The place we pulled into at Ile à Vache was something out of a post card. Sheer, high-rising cliffs we approached from the south dwindled into soft rolling hills at the north shore, easing gradually back into the ocean by way of palm lined beaches. There, as we rounded the north-west point of the island, we found complete shelter from the raging waters of the open Caribbean and followed our friends into a crescent shaped bay at the heart of the village. We were astonished. Largely because most of the main land of Haiti has been stripped off trees leaving it barren, spotted with bald areas of eroded soil. Wood is the main source of fuel for Haiti and we could smell it long before it came into view from under the constant cover of fire smoke. But at Ile à Vache the vegetation at shore and juicy green meadows creeping up the hills beyond was a stark contrast to the parched terrain that we've seen thus far.
Immediately upon arrival Rodeo was greeted by a convoy of young Haitian boys, paddling toward us in dug out canoes made of large mangrove trees. Holding onto the hull of our boat they welcomed us and offered their services. Some spoke French and some tried English to win attention. We were in the midst of dropping anchor, and over an unfamiliar bottom it can be a procedure that requires some finesse, so one could say that we were otherwise engaged. None of the boys seemed phased. They bobbed around swinging back and forth with our boat as it settled into position. It took a while to persuade them that what we needed the most was a bit of rest and that we'd be more than happy to take advantage of their services the following day. With time they began to push off from our boat until only one canoe remained. Ashley and Colby were in it. These two boys, and later a man named Carma became our guides and our help during our stay there. They helped with groceries, laundry and showed us around the island. Watching these guys work among the visiting sail boats anchored in the bay gave us the first glimpse into the quality of life on the island. Their rustic, hand dug canoes required constant bailing. They would lay down their ores and pick up whatever plastic container they had sitting on the bottom of the permeable shell, and start dumping the water overboard.
Ile à Vache is a place suspended between two eras. Homes are laid out in concrete or stone with thatched or corrugated steel roofs. The construction is rudimentary, but it is obvious that the residents put a lot of love and pride in their humble abodes. Almost every home is painted in bright, cheerful colors, making each unique. Many of the islanders live and work in a simple, traditional way, under conditions that date back to 19th century. Farmers till soil using plows drawn by bulls. Women carry water in jugs from a central pump at the heart of the settlement and cook every meal over an open flame. Girls ready their school uniforms with coal heated irons and tend to goats and chickens roaming about the colorful homesteads. These sprawl along the crescent shaped beach, with many of the homes tucked away and out of view, on the slope of the hill, among the rich vegetation. As we meandered through the development, following winding foot paths we discovered that some homes had small solar panels mounted to rooftops. This is the paradox of life on Ile à Vache. There are no cars, no street names or home numbers, let alone a postal service, but residents have access to internet at a local resort. There is no land line telephone service, but some residents have cell phones. The village has no infrastructure and no power grid, yet some homes can generate their own electricity. It seems like the island skipped a century altogether and is now mending the gap between a place form long time ago and that of the future. Ile à Vache doesn't appear to be in a hurry to get there, however, and we're glad for it as we enjoy the warm, peaceful atmosphere of a place lost in time and the friendly reception of those who dwell within it.
Forgive me readers for I've slacked. It has been over a month since my last entry.
It's hard to tell how I could let that happen. We get so wrapped up in our day to day that time just slips away, and going for weeks without internet doesn't help the process. But that's no excuse. I should be documenting our journey regardless of having the ability to post it, and I have neglected to even do that. Now that I'm trying to recollect events of the weeks gone by memories escape me and I beat myself up over my lack of discipline.
What's a girl to do? I will have to bring you up to speed on current affairs and dole out the interesting tidbits of last month's adventures as we go.
We have made it as far as Dominican Republic now and are currently waiting for a weather window to pass Punta Beata, moving on to Santo Domingo and Boca Chica. At some point while still in the Bahamas, we decided to forego the north coast of the Dominican for the path less followed, along the south coast of Hispaniola. Instead of coming across through Turks and Caicos and down to Luperon, we sailed the Windward Passage between Cuba and Haiti. It was a rather difficult decision to make and we didn't arrive at it without giving much consideration to where we could make our first landfall. Gabe, myself and the 3 other boats we've been traveling with were apprehensive about having to stop in Haiti, but in the end that's what we did and we have shared an experience of a lifetime as a result.
Getting there was tough, to say the least. It was a 49 hour, 270 Nm slug that nearly broke my spirit and my desire to go on. A two day passage can be tiring and taxing under best of conditions. When weather doesn't cooperate the journey becomes grueling, overwhelming even. We left Great Inagua Island in the Bahamas with a good 2 day window to make our passage south, and got a beautiful sail all the way down the west coast of Haiti. But contrary to the forecast, we found big seas and gale force winds once we turned the corner at the south-west point of Hispaniola. The stronger than predicted winds were coming on the nose and with a small motor like ours we couldn't make much headway against the opposing swell. We had no choice but to tack our way forward. We carried on for nearly 24 hours, making long tacks away from the southern coast and back towards it, gaining slow and painful ground toward Ile à Vache, our next port of call. Battling 15 foot waves and relentless strong winds took a toll on us. Our autopilot can't handle all that action so we were forced to stay at the helm, 2 hour shifts at a time. As the winds picked up and the seas built, however, it became increasingly difficult for me to drive the boat, and as I began to feel helpless I began to get frightened. The more scared I got, the more difficult it was to function, until I froze completely. After that it was up to Gabe to handle the boat. With images of our ordeal in the "perfect storm" off the coast of Maine fresh in my mind I became paralyzed and could do very little but sit there, strapped to the boat by a jack line on my life vest and pray for some relief. It didn't come for another 12 hours, until we turned into the hill bound confines of Ile à Vache. This large island just off the coast of Haiti was reported to offer a breathtaking anchorage and a safe harbor to cruisers making their way east towards the Dominican. It is far enough from main land to have been spared by the earthquake and remains unaffected by the plight of the rest of the country. Guided by advice from other cruisers we felt comfortable with the idea of spending some time there. Truthfully, after getting through the churned up waters off shore we were glad just to have a place to rest. What we found at Ile à Vache was an experience beyond what we could ever expect or hope for.
The ocean is a mystifying realm. A world within itself, veiled from us by the very substance that encompasses it. We float upon it mostly unaware of the many immense and minuscule things hiding under the surface. The experience of becoming a part of that world is often overwhelming, astounding and always humbling. The abundant environment we enter each time we don our snorkeling masks can sometimes be startling, because we rarely get a good indication of what lay beneath the silvery blue veneer of ripples before we break it. Swimming into Thunderball Grotto was no different.
The famous cave lay just off the Big Majors Spot, where we dropped anchor for the day, accompanied by our friends John, Kathryn and her daughter Meredith, who sailed back from George Town back into the banks a day earlier. Thunderball Grotto is a major tourist attraction and we have already heard and read a great deal about how cool it is, but nothing could prepare us for what we experienced once we got in the water and made our way towards it.
The cave lives inside a large, but unassuming rock, settled in the middle of the Staniel Cay channel in just a few feet of water. Like most land in the Bahamas the grotto rock is grey and rough, like a giant pumice stone, and the few plants that grow on top of it look just as ragged as the rock itself. We pulled up to this curiosity in a dinghy, secured it to a mooring ball set up for visiting vessels and got geared up. A young family was there when we arrived, already exploring the cave and we noticed that a boy was excitedly making rounds in and out of the cave through different openings just below the waterline. I couldn't wait to get in to see for myself just what the fuss was all about. I quickly strapped my flippers on, pulled the mask over my face and jumped over the side. Immediately I was confronted by a spectacle of fish and coral in concentration we have yet to see on all our dives. Curious Butterflyfish stood in first line of attack, floating restlessly at the mouth of the cave, approaching and swimming off again. They're used to people bringing food so they've grown bold and confident, closing in on each visitor, pecking around for crumbs, their little mouths kissing your skin and mask.
Making my way pass the bouncy yellow troops I flowed through a large opening and inside the rock. Only the very top of the arched entrance was out of the water so I ducked under to avoid the grater sharp ceiling overhead. Under the surface schools of Bigeyes and Yellowtail Snappers made cautious advances, Blowfish and Groupers retreated back into crevices of crumbled rock, while Flounders and Stingray shifted in the sand below.
When I surfaced again, it was in the cool shade of the cavernous core of the rock. It opened up like a domed cathedral scooped out of the interior of the rock. Smooth, water eroded walls reached up towards spectacular chandeliers of stalactites and tree roots that hung from the ceiling. The vault that encapsulated me looked like a colossal egg with its yolk eaten away and its surface cracked here and there, letting water in from the bottom and light from overhead. Patches of blue sky and dripping roots crept in through the holes in the dome creating a living, moving fresco I admired, afloat on my back, lifted by feelings of pure happiness and fascination. Around me only the echoing sound of water sloshing against rock.
The rest of our group trickled in, taking in the sights. We swam about the cave exploring the different holes leading in and out of it. One of them opened into a deeper end of the ocean where a coral bank was scaling the side of the rock like scaffolding, offering its support and refuge to the abundant sea life of Thunderball Grotto. With time more and more snorkeling enthusiasts flooded the area and we decided to escape the crowds and move onto the next Big Majors' attraction: swimming pigs.
We parted ways with our friends from Katarina, who took advantage of a weather window early last week and sailed down to Georgetown. Kathryn's daughter, Meredith, was scheduled to fly in from Toronto on Saturday for a one week vacation and they wanted to be there well ahead of her arrival, just to be on the safe side. We promised John and Kathryn that we would meet up in the upcoming week to spend time with the three of them, but we didn't want to rush through the Exumas just to get to Georgetown lest we miss out on the abundance of thrills they presented.
So we stayed behind in the banks, plotting our way toward our next destination, Campus Cay. It's described in the guide book as one of the most varied and beautiful islands in the Bahamas. It sounded appealing, but after our short romance with Hawksbill Cay we were skeptical about the accuracy of that statement. We needed to find out for ourselves. So we forged through the misleading waters of the banks that separated us from this gem of an island, relying on our GPS and our new, limited skills of visually deciphering water depth ahead of the boat. We weaved about narrow channels dredged along the sandy banks, channels that on the surface didn't appear any different that the shallow waters surrounding them. With a watchful eye we slowly followed the serpentine course leading into the anchorage and after nearly running aground twice we decided we had enough. There were no other boats in the marked anchorage and we wondered if the challenging approach discouraged other cruisers from visiting. We didn't want to contemplate it too long, we simply turned around the first chance we got, and painstakingly made our way back through the watery maze. So long allegedly beautiful Campus Cay.
For nearly a week after that we bounced around between quiet anchorages like the one at Bitter Guana Cay, a protected Blue Iguana habitat, and Black Point, the second largest settlement in the Exumas, where we could find a few fresh produce items and grab a cold beer. Each place we stop we go exploring ashore hoping to find something interesting and memorable or at least score a few coconuts. Black point had it all. Just north from the settlement, off a palm beach we found a small cemetery lot hiding beyond a low sandstone wall. The few graves we saw were small mounds of rock and conch shell. Some, encrusted with a layer of concrete, withstood the wrath of hurricanes past and bore visible, hand written marks denoting who lay there. Further up, towards the open ocean we found a geyser spewing foam and seaweed through a sink hole near the shore. Powerful surge beating against brittle sand stone cliff has found its way through a crevice and burrowed the hole from underneath. Oncoming waves now squeeze into the cliff face and climb through the hole, exploding at the surface in rhythmic spurts.
We also befriended a few other cruisers at Black Point and spent long evenings chatting over a beer at Loraine's Cafe. The small restaurant is owned and operated by Loraine and her family, who run it on an honour system. Patrons are encouraged to fell at home, to fetch their own beer or mix their own drinks, while Loraine prepares simple, but delicious Bahamian fare. The lot of us hung around Loraine's for her Super Bowl BBQ Party sharing stories and divulging future sail plans. The next day Katarina plus one made their way back into the banks from Georgetown and together we set out to seek new adventures.
We arrived at a place so beautiful it caught me off guard. I'm not sure why I should be surprised by its beauty, it was a crescent beach flanked by mounds of dense vegetation, like many others in the Bahamas. But this place had an aura of distinction about it.
Perhaps we felt differently about it, because we knew that Hawksbill Cay is uninhabited, and as we pulled into its quiet, protected bay we realized we were going to have it all to ourselves. Hawksbill lays within Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park, a protected area that provides a safe haven and replenishment area for the wildlife native to the Bahamas. Fishing or collecting any fauna or flora is strictly prohibited (dead or alive). In fact they ask that you neither take nor leave anything behind. Because of the fishing ban areas surrounding Hawksbill Cay are rich in wildlife and subject to poaching. We think we witnessed a couple of cruisers in the act. Approaching the bay we saw that another boat was anchored in it, but just as we eased toward it, it began to stir. A drenched young man, fresh out of the water, was scrambling around on deck to lift the anchor and the boat left promptly after, ignoring our friendly waves of acknowledgment.
It was their quick escape that made us suspicious, but we couldn't be certain what they were up to so we gave it no further thought and relished the idea of being the only occupants of the island.
Once on the hook we left Rodeo and Katarina cradled in the tranquil cove and made our way to shore. Ever since my parents left Nassau, a few days earlier, we have been enjoying the company of our dear friends, Kathryn and John. In their 60's, these two have the verve of a couple of teenagers and they infect us with their love of life and each other daily. Excited, we pile into their dinghy and head for the beach, eager to explore it. Advancing water has pressed it into a crescent, lapping away at the soft, creamy sand. It rises out of the sea, spreading before us on a gentle incline and disappears into dense shrubs and palm trees that run deep inland, rolling over a hill far on the other side of the island. On either side, the land flanking the cove grows higher, thicker, stretching its welcoming arms around the anchorage. The view is breathtaking. Kath and I jump around, embracing, screaming in excitement: "This is it! This is it!"
Next we ventured over to a sign that informs us about the park's rules of engagement. We are to stay on the path, "taking nothing but pictures, leaving nothing but footprints behind". We respectfully make our way inland, weaving through a network of heavy ground growth and short palms that remarkably sprout from the dry, inhospitable Bahamian soil. Once we reached the hill, the path turned into a porous rocky face we scaled to reach the east side of the island. There the open ocean trashes against powdery sandstone cliffs, carving out what looks like a moonscape into the face of the easter shore.
We spent 3 fun filled days in Hawksbill Cay snorkeling, kayaking and exploring the vacant island. One of the paths led us to crumbling ruins of a Loyalist plantation, high up on a ridge, occupied now only by hermit crabs and curly-tailed lizards. After satisfying our explorer fix we eased Rodeo out and away from this extraordinary cove, and set out to discover what secrets other Exuma Cays may hold.
Trying to get a fair deal in Nassau, when it comes to just about anything, is an art. Trying to get a fair deal from a taxi driver, on way to the airport, in Nassau is something different entirely. My parent's are about to land and we're rushing out of the marina and into the streets to find a cab. We called for one from the marina office, but it's been half an hour and it hasn't shown. Gabe, in a composed, nonchalant way, speaks to a man that spots us walking down the busy East Bay St., offering his taxi services. We try to make it sound like we've been around the block and know what to expect, but I'm sure the driver isn't fooled. Regardless of our apprehension the cool, streets smart Brazilian makes his move. He asks for the going rate and upon hearing the price of $35 he ponders on it. The ball is in his court. He juggles the information on our end for a minute, acting unimpressed and then fires back a counteroffer at the Bahamian. Gabe tells him we'll hire the cab to the airport and back for a discount. It doesn't stick. They both laugh. Another offer comes our way. The Bahamian says he'll do it for $35 each way, but won't charge us to wait at the airport. We think that's a grand idea and pile into the cab. We know that $35 is the going rate and we're prepared to pay that much. We all laugh in agreement. Brazil 1 - Bahamas 0. We engage in friendly chit chat on the 40 minute ride to the airport, as we take in the sun scorched surroundings of greater Nassau. Donna Summer's concert comes through the speakers. The driver tries to keep it low enough for us to carry a conversation, but I can tell that he want's to turn it right up and just get lost in the music. Who can blame him, "It's the last chance for romance tonight".
At the airport parking lot the Bahamian asks us to retrieve a parking stub from the machine at the gate. The Brazilian fumbles in confusion, trying to recover his composure and get back in the game. The Bahamian explains, only now, that if he is to wait for us, we have to pay for his parking. Really? Brazil 1 - Bahamas 1. We don't give it another thought, we're too excited to see my parents and we rush out of the cab and into the terminal.
The Bahamian follows, he wants to make sure we don't forget about our deal. He's really very cordial, inquiring about our backgrounds and our plans. He wants to know about the white and red Polish flag I'm holding. I brought it along to salute my parents on their arrival. He retreats respectfully, saying he'll give us space to welcome them, and will come to collect their bags when they get here. We spot my parents still in the baggage claims, on the other side of a sliding door that expels people in small chunks into the main terminal. I frantically wave the flag to get their attention until they spot us, too. When they finally come out it's a frenzy of hugs, kisses and flashing camera shots.
My parents are glowing with joy. Excited and chatty we make our way towards the cab where my parents enjoy a long coveted cigarette, while the driver arranges luggage in the back of the van. Coming out of the airport we pay $2 for parking and muse over the chain of taxi cabs waiting at the main terminal, ready to pick up fresh fare. We realize we didn't need to have the Bahamian wait for us, we could have just grabbed a different cab back downtown. He didn't give us a deal anyway. Brazil 1 - Bahamas 2. We comfort ourselves and agree that perhaps a different cab driver would not take us back for $35. The parking fee is a small compromise for the benefit of having a car waiting and willing. The important part is that my parents are here. On the ride back the cab is buzzing with conversation interrupted only by glances out the window at the run-down yet bright and cheerful neighborhoods surrounding downtown Nassau. When we arrive at the marina we think we're neck to neck with the Bahamian until he delivers the final kick. We're being charged an additional $6 for the two extra passengers we picked up at the airport. We're surprised, shocked even; that's a rule of the game we were not aware of. The Brazilian gets back on the defense, but it's too late. The Bahamian sneaks it past us, we pay what we owe, and he finishes with a 3:1 victory. Game over.
We pout for a second and then resume our merriment, dismissing our defeat on account of the Bahamian's cunning, a tactic inherent to taxi drivers world wide. We hold no grudges and we don't dwell. It's a "local eat tourist" kinda world, and we understand that. We're here to have fun and we just can't wait to get started.
When it rains, it pours. Once Gabe fixed the windlass he moved on to our dinghy motor, which started spewing oil last time we tried to run it. This we noticed at our last anchorage in Frazer's Hog Cay. Gabe went to mount the outboard motor onto the dinghy, after he dragged that off the fore deck and into the turquoise waters. He barely got his hands on it when the sad little thing started to bleed its vital fluids all over him.
If you know Gabe even just a little you know that he rarely lets a mechanical problem go unattended for long. If it's broken, chances are he can fix it, and he will want to fix it right away. So without further ado Gabe started picking the motor apart looking for a snag. We just had to laugh about the fact that since leaving Halifax there hasn't been a day we didn't need the tool box. We've even changed the location where the tool box is stored several times, trying to place it in the most accessible space, because we have to get it out so often. Getting the motor figured out proved a bit more involved than expected and we decided to put it off until the afternoon, so that we could take advantage of the good weather and explore the area. This meant that without a running dinghy motor we had to row the inflatable lug to and from, with or against the current. It was an exhausting 4 hour excursion around the Frazer's Hog Cay, but we got to see quite a bit of it, well quite a bit of what little there was to see, anyway. Like many other Bahamian islands in this area, it had a rocky coast line, covered with dense succulent shrubs and impenetrable mangroves. Parts of the island were in really poor shape, riddled with garbage and debris from hurricanes past. We explored an abandoned home, brought to ruin by hurricane Helen, now overgrown with wildlife and filled with eerie presence of life undone, interrupted. We didn't linger very long. We found a beach to comb, state of which was not much different than the rest of the island. Unkept and unappreciated. It was not uncommon to see refuse lodged in the mucky sands at shoreline, and I was not at all surprised to see a deflated black plastic bag resting at the bottom of an area I was trudging through. But when the bag twitched a pointy tail, lifted its elegant black form and gracefully drifted away from my feet, I was stunned. With an excited and panicked squeal I signaled to Gabe, who was on shore, that I just stumbled onto a sting ray. But before either one of us could even budge, the ray was on the move. I just stood there, mesmerized, watching the gentle giant make a loop around me and float out of sight, wafting swirls of sand behind it as it went.
Having had our fill of thrills for the day we slowly rowed back to Rodeo, where Gabe took another crack at the motor. A few hours and a complete engine overhaul later, the little 2HP was back in action. Only not for long. It ended up giving up on us once more a week later anyway. Though for now Chief Mechanic Gabe was content with his efforts and ready to tackle the head pump, which started uttering quiet squeaks of protest against constant use and requesting maintenance. The next day, on our sail over to Nassau, Gabe got to the bottom of what was troubling the old pump and he had that running smooth and quiet by the afternoon. Just in time for my parents to arrive in Nassau. They would spend a week aboard Rodeo with us, and a well running head for four live-aboards is a luxury we couldn't afford to give up. The last thing for us to do, upon arriving in Nassau Friday afternoon was to get an internet connection so we could reach my parents, still in Canada, and work out the final details of their arrival on Sunday. This too became an aggravating obstacle as our wi-fi antenna struggled to get a proper signal. Gabe slipped out of his plumber getup, for the time being, and put on his IT thinking cap. There was a glitch in the system and he spent most of the evening and all of following morning troubleshooting the pesky affair, and after all that it turned out we couldn't pick up a free signal anyway and had to spend $10/day for internet from a local provider. Once back in touch with civilization we hailed my parents on Skype to let them know we've arrived in Nassau and will be waiting for them at them at the airport the next day. My parents coming to spend 7 days with us was something I never thought they would have the guts to do, and yet here they were, just as excited to be joining us in our adventures as we were to share them. So excited, in fact, we could barely sleep at night. My parents, fortuitous vagabonds, marooned in a 300 square foot nut shell...with us. It was going to be a fabulous week.
