Random Bahamian Photos

Out on the small boat (big boat *still* in dry dock, getting fixed). House receding in background at the end of the canal.
Cousins do not necessarily look alike, but DO necessarily both look hot.
It is genetic law.

Keira is tough, no doubt.

Fortunately, she uses her powers for good, not evil.
Like getting coconuts from the front yard and splitting them open with her might, providing fresh coconut milk and meat for the whole family.

Our noble host and hostess.

Captain St. George, taking a style cue from Indiana Jones.

Fort Charlotte, with Bahamian flag flying high in the wind.

And me in my big, silly hat.

Danger! Pool! Sharks!

Since the vote on the poll has consistently been at least 60/40 *against* me doing the potentially mentally damaging trip down the Serpent Slide of Death and Dismemberment (current results: 5 people pro swimming with sharks, 9 against the idea and pro rum, and zero persons pro me reading comic books) — I have decided to *compromise*.

Today I did NOT do the Serpent Slide and play with sharks in a pool.
But!
Today I HAVE spent at least 30 minutes looking at (baby) sharks through plexiglass.
And!
I spent an hour playing pool, with local sharks.

This morning was a trip to see old Fort Charlotte wearing a very silly hat (photo forthcoming), and then a visit to the National Art Gallery of the Bahamas (Lillian Blades and Allen Wallace were my two favorite artists), then over to Atlantis to face the fierce fishies.

I fortified myself with some ice cream from Jimmie’s, then Caius and Cait and I descended into “the Pit”, which is an enormous underground eatery where you can dine on dead, grilled grouper while real, live grouper are staring at you from EVERY WALL. It’s a pretty freaky restaurant concept, if you ask me. Imagine situating a steak house smack dab in the middle of a cow shed.

The tanks are massive beyond belief, housing at least three sting rays, an adult manta ray over 5 feet in diameter, five or more baby sharks, and a variety of fish and crustaceans beyond counting. So I stood inches away from the wall, staring at sharks, until the urge to run or throw up overwhelmed me. And I walked away.

My minor confrontation of my shark fear lead me to feel confident to the point of ballsy. So tonight, when my Uncle Caius suggested we pile in the van and head to a sketchy local dive with a pool table, I was on it.

We drove for 20 minutes to the SW end of the island, until we reached “the Oasis”. As a visual aid, I will describe it as similar to any truck stop north of Blind River, except with more neon lights, and a woven grass rooftop. It shared an ambiance with the bars Arnie always manages to stroll into in the Terminator movies. Not welcoming. Borderline hostile, except (as usual) my Uncle knew the owner, so he put my two bits down on the nearest pool table, and I waited my turn.

Usually, I am a middling to good pool player, with occasional flashes of excellence. Tonight, I was on *fire*. The local shark, a short black man with a gamey leg named “Samson”, was beating the pants off of everyone willing to walk in and pick up a cue. What with my being a tiny little white woman, Samson refused to play me, and sent one of the female bartenders to beat me instead. I smoked her. And the guy in the white shirt after her. And the BIG guy with the gold rings and gold teeth after that.

And then I’d had too much rum. My playing got sloppy. I won the fourth round by sheer luck, and Samson said he’d only play me after I won six. Happily at that point, my Uncle was ready to leave the bar, so we paid our tab, and I got sent home with my dignity intact, and a free mickey of Bacardi Gold in my back pocket from the bar’s owner.

In the end, I faced both sets of sharks and survived.
I count this as a good day.