Best roller coaster I’ve been on! (Partly because no other roller coaster has ever made me sing “We are Jamaica we have a Bobsled team!” over and over in my head*)

At the bottom, the cart slows itself and hooks onto a conveyor belt that slowly takes you back up to the top, where you get out and exit through the gift shop (naturally). Here they gave us a taste of Blue Mountain coffee (delicious) which proved to be a great combination – caffeine on adrenaline.

W            I               R             E              D

We all then met up and jittered about the place, bouncing around the displays and people before heading to the Jerk Chicken shack for some lunch.

Mmm mmm mmm – them’s some tasty treats. Unfortunately, them's was some expensive tasty treats that sucked up all our monies, but hey ho – definitely worth it for the spicey spicey goodness…

All too soon we had to drift down the mountain again, the 3 of us chatting away some more about life in Serbia and on board the ship until we reached the bottom to find Gentles and coach to head over the Dunn’s River Falls.

Luckily, the falls is just a 2 minute drive away, so that much later we were in a car park, getting ready to get pretty soggy. A few people went to get changed, while Jo and I frantically routed around trying to find some more cash, as we were told we’d be expected to tip the guides.

Bugger. (Although I don’t regret the lunch, it was too tasty!)

Next thing we were queuing up to get in, whereupon it became clear that the trainers and socks we were wearing, while adequate, would not be pleasant… Luckily there was a stall selling rubber booties for a small fee, and luckier still a kind couple from the bus lent us the money.

Once properly attired, we all ambled up towards the waterfalls past other groups of (mainly American) tourists who were all worked into a frenzy by their guides who were getting them to shout and wave their arms and get excited – at first we all scoffed at the typical American behaviour… until we realised that we were now doing the same thing and enjoying it just as much.

Ah well.

Then we, along with our guide (Trevor) and our camera man (cannot for the life of me remember his name), all joined hands and waded into the lovely clear COLD water**, ready to make it up the falls (once I’d managed to get all my bits wet...)

We waded along, about waist deep in the water, climbing up a few little rises (the bit of the falls we went up was a little like a very wet and slippery staircase – there’s no scrabbling up sheer faces or ascending via ropes, it’s all simply a step-up here and there…) before getting to our first stop off – a mini natural water slide in the rock which we all took turns going down…

 After that there was more climbing, trying hard to hold hands all the time – which makes the bits we did have to climb all the harder, but did add an extra element of fun to it all.

Next up was a plunge pool in to which we all fell backwards, like a trust exercise gone all kinds of wrong.

After that we came to a beautiful splash area where we all took turns to get under the torrents of water and scream in shock (from the cold, not the surprise) and take some more pictures

 

And then up and up some more, until finally getting out at the top. It was brilliant – such a simple thing to do, but really exhilarating and easily one of the best excursions we’ve done on this trip. Combined with the bobsled it was an amazing day out!

When we’d pulled ourselves from the water, we slowly made our way back to the van, running another gauntlet of hawkers and vendors trying to get us to buy their bits and bobs… I think this was where we got the hardest sell of the whole trip – if you don’t politely say “No thank you” and move on immediately, then they have you and will do everything they can to guilt, cajole, charm or bore you into parting with your monies for items you neither want nor can carry home… We did get pulled aside to look at some “beautiful” wood carvings, but managed to escape (as we actually didn’t have any money. First time that’s ever actually been a good thing…)

Then it was back to the car park to find the van, get changed and on our way (but I will come clean here and say that although we didn’t buy any of the rubbish traditional craft items, we did buy a dvd of our waterfall trek… We haven’t watched it yet, so no idea if it was worth the money, but lets just either pretend that didn’t happen, or that it’s the greatest bit of filmmaking of all time, OK?)

Before long we were heading back to the boat, another long drive winding through towns and fields – most people slept, one person stretched out across half the bus while he clipped his toenails (!!!???!?!!), and a few had quiet whispered conversations. We had a lot of fun with another younger couple who it turned out were also on honeymoon!

Somehow this revelation led us via a circuitous conversational route into slinging father ted quotes back and forth, which was a giggle. We also spoke about what we knew of Jamaica – it turned out that Jo and I knew very little, but Mr Honeymooner is apparently a solicitor and has done some work for the crown, involved in cases at the highest court of appeal in Jamaica… According to him, truly terrible things happen to those in custody, including mock executions and other psychological tortures. Unsurprisingly, this knowledge dampened our spirits somewhat. I hope that it’s not true – I loved our time here, and really want to go back.

As we neared the boat, I asked the guide if we could stop at a cash machine so I could pay the couple back for our shoe money. This led us a little bit around the houses and delayed our return to the boat (it was getting close to the time of departure – but as we were on an official excursion organised by Thomson the boat would be forced to wait for us), but had the upshot of showing us an area of town completely off the tourist trail… It looked like somewhere we probably wouldn’t feel too comfortably in should we have wandered there by mistake, a lot of shouts and a feel of aggression at some points, but I think that might just have been road rage from all the traffic stuck in rush hour – and past that there was little but smiling faces and interesting shops.

Then we were heading through customs (they didn’t really bother with us) and back on board, ready to set sail for Aruba!

*actually, that was quite annoying

**Not that cold really: Freezing compared to the air temperature, but about the same heat as a bath back in England… Probably…