Day-drinking with Bahamian locals and how to make conch salad
Days at sea: 5
Days remaining: 20
Wherein I discuss: making the acquaintance of some locals and joining them on a drinking tour of North Andros Island, plus a pictorial guide to making conch salad.
This morning Ben and I took the dinghy to shore with the only goal being to explore Andros island. We arrived on a dry and desolate shoreline with nothing but an unmanned marine fuel pump, a quiet bar, and a small gas station. There was no one in sight.
I carried a bag bursting with trash from the boat. A large mound of trash bags sat around the base of a pine tree. They looked weathered, and like they had been there a while. Not seeing anywhere else to put ours, I threw it on top.
I knew I wanted to get to Nicholls Town, which was about 3 miles away. My vague ideas was to walk and hitchhike at the same time. Just as Ben and I were puzzling through a plan, a pair of locals came out of the bar with fresh cold drinks in their hands.
“Excuse me! Can you tell me how to get to Nicholls Town?” I asked the man.
Pointing down the street, he said “Yeah, you go that way to the junction, then take a left and just go on for a while.” He said. Then looking at his friend to get her approval, continued, “What do you boys want to do there? Maybe we can just give you a ride.”
“Nothing,” I said. “We just want to check it out, no plans at all.”
Checking his partner again for her nod, he said “Okay, get in. We’ll take you.”
“Where you boys want to go in Nicholls Town?”
Ben asked if there was a sailing store on the island where he could get some materials to patch our beat up genoa. They said they knew a place.
A wave of well-being washed over me, a gratitude that the first people we’d met were kind enough to help us out. Driving with the windows down, I was struck by the strange beauty of the island. Shrubs, swamps and mangroves, and miles and miles of pine forest. I was intrigued most by the forest.
The soil on Andros was rocky and judging by the foliage, inhospitable. Apparently the landmass of the Bahamas is just a gargantuan pre-historic coral reef just barely popping its head out of the ocean. Hence there is very little soil and very little fertility.
“Oh shit, I forgot my mask. Do you guys use those here?” Ben asked.
“You need one to go inside. I’ll stop by a place where you can get one.”
They pulled off at a small pharmacy and Ben and Shavon went in.
“So what are you guys up to today?” I asked Sampson.
“Nothin. I’m just in town from Nassau and so me and her are catching up. We’re old friends.”
“Nice, so you’re just driving around having some drinks? Where are you heading next?” I asked.
“We’re going to have another drink at Mastic Point. If you boys have nothing to do you can come along with us. Just put some gas in the tank.”
Jackpot. “That sounds amazing.”
As soon as Ben was back in the car I pitched it to him quietly, and with his nod, we commenced a day-drinking tour of Northern Andros Island.
We stopped at a roadside bar and grabbed three beers to go for Sampson, Ben and myself. Shavon, to our increased good fortune, was dry for the moment after an overly exuberant mother’s day with all of her kids and grandkids. We were both surprised to learn that she had grandkids, as she didn’t look a day over 35, and probably wasn’t. The first place they took us was the island’s boat store to see if they had tape to repair the sail.
Inside was a marine pawn shop with a patchwork of ancient inventory. Unsurprisingly, there was no sail tape.
Back in the car Shavon wound through the neighborhood streets and she and Sampson pointed things out. “That building with the roof falling in is the police station.” “Over there is our only bank.” The town was charming, simple, and spread out. Everyone had green yards and brightly colored houses, some weather-worn, some freshly painted. When Shavon passed someone she knew out in the yard she tapped on her horn and they waved at each other. You get the sense that she toots that horn a hundred times a day, constantly passing by a familiar face.
She probably showed us every inch of the small town, from one side to the other. Then asked, “Have you boys heard of Charlies Blue Hole?”
“Nope!”
“Google it. We can show it to you.”
I didn’t need to Google it. She could have offered to take me to see a cow, or her niece, or a big mango tree. I was simply happy to be in the back seat of this car, drinking a cold Bahamian lager, gazing at the pine trees out the window.
After another road side bar and another round, it was on to Charlies Blue Hole.
Charlies Blue hole is a large, circular limestone pool. The locals had built circular tables and benches around some of the trees, and broken ladders descended into the pool. Everything was in a state of advanced decomposition.
Sampson said that people used to come here and throw parties, but not anymore. I asked why they stopped.
“People don’t come as much since the hurricane.”
He was referring to Hurricane Matthew which decimated this island in 2016. Much of the tour would be marked by things that were destroyed and haven’t been rebuilt. Later that day they would show us buildings that were wrecked, sporting fields that fell into total disrepair, and stores that never reopened. My mind flashed to the dozens of building around the mouth of Bimini Island that were also wrecked and boarded up and realized it was all the same reason. These people lived in the shadow of an environmental catastrophe beyond anything I’d seen before.
Soon we continued to the seaside settlement of Mastic Point. As we pulled up, Sampson recognized a friend standing under a tree and went to talk with him. The rest of us went inside looking for conch salad, a Bahamian specialty I’d been seeking since I got the the Bahamas.
They told us the chef wasn’t in yet, but would be soon. We got another round to wait. There was no rush. I walked outside and stared at the ocean, feeling a warm swell of gratitude rising in my chest. The day was shaping up ideally. Traveling and making friends renews my faith in human kind. A light breeze came up from the ocean which lay as placid as a pond. Rainclouds poured in the distance.
When I went back inside, I found that the chef had arrived and they were preparing to make the conch salad.
How to make Conch Salad: A pictorial guide.
Step 1: Climb down to the water and pull a live conch out. Knock the top off of it with a hatchet.
Step 2: Pull out the meat and clean it by removing all of the funky digestive parts. Next, take the penis and eat it as a bonus aphrodisiac.
Step 3: Slice the conch into fillets. Then dice it along with peppers, onions tomatoes, and other stuff grown on the island.
Step 4: Add the juice of three limes and half a can of OJ
Step 5: (for the recipient) Thank your chef!
Enjoy.
The result was tasty, healthy, and basically ceviche. The conch was softer and milder than I’d expected.
Shavon, Ben and I stood on the balcony outside and ate the salad with spoons. Shavon has hers with mayo. Afterwards we headed back toward town to get a more substantial lunch. Winding through now-familiar roads we passed a statue of a man in a headdress and Ben asked who it was. They didn’t know and pulled over so we could have a look. Judging by appearance it could have been there for any length of time. Two years, ten years, twenty.
We read the plaque and discovered to our amazement that it had been installed this exact same day. Ben and I found it a funny island coincidence.
Our final stop was a bar and restaurant where we ordered Caribbean lunches, played pool, and I smoked a large cigar. Afterward it was late in the afternoon and everyone was beat, so then they returned us to the dusty bar where we first met.
Shavon offered to give us a ride to town the next day, where we needed to get Covid tests. So it looks like we may keep the party going! We agreed on a time, and said hearty goodbyes.
After our first full day on the island I find the kindness and openness of the Bahamian people striking. I hadn’t realized their hardships. They were never rich to begin with, but then Hurricane Matthew destroyed much of what infrastructure they had. Next Covid knocked out their number one industry, tourism. Yet they survive, committed to a happiness and kindness which they extend not only to each other, but also to strangers.
