As I said yesterday, as I now feel almost totally recovered I would fill you in with a little of what Bermuda was like - pre norovirus that is. The whole island looked sparkly pink as we slid into the Old Naval Dockyard, all the low rise colonial style buildings were light and dark shades of pink and cream. It was lovely to see that the new builds were all in a totally appropriate and matching style, there were no high rise blocks either residential or business, and all the buildings had oodles of colonnades and architectural fripperies.
Many of the roads had such British names which rather took me by surprise, I saw, Nellie's Walk, Queen Street, Pie Crust Place, Hamilton Gardens, Church Road and Dunbar Street.........I could have been in London or Glasgow!
Bermuda is part of the UK and most proud of that, after succumbing to illness I swiftly got a taxi back to the ship and my driver was a jolly Bermudan chap who gave me lots of information on the 40 minute drive from Hamilton back to the Dockyard. He said that many times they had held voting, and always they voted to be 'protected' by the United Kingdom. 'We are stronger together than apart' he told me most fervently, 'we can still be Bermuda and be British'. It was a refreshing thought, and even in my fog of illness I felt warmed by his love of the UK.
I did manage one photo stop, but without getting out of the cab, and took a shot of the famous Horseshoe Bay, where many celebrities live, or at least have second homes. It seems Catherine Zeta Jones is one of them !
I wished so much that I had felt well, I think I got the general feel of the place, but rather in monochrome than a vibrant colour. One thing I did photograph was the red post box, especially for my postie M ! I wondered if she was due to empty it any time soon!
PS one odd sign on the top of a Miami taxi.
' DEPRESSED?' You may be entitled to a clinical Research Study!'
???? No pills then?
Many years ago my uncle worked in Bermuda. My mother and I went to visit, I was about 4 (ie EONS ago!) my mother had to explain to me about sunscreen etc (our only holidays had been in Scotland and Ireland where the risk was rust rather than sunburn). I apparently duely arrived in Hamilton and enquired of the Bell Boy at the Hotel how long I had to stay in the sun to get as brown as him. My mother understandably wanted to die. The Bell Boy and I became great friends for I had no preconceptions, lots of questions and wanted to be friends. Such innocence is long gone I am afraid.
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