Bermuda Land of Sensory Potions

Bermuda - The Land of Sensory Potions

After a week on the island I have come to the conclusion that Bermuda is candy for the senses. They are all being feed continually.

It begins just before dawn, that part of the day when the night is not quite dark and the day is not quite light. I awake to the song of the birds and vociferous crowing of the roosters welcoming the new day; a light breeze comes from the west.

The breeze carries the combined scent of flowers and salt from the sea; the fragrance wafts through the room. It is a stunning collection of smells present at one time, in one place; together, blended into the natural perfume that is Bermuda.

I sip my coffee and look over the turquoise and Cobalt-blue Ocean with its soft rippling surf that sensually kisses the pink sand beaches with its relaxed melodic tempo. The sun glimmers on the water, and in the distance, white caps spot the ocean surface as they dance beyond the boilers. The boilers bubble with white froth produced from the oceans punching exchange with the reefs that surround the island. It combines into a natural rhythmic pulse that is remarkably tranquil.

The color and clarity of the water is incredible. It is constant and does not change regardless of my distance. It is crisp, clear, friendly, and alluring. It invites me to immerse my body in its cool embrace, float on the surface, and join in its natural motion.

The day progresses and my guide escort me around the island showing me parks and landmarks that are part of the Bermudan history. I can’t help but notice the beauty of the narrow roads. In places one car must pull to the side before another can pass. But with each hill crested, or curve negotiated, another striking landscape emerges.

The island is clean. It is neat, fastidious, and exhibits meticulous attention to detail. Square wooden-rail-fences line many of the roads and lanes that serpentine the island. Precise limestone walls varying in height from a few inches to several feet border others. In many places the limestone is ground to exact standards with no outcropping of either mortar or stone.

Most roads are lined with lush vegetation created from an endless variety of plants and shrubs. Flowers abound and are sprinkled within the green leaves displaying various shades of pinks, reds, and oranges, intermixed with occasional white buds. Tunnels of trees and vines cover many of the roads and seem to invite the ribbons of asphalt to share the island without protest.

Driving on the island is interesting. Cars are small and unhurried; moving on the left side of the road. Since only one car per household is allowed, and tourists cannot rent cars; scooters are everywhere and swarm like bee’s looking for sweet nectar. They are seen carelessly weaving in and out of traffic, overtaking other vehicles on blind curves, and while climbing hills. They make loud buzzing and hissing sounds and are piloted by aspiring organ donors.

The island is a patchwork of green grass bordered and spiced with shrubs, bushes, and flowers that thrive on natural humidity and rain. Clean, crisp, chiseled, pastel colored houses are neatly inserted within the patchwork area. The houses wear white terraced roofs like proper hats; the roofs are used to catch rainwater. The reflective white roofs and crystal clear skies require wearing sunglasses to prevent sunburned eyes.

The humidity is like a loose fitting wet smock that holds you in its sticky grasp when there is no breeze. When there is a gentle current of air the humidity eases and relief is immediate. But find a place without wind and you will surely melt and become sticky.

The island is covered with very old buildings that are standing after hundreds of years. The structures were designed to withstand hurricanes and are like the houses, crisp and clean in appearance. Old forts and battlements are strategically located on the coastline and they show no evidence of a shot ever being fired or received in anger. Empty hulks, missing their masters, standing guard to repulse and enemy that will never come, forever waiting.

Clouds float above the island like large clumps of cotton. As the sun drops into the western horizon the reflection from fading light creates lavender skies that one may expect to see in a painting of Heaven. As the dusk transforms to night the frogs start to sing. Their rhapsody comes from everywhere and serenades the senses till morning light.

Clear, clean air affords unlimited visibility. The curvature of the earth can be seen on the horizon, but night brings on its own special magic. There are thousands of stars visible, more than I have seen in other places. The constellations I recognize are in different positions but many times brighter. Every night I lie outside and gaze at the stars until I find the magical float that exists somewhere between not sleep and beyond awake, a place where I can meld with the stars and become one with the universe. The island does that to me.

Food is an art form on these islands. Everyone knows how to cook and cook well. There is not as much prepared food in the markets and it is much less expensive to cook than to go out. I have been fortunate enough to eat meals prepared by several different cooks; each has been exquisite. New tastes, new textures, new smells, all delight the palate.

Bermuda is truly a place for sensory stimulation. Every sense is bombarded constantly with wonderful sounds, pleasant visions, enchanting smells, nature’s soft caresses, and delicate tastes. Bermuda has forever plied my emotions with its sensory potions.