Sunday, June 17, 2007

Georgetown, Exumas, Bahamas

0 nm
Wind: SE-S 15-20 knots

Today we had a grand adventure across the harbor, whisking across in Dan’s inflatable dinghy. Our goal for the day was the pig roast at the Chat ‘n Chill. It ended up being rather disappointing, though--I had visions of gnawing a big haunch of pig flesh. Instead, it was nineteen dollars a plate for a little tiny measly portion of pulled pork. Obviously geared for the resort folk, who were out in droves. It’s a little bewildering to step out of yachtie world and into resort world, which children screaming and running around, bikini-clad squads of teenagers traipsing around, and chubby pallid tourists lounging on brightly colored lawn chairs.

Still, Karl and I would have happily stayed. I was ready for a swim at the beach and I had scouted the menu for the four-dollar burger. We’re definitely feeling a shortage of animal protein. The other two boats’ crews were dismayed, however, and decided to whisk us back to Pegasus where Dan promised to throw some lamb chops on the barbie.

It was just as fun as it would have been at Chat ‘n Chill, I’m sure. We swam off the boat and talked for hours. It’s the first day in ages that the sun’s been out and the weather’s been halfway decent. There’s nothing like that chilly layer of water underneath the sun-warmed aqua blue surface to make you happy. I need to resolve to just jump in the ocean daily as an antidepressant, no matter the weather. Every time I do I’m reminded of how happy I am out here, how content, why it is that I’m doing all this. The water alone is enough to salve my conscience and soothe my worries.

I keep having a hard time being motivated to write, to record. I debate only writing once or twice a week instead of daily, so as to keep readers from being overwhelmed by the profusion of my prose. I have to continually remind myself that I’m doing this for me, not you (sorry, whoever you are), and that I love recording everything I’m experiencing, even the doldrums of boat life. When I return to these pages (going on 80 since January) years from now, I’ll recall everything--the smells, the tastes, the sights. That’s the point. To recall it as vividly as I can for myself, which I hope will recreate it for you, which will nourish my imagination for years to come.

I keep remembering these little college notebooks my sister used to write. She collected old address books, the type that everyone gets for Christmas in gift sets and never uses. She’d write anything that came to her mind, quotes from professors or books in class, overheard comments in the cafeteria, jokes, ideas, thoughts. She let anyone read them. She even quoted at length from one of the notebooks recently on her website (which I would link to if I could), and even now, rereading those cryptic lines, recalled to me exactly how it felt to be living thirty miles away from her in the city in those days. I keep a little notebook now, not quite as inspired as hers, but ideas of boat projects, boat articles, ideas for the blog. That notebook will be shoved into a box somewhere someday and won’t emerge for a decade, but when it does, I’ll remember exactly how it felt to be here, sweating in the humidity, the thunder rumbling outside, tapping away at the keys of my little white laptop, Karl reading with his feet propped on the teak in the vee berth, recalling a day spent in the company of friends in the tropical sun.

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