Cricket in the West Indies isn’t all about turning wickets and sweeping cover-drives to the boundary
Christine Davey in Bridgetown04-May-2003Cricket in the West Indies isn’t all about turning wickets and sweeping cover-drives to the boundary. Calling stumps might signal the end of the day’s play, but for many that’s merely the start of the socialising. It’s not difficult to see why. After all, these sunny islands in the Caribbean sea have the concept of partying pretty much done-and-dusted. Whether it’s a shutter-covered shanty bar, a theme pub, or a luxury beach-front resort, you can bet your banana daiquiri that it will still be pumping at 3am.It’s a situation that has Australian fans smiling wider than Steve Irwin after he’s encountered a particularly grumpy crocodile. In true Antipodean pioneering spirit, the 4000-plus Aussie fans who’ve descended on an unsuspecting Barbados have managed to seek out every night-spot in existence. They’ve been spotted dancing to steel bands, singing karaoke and more than once, falling asleep under a palm tree in the wee small hours.On Friday nights the place to "C and B", as they say here in Bridgetown, is the fish fry at Oistins. When the cooks fire up the open burners in this outer suburb, everyone joins in the fun. It’s not just the tantalising aroma of pan-fried fish that has people flocking to the area. It’s the atmosphere. Beginning life as a run-of-the-mill fish market, Oistins is now a myriad of food stalls, bars and dance floors. There’s also a resident DJ, so by 9pm, the music is thumping, the rum is flowing and the people are happy.It’s also just as popular with the locals as it is with cricket blow-ins. “Everyone comes to fish-fry night,” said Jefferson from St. Michael. “You can walk around, meet your friends, shoot the breeze. Everyone is welcome.” Jefferson’s wife Loretta agreed. “The food is great and it’s always friendly,” she said, rum punch in one hand, deep-fried fish cake in the other. “Behaviour is monitored so nothing gets out of hand. Dancing on the table-tops is definitely not allowed.”The blow-ins, however, were there in force. “I can’t believe my luck,” said Neil from Melbourne as he arrived and surveyed the scene. “First we get great cricket, then this. There are so many people here. It’s a beautiful night.” Michelle from Sydney was equally impressed. Having sprained her ankle two nights previously, she wasn’t about to let the injury hinder her Oistins experience. “I’ve heard you’re not supposed to dance on the tables,” she said. “But I’m willing to give it a shot after I’ve had a few rums.”Ryan from Wagga was content just to take photographs. “I’m wandering aimlessly, taking it all in,” he said. “It’s that kind of place isn’t it?” Sarah from Adelaide was more concerned with opportunities of the liquid variety. “This rum goes down so smoothly,” she said, tinkling her ice in time to Bob Marley’s ‘No Woman, No Cry’. “I don’t drink at the cricket, so I try to make up for it at night. Is that wrong?” No one present seemed remotely interesting in presenting her with a contradictory viewpoint.Then of course, there’s the commercial aspect of Oistins. Friday night fish-fry is also an absolute money-spinner. “It’s great for our economy,” said CD seller Rochelle. “People come from all over the world to Oistins. They spend money, Bajans have employment, everyone has a good time. We all win.” By 10pm, Rochelle was so satisfied with the night’s business that she was shutting up shop and heading home. “It’s been a good session,” she said, displaying her cash haul. “I’ve sold a lot of Bob Marley, some Jimmy Cliff and a bit of Sean Paul hip hop. But reggae is still the most popular with tourists.”Just before midnight Michelle from Sydney decided to put the no-table-top dancing theory to the acid test. While her friends kept an eye on her crutches and backpack, she tried to launch herself onto the bright blue wood for some serious boogying. “Move the dishes first,” someone yelled. Everyone laughed. But the locals were right. As soon as she placed her bandaged foot above the seat line, the security guard moved in. “Please get down,” he said, taking her hand and returning her to the ground. “Tables are not for dancing.” Michelle didn’t argue. She’d given it a red-hot go. “Hey, I tried,” she said. “I’m like Warnie. I’ll never die wondering.”By 3 am, the Oistins Friday night fish-fry was showing little signs of slowing down. The punters were showing even fewer signs of wanting to go home. “Let’s stay here all night and go straight to the cricket tomorrow,” yelled Michelle. Everyone cheered.Christine Davey is a freelance writer based in Melbourne, Victoria.