I actually had to google which was further from where I live, Dominican Republic or Barbados. And it’s Barbados.
I’ve written about it before, several times I think. The trip to Barbados when I was nineteen, to stand as the maid of honour for my best friend’s wedding.
A few things stand out about it, or flash in my mind when I’m trying to remember it or picture it in my head.
The flight attendant going down the aisle with her cart, repeating the question “champagne with orange juice?” over and over and over again.
In an effort to be economical, we made toast for breakfast in our rooms, or more specifically the bride’s mom did that for us and I recall being so ravenous and eating something familiar, the white bread toasted with strawberry jam on it tasted like heaven.
It was my first time at the ocean and it felt a bit scary. Looking out at the horizon and not knowing what was out there. Also being reluctant to swim because it felt so unfamiliar and big and strange. It wasn’t at all like the little lakes I grew up swimming in.
I remember the awful sea sickness on the day we went out deep sea fishing. Everyone else was drinking rum punch and having a great time but I was doped up on Gravol and trying to sleep on the bunk down under the boat.
The restaurant we ate at after the wedding ceremony. It was out on a patio overlooking the ocean and it was dark outside but there were twinkling lights. It felt magical.
I remember what a chore it was helping the bride into the bathroom stall in her enormous white gown.
The best man incessantly coming onto me and flirting with me, which, at age nineteen, I thought was a hoot.
Oh to be young again.
bloom.planted.north 
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