The sunlight slowly seeps into my room the next morning and I can tell it’s going to be a beautiful day in Bermuda. I bounce out of bed, slather on some sunscreen, ready for the warm day ahead.
My first bit of travel advice is this: Whether you’re traveling with someone or traveling solo, it’s helpful to pace yourself. Stack the beginning quarter of your travels with the main physical activities or heavy exploration. Save the beach and spa days for the middle half, when you need a break. Once rejuvenated, spend the last quarter of your vacation doing what’s left to explore.
My first day is an adventurous trip to the far east end of Bermuda, St. George’s Island.
I walk to the nearby bus stop down the street. Everyone in Bermuda says, “Good morning,” with a smile when they pass by.
Alright, so I’m not quite used to this in New York City (though there are moments), but I’m already noticing this is a welcoming, friendly island.
The buses here are intermittent and unpredictable.
Blue-colored bus pole markers show the route heading to the far east end of the island — that’s to St. George where the water is especially blue. The pink-colored bus pole markers will take you to the west end, toward Hamilton (the capital), with the infamous pink sandy beaches. Pink poles = pink beaches to the west. Blue poles = blue waters to the east. It’s an easy color system to remember.
The last local bus leaves St. George at 6:15 p.m., which is barely dinner time. I make a note to set the alarm on my phone so I don’t miss the last local bus out. And I make sure to get there at 4:45 p.m. in case the schedule is wonky.
No one is in a rush here, so bus wait times throughout my trip varies from 5 minutes to 65 minutes. Not kidding.
I ask for directions and the bus driver explains it’ll take about 25-35 minutes to get to St. George. Not too complicated, and just $5 for the ride. Traveling by bus also gives me extra time to look out the windows and enjoy the view. Traveling by taxi would probably run $30 – $45 for this trip, so I’m doing great with my budget.
We get to St. George, and it’s a quaint, colorful town. Even the doors to each building has its own quirks.
St. George is smaller, though, than how it appeared in photos and guidebooks. The haggard cobblestone and random chunks of broken sidewalk makes me feel like I traveled in time.
I do a quick walk down a few streets, around King’s Square, and see a bunch of little shops that are intensely overpriced, and decide it’s lunch time.
It’s easy to pay a lot of money and eat poorly in Bermuda. It’s the opposite of Costa Rica where I ate for next to nothing and was extremely full and satisfied every day. For this reason alone, get as many recommendations as you can. Especially here.
Still, I grab a little spot by the water . The service is excellent but my coffee and my fish and chips run $27. Awful high. And not quite the meal you’d hope to get with that much money. C’est la vie.
For price comparison, a standard mocha frappaccino at a coffee shop later on here goes for $6.75. Not joking here either.
St. George is definitely one of the most expensive areas in Bermuda, but still worth seeing.
Unfortunately, for such an old town with so much history, the spot is pretty commercialized now.
All the shops sell what you can otherwise get at an airport at inflated prices; it’s a capitalistic endeavor in what’s a sleepy, isolated town. It’s a bummer because I feel like I’m traveling on Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts or Newport in Rhode Island. There’s a similar commercialized and island vibe here.
I walk around, and stumble upon the main attractions and the “what to do” of Bermuda.
- St. Peter’s Church
- Unfinished church
- Perfumery
- Sommers Garden
I hit all of these spots up in two hours; they’re actually all less than half a mile from each other, so I move through each location pretty quickly, though the wind gives me a little struggle.
Steps lead up to St. Peter’s Church, which is the oldest surviving Anglican church in continuous-use outside the British Isles. It’s right around the corner from the bus stop near King’s Square, so it’s an easy find.
I love exploring spots knowing there’s so much history and meaning behind the walls. The services here must be small and intimate because there isn’t a lot of space inside, and much of it is roped off.
They asked for a $5 donation.
There’s also a garden behind St. Peter’s Church. I walk through it alone and can feel the quiet.
Google maps doesn’t seem to work for directions in Bermuda, because there aren’t really many official roads with names; I think some of the street names written are just an informal way of referring to the street. These are small moments traveling where the NYC grid is missed. Streets and avenues are easier to follow. But it’s expected to feel a little disoriented in a new country, and that’s all part of the growing process.
So, I get a little lost. But after asking other travelers walking around, I finally find the “unfinished church,” as it’s nicknamed.
I’d instead call this “the abandoned church.”
Here’s why.
The gothic church was supposed to be a replacement for St. Peter’s Church when it was damaged by a hurricane. But without enough money, some parish infighting, and other storms, the church was never finished. Now it’s ruins.
When I visited, they even built metal bars to prevent tourists from exploring inside. The reason? The unfinished church could collapse at any moment. Still, it’s a beautiful historic site to visit.
I strike conversation with other travelers from California, they ask me where I’m going next and we exchange ideas. One of the best things about traveling is that you’re not the only one doing it. There’s people all around you who are eager to share their stories. One extremely positive benefit is I’ve become much more outgoing as a solo traveler.
The family from California snaps some photos for me, which is nice because I’m not usually in my own travel albums very much.
We wish each other safe travels and I move along. Making friends on the road and in a foreign place is oddly and uniquely comforting; sometimes there’s just small connections bonding with complete strangers, but it it’s a special moment between travelers that isn’t easy to replicate in a familiar place.
My next stop is Lili Bermuda’s Perfumery. Their tagline is, “Wear the True Scent of Bermuda.”
To be honest, after poking around and smelling the various bottles, I’m nowhere closer to reporting back on “what Bermuda smells like.”
I didn’t take the complementary tour, but for those who are interested, the tour shows techniques to making perfume and the process of aging and bottling perfumes. You don’t need a reservation.
If it’s up your alley (punny, photo), then definitely go for it.
My last stop now in St. George, Sommers Garden.
To be honest, I thought it would be a larger spot, and walked around specifically looking more for a big botanical garden. I pass a small park a few blocks away and take some photos as I look for Sommers Garden.
Turns out, that IS Sommers Garden.
I only realize this after I flag down some local residents to ask for directions, and they point behind me and say I’m already there.
I wouldn’t necessarily say it was a disappointment. But I would add, Bermuda is very compact. For that reason, Bermuda would be a great starter for someone who wants to ease into traveling solo and a safe bet.
I must have waited around the bus stop for at least an hour until I’m heading back towards my Air BnB. I’m pretty exhausted, though it’s been a light travel kind of day.
At the Air BnB, I snack, shower, and write in my journal.
I cheat, and check my email and text some friends. I strongly discourage email and encourage deleting all social media — keep Instagram, though, so you can research locations — though keep that texting limited.
I take a quick cat nap.
When I wake up, I decide I could rummage through some food around the apartment. But, I knew I was behaving this way both because I was lazy and didn’t want to take the 15 minutes into town, especially without sidewalks.
This is where the difficulty of solo travel sets in.
I get this rush of anxiety or nervousness; it’s a feeling stemming directly from the realization I’ve been traveling alone all day and largely only have been talking to myself. I feel lonely, and alone for just a second. It’s a harsh truth on the road that there will be moments where company could make the trip better. It would be theoretically nice to rehash the trip with someone in real-time, because they were there too.
But this feeling is only fleeting as I feel a sense of accomplishment for all I was able to see and do today, and on my own.
It’s because of this resistance to walking into town that I make myself get dressed and walk to Flatt’s village.
That’s my other suggestion. Unless there’s actual imminent danger involved, within reason, just do the small things that make you initially feel a bit nervous. Sometimes pushing beyond fears actually is the most satisfying feeling ever.
This meal in town though, is delicious. It’s a recommendation from my Air BnB hosts. I order NY steak (because apparently I miss NYC) and it comes with a bit of Bermuda flair.
It’s pouring rain when I leave the restaurant in the Flatts Village. I tough it out and walk quickly. Once the rain clears for a moment, I remember to look up at the sky.
I don’t think I’ve really seen stars since Rhode Island — too many city lights in New York. But I haven’t seen this many stars since living in Hawaii — the only light here seems to be the moon, reflecting off the ocean, and bouncing again off the clouds.
I think about how the stars look like a kaleidoscope inside a snow globe. It’s as if, next to the ocean, you can see the way the earth curves.
Tons of small twinkle, splattered across the black.
I decide I should lay in the hammock for a bit, and as I turn towards the home… Bam. A shooting star. It streaks across the sky so quickly it just looks like a flash, a bolt.
My wish takes me by surprise. And I’m trying to figure out why my first thought was an unexpected one. Traveling brings all sorts of surprises.
Tonight, I surprise myself.
