A small slice of a small place in the Caribbean


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Central America Caribbean » Bahamas » Nassau
January 22nd 2012
Published: January 26th 2012
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After a day and a half of the faculty and staff orienting ourselves to the ship, our jobs and each other, there appears to be a small break in our schedule, just an hour – but we will take the chance to get off the ship and see a small slice of Nassau.I’ve been here before – a family vacation over a decade ago – so it isn’t imperative to me to see it; however, there a few among us who have never been and a quick jaunt into the country is in order, if for no other reason than to set foot on the soil of the place where we start this epic adventure with our whole community in tact. For it is here in Nassau that we pick up our students.

As we exit the gangway and head past the port we are greeted with a quiet we were not expecting. It is still early, after all, perhaps 6pm at the latest. Most of the stores have closed for the day and the streets show small signs of the flurry of activity that may have been all around only a few hours earlier. Most of the stores are high-end western labels one would recognize instantly. They obviously cater to the tourists. From the little that I know about the Bahamas and it’s people, I can’t imagine the Prada store is targeting the locals. We decide to walk a little despite everything being closed, in hopes of seeing a bit more than just the dock. We start to head out of the shopping area but don’t get far before realizing we’ve eaten through most of our time and should head back to the ship to attend the parent’s reception that starts in a very short time.

We are meandering, really, along a side street making our way back to our home. I can’t help but notice the space between us and the young man walking behind us is shrinking. We are talking excitedly about what is to come and the students who will join us in the morning. Soon the man is just behind us and his pace has slowed a bit. I pull over and address him, apologizing for our aimlessly blocking the sidewalk at such a slow pace. He sweetly greets us and tells me no, we are not slowing him down. He welcomes us to his island and encourages us to enjoy our time here. I notice that now that he is walking next to us his pace has quickened slightly and as our conversation comes to a close he picks his stride back up and is soon a ways in front of us. We never make it out of the touristy area. We make a quick stop for one among us to buy a souvenir. He pays in US dollars, the currency in which all the products are priced.

After the parent’s reception I try again. This time with another of my new friends who is also visiting the Bahamas for the first time. As we make our way down the gangway we run into others who are just returning. They mention the cool fish they saw, calling them lion looking. We decide a walk along the dock is in order, in hopes of catching a glimpse of this lion fish. We spot several quickly, they are about the size of a volleyball if you count all their bits… I can see why our friends call them lion fish. They are easily spotted in the water darkened by night. Their brown and white bodies stand out and they are close to the surface, perhaps feeding on any bugs that are lingering at the surface of the water. They have long, fan like manes that ripple slowly in the water. A man in a small fishing raft floats by.

As we stroll down the beach we pass a few beat up old pick-ups parked at the beach, the locals spilling out the back enjoying a cool beer and laughing jovially with one another. A few slightly mangy looking dogs run back and forth, feasting on the discarded chicken bones that are strewn about. Before long we come across a series of small shacks nestled together at the beach’s edge. They sell beer mostly, along with snacks and the like and clearly cater to the tourists by day. But now, not much before 10pm, locals surround us.

We stop for a beer and talk briefly with the bouncer of sorts and the bartender. Both are excited to speak with us and we exchange pleasantries for a few minutes before we take our beers with us and wander into the neighborhood that sits behind us. It is clearly the remnants of an affluent neighborhood. Perhaps it is still affluent, but it is worn a bit around the edges. We come across an old stone Catholic Church that appears to be almost hollowed out by a long since extinguished fire. A car slows as it passes and the driver checks in with us to make sure we are okay. We express our gratitude for his inquiry and keep walking. It isn’t much longer before we start to make our way back to our ship.

Aboard the MV Explorer, we as a community are reading Jamaica Kincaid’s A Small Place (a must read) in order to help us better understand the potential impact we as travelers can have on the place we visit. I can’t help but think about her exploration of the lasting impact of colonialism on the Caribbean and the ugliness of the tourist. As I walk back to my ship I find myself torn between feeling like perhaps I shouldn’t have gotten off the ship since I didn’t get to see much beyond the touristy area and wishing I had more time to explore the local culture and life.

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