We’re anchored in the harbour at Black Point Settlement in the Bahamas, stretched out in the cockpit, enjoying a glass of wine with our friends, when we see that thing a sailor never wants to see: the red and green running lights of a big boat, which means it’s coming straight towards us. We’re directly in its path. So are a dozen other boats.
But as we watch nervously, the boat expertly weaves its way through the anchorage to the dock, missing even the boats who have forgotten to put their anchor light on. Clearly they’ve done this before. Which means… it’s the supply boat!
We had intended to reprovision in Georgetown before Rick and Sally came on board, but as you may remember from our last post, we never got there. So pickings have been a little slim since they arrived. We’ve been eating a lot of rice. And onions. And more rice. And sharing the last two lamb chops. So all of us are pretty excited to see the supply boat.
We’re up early the next morning and dinghy to shore, shopping bags in hand, but they’ve just started unloading the ship. We watch as box after bundle after bucket are hand-bombed over the side. Then the heavy lifting begins. A huge crane unloads skids of goods—cases of beer, building materials, 40-gallon drums. Of what? Tar? Oil? Not gasoline, I think. I hope.
We give the shopkeepers a little time to unpack their goods before making the rounds. We walk up to Rockside Laundry as much to admire the view of the harbour as to pick up fresh eggs and milk and butter, which they always seem to have. On the way back, we stop at Lorraine’s mother’s house to get a loaf of coconut bread fresh from the oven. Well, maybe two. Then we stop at Adderley’s Friendly Store (who can resist a friendly store?) and the tiny store across the street from it, which doesn’t have a name, as far as we can tell, but is just as friendly.
Now when you think store, don’t think Sobey’s or Longo’s. Think corner store. Often as not, a store in the Bahamas is the front room of someone’s house—or in the case of Lorraine’s mother, the back door: you just knock on the kitchen door and walk in. They’re tiny, and they don’t have a lot of stock, canned goods for the most part, some essential toiletries, some meat in a chest freezer—you just open it up and rummage at will. When the boat comes in, boxes of produce appear—oranges, plantain, cabbages, onions—and disappear almost as quickly. Then it’s back to cans.
Once we have as much as we can carry, we head back to the boat and make French toast with coconut bread—a real treat when drizzled with the Ontario maple syrup Rick and Sally brought with them.
Things are looking up here on the good ship MonArk. We’re having mystery meat tonight (we’ll find out what it is when it thaws), fried plantain, and broccoli for dinner.
No more rice and onions for at least a week now.