Nassau – 2 miles in dinghy, 15 kilometres walked
By 9am we were loaded in the dinghy and cruising towards the dock for our final day with Dave and Kira before they had to leave for the airport at 3pm. The scattered clouds provided shadowy breaks from the hot sun as we walked down Bay Street into the downtown area, which was loaded with tourists from the four massive cruise ships currently in port. We blended into the herd effortlessly and our friends had an authentic cruise ship passenger experience, bumping into people, eating free rum cake samples, browsing China-made souvenirs, looking in astonishment at the prices of Rolex watches and diamond bracelets. It’s really fun for about fifteen minutes, then you wonder why anybody goes on cruises. They did, however, find new locally made hats which they bought and wore proudly. And they ran into Sam-I-Am, the amazing taxi driver who drove them from the airport so they hired him again for the return trip later in the day.
We had coffee at the Margaritaville resort, explored the Queens Staircase – an ancient pathway bordered by soaring rock walls, crawling with vines and crammed with tourists, walked by the popular Graycliff hotel and restaurant, then were invited into a Greek Orthodox church. They had just finished some sort of service and offered us quarters of egg salad sandwiches. Kira, Ana, and I sat in a pew, enjoying the cool temperature, admiring the stained glass and craftsmanship of the immaculate interior. I glanced over at Dave, who was standing in the aisle with his hands crossed over his chest, looking up angelically.
“What’s he doing?” asked Kira.
“I think he’s praying for an airplane malfunction so he can stay a bit longer,” I replied.
We continued back along Bay Street, finding relief as the crowds rapidly thinned to nothing the closer we got to Potters Cay, the shacks beneath the bridge where locals and savvy visitors go for conch lunches. Yes, it’s dirty, but this is as authentic Bahamian as one can experience in Nassau.
As we sat at the faded red benches at Donny’s waiting for our food order, I looked around. Soca and reggae blasted from many of the shacks. A lady with tight black braids and a chocolate complexion threw her head back laughing, exposing her silver teeth and pink tongue. A group of braying men at the shack next to us smoking cigars and drinking from plastic cups played cards on the table, crumpled Bahamian bank notes piling up in the centre. Donnie chopped red peppers, yellow onions, red tomatoes, and rainbow conch with a machete-sized chef’s knife, tossing on just the right amount of Morton’s salt and squeezing in the juice from pregnant limes and oranges. A curvy rider in tight pants passed on a motorcycle, rump high in the air, drawing Bahamian man-eyes like nuclear magnets. The odour of potatoes frying in old oil penetrated the air. Beads of sweat dripped from our cold Kaliks. A pack of potcake dogs prowled the streets, on patrol. Gasoline fumes wafted from the beaten-up work trucks passing back and forth. Piles of spent conch shells tossed in the ocean seemed to support the foundations of the shacks as they leaned precipitously into the waters. The local drug dealer chilled on a bench, looking for customers as he chatted with Dave. A rastaman customer of said dealer stood glassy-eyed beside us, nursing a bottle of Guinness and looking at, or perhaps through, these things I was seeing.
It was an excellent lunch of conch salads, cracked conch, and French-fried potatoes.
We walked the remaining distance to the dinghy dock then motored back to the boat. I could sense Dave and Kira absorbing their final moments of hot sunshine and humidity yet thinking about the cold and snow that awaited them upon their return. We’d been there many times. The eagerness to return home, the desire to stay. Regular life clawing you back like drawstrings, fantasy life still a fleeting reality. Logging and recording memories while to-do lists pile up in your mind. Already imagining the next trip.
We said our goodbyes at the stern of SeaLight then I motored Kira and Dave back into shore. Sam-I-Am was there right on time. I waved them off as Sam pulled his van into traffic and disappeared. I returned to SeaLight, feeling deflated and sad that the week with our friends had come to an end...yet selfishly happy that our adventure in the tropics would continue.
Ana and I immediately fell asleep and napped for nearly two hours. But it was not the end of the day for us. We walked back into the center of Nassau for the Saxons Superstars Junkanoo Victory Party, starting at 8pm, along the way discovering that Kira and Dave’s flight had been cancelled due to a faulty aircraft and they were being lodged at the luxurious Baha-Mar resort, courtesy of WestJet. Dave’s Greek Orthodox prayers had been answered!
In an act of stunning tourist naivety, we were practically the first to arrive at the event at 8:15 and received a free Kalik Lychee Radler and souvenir cowbell with the entrance admission of fifteen bucks. A DJ pounded soca music from massive speakers to the backdrop of a huge video screen. We stood for hours as the crowd slowly, then rapidly grew in size. The ladies had fancy hair and tight pants. The dudes smoked huge cigars. Everybody was having fun. An energetic soca band took the stage around 10pm. At 10:45 I asked the sound crew when the costumed Saxons were due to arrive and perform their junkanoo magic, with cowbells, drums, brass instruments, and dancers. He said sometime after midnight.
We couldn’t do it.
After fifteen kilometres of walking, we opted for a fast taxi ride back to the dinghy dock and soon we were in bed watching a movie on the laptop. The junkanoo experience would have to wait until next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment