Come May, Canadians start to think about traveling. This weekend I met a man who had spent twenty years in the tropics. When I asked what he liked about it the most, he said: "The climate."
Otherwise he seemed quite normal.
Well, thank God for different tastes, or else we'd all head for the same travel destination. For me, never mind the tropics, I don't even like warm places. I visited the Grand Cayman Island once, for about 40 minutes. I was supposed to join Dusty Cohl's famous Floating Film Festival aboard a cruise ship, but I missed the ship as it sailed from Florida, so I flew to the Caymans to catch it. It was a good plan, but the climate interfered. A brisk wind caused the captain to anchor a couple of miles offshore instead of sailing into harbour.
I would have had to swim for it, but luckily Norman Jewison, the film director, was getting off the ship to catch the same flight that brought me to the island back to the United States. His driver, as it turned out, was the only person who knew the location of the wharf to which the cruise ship would send a tender.
A lone immigration/customs official greeted me on the wharf. "Greeted" is the wrong word, for he was sound asleep in a chair. He wore civilian pants and shirt with a uniform cap and an enormous six-shooter on his belt. One hesitates to wake an official with a six-shooter, but one is also hesitant not to wake him before departing his jurisdiction. The tender was about to dock and I was the only passenger.
I opted for erring on the side of caution. "I'm going now," I said to the guardian of Grand Cayman, touching his shoulder.
He opened one eye, looking annoyed. "So go, man," he said, before sinking back into oblivion.
As customs procedures go, it was different, all right -- which is what traveling is all about. Only a fool complains because some foreign lands have outlandish climates or outlandish customs. However, while only a fool complains, it's okay for travelers to have preferences.
I certainly do, and it isn't for island countries in the Caribbean. But you may like it hot and sticky, so go to Nassau. Go, preferably, in August. Don't think that nobody goes in August. Hordes of people do, including the very rich. Why? Presumably they like it hot and sticky.
If you like it not just hot and sticky but expensive, get yourself a place on Paradise Island or Lyford Cay. Don't bother, though, unless you have a few million to spare.
For a few million you can get to travel on some of the bumpiest roads this side of Rumania, and view all the poverty and dilapidation you like. You can even get a place with no roads at all. You can get brownouts and outages of all things electrical, including telephones. You can also get tropical storms. You couldn't get those in Rumania for any amount of money. (Mind you, in Rumania you could get earthquakes, absolutely free of charge.)
As I've written before, Caribbean countries remind me of East Europe because whatever is old doesn't work anymore, and whatever is new doesn't work yet. The old colonial public roads, buildings and airports are mostly decayed, while the new ones are still under construction. Just like in Bucharest.
Caribbean service? Well, it comes in two kinds: Sweet and inefficient or surly and inefficient. The second isn't worth describing, but the first goes something like this:
You enter a restaurant, sit at a table, and smile at the waitress. She smiles back. Ten minutes pass.
Waitress (finally approaching): What would you like, sugar?
You: Oh, a glass of apple juice.
Waitress: Sure thing, sugar.
She smiles and leaves. After twenty minutes she returns with a glass of orange juice.
You: Thanks, but I asked for apple juice.
Waitress: Now you want apple juice, sugar?
You: Well, actually I wanted apple juice all along. If you have any.
Waitress: Sure thing, honey.
She vanishes. Another ten minutes pass. You try to remember that when in Rome, etc. Finally the waitress comes back with a glass of orange juice.
Waitress: Here's your orange juice, sugar. I've changed it for you.
Oh, it's so nice to be rich. Poor people never experience any of this. Come August, they're probably fishing in a cool lake in northern Ontario.
© 2006 George Jonas
CanWest Publications
Printer-friendly version
Email this item to a friend