Barbados: The Play by Play

By Anandi Carroll-Woolery

Date: December 22, 2010
Location: Grantley Adams International, Barbados

1:30 P.M. – After an emotional four days in Trinidad for a funeral, I am on the return journey to Canada.  But I must stop over in Barbados. Decision time: Should I sneak off to Bridgetown and/or try to find a beach? Consulted with a tourist board representative who strongly discouraged me, not because it was too far, but because there was too much traffic.

I try to relax in the terminal, which is difficult given the constant roar of jets, a live band playing Christmas carols and Santa Claus handing out presents. Eating seems to be a sensible activity to fill the time, however I observe that everyone who emerges from the one restaurant in the airport is clutching a paper bag made semi-transparent with grease. A fellow traveller recommends Flyover—a two-minute walk from the airport. Checked my bags and suitcase with a West Jet rep (a polite, charming specimen of a Bajan man), who instructed me to go through security at 4:00 p.m. Navigated the “traffic” (three cars, tops) to my destination.

2:00 P.M. – Good decision. Utopia. Clean, spicy smells and lots of ceiling fans blowing cool air.  I review the menu. OMG, macaroni pie and ribs sound very tempting but dairy and I are not always the best of friends, especially in a foreign country. I order lentil pea and rice (as stated on menu), grilled swordfish and coleslaw. I feel pangs of guilt for two seconds (isn’t swordfish endangered?), which are quickly overruled by pangs of hunger.

2:20 P.M. – Food reach. Eh, if you see fish—two big steaks and I find a nex’ half piece hiding under dem two. (My Trinidadian dialect resurrects itself in the presence of good food.) Thankfully, the lentil pea and rice has more than one lentil pea. My first bite of fish is heavenly. It’s enough to make my nose drip after a minute but doesn’t burn my tongue at all. Swordfish mother and father, my apologies, but I really enjoyed eating your child.

3:20 P.M. – Time to go back to the airport to find one more gift for my son. I fight “traffic” on the way back (this time, it’s six cars). Pop into gift shop and pick up presents. Still 1.5 hours to kill.

3:30 P.M. – Fill out departure card

3:35 P.M. – Panic. They keep announcing final boarding call for <static> to Toronto, Flight <static> 13. Check my boarding pass. I’m on flight 2513, but we don’t board until 4:30 p.m. And the nice man at the West Jet counter told me to go through security at 4:00 p.m. Or at least that’s what I thought he said. It’s not like I was distracted in anyway—was I?

3:36 P.M. – Last call, WestJet Flight <static> 713 to Toronto boarding at Gate 14 immediately. Oh well, clearly another WJ flight – just relax.

3:40 P.M. – Open my backpack to get my Obama book to kill another 45 minutes. Note ominous water stain on the right hand side of bag. Open it up—a bottle of Sprite has spilled over, soaking contents. Assess damage. Souvenirs in plastic bags—safe. Eat, Pray, Love is drenched right through (clearly, Ms Gilbert did not pray hard enough). Sweater and scarf to change into upon arrival in Canadian winter—soaked. Moleskin notebooks, barely damp—they are legendary! Empty contents of bag and drape on table and chairs around me.

3:45 P.M. – Another urgent call for WJ – Toronto Flight 2513. Shite! That’s mine! But according to my cell it’s only 3:45 p.m. Flight doesn’t leave until 5 p.m. Must proceed to check point to clarify.

3:50 P.M. – Pack things madly and head over to security. I tell the guy I have another hour. He wisely ignores me and asks for my boarding pass. He says, “You better RUN now.” Why? He shows me his watch. 4:50 p.m. Grab my stuff and run.

3:51PM 4:51 P.M. – Long line-up at immigration. I beg people to let me cut in line. They all oblige except one lady whose flight also leaves in 10 minutes. Immigration official mercifully asks no questions, stamps my paper and I am off.

3:55PM 4:55 P.M – Squeeze past a bunch of teenage boys all in pink shorts. Throw bags, sweater, shoes and phone into bins on scanner. Walk though detector and I beep. Female officer does search and quickly identifies the culprit—a metal clasp on my top and the underwire in my bra. She waves me through while making a mental note to add me to the no-fly list. Pack and run.

3:57PM  4:57 P.M. – Where the hell is gate 14?

3:58PM 4:58 P.M. – Nice WestJet man who checked me in descends from heaven, runs up to me and charming as ever, points me in the right direction—last gate (naturally) on the left. Sigh . . . he remembered me. Snap back to reality, check bearings, run.

4:59 P.M. – Get to the end. I see no Gate 14 and no plane. I weakly ask two employees, “WestJet?” “Yes,” they say, irritated (who can blame them?), “passport please.” Check handbag—can’t find my &&*%&%&!!*%!! passport. Take a deep breath, check again—there it is. Hand over humbly. Get the green light and run. Stop by a sweetie pie of an attendant who walks me to the gate in a civilized manner. Bless you, darling.

5:00:00 P.M. – She deposits me at Gate 15 and instructs me to enter at front of plane. 100m dash. New West Indian record.

5:00:8.59 P.M. – On plane. Find my seat, chosen by my husband because of the “extra leg room.” He failed to mention I am seated next to the emergency exit. Flight attendant runs up and gives me the Reader’s Digest emergency door instructions. I nod to indicate  I understand, apparently unconvincingly because my seatmates are giggling. Smile beatifically. Exhale.

5:03 P.M. – Oh dear god, I have to pee.

5:52 P.M. – Seatbelt sign turned off. Small detour to the back of the plane. That felt good. Ok, now let me perform a post-mortem on the afternoon’s events. Clearly, my phone was an hour behind. I ask the lady to my right if Barbados is on Daylight Savings Time. No, just like T&T, they don’t change the clocks. So why was I able to rely on my phone in T&T? Wait a minute . . . after the kids called me from Canada on my cell twice for non-essentials, I powered it down to save on roaming charges and then switched to my iPod which I had re-set for Caribbean time. I only resurrected the cell in Barbados, which was still on Toronto time, to send a text to my husband. I am incredulous that I was so close to missing my flight. But, really, what is the worst that could have happened? I would have been stuck in Barbados for one extra day and possibly would have spent the night on the sofa of the nice West Jet man. Joking! I am glad I am on my way home.