Oceans of time

By

The first page of my Bermuda guide book offers this advice: "Slow down." I quickly come to understand that these two words represent not just a suggestion, but the very guiding spirit of the island. Standing at the ferry docks in the capital, Hamilton, trying to determine how to get to Belmont Hills Golf Club, I ask the man at the desk several questions in a way that to me feels amiable and easygoing: typically Canadian, in other words. But the accumulating stares in my direction hint that, in this place, my manner counts as mildly aggressive. I learn an important lesson: You don't ask questions rapidly in Bermuda. Pauses -- the deliberate stretching out of time, the appreciation of the spaces between words -- still matter here.

I travel across the harbour admiring the stately homes of native limestone painting the hillside like a pastel rainbow. My fellow passengers wear brightly coloured outfits that mirror the hillside display, making my grey golf shirt seem terrifically drab.

At Belmont Hills -- with eight courses, Bermuda boasts the most courses per square mile in the world--I am greeted by a clubhouse that is emerald-coloured on its lower half and peach on its upper. Darren, my host for the round, exhibits what will be the first of numerous variations in accent that I will encounter, a reflection of the diversity of cultures that has over four centuries provided Bermuda with its current populace. Darren's variant sounds British through the first syllable before sliding into a more Caribbean inflection