An Ice Cream in Spanish Wells

Spanish Wells – 10 kilometres walked, 1 mile in dinghy

You know you’re becoming a local when you start to recognize the individual chickens crossing the streets, knows the names and backstories of the shopkeepers, have memorized the ferry schedules and arrival times of the mailboat from Nassau, and are starting to complain about the state of local politics. And hence, we found ourselves back in Spanish Wells.

There were three things we had left undone in previous visits to Spanish Wells. First was to sample the food at the Snack Vault. Second, have a drink at the Wreckers Restaurant and Bar. Third, visit the ice cream shop, open only from 7pm to 10pm and featuring just two flavours of soft serve, changed daily. By the end of the day, we had accomplished all of these, and discovered one new place.

With the wind still howling we pulled anchor and did the six mile hop into Spanish Wells, hoping to find an open mooring ball, otherwise we’d have to anchor in a nearby bay east of the island. Sadly, the mooring field was fully occupied with six boats so we thought our luck had run out, but as we were proceeding down the channel to the anchorage Ana looked back and saw people had walked out to the bow of their boat and were fiddling with the lines. So I did a 180 turn and we hovered around watching, unsure if they were leaving or maybe just adjusting the mooring line. There were three at the bow, having a hell of a time getting the lines untangled, as the occupants of two other boats in the anchorage stood on their decks, watching the mayhem, guarding their own boats, and not doing a single thing to help them, despite one of them already having their dinghy in the water, ready to go. After ten to fifteen minutes they finally managed to release themselves from the mooring and motor away. It was now our turn. You may have expected one of the spectator boats to have noticed the howling wind, the troubles the previous boat had, and maybe taken five minutes to get in their dinghy to give us a hand getting attached. This did not happen. What they did do, however, is hang out more fenders from their boats, assuming we’d have difficulty getting moored with the potential for losing control of our boat and bumping into theirs.

Well, it was very hard getting moored, and it took four attempts, but we finally got it as our neighbours stood watching. This really, really pissed me off. We have helped many boats along the way, with mooring balls and other things, in the spirit of cooperation and support, and most cruisers are like this because they know it’s only a matter of time until they are in a sticky or dangerous situation in need of help. I feel sorry for these folks because they are undoubtedly in a karma-deficit situation and the help may not be there when they most need it.

We took the dinghy into the Pinders dinghy dock, paid for two nights at the store, and had a nice long chat with the lovely lady working there, who told us about her dad recently passing away, and how he was able to do so in the comfort of his home instead of being whisked off to Nassau against his wishes.

From here, we walked over to the Snack Vault and were drawn in by the smells of lunch cooking. We ordered a burger and croissantwich with fries and enjoyed the food at a faded picnic table beneath a faded tent canopy as we watched the cute, uniformed schoolkids piling in from the school across the street, looking for their lunches. Brown bags were passed through sliding windows from the french fry jockeys to the kids, who vibrated and fidgeted as they waited. One little boy sniffed the outside of the paper bag he was handed, looked up in the air for a second, then nodded his head, sure that it contained his order, then ran back to school with his friends after kicking one of them in the ass for fun.

What we hadn’t done yet is to walk the two miles to the far west end of the island, so that’s what we did, beneath the heat of the hot sun, tempered by the strong wind. There we waded through the cool ocean water as locals and visitors relaxed on the beach. On the return trip we stopped at Wreckers and found a table on the waterfront. We enjoyed a cold drink as we eavesdropped on the conversation happening between a table of Americans and table of Canadians near us. Words we overheard were Trump, tariff, real estate, money, golf cart, and Let’s exchange contacts so we can do a business deal together (or something like that) proving that individual civility and cooperation is still possible despite an unstable American president waging economic war on its neighbours.

On the way back to the dinghy we discovered a new spot – The Lazy Pot Coffee Shop. Right on the waterfront in a modest space sat five senior locals, discussing local goings-on whilst lounging on dusty couches and ancient recliners as the smell of burnt coffee wafted into the street from the three drip coffee makers, sitting on painted plywood shelving, which also held up an antique popcorn machine which looked like it hadn’t popped a kernel in a while. We made a mental note to visit tomorrow to meet the local patriarchs.

After a lovely dinner of pork chops, mashed spuds, and boiled carrots we returned to the island and finally made our debut appearance at Papa’s Scoops. It was clearly the busiest nightspot on the island as we had to queue up behind two golf carts then a car immediately took the space in line behind us. Previous attempts to visit had been thwarted by either Mariner’s Midnight, late dinners, or bouts of evening laziness, but we finally overcame all obstacles and were here.

The two flavours on offer were Chocolate or Nutter Butter so we asked for one of each in a waffle cone, handed the owner ten bucks, and the transaction was complete, no waffling around as more customers were joining the line on scooters, golf carts, and cars, all anxious for their evening fix. By the time we were close to the dinghy our face, hands, and arms were covered in melted ice cream (which was delicious) so we used the public tap to wash up then returned to the boat, riding high on sugar.