I spend the night in a comfortable bed, that doesn’t move and that doesn’t have tanker loads of water being thrown over it all night, and guess what? I still don’t sleep well.
I actually get up to make the tea this morning as Mike refuses to wake up properly then I start clattering about tidying up the post passage holocaust that is the interior of the boat – just to make a point!
By mid morning we are in the dinghy heading for town. The dinghy ride is not good. It’s rough, and the distance is such that I quickly realise that drastic measures are called for if I am to prevent getting soaked. I stand up, grab the painter, and hope like hell that I don’t do something stupid like lose my balance and my dignity. I think Mike can just about see past my bum – well he doesn’t hit anything.
We tie up at the dinghy dock and walk along to King’s Square where the St George’s Town Crier and others are about to re-enact an 18th century trial including the ducking of a nagging wench.
He asks for volunteers, and I fear that Mike will push me forward as a nagging wench (and I don’t nag, I correct and instruct), but he’s actually after volunteers to operate the ducking stool and Mike agrees. Four other men are found Mike discovers to his horror that he is to operate the side of the stool next to a young American lad (who obviously doesn’t understand the politics) wearing a Manchester United football shirt. Being a staunch Liverpool supporter, Mike shouts that he will not stand next to him, and the lad is dragged, confused, around to the other side. It’s now actually worse because instead of having ‘the offensive shirt’ behind him and out of sight, it is now opposite.
The re-enactment is actually quite amusing and is watched by tourists and locals alike The poor ‘nag’ is ducked seven times in all.
After that Mike and I go on a walkabout. It doesn’t take long – the town of St George is small, but it is beautifully preserved and extremely pretty. There’s no litter and everyone is really friendly. I suppose there must be some grumpy, miserable old Bermudians, but I don’t find any. They all say hello when they pass you and smile – so different to the BVIs. The only thing that is the same is the price of everything so we don’t do a mega provision, just fresh stuff to tide us over. Amazingly the supermarket has quite a lot of Waitrose own-brand products. How weird. They must have heard I was coming!
We stop for ice cream and cake – real tourists – and wander around the Saturday market but after a couple of hours we are done with the town. We decide to take the island buses tomorrow or Monday to explore a bit further.
I like Bermuda but it seems almost … unreal – a bit like a film set.
Position: 32 degs 22 mins N, 64 degs 40 mins W
Distance so far: 841 miles
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