The SeaLight Water Taxi Returns to Eleuthera, and a Bahamian Pronunciation Guide

Nassau to Royal Island – 37 nautical miles sailed

By 6am the anchor was up and we were motoring out of Nassau harbour. Our destination was again the Spanish Wells area (starting to feel like a water taxi) as a convenient first jump on the way to the Abacos. Unfortunately we had to deal with a 15 knot wind almost directly in our face, which we knew from the wind forecasts, but wanted to get ahead of high winds that were due to land later in the day and last throughout Tuesday. Then Wednesday we could do the remaining 50 miles or so to southern Abaco if the winds cooperated, which was uncertain, but at least we’d be nearly halfway there.

The wind was in the 15 knot range, sometime edging closer to 20 with the gusts, and the waves were larger than expected, some looked to be up to 5 to 6 feet. But the period of the waves was thankfully long which kept the pounding less frequent than expected, but still unpleasant.

We arrived at 1:30 and dropped the hook in the well protected anchorage of Royal Island. We were happy to find that Kate and Ben from Waddington were here, but we agreed to meet up Tuesday so we could spend the rest of the day doing a few administrative things, writing, and chilling out.

Since not much interesting happened, I’ll instead write about the pronunciation of Bahamian words. Tourists seem to have a hard time getting the pronunciation of Bahamian ‘tings right, just like I did when I first moved here so many years ago, and I’ve also noticed some cruisers that have been here many times, still getting words wrong. So, if you are planning on traveling to the Bahamas, here’s a quick guide to help you sound less like a tourist.

Kalik is their most popular national beer, but it is not called “Kay-lick” or “Ka-leek”. It is pronounced “Klik” or “Kuh-lik” if you say it slowly. A nice rhyme to remember it is “If you don’t know which beer to pick, make it a Kalik.” If you just can’t remember it, then order a Sands beer instead – can’t get that one wrong.

Nassau is not a space agency. So don’t call it NASA. The city is pronounced “Nas-awh”. Remember it with “You’ll be in awe with Nassau.” Or “I met an outlaw with a chainsaw in Nassau.”

Some Bahamians do live unconventional lives and many are writers, artist, and musicians. But you cannot refer to all of them as “Bohemians”. They are called “Bah-hay-mee-un”. I don’t know what rhymes with Bahamian so you’ll just to remember it.

Conch is a tricky one. It’s nearly impossible for visitors to drop that pesky “ch” at the end and replace with a “k”. Probably because of that Lord of the Flies movie where they blow into the “kon-sh” shell. But here in Bahamas, you just have to call it a “Konk”. Yes it sounds funny, but that’s what it is. Try not to get bonked by a conch.

A small island here is referred to as a Cay. But it is pronounced like “Key”. Shroud Cay, Farmers Cay, Two Breasted Cay – there are lots of them so best to remember how to say it. See me in Spanish Cay?

Here are two bonus words, which you probably don’t want to pronounce like a local, but they are fun to listen for. Church is “choich” and you don’t ask for something, you “axe” for it.

Have phun!

Our Last Night In Nassau

Nassau – 2 miles in dinghy, 4 kilometres walked

Our friend Ruth arrived sometime after 8pm to meet us at the Poop Deck restaurant for our final get together. Ana and I had been there for an hour, enjoying the sublime view over the harbour, a cold drink, and an order of conch fritters (delicious and filling, but not as conchy as those served on SeaLight) as we discussed the trip and all the fun we’d had in Nassau on the eve before our final sail out of the harbour. Ruth seemed to be moving slowly and in some pain.

“What happened?” Ana asked.

“Hurt my back this weekend,” she said. “But the painkillers are kicking in so I’m good.”

“Did you trip on something?" I asked.

“No, it was actually a swinging injury,” she said reluctantly. We waited. “You see I had gone to my house to check on the progress of the renovations and I spotted a centipede on the floor. So I ran to get my machete.”

“Machete?” Ana and I said together.

“Yeah.”

“Like the kind you’d make conch salad with?” I prodded.

“No, bigger. Anyway, I got the machete and slashed it to bits. And the swinging threw my back out.”

We sat stunned, picturing Ruth performing trench warfare on an insect.

“We have to come to your place sometime,” I said.

“Sure, anytime. Why?”

“To see the rocket launcher you use to slaughter house rodents.”

We had a lovely meal and visit with Ruth and left knowing we had reestablished our relationship with our Bahamian friends that mean so much to us. The only regret we had was that Sheldon and his wife were unable to join us due to another commitment, but we were happy that we’d at least had one great visit with him.

Dave had been in touch with Ana and he reported on their night of luxurious passion in a magnificent king suite, a spectacular dinner, and day of water slides, surf machines, and lazy river hijinx at the Baha Mar hotel, thereby experiencing the island as a high roller vacationer. By the end of their bonus Sunday Funday they were back on a rescheduled WestJet flight home. What a week!

We, by comparison, had a leisurely slow day as the hours were consumed with laundry, provisioning, and planning out the next few days of our trip in the wake of another strong weather system on its way. Ana did have some fun at the laundry. The high-powered front loading dryers did not stop when you opened the door, but she wanted to extract the smaller items as they dried. Have you ever seen that game show where they put the contestant in a telephone booth that has American currency piled up to the knees, but you aren’t allowed to start grabbing bills until they turn on the fans that blow the money into a frantic, green whirl? Well, that’s what it looked like when Ana opened the door then stuck her hand in, trying to snag socks, shirts, and small towels, which mostly evaded her grasp. Once she finally grabbed a few things, I started helping her fold, under supervision. As I was struggling with a pair of underwear, she looked over my shoulder out the open door to the back of the building and said, “Oh my god, is that a rat?”

It sure was. A big one, in full view for a few seconds before disappearing into a jagged hole in the concrete wall. Surprisingly, Ana didn’t run out of the laundry, vowing never to return, leaving me to do my regular crappy folding job that she always has to redo. No, instead she took it in stride, and admitted that on first glance she thought it was a cat.

Before leaving for the restaurant we sat in the cockpit watching the boats ripping around, far more than usual, kicking up wakes and rocking all the anchored boats from side to side. We realized it was Sunday, family day in the Bahamas, and it had been a beautiful hot day so every Bahamian with a speedboat or jet ski was on the water. Some of the kids ripping by on jet skis came so close to our boat that they sprayed ocean water into the open hatches. Bahamians love going fast and have little regard for where the boat wakes end up. After all, it’s just water.

I think I’ve discovered why the Bahamians you meet are usually happy, smiling, and quick to laugh. For many Canadians, you go to work from Monday to Friday then you get two days off. During those days you probably do yard work, gardening, or shovel snow, take your kids to hockey or soccer games, meet up with friends at somebody’s house, or if you’re real lucky, go camping in a buggy forest or boating on a cold and murky lake.

Now consider Bahamians. They too go to work for five days then get a couple off. But on their days off they’re in the Bahamas! Imagine that. A limitless supply of idyllic islands, pristine beaches, and oceans full of wonder, easily accessible on your day off.

Damn. No wonder they’re so happy.

The Germann-Hinds Return to Canada (Almost)

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.

Taking Advantage of Good Sailing Winds

Spanish Wells – 43 nautical miles sailed

With an approaching cold front set to drop temperatures and jack wind speeds, we took advantage of the southeasterlies today to make the run back to Nassau. That’s the thing with sailing, it’s okay to have a general plan, but you have to watch the weather and be ready to change plans without hesitation.

Our friends Dave and Kira arrive on Saturday so we are really hoping the consistently good weather we have been enjoying keeps up, but it does look like a couple of cold fronts are on the horizon, including some rain early next week. No matter what the weather, good company means good times.

We left Spanish Wells around 9am and had an excellent sail, having to use the motor only for a short while as we had both sails up catching the 15 to 17 knot winds the entire way, reaching boat speeds of 8 knots a few times which is close to SeaLight's maximum hull speed. The ride was uneventful – saw some flying fish, but did not get any action on the fishing lures I trailed behind the boat the entire time. I’m starting to think maybe the fish only feed early in the morning or at dusk as my fruitless fishing has been happening in the heat of the day. Or maybe I’m just not cut out for ocean fishing.

The only problem we did have is when we were deploying the headsail it had a sag in it and despite winching it in, I could not get it set right. Then Ana looked up the deck and saw that we had forgotten to close the front hatch and the sheet line was caught in it, applying massive pressure to the hinges. We loosened the sheet, went to the front and untangled it, then got it set properly. Once anchored in Nassau we had a better look at it and found the screws holding down one of the hinges had been ripped out of the deck, leaving a sizeable gap for water to enter. I was able to find some thicker screws, coat them in silicone, then reattach the hatch. Dumping a few buckets of water on it produced no drips so the repair seems to be okay. To prevent a future occurrence I’ve added “Close front hatches if sailing” to my departure checklist.

We were able to claim the same anchorage close to Nassau we had last time, which was a minor miracle as the larger Montague anchorage east of there was closed to boats for a scheduled regatta this weekend, so we were sure it would be full. By the time we were anchored and settled it was already after 4pm so there wasn’t time to do much else besides cook dinner, make a meal plan for our visitors, inventory food on the boat for our provisioning run tomorrow, then sit in the cockpit for an hour, enjoying the night lights and sounds of Nassau. I did manage to catch a picture of the menacing sky monster peeking at me over the top of a boat anchored nearby.

Fictional Characters of Nassau, Margaritaville, and Touring The Eastern Half

Nassau – 1 mile in dinghy, 8 kilometres walked, 40 kilometres 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.

Boring Day Anchored in Montague Bay, Nassau…and the Plan From Here

Allan’s Cay to Nassau – 32 nautical miles sailed

After arriving in Nassau shortly before noon after a pleasant sail from the Exumas, it began to rain and did not stop. This is only the third day of rain we’ve experienced in over four months so it came as a bit of a shock, especially as the weather forecast predicted only a slight chance of occasional light sprinklings.

We stopped at Nassau Yacht Haven to fill up our diesel and water tanks and it was the first time we’ve had to dock the boat in months. Since Fort Lauderdale I have been filling the diesel tanks using jerry cans and calculating the amount of diesel to add based on the number of hours the engine had been running since the last top up. The boat typically uses 0.75 gallons of diesel per hour so I add the appropriate amount, but hadn’t actually filled it to the top for a very long time as using jerry cans doesn’t allow me to hear the “almost full” noise the tank vent makes as it is approaching full, and I hate overfilling the tanks as it spills diesel into the water and can potentially cause fuel leaks inside the boat. So, based on my estimate I was expecting to take about 13 gallons of diesel. How much did it need? 11 gallons. I’m happy my system of fuel estimations is working out.

We also paid to fill our water tanks and took on 75 gallons of water for the price of $15, which is how much I would have spent in gasoline running the dinghy back and forth from Potters Cay filling up our water jugs, not to mention the back breaking (strengthening) job of transporting them. So, it was a good stop.

Hoping to find an anchorage closer to the dinghy dock, we tried to squeeze into one near the yacht club, but there just wasn’t enough space, so we gave up and returned to Montague Bay, where we had anchored previously, which is a decent enough anchorage, but just a little far out. The rain really started to fall once we got anchored so we hunkered down and waited, hoping it would break so that we could go into Nassau for grocery shopping. But it just kept falling and we remained in the boat all day, suffering from intense boredom, which we are unaccustomed to. The rain didn’t stop the local jet skiers and tourist boats ripping through the anchorage with wild abandon, at speeds designed to produce maximum wake, keeping the sailboats anchored here bouncing and swinging and smashing and slapping. But that motion feels normal; what comes across as strange is when there is no motion on the boat, or we’re on land. Makes us a bit wobbly.

I asked Ana a question today. The question was, Do you feel like we’re running out of time on this trip?

The answer, from both of us, was No.

Thus far we’ve covered three island chains in the Bahamas – Bimini, New Providence, and the Exumas. After Stella leaves on Wednesday we plan to sail to Eleuthera for a week, then pick up our friends back in Nassau and return with them for a week to either Eleuthera or the Exumas, depending on wind and weather. After this, we hope to sail north-east to the Abacos and spend a week there, then cut west to Grand Bahama then back to the US and snake our way north to Canada. By the time we are done we hope to have visited six of the Bahamian island groups, which is probably more than we expected, and yet we will leave knowing there are still so many places to explore here in the future; unlimited, really. I can see why so many cruisers do not go any further south than the Bahamas. The winter weather here is pleasant, the people are kind, the cruising infrastructure is unparalleled, access is amazing with all the local airports, and there’s a thousand anchorages to explore.

So, we do not feel like we are running out of time. Instead, we feel like we are moving at the right pace, enjoying the moments, and using our time efficiently to see and experience as much as possible. Time has certainly taken on a different dimension and I will admit I’ve stopped noticing if it’s a Monday or a Wednesday or a Saturday when we’re sailing across perfectly clear aquamarine waters, or enjoying a beach fire, or snorkelling amongst the fishes, or hiking an island trail, or chilling with new friends.

What will it feel like as we sail out of the Bahamas and back up the incredibly long US coast and ICW? Well, it will be an adventure, just like it was on the way here. We will stop at places we missed, revisit places we loved, discover new places, and maybe do some longer ocean passages. I feel like we will still be Sailing to the Sun, but it will be the sun of the epic Canadian summer, and I look forward to the much longer daylight hours we’ll have for the return journey and am hoping that improved springtime weather outpaces our northward progress.

And as I sit here typing at 7 am on a Sunday I feel the Bahamian sunshine pouring in through the hatches and portholes. Time to get moving!

Beach Day then Hanging with Sheldon and Ruthie at the Fish Fry

Nassau – 9 kilometres walked, 9 miles in dinghy

With the temperature headed upwards of 25 degrees, it was time for a beach day. We dinghy’d into the marina and did the long walk to Paradise Island and, despite our best efforts, were not able to sneak into Atlantis this time, so instead walked east to the public access for Cabbage Beach. The beach was just like I remembered it – expansive with powered sugar sand, vendors selling coconut and pineapple drinks, many locals and tourists, and treacherous, knee-twisting, sand exfoliating, salt-water swallowing waves. We went for our first dip and poor Anna got rolled by one and dragged through the sand. She was okay, but the sand invaded everywhere and she was reluctant to go back in the water for another beating so had to sit in it like a soiled diaper.

What made up for this minor inconvenience was the warm sun, refreshing breeze, large blanket, and umbrella shading us and providing a perfect place for a nap, which I believe all of us did.

Mid-afternoon we walked back to the Nassau side and returned to the boat for a clean, sand-free swim then a lunch/dinner of dry-rubbed pork tenderloin, pasta, and broccoli. This was to be our final evening for Nassau nightlife as tomorrow was provisioning day and the day after we would take the next leg of our journey to the Exumas. So what does one do on one’s last night in Nassau? Visit the Fish Fry, of course.

The Fish Fry on Arawak Cay is just west of downtown and is a strip of small restaurants with all the cool kids hanging out eating, drinking, doing wheelies on their motorcycles, jamming to great music, eyeing each other up. I had arranged for two of our Bahamian friends to meet us, both of whom had been my colleagues at Shell Bahamas. We decided to take the dinghy the whole way, but progress was slow, and the three-mile journey took nearly 40 minutes. We found a concrete wall and tied up the dinghy, after realizing I’d used up nearly all the gas in the tank, then wandered around the Fish Fry, noticing the massive improvements that had been made since we were last here 15 years ago.

Sheldon arrived first, and we learned he’d turned 60 recently, though you would never guess it from his young face and still-strapping body. Sheldon’s done such a great job of keeping touch with me over the years through emails and Facebook greetings and it was a pleasure to see him again and catch up on the news. We hung out at a picnic table and talked each others’ ears off, while Anna and Stella went for a walk to the nearby Christmas carnival to sightsee and go on some rides.

Ruth arrived later and came dancing in like she always does. She looked great and had barely changed since we’d last seen her. We talked non-stop until close to midnight, about our families, jobs, vacations, and various annoying middle-aged health ailments. For me, this was a moment that I’d hoped for on this trip – to reconnect with these old and dear friends.

The girls returned with conch fritters and a huge conch salad and seemed to be enjoying their first visit to the Fish Fry. They met Ruth and sat with us chatting until Sheldon had to leave, but he first gave me a lift to the gas station to fill up my jerry can (and my Bahamian Brothuh paid for it too, despite my protestations). Getting the can out of the dinghy was a bit tricky as we’d tied the boat too tight to the wall and the dropping tide had left it hanging in the air, suspended by the docking lines. Whoops.

We stayed for longer visiting with Ruthie, until most of the restaurants were closed, and only the hard core partiers remained. I gave her a big hug, said goodbye, then she gave the girls a ride back to the marina while I took the dinghy solo at warp speed and made it there in less than ten minutes.

Storming Atlantis, Conch Salads, Hammerheads (2 Sorts), and Revisiting our Bahamian Romance

Nassau – 19 kilometres walked, 5 miles in dinghy

The second thing you need to do after anchoring in a new place (and we put out our second anchor this morning as a backup for the strong winds) is figure out where to stash your dinghy while you explore land. This we found at Nassau Yacht Haven, for the reasonable price of $11/day. We tried to get them to throw in access to their water tap to fill up our jugs, but they said water was reserved for marina guests.

We did the long walk down Bay Street to the tourist area, along the way passing through some rugged patches with many empty buildings and lots, but a newish Rum Cake Factory (which I think our friend Kate cleaned out when they were here). I tried to spot some locations I used to frequent when I lived here – Gold’s Gym and a popular waterside restaurant whose name I’ve forgotten, but they were both gone. My favourite bar – Hammerheads, where all Nassau adventures began and ended, was still there but now called 7 Ships, and it was hard to tell if it was still operating, as it looked even more beat up then when I’d last been here 15 years ago, but somebody had built a second level treehouse that looked cool and was probably great for stunting.

Four cruise ships had arrived overnight, creating a wall of windows and curved steel, and the downtown area swarmed with tourists. I wandered around or found shade leaning against buildings while the ladies explored the shops and Straw Market – a covered shopping area for Bahamian handicrafts that had burned down and been completely rebuilt in 2011. I think they also realized at that time that making handicrafts was not worth the effort so everything I saw there – carvings, dolls, t-shirts, keychains, and various bits of useless knick-knackery (identical from stall to stall) looks to have come from Chinese shipping containers. Ana quickly noticed the knock-off luxury bags were conspicuously absent from the inventory, but it didn’t take her long to find a shifty-eyed vendor who called a lady, who called another lady, exchanged secret handshakes and a quirky Bahamian lip signal, then one of them shuffled Ana across Bay and down a sketchy side street littered with small shops selling phony Gucci and Luis Vuitton purses, of which Ana already owns a hundred, some of which came from these exact ladies. Well, she returned with a tightly wrapped treasure, assuring me she’d paid for the outstanding replica handbag with the Christmas envelope stuffed with juicy, fresh cash, given to her by her parents. I guess John and Maria must have filled it with Bahamian currency this year.

We were getting hungry and the free rum cake samples we were swiping from every tourist store just weren’t filling the gap, and we didn’t want to join the tourist hordes at Senior Frogs for crappy chicken fingers, so we started walking back from whence we came. Along the way we stopped at a huge building called The Restaurant Supply Company and were shocked to discover a warehouse full of every non-fresh food and drink you could imagine, everything a boater would need to provision. Some of it was quite expensive, like the toiletries and breakfast cereal, but many items were the same or cheaper than what we were paying in Florida. We had a good look around, made some mental notes of things we might need before we left Nassau, then picked up a few wobbly pops for the road, including a Sands Grapefruit Radler that Ana loved, so we’ll be grabbing a case of those.

As we passed 7 Ships we saw movement and made eye contact with a young dude who was opening up the doors. He waved us over. We went inside. I said, “Hammerheads!” and gave him a high five.

“You were here when it was Hammerheads?” said the guy, both surprised and happy.

“Yes sir. I spent most of the money I made as a high flying expat right here. And all my family and friends spent all their money here too. All my adventures began and ended at Hammerheads.”

“Mine too, I was a customer here at Hammerheads from the age of 15, then I managed it for 8 years, then took a break and built a successful construction company, and just today I signed a lease for this place and I’m going to bring it back to life.”

“By ‘back to life’ do you mean Hammerhead’s perpetual state of near death?”

“No, I’m actually going to rebuild it and make it look good.”

I was confused. “Are you serious?”

“Yep. My construction team will have it done in two months. It’s going to be nice and bright and family friendly.?

“Family friendly?? What sort of families?”

“Those kind,” he said, then we exchanged a knowing nod. “Let me get you a cold Kalik while we discuss further.”

Alex was a Bahamian, a white one (yes, rare, but they exist), and he had a plan. Though he had not yet been issued a business license, he was operating as a private club and invited us to join the party Friday or Saturday night. While Alex and I chatted, the girls looked around the place, and Ana had a conversation with the only other person there – an artist who was going to be creating the exterior murals.

I was beyond happy that a version of Hammerheads had endured all these years. We’d be back, probably daily.

Alex wasn’t doing any food yet so sent us over to Donny’s conch shack at Potter’s Cay, an area beneath one of the bridges to Paradise Island full of food shacks, and mostly out of reach of the tourist hoards. It smells of fish, is dirty, and eating here is the most authentic Bahamian experience you could have on the island.

We walked past the many conch shacks to Donny’s, which was the last on the right. Donny came right out, offered us drinks, then took our orders. There’s no menu board, he just tells you what he has. I asked for a conch salad, medium heat. Ana took cracked conch. Anna and Stella went for fried red snapper.

The girls sat transfixed as they watched Donny prepare the conch salad. He picked up a conch shell and beat it with the claw of a hammer, creating a hole in just the right spot, then slid in a thin knife, made a small cut, and pulled out the magnificent snail, with its one long pulling claw, two googly eyes perched on the end of flexible antennae, and plump, fleshy firm body. He dropped the snail in a bucket then diced an onion, a tomato, a green pepper, a goat pepper, tapped on some salt, then mixed it up on his cutting board. He then brought over the conch, trimmed off the unusable bits, diced it, and mixed it in with the rest, scooped it all into a plastic tub then doused it with the juice from a fresh lime and orange.

As we were watching this I leaned over and asked Donny if I could have the jelly tube. He smiled, pulled a conch out of the bucket, and passed it over to me. I pulled the thin jelly tube out of its ass (or maybe that is its ass, I’m not sure), held it up in the air, then sucked it back. Then I had another one. And a third. Knowing the Bahamians hold the jelly tube in the highest regard as the most powerful aphrodisiac in the universe, I was expecting a giant tapir-sized erection to burst forth from my shorts and knock everybody over. But maybe that was asking too much, now that I’m in my fifties. Instead, I just started munching on my conch salad, in heaven, as it had been fifteen years since my last one. The experience of eating a conch salad is indescribable, and anyways I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you in case you’re yet to have your first one.

The girls loved their meals, despite it being a whole fried snapper and requiring some extraction work instead of a lame-assed Sysco pressed boneless and tasteless fish fillet. Ana’s cracked conch was equally good, cracked conch being simply the snail beaten with a tenderizing mallet, dipped in batter, and deep fried. Oh, and the French fries? Donny cut up fresh potatoes, one each, and threw them in the frier to golden perfection.

While we ate, the conch man arrived, carrying two strings of conch, and dropped them into Donny’s kitchen, as he spoke in rapid and indecipherable Bahamian patois. The conch man wore a purple toque, dirty shorts, a fishy shirt, had a sleazy gold grill with a damp cigarette clamped in tightly with an incisor, and was highly intoxicated. Donny pulled a Guinness out of his cooler, popped it, and offered it to conch man, who promptly dropped it, shattering glass and beer over our shoes. It was time to go anyway.

I don’t think the girls could fully comprehend or appreciate the truly authentic Bahamian experience they had just enjoyed. But they are just 18, and at 18 I was super dumb and inexperienced so they are way further along than I was. I sincerely hope this incredible trip gifts them the same lifelong love affair both Ana and I have with the Bahamas.

We walked across the bridge to Paradise Island and snuck into the Atlantis Hotel and Casino. It’s always been easy to sneak into Atlantis – we’ve done it dozens of times. I really don’t think the staff care too much.

The girls loved it, I mean really loved it. In the aquariums and outdoor pools we saw reef fish, giant Nassau grouper, nurse sharks, reef sharks, hammerhead sharks, lion fish, lobsters, rays, eels, and turtles. The girls scoped out the waterslides for a future visit and Ana yoinked two Atlantis towels they could use as part of their disguise as guests. It’s not really stealing – we’ll give them back when we’re done with them. Probably. We walked a rope bridge, saw the Michael Jackson suite, checked out the beach, admired the waterfalls, had ice cream at the Barbie-themed restaurant, stopped into the luxury shops, walked the marine village, and, of course, ogled the superyachts moored there. We also showed the kids the exact spot where Ana and I met in 1998, in the casino, at a slot machine. No, it’s not the same slot machine, and the configuration has changed some, but it was the exact spot.

I kissed my beautiful wife, happy that we’d come so far together, and were back here in the place where our lifelong romance began.