One Particular Harbour – Redux (November, 2023)

Answering the call of the Sea of Abaco.

You up?

That’s the text I sent my friend Jeff around 1 a.m. very early on a Saturday morning. No, it’s not what you think. It was a response to yet another middle-of-the-night message from American Airlines, with which I have a love-hate relationship. I was supposed to fly to Marsh Harbour (Abaco, Bahamas) that morning, via MIA from DCA. They had cancelled my flight from DCA-MIA, which would cause me to miss the connection to MHH, and kindly rescheduled me for the next day. Jeff was flying the same itinerary, and received the same message from American.

Since we were planning a sailing charter, a missed day would be costly. So we both clacked away on our computers while talking to AA agents and texting each other. Since Jeff was solo, he snagged an earlier flight to MIA on which there was a single seat available. I, on the other hand, spoke fruitlessly (but patiently) with my agent, finding no same-day alternatives. Finally, I just asked him to get me to Nassau (he obliged), and I would take my chances with finding a commuter flight from there to Marsh Harbour.

Who would have ever thought BahamasAir would be the solution? (The running joke is “If you have time to spare, try BahamasAir.”) We added an additional flight to our itinerary (DCA-CLT-NAS-MHH), but the domestic terminal in Nassau isn’t the worst place in the world to transition to Out Island Time. We had a lunch of cracked conch, and after having a Sands Radler, I found my new favorite everyday Bahamian beer: Sands Light.

While a Sands Radler (pink grapefruit added to beer) is delicious and pretty, a Sands Light is a perfect beach beer. Do you suppose they designed the can to match the beach?

Though we arrived hours later than planned (and hours later than our luggage), we finally made it to Marsh Harbour in time for happy hour. Jeff, in the meantime, used his unchaperoned hours in Marsh Harbour productively — he claimed our boat (a Lagoon 42 catamaran named Benedetto), and then befriended the staff and owners of Snappa’s restaurant, which shares the waterfront with the Conch Inn Marina where we were based. After a terrific dinner at the Abaco Beach Resort (walking distance), and a decent night’s sleep, we were ready to face the start day of our charter.

Benedetto on a mooring in Hopetown Harbour.

The start day of a charter is never fun. Between chart and boat briefings and provisioning, it’s tedious work. We divided and conquered, with Rick and Jeff handling the briefings and me handling the hunting and gathering and hauling and stowing.

Not that provisioning is ever easy, but recent charters have left me spoiled. In the British Virgin Islands, and with Nassau as a base for Exumas charters, there are provisioning outfits — sometimes more than one — that let you plan your menus and shopping list at home weeks in advance. Then you transmit your list and magically the groceries are on your boat, sometimes even stowed. Not so in the Abacos these days. I had to hire a taxi and get myself to Maxwell’s and wander the aisles hoping to find what was on my list and making multiple substitutions and menu changes on the fly. (I kept my fingers crossed that one wish list item — key lime pie — would be found in Hopetown.)

We were ready at noon, but, alas, Benedetto was not. Ironically, we’d been upgraded to this Lagoon 42 because the Lagoon 40 we’d originally booked had generator problems; unfortunately, Benedetto was similarly afflicted. Ugh.

All credit to Navigare Yachting for fixing the generator and getting us off the dock by 2 p.m., just 2 hours after we’d expected to. At last, our adventure begins!

Rick and Jeff at the helm station.

It had been nearly 10 years since Rick and I had sailed in the Abacos, and even longer for Jeff, though Rick and I had rented a house in Green Turtle Cay last year. Hurricane Dorian had caused catastrophic damage to the islands in 2019, which were slowly recovering, and we wanted to be part of the recovery. It was hard to see dismasted and destroyed boats, shattered docks, and blacked out buildings, but it was also heartening to see business slowly blooming again.

Our motley crew, on a typical morning. Pop-Tarts and coffee for breakfast, journaling, catching up on life on the “real” world.

Sailing in November is a tricky business. Sometimes the weather is perfect; sometimes it’s dicey. Except for a day or two, we got the dicey weather, but luckily the heavy winds were from the east, so we didn’t need to search for those few anchorages which offered protection from the western cold fronts.

This trip was one of old favorites and new perspectives. Having stayed on land on Elbow Cay in the past, Tahiti Beach (at the south end of the cay) was familiar. But visiting it by boat was new. We found it at low tide, and had it mostly to ourselves, allowing for exploration of what felt like acres of sand flats. Unfortunately, the water was so shallow that we couldn’t really engage in the strenuous sport of Floating: gracelessly sprawling on (or hanging from) an inflated object, with an added degree of difficulty if balancing a beverage.

Tahiti Beach offered us a sandbar playground, almost entirely to ourselves.

Moon rising over Elbow Cay.

While Tahiti Beach looked much as I remembered it, our first stop on Monday, Tilloo Bank, felt different. I have memories of it being a giant swimming pool, crisscrossed by giant stingrays ghosting by. While the stingrays still accompanied us as we floated off the beach, we couldn’t seem to access the swimming pool — whether it had shifted, or we approached it from the wrong direction.

A painted rock tucked in a tree at Tilloo Cay, which we explored by dinghy.

But our next stop, the Bight of Old Robinson (just north of Little Harbour — which we couldn’t visit because the tide was always too low for us to traverse the entrance bar), was everything I dreamed it would be. If you know me, or have read this blog, you know I am obsessed with treasure hunting — and in the Bahamas, I seek sand dollars. I dream about them, I study charts to look for the most likely places to find them, and I comb my memories for spots where I’d found them before. The Bight of Old Robinson is a place I’d found sand dollars before, and hoped to do so again.

An outgoing tide at the Bight of Old Robinson (just north of Little Harbour) provided exploration galore.

Of course, I like to manage expectations as well, so I decide that I will be happy if I simply find a single specimen. Often, spots where we’d found sand dollars before get picked over, or the shifting sands cover them up. It was approaching low tide when we dinghied towards the sand flats and dropped anchor. No sooner had I stepped off the dink did I spot my first sand dollar. And then another and another. I was in heaven! The receding waters were perfect for splashing around, and revealed starfish, jellies, and other critters. We kept exploring, even as it rained on us, until the tide started rising again. We hid for the night in the lee of Lynyard Cay.

In the money!

Expecting rough weather in the coming days, our itinerary had to take that into account. After multiple changes of plan, even as we were underway, we made for Hopetown. With a harbor protected from nearly 360 degrees of wind, mooring balls, and lots (we hoped) to keep us occupied, we could spend days here if necessary, as we have in the past.

The Hopetown lighthouse greets us.

Hopetown’s waterfront.

I’ve long considered Hopetown my “one particular harbor.” See: https://sabrecalypso.wordpress.com/2013/12/19/one-particular-harbour/ As idyllic anchorages go, it’s hard to top. A picturesque lighthouse, a snug harbor, a charming village, and friendly people — residents and visitors alike. By many accounts, Hopetown was the quickest on the route to recovery from Dorian’s ravages; by my reckoning, a great many of the historic cottages in the settlement had survived the storm or were brought back to their former pastel glory.

Hopetown is as colorful and welcoming as ever, including Captain Jack’s.

At Captain Jack’s, with a photobomb by the lighthouse.

Though the sounds of hammering and construction were ever noticeable, many businesses were back in form. We took advantage of that with a lobster salad lunch at Cap’n Jack’s, as well as scoring a coveted key lime pie from Vernon’s Grocery (mission accomplished!)

Have you been to the Abacos if you haven’t had a key lime pie from Vernon’s?

By far, the most sublime swim of the week was on Hopetown’s ocean beach. A quick scramble down the beach access next to St. Matthew’s Church revealed a perfectly sandy shore with gentle surf. I could have stayed forever, and we certainly lingered long enough to become prune-y and thirsty.

Hopetown’s spectacular ocean beach.

Just as we are wont to revisit places that figured in fond memories, there are new spots to discover as well. So while Cap’n Jack’s was our lunch destination, for dinner we cleaned up and went to the fairly swanky Hopetown Inn and Marina — a place new to me. One of our running jokes is that Out Island menus are fairly predictable, usually featuring variations on locally-caught fish (fish fingers, fish burgers), conch (fritters, chowder, curried conch, cracked conch) and occasionally lobster. The restaurant here delivered the expected (and much appreciated) conch chowder, but also preparations of local fish that were unexpected (mahi piccata).

Hopetown Inn and Marina, quiet so early in the season.

Just as I had my wish to find sand dollars, Jeff’s wish was to have Vernon’s key lime pie to commemorate a milestone birthday. So, after dinner, we pointed a fire lighter in the general direction of the pie and celebrated.

Presenting a slice of birthday pie!

The following day delivered on my second wish for this journey: to check out the lagoon north of Scotland Cay (which is just south of Great Guana Cay). I’d seen pictures, but had never been. The worst of the weather held off long enough for us to be able to anchor Benedetto and take the dinghy in. The tide was moving in, allowing us to ride (very deliberately) through the lazy creeks and pools created among the sand flats. The shifting sands and crystal waters are my favorite feature of the Bahamian islands, but alas the wind was picking up and the temperature dropping, so our visit was abbreviated.

Floating in the yummy lagoon north of Scotland Cay.

The deteriorating weather affirmed our decision to stay at a marina for the next couple of nights — Orchid Bay on Great Guana Cay. Being so early in the season, we very nearly had the place to ourselves. Pre-Dorian, this was a full-on resort marina, complete with swimming pool, restaurant and bar. These days, we were happy to have the very secure dock, among the very few in Settlement Harbour which had been repaired. The rest of the harbor was a seascape of splintered pilings and shattered piers.

Safe haven at Orchid Bay.

Orchid Bay is just a short stroll away from the quintessential Abaco institution that is Nipper’s. So early in the season, and on weekdays, Nipper’s was virtually empty. Since we’d visited last year, the main staircase to the beach had been trashed by Hurricane Nicole. Even though there was another way to access the spectacular beach, the conditions were too rough for swimming. Luckily, the conditions are always good for Frozen Nipper’s, and the pool would have to do.

The colorful and welcoming ambience of Nipper’s.

The sea may have looked welcoming, but swimming at Nipper’s was a no-go.

The next day was no better, so we decided to spend another day in the marina. We’ve become spoiled at home by keeping our boats at floating docks. In the Bahamas, though, there are hardly any floating docks, despite a much more significant tidal range. By lunchtime on Thursday, the tide was high and the wind was honking, pushing our cat way above and away from the dock — given that I’d been nursing an Achilles injury from tennis that was worsened by walking through soft sand, there was no getting off Benedetto for me, Despite hoping for a Grabber’s or Nipper’s lunch, we settled instead for a funky clean-out-the-galley lunch aboard.

Later in the afternoon, Rick rigged up a step out of a fender; though still precarious, I was able to climb off the boat. We walked to Grabber’s and found that there was not a soul there. It was clearly open for business, but it was a ghost town. Aw darn … back to Nipper’s. While it was too windy for the pool or the beach, Frozen Nippers, Sands Lights, and conch fritters warmed our souls.

Our last full day delivered weather just as bad as the past couple days’. Being insistent about maintaining a positive attitude, I noted that the wind kept the biting insects away, and that we could all sleep with our hatches open without fear of being eaten. And though it would feel too cold to do much swimming, we did take advantage of one more opportunity to hang out at the north end of Scotland Cay.

We brought Benedetto back to the fuel dock at the charter base in Marsh Harbour and though we arrived before 4 as directed, we were basically abandoned there for the night. In and of itself, this would not have been too bad, except that it started raining and we were just about as far from the shelter of Snappa’s as possible.

Naturally, departure day was perfectly sunny and warm. And travel went off without a hitch.

In the last year, we’ve spent two vacations in the post-Dorian Abacos and one in the post-Irma/Maria BVI. Nature clearly has no mercy. In the BVI, while there remains evidence of damage from the 2017 hurricanes, it seems like much of what has been re-built has been built back to a higher and higher-end (read: more expensive) standard. I have mixed feelings about that, having liked the scruffier charm of the islands in the past, but appreciating some of the pleasures of nicer amenities. 2019’s Dorian wrought devastation in the Abacos, which are slow in returning to their prior glory (though the re-builds seem stronger without becoming more exclusive). We’ve mostly enjoyed the Bahamas Out Islands for their natural beauty and spectacular waters, which remain intact if in slightly edited form. So many residents have left, with no immediate plans to return, so I expect that the Abacos will continue slow recovery.

Easy, Breezy BVI – March 2023

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Life is Easier…

If ever there was a sybaritic way to study the laws of supply and demand, it’s on a sailing charter in the British Virgin Islands. In the nearly 20 years since we last sailed here (2004 – see the trip report here), consumers have made demands, and we got to experience how the charter companies and other businesses complied.

The motley crew of Anna Belle, a Lagoon 40 catamaran on which we were the first charterers. Doing what we do best — floating.

Sailing a monohull too hard, or too uncomfortable? Here, have a catamaran or a thousand of them. Our charter company didn’t even offer monohulls. Better yet, don’t even bother with sails — have a power cat!

Lots of cats at The Bight. Power or sail – you choose.

Too hot for ya? We’ve got air-conditioning, and not just at the dock. You can have a generator to run that AC all day and night, wherever you are. And it will run that microwave and blender as well.

Too inconvenient to ration water in the shower, or top up the tanks? They’ve put a watermaker on your catamaran. And if you don’t want to tie up to a dock to get water, you certainly won’t want to do it to get ice, or to dispose of your trash. A friendly Boat Boy (at least that’s what they called them in the Grenadines) will swing by in his skiff to pick up and drop off. Another will take your frozen drink orders and deliver on schedule.

Here come the frozen drinks, in North Sound, Virgin Gorda

The memories of going to West End and pointing our flip phones towards St. John to try to pick up a US cell signal are just that: memories. Now, we sign up for our cell carrier’s international plan and pick up robust signals on our smart phones. And we have a WiFi hotspot on the boat. All of which makes it easy to reserve a mooring ball in the more popular anchorages, instead of racing through the morning to get there first. Ditto for dinner reservations at some of the hot spots. Indeed, hardly anyone uses VHF radio anymore; just call.

All of which makes chartering in the BVI much easier than it used to be. For better or worse, it has opened sailing vacations up to a lot more people. But it has also made things much easier, so we can focus on sailing and relaxing rather than worrying about the details.

But Not Too Easy

Which is not to say that all of the challenges are erased. Post-Irma/Maria, post-Pandemic, the British Virgin Islands are not the same. And chartering a bareboat still requires a certain level of effort. Just getting here is harder than it used to be. In the olden days, we flew from BWI to San Juan, and hopped an American Eagle to EIS. The Eagles seemed to run hourly until well after dark, and if you or your luggage missed one, there was always the next one. Or you’d fly to St. Thomas and hop a ferry.

Now those connections to EIS are tortured and few. And the ferry schedules are limited and re-arranged, while the lines at customs and immigration can be endless. We took the “easier” way out by flying to St. Thomas (via CLT) and arranging for a private water taxi (the staff meeting you at the airport and taking you via van to your waiting boat in Red Hook). If your flight is delayed, they wait for you; and the water taxi captains have permits that allow them to take your passports through immigration while you wait on the boat with Carib or painkillers at your disposal.

The start of a charter is still a pain, though the pain is much more manageable than it used to be. Or at least it was with our charter company, TMM. The water taxi dropped us right on the dock at our boat. Our Lagoon 40 catamaran, Anna Belle, was plugged in, cooled down, and stocked with ice for the pre-charter sleepaboard. Our pre-ordered groceries and liquor were delivered (mostly) as promised, and whatever was missing, we picked up at the Riteway store next to the base. The requested SUPs and kayaks were lashed to the decks. And because of our past experience with TMM, sailing experience (a licensed captain among us) and a dozen BVI charters on our resumes, the pre-sail briefings and checkouts were blessedly quick, so we were off and sailing before 11 a.m. on Saturday. Off we went!

BVIs Go Upscale

Rick and I were invited on this trip by our friends Brett and Erica; Erica was celebrating a milestone birthday, and we were pleased to celebrate with her. Brett and Erica’s BVI experiences are much more recent than ours, so they knew to reserve a Boaty Ball at the extremely popular first-night anchorage of Cooper Island, and to make dinner reservations. The staff at the TMM base were impressed that we’d scored both, because it’s like getting in the queue to get concert tickets: your finger must be poised over the keyboard to press ENTER at exactly 7:00 a.m. By 7:04, the moorings are all claimed.

Great Harbour, Jost Van Dyke, now has moorings, and they fill up fast.

Since we got off the dock so early and didn’t need to worry about claiming a mooring at Cooper, we had time to check out Peter Island. The Peter Island Resort used to be the definition of BVI luxury and exclusivity. Now, it’s a construction site — rebuilding what was destroyed by Irma and Maria — and the beach at Deadman’s Bay is not nearly as lovely as it used to be. It didn’t stop us from enjoying our first swim of the journey, but it was hard to observe what had been lost.

The beach at Deadman’s Bay, Peter Island. No one around but a handful of boats and construction workers.

If Peter Island had lost its luster, Cooper Island is totally spiffed up. What used to be a scruffy beach club with strong drinks and serviceable island-style food is now a swanky resort with raised plank walkways wandering through the greenery between bars, boutiques, hidden-away accommodations, and a high-end restaurant. I loved the Rum Bar, which had dozens and dozens (maybe hundreds) of rums, both popular and obscure. Any bartender who can make me a ti punch, or mix a classic Hemingway daiquiri, is a winner in my book. And dinner here was very likely the best we had all week (other than the meals we made ourselves, of course) — with menu choices ranging from local snapper to sous vide filet mignon. Expensive, but worthwhile.

Anegad-ahhhh

Our itinerary for the week was flexible; we only had a few spots we wanted to hit. Virgin Gorda’s North Sound was one of them, and would have made a logical next stop from Cooper Island. But the wind was just too perfect and pointed us directly toward Anegada, so we continued onward. Anegada used to be elusive — in a pre-GPS era — requiring you to obtain from your charter company special dispensation to go. For, unlike the other Virgins, Anegada is flat and not visible until you’re approaching her reefs. (My pet theory is that Anegada, and Antigua’s sister island Barbuda, broke off from the Bahamas which they more closely resemble and were taken in by their more lush and hilly siblings.) Now, you follow the chartplotter and channel marks and pick up a mooring ball.

The main anchorage off Setting Point is where all of the action is these days. We launched our assortment of kayaks and SUPs and headed towards likely swimming spots, but found the bottom too squidgy (that is a technical term), so instead found bars. There are many choices, and we ended up at Potter’s, but without one key item: money. Rick hightailed it back to Anna Belle to get a credit card, and all was well in the world.

Potter’s by the Sea, readying for lobster dinners.

Despite the attractions of shoreside dining, we ate on board our first Anegada night. One thing I can count on in the BVI is the availability of Stone’s Ginger Wine, the star ingredient of a well-known BVI recipe from Palm’s Delight restaurant on Tortola: ginger wine chicken. I seldom make this at home, but it often finds its way on charter menus.

Our plans contemplated 2 nights in Anegada to allow for exploration. Though the Settlement has plenty of activity, the rest of the island is quiet, which appeals to me, as do the secluded beaches for which Anegada is known. That there are beach bars is also attractive. In true BVI fashion, there are no posted hours — everything pretty much opens when the paths of patrons and staff coincide. So if someone wanted a Carib at Cow Wreck Beach before 10 a.m., that could be arranged.

Cow Wreck Beach, and Cow Wreck Beach Bar. Somebody had to be the first one to order a Carib that day….

And lunch at the Big Bamboo was when we ordered it. Sadly, the beaches were less than perfect, as the great sargassum bloom of 2023 was dumping seaweed on the shores earlier and in greater amounts than in past years. At Cow Wreck and Loblolly, we were able to pick our swimming spots.

Peering through the seagrapes at Loblolly Bay.

Anegada Beach Club had piles of drying sargasso. Unmarred white sands on Anegada were not in the cards. And it was hard not to jump every time a clump of weed brushed up against you.

Anegada is also known for the salt ponds populated with flamingos. I’d never seen them before this trip, but we did this time. They were maddeningly on the other side of the pond, but the viewing stand had telescopes that allowed a closer look.

What is a visit to Anegada without one of it’s famed lobster dinners? We’d booked a table at Potter’s, and they delivered Jurassic-sized bugs for our dining pleasure. I couldn’t even make a dent in mine, but got a kick out of watching Brett dismantle them like a pro, letting not a morsel of the sweet meat go to waste.

***That lobster was a beast; it needed a saddle and hay bale, not a fork and drawn butter!***

More of the Upscale BVIs

After 2 nights in Anegada, we backtracked to Virgin Gorda, definitely going against the flow of traffic, since we skipped Virgin Gorda on the way east. There was no mad dash for moorings, as North Sound has plenty from which to choose. Since it was dead calm, we chose a spot near Biras Creek in the hope that any easterly breeze might find us through the break in the hills there.

Like Cooper Island, many of the North Sound establishments had gone fancy on us. We skipped Saba Rock altogether, since it didn’t look like our grungy clothes would fit the tone. The Bitter End Yacht Club is in the midst of re-building; they prioritized re-opening common amenities, while lodgings were mostly to-be-built. Bitter End no longer has the sailor bar vibe it used to; it’s beautifully appointed and has artisan cocktails and great food (with prices to match, but hey…) It definitely feels like a proper yacht club, and not a spot to slap a sticker or staple a raggedy t-shirt to a rafter.

Fancy drinks and fancy food at the fancy Bitter End Yacht Club.

JOST–Ho-Ho!

For proper beach bar experiences, Jost Van Dyke can’t be beat. Like Anegada, we budgeted for 2 nights in its environs. The wind had forsaken us, but true to winter form, there was a heavy northern swell running, 3-4 feet in places. Watching the masts swaying as we passed Cane Garden Bay on the north shore of Tortola affirmed our choice to avoid those exposed anchorages.

Enticing Sandy Cay

Jost had always been my favorite British Virgin. The island is tiny, with no proper village or settlement, and has a handful of uninhabited tiny satellites with a desert island feel. Sandy Spit had a gaggle of catamarans anchored off it, so we anchored off larger Sandy Cay. The heavy surf breaking on the beach made a dinghy landing on the beach prohibitive, and though we wanted some beach time, no one was willing to brave the likely sand rash that we’d get if we tried to swim ashore. So, after a burger lunch, we moved on to the mooring ball we’d reserved in the Diamond Cay field off the east end of Jost Van Dyke. While Erica and I floated, the guys went ashore to make dinner reservations at Taboo and kill a few brains cells (their cocktail, “Wreck on the Rocks,” is almost all rum).

Taboo seems much expanded since our daytrip back in 2017, and we claimed a table in the sand for dinner. At moonrise, everyone’s attention was drawn to the eastern sky for a spectacular lunar show. Inadvertently, my photo attempts also illustrated just how many boats, dinghies, and visitors were here this evening, at this eastern outpost of JVD that barely saw visitors in the olden days of chartering.

Moonrise over Tortola, and the long dock leading to Foxy’s Taboo.

Despite the busy-ness of Taboo and Diamond Cay, I had no real memories to compare them to. But the next day’s visits to White Bay and Little Harbour would be another matter.

Although we all had hopes of anchoring or mooring in White Bay the next day, I hedged our bets by reserving a ball in Little Harbour, figuring that the $55 fee would be a small price to pay for insurance. As we threaded through the reef protecting White Bay, it was clear that the swell would be an issue here. Three foot waves were breaking over the reef, and everything inside the reef was rocking and rolling.

The day is just beginning at White Bay.

The first part of our (mis)adventure in White Bay was securing a mooring ball. The cruising guide said there were none, but I think that meant only that no one collected payment for moorings, or, for that matter, maintained them. A quick reconnoiter at around 9:00 a.m. showed only one mooring available, and for good reason: it had no pennant. We tried to thread a line through it to no avail. Soon, another ball became available, and we snagged it, only to find that it was partially chafed through. Seeing no alternative, we ran spare lines through it.

It didn’t take long for the shit show to begin. Before we even went ashore, we watched 2 boats race to reach another ball that became available. The loser quit the scene by backing up without a glance aft, crunching over the reef. We basically bounced ashore in the swell, securing our dinghy high up the beach and making our way towards The Soggy Dollar Bar.

Soggy Dollar used to be my Platonic Ideal of an island beach bar. Stunning beach, great drinks, a mellow vibe, not too crowded but with enough interesting people about to banter with, bar games, and decent food. These days, the gift shop feels like its bigger than the bar, and there were hundreds of people around.

Busy, busy Soggy Dollar

We had to wait in one of a couple of lines at least 10 people long for a Painkiller The Painkillers are poured from pitchers of pre-made drinks; there’s nothing wrong with that — that’s how I make them — but the message is clearly that if you want a drink, it better be a Painkiller because anything else will take way too long.

Waiting in line for one of those delicious Painkillers

We stuck around for a round, snagging a bar table with nailed-down stools, and watched the parade, and it was not a pretty scene. (I guess we’re equally guilty, since we were there too.) Dozens of small excursion boats bearing day-trippers from cruise ships and other islands hugged the beach, while bigger “booze cruise” boats offloaded their cargo a little further away. With no thought of proper anchor scope or distance from other boats, many bumped into each other. Add some serious swell and alcohol, and the potential for mayhem is endless.

Thankfully, we were moored way down at the other end of the beach, and generally away from harm. We headed away from the juggernaut that Soggy Dollar has become to have a quieter lunch at Hendo’s Hideaway, a great spot for local food (chicken roti!), swam a while off the beach, and then went back to Anna Belle for more swimming with Caribs in hand.

Me and Rick, as captured by the Soggy Dollar webcam. I guess you know you’re getting old when rash guards and sun shirts are beachwear, intended to block the sun. Later, I coordinated my rash guard and floatie with the colors on a can of Carib.

It was clear that we were right to hedge our bets by reserving a spot in Little Harbour. White Bay was hopping, and Great Harbour (which also has mooring balls, but didn’t in the Before Times) was filling up as well. Little Harbour, in the meantime, was calm, quiet and flat, while a cool breeze thoughtfully blew into our hatches.

We’d made dinner reservations at Harris’ Place, which had definitely been battered in the past years. Initially, we were the only ones there, and tiny sprightly Cynthia bustled around, serving as hostess, bartender, server, and expediter. I was surprised that only one other table eventually joined us, because the food here was very good, and Cynthia’s attention made is feel welcome and cared-for. Lobster soup, raisin bread, salad, grouper and key lime pie made for a perfect island meal.

I guess now that Great Harbour has mooring balls (it’s hard to anchor there), Little Harbour is not the only safe harbor and traffic here has tailed off. Thought it may not be the prettiest bay, but it’s perfect for a restful night.

Not Ready to Go Home

We spent our last night in what had traditionally been our first night destination: Norman Island. I can only recall the Bight in the dusk and darkness, because when we’d chartered with other companies, we were lucky to get off the dock by late afternoon. In the daytime, it lacks the frantic energy of people just having arrived and wanting to shrug off the effort and stress of getting there by over-imbibing. Our last day was devoted to aggressive relaxation and galley emptying (including strange cocktail concoctions made with what remained of our supplies).

There were many reasons why it had been nearly 20 years since I’d been to the BVI. Our last sail was marred by terrible weather — aesthetically beautiful weather, but heavy winds that made every night a misery of sleeplessness, and days of lumpy seas and flying salsa bowls. That, of course, can’t be blamed on the islands, and we’d had rough charters before and since. But my inherent misanthropy was not well-served by traveling to islands which seemed to invite indiscriminate over-tourism and charter companies which seemed to care only about pushing underqualified and overconfident sailors out of their marinas, in both cases regardless of the impact on the overall health of physical and social environment of the islands. We’d found places that offered beauty and seclusion, and went there instead.

Although nothing compared to St. Thomas or St. Maarten, cruise ships are part of the scenery in the BVI.

Yet, our friends love sailing the BVI, and we used to, so we were willing to give them another chance. Coming to the BVI also gave us an opportunity to support islands and people who were trying mightily to recover from hurricanes and pandemics. And so, with open minds and managed expectations, we had a wonderful time. The islands are still beautiful; the people are still warm and welcoming; the waters still hospitable and blindingly blue; and the drinks still icy. So, when we leave, we go to come back.

Treasures of the Abacos – Green Turtle Cay – November 2022

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A double rainbow over Bita Bay, our home base on Green Turtle Cay. [NOTE: Many of the photos on this post have been contributed by Harriet — hers are the especially good ones.]

It’s never easy for me to decide where to go for my next island adventure, but I suppose I’ve reached the point that, more often than not, I’m going back to places that are on the top of the list again and again. Because no matter how many times I go, it’s never the same. Sure, many touchstones remain, but time leaves few places untouched. This has proven especially true of the Abacos, which time’s heavy hand flattened by means of Hurricane Dorian.

The Abacos are the first islands I ever returned to, and I’ve brought family and friends along for the ride. I returned repeatedly, staying at small inns, chartering sailboats, and finally arriving on Calypso. When Dorian hit over 3 years ago, the devastation in the Abacos was unfathomable. With little industry other than tourism, the only way Great Abaco and the cays would recover was to welcome visitors back, though it would take a while before there was adequate infrastructure for visitors. I was more than happy to pour a bit of money back in to the economy.

This time around, we decided to rent a house on Green Turtle Cay named Bita Breeze. My group consisted of our stalwart travel companions Skip and Harriet (Out Island veterans), and Skip’s daughter Jen and her husband Bill, who have also visited the Abacos and, like me, don’t like to travel where there are other people. (They are Coloradans who gave up skiing because it’s too crowded).

Our house looked small from the road, but it offered plenty of space. And, most importantly, a screened porch allowed us to be outdoors most of the time. The beach was mere steps away.

There is always a catch when you’re traveling to places that don’t get much traffic: it’s not easy to get there. The Abacos used to be easier to reach, but even before Dorian, getting to Green Turtle Cay was a bit more challenging than getting to the other cays. The ferry to GTC runs between Treasure Cay and GTC, rather than from Marsh Harbour, which is where the bulk of scheduled flights land. As cruise director, I plotted an itinerary that would be wonderful if it all worked, and a mess if it didn’t.

We decided that it would make sense for our gang to book a charter flight from Ft. Lauderdale’s executive airport to Treasure Cay. FXE was a convenient gathering point, and with a charter, we could manage flight times and choose our destination (there is no scheduled air into TCB these days, and “scheduled” charters don’t run everyday), as well as eliminating the long taxi ride from Marsh Harbour to Treasure Cay. While it’s not exactly cheap, when divided by 6 travelers, the cost of a charter was not exorbitant either.

I flew shotgun on our flight to Treasure Cay, and was amazed to discover that there was no radar on our plane. What a great way to arrive in the islands.

The other steps included:

Taxi from TCB to the ferry dock (it’s advisable to book this in advance; without scheduled air service, the taxis aren’t otherwise hanging out at the landing strip);
Ferry from Treasure Cay to Green Turtle Cay (we were fine with the regularly scheduled service — especially since there appears to be a new bar at the dock called The Drop Off, where you can officially christen your arrival to the Abacos with an icy Sands beer. You can also charter a ferry if the schedule doesn’t suit).
Being met at a ferry dock with our rented golf carts (Kool Karts — highly recommended); and
Meeting Bita Breeze’s caretaker, Carol Jean Lowe, who also happened to be our golf cart provider and led us to our house.

Hitting the road with two speedy gas-powered golf carts. Remember to drive on the left. Harriet and Jen have their Thelma and Louise moment while on the search for baked goods.

Carol Jean arranged for our house to be ready before the official check-in time, so that we were done with the next steps — grocery run and liquor store run — and back at the house by the time it would otherwise have been available.

I didn’t appreciate how tense managing all the arrangements had made me until my jaw finally relaxed with the first round of Dark ‘n’ Stormys we enjoyed from our beautiful screened porch. For a change, everything went as expected. One of the things I always appreciate about Abaconians is that while they embrace “island time,” business runs as scheduled whenever possible.

A Dark ‘n’ Stormy (not in its official copper cup) and a view. Luckily, with the exception of a few blustery moments now and then, we had good weather during our trip.

Breath caught, I had a chance to reflect on the ravages of Dorian. Customs and immigration at the TCB airport were now run out of a trailer provided by the Bahamas’ equivalent of FEMA — checking in felt like ordering from a food truck. Most nearby buildings were boarded up or destroyed. The backward view from the departing ferry revealed a stubble of barren pine trees poking out of browned vegetation. GTC also had many destroyed or heavily damaged buildings, and the “waste transfer station” (i.e. dump) was a mountain of spent building materials. A handful of docks were in good repair, but there was still plentiful evidence of destruction. There were enough businesses open to meet our needs, but some favorites — like the Leeward Yacht Club and the seafood shop — were gone.

This is what remains of the TCB airport, and in the background, you can see bare trees and the barren landscape.

Bita Breeze had reportedly survived Dorian with minimal damage, despite its beachfront location. The house is located on Bita Bay, a tiny bight on the Atlantic Ocean side of the cay — nothing between this tiny cay and Africa but the mighty sea. But there is a islet off the beach, and a reef, both of which provide some protection.

Every time I felt the urge for some beach time before our trip, I pulled up this image of what would be “our” beach on Green Turtle Cay.

The house sported 4 bedrooms and 3 baths and an open-plan kitchen, dining area and living area. The kitchen was beautiful and well-designed, so it was possible for us to make 3 dinners and several lunches at “home.” Most appealingly, there was a screened porch (even screened from below, covering any gaps between decking) to allow us to enjoy the outdoors and ocean without doing battle with mosquitos and no-see-ums.

Despite the loss of many businesses, there were at least 2 grocery stores operating, as well as liquor store/cafe, a couple of bakeries, and even a sometimes-open coffee shop. We got most of the groceries we needed at Sid’s in the New Plymouth settlement, which was reached by a quick golf cart ride. Sid’s had clearly been refurbished since Dorian, and after my first shop there, I was welcomed there as a friend (apparently memorable because I bring my own bags with me — does that make me a Bag Lady? Even though the Bahamas had banned single-use bags, the stores were using approved biodegradable ones, so most people don’t bother with their own). What couldn’t be had, I could improvise around. Buying seafood was a typically Out Island experience: we were told to turn right at the Wrecking Tree, then another right before Miss Emily’s, and then knock on the door of the blue house and ask Mr. Bode if he has anything — I got lobster tails (10 tails for $38!).

Our last remaining administrative task was claiming our rental boat on Sunday morning — a necessity for island-hopping. We rented a 21 foot Boston Whaler from Sunset Marine, which we kept at their dock, mere moments from our house. Check-out was efficient and painless. Now we were set for adventures.

Our Whaler, aptly named Stingray. Later in the week, we swapped it for a 22-foot Mako, since there were some engine glitches. Kudos to Sunset Marine for taking care of us.

Rick takes the helm, while Skip and Harriet enjoy the ride.

[I’ll concede that the rental house experience is not for someone who wants to be catered to in a totally carefree vacation experience — though if you bring me along with you, I’ll be happy to make your drinks. For that matter, the Out Islands really aren’t the place for that kind of pampering regardless of where you stay. But for me, the tradeoffs are worthwhile: a much roomier place to stay with the comforts of privacy and convenience, and the freedom to NOT eat every meal out.]

As far as I’m concerned, the Abacos, like the Exumas, are all about island exploration, my endless quest for secret spots. On this trip, we took our boat to familiar spots, new spots, and familiar spots which felt new because of how they’d been rearranged.

One of my favorite spots has long been Gillam Bay. Besides swimming and beach walking, it felt like sand dollars popped right up out of the surf. I am obsessed with sand dollars. However, as the years have passed, access via road has tightened to the point where the bay is now inaccessible due to all of the private property and an ill-considered seawall. On our first boat day, that side of the cay was too rough to consider going in by boat either. Instead, we found ourselves around the corner.

The squishy yellow asterisk marks the first spot we anchored, around the corner from Gillam Bay. The squishy orange asterisk marks Big O’s, on No Name Cay.

The beach here is rough, with enough sand spurs and other artifacts everywhere to remind me to bring my beach shoes. But it didn’t disappoint — I found my first and only sand dollar of the trip. Box checked.

Found my treasure: a sand dollar! In additional to flawless navigation, boat crew provides beer service.

Next, a completely new spot: the provocatively named Big O’s on neighboring No Name Cay. It’s a beachfront bar and restaurant with a swimming pool, with sturdy new docks to handle the boat traffic that is the only way to get there. However, the principal attraction seems to be the establishment’s entry into the Swimming Pig stakes. I hate the swimming pig attractions, especially the ones which are pallid imitations of of the originals at Big Major Spot in the Exumas. I don’t hate the pigs per se — they are mildly entertaining, and the piglets are cute. But they are also potentially aggressive animals, only slightly more aggressive than the brand of tourism they attract. Pigs aside, Big O’s is an appealing destination: the food is good (on our second trip there, I had the most delicious grouper wrap), the drinks are cold (had my first-ever Sand’s Radler, a surprisingly good combination of beer and grapefruit juice), and the vibe is chill.

I guess we’re officially old, now that we cover up and hide from the sun.

Silly pigs! But if they have pens and houses, they’re not really feral, are they?

Manjack (pronounced Munjack) Cay to the northwest of GTC used to be my favorite spot in the Abacos. It used to be a beachcomber’s paradise, and included a beguiling little water passage between the northernmost bay and a tiny limestone islet; the currents running between the two attracted sharks and stingrays. The bay itself invited hours of floating around, and a short walk to the Atlantic beach offered more boisterous water play.

The way the bay at the north end of Manjack Cay used to look in 2005. It was much the same in 2013-2014, though the once-uninhabited cay seemed to have become a bit more discovered.

These days, the little passage between the beach and tiny cay has been filled with gunky sand and scrubby vegetation. The edge of the bay, at least as far as I walked, was covered in mounds of sea grass and the sand was sludgy and wet.

The “creek” through which water used to flow is now filled in.

Nevertheless, we found a likely spot to anchor and engage in the strenuous sport of floating. While their usual spot was filled in, the stingrays were still in the area, and we spent close to an hour with a five-some of rays doing slalom runs between our legs.

The stingrays were friendly, but Bill looks dubious.

The Manjack beach might not be the same, but it’s still good for quality floating (and the obligatory foot photo — this time with water shoes).

Studious review of Google Earth also led us to beaches at the north end of Green Turtle Cay, as well as neighboring Fiddle Cay.

The beach at the north end of Green Turtle Cay gave us the feeling of having it all to ourselves.

The beach at Fiddle Cay looks like it gets used for “deserted island” excursions, but as is our wont, we were there by ourselves. A stretch of the beach yielded dozens and dozens of sea biscuits.

All of this was well and good, great even. But can you really spend time in the Abacos without visiting world-famous Nipper’s? We watched the weather and the sea, and visited Barometer Bob, to find the best day to cross the infamous and potentially treacherous Whale Cay passage between Green Turtle and Great Guana cays. This channel is known for the “rage” conditions which crop up from time to time, putting boats in peril. Thankfully, the conditions on the day we chose were okay, and between breadcrumbs dropped on our chartplotter and the Whaler’s relatively shallow draft, Rick was able to pilot us via the west side of Whale Cay. Still, the seas were substantial, though not breaking, so no one got sick and we arrived triumphantly in Settlement Harbour, thirsty for frozen Nippers.

Just follow the signs….

A great many docks in the harbour were still trashed, and many waterfront properties were smashed or missing entirely. Nipper’s itself still bore the smell of fresh lumber, having recently rebuilt. But it was all there: the lethal cocktails, the bi-level swimming pool, the joyfully colored tables and stools, the delicious local food, the friendly hubbub among the visitors, and the breathtaking beach. The frothing waves made it feel like I was swimming in champagne (and the waves knocked me on my backside, making me feel like I’d drunk too much of it). Better to keep to the pool, at least with that day’s surf conditions.

Happy faces at Nipper’s.

Swimming at Nipper’s — pool, beach or both?

Beach time necessarily gets interrupted by meal times. Our most popular breakfast was Pop-Tarts — I guess vacation takes away the inhibitions, since Pop-Tarts haven’t been inside my home in decades, but they have made it into vacation shopping carts and onto boat provision lists.

With that view, Pop Tarts never tasted better.

There were a handful of restaurants available for our dining pleasure. In addition to Big O’s and Nippers, we ate at the Green Turtle Club twice, but not before scouring the walls for the artifacts we’d left behind on past visits which had somehow survived Dorian.

The Green Turtle Club will always be one of my favorite places. I can hardly believe that the AYC burgee to which we’d attached our autographed dollar bill is still there; you can’t see our dollar anymore, but our friends’ — Bob and Phyllis — is still there.

We also had dinners at the Wrecking Tree, Pineapples, and the McIntosh Restaurant.

There is something about waterfront that inspires people to leave their artifacts. Pineapple’s has a nice collection.

And what trip to Green Turtle Cay is complete without a visit to beloved Miss Emily’s Blue Bee Bar in New Plymouth. It is, after all, the birthplace of the Goombay Smash, a deceptively potent libation. Sadly, walls once plastered with boat cards, stickers, flags and photos are now largely virgin and awaiting visitors’ contributions. Rick and I were happy to be the first ones to install our yacht club’s burgee from a rafter, our boat card from previous stops being long gone.

You’d think we coordinated our outfits to the decor.

The steady diet of grouper, lobster and conch — grilled, blackened, cracked, fried, frittered, sandwiched, etc. — grew tedious after a while, so it was a relief to be able to cook meals at Bita Breeze. It was always group effort, and we produced lobster creole, lobster salad, West Indian style chicken curry, and steaks (Sid’s carries nice New York strips). And we also produced Dark ‘n’ Stormys, pina coladas, and Painkillers galore, while cracking open countless Sands beers.

Painkillers on the porch; steaks getting ready for the grill.

As fun as it was to explore, our home base was awfully enticing. The ever-changing view of the ocean from the screened porch was at once soothing and invigorating. The surf on the beach directly in front of our house could be a bit much, but a walk a few yards north yielded a spot that was perfect for bobbing around, and close enough to handily get refills of our beverages. (Yes, I’ll admit that we drink and swim.) Most of the time, we were the only ones there. While I generally don’t like people, I like my people, and loved just hanging out.

Saying goodbye to this beach would not be easy.

As our week wound down, the good weather started turning. By departure day, the wind and seas were kicking, pushed by a developing low that ultimately became Hurricane Nicole. For a change, I was beating the bad weather instead of following it, and was glad to see that the Abacos fared well. But my travel karma is such that I can’t count on all going entirely well. Due to miscommunication and weather, our charter flight arrived in Treasure Cay 90 minutes late, which would make our connections home very tight. Thankfully, FXE has a dedicated (read: very fast) U.S. Immigration and Customs station, and we and Bill and Jen were lucky to catch a waiting taxi to FLL. Bill and Jen arrived at their FLL gate just as their flight to Denver was boarding, while Rick and I had a handful more minutes to spare.

The TCB waiting area.

This trip reminded me why I kept returning to the Abacos, but made me wonder why I’d gone 8 years since my last visit. The islands still have a long way to recover from Hurricane Dorian, and may never do so. But what I saw of Green Turtle Cay showed me that there is enough of a recovery to host visitors, their contributions to the economy being welcome. So many residents have given up and found lives elsewhere in the Bahamas, but those that have stuck it out need us. I’ll be happy to oblige again.

PLANES, TRAINS, AUTOMOBILES, AND FERRIES: A Trip to Italy, May 2022

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PLANES, TRAINS, AUTOMOBILES AND FERRIES: ITALY, MAY 2022

It’s ironic. We’ve tried to take this trip to Italy 3 times. We’d initially scheduled for May, 2020. When the pandemic started, we figured we’d still make the trip, thinking that it was like some of the other scares in past years that would pass without major disruption. We were mistaken, and looked to go in June of 2021 instead. In both cases, we cancelled all of our arrangements and got our money back without penalty or question.

The Colosseum, and the rooftops of Rome.

Finally, in early 2022, the world was opening up again and we felt safe enough to travel. As is my wont, I meticulously researched and booked our trip. The middle part was already set: a week in Tuscany on an Italian cooking course hosted by Tuscookany at their villa Torre del Tartufo, where our group of 11 had the run of the place. The rest was falling into place, and I had an itinerary to look forward to:

Flying to Rome from Dulles, via Casablanca on Royal Air Maroc (part of the American Airlines alliance, and costing a modest 115,000 miles for both of us, one way, in business class – we hoard our miles to be able to fly long-haul in business class);
3 nights in Rome
A private walking tour of Rome the day after arrival
Train from Rome to Arezzo, close to our Tuscan base, where we’ll stay for a week
Rental car, to be returned to Pisa airport before flying home
After Tuscany, drive to Portovenere, where we’ll stay for 3 nights to explore Cinqueterre
Return car to Pisa, and fly home to Dulles on British Airways via Heathrow (also 115,000 for both of us)

Of course, me having dicey travel karma meant that nothing is ever easy. Although we were able to mitigate some of our losses, airline shenanigans ended up costing us:

A full day lost in Rome
A full day lost in Portovenere (Cinque Terre)
Over 235,000 additional frequent flier miles
A full night of hotel in Rome lost
Private walking tour having to be canceled due to late arrival, after the refund deadline
A full day of rental car paid for but unused
Lots of sleep and stress

I know some of my readers like to see all of the gory details, and perhaps take a tip or two from my misfortunes. If you are one of them, read on; if you’re not, skip ahead to the next section.

Travel Demons

The troubles started about 6 weeks out, when I got an ominous email from Royal Air Maroc: the flight on our intended departure date had been cancelled. But they kindly rescheduled us, on the same flight, TWO FULL DAYS LATER. That would have had us arriving in Rome and then – assuming our flights were on time – turning around to get to Tuscany less than 24 hours later, which was not acceptable. I armed myself with information, waited on hold for over an hour, started arranging to rebook to a different routing (Dulles to Charlotte to Rome), only to have an American Airlines agent hang up on me. Another endless wait on hold, another long conversation, and we were rebooked. But, despite me pleading our case, AA didn’t honor our original mileage price, and I had to cough up an additional 235,000 frequent flier miles.

Three days before departure, I get another ominous email. They always seem to hit around 4:30 a.m., so I tear out of bed to deal with it. British Airways is no longer running the Pisa – Heathrow – Dulles flight we’d booked, so if we wanted to fly through Pisa, we’d have to leave on an evening flight, stay overnight in London, and get home a full day later. I scrambled to find alternative airports, and found reasonable replacement flights via Bologna.

Just rebooking this leg was an adventure. I waited on hold for over an hour, and finally got an agent and thought it was all worked out. But when I looked at my new flight record, I found that while the Pisa-LHR leg was indeed rebooked for Bologna-LHR, the agent cancelled the LHR-IAD leg altogether. Rather than endure another hour-plus on hold, I made an appointment for a callback 5 hours later, and found an agent who finally put it together for me.

Of course, to accommodate the new routing, we’d need to leave Portovenere a day early to reach Bologna, and find a hotel there. We’d also eat a day of rental car, because I couldn’t change the return destination from Pisa to Bologna without rebooking altogether – and guess what! There are no cars to be had in the size we needed to transport 4 of us and our luggage. We’d return the car to Pisa a day early and take trains to Bologna.

The day before departure, we’re all packed and ready to go. But it’s never that easy for me. Yet another early morning email: the flight from Dulles to Charlotte will be delayed, so there was no way to connect to the Rome flight. But American had kindly rebooked us for a routing via Philadelphia, in economy. Nooooooo! I didn’t hoard my miles for so long to be stuffed like a sardine in coach on an overnight flight. After exhausting all options and considering all DC-area airports, we decided we’d rather fly a day later in business class, even if it meant we were sitting miles apart in the 2 remaining seats.

Rather than cancel our hotel in Rome, we chose to keep the reservation, but called to make sure they would hold the room for late arrival so that we’d be guaranteed check in on arrival in the morning. And I tried to rebook or cancel our walking tour with Context Travel, but the only way to communicate with them was via a general email box (there is no phone number on their website, and a Google search yields only a phone number which directs you to email them). We had no response from Context, and would have to wait until 24 hours before our scheduled (but unable to be taken) tour, when they’d give us the name and phone number of our guide. Ugh.

Finally On Our Way to Rome!!!

So, after all these years, and all of these machinations, we are finally on our way to Rome!

We have a long-ish layover in Charlotte. Though I’d wanted to hang out in the Admiral’s Club, one of the CLT locations is closed, and the other one actually had a line to get in. So we chose an empty gate to hang out. During this time, I finally got the contact information for our guide in Rome, Doni. (HINT: If you don’t already have it, get WhatsApp on your phone. Many people outside the US prefer it to phone calls or texting.) Context also belatedly responded to my messages and refunded the amount paid. We made tentative arrangements directly with Doni for an alternative tour.

As relatively comfortable as business class is, we still arrived in Rome groggy and rumpled. At least I had a chance to brush my teeth and freshen up before landing, as well as getting my first look of the Roman countryside in the misty rain. My first observation is that all of these little towns have the same HOA: stucco exteriors with red barrel tile roofs, with those cool umbrella-shaped pine trees everywhere. Passport control and customs were easy and quick for those carrying EU and USA passports. But we made one stupid mistake: we allowed ourselves to be lured from the official taxi line to an enterprising gypsy cab. To his credit, he had a nice car (Audi), and gave interesting commentary, but his unofficial meter ran at double speed and we blew €120 on the ride to our hotel (granted, it’s a long trip). (HINT: Take the Leonardo Express train from the airport to Termini Station, the main train station in Rome. It’s cheap and fast, and you’ll then have only a quick taxi ride to your hotel.)

We stayed at the Baglioni Hotel Regina on Via Veneto, wanting a non-chain experience close to the attractions we wanted to visit. But first, we wanted a nap! A couple of hours tucked between the cool, silky sheets, and showers in the luxurious marble-clad bath, and we were ready to face the world.

Our only real plan is to walk around and get the lay of the land and a taste of this overwhelmingly beautiful and historic city. The edges were softened by the misty rain (and later, a full on rain). My first day’s impression, and one that was reinforced throughout the stay: OMG IT’S SO CROWDED!!! Every major and minor attraction is crawling with people, many of them blocking the sidewalks and passages taking duck-faced selfies. As it’s early May, it’s not even the peak season for visitors, and Asian tourists are largely absent thus far, so I can’t imagine how much crazier it gets.

The Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, and the Colosseum are heaving with tourists. We are warned to take care not to be a target for pickpockets.

Rome is a very walkable city, and we walk our feet off. (HINT: Ignore anyone who says that wearing sneakers will mark you as a tourist; everyone wears them these days. And if you don’t wear sneakers, make sure to test your shoes on some long walks — including cobblestones — before bringing them here.)

But we also take breaks along the way. Crowded as the city is, there is always a cafe, trattoria, or bar to stop in along the way for a welcome drink. And most places you stop for a drink have the very civilized custom of providing snacks to go along with your drink. The €10 glass of wine doesn’t seem that expensive when accompanied by a bowl of chips or nuts, finger sandwiches, and/or olives (always with the olives…. ick!)

***A lavish spread to accompany the two glasses of wine we enjoyed in the lobby bar at the Baglioni Hotel Regina***

Given our already-short, and now further shortened time in Rome, we could only hit a few highlights – the Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, Colosseum, and many churches (most seemingly named after St. Mary). In addition to our personal walks, and some kitschy-though-informative time aboard a double-decker tour bus, or private tour with Doni was most informative. His knowledge of Roman history was thorough, but it was the little asides that were often most interesting to me — like how giant pilfered Egyptian obelisks were transported to Roman piazzas, or how the city of Rome is paying for restoration of Vatican-owned buildings outside of the Vatican, or how the family whose building adjoins the Trevi Fountain objected to having it built there but were happy to reap the rewards. Our tour had started in the early evening, and the evening brought a warm, festive energy to the city, with views of the Pantheon and Piazza Navona being especially magical.

***The Trevi Fountain, framed so as to delete the mobs of people***

We only had a cursory taste of Roman food as well. The restaurant in our hotel offered a tasting menu that gave us an overview of typical cuisine, and chose random restaurants in our travels for sustenance. Of one thing I am certain: Roman pizza rocks. The whisper-thin crust is a winner for me.

Cooking Tuscan-Style

Of course, Rome was merely an appetizer. This entire trip was built around a week’s stay at Tuscookany’s Torre del Tartufo, a spectacular villa far away from civilization in the Tuscan hills outside Arezzo, where we and our group would take a week’s course in Italian cookery. We met up with Skip and Harriet at the train station in Rome (they’d been in the south) and took the train to Arezzo. The week was organized by Chris and Heather, friends of Skip and Harriet, whom we’d met for a second on the docks at Emerald Bay in the Exumas many years ago. There was a total of 11 of us, all with a connection to sailing and/or Alaska, and our group was large enough to have the exclusive run of the place.

And what a place! Simply the most beautiful place I’ve ever stayed. Up a precipitous narrow road, Torre is built on a terraced site overlooking the Tuscan hills and is a feast for the senses. It has all the rustic elements one might expect of an old Tuscan villa — vine-draped walls, terra cotta tile floors, rough wood doors with black iron hardware, beamed ceilings, wood fireplaces. And yet it also included lots of luxurious touches, like heated floors, marble bathrooms, good WiFi, a king bed with two duvets (so we weren’t fighting for one!), and 24/7 access to the kitchen, espresso machine, and bar.

***An aerial view of Torre del Tartufo***

Torre del Tartufo, in its springtime lushness.

It would have been easy to take a few day trips here and there and do nothing but lounge at the villa. At the lower level, there are two large grottoes with comfy mattresses and pillows, curtained off but looking over the pool and the hills. We could hang out and read, sketch, chat, and write in comfort. With the low hum of bees in the wisteria and the cuckoo birds cuckoo-ing, and perfect weather, staying awake was not easy.

***The infinity-edge pool with its view over the Tuscan hills***

But, for starters, no one would want to miss lunch. Served on an awninged terrace, lunch featured free-flowing wine and the fruits of our labors in the kitchen (or, in the case of our first day, the efforts of the class before us).

The dining gallery, and a typical lunch (including pasta fagiole and braised beef, the fruits of our labors.

And then, on 4 days, the main reason we were here: cooking class.

***The kitchen, before the chaos that is class***

We were led by inspiring and and brave Chef Franco Palandra, and his brilliant and tireless partner Paola. I call Franco brave because it takes a certain fortitude to tackle teaching a group whose skills range from accomplished (a cookbook author, a CIA certificate-holder) to enthusiastic beginners. Then there are challenges like me — with enough skill in the kitchen to know some stuff but with a lot of ingrained habits (not all of which are good); in my case — even 30+ years since I finished formal education — you can throw in a somewhat competitive need to excel and gain the teacher’s approval (I lived to hear “Brava, Eve,” even if it was only for my mirepoix or psychotically-shaped chocolate tuilles).

***Every day, we got a preview of what we would be doing; Saturday’s was especially ambitious***

Every day, we’d be divided into 4 different teams; each team (which was different every time, and separated spouses) would tackle either appetizers, primi, mains or dessert. We’d make multiple recipes, for the upcoming evening’s dinner, the coming days’ lunches, and to have in inventory (the cookie jar with the first day’s cantucci — almond biscotti — was quite popular). Some of the recipes were traditional and rustic, and some were elevated or modernized takes on classics. Not a single one of us left without learning new skills. Among other things, I learned how to clean an artichoke and Rick learned how to filet fish. My goals were to tackle making pasta from scratch (we learned pappardelle, ravioli, and tortelloni) and making something with cinghiale — wild boar — a Tuscan specialty.

Hard at work.

Nothing ever goes to waste in Franco’s kitchen — a view of keeping a kitchen which I have always admired and which has been heightened during the pandemic, since I tried to take fewer trips to the supermarket. Carrot peels, onion scraps, and other vegetable leavings were kept for the ever-simmering stock pot. What others might call trash — like parmigiano rinds — were transformed and put to delicious use in stocks, soups and as snacks.

Some of our creations:

***Somewhat irregular ravioli, because no one’s fingers are the same size.***

One day, we had a truffle hunting demonstration by a local truffle hunter and his very valuable dog. Another day, an olive oil tasting, together with opportunity to sample local vinegars and other products. The ingredients available to us were unbelievably good, making me sad to hit my local shops in search of produce or meat (especially now that my favorite seafood market has closed).

The highlight of each day was dinner. With a chance to decompress after cooking and clean up, we’d head to the dining room fresh and excited to taste the fruits of our labors. Wine poured, and after dinner, so did the limoncello and other liqueurs, of which there seemed to be an endless variety.

Our first dinner: eggplant pudding (wrapped in eggplant skin) with burrata and tomato sauce; gnocchi with St. George mushrooms; chicken roulades with pecorino cheese and truffles; and nectarine semifreddo in a tuille cup.

Midweek, we took a field trip to visit some local sites. First was a visit to Villa la Ripa, a Renaissance villa overlooking vineyards. Though slow and reluctant to take it up, the owners — a pair of physicians — started a small-production winery. We tasted their offerings, and Rick and I ended up with 2 cases of their super-Tuscan (sangiovese and cabernet blend) named Psyco, in recognition of the owner being a neurologist.

Villa la Ripa was a beautiful setting for wine, and wine-tasting.

Next, a visit to Montemercole agricultural cooperative. We had lunch hosted by the family which products regional cheeses from their cattle and sheep.

***Cheeses in various stages of ripening.***

Finally, time to explore the medieval walled hill town of Anghiari, home to the Busatti textile mill which we toured (OSHA would have a fit if they ever saw how close they allowed us to get to the looms!) I could have gone really crazy shopping here, but limited my purchases to a gorgeous grapevine-patterned table running in just the right shade of green.

Although I’m certain that each hill town in Tuscany (and Umbria) is unique, there is a comforting similarity to many of them, Anghiari included. They are on hilltops, with a campanile — the better to spot an approaching enemy — and walled, though often only parts of the walls remain. The houses, shops and other buildings are made of light-colored stone or stucco, with red barrel-tiled roofs, all piled up around steep cobble streets. There is always at least one, if not more, Catholic church. And everywhere, flowers and those iconic cypresses.

After that day’s travels, some of us braved the wood-fire-heated hot tub (Franco called it the stockpot, and he wasn’t wrong — it was hot!), and then, even more crazily, the unheated swimming pool.

***Harriet, Bridget and I braved the cold water, and Chris was known to jump in as well. Brrrr!***

Good thing neither was especially comfortable, or it might have been the end of any wish to leave the villa! At least that evening’s promise of our individually-made Roman style pizzas kept us from getting too lazy.

Beautiful and delicious!

Our free day, Friday, took us to another hill town: Assisi (which is technically in Umbria, and not Tuscany), the birthplace of one of the most revered of Catholic saints, St. Francis of Assisi. The town itself dates back to Roman times, and among the many churches, including the basilica of St. Francis (San Francesco) and the church of Santa Chiara (St. Clare, Francis’ most famous acolyte), also features former Roman sites as well as the standard trattorias and shops.

Because Assisi is a pilgrimage destination, it’s also full of tacky shops highlighting holy refrigerator magnets, among other dreck. Nevertheless, the message of St. Francis, of love for all of creation, carries on from the 14th century.

Soon, our stay in Tuscany draws to its end. We’re now a lean, mean, fighting kitchen brigade, and the ambitious menu for our last day of cooking gets knocked out in record time. Dinner Saturday night was especially festive, as we dined outdoors (with heat lamps, since evenings are chilly), and our wonderful crew of hosts (Franco, Paola, Lena, Alex) joined for post-dinner drinks.

it’s also, by far, my favorite meal out of all of the superlative meals we made: tomato soup with parmesan gelato; tortelloni with beef filling in a truffle butter sauce; pistachio-crusted pork loin with a marsala chocolate sauce, with an artichoke pudding; and “Tiramisu 2.0” (a deconstructed treat with espresso gelato, nut crumble, and mascarpone cream).

The next day, we will leave behind the beautiful Tuscan hills and our new friends and compatriots as we head our separate ways.

Cinqueterre and Beyond

The Jeep we rented nominally had room for 5 suitcases, but getting my, Rick’s, Skip’s and Harriet’s 4 bags took some masterful Jenga arranging by Rick.

***Rick managed to get the suitcases in, but we still had to stuff some of the hand luggage in the back seat with us.***

We fire up Waze to take us away from the (relatively) gentle slopes of Tuscany to head for the more rugged Alpine peaks — which butt nearly against the sea — to Liguria. We passed the town of Carrera, which marble is quarried to this day. Our destination is Portovenere, a spectacular coastal village, from which we will explore the 5 villages of Cinque Terre. We’ve booked the Portovenere Grand Hotel, one of the attractions of which is included parking, which is such a tight squeeze that we needed to tuck our side mirrors in to get in the garage.

***Portovenere in the morning, before the crowds arrive***

I suppose I should have done better research, but I learned the hard way that cruise ships and their throngs of people call on the region regularly — both a national park and a UNESCO world heritage site. I’m not sure I’d have chosen a different place to spend a few days, because despite the crowds, Portovenere, is spectacular and empties out in the evening.

***Byron’s grotto, where the poet was known to take dips***

And Portovenere is also a jumping off point to reach Cinque Terre, with the ferries picking up just steps from our hotel. For our venture into the villages, we’d arranged for a private guide from Bellaitalia tours, Elisabetta. Elisabetta was not only a font of knowledge, but she also had a most valuable skill: being able to shepherd us through the unruly packs of visitors who wouldn’t know a queue if it bit them. (They act as is if muttering “Scusi” entitles them to shove you out of their way over a cliffside.)

The villages of Cinque Terre are incredibly remote, and except for robust-seeming cell and WiFi signals, have a very tenuous physical connection to the rest of the Italy. They are perched on rocky cliffs overlooking the deep blue-green Ligurian Sea, with pastel-colored buildings stacked uphill in the clefts of the mountains. Grapevines, olive trees, and other food crops are planted in terraces held up by drystone walls.

***Sheer cliffside terraced to grow crops***

The main way to reach the villages is by ferry service (which is weather-dependent), train, and on foot. A few cars get in, but most are required to park in lots up the hills, a good walk’s away.

Starting from the southeast, Riomaggiore is the first of the Cinque Terre villages. There is virtually no harbor (the ferry pulls right up to the rocks), and fishing boats are stored in the streets. Yet, life goes on as normally as possible, with stores stocked with products, and enviable hydrangeas.

We went from southeast to northwest, with the villages being successively easier to walk around (i.e. from steepest to less so). Of the five villages, we climbed and strolled and climbed some more in Riomaggiore, Manarola and Vernazza. It was one of the warmer days of our travels, and the crowds were wearing on us, so we elected to skip Monterosso (Corniglia not being accessible by ferry) to head back to home base in Portovenere.

Manarola is less precipitous than Riomaggiore.

Vernazza feels expansive by comparison, and even has a bit of a harbor.

Our overnight rest is but preparation for a few long days of travel. Skip and Harriet plan to fly home to Florida via Pisa, but because we need to return our rental car, elect to spent their last night in Pisa (at what turned out to be a grungy airport-area hotel that they chose because of misleading reviews). Since we are going to the airport to drop the car anyway, we decide to get our US-required Covid tests here. (HINT: Be sure to check the hours tests are available, as they are not a 24-7 service. Note also that as of this writing, tests can be taken any time on the DAY before you depart, and need not be exactly 24 hours before.)

After saying our goodbyes to Skip and Harriet, Rick and I catch a quick train shuttle to Pisa’s main train station. (HINT: The ticket machines here didn’t take credit cards, so we needed cash.) Onward to Florence by 2nd class train. We’d been spoiling ourselves by traveling only by First Class or Business Class trains in Europe, which for only a few euros more guarantee a reserved seat and comfort. On a 2nd class train, there is no such luck, and the tiny overhead racks meant each of our suitcases ended up with their own seats. The station in Florence felt every bit as busy as the one in Rome, but we spent significantly more time here, since our train to Bologna was delayed. And delayed. And ultimately more than 90 minutes late.

We still had plenty of daylight left when we arrived in Bologna, and our chosen hotel, the chic boutique Hotel Metropolitan (any hotel that includes macarons in its breakfast buffet is OK with me!) was minutes from the train station and in the center of the action. The rooftop of the hotel features a stylish bar, and after the day’s travels and delays, I succumbed to the siren song of a very large, icy Hendrick’s and tonic. (As delicious and refreshing as the Aperol spritzes others were enjoying looked, I can never get past the herby bitterness of Aperol.)

***An Aperol spritz looks way better than it tastes (to me)***

Bologna was a revelation, and in hindsight, I wish we’d been able to devote a little more time to it. It’s far less crowded than Rome, is a university town, and a culinary capital — it’s the capital of the Emilia-Romagna region, which brings the world proscuitto, Parmigiano-Romano cheese, and Modena balsamic vinegar. And, of course, don’t forget pasta with Bolognese ragu. We strolled the Piazza Maggiore and the colonnades and alleyways that radiated from it, finding a trattoria for dinner, and later, the obligatory post-dinner gelato.

Our last day was devoted to travel, and we arrived to the airport early to straighten out some technical problems with our ability to check in with British Airways. (Hint: If your airline supports it, use the VeriFly app. Even with technical problems, you’ll speed the check in process.) With extra time on our hands, we used the VIP lounge (which is airline-agnostic, and accessible to anyone flying on a premium ticket). Masking restrictions had been eased, so masking was considered optional, but “highly recommended” in both the airport terminals at Bologna and Heathrow, and on the flights.

On arrival home, we are reminded of the pleasures of this trip regularly, from the arrival of packages of goodies we’d ordered, to taking into account the lessons we learned at cooking school. I would do it again, but would like to find a way — either by timing or destinations — that avoids the crowds (of which I am admittedly a part).

We tried our hand at papardelle at home (with chicken sausage and wild mushroom sauce of my invention).

SOCIAL DISTANCING IN THE BAHAMAS OUT ISLANDS (CAT ISLAND 2021)

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It’s hard to believe my passport has lain dormant for 2 years. A stressful, transformative, endless 2 years. Trip after trip has been canceled or postponed. So when we finally felt brave enough to venture out, I could hardly think of anyplace safer than the socially-distanced-by-definition Out Islands of the Bahamas, taking a re-scheduled trip to one of our happy places, Fernandez Bay Village on Cat Island.

I wasn’t sure we’d actually take the trip until we got on the plane. The Bahamian government takes protecting its people seriously, requiring all visitors to obtain a Bahamas Travel Health Visa. We needed negative Covid tests no more than 5 days old, among other paperwork to be submitted online. (While waiting for our own tests, a couple ahead of us were getting theirs to go to Europe – in 3 hours! That process went smoothly, and we received our visas online in short order.

American Airlines, which we were flying to Nassau, encouraged us to use an app called VeriFly. Through the app, we submitted all necessary pre-flight documentation (passports, vax records, health visa, test results) for pre-approval. Though the app was clunky, ultimately, approval allowed us to check into our flight using the AA app instead of at the airport while shuffling papers; it also allowed us a streamlined process to drop bags and move through the airport. All of that kept us out of crowded lines, so we had as little close contact with strangers as possible before arriving in Nassau.

The Prelude

Our prior arrangements had us flying Western Air from NAS to Cat Island. Between Fernandez Bay’s opening on a Monday, and Western’s only flying a few days a week, we were going to spend 2 nights in Nassau. I’d initially booked us at Compass Point, a small resort I’d long wanted to stay at; however, they canceled my reservation because they would be closed for our dates. As an alternative, I reluctantly booked us at what is definitely NOT my style, the mega-resort Grand Hyatt Baha Mar.

***Look at this place! Hundreds of rooms, a water park, a casino, multiple pools and restaurants. It’s heaven for some, but definitely not our scene.***

***They even have flamingoes in an enclosure for visitors to gawp at.***

Rick and I are not big resort people, mostly because we don’t like to be surrounded by lots of people. And the Hyatt part of Baha Mar has 1,800 rooms, and that doesn’t include the SLS and Rosewood hotels. But I was going to be in the warm Bahamian sun, so with managed expectations, I was going to make the best of the experience.

Like the airlines and the Bahamian government, Baha Mar took our safety seriously. Our taxi wasn’t even allowed on property without our showing our vaccination cards. In the hotel, there was a mask mandate for all indoor spaces, though not all of our fellow guests were compliant, many employing what I call the “CLT Bypass.” (I first observed this phenomenon at Charlotte’s airport – hence the reference to “CLT.” There, apparently a large portion of the population have had their noses separated from their respiratory system, thus entitling them to wear their masks below their noses with impunity despite mask mandates. I snark, but, really….?)

Check-in was super-friendly and efficient, and we were issued wrist bands that resembled white FitBits. They were our room keys, and since they were waterproof, we didn’t need to worry about swimming with them on.

***Room key or tracking device? It would be better if you could charge stuff with it too, but that might be trouble….***

I liked this little bit of efficiency, though it’s not as efficient as the “system” employed at Out Island properties, where your room simply doesn’t have a key at all, because it’s never locked. We promptly dumped our gear and changed into swimwear, and headed out to find a late lunch. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Sands was the beer of choice here; don’t get me wrong, I like my Kalik as well, but it’s foreign owned, and Sands is locally owned. We inaugurated our triumphant return to the Bahamas with conch fritters and conch salad.

**You haven’t arrived in the Bahamas until you’ve had a Bahamian beer.**

The “fun” really began when we went for a swim. Due to recent storms, the sea was choppy and the sandy bottom was stirred up, the water looking more like opaque opal than transparent aquamarine.

***Choppy seas, and something even more ominous: a cruise ship.***

After a few minutes, Rick said something had bitten him; since he is the stoic sort, it had to have been more than just a graze. When he got out of the water, he had a least 3 puncture-like wounds that were bleeding. Since the pain did not abate, but increased, we took it seriously and returned to our room, where I dosed Rick with Benadryl and did some internet research.

We reckoned it was a lionfish sting, so that was the direction I took (luckily, the initial first aid was essentially the same for a stingray barb, which is what we ultimately concluded administered the sting). After removing any debris (found none), the idea was to apply as much hot water to the area as Rick could tolerate, as that would help dissolve any neurotoxin. He got in the shower and directed the showerhead on the wounds. At that point, Rick’s knees buckled, he slid down the shower wall, made sounds of distress as his eyes rolled back into his head, and passed out – don’t know whether it was from the extreme pain or from a toxin, but it was scary. Since he was non-responsive, I called the front desk and they dispatched EMTs to our suite, who were accompanied by 2 staffers, including an assistant manager.

By the time help arrived – which was very fast – Rick had regained consciousness, but he was still in increasingly severe pain. His vital signs were normal, so we elected not to go to a hospital. The staff were extremely helpful and solicitous, even sending us a “get well” fruit plate. Rick endured significant pain for the rest of the evening, and we cancelled our dinner reservations and had room service while Rick tried – and failed – to get comfortable.

Thankfully, by the next morning, Rick was almost back to what passes for normal for him, with only some residual stiffness. We’d planned a lazy day in a cabana, which was a perfect respite. The cabana faced the beach, but was also situated by one of the many novelty pools on site and a couple of convenient restroom cabanas. The cabana experience was a first for me, suggested by my sister who’d stayed at the SLS BahaMar earlier in the year, and I loved it. Our butler, Nathan (“Nate the Great”) was friendly and attentive, taking care of us all day with drinks, food, towels and warm care.

***Our cabana, complete with seating and a TV that never got turned on.***

We wandered to a pool, designed to evoke Dean’s Blue Hole on Long Island; we could pass through a waterfall to a grotto (evoking Thunderball in the Exumas?) to view an aquarium – though I much prefer the originals to the pale imitations.

***Rick jumps into “Dean’s Blue Hole”***

We also swam in much calmed waters. In between, we could hide in the shade of our cabana, where our stuff was safely stowed and a steady flow of vacation libations arrived.

Our interactions with Nate were typical. We usually find that many hospitality staff in Nassau are from the Out Islands, or have family there, so we always inquire and it always leads to a much more personal encounter. Indeed, Nate was from Cat Island; our serve at dinner, Dominique, was from Elbow Cay; and our bartender at the Sugar Factory was from Exuma.

I’d managed to re-schedule our dinner, and am glad I did. We went to Marcus at BahaMar Fish + Chop House, helmed by celebrity chef Marcus Samuelson. Here, the menu married Bahamian ingredients with the chef’s own vision, and the result was one of the best meals we’d ever enjoyed, including a conch salad that was stunning (featuring pineapple and sour orange in addition to the classic ingredients). A creative cocktail list and super service rounded out a thoroughly enjoyable experience. If anything, I would have enjoyed service on “island time” (as opposed to the efficient service we got), so as to make dinner last longer.

Cat Island, at Last!

So BahaMar turned out much better than I’d hoped. I’m sure it helped that the resort wasn’t near full, and the staff were so thoroughly lovely to us. And from now on, should I ever find myself in a mega-resort, I will rent a cabana for at least one day.

***Cabana life was something I could definitely get used to.***

But we were ready for the main event, returning to Cat Island and Fernandez Bay Village for the 7^th? 8^th? time. As much as I love the timelessness of Cat Island, I knew we were in for some changes, due to ownership of FBV changing hands and the pandemic changing some protocols.

***The plane flies right over Fernandez Bay and the mangrove creek and its beaches. A view I love.***

***The view from Beach House, at FBV.***

Western Air was right on time, which I’m led to understand is a rarity, with the 50ish-seat plane carrying mostly Cat Islanders and a handful of visitors. Shortly after collecting our bags, Kisha from FBV came to take us back to our island home. Kisha is like a freshly poured glass of prosecco – bubbly, crisp, fun, and just what you need. On arrival, the bartender Dominique (aka Skip) poured rum punches, Kisha showed us the lay of the land, and we were soon reunited with our friends Skip and Harriet, with whom we were sharing 2-bedroom Beach House. We also met the new owners, Richard and Sandra.

***Back together with our travel buddies.***

Yes, there is now a bartender. For our first happy hour, it was all I could do to NOT step behind the bar and make my own drink, taking the well-trod path from room to tiki bar. But now Skip pours the drinks. While I missed the freedom of drinking what I want, when I want, by my own efforts, Skip was charming and we enjoyed his company and his concoctions. An additional change is that now breakfast and dinner are made to order and plated, rather than buffet-style. But you still don’t need to dress up or wear shoes, so I coped. Other than missing catching up with the former owners, Pam and Tony, these were about the only noticeable (to me) changes at FBV.

***Hanging with our new bartending buddy.***

Most days followed a regular “schedule.” Lazy morning. A walk on the beach, or a paddle in the mangrove creek, an outing to one beach or another, swimming. We’d have lunch somewhere in our travels. Then more of the same until happy hour. Round one of happy hour would be in our villa, where I’d throw together something that sometimes turned out OK with the ingredients available (the winning mix was Cruzan gold rum, Crystal Lite raspberry lemonade, mango nectar, and Coco Lopez). Then onward to the tiki bar and dinner.

Unlike past visits, most guests kept to themselves, even at the bar, and dinner tables were spaced far apart from each other. While FBV seemed a bit less social than times past, the rest of the island retains that quiet and seclusion we seek. The beaches we visited were crowded if there was another person or two (besides us) on them.

One required outing was the trip to Old Bight beach, which stretches for miles of unblemished white sand on Exuma Sound. We pulled our jeep over to the side of the road, set ourselves up (including the obligatory Rick cairn, as well as a bench made from found materials) under the casuarinas and dove into the silken water. Under typical weather conditions, the water is calm and clear, though when the weather turned later in the week, there was some wave action.

***The glorious, empty beach at Old Bight.***

After swimming here, it’s convenient to have lunch at the regatta site. There’s a handful of food shacks right on the water, with menus featuring the typical array of Out Island fare. Sadly, a number of them burned down just days earlier, so our choices were limited, but we still had a nice, leisurely lunch at Blue Waters, a decidedly local hangout as most of them are. The Kaliks were cold, the food good, and the proprietor’s very young daughter Jemeaiah (sp?) found a worthy playmate in Rick.

Another touchstone is Yardie’s near Bennett’s Harbour. Gas station, car rental and conch shack, Yardie’s is justly famous for conch salad. Yet this time, there was no fresh conch since the seas had been too rough for the fishermen to gather any. As we considered what to order for lunch, we settled for conch fritters, and decided to stop there, as the batch we got was so large that we needed nothing else to fortify us for the trip to the beach. The stunning Atlantic Ocean side strand is worth the off-road bump-and-grind past the dump and plenty of untamed brush and bramble.

***Stunning Conch Cove on the Atlantic side near Bennett’s Harbour.***

By Thursday, the weather started turning, with an early-season cold front turning the winds westward.

We drove to the north end of the island for pizzas at Shanna’s Cove through intermittent downpours. Like FBV, Shanna’s Cove has also changed ownership, and appears to be in good hands if the quality of the welcome and the pizza is any indication.

***Caprese salad, for when all of that friend conch needs to be counteracted.***

From the high vantage of Shanna’s, we get an eyeful of the stunning Port Royal, but it’s much better to swim than to gaze, even as the rains came and went.

***Even on a dreary day, Port Royal’s beach is inviting.***

As the weather continued with its westward trend, the beach at FBV started to feel like an ocean-side one, with “surf”!

***The kicked-up water at Fernandez Bay. At high tide, the waves washed close to the beach chairs, as well as the porch of Shane Shack***, ***the FBV lodging closest to the beach.***

The tides seemed unsually high, and my and Harriet’s forays into the mangrove creek offered a somewhat drowned feel. I seldom kayak at high tide here, but at least there’s no risk of running aground. At the southern outlet of the creek, there was enough current running that we could take mini-flume rides. But it was also too much to fight as we tried a reverse route back to base, and we instead paddled on the “outside” in deeper waters.

***Water reached midway up the mangroves at high tide.***

Skip and Harriet left a couple of days early, since they were joining a Blues Cruise in Ft. Lauderdale. With our rental car still at our disposal, Rick and I attempted a visit to Fine Bay. On our last trip, the beach was so covered with sargassum we didn’t even bother going down the steep and sandy cliff at the end of the road. This time, we found the cliff had been somewhat tamed, with a much easier grade. Though we’d hoped for calmer seas, as is often the case when the wind turns west, Fine Bay was too rough for swimming, so we headed back “home” to FBV, before ultimately girding ourselves for the trip back to Maryland November.

***Few things on Cat Island are easily reached.***

Logistics

Getting home is often such a trial that it undoes all the good that a relaxing Out Island trip does us. Pandemic era requirements add another layer of complexity. Airlines recommend arriving at NAS 3 hours before your flight to take all of that into account – and there is good reason for that. A lot needs to happen before you board your U.S.-bound flight here: collect bags from your domestic flight, change terminals, check-in, document check and bag drop-off, U.S. immigration and customs, and security. Knowing this, I dutifully do everything that is recommended to increase the odds of smooth transit.

After Kisha administered our COVID tests 2 days before departure – required for re-entry into the U.S. – I once again uploaded all of the documentation into the VeriFly app. Our Western Air flight from Cat to Nassau was scheduled to arrive 3.5 hours before our American Airlines flight to MIA. Scheduled was the key word. We and 2 other couples waited anxiously in the FBV lobby for news of our flight – Kisha had driven us to the airport (less than 5 minutes away) to drop bags and check in, and then returned us to FBV which served as the de facto airport waiting area – and we kept hearing of delay after delay. By the time we finally landed at NAS, we had 1 hour to run the gauntlet to get to our gate. And to complicate life further, I’d picked up a GI bug that was rampaging through my system.

And yet, despite all of the stomach-knotting stress, by some miracle, we made it. That it was a Monday, surely helped. Our bags arrived quickly and we race-walked to the main terminal; the lines at American Airlines were sparse, and the dedicated VeriFly check-in line speeded us along. Having TSA Pre-Check and Global Entry helped even further. All told, we negotiated the maze in about 30 minutes. BUT I DO NOT RECOMMEND THIS!! Next time, we we’ll either fly Makers Air from Ft. Lauderdale Executive Airport, or we’ll build in a day’s buffer on the way home as we did on the way to the Bahamas.

And one thing is absolutely certain: there will be a next time!

***Another glorious Cat Island sunset.***

I’ve Gotta Fly? Sail? Drive? To St. Somewhere

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For obvious reasons, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a capital “V” Vacation. The kind that involves airplanes, passports and feeble WiFi. All things considered, I know I’ve been very fortunate to have been able to take lowercase “v” vacations — a Baycation last summer (https://sabrecalypso.wordpress.com/2020/07/14/baycation-for-real-this-time/), and a road trip to Amelia Island last year.

The beach on Amelia Island is long, deep and uncrowded, at least in November.

Surfers, properly dressed, enjoy the waves. We found November too chilly to go swimming.

Beachcombing on Amelia Island yields shark’s teeth. My special gift is finding the tiniest teeth, while I have absolutely no luck finding bigger ones.

Not so ferocious looking from the proper perspective!

This year, we had a loose plan to once again take a Baycation. But before we knew it, we were looking at a July week, which from experience tends not to be the optimal time for Chesapeake cruising. Nevertheless, we persisted, and planned to sail away from St. Michaels (Maryland) after Annapolis Yacht Club’s annual newcomer’s cruise. As our vacation week approached, the weather forecast looked less promising (hot! even at night!), and reports from the field (sea?) indicated an overabundance of jellyfish. Between not being able to sleep due to the heat (we only have AC when connected to shore power — i.e. at a marina, which we prefer to avoid on vacation), and not being able to swim (the highlight of a Baycation), we made Plan B, albeit not without second-guessing ourselves the entire run-up to departure.

We proceeded to sail to St. Mike’s, where we docked at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum with about 50 other AYC boats. Arrival day was hot and steamy, and out doubts about pursuing Plan B were squashed when our AC stopped because a giant nettle snotball clogged the AC’s water intake and required manual cleaning.

If only nettles were beautifully and safely encased in glass….

Instead, we get this slimy, stinging mess.

Despite St. Michaels harbor being plagued with jellyfish, the following day (Saturday) was miraculously breezy and pleasant despite it being July. I spent a few hours shopping on Talbot Street. I often joke that I tend to buy clothes for the lifestyle I wish I had (resort, beach) as opposed to the one I actually have (work, though casual, and some travel), and this was no exception.

Patterns and styles fit for St. Somewhere. And perhaps nowhere else!

We had work to do afterward. As part of welcoming newcomers, we had a group activity of creating a centerpiece for our table. As an icebreaker, one of the permitted themes of our centerpieces was to reflect a passion of the people at the table — ours was beach bars. Our theme was reflected in sand, miniature wooden bars, tiny drink bottles, umbrellas, soggy dollars, little shot glasses, etc.

How we didn’t win with this inspired artistry is beyond comprehension.

After having too much fun in furthering the cause of getting to know the newcomers on Saturday night, we slogged home in weather that had returned to July form, but the pod of dolphins we spied frolicking in the Miles River made my day.

As for Plan B … well, it wasn’t easy to arrange. As pandemic restrictions have eased, the demand for vacations (especially when Vacations aren’t as available) let me scrambling to find a last-minute beach rental within a day’s drive of home. At the last minute, I scored a cute cottage on VRBO 2 lots from the beach on St. Simons Island. I’d never been there before, but the island is located on that Spanish-mossy, lowcountry stretch of coast that I love between Wilmington, NC and Amelia Island.

If we drove without stops, we could make it to St. Simons in around 9 hours by car, so we drove. As I’ve written before, Rick and I actually enjoy road trips. We load up with red candy (Twizzlers, swedish fish), crank up the tunes, solve the problems of the world, and make wise observations of the world of I-95.

Has any adult without children ever stopped at South of the Border? If you have, tell me about it!

“It’s a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning” quoth that great sage, Jimmy Buffett. Above is Exhibit A in support of that proposition!

For a last-minute rental — for which I had minimal expectations — we got lucky. It was lovingly restored and fresh, with original wide-plank pine floors, beadboard walls, and crisp beachy colors — updated with a well-stocked modern kitchen and baths, and complete with outdoor showers. Best of all, we could see the ocean between houses from our screened porch, with only a short walk to get to the small beach area near the “village” of St. Simons.

The “downtown” area of St. Simons features a lowkey but bustling shopping and dining scene, a fishing pier, and a lighthouse. It’s a little more commercial than is my usual taste, but to its credit, there are no busy arcades, boardwalks, or chain restaurants.

At low tide, the beach seems endless. It’s also flat and hard, suitable for long walks or bike rides. There’s not much in the way of beachcombing (or at least there wasn’t when we were there), and I didn’t find a single shark’s tooth.

Most buildings are not very tall, and while there appeared to be a few swanky resorts on the beach, chain motels were a distance from the water.

Our ambitions for this week were non-existent. We had thoughts of exploration, and one day we actually did make a trip to Jekyll Island. But sand gravity played its part and we never got out of the car, instead driving back to the beach.

I think we were more interested in crossing this bridge to Jekyll Island than actually spending time on the island.

The Georgia “mainland” is separated from the “Golden Isles” — the sea islands — by glorious lowcountry marshes and streams.

The hardest choices we faced every day were where to have dinner. I’d made some reservations before arriving — and was glad to have done so. The best meal we enjoyed was at Halyards — where the shrimp and grits were expectedly wonderful (with shrimp harvested just offshore hours earlier) and we were introduced to a hyper-local (and delicious) fish called triple tail.

A great lunchtime view from Fiddler’s — where shrimp were the name of the game.

Rick had to handle several business calls, so I took the opportunity to explore other beaches (rather than strangle him (or his co-workers) for not giving vacation the respect it deserves). My favorite was the one at Gould’s Inlet, a small inlet that connects the Atlantic to the marshes. It’s the kind of beach that I love: ever-changing, with sandbars and endlessly mutating contours, and not too many people. We returned here a second day.

The sandbar disappears at high tide. Signs warn against going there, suggesting that many an explorer has been stranded by the tide.

A tidal creek and marsh backs the beach at Gould’s Inlet.

Ultimately, we spent most of our time close to “home.” Once I learned that there were no restrictions on the type of liquid refreshment we could bring to the beach (only that the container had to be plastic or glass), all I needed was a Yeti full of chilled rose and a good book. Rick and I spent hours each day bobbing in the surf until our fingers became pruny; then we’d get out of the water, dry off, and go back in again.

In the tide pools, the water was bathtub warm, but further out, it was cool and refreshing. And we only saw a single, dead jellyfish on the beach.

Any doubts about having chosen Plan B blew away with the sand. Despite being hundreds of miles south of Chesapeake Bay, we enjoyed better weather in Georgia.

Too much sun, sunscreen, salt and sand — but we’re happy and mellow at Barrier Island Brewing Company.

Here’s hoping the next trip is a Vacation.

Baycation — For Real This Time

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I am obsessed with real estate shows, especially the ones that explore my favorite places. Bahamas Life, anyone? Every now and then, when someone is buying a house on, say, Long Island (Bahamas), I say: “I could have that.” Then Rick reminds me: “If you didn’t have a boat.” Because a boat is not only a commitment of money, but also of time, and we’re in it wholeheartedly.

This year, as trip after trip got cancelled for good reasons — especially the biggie to Italy — we were reminded that our boat is not just a time and money sink. It’s also a vacation home. Although a summer cruise on the Chesapeake can be a dicey proposition given the heat (see Summer Baycation: Wine Not?), we decided to take our chances and head out the week before the 4th of July.

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Introducing Calypso’s new paint job.

Although I had dreams of heading up to the sweet, nettle-free waters of Still Pond and the Sassafras River, advance reconnaissance ruled those spots out because our principal location-al requirement — robust cellular service — was not a given. Since we both had work commitments that would require us to bring our office laptops and log in to the office a few times, being a little closer to “civilization” was going to be necessary. With the likely heat, we still wanted to be able to swim, and we’d already heard of jellyfish infestations south of the Bay Bridge. So, we were off to the mighty Chester River, to visit anchorages both familiar and beloved, as well as new ones.

The day before setting off always reminds me of the beginning of a a sailing charter vacation, and not in a good way. It pretty much sucks. The mountains of gear and groceries that have to be humped and stowed aboard in the heat. The filing (of water) and emptying (of waste) tanks. The checking and double-checking to make sure all is in order. The hopes for tolerable weather.

At last, we drop the lines and clear the dock in time to make the 9:30 a.m. Spa Creek Bridge opening. Despite the wind feeling like a convection oven, it was absolutely perfect. We positively flew up the Bay, under the Bay Bridge, around Love Point and quite a distance up the Chester River on a single tack, at 7 knots or better. (For you non-sailors, that’s really fast for a sailboat.)

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Sailors will understand — we are always texting each other images of our chartplotters so we can show off our blistering speed.

Eventually, we’d reached our intended destination: Queenstown Creek. We’ve been here many times, but not in the last few years. It’s not an especially popular spot for sailboats because the entry can be daunting — it’s narrow and shallow. But once you’re in, it opens wide and features a roomy bay, a sand spit of a beach, and branches to tuck into.

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A sailboat tucks into one of the branches of Queenstown Creek, providing an example of social distancing.

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Boats clustered around the beach show why Maryland initially prohibited recreational boating….

With our longest sail of the week behind us, it’s easy to slip into boat vacation mode, albeit punctuated with bouts of work (some of which require the familiar undertaking of hoisting the hot spot to higher ground to grab a cellular signal). Relaxation, swimming, paddling on kayak and SUP,

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A quiet Sunday morning in Queenstown Creek.

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Some of my friends won’t swim in the Bay or its tributaries. The stains in the lining of my swimsuit are Exhibit 1.

The only thing that really gives our days structure is mealtime, and even that is flexible. I strive to keep boat dining a cut above “camping on the water.” And, of course, since it is vacation, we have a lot more flexibility in scheduling happy hours.

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Showing off some “fine dining” aboard Calypso.

“Uneventful” is the goal of these weeks on the water. Eventful is NOT restful. Eventful means storms, anchors dragging, running aground, heavy seas, other boaters anchoring too close. Once the weekend is over, the likelihood “eventful” caused by other boaters declines in a big way.

I suppose it was a successful week when the only noteworthy occurrence was the mud dauber invasion. Early on, we noticed flying waspy critters making solo round trips into and out of the cabin, or around the mast. We were able to knock a few out of the air, and I followed one to find it had snuck into a 3-ring binder and was building a nest inside. Although I am freaked out by wasps, I researched these buggers to conclude that they were not aggressive; just messy. We continued our battle with them, but it was not as urgent. When we finally unfurled the mainsail a few days later, we discovered several nests right on the sail and made quick work of them. (I fear what is happening now that the boat is unoccupied for a few weeks….)

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Hello! Not the kind of visitor we relish.

Next up: Reed Creek. This creek is totally new to us, and also has a reputation for a difficult entry. Instead of cliffs and wooded shores, this creek is bounded by marshy reeds (or is it reedy marshes). Thus, while you get the impression that the anchorage is not especially protected, it is. And because the weather was getting warmer and warmer, being open to the breezes was more than welcome. We were virtually alone here, and liked it so much we stayed for 2 nights. Uneventful.

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Reed Creek doesn’t look very well-protected, but it’s fine for a summertime anchorage.

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Just another sunset.

Similarly uneventful was our next day in the Corsica River. Weekday sailing feels like we’re pulling a fast one. We were alone as we anchored in a bight opposite Emory Creek, which featured a Tilghman Creek to explore by paddle. (I say A Tilghman Creek because there are multiple Chesapeake Bay tributaries with the same name, including a favorite one off the Miles River.)

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The cliffs bordering the Corsica River.

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Kayaking in Tilgman Creek. Lots of submerged roots here, so I had to take care not to puncture my kayak’s inflatable bottom.

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Loving the ingenuity behind this private green channel mark: green hose pieces nailed to a piling.

It’s now Wednesday, and we are thoroughly mellow. But things are becoming “eventful” in that one event is NOT happening: sleep. I suppose it’s no surprise to find stifling nights in July. Steady breezes and frequent dips are keeping us comfortable during the day. But nights down below are another matter, and hungry mosquitoes make sleeping above deck a non-starter. By now, however, even the daytime breezes are waning. As much as I’d planned to visit marinas solely for the purposes of pumping out, the siren song of being able to plug in and run the air-conditioning was growing ever more tempting.

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Long Cove Marina was pretty empty. We were told to choose any slip we wanted, so we took 2.

And so we succumb and book a slip at Long Cove Marina on Lankford Creek. It’s a bare bones yard, and features a boat-building operation, but it has all the necessities: pump out, bath house, and slips with electricity. Even for a weekday, the marina is empty; the manager told us that the clientele is generally from the New York and New Jersey area, and older than average, so the pandemic kept most of them from even putting their boats in this season. Empty is OK when you’re trying to socially distance.

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Our views at Long Cove.

In addition to visiting marinas, the heat has induced us to cut our trip a day short. After a lunch and swimming stop anchored off Cacaway Island in Lankford Creek, we enjoy a gorgeous sail to Castle Harbor Marina.

Castle Harbor is a resort-style marina — with a pool, shop, and restaurants on-site. We’ve been sequestering ourselves fairly strictly since early March, so this is our first foray into civilization. And I have to say, civilization had not proved itself very civilized. As someone who reflexively follows rules, this is very frustrating.

To borrow a passage I saw on a friend’s Facebook page:

Aspects of our COVID exhaustion are due to the reality that many of us are carrying the weight of other’s irresponsibility. Many go about their lives, unencumbered with any feeling of social responsibility, then feel justified in their carelessness, at least partially protected by the herculean efforts of others. Not only are we carefully navigating a context foreign to us, sacrificially bearing a collective burden, we have to watch those efforts devalued by those who then pretend their carelessness is justified. We’re holding a societal umbrella in a downpour; they’re laughing and pretending it’s not raining because they’re not wet. It’s exhausting.

As we docked in our assigned slip in the sweltering heat of the late afternoon, with sweat running down our bodies and pooling inside our masks — a stressful exercise in ordinary circumstances — we saw our mask-wearing was the exception. As uncomfortable as we made ourselves, it was all for the benefit of those around us, few of whom bothered to return the courtesy.

And so, on July 3, we sailed for our home marina, frankly glad to get ourselves safely home before the hordes ventured out for the 4th.

Carolina Dreaming

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One of the few things I regretted about our sailing sabbatical was that our trip home up the ICW from Florida was a hurried one. We had to prioritize a handful of stops, and didn’t have time to explore them fully. One of the stops that captured our fancy was Wilmington, NC and the neighboring beaches. We finally made room in our travel schedule to re-visit them during the last week of February 2020.

While February might not seem an optimal time to visit, since it’s way too cold to swim, it’s actually better than you might expect. Although Wilmington might seem like a “hidden” gem, it is an historic college town and located close to popular beach resorts; coming off-season is a way to explore it without fighting crowds.

I had some weather misgivings as we drove down. We’d had rain in Maryland the day before, but further south it was snow. Indeed, the further south we drove, the more snow there was. Rick and I were so busy with out weather and scenery observations, as well our road-trip-typical deep and enthusiastic conversations — interspersed with my singing along with the iPod — that we’d missed our exit to head east by a dozen miles. But Waze kindly provided an alternate route, and in no time we were in Wilmington’s historic district, where any snow they might have had was long gone.

Our VRBO rental faced Front Street, with a rear deck and entrance that faced the mighty Cape Fear River. We were located in the heart of the action when staying at Riverwalk.

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The unit had good old bones — high ceilings, hardwood floors — but featured all the amenities you might need for a long weekend. And all we had to do was walk out the door to get to whatever we wanted to do. Our first day featured an al fresco small plates snack, with artisan cocktails, at Stalk and Vine right on the Riverwalk, and then a simple dinner focused on AMAZING Oysters at Dock Street Oyster Bar.

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A month with an “R” and fresh local oysters. They are not for everyone, but they are definitely for us!

Generally speaking, we’re not organized activity people, but I’m always up for a boat tour. And it couldn’t be more convenient for us to take a boat ride with Wilmington Water Tours, as it picked up right at the Riverwalk. The weather wasn’t especially warm, but it was bright and sunny and there was an open cash bar. We took a ride upstream and learned about the region’s history and ecology.

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Views of fast-growing Wilmington and the USS North Carolina from our excursion.

The history lesson at the Burgwin-Wright House on Market Street was even more instructive, since the grand home has preserved layers and layers of the past — its foundation had been a jail! — as well as demonstrating the difference between the wealthy and those who served them before and after the Revolutionary War.

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The house and gardens were beautiful, and restoration and maintenance efforts were ongoing.

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The jail, on the other hand, not so appealing. More like appalling.

For all the focus on New England in Revolutionary times, Wilmington was also a key center of activity. In any event, any romanticized visions of colonial times one might encounter in novels or movies or television (Outlander), I’m grateful to live in our times (coronavirus aside) with clean running water, indoor plumbing, mattresses not made with chigger-laden spanish moss, and all the other modern conveniences.

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Living in a single-room, brick floored abode with primitive tools would not be my idea of a good time. But back then, no one was the wiser.

Of course, ultimately, my favorite non-eating/non-drinking activity when visiting a city is just walking around and soaking it all up. Several square blocks of colorful homes and lush gardens comprise Wilmington’s historic district,chock-a-block with “plaque” houses (i.e. those with a historic designation evidenced with a plaque that describes the significance of the location) with which comes the responsibility of retaining the historic character of the residences.

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Real estate porn.

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This is the kind of plaque I can get behind: ON THIS SITE IN 1837 NOTHING HAPPENED

As far as eating and drinking go, Wilmington is great for that. The waterfront features large tourism-friendly establishments that we avoided, but we loved ducking into the narrow and cozy storefronts on Market Street and beyond, where we often grabbed a seat at the bar, and sampled the local microbrews. The most memorable thing we at all week was duck wings at the Fork and Cork, but we also enjoyed meals at Circa 1922, Copper Penny, and Caprice Bistro (amazing NC flounder).

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Duck wings and “Texas poutine” – it doesn’t have to be elegant to be memorable.

On Tuesday (Mardi Gras) we were moving on to Wrightsville Beach, but not without a detour to Southport first, a brief stop we enjoyed during our ICW journey. It’s nearly impossible to recapture the magic of a life-transforming voyage, the memories of which seem to be filtered through honey-colored light. So, a grey-sky blustery day in February didn’t conjure any magic, but lunch at Fishy Fishy Cafe (justly famous for their shrimp tacos) salved some of the pain.

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Southport’s main attraction?

And next door was a seafood market, and I was able to get my hands on fresh shrimp (which would go in the Mardi Gras jambalaya I was planning for dinner) as well as conch which inspired chowder later in the week.

I loved the idea of renting a waterfront house with a dock in Wrightsville Beach, and the one we chose didn’t disappoint (https://www.vrbo.com/609980). After stocking up with groceries at Harris Teeter in Wilmington, we arrived late afternoon and Skip and Harriet soon joined us, having done their own travels in Charleston and Wilmington. I was very glad we were traveling off-season, because the 10 minute drive from Wilmington would have taken forever; this way, we had Wrightsville Beach largely to ourselves.

The house was just what I’d hoped. Outdoors, a long pier jutting into Banks Channel, which separated us from the barrier island with its beaches and the ocean; and decks and balconies everywhere. Indoors, multiple levels of comfortable living spaces, including the largest beach house kitchen I’ve ever seen, a huge family room overlooking the water, and a game room with a pool table (we played — badly, most of us — every night).

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Our rented house and pier.

Normally, a beach getaway would involve swimming, kayaking, SUPing and other water sports, Those were out of the question in February, but being with Skip and Harriet doesn’t require a whole lot of diversion, because we can hang out aimlessly for hours. We did spend part of one day driving around and exploring, ending our travels with a visit at the North Carolina Aquarium in Kure Beach. With lots of interesting specimens, many of them local, it was well worth the couple of hours and the modest price of admission.

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The aquarium featured both outdoor and indoor exhibits. Count the turtles basking in the sun.

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The cooler weather did not deter beachwalking. One day it was so foggy that it seemed like we were the only ones out there.

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Another day, it was bright and crisp, with unexpectedly decent shelling.

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Ultimately, we savored the restful and healing power of salt air. (Nearly all of which was wiped away by the snarled traffic on I-95 from north of Richmond onward. Sigh.)

How My Sea-batical Prepared Me for Covid-19

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During the run-up to this period of self-isolation, and my first full week of it, I keep getting flashbacks to our sabbatical aboard Calypso, spent mostly in the Out Islands of the Bahamas. When I think about how we lived then, and about some of the features of our life now, there are many similarities — except that back then we were in some of the most beautiful places on earth, and now we’re in springtime suburban Maryland. Spring in Maryland isn’t all that bad, but, well, not quite the same. (I’ll be using some photos from the Bahamas to illustrate this post, rather than shots of my pantry….)

Creative Cooking

Since I work long hours and have a number of evening commitments, I’ve long had a practice of cooking large batches of food when I did cook. That way there would be dinner on the day I made it, and one or two additional dinners stocked in the freezer. If I don’t make it to the grocery store, we’re not stuck with carryout every night. So my freezer is already full of goodies, and my pantry has enough staples to throw something together.

In the last few weeks, I started thinking about adding additional stuff to the pantry, and as I did so, it reminded me of the things I stocked aboard Calypso before we left Florida for the Bahamas. We had to address a number of factors: limited refrigerator and freezer space, a teeny tiny galley, sparsely stocked shops, and the reality that our schedule would be dictated by weather.

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Packable, versatile and shelf-stable groceries were key, as well as foods we counted on having but didn’t know we could get in the Bahamas: crackers, sundried tomatoes, canned fish, long-life milk, canned vegetables, dried pasta, spice blends and pastes, coconut milk, pickles, etc. I find a lot of that in my pantry at home, but I don’t need a spreadsheet to track it because I don’t have to stuff it behind settees or in bins. And Pringle’s simply don’t cross our threshold here.

Of course, having the inventory is only the first step — you’ve got to figure out what to do with it! When living in the Bahamas, we seldom ate out. For the most part, the variety of restaurant meals is pretty limited. You can have conch or fish dozens of different ways: conch fritters, conch chowder, conch salad, cracked conch, conch burgers, fish sandwiches, fish fingers, fish souse, fried fish, grilled fish, and so on. Aside from spending most of our time in sparsely inhabited spots, that diet would have gotten boring pretty quickly. Cooking was both a necessity and a way to keep things interesting.

Armed with an arsenal of ideas and tried and true recipes, as well as a cruising cookbook that my dear friend Vickie (also a cruiser) had given me, I was off to the races, combining what I had and what I could get with lots of flexibility. Sometimes, all the “fresh” ingredients I could get were potatoes, cabbage and some frozen (and freezer burned) mystery meat, though I was lucky enough to score fresh-caught fish and lobster from time to time. When a stern-faced shop lady informed me that I’d pulled some bony turkey pieces from the freezer, she warmed right up to me when I told her I’d make souse with it. I didn’t have fresh chicken, but I had bullion cubes, allspice, baby carrots, hot sauce, lime juice and potatoes. I could feed us, and entertain guests. We ate pretty well, and with reasonable variety.

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When Rick and I got to Wegmann’s last Saturday, there was virtually no meat left in the store. I found mostly off cuts of meat and didn’t buy much, but I was sure I could make something from it — a soup or a stew that would yield leftovers. When I see chicken necks or smoked ham hocks, I think: “I can work with that!”

Casual Everyday

Even though I work in a “business casual” workplace, I never slid into being too casual. For one thing, I like pretty shoes too much! That means an office uniform of a dress or skirt with a jacket or cardigan, accounting for about 60% of my work days. With “social distancing” and telework now part of life, it could be a while before we get to see someone we know, so there’s a lot of leeway in dressing for work.

I won’t slip into working in my pajamas; wearing pajamas during daytime hours makes me think of being sick, not of being free. But beyond that, all bets are off. So far, it’s been workout or travel clothing — it’s not warm enough yet to wear shorts. But like living aboard, for footwear, it’s flip-flops all the way.

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One practical limitation — which this period has in common with cruising — is that I don’t know when my next haircut will be. I can trim my own bangs, and I like Rick’s hair (and beard) grown out, so we’ll definitely survive.

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Let Me Entertain You

Once the sun went down in the Bahamas, there wasn’t much to do. At the time, there wasn’t much in the way of WiFi or cell signal. One of the draws of anchoring at Black Point in the Exumas was the “free” WiFi. Except the pipe was so limited that even when I got up at 2:30 one morning to try to upload some photos to this blog, it took hours just to post a half dozen. Weak signal + high demand = no streaming! I did bring along a bunch of DVDs that we could watch, and we did some limited binge watching (Parks and Recreation, for example). We even got our hands on a bootleg copy of the then-current season of Downton Abbey, but we had to ration our viewing, because we had no idea when we’d run out of stuff to watch.

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These days, of course, we have an unlimited number of choices for entertainment, not just streaming TV but books galore available for Kindle. (Interestingly, though the choices are endless, finding something worth watching remains a challenge.) Now, however, we have to cut ourselves off not for fear of running out of things to do, but to avoid becoming slack-jawed drooling zombies.

Maintaining Standards

Of course, there is another compelling reason not to become total couch potatoes: the bulk of our weekdays is spent working. Because of that, we are working to maintain as much normalcy to our workdays as possible. In order to retain mental acuity and discipline, we are getting up at the same ungodly hour as usual, keeping up our exercise schedule (though already I desperately miss tennis class), eating meals during standard mealtimes, and working the same (or, in Rick’s case, longer) hours.

When we were cruising, I could easily see how our life could have slid into entropy if we didn’t maintain standards. When your life is led in a tiny space, order is essential. I made sure to make up our bunks Every. Single. Day. Even though I outsource house-cleaning when living on land, I made a point of scrubbing the head and cleaning out the fridge on a regular basis. Despite the temptation to let grooming slide, I fought it.

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Let’s Not Kill Each Other

Back in February 2014, I did a Q&A with my readers, one of whom asked about what surprised me about our cruising life. One of the things I’d noted was that Rick and I hadn’t killed each other yet. Considering the close quarters we were sharing, some of the struggles we were facing, and how well we push each other’s buttons if we’re so inclined, this was no small achievement. There were a few things that kept us alive. First was the knowledge that this was truly an amazing opportunity, so we shouldn’t ruin it. Second was to remind ourselves that we love each other (even when sometimes one of us would have to chant under our breath “Remember that you love her/him” repeatedly so as not to scream in frustration). And finally, and perhaps most importantly, we gained (or maybe had) the ability to IGNORE the other even if he or she was sitting just inches away from you — we could carve out mental space for ourselves even if physical space was in short supply.

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Now that we are limited to our house, with our home offices just feet away from each other (though each has a door, thank goodness), we need to remember those lessons so that we don’t drive each other nuts. All things considered, we have it easy: no restless kids, working electricity and free-flowing water, and a comfortable and relatively well-stocked home. No excuse.

Stay Safe, Everyone!

Remember, just because our enemy is invisible doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. In fact, that makes it more dangerous. Behave!

I Wish Lunch Could Last Forever

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I wish lunch could last forever
Make the whole day a first time love affair
We’ll begin with a kiss, such a warm place to start
Let me into your life, let me into your heart

That’s the last chorus of the old Jimmy Buffett song. It’s believed to be inspired, at least in part, by the old-school New Orleans Creole restaurant Galatoire’s. And if ever a song suited a getaway, that one did my and Rick’s post-Thanksgiving long weekend in the Big Easy. New Orleans gives you permission to have an endless lunch, accompanied by crisp cocktails and whispered confidences.

For all the travel Rick does for business, some of it to some pretty great places (though he does work, a lot), I’d never managed to tag along. But this particular trip to Baton Rouge was right after Thanksgiving. And aside from hosting on Thanksgiving Day, I had no plans for the long holiday weekend that couldn’t be moved. After a long run of annual trips, including 10 consecutive Jazz Fests (including one while we were on our sabbatical: https://sabrecalypso.wordpress.com/2014/04/28/detour-and-frolic/), this would be my first time back in 2 years.

People who don’t know the allure of NOLA asked what we do there, especially since we go so often. The short answer is: Eat, Drink and roulez les bon temps. To those who like to visit sites and see sights to check them off their Must-See lists, this is truly baffling. For us, who have checked all the boxes that will be checked, New Orleans is a place we allow to bathe our senses so that we can absorb. It’s a feast. The smells alone are evocative. In Uptown and the Garden District in November, it’s the crunchy spice of fallen live oak leaves, the soft perfume of laurel, the green of moss, and the ever-present funk of decay and decadence. To me, New Orleans is at once warm, welcoming, comforting, indulgent and stimulating.

Flights booked, VRBO arranged, restaurant reservations made, and we were off early the Friday after Thanksgiving. With the rest of the world sleeping off their carb overdoses, travel was smooth and easy, even despite throngs arriving for the Bayou Classic football game. Having been gone for 2 years, and not really having paid attention, I was shocked on arrival to find a brand sparkling new airport, full of light and white and space. After leaving dreary November Maryland, the shock of sunlight in the restrooms alone was a balm. I might have missed the old down-at-the-heels dark old airport with Lucky Dog carts at every bend in the corridor, but not much.

We couldn’t check in to our apartment until 3, so we had the first of our endless lunches. In a food-mad town like this, where Top Chef contestants and James Beard Award nominees and winners can be found in the most un-assuming spots, we could hardly go wrong. Where once the Warehouse District in general, and Tchopitoulas Street in particular, evinced a shudder, the home of Cochon restaurant is now part of a vibrant district of restaurants, hotels, bars, galleries and the World War II Museum (visit! It’s exceptionally well done and can be very moving). Not surprisingly, Cochon features all things pig, paying homage to Cajun foodways while at the same time forging its own path. It was on the vanguard of Post-Katrina New Orleans, which now has more restaurants than it did before the storm.

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Yes, Cochon has an extensive list of “moonshine” to accompany dessert. The other offerings range from gumbo to fried chicken livers with pepper jelly.

This being New Orleans, as well as a mini-vacation, we had a long and leisurely lunch with a number of small plates, cocktails, wine, and a moonshine dessert with our wheelie bags nestled near the hostess stand, where they were not alone. But we couldn’t mark enough time to check in, so our next stop was home-grown New Orleans coffee shop chain P.J.’s just a block from our rental.

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The weather was perfect, so we parked ourselves at an outdoor table, sipping coffee and watching the world go by. We were on Magazine Street, so the people-watching was outstanding — from students to artists to hipsters, but not so many of the tourist hordes.

Finally, we went “home.” This VRBO rental (Magazine Street Chic) is part of a multi-unit house, arranged in “shotgun” style. Clean, stylish and well-appointed, its best quality was its location in the Lower Garden District but brushing the Irish Channel.

Our rental was part of this larger building. We had a sitting room, kitchen, 2 bedrooms and 1 bath.

I easily walked to a quality wine shop on St. Charles Avenue to stock up our fridge, as well as a small bodega for other essentials. The streetcar runs along St. Charles Avenue, providing access to places we wanted to visit. (Note, however, that the streetcar is under repair, and shuttle buses were covering the stops near us; we used Uber more often than I’d planned, because the buses were not reliable.) And we were able to walk to some great restaurants.

Along the walk to the streetcar … New Orleans never fails to give me house lust.

Although we’re always up for something new, New Orleans is also about tradition and touchstones. One of our traditions is lunch or dinner at Coquette, a few blocks from where we were staying. We love supporting a Maryland-bred chef, but we also love the food. It’s always local and seasonal, and that’s a whole lot more fun in semi-tropical New Orleans in November than it is in chilly Maryland.

One of the appealing qualities of Coquette is that is off most tourists’ radar screens. But we are not immune to the lure of New Orleans’ tourism mecca: the French Quarter. I generally avoid Bourbon Street like the plague, as I’m more attracted to the antique shops and galleries of Royal Street. We make a pilgrimage to see the Mississippi River, and stand in awe of her might. This year, we were sidelined for a bit by the Bayou Classic parade; New Orleans parades are always a spectacle, and the riders always throw stuff.

St. Louis Cathedral, in Jackson Square, readying for the holidays.

Wrought iron railings, shutters, tropical colors and hanging baskets are featured generously in French Quarter architecture.

Despite it’s starting point near the French Market (touristy dreck), Crescent Park is seemingly unused. Not unlike New York’s Highline, Crescent Park is a linear park that provides spectacular views of the city and the river, while also remaining true to the industrial past of the riverfront. We passed maybe a handful of people as we traversed much of its length.

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Standin’ on the corner
Of Toulouse and Dauphine
Waitin’ on Marie-Ondine
I’m tryin’ to place a tune
Under a Louisiana moonbeam
On the planet of New Orleans

Our day’s walk eventually took us to the corner of Toulouse and Dauphine memorialized in the Dire Straits song Planet of New Orleans (Side bar: the only context where it is even remotely acceptable to pronounce it “New Or-leens” is in song.) A few steps further took us to Bayona restaurant and its delectable courtyard. It’s easy to waste away an afternoon here, snugged among the ancient cobbles, trickling fountains and clattering palms.

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We first found ourselves at Bayona at the beginning of this century, and no trip to this timeworn city is quite complete without a taste of Susan Spicer’s velvety cream of garlic soup.

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As lunch took us somewhere relatively old, Saturday’s dinner took us to a more recent addition to New Orleans’ dining scene: Compere Lapin, helmed by Top Chef favorite Nina Compton. Talk about a perfect pairing for us: Caribbean Creole food. An outstanding bar doesn’t hurt either. As we need a reminder of how cozy NOLA can be, we ended up seated at a table next to a couple we’d been seated next to at Bayona.

Although it may seem we do little besides eat and drink in New Orleans (as if that isn’t enough), we walk thousands of steps as well. It might be more accurate to say that a visit to the Crescent City is a series of long walks punctuated by stops for coffee, drinks and meals. Our last full day — Sunday — included a marathon hike, commencing at the Riverbend (where St. Charles Avenue meets Carrollton Avenue, Uptown). Most visitors to this corner flock to iconic Camellia Grill, or worse, the daiquiri shop. For me, nostalgia is served with a po-boy and beer at Cooter Brown’s, with the beginning of the Ravens game for good measure.

As the Ravens marched on their remarkable path, we marched on the levee overlooking the river, along the Audubon Zoo, and for most of the length of Magazine Street (though we eventually took a bus for the last few blocks back to our apartment). Magazine Street is my favorite of New Orleans streets, because it offers so much. Sure, St. Charles Avenue has the streetcar line and gorgeous homes. Magazine Street also has stretches of classic homes and looming live oaks festooned with Spanish moss, especially Uptown and in the Garden District, but there’s more. There are shops and bars and restaurants (where local offerings far outweigh chains) and a wide variety of humanity. We could easily break up our long walk with a coffee or wine stop, especially with the weather being as accommodating as it was.

We made it back to our apartment to catch the last bit of the football game. This was our last day, and I didn’t want it to end, so I set about looking for a nearby bar or restaurant where we could sit outside with a drink and absorb the waning sunshine and warmth. We found ourselves 2 blocks from “home,” at what appeared to be a neighborhood dive bar with food provided incidentally, and a small pergola-covered seating area outdoors: Turkey and the Wolf. We grabbed some cocktails and seats outside, and watched the passing parade of the few people who straggled along, given the late afternoon hour. It was only when I got home and was perusing a few listicles online that I found this unassuming — kitschy even — little cinder block establishment is one of the most celebrated dining hot spots in the country, taking such honors as topping Bon Appetit magazine’s list of best new restaurants and gaining rave reviews elsewhere.

Knowing this now makes me wish we’d done more than drink. We could have, once again, made lunch last forever.

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