We are (yet) carless at present, which, though somewhat inconvenient and causes me to vampirically recluse to darkened closets during midday heat and sun, is actually much more problematic for poor Bill who, dressed in dark pants, dress shirt and dress shoes, must walk the mile to work, put in somewhere between 12-15 hours, and then walk the mile home with the threat of abnormal-for-December-but-happening-daily nonetheless typhoon-ish rain probability. This morning I was to walk him to the main road where he would turn left and I right, on my way to swim at the beach club (yes, I know it sounds tragically unfair!) We live in a cul-de-sac and as we came to the end of our drive we bade good morning to our neighbor, who was busy washing his car. “Where are you heading?”, he asked. (At least I think that’s what he asked. It actually sounded something like, “Whaj erry? Chateneuf de papadamen naba daba douille? But based on our world travels, the tone sounded friendly and helpful, in a Scottish-Bajan-Egyptian-Esperantian kind of way. Here was a man we had yet to meet, actually greeting us good day and insisting he stop whatever it was he was doing and give us ride. Fingers and toes not necessary to count the times that NEVER would have happened at home. But that, my friends, is Barbados!