The stories people tell…
In this case, the storyteller was a 25-year-old client service agent at the luxury resort where I am staying. He sat down to chat after I ordered lunch, to tell me about the things I should do as a first-time visitor to Barbados: Harrison’s Cave, snorkeling and swimming with turtles, and Bridgetown’s finest fish fry, Oistin.
Looking toward the ocean I see a father and son cliff dive off Crane Point.
My new friend shares a story about three young men, and how one who was clearly afraid, hesitated before diving into the sea.
“He jumped into the wind and then tumbled into a wave filled with sand. We found his body, a floater three days later.”
I blinked.
Next, a love story. A frequent flier at the resort, a known female millionaire had fallen in love with a male guest. The couple would rendezvous every year at the same time. Until the last time, when the millionaire found the gentleman in bed with another woman.
“So heartbroken she was, she drowned herself in the pools on the south side of grounds.”
Something tells me these are not the stories management hopes their staff share with guests.
Cultural immersion is something of which I have genuine interest. When I ask about Bajan life, his eyes light up. It occurs to me that he may think this is a proposition.
Within seconds the conversation turns to the Bajan dating scene and seemingly innocent inquiries into my romantic life. My suitor muses about women on the island and why so many Americans come to the resort alone, slipping in his preference for mature women over the ’young Millennials’ on the island so engrossed in their phones. He shares the lingo of Barbados, and refers to the Bajan sex addiction—fact or fantasy is anyone’s guess—as if that would be enticing.
I sip my iced tea during this soliloquy, my gaze focused on the turquoise waters.
He boasts about showing other lady guests a night on the town, mentioning The Gap, a nightlife area with live music and dancing. I’d been warned about visiting the unsavory district with its reputation for harassing female tourists by fellow travel bloggers.
A fool could see where he was going with all the banter. My interest in the conversation waned, so I packed up my sunscreen and towel and wished him well, leaving him to prowl elsewhere to fill the role of cougar in his fantasy.
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