Nassau – 1 mile in dinghy, 8 kilometres walked, 25 miles by car
After walking around the swarming cruise ship port and downtown Nassau, with six monstrous ships in harbour, I had gathered character ideas for half a dozen novels. On Bay Street a pirate with crazy hair, plastic cutlass, and speckled pantaloons standing in front of a jewellery store said, “Arrrr, why don’t you come inside and pick yourselves up some treasurrrrr?” A bit further down the street a Bahamian teenager was having an elaborate two-sided conversation with himself as he swung his hands, emphasizing points. In front of the t-shirt shops were staff with mics and amplifiers, like carnival hucksters screeching, “Two shirts for ten dollars folks, step right in. We got key chains, we got shot glasses, we got conch shells – WE GOT IT ALL!” A pair of girls in lengthy and transparent flowery dresses with string bikinis beneath took Insta-shots of each other, posing in front of the cruise ships, the ocean, the vendors, highlighting their duck lips and yeti eyelashes. An 80-year-old passed me, wearing a shirt that read It’s Not Easy Being Arm Candy for my Wife. To the wife trailing behind him I said, “He does it well.” A muscle-bound beast whose beefy arms had no room to swing held hands with his tiny manga girlfriend, wearing a top tied ponytail and sucking a lollipop. A Bahamian man in a classy navy blue suit and pineapple tie leaned against his taxi, nodding his head to the beat of the reggaeton from the second floor bar, waiting for a customer or, perhaps, just waiting. A young smiling man passed me on the sidewalk, carrying a large tray of Bahamian desserts for sale. A dude wearing a MAGA hat and Pride rainbow t-shirt raised questions of loyalties. A woman on the seventh level of a cruise ship looked down at one of the many suspended bright orange lifeboats stamped with 462 PASSENGERS, wondering how that many could fit. A child stood leaning motionless against a shop, then I realized he was plastic. A caricature of An American Businessman stood proudly, lips clamped on a smouldering Cuban cigar, grasping a rapidly warming rum and cola in a cup, smiling like he'd won something. Lady vendors in the straw market, slouched on crates, with unique hairdos, flogged Kalik muscle shirts and beach towels, beach bags and bracelets, cover-ups and sunglasses, wicker baskets and key chains. The Crab Man, sitting on a wooden stool behind a keyboard, flanked by huge speakers, sang soca, implanting in my mind the strongest memory of the day as I memorized his lyrics:
Sunshine on my body, sunshine on my nose.
I swim in the ocean, without any clothes.
I swim in the ocean, I swim in the sea.
I look at the reef. The fish look back at me.
To visit Bahamas, once is not enough.
You need to come more times, to see all the stuff.
Conch salad, peas and rice, plantain and Johnny cake.
The sounds of the island, the scrape and the rake.
After being invited by the Bahamian Singers Guild to do a solo rendition of Ave Maria on the massive cruise port stage, I walked with the girls to the One Pointe area where we found coffee and peace in the lobby of the Margaritaville hotel and resort. This was the newest addition to the inventory of Nassau hotels and less than four years old. Behind the check-in desk was a brilliant painting, constructed with tile and shells, of a flying boat anchored off a deserted beach and the words MARGARITAVILLE NASSAU BAHAMAS arced over the top. In the center of the lobby was a sculpture of a blue flip flop, strap broken, with a pop top lying in front of it. This led to a long discussion with Stella about Jimmy Buffett and how he built a billion-dollar business empire of restaurants and resorts based entirely on the lyrics of a single three-chord song he wrote in 1977. Jimmy was very glad he wrote that song. Ana snapped many photos of the hotel décor, picking up ideas for her gallery’s big 2025 fundraiser, coincidentally themed “Margaritaville”.
Our friend Ruth picked us up mid-afternoon for a tour of the western half of the island, after covering most of the eastern half the day before. Ana and I spoke later about how nice it’s been seeing her several times as it’s just not possible to catch up on well over twenty years of life in a single sitting. It takes time to reestablish connections. We talked and visited and shared stories as she drove us throughout so many new areas of Nassau that were previously swamps and bush when I lived here. We saw new schools, many new commercial plazas, new housing developments, a huge condo complex called Cave Heights, built on top of an actual cave we used to stop at for beer drinking sessions after work, a completely new and huge airport industrial area, and Ruth even took us out to the Clifton Pier where we used to work together at Shell. Our old buddy Eddie Thompson still worked there and we were hoping to find him, but he was already gone for the day so instead we had a lively phone call and discussed a potential future reunion. The more time we spend in Nassau, the more I miss it.
As the sun dropped, Ruth pulled over at Traveller’s Rest, a local institution in Nassau, and we stopped for drinks, wings, and conch fritters. I was expecting to find the same green carpeting in the dank dining room that was 25 years past its usable life, 25 years ago when I used to come here. But no, the restaurant had been completely remodelled, and it was far nicer now with huge outdoor spaces, no carpet, and still the unbeatable ocean view. The food was good too.
Ruth dropped us off at Yacht Haven and insisted she return the next day to give us and Stella a ride to the airport for her return flight. See you tomorrow Ruthie!
Back at SeaLight, Stella did her final packing then we sat together in the cockpit for a last visit, talking about the trip, our favourite places, and reality versus expectations (surpassed). It was hard to believe she was headed back to Canada, and it looked like a big nasty winter storm will be there to welcome her home.
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