Ash, lost cash and the smell of rum in the afternoon

A week ago this trip was looking decidedly dodgy as UK and European airspace was brought to a standstill by the ash from an unpronounceable volcano in Iceland. The situation got so dire that England were contemplating an overland trip to Madrid or Dubai in order to reach the Caribbean in time, while a few of my more helpful colleagues suggested I’d better start swimming.

In the end everything worked out fine as the reaction to the cloud was shown to be, possibly, a tad over the top – or at least that’s what the airline chief executives are saying. However, I couldn’t help but laugh when the captain of my flight to Barbados came over the PA system just as the 747 was beginning its decent over the Atlantic Ocean into Grantley Adams International Airport.

“If you look below you’ll see a haze. It’s called Sahara dust and it’s perfectly normal it just means your view won’t be great as we come in.” I don’t know, it looked like ash to me.

Anyway, enough of my blatant attempts to get an ash-related line into my first entry for the trip and on to what these next two weeks are about. Another World Twenty20.

Barbados was only a transit point for my journey through to Guyana, but it was a useful reference because if anywhere was going to be excited by the tournament, it was this island.

I wasn’t here for the debacle that was the 2007 World Cup, but have heard plenty of tales about that seven-week monstrosity. This short, sharp event should be much more in keeping with the Caribbean style. Fingers crossed, at any rate.

It was nice to be greeted by two Twenty20 volunteers at the door to the immigration hall and there were plenty of posters and banners inside advertising the tournament. The ICC’s slogan for this tournament is “Bring it” and there have clearly been strong efforts to market the event in an accessible manner, but the key is to let things be spontaneous. Don’t try and manufacture an atmosphere; the Caribbean can manage that just fine on its own if it is given half a chance.

******

Suitcase check; Laptop bag check; jacket check; passport check – ready to grab a cab from the airport to my hotel. It had been a pretty relaxing journey, a flight through daylight hours, which landed in mid-afternoon and meant not too much shifting for the body clock. All had gone to plan.

Then I arrive at the hotel. “Hello sir, we have an important message for you,” said the receptionist. Who the heck knows I’m staying here? “It’s from immigration at the airport.” Are they deporting me already? “They’ve found a passport wallet containing some plane tickets and money.”

Anyway, mini panic later and I can only have the highest praise for Barbados immigration, who after one phone call told me where I could pick up my "misplaced" item. A quick, unplanned, journey back to the airport – and a quick scurry through some back corridors – and an officer, who was far too relaxed about the whole situation, handed it over. Now, what shall I lose next?

*****

After another early alarm call it was up with the birdsong and off to Georgetown in Guyana. It was a slightly strange feeling landing in part of the Caribbean but not being on an island, and setting foot on another continent. That’s now six out of seven I’ve paid some sort of visit to, just Antarctica to go. Not sure cricket’s too big there.

Rum is a major product out of this country and on the drive from the airport you pass the Demerara Rum factory. A few seconds after seeing the building there is also a very strong smell of what is being brewed inside. Opposite, in either a brilliant piece of planning or pure fluke, is a Pepsi factory (the ICC can rest easy it wasn’t Coke), but if that combination isn’t to your taste, a few miles up the road is the Banks brewery. Spoilt for choice, really, but I’m here to work.