Nutmeg ice cream: Brilliant.
Nutmeg salad dressing: Swoon. (This I believe I can recreate, so never fear the food-lovers in my life.)
Christmas eve: 11:45 p.m. walking through St. George's looking for a bus when a small car picks us up. Man driving takes his hand off the wheel every few seconds to dance to Christmas music playing in his car. His partner, a man I would guess in his late 80's early 90's, clearly drunk off of rum and season cheer, sings the words he can remember.
Water on the bus ride home (clarification: bus here means a Volkswagen mini-van made to seat 12 comfortably. Not the case in this country. Here it can seat up to 19. The adverb comfortably left out.)
Christmas is a party here. Literally. Christmas night we went to a dance hall complete with bar and Soca band. In the basement of the local Catholic Church whose crosses were cut in half by Hurricane Ivan in 2006. The concrete and granite crosses still remain at the top, just severed from their perch.
It's a strange and lovely time of year here. If today wasn't an official holiday and busses were running, I'd head out in search of some more nutmeg ice cream.
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