It's getting hot in here

Before the rainy season gets into full swing, we have been doing basic maintenance at the house.  We had an extra gas delivery for the main house as well as the guesthouse.  Supplies of water and pasta are being collected should the power go out.  Extra batteries and candles are in store.  And finally, today, the AC repair man is here to service all the air conditioning units in the bedrooms.  Not a moment too soon either.  Last night the unit in our bedroom appeared to be struggling to cool down and that can be no surprise to anyone in living in or visiting Barbados for more than a week.  It is blazing hot and only getting hotter. 


This isn't like the heat in New York in the middle of July and August.  This is the REAL hot and there will be no reprieve before the end of December!  I know how seriously we consider the heat, especially in New York.  Truly, we suffer there because it is such a pedestrian culture and we are still inclined to walk everywhere, even if the thermometer reaches 100 degrees.  But there is some escape in New York if you so choose.  Air conditioning, that great invention, is a way of life and there are countless opportunities to find the cold--going to the movies, the grocery store, the corner deli, restaurants, bars, anywhere really that hopes to have customers or guests.  One can either purchase window units inexpensively or bask in the cool of central air.  There are options and they are pretty easy.


But that is not the case here in Barbados, as air conditioning is not a right; it is a privilege and one that costs.  Electricity is expensive, something rarely considered when one is sitting at a window unit after a 30 block trek from Midtown to the Upper West Side.  Many people do not have air conditioning (and certainly not central air) and wait for the breezes available in higher elevations on the island.  We live at sea level and the air is often still.  With an open plan to the house and no air conditioning in the main living space or the kitchen, by 9 am, it often feels as though one might actually roast alive without realizing it...like a frog in a pot of slowly boiling water.


Yes, there is the sea, but there is very little cover.  Shall we go out in the heat of the day to cool off in the sea with a temperature of 75 degrees F, when the sun will more than likely laser off the first layer of skin even if you are wearing an SPF of 70?  So we stay in the shade and drink lots of water and eat lots of fruit.  Mangoes.  But you know how THAT ends.
I have been getting such a kick out of all the "summer stories" in the fashion magazines. A summer scarf? That might actually land me in the hospital with heat exhaustion. I wonder seriously, if any of the style mavens have spent any significant amount of time in a place where the humidity never dips below 85 % and one does not hustle from air conditioned hub to air conditioned hub. One of my favorite sights was a young woman too hip to be damned walking, well shuffling around Bridgetown in a pair of ankle booties and hot leather shorts. Leather. Her feet had swollen so terribly, as evidenced by her puffy ankles and calves but she was rocking that fierce summer leather and no one was going to tell her that it maybe needed to be rethought and executed at another time...or at least in another climate.

So I am dressed as cool as possible.  Down to the bare minimum--cotton dress, tank top, shorts, flip flops.  Sometimes I wear my swim suit as underwear, just in case.  I do not blow dry my hair often.  I do not wear makeup.  I cringe at the thought of putting on pants, even linen pants.  Virginie laughs whenever I put on her pajama pants for a night spent in the air conditioning because she is just not used to anything on her legs.  In fact, most of the family is naked at any given moment.  Anyone looking at Facebook photos might ask, "Is Lily naked?"  And the answer is always yes.  It's getting hot in here.  Let's take off all our clothes.

(c)copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle















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One fish, two fish

This morning, Didier and I took Virginie for her first swimming lesson.  Funny, before Lily's first lesson we had never considered lessons for Virginie.  She is only 13 months old and we both remember that we had our first lessons when we were a bit older.  But after talking with Wendy, Lily's instructor, we were curious.  Apparently, up until they are about 12 to 15 months, babies have the ability to breathe underwater.  I suppose it is not breathing under water but they hold their breathe and do not take in water coming up choking as someone older might.  We were also interested in preventing a fear of water from settling in as it clearly had in subtle ways with Lily, ie the fear of leaning back or getting water on her face.

We joined a class that had been together twice before, but we were able to fit right in.  Aidan and Emma were both 16 months old and were at different levels.  Aidan's father and Emma's mother were also in the water, not only to ensure the safety of the children, but to make them feel more secure with someone they already know and trust.  I got in with Virginie as I am more likely to do the silly things one must do to put children at ease in the pool.  God love him, but can you see the French husband singing "The Wheels on the Bus" and splashing the water?

Virginie was not sure what was going on exactly, but she loved the pool toys and watching the other babies.  When it was her turn to go underwater, I had Wendy do it first while I held Virginie's little hands.  Virginie was surprised but her breathing kicked right in!  I was so overwhelmed with joy for her and proud of her bravery...and mine too frankly.  I just put my baby underwater!  She really enjoyed kicking and splashing and moving around the pool and we will surely continue our lessons.   Wendy has taught babies as young as 8 weeks old and while you wouldn't leave them to do laps in the pool on their own, it is a wonderful introduction to water and swimming, a skill I can only hope both girls develop as they grow up.

Coming back for more

As I sipped my coconut water on the patio yesterday afternoon, I looked out into the garden and saw that the coconut crew, long gone, had left a pod full of coconuts, about 15 or so, cut down and resting by the girls' swing set.  I imagine that in their haste to chat with me, they'd left some behind.  I thought this morning of calling them to have them retrieve them so they wouldn't go to waste but didn't want to trouble my landlord for their number.  I also get a bit exhausted being ogled all the time by a group of young men while I am home alone on a pretty quiet street.  Didier, on occasion, does cut down the coconuts and I drink the water and he and the kids join me in eating the meat or jelly inside, but it takes forever for him to get around to it.  Case in point, we have seven coconuts sitting on our patio dining table waiting to be opened.

At noon, after Virginie's swimming lesson (to be discussed in the next post) and right before nap time, I hear the bell to the house clanging.  Outside at the gate is one of the coconut team who wasn't with the crew the day before.  He yells over the fence that he has some coconut water for me as he knows I only took a glass yesterday.  I told him not to bother, but then remembered the coconuts out back.  I told him as much and brought him around to collect them.

Crazy for Coconuts

About every 6 to 8 weeks, the coconut guys come around to collect the coconuts from the trees in our garden which they then open, drain the water, and sell it on the side of the highway like countless other coconut crews.  Our team varies, but the leader is always the same and the work is always done quickly and efficiently.  At the end of each marathon collection, I often take a bottle or cup of coconut water, something I have grown to love here. 

The crews work in teams of two.  One man serves as the anchor and holds the rope that guides and supports the climber as he swings through the tops of the coconut trees releasing the coconuts and pods with his machete.  The climber either wears a sort of brace for his feet with spikes in the sides, kind of like cleats or running spikes or, if he is really good, runs up barefoot!  The coconuts are cut down and tied to the ropes and are then dropped down for collection.  Should any palm fronds fall, they remove those and take them to the rubbish pile for us.

Learning to Swim

Lily took her first swimming lesson yesterday after school.  She was so eager and excited and felt safe in her floaty bathing suit.  I know that she will soon have to give it up in order to really learn to swim and trust her own body in the water rather than these floatation devices, but I wanted her to feel safe and secure for her first class.  Her teacher is Wendy Baker, an ex-pat from England who has recently returned to the island and has decided to make Barbados her home.  She holds the lessons at her home in a beautiful swimming pool and I must say, she has the knack.  Games, songs, and fun props had Lily in the water immediately, although she did have a hard time following directions because she was so excited by the little rubber fishies and swimming noodles.

Exterminator X

Because we are living out here in the jungle, more so than some in Barbados because our garden is big with lots of plants and bugs and frogs and snails and outdoor kinds of things, we have our exterminator come pretty frequently.  I was excited to write about this because our usual exterminator is such a character and I just knew he would let me take a picture of him to share.  He has that look about him that shows he takes pride and serious interest in his work.  In fact, he looks like a bug!  It makes me giggle every time I see him.  But the gentleman is sincerely one of the nicest people I have met.  He is courteous and punctual, something you do not always find here in Barbados...even if I kind of don't understand a word he is saying...and he always asks about the family and talks about how the baby is growing up.

Something's got to give

Something's got to give and by that I hope I don't mean my back.  I spent the night in a twin bed with both Lily and Virginie as satellites.  At any given moment, my legs or feet were off the bed and someone's curly head of hair was under my armpit.  I didn't start out the evening like this.  In fact, my extremely comfy bed with returned guest star, the hubby, beckoned me pretty early last night.  He watched a movie while I read next to him, occasionally glancing at the screen to interrupt and ask what was going on or just to snuggle.  The monitor was on in the girls' room and the silence was peaceful.  And then...there was Lily screaming into the night, bad dream or night terrors.  Whatever it was that sent her into hysteria ended quickly enough and she was back to sleep.  Virginie was another story.

Lily's screams woke her and she thought it was morning and time to play.  She spent about an hour talking and clapping her hands before she finally passed out.  As did I...on the twin mattress on the floor...where I woke up in the morning, my forty year old body begging the question, "What the ^&*% are you doing?  And there you go.

(c)copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle

Easy like Sunday morning

Lest my children think that I don't love them after all these nights without sleep, I got up this morning with the idea that we would do a Sunday breakfast of their choosing.  After putting in two loads of laundry before 8:00 am and clearing rooms, sweeping hallways to prepare for their father's return, I asked what they'd like to eat.  Virginie is pretty easy.  She's had breakfast of eggs, toast, yogurt, Cheerios, muffins, grapes, bananas, pears and other goodies all week.  Lily is the one with the very particular appetite, who asks for one meal only to reject it once it has been prepared.  This morning, she chose corn pancakes. 

Didier has a recipe for corn pancakes that is easy enough for me to follow AND to prepare with Lily making the experience nutritious and fun.  Lily helped crack the eggs, pour them into the corn and butter mixture and then stirred in all the other ingredients.  As we prepared to make the first pancake, the cleaning company that I had been trying to get to stop in all week made a scheduled visit to assess the shape of our house so as to know what to charge.  In fairness, when they called, they said it would be some time between, I thought I heard, 20 to 40 minutes.  But what I guess was actually said was, "We will be there immediately!"

I went to the door in a pair of gym shorts, a white t-shirt with no bra, barefoot, hair wild all over my head, sweating profusely from the heat and from the 20 lb bomb known to all as Virginie that I was carting around because EVERY time I set her down she would scream her face off, twisting my tired brain to mush.  I am sure these people wondered who the homeless woman showing them around the house was and how she got access to these supercute kiddies.  They were wonderful and sweet and will begin cleaning the house once a week starting this week!  Yay.  I will certainly continue to tidy up, but am now willing to admit I just can't do everything.  If there is something I learned this week alone, it is that.

The corn pancakes turned out delicious and I was pretty damned proud of myself.  The girls got to eat to their hearts' content.  I finished the laundry, made beds, and even got BOTH of them down for a nap before an afternoon birthday party.  Surely you don't have to ask if I joined them.  That's easy...like Sunday morning.

(c)copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle