Kiwis and Fairy Bread

17 May 2026

Back in cold and snowy January, Mike and I debated quite a bit about where to go on vacation this year. Costa Rica was an option. But at the time our country was waging war on both Venezuela and Denmark, so staying closer to home seemed like the best option. Our other “home” England was out, as the UK had recently required a hefty fee for dual citizens to enter the country. When we received an invitation to celebrate the June wedding of Mike’s nephew in Montana, we planned a trip to Glacier National Park and Bozeman (see future posts). But where else could we go? Some place relaxing. Beautiful. Familiar. Warm. Friendly. And relatively close.

Bermuda has been calling to me since our last trip four years ago. And the trip before that in 2019. And the trip before that in 2016. Each time we come we are in awe of the blue waters, pink sands, noisy wildlife and friendly people. So here we are.

I start every trip in pink. I wear the same outfit on every plane flight: blue jeans, socks and sneakers, rose pink plaid button down shirt, black tank top or long sleeved tee, pink zipper hoodie, the pink striped scarf given to me long ago by a bakery friend, and of course, my beloved pink cloak. It a comfortable outfit for all the changing temperatures of getting anywhere. For this trip it’s particularly appropriate because the colors of Bermuda are pink and blue. From the sand to the sea to the buses to rubbish bins, to yes, even the public toilets, pink and blue are everywhere. But I digress.

Our son Ben kindly brought us to Newark airport where I finally got through security quickly and without a single issue! I may be getting the hang of this at last. We were longer in the airport I think, than we were in the air, with the flight taking just under 2 hours. Approaching the island it was low tide the reefs surrounding Bermuda were stunning: rust colored pathed in aqua waters.

Out of the airport we were offered a taxi, but headed for the bus stop. The taxi man warned us that we wouldn’t be allowed to take luggage on the bus, but the driver we had didn’t seem to care. It was a slow Sunday after all. But he wasn’t familiar with our stop. We’ll buzz when we see it. After a 15 minute ride, I somehow spotted a small sign with the name of our rental cottage “Hard a Lee”. But it was too late to stop right there, so we were let off at the next one. A few minutes walk and we found ourselves winding down Speaker’s Drive, a long private driveway lined with colorful foliage.

We have rented a little studio apartment in St George’s, on the north eastern side of this tiny county measuring just 22 square miles (compare that to your own town, let alone country!). After getting a tour and chatting with the extended family that lives in several houses on this 3 1/2 acre property, we lingered on the private dock and admired the exotic fish. Then downtown for some groceries. The shops were all closed, as it is Sunday, but the locals were out eating from boxes of take out, drinking at the micro brewery and playing dominos in the park.

We met Hubert, who had unfortunately arrived too late to join in the domino tournament of his friends. Like most Bermudians, he was eager to chat and before we knew it he was describing his recipe for Cassava Pie. He is a retired professional baker at the renowned but now closed Bermuda Bakery in Hamilton. A baker myself I was intrigued by his description of beating a dozen eggs with a pound of butter and cups of sugar with his hands. Adding drained cassava and layering it with stewed shredded chicken in a pan. Baking it for three and half hours and then slicing it up for Christmas. Hubert claims not to know how to bake just one loaf of bread, only one hundred. He gave me his phone number and said if I sent him a recipe for my Christmas Chocolate Brioche, he would send me his written recipe for Cassava Pie. Deal!

In parting, the cheerful Hubert invited us to find him at the Bermuda Day Parade this coming Friday. He’ll be by St Teresa’s Church, he said. As we are already planning to go the parade, we do hope to join him.

A stop at Somer’s Groceries to stock up. Walk back to Hard a Lee. I simmered some chicken and broccoli in coconut milk and served it with soft white rolls for dinner. We went out to the dock to watch dusk come onto the water. Just as the Kiss-ka-Dee birds stopped their call, The peeper frogs started, They are in full voice. It is screechy. Loud. Incessant. It is a noise that would no doubt drive some people crazy. But it is the sound of Bermuda. A comfort as it lulls me to sleep.

It is good to be back.