Royal Naval Dockyard

Strapping a 40-pound brass helmet onto your head and descending onto Bermuda's sandy seabed may feel a touch absurd, like strolling casually through a Jules Verne novel or auditioning to be Aquaman's clumsier cousin, but that's precisely the charm of Hartley's Helmet Diving at the Royal Naval Dockyard. Since the 1940s, delightfully eccentric locals have been guiding curious souls beneath the turquoise waves in cumbersome yet oddly comforting helmets-think vintage dive gear meets astronaut chic-offering mesmerizing encounters with technicolor coral reefs and marine life that's vaguely annoyed, mildly amused, or entirely indifferent to your newfound underwater swagger. It's best to book at least a day or two ahead, choosing a morning slot to benefit from calmer waters, best light conditions, and less chance of motion-induced queasiness. Budget around $100 per person, pack a swimsuit and towel, and prepare mentally for a profound inner debate on the practicality of scratching your nose when you're encapsulated in 1930s diving hardware. Unquestionably odd, mildly claustrophobic, but absolutely unforgettable, the experience is worth it-not so much because you'll uncover hidden depths of personal bravery or profound marine enlightenment, but because afterward you'll forever hold the dinner-table trump card: "Did I ever tell you about the time I walked along the seafloor wearing an antique helmet in Bermuda?"

Watching a Gombey dance performance at Bermuda's Royal Naval Dockyard is like stumbling into a psychedelic collision between a drum-infused tribal ritual and a carnival parade choreographed by Hunter S. Thompson. Picture vividly clad performers shaking feathered headdresses and whirling vibrant capes to rhythms that fiercely channel African resilience, Indigenous harmony, and Caribbean flair, all behind masks that land somewhere between festive and mildly menacing. Historically born out of rebellion and revelry, these hypnotic dances were once suppressed by British colonial powers, making today's joyful displays something of a jubilant middle finger to stuffy colonial propriety. Aim for late afternoon when sunlight generously catches the dancers' costumes, and secure a good viewing spot about half an hour early-bring sunglasses, a camera, and a wallet stocked with around twenty dollars for tipping performers or impulse-buying brightly colored souvenirs you'll promptly regret. Is it a slice of genuine cultural insight, or just a flamboyant spectacle concocted to charm tourists off their cruise ships? Honestly, it's probably a bit of both. But go anyway-this dazzling chaos is worth experiencing, if only to spice up the stories you tell back home.

At first glance, snorkeling at Snorkel Park Beach near Bermuda's Royal Naval Dockyard sounds like the maritime equivalent of eating at the restaurant directly in front of your hotel's main elevator-convenient, predictable, and perhaps mildly suspicious. Yet, beneath the surface lies an aquatic carnival of brightly colored fish darting frantically between coral patches, seemingly oblivious to the cruise-ship hordes wielding selfie sticks above. Sure, historical purists might grumble that these waters once had grander purposes, hosting Victorian-era naval dramas and rum-fueled pirate escapades rather than sunscreen-slathered tourists; but today, the gentle currents and clear shallows serve nicely for a leisurely underwater stroll. Go early-ideally within an hour or two after breakfast-to avoid the midday rush when snorkel fins become inadvertent weapons of mass destruction. No advance PhD in marine biology needed; booking ahead isn't required, though budgeting about $25 for gear rental and another $10 for a rum-swizzled beverage afterward is advisable. Don't forget reef-safe sunscreen and a pinch of curiosity-after all, even the simplest underwater encounter can offer unexpected delights (or at least mildly amusing fish antics). Ultimately, snorkeling at Snorkel Park Beach won't win you adventurous bragging rights, but it's an easy-going plunge worth taking-for the mercilessly laid-back Bermudian vibes, vibrant marine life cameo, and the right to smugly remind your friends at home how you snorkeled mere minutes from your cruise buffet.