A journey to BarbadosBarbados has a shape resembling a pear and is mostly flat, except for the soft central elevations that act as a natural divide between the west coast, its white postcard-perfect beaches and flashy hotels, and the east side, made up of cliffs, endless beaches, and long waves that chase each other, pulverizing into clouds of salt spray. More than different landscapes, they are two different worlds and two different souls. Bathsheba is the ‘capital‘ of the Atlantic coast. One of the most photographed places on the entire island. The large limestone boulders crumbled by the ocean and the lonely beach, over which cascades of foam cascade, could easily belong to other latitudes. But the vegetation that stretches almost to the sea, a handful of colorful houses and a few tin-roofed bars smack of the tropics. There is a pleasantly relaxed atmosphere that is vaguely reminiscent of some scenes in Salvatores‘ Puerto Escondido. Or perhaps Southern California, though more for the surfers than the scenery; they come to Bathsheba to try their hand at the Soup Bowl, where for Kelly Slater and co. the best wave in the Caribbean is formed. We watch them fly over the waves as the sky changes appearance again, clouds approach ominously from offshore, and a warm wind shakes the palm trees. Beyond the beach, the nearest land is Senegal, 4,547 km away. In between is just the Atlantic. At the Sea Side Bar counter are half surfers and half locals, plus a pale 40-year-old man with long hair tied back in a ponytail, probably an expatriate. He gives the impression of being a regular at the bar, sitting at one of the few outside tables with an ice-cold Banks in his hand. It is lunchtime and the dishes, prepared in advance and set to rest in large steel pans, are reheated and then served at the drop of a hat. No hurry. Today there is chicken accompanied by the inevitable stir-fried rice and fried fish. Porkfish? Let’s try it, why not, the man sitting at the bar says it’s tasty, and he’s a local.