Manchester to Bridgetown Barbados.
November 1st 2010
Distance – 4168 miles.
A cold, almost frosty Monday morning in November, waiting for the taxi to ferry us over to Manchester.
Thoughts of Greenwich, Lloyd, Andy Roberts, Michael Holding…. Bob Willis, John Snow, Underwood…. filtering through from that long lost summer of ’76 and maintaining still, an unbroken harness subjugating my skinny neck. It was the year that I left school, the hottest summer on record and was a magnificent, lazyday hangover from my early teenage youth, guiding me past my fumbling, formative years, to a place that would see me break through to the beginnings of work, family ties and all else that the future would hold.
That was then.
For now, a Caribbean Cruise to celebrate my 50th birthday from the previous March, in the shadow of that inspiring history. I had little to compare it to, in all of what I had previously experienced and therefore, felt a real excitement as to what the following two weeks would bring. The cricket of course, etched indelibly in memory…. the music for sure, a continuous undertow that would cement itself with ‘Catch a Fire’ and ‘Garveys Ghost’…. stories and footage of the ‘Empire Windrush’ sailing from Jamaica in 1948…. Enoch Powell and his speech in Birmingham in 1968…. the growth of the Anti-Nazi League and it’s effect on British youth, tying black and white together in a fusion of politics and punk…. the riots in Brixton, Handsworth and particularily Toxteth in 1981, from where we could see the flames over the River Mersey from our home in Ellesmere Port…. celebrating the common hatred for Margaret Thatcher in a unique response to the destruction of working class, inner-city life.
We stayed overnight, with Alan and Audrey, in preparation for the early 6.00am start. Family and erstwhile companions on many a jaunt to Liverpool for a days drinking. Alan had turned 50 himself the month before and the expectant wait had given Janet and myself plenty of time to save for the celebrations. They had done the trip two years before and we were dream-filled with their tales as the alarm jerked us all awake. Worrying news stories of Hurricane Tomos, the last it would seem of the rainy season storms, and the news-film of the attendant storm damage, didn’t bode well for the start of the day. However, there was no word yet of delays or cancellations, so we set out in good heart all the same. Gary, our driver, also co-incidentally an extended family member, managed to squeeze the four of us into a somewhat over-burdened hatchback and we drove the two minutes to where we would meet Lou’ and John, making us six in all. After a sort out of the cases we managed, jig-saw like, to find a little space each and hit the M53 and in turn the M56, on the start of our adventure.
Reaching Manchester airport, we easily found our departure point and made a hassle free check-in with the baggage. The extra allowance that comes with a two week break was welcome and as we added up the combined weight of the cases, we were a pound or two under our limit. Slipping nicely through customs we we were met with the news of a 3 hour delay. No problem – No worries. A phrase we would often hear repeated at our various expected destinations. We consoled ourselves with a couple of pints of early morning Guinness and a breakfast. The mood was good between us all and we fell into conversation easily. We bumped into one or two acquaintances of our fellow travellers, who we knew to be on the same flight as ourselves. A few familiar faces and all of them equally excited.
The flight was the best part of 9 hours long, but with an experienced, relaxed crew we were looked after like royalty. The extra leg-room of the long-haul flight was nominal but nevertheless useful and 3 meals, free drinks and a couple of circuits to stretch the legs later, we were ready for landing. I tried to read but to no avail. I am far too curious to dissolve myself in anything other than plane business. I just enjoy the whole package. I am forever amazed that I can find myself at the other side of the world, virtually in the time it takes to drive, at a steady pace, from John O’ Groats to Lands End. We gathered the debris from the overhead lockers and tidied the spaces between our heels, standing to fill the aisles, spilling overboard from the capsule, down the temporary steps and finally, onto the tarmac of the airport floor.
The settled, warm air was lovely and cushioned me through the customs and boarding arrangements which were well appointed and worry free. Bundled onto a bus we found a pair of seats and looked out at the cooing local girls, laughing into each others mouths and playing peacock with the customers.
We didn’t get a real view of Barbados airport in the darkness, it was all blocked paths and waiting only signs as we circled, but from within we found some momentum, the coach at last broke free of the perimeter fencing and we began gently nosing through the ambling stragglers, all heading to a point somewhere behind us.
It was a 40-50 minute drive and the talk was of storm damage and the likelihood of getting away on time. The delay at Manchester had left us catching up with ourselves. Through the windows we caught sight of a rich mix of people, awaiting on buses or taxis or cycling steadily, to reach their own destinations.
The strip of street lights, continually fading in and out, eventually landed us at our port-side berth, to be swept up by the attentive harbour staff.
A steady pace and a beckoning gesture later, we had our passport stamped and joined a busy queue for security screening. The first, temporary stop for photographs, a lazy shake down, a measured few strides and there she was, The Sea Princess, towering above us like a skyscraper.
Climbing the gangway we paused to look back at the waiting crowds, two by two as they shuffled aboard, to be lost in the belly of the great sea monster and spirited up to their accomodation.
We found our way by lift up to Deck No 9 – Caribe – and walked about halfway down the corridor to find Cabin 542. Our luggage was waiting for us as if by magic. The room was spacious with twin beds, another single bed folded into a fitted recess, plenty of wardrobe and drawer space, a power shower, ample low-lighting and a TV set to the Bridge-Cam as a channel option.
Midnight.
With a 5 hour difference in the time zones we were weary, but still able to manage a buffet supper, to fill the sleep that would herald the first morning of this rare and welcome experience.