Pittstown Point, Bahamas

0 nm
Wind: E-SE 10-15 knots

I’m at the house today, lounging on a brand-new Country Casual teak recliner on a screened porch under a high-powered fan, watching the sun glare down blindingly on the white of the boat, watching the mast swing back and forth at what looks like a ninety-degree angle even though the wind is dead calm. Life’s a lot better over here on shore. For one thing, I have a delicious glass of iced reverse-osmosis water sitting at my feet. For another, there’s crisp iced romaine lettuce for salads in the refrigerator. For a third, there’s a microwave for egg sandwiches. And most blessedly, there fans, and shade, and my seat isn’t trying to throw me. I could get used to this. Far, far too used to this.

So I got fed up with everything, abandoned my article and the blog, and swam ashore. I think Karl (and the rest of the workmen) was a little shocked to see me waltz up the garden path in my bathing suit, but I had had enough. I just don’t know if I can handle the writer thing, at least not for eight hours a day, at least not in this rolly of an anchorage. We need to find someplace where the boat will at least sit still, whether or not I can deal with the sun. Maybe August in the Bahamas wasn’t the best timeframe for me to pick.

It turned out to be a good thing, though. Just as I showed up (and Karl gave me his tee-shirt), Nappy was offering to drive over to Barbara’s to pick us up a chicken snack for dinner. We’ve noticed before how every single Friday night, the entire Bahamas has chicken for dinner, in those ubiquitous partitioned styrofoam containers. The entire Bahamas save us. In Farmer’s Cay, everyone around us was carting around a full styrofoam container at least two pounds in weight, and I was bewildered. Where did they get this chicken? How did they find it? How much did it cost?

On Friday the mystery was revealed. Kind of. Evidently someone just makes chicken every Friday night. Barbara is the wife of Don, the painter working on the house, and we’ve gotten to know him quite well. She runs a restaurant in the season, but in the summer she just makes barbecued chicken on Friday nights, and “everyone knows.” I officially felt like one of the community, digging into my pigeon peas and rice, potato salad, and corn with my little plastic fork. Suffice it to say, it was delicious.

Saturday we finally got the blessed internet, even though I wasn’t able to update the blog. I was also able to call my family using Skype for the first time, which was pretty amazing. The craziest thing about it was using the video-conferencing feature, and being able to see my parents and introduce them to Nappy and Kenny, whose computer we were using. Kenny’s said that we can use his computer again when we need to, and I’m hopeful that I can take my Apple down there and plug it into his ethernet. I just hoped to have freer access--we still have a billion things we need to figure out, including how to repair our roller furler or how to convert to hanked-on sails, and we really need the internet for all of that.

Saturday night Nappy bought us more chicken, this time from Blackjack’s, another local dining establishment. We had some of the best wings I’ve ever had, and met Blackjack, a great guy who is a former pastor in the community. He told us about his descent into cocaine addiction, and Nappy told us how he recovered enough to run the place for his brother. I also played dominoes for the first time since Acklins, and was thrilled to discover that people had even heard of me, from where my name is inscribed on the wall in Chester’s! I didn’t disappoint as far as domino-playing ability, but I think Karl got a little bit tired of the relentless flirtation from the male element present. They seem to be a little short of women around here. All the women in the Bahamas must move to Nassau, that’s all I can figure out.

So today I’m happily ensconced, listening to Karl hammer away while I contemplate doing some mending. I had intended to take the weekend off from my writing anyway. Maybe I’ll have a different perspective on my article when I get back to it.