Kiwis and Fairy Bread

23 May 2026

There are few of what one would call hiking trails in Bermuda. It is a small, very developed country after all. Most outdoor activities are centered around the innumerable bays and beaches. There is however The Railway Trail.

There was once, for just seventeen years, a railroad in Bermuda. It was built during the years when Bermuda had banned the automobile. (Cars disturbed the carefully crafted peace the government had established for residents and tourists alike. And they disrupted the horse and carriage business.) But building a railway to cross an island country with limited resources was a challenge. It was plagued with engineering and financial troubles from the year it opened in 1932 until it closed at the end of World War II in 1945. Eventually, this walking trail was established. The Bermuda Zoological Society maintains the trails as natural micro-forests.

The route is not continuous but technically runs from St George’s, through Hamilton and to the dockyard. Back in 2019 we walked an eastern section. Today we would do another.

We knew it would be a hot day (high of 29 C, 80, F) and with Bermuda’s humidity that is quite hot. An early start was essential. We would catch a bus and start at a point north of Hamilton, coincidentally the very bus stop from our less-than- impressive visit to The Arboretum.

Waiting at our local bus stop for the 7:45, some women passed us on a morning run. One of them stopped to say “Hi!” It was Penelope! She had run from her home near Gate’s Fort all the way up here. Impressive! We asked if she and her daughter enjoyed marching in yesterday’s parade. She said they all had a great time, but that they did not start dancing until 7:30pm, ending at 9:30pm! This woman has incredible energy. I was about to ask for her phone or email, when unfortunately our bus arrived. She is a cheerful person so I do hope we will run into her on our next visit.

Half an hour bus ride and we were on the trail. It was beautiful. Walls of purple morning glories that stay open all day long. Dense palmettos. People jogging and walking their dogs. Bridges overlooking shallow tidal beaches that one could not get to because only the ocean was public. The land around it was private.

Out of a forested area the trail led us to a neighborhood road. We stopped to talk to some roof painters who, because of the terraced landscape, were at our eye level. Turns out that the first step to painting a roof is to bleach it first. Only then can it be painted.

Now about these Bermudians roofs. You will notice that they have a certain ridged style. There is a practical reason for that: to collect water. Bermuda has no rivers, lakes, wells or reservoirs. The only way to get fresh water is to collect the rain. The water runs down off the roofed to be filtered and collected in individual tanks. It for this reason that Bermuda water tastes so clean, why water conversation is important and why roof painters are so prevalent.

Next door to the painters was a man wearing a Brazil national team shirt. We chatted about the World Cup when his neighbors drove up. And we knew them! It was Rafaela and Phillip! They own The Loft where we had stayed on our other trips. It was really great to see them and catch up. We’ll be sure to stay at their place next time if we can.

Wow. This is a small country.

Back off the road, the trail lead to and stopped at an unfinished bridge. Stacks of materials had seemingly been abandoned hastily. Luci would later tell us that while under construction the workers had hit a cave. The entire bridge project will have to be redesigned and there is little money to do so.

Since there is no way of crossing the Flatts Inlet by bridge we had to walk along a busy road in the business district of an area called Flatts Village. There were no sidewalks, even alongside the dangerous hairpin turn. We were looking for a coffee shop. But it turned out to be inside the national aquarium which required admission. So that was a bust. And anyway, I was feeling tired. A little light headed. Hot. Was I overheating?! Yes! Heat tolerant me should not have worn blue jeans on this hike. And should have packed more water. At least I hadn’t left my hat on a cruise ship….

Time to catch a bus back. It was cool and air conditioned. In Hard a Lee I had a soothing, cooling nap and two hydrating cups of tea (with Nicole and Warren’s tasty floral honey).

We still had some gifts to buy for the family so walked into town again (I wore much lighter clothing). Bought a shirt for Ben and some local rum for Emi and David. At Salt + Spray soap company I felt privileged to, in front of other tourists, ask India for my ‘unlabeled” order. I opened the jar and inhaled the scent. Put some of the fluffy body butter on my sun burnt hands. Ahhh. Turns out that India had simply run out of ink to print the labels. Supplies can still be hard to come by in an island country. It was OK to sell to me since I was a previous customer and devoted fan.

Walking home to get dressed for dinner we came across two very young Gombey dancers. These boys who could not have been older than 7, had just put on their colorful costumes. We asked if they could give us a taste of their dance and they happily obliged. In their tall hats they strutted and nodded and marched in a circle. Very cute. But then the dance leader called for them to practice. I do wish we’d had time to watch their performance.

Gombey is a traditional dance of Bermuda. With roots in tribal dances of Central Africa (where many Bermudian ancestors arrived as slaves) and The Caribbean, it is colorful, rhythmic and unique. Troupes of dancers are traditionally of the same family and male only (which explains why the little boy’s sister was only watching). But those rules are starting to change. Still, plenty of energy and pride are on display. They are in demand for every festival, party or Bermudian event.

Back to dress for dinner and invite Luci to join us at The Moongate Brewery. This is a big place and it being Bermuda Day weekend there was a party: DJ/singer, craft vendors, bouncy castles and a wood fired pizza truck. We found a table with a tiny bit of shade and enjoyed our crispy thin crust pizzas and drinks. Mike bought the first round, Luci the second.

We talked of her career as a film maker and her upcoming projects. I asked what the deal was with The Causeway, a vital connecting link to the islands that is clearly in need of some updating (has that temporary pontoon bridge really been there fifteen years?). And of, oh, well, all kinds of things. Could have talked for hours more, but she had pizzas to take home to her family and she had spotted some neighbors.

Mike and I went into the brewery and saw India treating herself to a flight of home brews after a long day at the shop. She was enjoying the crème soda lager as she sat by herself and relaxed.

Upstairs Mike and I found two seven year olds playing shuffleboard and we “challenged” them to a game. They beat us handily, and that was just fine. Got talking to their fathers and found out they are from Montreal and about to set sail across the Atlantic on a catamaran. They too were waiting for the wind. Wife and daughter had opted to fly to Europe and meet them. That would have been me! But I do admire this family for being brave and confident enough to go on such an adventure.

The sun had not yet set, so we went for one last evening walk downtown. While looking into the water around the tiny Ordnance Island I noticed a set of dominos on the sea bed. With thoughts of Hubert and his domino playing friends I made up this story:

There were strict rules for The St. George’s Domino Club. Play started at 5:30pm, sharp. Anyone arriving later was out. Spectators were discouraged, but this being a friendly game, no one was ever actually told to go away. The first player to arrive was obliged to use his or her own set of bones for the play (this was usually Phoopa, who closed up the Tourist Information Office at 4:30). Bets were made and paid in Bermudian dollars only, and always at the end of play. Play ended when the first player reached a score of 128 (an arbitrary number that Yanni had decided upon during a particularly drunken Cup Match Weekend).

The members had known each other all their lives, and that was a considerable amount of years now. They had gone to school together, worked together, celebrated each blessing and gave comfort with each sadness. They still laughed at the jokes that had been told a hundred times. And they watched the changes in their island. But Bermudians themselves never really changed.

The membership of The St. George’s Domino Club was waning. The first to pass was Phillip. His set of dominoes was of real ivory. The numbered dots could barely been seen. They could still be felt though, even with the rough fingers of a retired roof painter. For a nearly blind Phillip, that had been enough. To honor their dear friend the members took the bones of his set and tossed them, one at time into the waters of the harbor. Some of the men shared a memory or a wish as they did so. Others remained silent. And then play continued.

Hubert was next. His set was thick bakelite. Then Yanni, Tyrone, King, and Phoopa.

The domino table on Ordance Island sat empty for a long time. Until the day Luci walked by, noticed the dominos of her grandfather sinking into the seabed. She remembered his smile when he had taught her the game. At home she dug into a long neglected cabinet and found the set of bones he had given her. She invited her brother to join her in town for a game. He brought his neighbor who came with his son.

The New St George’s Domino Club has flexible rules. Anyone can join in. Any time. The bets are more about favors than cash. The play ends when the score reaches 100, a good round number.

If you are ever fortunate enough to find yourself on Ordnance Island, they might just invite you to play.