Some Rambling Notes of an Idle Excursion

Once again, Mel finds herself quoting Mark Twain. It is a bad habit. Probably because Mark Twain was a fellow cruiser and travel blogger at heart. Mel fantasizes about being in a universe where it would be possible to wander into the marina laundry room and find Mark Twain doing a load of whites. You know, because of all the white suits. In her fantasy, once Mel gets over being startstruck, she invites Mark over to her boat and they excitedly converse until dawn. She makes him take his cigar breaks downwind of course.

Whenever Mel quotes Mark Twain, it should be interpreted as a good sign. It means the Burnetts have been able to do some exploring in between boat projects! The title of this post is a complete rip-off of one of Mark’s monographs from 1877 in which he describes a trip to Bermuda, an island he visited eight times.

As our fiberglassing and rigging projects slowly progress, we have managed to explore the town of St. George’s via morning walks and a walking tour. We have poked around forts, underground bunkers, museums, shops, and restaurants. We also participated in some community events, such as the Christmas Lighting and Christmas Walkabout, in which we were able to explore the interior of the adorable houses Mel walks by on her morning sojourn to the Temptations coffee house. Instead of describing all of this in detail, she will give you this word cloud summarizing the last week:

Mark Twain, of course, was far more eloquent in describing his wanderings through Bermuda.

Regarding the limestone mortar and plaster on the houses, Mark said: “We put in a great deal of solid talk and reflection over this matter of trying to find a figure that would describe the unique white of a Bermuda house, and we contrived to hit upon it at last. It is exactly the white of the icing of a cake, and has the same unemphasized and scarcely perceptible polish. The white of marble is modest and retiring compared with it.”

He also found himself delighted by the rooftops: “I know of no other country that has chimneys worthy to be gazed at and gloated over.”

Even 150 years ago, the people were friendly, and the island felt clean and safe: “It is said that even the suspicious flea is tame and sociable in Bermuda, and will allow himself to be caught and caressed without misgivings.”

He also found Bermuda to be relaxing: “Bermuda is the right country for a jaded man to “loaf” in. There are no harassments; the deep peace and quiet of the country sink into one’s body and bones and give his conscience a rest, and chloroform the legion of invisible small devils that are always trying to whitewash his hair.”

Uh, not sure what that last sentence was about, Mark…

Some of his observations from 150 years ago have not held up over time. Sadly, he talks of towering cedar trees that unfortunately were destroyed by scale insects introduced via WWII construction. Also, he talks a lot about onions. A lot.

“The onion is the pride and joy of Bermuda. It is her jewel, her gem of gems. In her conversation, her pulpit, her literature, it is her most frequent and eloquent figure. In Bermuda metaphor it stands for perfection—perfection absolute. The Bermudian weeping over the departed exhausts praise when he says, “He was an onion!” The Bermudian extolling the living hero bankrupts applause when he says, “He is an onion!” The Bermudian setting his son upon the stage of life to dare and do for himself climaxes all counsel, supplication, admonition, comprehends all ambition, when he says, “Be an onion!””

Mel has not heard any mention of onions by the locals yet. She will investigate the onion issue and get back to you.

So explore the photos below to get a sense of the sights of St. George’s as you wander the streets, just like Mel, and Mark Twain:

“Your road is everything that a road ought to be: it is bordered with trees, and with strange plants and flowers; it is shady and pleasant, or sunny and still pleasant; it carries you by the prettiest and peacefulest and most homelike of homes, and through stretches of forest that lie in a deep hush sometimes, and sometimes are alive with the music of birds; it curves always, which is a continual promise, whereas straight roads reveal everything at a glance and kill interest. Your road is all this, and yet you will not stay in it half a mile, for the reason that little seductive, mysterious roads are always branching out from it on either hand, and as these curve sharply also and hide what is beyond, you cannot resist the temptation to desert your own chosen road and explore them.”