Pilates of the Caribbean
The island of New Providence, smack in the middle of the Bahamas, is the last widely inhabited rock in the chain as you sail south. We left New Providence, happily, after a few days’ involuntary stay and one brief shore excursion to Nassau, which was admittedly fun.
South of New Providence extends the Exuma chain of islands on the western stretch of Exuma Sound. They form a long barrier of low-slung rock against the prevailing easterly trade winds in the region. There are hundreds of little islands, or cays, some sparsely inhabited, others completely barren. At one stop I read that this stretch used to be heavily wooded but was stripped bare by the seagoing nations as they variously fought over Caribbean territory. It’s hard to picture the Exumas with trees now; they’re comprised of sharp limestone, thick shrubbery and white beaches, with very little topography to differentiate between them.
In contrast with the roughness of the dry terrain, the sea here is incredible. Vast expanses of shallow, sand-bottomed waters create a sailing vista unlike anything I’ve experienced before, as the clear water takes on the colour of the sand and turns a vivid turquoise for hundreds of miles at a time. Numerous, sometimes treacherous, reefs surround the cays, and serve as amazing snorkel and dive locations. Falling off the side of the dinghy with a mask on feels like jumping into a tank at the aquarium; brightly coloured fish and coral, reef and nurse sharks, manta and sting rays (and even three eagle rays), turtles, starfish, dolphins, lobsters… Only half of it is delicious, but it’s all gorgeous.
We took four days to sail south from New Providence to Great Exuma island, where the village of Georgetown is situated. Georgetown is otherwise known as Chicken Harbour because it’s the last real supply stop on your way south out of the Bahamas, and many cruisers who come down from the States decide to stay another season in the Bahamas rather than risk the increasingly-difficult passages towards the Turks & Caicos, Dominican Republic, and/or Puerto Rico. It’s a pretty little town with a local population of ~7,000 with an additional 300 – 400 cruisers floating offshore in their sailboats. The buildings are brightly coloured pinks and blues and you can provision here for a longer trip south-east.
With its status as the last, best stop before the real sailing begins, Georgetown has over time turned into a semi-permanent community of sailors and expats who cruise down here in January, stick around to enjoy the combination of civilization and island life, then head north again before hurricane season opens up in June. Just off shore is Stocking Island which offers great protection from the trade winds, as well as a few little bars and a conch shack. There’s also daily volleyball games, morning yoga, beach-front church services on Sunday, a water taxi to the mainland, a good hill climb, miles of gorgeous beach… basically everything you want when you live on a sailboat and need to stretch your legs.
“It’s a goddamn daycare for senior citizens.” This from a white-haired old sailor after three rum punches.
We’ve been adopted by a few older couples whom, I suspect, worry that we’re not eating properly. At least 90% of the sailing population here is over 60 years old, so the three of us in our thirties are a rare sight. With Gaia’s dark red hull and her crew complement of hairy, tattooed boys and one pretty young girl, we stand out, and have been surprised (and mostly pleased) to be the focus of a lot of attention down here. David, the captain, is garrulous and social, and almost daily returns to Gaia announcing that we’ve been invited to some boat or other for drinks and sea-gossip. One exceptionally kind couple invited us to their rental home on shore so we could do laundry and have a hot shower and spend the night in a real bed (well, I got a couch, but the air-conditioning was a nice change). I worry about what we must look like to have elicited the offer in the first place…
“Russ, tell Liza it’s time for Pilates!” Paula yells up from a dinghy beside Gaia early one morning.
I look down into the cabin where a slightly hungover Liza is miming sleep, clearly regretting the previous night’s promise to join the old ladies on the beach.
“Uh, I think she’s still sleeping,” I shrug at Paula. “Kids, eh?”
