Bermuda

     I have been too busy seeing Bermuda to have time to write about Bermuda, but I need to take the time before the impressions fade.  I guess a good place to begin would be from the top, flying over Bermuda.  After 6 1/2 hours of layover in Denver and Newark in the wee morning hours, I have to admit I was not very alert on that leg of the flight and it was mostly cloudy until just before we landed, but that just-before glimpse was of the blue water of the deep sea and the turquoise of the shallows sparkling like facets of a jewel.  Next I saw palm trees, which I consider exotic even though they probably grow in places like Oxnard.  And the large trees whose brilliant red blossoms caught my eye from the air, turned out to be the national tree, the poinciana. Reed met me at the airport and we took a taxi to the apartment where we are staying.
     There are lots of taxis in Bermuda because there are not lots of cars, the most common non-feet mode of land transportation is the scooter. Drivers of all forms of vehicles beep the horn a lot. This is not a criticism of other drivers' skills, it is a greeting to friends as they pass by.  Bermudans are friendly people, most exchange some sort of greetings as you pass on the pavement.  However, in Bermuda pedestrians watch out for cars, not the other way around. There are crosswalk signals, but they take a long time to turn on and most of us just cross when it looks clear. The trick is remembering that Bermudans, like Brits, drive on the wrong side of the road. People from Washington and other states where the pedestrian is king would probably get mowed down in Bermuda.  However, with the small cars and scooters they would probably be able to get up again.
     Reed has been getting to and from the airport for work in a taxi, I have done my sightseeing by using feet, ferries and buses. Using public transportation is quite a stretch for this Montana girl, but if the school children can figure it out (there are no school buses), I should be able to.
     Houses in Bermuda all have white painted roofs. That is because the roof is a rain catch for the house.  There are no rivers or lakes in Bermuda, but there is plenty of rain, and each home has a huge tank to hold  rainwater for household use. I have become somewhat of a water snob, having had well water for so many years, and I can verify that the water here is good. The houses themselves are painted in pastel colors which I will list in order of frequency:  pink, yellow, green, blue and the odd purple. But then purple is always an odd color for a house.  Most buildings smell musty to my dry climate sensibilities, but are clean and well kept. I have seen a couple staggering drunks downtown, but no beggars. There are "No loitering" signs everywhere.
     Recycling is done the old fashioned way--with an incinerator.  American greenies wouldn't be caught dead burning garbage but have no trouble cremating Uncle Joe. Bermudans burn garbage but recycle graves.  The white vaults look like the above ground graves of New Orleans, but are actually eight feet deep and may contain three generations worth of bodies.  That grave is sealed until decomposition is complete, then reopened for later use. When a 400 year old nation with a population of 69,000 is living within 27 square miles, recycling graves makes sense, shipping garbage 500 miles to the nearest recycling center doesn't .
     Another difference from the American mindset is their approach to business.  Shops and cafes are open until about 5:30 and then close no matter how many hungry, souvenir starved tourists are around.  Unlike  some island nations, business is taken seriously--but only until 5:30.  One of my assignments while out "touristing" is to find restaurants that are open for dinner.  We usually eat out a lot when we travel, but prices are high and this apartment is equipped, albeit minimally, for cooking, so we eat some meals here. We did try the national dish though, a red, spicy fish chowder.  And last night, at an Irish pub, I enjoyed breaded fish on raisin toast with sweet potato fries. I didn't like my sample of another Bermudan specialty, rum cake, but was pleasantly surprised to like rum raisin ice cream. I can't say the same for the favored soft drink--ginger beer.
     As I mentioned in Facebook, Bermuda is bursting with sunburned cruise ship passengers from New York/New Jersey.  I have not sunburned thanks to sweat-proof sunscreen, but I walk around most days with a sheen of sweat on my face and neck.  The temperature has been mild, 84 degrees during the day dropping to a frigid 77 at night.  Thanks to hormones, I have been spared from hot flashes and night sweats, but my face and neck sweat with exertion and, here, humidity.  However tacky I look sweating my way though Bermuda, it is nothing compared to the businessmen in shorts, knee socks and dress shoes.  Some of them even wear a coat and tie. It's the kind of outfit that would get you beat up in Butte. Unless, perhaps, you bribed them with a "swizzle" or "dark and stormy night", but I bet no Butte bartender would no how to make those.  And that is okay, the last thing we need to do is introduce more alcohol into Montana.
     Tomorrow I will take off again, poorer in wallet, but richer in wisdom for having been here. Wisdom tells me this blog is too long. So long.