No one in Barbados has a last name.
I learned this very early during my stay here. Whenever you meet someone, you get their first name and then an associative physical or geographical characteristic. "Hi, I'm Peter." And Peter is tall and bald and from Denmark and so that's how Peter is known to you from then on. When you describe Peter to someone else, those characteristics become that person's last name.
Person A: "Do you know Peter?"
Person B: "Maybe. Peter who?"
Person A: "You know. Tall. Bald. From Denmark?"
Person B: "Oh right - Peter!"
What's incredible is that people fully accept that this counts as "knowing someone," and I can think of no better way to encapsulate my time on the island than that: a series of very intimate and personal connections, shared experiences, and fun where no one even knows your name.
It's hard to say what I'll miss about Barbados because I believe that in time, this place will become like a dream I'm trying too hard to remember. None of the people I've met here will be a permanent part of my future, and we all know it. My stay here was never meant to be anything more than temporary, and seven months has been long enough.
There's a Chris Rock joke that talks about how when you travel to a foreign country, you will forgive some of the worst poverty you've ever witnessed once you get to the resort and someone pushes a drink into your hand. The trouble with living in a place like Barbados is that you don't live at the resort - you live in the poverty.
Now, Atlantic Shores (the neighborhood where I've been staying) is not as poor or as dirty as some areas of the island I've visited. Atlantic Shores is quite nice, actually. Many of the homes are upper class. Trash pickup is regular enough. The stray dogs I do encounter aren't as feral or as vicious as elsewhere. But hit the end of my neighborhood and hang a right toward the east coast and things quickly take a turn toward the destitute. I couldn't afford to stay up on the west coast, or the Platinum Coast, as it's known. Atlantic Shores isn't a bad second option, but spend enough time here and you will learn situational mindfulness quickly, or else you will get rolled.
So what will I miss about this place?
The sunsets, for sure.
The cheapness of certain things, like beer. Go to any local watering hole and you can get four 12oz beers for ten Bajan dollars (that's five bucks, USD). But try to get something like Doritos or yogurt and you'll pay through the nose.
I will miss some of the people.
I'll miss the sound of the water.
I'll miss the food.
And that's about all.
There are plenty of things I won't miss, but why focus on the negatives? All in all, this was a positive experience. There were some MAJOR stumbling blocks, like COVID restrictions and a goddamn volcanic eruption and a hurricane, that made for some miserable days. And to be completely honest, I can't wait to go home. But Barbados taught me a few things about myself, and a lot about other people, and I'm glad for the lessons.
Now let's get on a plane and get the fuck out of here.
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