A serenade to the beauty, the decay, the vastness and the diversity that is the Bahamas

A cacophony of birds serenades, and the warm sun pokes at my shoulder through the cabin hatch, waking me to yet another magnificent Bahamas scene.

Shiloh sits, eerily still in mirrored glass water, if there wasn’t a depth meter to say otherwise, I’d be convinced we’re on terra firma. We’re surrounded by pine trees and the smell of a campfire. I feel as though we’ve been transported to a Canadian lake, only if I dip just one toe in this luke warm water, I’ll know different.

This is Port Lucaya, an unplanned stop for us, and yet another one of Bahamas surprises. Highly developed with many marinas, duty free shops, cruise chips and their thousands of pasty pink skinned, camera happy passengers. It's a change, and like Nassau, a hub of human activity among a largely uninhabited set of semi-tropical isles.

The landscapes are changing, the birds are different. We have moved north. For us, this is the end of the Bahamas. Our last stop before hitting the gulf stream and Florida’s east coast. I can’t believe it really. Two months ago we arrived in sweltering Mayaguana at the southern most end of the Bahamas, to a desolate little settlement. Since then we have visited thousands of worlds within themselves. So many unique little gems with indescribably blue waters, turquoise reflecting on the clouds above. A few with tiny, friendly populations, but many, many with none. Places that feed your soul. 

It’s been a whirlwind tour of opposites. Of islands grouped together by colonial conquest. Places that are beautiful or troubled in their own right. Islands in the ocean, like us. 

From weeks of no shops, no internet, no other human contact in the Exumas, to huge supermarkets and bustling casinos. We’ve been screaming down adrenaline gushing water slides in the opulence of Atlantis resort. 

The Bahamas can’t be described. Many have tried. It’s beautiful, it’s amazing. Some of the islands belie secrets of an opulent past, where the rich made their playgrounds. In their place now, are decaying, crumbling buildings, nature quickly reclaiming their territory. Norman island, the former private fortress of infamous cocaine dealer Carlos Lehder is one of them. It really happened and wasn’t just a scene in Johnny Depp’s movie Blow. And we were there, crunching through the dead leaves that line the floors of the old rooms, imagining the parties and the killings. 

And there are so many ‘almost developments’ – places where visions and dreams were half built – marinas, hotels, huge mansions – all left for dead. Investment lost, lives changed forever. As a transient on the sea sailing past, we can only imagine the stories that surround each place.

And the next day, surrounded only by warm blue waters and sting rays and turtles and white sand beaches -you pinch yourself and wonder whether all the rest was an illusion.

This is the ‘off season’ better known as the hurricane season where the cautious leave this part of the world, holiday cottages, condos and boats all locked up and stored away for the dangerous season, while summer awaits back home in the US or Canada. It means we’ve had so much of these places to ourselves. The only boats in an anchorage, the only ones swimming in a blue hole, the only patrons at a rare bar/restaurant up the chain. It’s been our own paradise and I wouldn’t trade the experience for the hustle and bustle of tourist season at all.

Face to face with an 80 pound grumpy faced grouper in a natural aquarium,  swimming along with a graceful sting ray, sand combing with ancient dragon-esque iguanas, catching a flourescent, majestic dorado for supper setting up a ‘braai’ on our own island for the night, watching the flaming sun sink down into the ocean on another night in paradise…. These are the memories I’ll carry away from the Bahamas. A magical and largely unspoiled place. A place of dreams and a glimpse of times gone by. 

But it’s time now for even us stragglers to head out of the hurricane zone, leaving behind the grumpy groupers, the lobsters and parrot fish. The turquoise clouds to build up with weather fronts, for mother nature to rip through this chain of paradise for another season… 

We’ll sail out of Port Lucaya, with her blocks of closed up condos, and bid farewell for now to an enigma. The wonderful Bahamas. And off to a whole new adventure – America by sea!

The land that time remembered

If you see Acklins and Crooked Island, just below the Tropic of Cancer in the south Bahamas from an aerial view, they are curled into a hug. Almost touching and highly interdependent. In fact, the water between the two islands is barely 3 feet deep – you could walk across! As Kendra, a wonderful local lady with ever smiling eyes explained to us, “we are a family island. That means everyone knows and helps each other. Even if you are not family, once you join us here, you are family. 

It seems a few Americans have done just that, building winter homes along the beaches and spending half their year here forever. They are welcomed and accepted. They might have to wait a week for fresh bread when the mail boat comes through, but I’m sure it’s a trade off that is worthwhile.

After a few blissful and quiet days in the calm and protected but uninhabited Lady Slipper Bay on Acklins Island, where we walked the sandy beaches, played bocci ball and had a big bonfire beach braai, we headed to Crooked Island, to see the famous old lighthouse. We got so much more than that.

We felt the hug. Venturing over the treacherous reefs that protect the residents of Landrail Point, we brought the dinghies into a clever man made little harbor. The first thing I noticed was the cheery paint jobs on all the buildings, from bold ocean turquoise to juicy orange. There was no garbage strewn around the roads, instead, tidy bins lined the bottom of each driveway. Conch shells decorated our path from house to house down the one main road. And then we met our first person. Waves, smiles and some banter started our little walk off so well. After that it only got better. Everyone we met came to say hello and offer us a bit of info about their town or their island. 

We found a well stocked little converted bungalow grocery painted bright green. They had everything – and after a couple weeks of nothing, we were literal ‘kids in a candy shop’. We chatted to the owner, “That was me out there in the fishing boat as you sailed in!” he explained. “We were catching snapper”. And indeed, we’d seen a boat. Small town this, and very industrious folk.

In the next shop come house, we had a ball trying on the elaborate church hats and chatting with the owner about her double life as an entrepreneur and a government postal worker. We bought some beautiful locally made t-shirts and headed to Gibson’s Lunchroom #2 – the only restaurant in the settlement, and famous for it’s hospitality and home style cooking. On the road we met Willy the owner and her brother Andy the local tour guide, who’s bus also doubles as a school bus gathering the kids from the few settlements to the one school. They discussed how they might find beers for our supper as Landrail is Seventh Day Adventist and alcohol is not readily available.

An hour later we sat at the long table in Gibson’s, a veritable feast in front of us – fresh snapper fritters then home fried chicken, fresh caught grouper, macaroni and cheese, fresh baked bread, green salad, and rich brown ‘peas an’ rice’. Kendra sat with us, sharing stories about her life on Crooked Island and abroad. Her cheeky, spindly legged little girl Roshay, in her Diva t-shirt warmed up to us too after she finished her supper.

We had cold beers in hand, courtesy of Andy who’d driven to another town to find them. And just when we thought the day couldn’t get much better in Landrail, Andy set up his magic trick. A private magic show to accompany dessert of cake and ice cream.  Andy had eggs balanced on little cups, on a heavy tray under which there stood two glasses of water. Then, wielding a clunky kitchen broom he jolted forward and with a crash the tray went flying and the eggs plopped safely into the cups, suspended unbroken in the water. Wow!!!! It was quick and violent and impressive.

Andy and his magic broom

But all good things must come to an end and we had to navigate the spiky, propeller shredding reefs back to our boats before darkness settled over us and this Crooked, wonderful little place. So with hugs all around and a few cool snapshots with Roshay, we bid them all farewell and set off, back to our ocean homes.

Kendra and her winning smile

Two cool divas!

The night that followed, being tossed about in a huge surf was worth the visit to this out, out island which was home to no more than 300 people – a place that proved you can have a thriving and beautiful community in seemingly the middle of nowhere.

Visiting the crumbling lighthouse the next morning, a regal testament to times gone by, was merely the icing on this cake of a visit. Thank you Crooked Island!