The concerts were jammin – dreads were abundant, songs were about either oppression (mental slavery), religion, or showin your woman some love. There was a lot of people shouting ‘Ayree!’ which I think is like the Jamaican equivalent of a cockney ‘alright!’. Bob’s house was cool – is a museum now. Saw bullet holes from where he was shot at, photos of him when he used to be in a clean cut barbershop-quartet outfit in his early youth, and I even saw his blender. His original blender apparently. And I know his second favourite colours now, thanks to the tour guide – beige and brown. And the rasta food throughout weekend was so good. I may have to revise my opinions on vegans. I even had cornmeal porridge a la No Woman No Cry ('Of which, I'll share witchu...').
Best though was the rasta guesthouse/mountain hike. We set off at 2.30am – as an afterthought he gave me two mini bananas for breakfast, which added up to less than 1 banana. We then proceeded to do an 7 hour hike up and down the hill, with no other rations (not possible), and the mountain was freezing, and I was drenched in sweat(=doubly freezing), and we go there 45min before sunrise so waited curled up in a ball hoping I wouldn’t die. Luckily, some other people came just before sunrise and gave me food. I’ve never been so happy to see a twix and will forever be grateful to that Irish lady. The ridiculousness peaked as we said goodbye, and I realized that I still had a pair of boxer shorts on my head, which I had put there in my frozen desperate state in an effort to keep my wet head warm.
Anyway, I’m alive, just about. No photos as my 5th camera seems to be lost in post from UK, so only had a throwaway. But here are some other music related photos (and videos at end) to link in with the reggae.
(Barbados music festival with friends)
(these steelpan dudes live in the Trinidad airport. Love em)
More Barbados Music festival
Barbados music festival Reggae and Trinidad gospel gang.
