Stepping off the plane onto the tarmac I was struck by the heat and humidity of this place. Maybe it’s just the contrast coming out of the single-digit Fahrenheit frozen tundra of Maine, but I haven’t felt life thriving around me like this since I walked through the steamy greenhouses at the Bronx Botanical Garden. The air here is heavy with the scent of flowering plants, soil and salt sprayed limestone. On our walk along the old train track we pass exotic banana trees, fern asparagus, enormous pines and prickly pears. Bruce cuts up a specimen of the latter for us to taste, staining his fingers bright magenta. Its flavor is strong, botanical and appropriate to its surroundings.
Seemingly solid rock crumbles under my fingers, revealing fossils of ancient snails and former roots. The weathered blocks at an old fort demonstrate that nothing lasts very long on Bermuda; Bermuda as we see it is only a speck in its long evolution. All of the greenness and nature on the island will only add a few millimeters of soil to the surface, which seems amazing given the 30-foot stacked deposits we strolled past today.
Tomorrow we get a more social impression of Bermuda, and one I’ve been anticipating for a long time: the scooters, aka mopeds. I’m psyched to see more of the vibrant architecture and people of Bermuda touring the open roads. After 15 hours awake and many miles traveled, its time to say goodnight. –Harry