A walk in Bridgetown is always a sweaty experience, even in the rain. (And let me tell you now, it does indeed rain in the Caribbean, in fact it rains much more than you might think.) To get from the cruise port to Carlisle Bay on foot only takes about forty minutes, but in the sunshine, prepare to be burnt. It’s just the way it is around here, pals.
*This website uses affiliate links, where I may earn a small commission at no cost to the reader.
Along a pathway of palm trees, with the wide open expanse of the ocean on one side, and over a little bridge where hundreds of crabs scuttle around below, until the tide starts to come in and they’re washed away. Past the man who sits beneath a tree on a fold up chair, painting scenes of the island- sunset beaches and wooden chattel houses and grand plantation homes. On the opposite side of the busy road running parallel with the path, is a collection of little brightly coloured huts housing shops and restaurants to entice the cruise passengers; later in the day a man will come by to play music outside, and the older locals will be enticed over as well, to have a drink or some food and dance in the sunshine. Some dance in pairs, others dance completely alone, because they’re not shy about that sort of thing here.
Further along the road, the glorious smells of Bajan street food wafts over from where its cooking near the bus station. Fish cakes, chicken necks and cutters are all tucked into at tables and chairs on the street, in front of the hand-painted menus. Past the fish market, which has a slightly more pungent and less delicious smell, and then on into the city centre and its grand old architecture, constructed back in the days of British rule. Warehouse-type buildings on the edges, now housing hairdressers and travel agents and chocolate factories and nail salons, and in the centre more elaborate constructions like Parliament and its bell tower.
The cars that drive past (on the left side of the road), are a mixture of old bangers with rusty doors, and shiny new, extremely big and indistructable looking creatures. The city centre is busy busy busy- with traffic that is regularly ground to a standstill. As soon as school finishes, Chefette and Burger King are packed to the rafters with children and teenagers in their ties and shirts and pleated skirts, queuing for burgers and fries and rotis, greasy but good.
Along the uneven wooden boardwalk which runs past the river. Tourists hop on to a catamaran for a sunset cruise, in matching sets and Hawaiian shirts and straw hats, yesterday’s swimwear marked in well-defined white lines on their freshly tanned skin. Across the Chamberlain Bridge, where a man stands at the entrance selling slushy drinks from a cart. In the baking sun, flies gather around the sugar-saturated pumps of each bottle of neon syrup.
On the other side of the bridge, make your way through the stone Independence Arch, emblazoned with tridents and pelicans and flying fish. Barbados is a proudly independent nation these days, “the richest nation in the whole Caribbean” as a taxi driver once informed us. (I’m not sure if this is actually true, in fact I’m pretty sure it’s not. But I appreciated how emphatically he declared it to us, and Barbados is definitely up there in terms of wealth and development.)
Carry on down the road, past art shops and chicken shops and barber shops, and navigate your way along the pavement and its occasional holes. Telephone wires droop down onto the floor, which you might want to hop over, just in case. On the opposite side of the worn out pavement is a beautiful church, where on Sundays the congregation gathers in their Sunday best to worship and sing all the praises.
Eventually a pathway leads off down the side of a now closed-down beach club, bright blue and with a giant sign advertising beer emblazoned across the top. Happy faces smile wide-open smiles. Glorious.
At the end of the pathway, you’ve reached the goal of your walk, and even before you see it, the sound of the waves lapping at the perfectly whitish-pink sand is the ultimate relaxant. Obviously the final part of the walk in Bridgetown should be undertaken barefoot- the soft sand does not permit shoes to get very far before they fill up with the tiny granules.
This is Browne’s Beach, at the quieter end of Carlisle Bay. Further along the crescent of white sand are the beach clubs, with row upon row of sun loungers and umbrellas in different colours. Yellow here, red and white striped there. Navy blue further down. And in the middle, a long wooden pier, providing another little patch of shade. Families and couples relax together, or splash about in the sea. A group of locals are having a swimming lesson, and a woman jogs back and forth along the sand in long sleeves and long trousers.
Find your spot to set up and get on into that water. It’s completely crystal clear and so refreshing after that sweaty sweaty walk. Below, schools of silvery fish dart here and there, and on the floor you might spot a stingray or a turtle or two, paddling around.
Stay until sunset, when the crowds thin out and you have the beach more to yourself. The only real problem with Carlisle Bay, pals, is that you might not want to leave.
