The problem with ordering groceries over
WhatsApp from a remote island is that you can’t walk through the aisles and be
tempted by things you don’t need.
The problem is that you have to order a
week in advance, as you need to allow time for the order to be processed and
the remote shopper to do her thing, then you have to be available on your phone
on some random time and day in between the order and the delivery, to approve
the check out and see the printed out bill on your phone screen.
The problem is that you have to wait for an
undetermined number of days for the delivery boat to make his way back down to
your remote island, weather and his mood and boat repairs all notwithstanding.
The problem is that you have to up anchor
and move your floating home to another island to go and retrieve your goods.
And when you see the mailboat is docked in the harbour you make the silly
mistake of thinking he might be ready to offload all the boxes within an hour
or two or three…
The trouble is that the whole process takes
up about two or three days of your life.
Or so I thought.
The real trouble is this:
Lost in translation. As I had each order
cycle before, I ordered 12 regular eggs (for baking etc.) and 12 organic eggs
(for frying etc. as JW has an allergy to the regular ones).
When JW returned with our goodies from the
dock there seemed to be too many boxes. And then he broke one open and there
were the eggs. Endless eggs. 24 dozen eggs. An entire 3 foot by 3 foot box full
of fragile yolky cargo.
“Nooooooooooo! Oh my God. What the
hell?!?!” I shouted and squealed as he passed me each box, and all the other
boats wondered what on earth had been delivered to Shiloh.
The problem with ordering groceries over
WhatsApp from a remote island is that by the time you receive the items, they
are a week old and to return something would add another week or so before it
made it’s way back to the store.
But the real trouble is that English is a
tricky language. 12 means a dozen when it comes to eggs, surely? Apparently in
the Bahamas, over WhatsApp texting, to our designated shopper, not.
After much ado about the language and the
misunderstanding and my absolute horror at discovering we had unwittingly
purchased USD$100 of eggs that we would never be able to eat, a solution was
found.
The store agreed to take back what we
didn’t want, couldn’t use, as long as they arrived back in ‘a good condition’.
Our credit card would be refunded at that point.
So off the boxes went, in the dinghy, back
to the mailboat, repacked and left in the hands of the crew. Please make sure
these find their way back to Nassau, safely, unbroken, fresh, safe.
It’s been nearly a week. I have no idea the
fate of the many dozens.
We are about to leave the last of the
Internet signal from Duncan Town as we make our way through the Ragged and
Jumentos Islands. It might be weeks before we find out how they fared.
Hurricane season began a few days ago and
there has been a mass exodus of boats.
We had a couple sentimental ‘last sundowners,
last supper’ at the Hog Cay yacht club as the last stragglers leave.
Some put
their sails up and head off to the west, days of passage ahead. We’ve moved to
a new anchorage eight miles north. The next one will be three more miles. And
then maybe a 10 mile journey to the next. We will continue to explore the beaches, finding shells and sea glass, we will swim in the blue waters by day, and sip sundowners in the evenings.
It’s going to take us a while. And if
the weather cooperates, that’s exactly how we like it.
There will be no more mailboat orders from
Duncan Town this year. The next time we buy eggs there will be no room for colossal
misinterpretation. We will be entering a real physical store, with masks and
social distancing and all the trappings of the Covid-19 reality of 2020.
I’m a bit nervous about that. We are months behind the rest of the world in
coming to terms with the crazy new reality. I think I might prefer 288 eggs
delivered in error and omelettes forever.
