Creel Photography - On The Bahamas and The Dangers of The Internet

Creel Photography

On The Bahamas and the Dangers of the Internet

I am convinced that the weather patterns in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area are directly, and without fail, connected to my and Rachael's plans. Every time we leave on vacation, the rains come. Our recently completed vacation was no exception.

Rachael and I said goodbye to the dog and departed D/FW in a rainstorm. We landed in Miami in a rainstorm. We departed Miami in a rainstorm and arrived in Freeport, Grand Bahama Island to…sunny skies finally. I knew in the recesses of my mind, we had not seen the last of the rain.

Apparently, airport security for arriving passengers in Freeport must not be the highest priority, as the trip through Bahamian customs went something like this (realize that this is the paraphrased version):

Customs Agent (CA): Did you fill out your immigration form?
Me: No, I don't have a pen.
CA: I'll let you borrow mine, but you will have to give up your right eye if you don't give it back.
Me: OK, sounds fair.
CA: Are you an American?
Me: Yes.
CA: Did you bring at least $100 to spend frivolously on our island?
Me: Yes.
CA: Welcome to our beautiful island.

Apparently all the questions were answered correctly.

I know this is a vacation diary, but please allow me to diverge briefly to address a growing crisis that affects travel. That crisis is the Internet. You read that correctly, the Internet. Please do not get me wrong for the Internet is a wonderful tool for communicating information. However, the quality of the information communicated is suspect.

With that said, it has been our practice for the last several years to book airline tickets, lodging, car rentals, and entertainment through the Internet. This practice had served us well, until we arrived at our Bed & Breakfast in Freeport (here is where that concern of mine about failure to divulge important facts on the internet comes into play). I will not mention the name of the B&B, but here are a few more facts that the owner might consider listing on their website:

-The owner is a smoker, so smoking is definitely allowed, in fact encouraged
-When the website says the owner likes pets, it means the owner REALLY likes pets to the tune of 6 dogs, an annoying talking Parrot, and other animals that we didn't stick around long enough to discover
-The air conditioning in the room is for decoration only. Functionality is out of the question.
-The owner gets VERY angry if you actually try to leave the air conditioning on to cool your room while you are away
-The pictures on the website MAY be what the home used to look like, but they certainly do not represent current reality

On the ride to the B&B, my observant wife just "happened" to notice a popular shopping spot called the International Bazaar (http://www.bahamasvg.com/bazaar.html) near a "resort" hotel. Upon arrival at the B&B, and upon realization that we had fallen victim to the evils of the Internet, we decided to return to the International Bazaar to weigh our options. Over lunch at that famous Bahamian restaurant called "Subway" (please forgive us as we were not quite into the island frame of mind yet) we decided to head over to the hotel to see if they had room for some naïve web-surfers. God was smiling on us and we arranged to check-in to the "resort" for the week. After a tense conversation with the B&B owner, and an offer of one nights rent for the trouble, we were on our merry way to the "resort". At this point Rachael and I retrospectively amended our wedding vows to include the phrase "I [insert name] promise to never suggest staying at a B&B because there is no way of knowing what they are like." If anyone that is considering marriage reads this, I would suggest you include this phrase in the initial wedding vows and save yourselves some pain later on. Learn from the mistakes of others, you will never live long enough to make them all yourself.

Perhaps you noticed that resort when used to this point has been in quotation marks. That is for a reason. As far as I can tell the definition of "resort" on Grand Bahama is that the hotel has an in-ground pool. The definition of "suites" on Grand Bahama, to the best of knowledge, is that each room has running water. Now I am not complaining about our hotel (especially after the B&B nightmare) for it was a nice enough room at a fair price. However, if I were asked to write the marketing material for the hotel with the direction to obey any truth in advertising laws, I would not include the words "resort" or "suites". I guess that's why I'm not in marketing.

After a good night's sleep in our "suite" at our "resort", we awakened to the feeling that we were finally on vacation. That is until I looked outside and realized the rain we had left behind in Miami finally caught up to us. Never ones to let a little rain stop us, we headed out anyway. We arrived at Port Lucaya Marketplace (http://www.grand-bahama.com/portlucaya.htm) for our scheduled glass-bottomed boat tour of the coral reef. Although it had slackened by this time, the tour was cancelled due to the continuing rain. While strolling around the marketplace and frivolously spending a small amount of money (buying the obligatory magnet to commemorate each new place visited), we noticed that there were a number of similar reef tours. One of which, called a semi-submarine (viewing glass in the hull of the boat), was still planning on heading out to the reef. We decided this would be a good alternative and headed out to sea.

The rain stopped for a while and the reef tour was quite interesting in that we were able to see many colorful fish and coral. I was actually surprised at the variety of fish we saw since Grand Bahama Island is only about 60 miles off the coast of Florida. As we were preparing to return to harbor, the rain returned as a drizzle. Ten minutes into the return, the rain returned as tsunami (perhaps a little exaggerated). We had the distinction of being on the only trip ever by this tour company that actually had to drop anchor on the return trip because the skipper could not see the shore; on-board navigation systems being non-existent on the boat. We participants are thinking about having a reunion next year to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the occasion. So, we sat at anchor for about 30 minutes while the storm blew over. We tossed and turned in the cramped hull, several people thought they were going to toss their cookies and reached for the barf bags, the smell of diesel fuel permeated the hull, and several people decided it would be better to go on deck and be soaked than to stay in the hull and puke. Rachael and I stuck it out in the hull. Although I must admit that when we finally reached land I was looking a little green and feeling a tad queasy.

After returning that evening to our "resort", we placed a call to our friends (the Blakes) who live on the island (http://www.upci.net/missionaries/blake/index.htm). They are currently serving as missionaries to the Northern Caribbean countries and are doing a mighty fine job, I might add. Pastor Blake picked us up at our "resort" and drove us a few miles out of town to show us how to get to a secluded beach that he and his family frequent (I will speak about this particular beach later). After showing us the beach, he took us back to their home so we could spend a few hours visiting with him and his family (wife and three daughters).

The Blakes have a cat.   I must admit that I am not a cat person. Cats generally love me, but I generally despise cats. Kittens are OK, but they all have the same problem; they grow up to be cats. I said all that to introduce you to the Blake's cat, Ditto. Everyone says that cats have personalities, and I must agree. Unfortunately they generally have the personality of an average 16 year old: they do whatever they want (which is usually not what you want them to do), they ignore you, and they only use you for the food and bed you provide. Ditto, however, is different. This cat has a personality all its own. First of all, it didn't like me, which as I have already mentioned is highly unusual. But the antics of this cat are wonderful. It loves to attack strings, ribbons, shoestrings, etc. which I guess isn't all that unusual for a cat. This cat can climb anything, balance on the top of curtain rods, jump from the top of the cabinets to the refrigerator (which is quite an accomplishment considering the distance and the elevation difference), and allows the family to hold it while it lays on its back fully stretched out and looking like a case of rigor mortis had set in.   I'll admit, Ditto is one cool cat. (To see pictures of Ditto and some of the antics go to the following website: (http://www.upci.net/missionaries/blake/ditto.html).

The Bahamas gained independence from Great Britain on July 10, 1973. This event in recent history explains some of the British peculiarities that remain on the island such as, roundabouts to move traffic, red phone booths, a moderate English accent, and driving on the left (wrong) side of the road. It was the driving on the left side of the road that discouraged me from renting a car. I have heard some horror stories from friends that had visited various sites across the world that drive on the left side of the road, so I thought the use of public transportation and taxi would be in order. The public bus system on the island is fairly easy to use, quite inexpensive, and there are many stops so you are rarely far from convenient transportation. However, after several rides on the buses, and after watching local drivers, we decided that it would be safe to rent a car to make it more convenient while on the island. So, on Tuesday morning we arranged to pick up a car and test the ability of my brain to think backwards (no comments please).

Enjoying our newfound transportation freedom, we carefully headed out to the beach that Pastor Blake had showed us. With the sun shining, the water was beautiful. The waters of the island are turquoise to cobalt blue and all shades in between, the sand is white and soft, and the water temperature is perfect. There is no way I could ever describe the scene and do it justice, so if you are interested you will just have to go see for yourself. We swam and generally goofed around in the warm waters well into the afternoon, as well as photographed the scenes around us before heading back into town for the evening.

That evening we had scheduled a fishing trip, but because of a brewing storm (which never materialized), the trip was canceled. Instead, we decided to dine at a nice restaurant just outside town called Pier 1 (http://www.bahamasvg.com/pierone.html). Here, I had my first true Bahamian dining experience. It was at this restaurant where I first tried conch (pronounced "konk"). Conch is a shellfish (mollusk to be exact) and is at the heart of Bahamian cuisine. In fact, it is at the heart of Bahamian life because it is used for food, jewelry, arts, and now for souvenirs to sell to tourists. I had it fried (cracked in the native dialect) and found it to be quite tasty. The food at Pier 1 was good but that is its claim to fame. It is famous because at 7,8, and 9:00 each evening they feed the sharks that have gathered in the water below the restaurant awaiting the free frozen herring. This particular evening a number of sharks showed up including Lemon Sharks, Nurse Sharks, and some other type that I could not identify. I estimate we saw between 15-20 sharks greater than 8 feet long in the water and quite a few smaller ones. This feeding frenzy was safely viewed from the observation deck well above the water. For anyone who fell into the water during this frenzy…I put their odds of survival at a robust zero percent. If the sharks didn't get them the myocardial infarction would.

Post dinner, for us and the sharks, we drove out to the west end of the island to see the way the islanders live away from the throngs (and in some case thongs) of tourists. The island's main industry is tourism. Outside of the tourists areas, it appears to be a hand-to-mouth, but comfortable existence with many people depending on the sea for a living (fishing, conch, crab, lobster, etc.). The people are friendly, the crime rate is low, and there seems to be very little police presence. We are glad that we drove out to see the way the average person lives on the island, as it makes us even more thankful of the blessings that God has bestowed on us.

The highlight of last year's vacation in Florida was our encounter with dolphins on a sightseeing boat. So, when we found out that there was a dolphin training center on the island where you could see and interact with the dolphins up-close and personal, I knew that we would be shelling out bucks to take part. I'm glad we did. Wednesday morning was our scheduled time for the dolphin encounter (http://www.bahamasvg.com/dolphin.html). After a short boat ride to the lagoon where the training center is located, we were herded to a pier where we sat with our feet in the water while the dolphins were brought into the spectator area. The trainer brought the dolphins close to the participants, had the dolphins perform jumps, and showed the series of whistle and hand commands to which the dolphins respond. The highlight of the trip was when each participant was allowed to stand on a platform in the water with the dolphins where the dolphins would swim right up next to you and allow you to pet them (they feel like soft tire rubber), and they would kiss you on your cheek while an employee snapped a photo. Believe me, we bought our dolphin kiss pictures when we got back to the main facility. One of the more interesting things about the dolphins is that they are free to leave the training center if they choose. They routinely take the dolphins out into the ocean, unrestrained, for exercise and diving exhibitions. However, I imagine the fishing in the training center is easier than in the ocean since the trainers feed them as rewards for doing their "tricks". I have a feeling that this was the most memorable experience of the vacation for Rachael again this year.

That evening we had planned on attending church with the Blakes, however, due to the cancellation of our fishing trip on the previous evening, we were rescheduled for fishing this evening. This was another event that we booked on the Internet. The Captain's wife, who told us that the boat docked right out of their backyard, picked us up at our "resort". This had Rachael and me thinking they must run their operation from their majestic waterfront home. When we arrived at their apartment and walked through the toy-filled backyard and the knee-high grass to the boat, we were both reminded of the dangers of the Internet. In fact, we wondered out loud about what we had gotten ourselves into. This however would turn out to be a good experience and restored a little faith in the Internet (http://www.bahamasvg.com/lilb/).

Captain Les skippers a sailboat for scuba divers by day and charters his own fishing boat by night. Captain Les is a native Bahamian and doesn't much care for the nouveau riche from Florida who, to hear him say it, do not obey the most basic of boating etiquette. In fact, Captain Les is a lot like Ditto, a free spirit. Nevertheless, he seemed to know the places to fish and Rachael liked him because he didn't stay in a place too long if we weren't catching fish. We caught a variety of fish including Grunt, Squirrelfish, Yellow-tailed Snapper and Rainbow Parrotfish.

No fishing trip would be complete without a "the one that got away" story, so here goes. I was fishing along minding my own business when all of the sudden I had a big bite and the line on my reel started stripping. Captain Les came back to where I was, peered down into the water, saw a Nurse Shark swimming by, and reasoned that I had a big Nurse Shark on my line. After seeing the pace at which this fish was stripping line, he just told me "have fun" and went on about his business knowing that there was little chance of me ever landing the fish. Needless to say, the fish finally got off the hook and merrily went about its fishy way. An hour or so later, Rachael had a similar experience except hers ended when the fish broke her line. These are honest truth stories. No kidding. Really. I wouldn't lie. Just ask Rachael. She'll tell you.

We shared the boat with another couple for a total of four people fishing. Sharing events with people you do not know is always a dicey proposition, and the fishing trip turned out to be no exception. Hailing from Atlanta, GA, this particular couple was totally blasted before stepping foot onto the boat, and continued to drink once at sea. The lady turned out to be a great source of entertainment when the fishing was slow. Standing up in the boat proved to be a real challenge for her, and every time she attempted to cast brought the very real possibility of either the rod and reel or her ending up in the ocean. I guess once you have mastered the art of fishing (as her husband the bass fisherman seemed to think he had done) you have to add a degree of difficulty by being drunk while attempting to fish. There wasn't a dull moment during the trip.

The next morning we decided to spend more time on the beach. So after my daily bath in sun block, we headed back to the secluded beach. It was low tide so the beach looked totally different than the last time we were there, making it necessary for me to re-photograph everything from every possible angle. We stayed until noon then drove into town for a lunch consisting of gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in our "suite".

After lunch, we drove out towards the east end of the island to see if we could find any other secluded beaches. Panicked while trying to find a filling station (gas was $2.70/gallon by the way, which gives the island more of a European feel), we found a site that was once used by the United States Air Force for missile tracking. We drove right past the sign that said this area was restricted, the place was overgrown and obviously abandoned, and found a picturesque beach. However, now it was high tide and there wasn't a lot of beach on which to roam, so I just took a few pictures and we headed back towards "our" secluded beach.

We spent a good portion of the afternoon on the beach before heading back to town for the Bahamian tribute to the Americans on the 4th of July (they know how to keep those American dollars returning to the island). The tribute included fireworks and then a street party that they call "junkanoo". Junkanoo is a festival that the Bahamians usually celebrate on Christmas and New Years, but they put on a summer version to entertain their visitors. Junkanoo, as legend has it, is named after the Bahamian "John Canoe" who was a musician who crafted his own instruments. From time to time he would have a demonstration or concert of sorts for the other islanders to show off his instruments and musical prowess. Today, there are extravagant homemade costumes that accompany the music, mainly drums, other percussion instruments, and some brass. The actual display of the instruments and the costumes takes place in parade fashion and is enthusiastically greeted by the Bahamians. Following the junkanoo, Rachael and I hung around on the street and listened to some of the local bands display their talents. The street party was supposed to be over at 10PM, but the locals used the occasion to party until after midnight (at least that is the last time that I remember hearing anything from our "suite"). After all, vacationers that rise early must retire early as well. Overall, it was an interesting evening and gave us a small taste of junkanoo tradition (even if it was just a show for the tourists).

Another activity that we had scheduled on the Internet was set for Friday morning. This particular activity, something that is a part of many romance novels (at least so I have heard), is horseback riding on the beach. Upon arrival at Pinetree Stables (http://www.thebahamian.com/pinetree/) we were fitted for the horses that would be taking us on a ride, literally and figuratively. This fitting consisted of two Bahamians trail guides looking at us, guessing at our height and weight, and asking us how much riding experience we have under our belt. To keep their jobs interesting, they apparently put the riders with the least experience on the most cantankerous horses. Living in the middle of 3 million people doesn't afford us much of an opportunity to ride, so Rachael and I had to confess to very little riding experience. My horse's name was "Poinsiana". I was disappointed that I didn't get to ride "Rasta Mon" who had a wild looking mane, hence the name. Poinsiana was slightly cantankerous, but Rachael's horse "Sunny" was downright rambunctious. Sunny didn't like to stay with the group, didn't like to stop, didn't like to turn, and didn't particularly care for water which is a bit unfortunate if you are going to be spending a portion of the time riding in the ocean. So Rachael spent a good portion of the trip lagging behind the other riders, trying to imitate goofy clicking noises that the trail guides used to get other horse's attention, and trying to get the horse to either stop or turn. We were not permitted to take a camera on the ride. Therefore, I have no photos to document our riding skill, or lack thereof.

No description of our horseback riding adventure would be complete without a discussion of one of the trail guides. I have no idea what is name was, but he epitomized the laid-back island attitude. He wore a Rasta hat (I don't know what they are really called), rode sidesaddle most of the time without touching the reins, and talked on the cell phone. Totally relaxed is how I would describe him. He didn't exactly fit the John Wayne mold that I typically associate with horsemen.

The ride consisted of a trail through the pine forest, a slow ride through waist high swamp, and then a few minutes wading in the ocean. Aside from having soaked tennis shoes, the trip was quite a success since neither of us fell off our horse. The souvenir that we picked up to commemorate this activity was a sore tail for a few days. That souvenir was free.

After trading in the wet tennis shoes for the more island fashionable flip-flops, we drove out to a local garden/zoo called "Garden of the Groves" (http://www.gardenofthegroves.com/). Here we saw a cross-section of local flora and fauna, some caged, others not. The highlight of the time spent at Garden of the Groves was the hummingbirds. It is not like me to not know the species of hummingbirds we watched, but I am still waiting on the photographs to be processed so that I can identify the species. The hummingbirds were beautiful as they feasted on an assortment of tropical flowers. We also saw a variety of lizards, parrots (caged) and an assortment of flowering plants.

For our last night on the island, we decided to go to a beachfront restaurant called "The Stoned Crab" for dinner. This memorable evening, we ate on the deck with the cool ocean breeze blowing. The food was very good; we shared a seafood platter consisting of shrimp, grouper, yellow-tailed snapper, conch fritters, and a salad with a wonderful homemade salad dressing. We then sat at the table and watched a number of families strolling up and down the beach and a gentleman that was performing back flips off a pier. After we left the restaurant we walked to the end of the now vacated pier to take one last picture of us watching the setting sun. However, as we approached the pier, two fishermen walked to the end of the pier ruining our photo opportunity. Oh well, we tried.

The last day of vacation is always bittersweet. I am usually ready to return to my own bed, see family and friends, and return to familiar surroundings; at the same time the experience of discovering new things in a different place is also exciting. This vacation was no different. Our last day on the island consisted of tying up loose ends. I made an attempt to go to the Rand Nature Center to photograph the flamingos while Rachael headed back to the International Bazaar to pick up a last few souvenirs. I was unsuccessful in my quest to photograph the flamingos, as it turns out that the nature center is closed on Saturdays, but Rachael was quite successful in her efforts to jumpstart the local economy with an infusion of cash. So, I headed to the beach instead to try and get some photographs of other riders at the mercy of their horses. As the horses rode by, the trail guide with the Rasta hat greeted me with "howdy pardner". Hearing those words from a Bahamian trail guide was actually quite entertaining (he has obviously watched John Wayne movies even if he doesn't look the part).

We arranged to meet the Blakes for lunch so we could hang out with them one last time before leaving. Every vacation has to have one embarrassing moment so here it is. We wanted to treat them to lunch so we all decided on a fast food restaurant. After everyone had ordered, Rachael and I were horrified to find that the restaurant did not accept traveler's checks. We managed to scrape up all but the last dollar or two in cash and had to have the Blakes bail us out. Up until then we had made a habit of asking local vendors if they accepted traveler's check prior to ordering or checking out, but I guess in conversation with the Blakes we forgot to ask first. I suppose these little episodes keep life interesting. After eating, the Blake's chauffeured us around the city to show us a few of the sites we had yet to see. We greatly appreciated this since we still had a few hours to kill before heading back to the airport.

Taking notes from Mexico, the Bahamian tourism board or federal government has come up with a money making scheme. Each person must pay $18 in cash in order to leave the country. So, after making a few stops on the way to the airport to cash traveler's checks (one Sprite at a time), we headed back to the airport to turn in the car and to head home. Let's keep it a secret that Mexico also charges you to enter the country.

There is a U.S. Customs office in the Bahamas, for which I am grateful, since this beats clearing customs in Miami along with about 8 million travelers coming from South or Latin America. The airport security in Freeport for departing travelers was much tighter than arriving security. They had us open a bag so they could rifle through it looking for contraband. Luckily, Rachael had finished off her Cuban cigars before getting to the airport (that's a joke people). As we boarded the plane, Rachael was chosen for a random search because she was wearing a hat and looked shifty. At least that's the reason that I think she was chosen. Hearing the pop of latex gloves being donned made her a little nervous, but in the end the security lady was just being extra cautious. Thirty minutes later we were back on American soil in Miami, back to where our cell phones work (unfortunately), back to where people pay attention to the clock, back to everyday life. Three hours and a mangled baggage claim later, we were home.

The dog was happy to see us.