HAMILTON, Bermuda -- Every weekday morning for more than 30 years, Johnny Barnes has stationed himself along the main thoroughfare into this capital city.
He greets passersby with a wave, a smile, a kiss: ``Good morning," he calls, ``I love you." Horns toot, drivers wave back and smile. ``The good Lord and I try to make people happy," Barnes says. ``If each individual in the world tried to make one person happy, what a beautiful world this would be."
Barnes's philosophy ripples through Bermuda like waves on its shores. For those who pine for a softer, gentler time, this island nation is the answer. It's pomp and circumstance, tea and soccer, proper but not stiff, formal yet relaxed. Pink sand, golf greens, turquoise waters, and black rum color most visitors' experiences, but the palette extends to soft adventure, artsy excursions, and historic sights.
Perhaps one reason visitors are content to swing a club or unroll a beach blanket is because getting around the island isn't easy. Just 21 miles from end to end and with only a few main roads, all of them two-lane and converging in Hamilton's rotaries, traffic is a pain.
Experienced scooter riders zip around traffic jams; younger ones pop wheelies; trucks and taxis tailgate plodders; cars and buses fill the gaps. After more than one Bermudian told me that every airplane and cruise ship departs the island with at least one passenger bearing the scars of a lost battle on the roadways, we decided that the smartest, safest, and least expensive way to get around was by public transportation or on foot.
That's how we discovered the Railway Trail , which follows an old railroad bed, traversing the British overseas territory from the Town of St. George, a 400-year-old World Heritage Site familiarly called St. George's, to Somerset, site of the world's smallest drawbridge. The well-marked trail edges the coast in some places, passing palm-fringed beaches and long-abandoned forts. It winds through woodlands and fields, weaving through parks and along roadways, providing glimpses of farmlands and a quarry. It even allows a peek over backyard fences as it weaves through the island's heartland.
Our peaceful amble ended abruptly, when the trail spit us out in the outskirts of downtown Hamilton. Blaring music and snippets of conversations flowed from passing cars and scooters, horns beeped and buses roared by. Risking life and limb, we dodged cars and scooters and took refuge on Barnes's rotary oasis.
The cacophony of cars gave way downtown to one of people . Cruise ships loom over shop-lined Front Street . Ferries and working boats crowd the edges of Hamilton Harbour. Throngs of T-shirted tourists jockey for sidewalk space with well-dressed professional women, dreadlocked islanders, uniformed schoolchildren, and nattily attired businessmen in Bermuda shorts, ties, jackets, and kneesocks. It's people watching at its best.
We found cool respite from the crowds at The Bermuda National Gallery, in the City Hall & Arts Centre . Although small in size, the museum is large in stature, with a respectable collection of works by European and American masters and Bermudian artists. Nearby is an even more peaceful venue, the Anglican Cathedral of the Most Holy Trinity, an architectural gem, where climbing the tower provided panoramic views .
Since I was itching to get out on the water, we purchased transit passes and hopped a ferry bound for the West End, snagging top-deck seats. Far less expensive than a day cruise, we enjoyed the same views of passing shoreline and islands, sprinkled with Necco wafer-colored homes .
Even from a distance, the Royal Navy Dockyard, established by the British just after the American Revolution, commands attention. Where soldiers once manned defensive stations, tourists roam, attacking the shops, restaurants, and attractions contained in the sprawling property. The largest fort in the West End complex and on the island, the six-acre Keep, is home to the Bermuda Maritime Museum, a swim-with-the-dolphins enterprise, and the Commissioner's House, with various exhibits; all require admission or participation fees. We sought more intriguing options, many with an artsy bent.
First up was Bermuda Clayworks, where I could have tried my hand at shaping a pot. Just a few steps away, Dockyard Glassworks and the Bermuda Rum Cake Bakery were a delicious double treat. I followed my nose to the rum-cake half of the duo and grazed on samples.
The roar of the kiln fire lured me back to the other side , where glass blowers demonstrated their craft . The Bermuda Arts Centre was another visual treat with exhibits by some of the island's top artists as well as four working studios.
Instead of returning on a ferry, we took the bus, a scenic route paralleling the famed South Shore. Riding the bus is an ideal way to get the local scoop . Bermudians make fast friends, and when I plopped down in an empty place, my seatmate readily shared her favorite restaurants and recommended walking the coastal paths linking the South Shore parks to discover the private pocket beaches hidden between rocky outcroppings.
Bermuda is named for Juan de Bermudez, the Spaniard who in 1503 first sighted the uninhabited island. A century later, in 1609, a fleet bound from Plymouth, England, to Virginia lost its flagship off St. George's Island. The commander, Admiral Sir George Somers, got everyone ashore and by 1610 managed to build two ships to sail to Virginia, saving the decimated, ill, and starving colonists with fresh supplies. When he returned to Bermuda that same year for more supplies, he died unexpectedly. His heart was buried here, his body sent home to England.
Historical sights and museums abound in St. George, many emphasizing the relationship between Bermuda and the United States from the pre-Revolutionary era through the Civil War. Our favorite was in St. George's' King's Square, seeing a reenactment demonstrating the ducking stool, a 17th-century contraption designed to punish gossips and nags with a dunk in the harbor.
Our last full day in Bermuda was colored by traditional pursuits. While my father headed to the Belmont Hills greens for a round of golf and my husband lounged poolside with a dark and stormy, concocted from black rum and local ginger beer, I slipped down to the pink-sand beach, gazed out at the turquoise waters and contemplated returning home. Mark Twain, a frequent visitor to Bermuda, wrote, ``You go to heaven if you want to, I'd druther stay here." Remembering Johnny Barnes and his mission to create a Bermudaful world, so would I.
Contact Hilary Nangle through her website, www.hilarynangle .com. 
