Day Three – “The City Boy and the Kentucky Girl”

(Wherein the limits of Blake’s manliness are tested en route to the Nantucket of the Caribbean) AKA “Krista, get AWAY from the edge!”

It’s a windy one today. So windy, that there are whitecaps INSIDE of the reef.  Fine. We’re hitting the road, anyway, for mandatory side-trip #1 – Harbour Island: winter home of rock stars and oil magnates, and yes, known as the Nantucket of the Caribbean. Sounds civilized.

Getting there, however, turned out to be rather an unexpected adventure.

First off, I thought it would be fun to take the sand road along the shore until it intersected with the main highway. I’d even seen a youtube video of this exact trip, which goes by the entrance of Oceanaire about halfway through. Banks Road By Car? I told you I was obsessive about this.  So we hopped in our little Suzuki something-or-other, and began barreling through the brush, as it became more overgrown, and more overgrown, branches whipping the car on all four sides, the “road” becoming less distinct, then invisible in the brush, then rutted, then deep, soft sand under the overgrowth, crabs, birds, and blue lizards scurrying out of the way. I turn to Krista and say something like “This is pretty messed up,” and she coolly smiles and says, “I’m glad we did this. We’d have wondered, otherwise. You’re doing great.”  And thus, the first example of Blake the urban twit in contrast to the barefoot hillbilly who is his traveling companion. And it was a very beautiful view of the coastline. Through the trees and brush.

Finally we get back on to Eleuthera’s version of pavement and head north to uncharted territory, through the various settlements, and I’m noting places I’ve read about, Kel-D’s, Laughing Lizard, Rainbow Inn, etc. We stop for a brief souvenier visit at Pam’s in Gregory Town, and pick up a few things, and then pay $30 for five gallons of gas up the road – full service, by the way.  We soon approach two major natural sights on our journey that we’d intended to roll into our trip north: the Queen’s Baths, and Glass Window Bridge.  We fly past the entrance to the Queen’s Baths and I decide we’ll turn around after Glass Window and come back.  Glass Window Bridge was made famous in a painting by Winslow Homer, an it marks the narrowest part of the island, where  the spray from the Atlantic meets the calm of the Caribbean.

We cross the single-lane bridge, park, and I decide it would be a genius idea to scramble up the rocky hillside to get a look at the waves crashing below.   As I near the top, I realize that there is a precipice rapidly approaching me. One that drops 100 feet straight down to the roaring ocean below. You see, I have a REAL issue with heights. In fact, as I write this, I’m feeling nauseas just thinking of this again. Of course, I’m rapidly slinking away from the edge, when Krista comes up from behind, and says “What’s wrong with you? Stand up, let me take your picture!” Ugh.   As this was picture being taken, my head was spinning, I had visions of either hurling myself over, or that the rock would give way, sending me plummeting to the rocks below. “Say cheese!” 

So, of course Krista wanted to get RIIIGHT near the edge and look over to take pictures. No, seriously, sitting comfortably on the couch back at the house, drink at hand, I’m having minor convulsions just thinking about this ordeal.

Finally, we get back in the safety of our rattletrap car and head back to the Queen’s Baths, which are neat rock erosions that created divots in the rock by the Atlantic shoreline which, when the tide goes out, remain filled with water. When the tide comes roaring in, the whole thing is underwater, and all of the guide books say, in red ink and all caps “VISIT HERE ONLY AT LOW TIDE! YOU CAN EASILY BE SWEPT OUT TO SEA AS THE TIDE COMES IN EXTREMELY FAST!”    So, we’re here two and a half hours before high tide, but Adventure Girl wants to see and explore them anyhow.  We get out, hike over the obligatory razor-sharp pock marked rock, and scramble to the lookout over the baths.   

Very cool, and the tide is roaring in, wave after wave, slowly climbing higher.  Krista decides that we have plenty of time to explore the baths. “Do you want to skinny dip in them?” HELL NO! I want to watch from a safe distance. So, down goes Krista, clothed, but like a billy goat over the rocks to inspect the baths closer.   

Of course, I follow, slowly. Keeping one eye on the water level. The waves keep crashing closer.  Luckily, Krista sees that there is a fair amount of ocean life swimming around the pools, humorously waiting at the edge for the water to flow over and give them a way out, so she wants no part of getting in.  However, she thinks it is a brilliant idea to go right up to the edge and wait for a wave to crash over and get her wet.  Of course, I’m thinking whether it’d be better to try to rescue her, or play it safe and be sure that the kids have at least one parent left.

 I almost order her, ok, beg her to get back from the edge.  She grumpily does, and airily  says something about “Oh, look how much higher the water is now”  on the way back up the cliffside.

Now we’re on our way to Harbour Island in earnest. We go to the docks, get our water taxi, another weather-beaten vehicle, but with new looking twin Yamaha 150s in the back that rapidly bounce us over the swells to the docks in Dunmore town, adjacent to some VERY large yachts. We rent a golf cart (the preferred method of transportation on Harbour Island), shop for straw hats, successfully, and head over to Sip Sip for lunch. Sip Sip came doubly recommended, and it was delicious.  Krista drank “Sky Juice,” which is coconut water and gin, and I had a pineapple chili martini, which was amazing, and left my mouth and throat tingling and tickling. For lunch,  I had a curry chicken and currant dish, and Krista had conch chili. YUM! 

And yet, we definitely felt a bit like we were crashing the lunch spot of the rich and semi-famous. No recognizable celebrities, but everyone was trim, beautiful, perfectly tanned, perfectly orthondontist-ed, and stylishly dressed. Men were in country club casual with nautical-themed baseball caps, the younger women in diaphanous or lacy covers over bright bikinis, and the older women in large hats and aviator sunglasses. A C-note just covered lunch, and after, we walked the beach in the high wind for the next two hours, admiring the private homes and estates overlooking the beach.

  We tooled around on our golf cart for a little while, exploring, then back to the docks and the water taxi and our Suzuki something-or-other. On the way back, we stopped again in Gregory Town for a pineapple. Krista wanted to go directly home, but I had packed the snorkel gear, and I wanted to check out Rainbow Beach – in a Caribbean bay that the guide books speak very highly of for snorkeling. I just asked for 20 minutes, and I’m so glad I did. It was like snorkeling in an aquarium. Perfectly clear, still water, and abundant with marine life. More types of colorful fish than I could identify or keep track of, some longer, needle-nosed predators, purple coral, shellfish that would close in unison upon you getting near them, and at least two different types of rays.  Krista, exhausted, didn’t even get in, but I convinced her to make this our main event tomorrow. This is a huge bay, and I want to spend hours exploring it. We have a date with our snorkel gear tomorrow morning. I’ll try to use the waterproof pouch and get some pictures to post.

We had little to nothing in the cupboards, but while I wrote this, Kentucky Krista rustled up a steak, potato, onion, and cheese hash out of leftovers that was so surprisingly delicious I almost cried. Time to refill my drink, eat, and then head down the beach to Sky Beach for our wi-fi fix, and posting. The sun is setting. More tail-curling adventures tomorrow!