Day 11

The ferocious winds from the north-west continue to hit us hard. It takes about twice as long to walk to the BBSR from the main road than it should because of being blown in the other direction.

Despite the adverse conditions, 4 of us decided to check out the nightlife in Hamilton last night. Tom (who works in the BBSR) told us that Flanagan's and Blue Juice were worth checking out, and to stay clear of a seedy joint on the corner called The Beach. Fair enough.

Arrived in town to find barriers and teeming throngs of spectators for International Race Weekend - race as in sprinting/marathons and not as in social divider. The fact that it was inhumanly cold outside (and pouring with rain) didn't seem to dampen anyone's enthusiasm for the events (Bermudians are a slightly eccentric bunch). Nipped into Flanagan's (which conveniently enough had a balcony directly overlooking the finishing post) and settled in to get sloshed. A couple of drinks later, Miranda and Kelly had become fast friends with two expatriate guys (from Ottawa) who had come to cheer on their colleague, Derek (and to boo someone else who, in some complicated soap-opera tangle, had become their nemesis in the past few months). Both were working in accounting. Both were, as it turns out, quite obscenely wealthy (Bermuda, by the way, has the second highest per capita non-adjusted GNP in the world). They bought the girls a round of drinks. They bought the girls another round of drinks. We talked about the Biological Station, and weather, and Buffalo, New York, and marathon running. I bought myself a drink because no one seemed very interested in buying me one. The large green umbrellas on the balcony did not keep the lashing rain off very well. Derek came in second. Someone won the women's one-mile race in 5 minutes and 10 seconds. I bemoaned the fact that guys generally do not get bought drinks.

Tore ourselves away from the expatriates at close on 9 o'clock to explore the rest of the street. Found Blue Juice: empty except for two gay guys sitting at a table among a lot of empty martini glasses and assorted other debris. Left. Found The Beach, and, forbidden fruit being the sweetest, decided to go in. In the continued spirit of Bumming Stuff Off People Who Don't Know Any Better, Kelly finagled a cigarette off a local, and a light off the bartender. Bought ourselves a round of drinks. Reggae music. General sketchiness. Bought ourselves another round of drinks, decided we were bored, and left.

Ended up back in Flanagan's where the expatriates, who obviously thought Kelly was hot, or were very drunk, or both, bought us all another round of drinks. Finally experiencing the benefit of being the only guy amidst a gaggle of girls in a bar, I played along with the game and chatted with Andrew (one of the expats) about his *wonderful* experiences working in Bermuda. "The great thing about being in a place like this," he said, gesturing around the room, "is that you get people from all over the world. Canada. Britain. America. South Africa (where he was originally from). Singapore" [laughs]. "And you discover," he continued, "that in the end, deep down everyone's the same." "I'll drink to that," I said, and he bought us all another round of drinks. Three cheers for bottomless wallets.

Kelly and Miranda, who had by now made friends with everyone in the bar, including the DJ, had started the dance party. The music was lousy, but after being bought another round of drinks, no one really cared. "Want another beer?" Andrew asked me. "Water's fine, thanks," I said. He came back with a Corona which he pressed into my hand. "Thanks so much," I said. Beer is $4.50 a bottle in Flanagan's. It's no wonder the bloody GNP of the country is so high. Miranda started dancing on top of the speakers. I decided that I wanted to leave. No one else did, so I caught the last bus back myself. After the fact, felt terribly guilty about leaving the girls alone, but the bar wasn't sketchy and the guys weren't sketchy (sort of) and really, in that kind of a situation, rationality takes a back seat to really, really wanting to sleep.


(In the end, the expatriate guys gave the girls $50 for the $40 cab ride home, which meant the girls made a net profit on the evening. Pays to go out! God bless all the generous rich people of this world.)