Ever since the wild boar broke into the fence in Tuscany and GS fretted about pigs swimming in our pool I have longed to see the official Swimming Pigs. So, when Capt Tom and Jelaine suggested finishing our US adventure with a trip to Elbow Cay, The Bahamas, it instantly became the finale of our tour. What could beat swimming with black spotted pink swimming piglets in azure waters of The Bahamas?
Apart from the Swimming Pigs, I confess that I/ we knew NOTHING about The Bahamas. I soon discovered that you have to pay attention to the detail_
Firstly, it’s The BahamaS, not The Bahama. Plural. It’s not like going to the Isle of Wight where a quick ferry delivers you to a compact island where you can potter around exploring antique shops, hoover up a cream tea, buy a Kiss-me- quick hat and tick-done. Secondly, on a map of the world, The Bahamas look small and stringy. Key phrase ‘of the world’ Turns out its an archipelago of some 700 islands covering 5300 square miles. They are all separated by crystal clear waters swum in by turtles eating seagrass and staying under the shark radar, connected not by ferries, or bridges but rather by tiny propeller aeroplanes or fast boats.
Capt Tom was referencing Pirates and Island girls a moniker that I rather liked. Whilst not exactly an island girl I grew up on the coast. I love the sea, its beauty, its moods, its wildness and romance. Secretly I consider myself a bit of a mermaid at heart.
I like boats-vintage Slipper Launch to Henley? Settling back for strawberries and champagne on a punt amongst dragonflies, wild iris and water lilies? Weekend on a barge slowly drifting to riverside pubs surprising cows knee deep in buttercups with a windup gramophone on the roof? Perfect.
I think most yachts elegant. Watching the sun sink over silhouetted boats lit by fairy lights nursing something on ice, fingers interweaved with GS?- fabulous.
I used to work in shipping litigation, I specialised in frozen Japanese sushi claims. My boss called me his ‘Prawn Queen’ back in the good old days when being inappropriate didn’t get you fired. Life and work experience has proved to me that houses want to fall down, gardens grow up and ships sink.
I don’t mind going on a boat provided I can comfortably swim to shore (without getting my hair wet) and I trust the person in charge with my life. I should also add that I am averse to adrenaline, oxytocin being my hormone of choice. Not for me: rollercoasters or black runs, -give me puppies, babies and swimming piglets any day of the week. Also the hardest drug I’ve ever taken is a double Lavazza expresso. So, to clarify, I’m a sort of sitting on rocks next to shore Copenhagen-type mermaid.
The storms which had threatened to close the airport and cancel our flight had blown themselves out, and a short flight and transfer later and we were at picturesque Hope Town on Elbow Cay in the Abacos. This is a small ribbon of land with a round bay overlooked by a lighthouse on one side, and the rolling Atlantic on the other. In fact, to be honest, it’s a bit of a stretch calling islands ‘land’ basically they are shifting sands that are marginally clear of the water. The gentle hush of breaking waves is constantly played in the light, cooling breezes but a puff of wind and it all goes ‘Three Little Pigs’.
It was picture book pretty- pastel houses with ornamental shells in gardens. Some of the houses were rickety, old and historic, the sort of thing I can’t resist. Some of them looked forlorn. Look more closely and they were roofless, decapitated – idyllic dreams shattered by the rage of lethal Hurricane Dorian.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Effects_of_Hurricane_Dorian_in_the_Bahamas
Our house was both pastel pretty and recently renovated. We opened the door into a wall of artic chill, the sort of cold I imagine referred to in Mafia movies when they are disposing of baddies.
‘Is it safe to swim?’ we asked the house keeper as our teeth started chattering. I thought she’d scoff at us. Instead she paused. ‘Not now. Maybe midday’
We made some tea. The gas hob was a huge round disk but sadly the ignition wasn’t terribly responsive. Eventually there was a blue woof and Capt Tom’s eyebrows got singed.
It turned out we were next to a white church sandwiched in a patch of land. It was the stuff of fairy tales- a musical clock, chiming the hours and then dinging full Ave Marias.
The aircon was so cold that the first night Jelaine and I were limpets suckered to our squeezes trying to keep hypothermia at bay. Only my head poked above the bedclothes, if I had had a snorkel I would have used it. In the morning my earlobes were so cold that I thought they would snap off.
GS loves sailing, Capt Tom is a pirate, Jelaine a pirate’s island girl and I harbour Mermaid aspirations.. Boats were in short supply but Capt Tom had, to GS’s utter delight, been able to sweet talk someone into chartering a boat for three days. Given the price I presumed the Royal Yacht Britannia had been brought out of retirement.
I baulked a bit when I saw it. It had no sails, with the only protection from the sun above the helm. Sailing boats with long keels don’t work in The Bahamas as the sea is only about a foot deep.
Nothing encapsulates GS’s feelings towards boats better than Ratty in Wind in the Willows:
‘Believe me my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.’
I am always vaguely suspicious that there is some rope/knot fetish at play with sailors but within. a few minutes the ropes had been played with and we had chugged across the bay.
Somewhat alarmingly it turned out that wasn’t our destination but for ‘provisions’. We set off.
‘Capt Tom’s a thrill seeker’ said Jelaine her voice heavy with love. A love matched only by the boys ‘brothers- from -another mother’ vibe. ‘Oh no’ thought I thinking ‘the trouble with trouble is it starts out as fun’ and what could possibly go wrong with two midlife crisis blokes, a fast boat and a crate of beer and rum? I recalled Capt Schettino who grounded and rolled the brand new Costa Concordia off Elba when he was distracted by his Moldovan mistress dancing on the bridge.
Ten minutes later the brothers were snapping open beers, tossing their remaining hairs in the breeze. They would have broken into sea shanties were they not singing along to ‘I wanna get high, I wanna get low‘ Capt Tom’s happy theme tune. Jelaine was perched up front like a ships figurehead. Capt Tom was at warp speed slamming the boat into the waves. GS was beaming. The overcast sky was turning blue, the water changing colour, dark blue in the deeper Channels.
I was at the back gripping on for dear life my jaw locked with teeth gritted in fear of imminent death. There was nothing to hold onto whilst buckets of seawater hit me in the face, land diminished and I wasn’t even convinced anyone would even notice if I was ejected from the damned boat. To be fair I would have happily taken my chances with sharks rather than be shredded by the propellers a fate which befel the utterly heroic Kirsty MacColl.
We have a whistling kettle at home. You would not think that an inanimate object could screech like a demon from hell. Capt Tom turned it up a notch. We were slamming harder into the water. My inner whistling kettle hit boiling point and I went into Full Mental Breakdown Get Me OFF The Boat Mode. Which is neither a pretty (tears were streaming down my face) nor a cool look.You cannot argue with emotion, you cannot rationalise with fear, (or indeed pain).
Having been persuaded to remain on board despite my better judgement and not be dropped off at any island (inhabited or not) we steamed ahead at a much more leisurely and bearable (civilised) pace.
Over the three days we made it to a swing on a shallow sandbank, to Nippers where we had far too much rum- the Dutch courage effect of alcohol blunting adrenalin. I attempted regain some credibility and look cool dancing and flashing GS. But as I was wet from a cooling dip amongst the surging waves and rocks my swimsuit got stuck on my head.
Capt Tom went diving and pulled up four Conchs-sea snails with beautiful shells in cream and pink. They were turned into conch ceviche, conch fritter and cracked conch. You can do anything with them because they are to the tastebuds what tofu is to meat. The shells we cleaned, and kept. They looked just gorgeous if, dare I say it, somewhat …gynacological? We went out on the boat, we cocktailed, we dined, we watched our favourite movies tucked under blankets and snuggled through the arctic nights. Then Capt T and J dashed back for an Ice Hockey game. Before they left Jelaine and I had a beaded island braid plaited into our locks.
The wind had kicked up and was barrelling around the islands. GS made enquiries but as the cost to see the swimming pigs would be at least $1000 by boat realistically it was better to fly from Florida. For $1000 we could buy a couple of pedigree pigs and give them swimming lessons. It was sad but everyone we bumped into who had actually seen them winced a bit and advised us that they are wild, aggressive, bite, pooh everywhere and are a bit ‘gross’. Also it turns out they attract Bull and Tiger sharks https://www.undercurrent.org/UCnow/dive_magazine/2019/KilledBySharks201907.html which is understandable after all, if I were a shark I’d also go for a shell-less paddling defenceless mammal over an armour plated turtle.
Instead for the next three days we decompressed in the darkened fridge hiding from the sun. Despite slapping on the factor 70 we were burnt to crisps. As our skin began to peel away we scratched on the doorframes like Baloo in Jungle Book. So good.
As the sun wrapped itself in the day’s heat and slid away in the daily glorious sunset we crept out like shy vampires blinking in the light. We bought some local art and a conch shell beaded bracelet for me and went for wanders exploring our Brigadoon island.
Little cottages sat on the sand, their roofs torn off. Terraces from swimming pools hung in the air, the sand beneath them carved away in the fury of storms. One still had a bottle of stiff spirits on the side. A lady in one of the restaurants told us her son was killed by Dorian- he had tried to save his friend who could not swim and they both perished. Blue skies that burn you to a crisp, tempting soft warm seas full of sharks, idyllic cottages decapitated by the fury of the storm- it’s always Beauty and the Beast.
It was lovely walking with GS on our stretch of the Elbow Cay, The Bahamas behind the house. The spectacular sunsets were on the western lighthouse and harbour side but somehow the effect still reached the east, the skies dancing in subtle changes of light. Our feet sank into the sugary pink sands, our footprints immeadiately washed away by foaming wavelets. Our shadows held hands.
Soon the sky was inky black. A full moon peeped behind clouds and then cast a path over the waves. The turtles incubating safely unprotected nests resisted the call, but I was starting to long to follow the path east- go home to England and Italy, hug our kids tightly again, drink wine and play tennis with friends.
We, the boomerang guests, flew back to Florida for a final hurrah with Capt Tom and Jelaine. I had belatedly started a collection of Capt Tom’s words of wisdom
‘If you don’t smell of fish, you ain’t making money’
‘Terrible ideas- don’t you just love those’
‘Who put the pepper in the Vaseline?’
But best lines belong to their dinner guest for the last night evening. A glamorous woman arrived looking half her age, and full of vigour with her second husband. GS and I were sluggish still waking up from a late siesta. The guest stoked up some smoked mackerel pate and then vigorously chopped jalapeños with the speed and purpose of a runaway train.
We sat down to dinner. During our US trip, Capt Tom had picked me up on my table manners for overstuffing my mouth and nicking the last anchovy from our daily Caesar salad. Following these justified chastisements I was trying to apply full Swiss finishing school ettiquette rather than employing my usual competitive eating. Accordingly, I was nearly cross-eyed focusing on navigating a Dorito -(jalapeños balancing precariously atop mackerel pate) gobwards.
‘What moisturiser do you use? said the glamourous guest.
I had popped the Dorito mountain in, only dropping a few bits and was unable to anything but munch-mumble.
‘No, I mean down there!’ said no one on Downton Abbey ever..
Such was her enthusiasm that she couldn’t wait for me for me to finish choking on my Dorita
‘Raw organic coconut oil!’ (I was glad she said ‘organic’)
She mimed enthusiastically slathering her conch in coconut oil.
‘Moist and luscious!’
Before our holidays I’d had emergency botox nail my eyebrows to my forehead but I almost defied medical science as my eyebrows strained to hit the ceiling.
‘Add rum and pineapple and you have a pinacollada!’ sniggered GS joyously.
After an early morning emergency when we were all turfted out of our beds by a tanoy, and made polite conversation with all corralled neighbours at 4am until the fire brigade let us return to our beds, the day dawned. I clubbed GS on the head and dragged him to the BA plane- no more GS being catnip to American women.
Before we knew it we were sipping champagne in the business lounge surrounded by other Brits studiously avoiding eye contact. It felt strangely soothing. ‘It’s life Jim, just as we know it’ as they don’t say on Startrek.
I hope you have enjoyed my little bloglet. If so, I would be delighted to read you comments, and of course please do share. Have fun!
4 Comments
Pia, these posts just get better and better each time!! Your “vacation” has seemed more like an extreme challenge competition, whether by choice or unintended circumstance. I feel grateful being able to share your adventures with you from the security of my home and laughing my head off. One of my favorite lines: “Before our holidays I’d had emergency botox nail my eyebrows to my forehead but I almost defied medical science as my eyebrows strained to hit the ceiling.
‘Add rum and pineapple and you have a pinacollada!’ sniggered GS joyously. “ Especially the extra spice of words like “emergency” and “sniggered.” LOVE it!! I’m curious to see what kind of material life back home in civilization will provide for future posts. Keep ‘em coming!
Aww thank you so, so much! I really appreciate your reading them. I know I am behind in my next post but that is because since we got back its been a plague of groans when everything that could go wrong…as usual… does!
Love reading about your exploits w the Captain and Jelaine. I smile as I read and chuckle every now and then. Keep writing.
Thank you so much Carol, I am glad you are enjoying it! Happy writing!