Date: December 7, 1999
Port of Call: St. George, Bermuda
Subject: Bermuda Ashore
It is a regrettable aspect of cruising that, having worked so hard in getting to Bermuda, we were able to spend so very few days actually enjoying it. After arriving in St. George's Harbour we spent the next week or more attending to the needs of the boat: cleaning up and drying out from the streams of salt water that permeated the boat on the passage; fixing the head which had clogged our last day out from Bermuda; taking torn sails to the sailmaker; trying yet again to figure out why the watermaker keeps tripping its circuit breaker-the list went on and on. Finally, half way through our second week, we decided to take a little time off--regardless of the condition of the boat--and see some of the world just outside the portholes.
Bermuda is actually not a single island, but rather a series of very closely spaced islands which form a shape something like a fish hook lying on its side: the eye to the east, the shank extending to the west-southwest, then curving northeast into its hook. It is less than 20 miles long and less than two miles wide at its widest point. There is no place on the island where a person can be even so far as a mile from the ocean. The islands, though separate, are so close that the gaps between them can be spanned by bridges smaller than a typical highway overpass. The hills are not high--Town Hill rises only 78 meters above sea level--but the roads are still somehow steep and winding. Its 68,000 people live on only 21 square miles of land, yet the island's housing is made up mostly of beautifully colored single-family homes, not high-rises and condominiums. This was the place we decided to explore by foot, bus, and boat.
St. George's is on the far eastern end of the islands; the harbor at the eye of the "fish hook". From there, in company with Glyn & Jenny from "Wandering Star", we boarded the bus that followed the northern shores of the islands ten miles west to the city of Hamilton. Normally after being on the boat for a while and traveling at only five or six knots, riding in a vehicle is an unnerving experience. Here it was even more so. Bermuda is the first place we have been where they drive on the left side of the road. Also, due apparently to a law limiting the number of automobiles, there is a huge number of motor bikes on the road, the drivers of which think nothing of passing buses on blind curves and hills (there are no straight-aways on these roads). The roads are carved out of the limestone on one side, and drop steeply to the water on the other, so the slightest mistake would be deadly. We arrived in Hamilton, amazed not to have seen at least one fatality along the way.
Hamilton is much like any city, though small: you can walk across it in ten minutes. But the Bermudans give it a special flavor. Men in button-down shirts, coat and tie look like businessmen anywhere else, at least above the waist. Below the waist they wear Bermuda shorts, knee socks, and dress shoes. Women walking down the street in fashionable suits with skirts look no different from those we saw daily in Atlanta--until they put on a helmet and hop on a motor bike. It all took some getting used to.
Anglican Cathedral, Hamilton, Bermuda
From the bus stop
in Hamilton it was just a matter of a few blocks walk to the ferry terminal.
At the ferry terminal we boarded a ferry that took us out across Hamilton
Harbour and Great Sound, stopping briefly at four wharves before depositing
us at the Royal Naval Dockyard at the very tip of Bermuda's "fish hook".
The Dockyard is the site of the Royal Naval Victualing Yard, which had
been used for hundreds of years for resupplying and repairing naval ships,
but has been converted into the ubiquitous shopping mall. After looking
around the shops a while and scouting out the several choices of restaurants,
we chose one that was least damaging to our wallets, and enjoyed a nice
lunch. After lunch, we caught the bus that runs back down the "hook"
and along the south coast.
View from The Reefs
Each week the hotels
of Bermuda take it in turn to host a complimentary English Tea for tourists.
This week it was at a hotel called "The Reefs". We stepped off the
bus in front of the hotel, and walked down the hill, through the lobby
and bar and out onto the verandah. Below us the hill tumbled steeply
down to a short curve of beautiful sandy beach, punctuated on each end
by limestone cliffs. The water unfolded in its spectrum from crystal
blue at the sands edge, through turquoise, aquamarine, and on to cobalt
as the water deepened. I'm sure this was the very beach I had seen
days earlier in a tourism poster in the Post Office. It was certainly
just what one envisions upon hearing the word "Bermuda". Several
other boaters had the same plan as we did, and we sat together on the verandah
enjoying the scenery, chatting, and awaiting tea. At 4:00 tea was
served, and we went into a salon, filled our tea cups, selected a few finger
sandwiches, and sat around listening to a jazz quintet play and tried to
act like genteel yachtsmen, used to having Tea daily. I suppose we succeeded
reasonably well until the moment when we realized that if we didn't leave
RIGHT NOW we were going to miss our not-so genteel bus, and we stormed
out of the hotel en mass. As it turns out, we did just miss our bus,
and wound up waiting another 30 minutes for the next one. Traffic
into Hamilton was very heavy, and we wound up missing our connecting bus
back to St. George by less than a minute, too.
Sometimes it is
better when things don't go as planned, and this was one of those times.
It turned out that this was the evening of the annual Christmas parade in
Hamilton, and we were perfectly placed to watch it as we waited an hour
for the next bus. There were groups of local dancers performing to
reggae or steel drum music, dressed in colorful or outlandish costumes.
They stopped at each intersection and performed their routine, so the parade
moved exceptionally slow. It was like no parade we have ever seen,
at least not at Christmas. It was a lot like Mardi Gras, but without
the throwing of beads. Finally our bus arrived, and we rode in the
dark back to St. George.
We played tourist
one more time before we left, hiking around the eastern side of St. George's
Island, climbing the remains of the Gates Fort, Alexandra Battery, and
Fort St. Catherine. In between these stretched the beautiful views
of the rocky headlands on one side of the road, and tightly packed Bermudan
houses, a cemetery, and a small farm on the other. Within two days
of this hike we were heading out Town Cut and past Gates Fort aboard Sovereign,
headed south.
We found Bermuda
to be a wonderful place--beautiful and picturesque, but much more than that.
Everywhere we went was clean and well kept. Without exception every
person we met was pleasant, helpful, and friendly. It was as if we
were honored guests and not just another couple of tourists. We were
sad to leave Bermuda but knowing that the North Atlantic is no place to
be during winter, we reluctantly cleared out with Her Majesty's Customs,
and with a favorable northerly wind, we took one last look back through
Town Cut and turned Sovereign's bow south.
Smooth sailing,