Finding myself with a bit of spare time on this, our last day of Thanksgiving living here in the Bahamas, I figured I would give the people what they want with a Conservative Wahoo post in their Monday morning email as our contract requires. We are up before the sun tomorrow morning to make the three legged journey home, likely joined by numerous others who extended their Thanksgiving holiday a bit.
I have successfully pursued the agenda that I set out to accomplish while I was here, and that was comprised of not much of anything. Around me there was activity, all of which seemed to begin with considerable preparation and logistics and then piling into automobiles. None of this appealed to me, and so I did not partake. I did not come here to this beautiful house on a gorgeous beach to get in cramped little beach cars seeking some other experience. I read somewhere yesterday of the opposite of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out, which is endemic in our society today)—a condition known as ELMO (Extreme Love of Missing Out) and this appears to be my default condition. Inertia is a powerful force in my life, and a positive one.
Additionally, I am not a fan of spending even one second more than is necessary on the roads native to these parts, roads and driving procedures that left me with a case of PCSD after last summer’s trip to Scotland. Here is a bit from that trip that acquaints the reader with my mindset here in The Bahamas:
The second thing to keep in mind, is that not only is the steering wheel on the wrong side of the car, BUT THEY DRIVE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD. Again. I know that you know this. But until you are actually DOING it, it is difficult to conceive of how unsettling this fact is. I was the only driver on record for this trip, as I did not include Catherine as a driver in part due to my pre-Cambrian sense of gender roles and in part due to my desire for her to enjoy the scenery better. This—it turns out, was a dubious decision, as I managed within the first hour of driving to ascertain where the port-side curb was using the car’s left front tire, and though I improved over the course of our trip, I will be nominating Catherine for a suitable decoration for bravery in recognition of the pure terror she must have felt through a goodly portion of our drives. At one point, I said screw it, and gave her the wheel for what would be the last three miles of a particularly stressful bit of driving, which was another mistake—not that she wasn’t competent mind you. It was that I was TERRIFIED to be in that seat driving on THOSE ROADS with their soft shoulders and omnipresent potholes and fall-offs, and I came away from that experience in awe of Catherine’s poise and civility whilst passengering.
THIS time, I simply refused to drive under anything other than emergency conditions, and it has added immeasurably to my mien. Passengering was still a bit of a challenge, but I found that sitting in a middle or backseat and paying as little attention to the road as possible helped. There is pretty much one way of getting North to South on this island, and the road is menaced by potholes.
And so, while my traveling companions chased whatever experience it was that they were after, I hung around the hacienda, admiring the view, running along the beach, bobbing in the pool, watching Hallmark Christmas Movies and tending to work. They were generally respectful of my slothful choices, but I could tell that there was a sense of pity in their voices as they considered my approach to the trip. What was seemingly beyond comprehension though, was the pure bliss and contentedness I enjoyed. The house was empty (or largely empty), there was no extraneous noise, I did what I wished and I was master of my fate. When they returned, I was happy to see them. But whatever it was they drove several hours roundtrip to see or do, it was simply not enough to overcome the inertia exerted by the scenery below.
Just now, four of my companions hopped into the van to drive 40 minutes north of here to a resort to eat lunch. It is rumored to be beautiful. I get that I will be deprived of their company, and that is indeed a loss. But they are driving at least 80 minutes round trip (and save for the ocean views, the scenery in these parts generally ain’t great…and do I need to remind you that they drive on the WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD?) to another version of the sorta same menu you find pretty much everywhere on this island, including this spot about 300 yards from our house. And while it will in in all likelihood, BE beautiful, so is the beach here. I know I sound like a curmudgeon—mostly because I am one. But I am tickled pink to spend my last day here enjoying the scene I’ve enjoyed all week. In a short while, I will put on my bathing suit and walk down to the beach for a dip in the ocean, the first of the trip. Why the first, you say? Why, because there is a POOL, of course. A pool that is steps away. Now, the beach is quite close too, but I prefer to LISTEN to the ocean and LOOK at the ocean, rather than SWIM in it.
News arrived minutes ago that the 30 minute flight from this island to Nassau will now take place 2 hours later, pressurizing what appeared to be a lavish layover there prior to this news’ arrival. I am told we Americans can clear customs in Nassau, but for whatever reason I need to check in at the United Desk (and presumably, the line) for a boarding pass there.
The Reason for the Season, Thanksgiving Dinner
Thanksgiving Dinner was a group effort, and as close to a traditional meal as was possible was achieved. We substituted three Abaco Big Bird chickens for a turkey, and I made game time decision to halve them and roast the six. Not my best effort. One of my travel-mates softened the failure by declaring that “those were tough little chickens”, and I am not sure how I could have done better, but they were tough little chickens. The Kitten performed her mashed potato and stuffing wizardry, the younger ladies chipped in with some vegetarian dishes and a cheese plate, and there was a TON of food, including some damn fine cornbread.
In the days since, I have settled upon a new Thanksgiving truth: I enjoy my Thanksgiving Leftover Hash FAR MORE than I enjoy the meal that created its constituents. What is a Thanksgiving Leftover Hash, you ask? Well sit a spell, and I’ll tell you. This is a delicacy mainly consisting of chopped up poultry (turkey last year, chicken this year), mashed potatoes, and stuffing, lots of melted butter, and a couple of eggs to top it. While these are the main ingredients, whatever is left over can be added. At home we often have an oyster casserole. Add it. Cranberry sauce? Add it. Poultry gravy? Add it (we had none this year, so I used some chicken broth I found lying around). I also added some Knorrs/Lipton Chicken flavored rice we had a lot of to this year’s brew, and it was lovely. Just put it all in a big pan and mix it up well, stirring to heat it all up. Season as desired (I found all manner of seasons in our kitchen well equipped with spices of undetermined provenance or age) and plop the eggs on top. Voila!
The Word Bahamas reminded me of a sailing trip I made with old sailing friends to Hope Town on Elbow Kay. We boarded an old wornout sloop and sailed north up the wind ward islands. My sailing companions were the Kobota rep for Northern California, and his brother, a tunnel rat (digs tunnels) and an agent for the IRS (carries a gun). Heard lots of interesting stories.
We also did a trip to Grand Bahama with the daughter and her husband. I did some driving there and don't remember it difficult.
Idyllic