The Adventures of GhettoStix and Sugar-Part I

Stepping off of a cramped plane into an island paradise of...oh, what, wait!  It was gray outside.  And raining.  And the humidity...damnit, I wore leggings!  I thought I was being the smart one by leaving my jacket at home and wearing a short-sleeved dress when flying out of my hometown in 30 degree weather.  I lose again.

Gray Skies in Barbados

All I could think about for the next hour and a half was how much I wanted to take my pants off, and how I needed a lot of rum (or xanax) to deal with the crowd of people waiting to go through Customs.  Have I mentioned that I hate flying?  After finally making it to the front of the line, I received the necessary stamp on my Passport that allowed me into the island that was my greatest dream vacation ever...Barbados!


Being the Debby Downer that I am, I checked the forecast for the week on WeatherChannel.com before flying out.  Sixty percent chance of rain.  Every.  Single.  Day.  And, of course, it was raining when we landed, when we boarded the taxi, and when we entered the lobby to our hotel.  All of that was cured with a little Rum Punch (and some Chutney, for my dear friend Sugar).  Four drinks later, we were led up to our room where a bottle of wine and fresh fruit awaited us.  Then, down to dinner for some Flying Fish.


The food was delicious (the first time), and the next morning, the sun was out.  Happily, it remained sunny for the duration of our trip.  The Flying Fish, however, began to take its toll on my after the 3rd day.  In fact, while all of the food was very delicious, there's only so much Flying Fish, Caribbean Vegetables, Cou Cou (I spelled it right, folks-it is NOT Cous Cous), and Chutney that an American can eat.  I wanted Salsa!


After visiting a local show called Harbor Lights, my good friend, Sugar, and I (from here on out known as GhettoStix) hailed a cab.  After talking our cab driver into stopping at a gas station for cigarettes, I begged him to take me to the KFC across the street.  "No, you must have Chefette!"  He said, pulling into the competition's drive thru.  "I want a number 3," he ordered before we could even place our order.  Pulling forward, he banged on the drive-thru window to tell the workers he needed a separate bag.  It was going to be an interesting night...


Chefette did nothing to curb my hunger for American(ized) food.  It was the greasiest chicken I've ever seen in MY WHOLE LIFE, and the biscuit was a roll-much to Sugar's disappointment.  I looked at her with all seriousness and stated, "I need salsa.  We have to find somewhere that has tacos or something".  She nodded her head in agreement.


Security was no help when we inquired on where to find tacos, salsa, or any kind of real American food.  And, of course, the local convenience store in town was closed.  So GhettoStix and Sugar set off for the Shell station on the other side of town.  The seemingly five mile trek was worth it.  Not only did we pass a bar on the way (there's one every block or so), we also were successful in obtaining chips and ice cream.  But, no tacos.  After being followed back to our hotel by two cabbies smoking a joint and driving on the wrong (their right) side of the road, we were safe at home.  However, I was still hungry.  We decided to try walking into town to find something, anything that was open, only to realize we were walking too far and too much alone.  So, we hailed a cab yet again.  This time, we paid $7 for a two second ride to the only restaurant open 24 hours in Barbados: The Lucky Horseshoe.


The name wasn't kidding, either.  Finally, after five days of Flying Fish and Chutney, real food!  I think we ate those nachos in seconds.  And, we found a ride home that didn't cost $20+!  Lucky on all accounts, indeed!


It's a hard-knock life,
Freeway Fairington

Speedo Nation

Note:  This Blog was originally featured in the January edition of The Canton Local.  Please visit www.readthelocal.com to subscribe!

On December 10th, I returned from a tropical paradise (aka Barbados, located in the West Indies) to freezing cold weather at Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. While I was prepared for the shock back to Winter reality at home, there was truly no preparation for the "shock" of bathing suit choices I witnessed during my vacation.

Example One:
While many states, foreign countries, and private beaches allow topless bathing, thankfully the government of Barbados does not. This, however, did not prevent a woman my grandmother's age from flaunting her sagging chest through a sheer "cover-up" (hey, at least she had bottoms on). And then, who could forget the lady (I use this term loosely) who spent half an afternoon oblivious to the fact that she was flashing the entire beach? Darn those Rum Punches!
Example Two:
Speedos. Need I say more? Now, here in the States, we all have the experience of seeing men in Speedos from time to time. Usually, they are foreigners visiting the US or body builders. BUT...in Barbados, nearly ALL of the men on the beach were European and flaunting what their daddy's (or mama's?) gave them. I have no problem with Speedos if the person wearing them has the appropriate body to do so, however, when your gut and man boobs overlap what exactly you're trying to show off...well, dear men, it's time for some swim trunks and a t-shirt out of courtesy for others.

In fact, the sheer number of men in Speedos prompted my travel companions and I to snap numerous photos (immature, yes I know)...all I know is that next time I will be mentally prepared for what is clearly a Speedo Nation. Either that, or I'll stick to vacationing in the US.

And for the record, yes, I was kind enough to wear a one piece or tankini so as not to disgust any strangers on the beach. See, when you stay somewhere all-inclusive, that rum and food tends to sit straight in your stomach creating what I call a "Rum Baby Belly".

My advice to you men (here and abroad), please forego the Speedos and leave SOMETHING to the imagination...

On behalf of women everywhere,
Freeway Fairington