Reflections: Bergen, Beachy Head, and Barbados.
Notes from 3 places beginning with B.
BERGEN
Norway. September 14th 2019
Through the large windowpane I see the rain pouring gently outside, it is relentless and has not stopped all morning. From our first step inside through the door we are instantly hit with the rising aroma of fine strong coffee beans. The queue moves slowly inside Bergen’s most loved coffee shop Kaffemisjonen, the barista’s crafting takes it time, one must be patient. We take our place in line and absorb the fragrance of burnt nutty caramel. The anticipation builds as our master craftsman attends to each cup like a precious piece of art. One might say, but its only coffee – but it is worth it. Finally, the taste of our brew is quite magnificent. The sun peaks through over the misty green hills afar, rain clears for the day just as the fresh salt breeze hits us on our walk to the harbour and Bergen’s sea front.
Seagulls float gracefully above the fish market riding the currents of the wind, and where you can sit for lunch under canopies as market cooks prepare from the wide selection. Choices galore; with scallops, prawns, oysters, cod, and herring. Dare you also try pickled herring? A classic Norwegian tinned food staple for many a previous generation. A waft of what appears to be rotten raw fish is enough to put me off.
“No thanks”.
“Very good for Vikings” I’m informed.
Although I strongly suspect Vikings did not eat tinned goods. Then again anyone with ten Krona can by a plastic Viking hat here and be a faux Viking. I choose fresh scallops cooked in moments and offered as take away or dine in to eat by the fish stand on a plastic seat right by the hum of raw fish aromas and those dead fisheyes with their thousand-yard stares. Walking with my catch around the harbour, and fresher air, the scallops taste good, taking in the view I’m surrounded by brightly painted wooden houses. I notice a huge sailing ship is anchored beyond the many ships and boats, large and small, a merchant ship globe trotter of yesteryear. Then surreal but familiar music drifts up the docks. A Scottish bagpipe band walk the seafront, a nod to some Celtic Viking hybrid. Later a drink at the cosy Vagal bar where locals and out of towners mingle and soon it’s time for dinner at Bryggen Tracteursted for some of the finest Norwegian cuisine to be found here. Tomorrow, a train through the mountains to Oslo.
BEACHY HEAD
UK. September 28th 2019
On arrival to this infamous beauty spot and finding by sheer luck a place to leave the car in the tiny lay-by-come-car-park beside the highest chalk sea cliff in Britain, rising to 531ft above sea level, I witness two Japanese tourists arguing, him throwing his arms around, her shaking her head at him. I walk on and smell the fresh salt air and step onto the grass before me.
I had four prior impressions of this place before my visit. The first was fog, lots of fog, fog on an early autumnal day. The second, the morbid gloom and tragedy of the beauty spot, of abandoned cars with notes in the glove box. Thirdly was the location of the front cover photograph of 20 Jazz Funk Greats by industrial music pioneers Throbbing Gristle. The band in parody jazz funk get up, on their way to a picnic, hiding the darkness and factory floor electro on vinyl. Many innocent record purchasers got something very different to what they had imagined from the deceptive sleeve and title from 1979 onward, which in turns brings to memory the Fast Show sketch with the jazz man played by John Thompson, ‘nice’. Fourthly and finally, the location setting of the song Just Like Heaven by the Sussex based band The Cure, reconstructed within a studio in the Tim Pope directed video. A very different feeling entirely.
Today however, as I had hoped, this place was very different to any morbid preconceptions on this bright summer day. More Just Like Heaven. Today was glorious. I felt the warmth on my skin and looked toward the uplift of the chalk white giant tooth that bit down into the sea, and beyond the red and white lighthouse playing support. The lush green expanse running back from the cliffs. A gentle breeze.
On your first visit here approaching the sheer drop, one might be shocked at no railing or warning signs whatsoever of impending and certain death if breached. My anxiety kicks in watching children running at speed across the grass toward the cliff edge, away from nonchalant parents who should know better.
After returning from the high points and spectacular views, I returned down the path, and I noticed the long-haired teen sat on the cliff edge with two quiet policemen standing anxiously a few feet behind. The officers looked this way and that as the teen shook and swayed holding themselves tight. The wind now begun to rattle down the green pasture and I looked out onto the sea and the blue horizon, counting five large ships static in the distance.
The rise and fall of those undulating hills that become sheer cliff edge before the hard rocks far below, rhythmically brushed by the rolling tide of the English Channel, and beyond to the deep blue toward the international shipping lanes. All sorts pass through here.
Famous for rolling views, white cliffs and suicide, this was Beachy Head. I felt I’d out stayed my welcome and wanted to leave the police to their business, thankful for their intervention, I walked back to the car park and the sound of slamming doors. Dizzy spiteful wasps in their last days bombed the busy bin on the path, so I avoided it passing at distance. Eventually sat back in the car I was ready to continue my drive along the south coast. Next Eastbourne, then Hastings. It was then I realised Beachy Head has no beach.
BARBADOS
The Republic of Barbados. Nov 25th – Dec 8th 2021
A calm Caribbean Sea, the sun beats down. Tides pull and push. Rich blues. Golden sands. Resorts litter the south and up the west coast. Those jetting in call it paradise. The locals live in half-built houses and wooden shacks. Easy does it is the order of the day every day, and the locals stay calm. Banks’ Beer a working man’s golden nectar. While the women work harder with 6am starts in hotel breakfast kitchens and with families to cook for. Tourism is the economy, rum its smaller sidekick. Old rich fat white people on the mid-west coast. They sit, wrinkled skin in designer clothes, in high priced restaurants served by attentive black boys. Northwest and at the Yacht Club, super-rich tax avoiders waddle to their private boats. An English northerner flashes his wealth and bad taste in a purpose-built tax-free retail outlet. His family shuffle their broad frames after him. The Atlantic Ocean hits the east coast, wilder, less popular. Sharks swim this shore. Roads with huge potholes, enough to crack a wheel hub without appropriate caution. The north is rocks. Further south and west, populous. Roads closed, diversions without directions. Tempered celebrations in Bridgetown, the capital, as COVID dampens the ability for locals to party as the island becomes a republic, a free country, and Independence Day celebrations to commemorate 1966 follow soon after. Rhianna is made a Bahan hero at 1am on November 30th, perhaps for now their new Queen to replace Elizabeth.
Snorkelling, swimming, walks and drives occupy my days. Hot sun, rain, grey skies, and then the sun returns to beat down. Snorkelling over shallow shipwrecks, seeing fish shoals drift around rocks in clear waters. For the first time I spot a sea turtle on its journey. Later I drift suspended within a plastic ring in warm waters just off the shoreline as rains return for a few moments. I drift back to shore. Buy chicken from Just Grill‘in. Drive back to basecamp for a beer. The sun sets at 5.30pm and evening sets in as the mosquitos and minority of crickets return with the night-time. Soon, once more, a new bright day will dawn. For a couple of weeks, it could well be paradise. An escape from a dark English winter and the creeping cold. True paradise is not necessarily a place, but perhaps freedom. Freedom to drift as one wants, to wherever one wants to be. Right now, this is the first step of freedom. A newfound freedom. Ultimately, I need a new direction of travel in life. That much is certain.