Uncoupled In The Caribbean

A Tale of Willing Isolation

This year was my first Thanksgiving I spent completely alone. No family, no friends, no traditions to uphold. Just me, the ocean and my 35 year old driver trying to get me to go home with him. Although this day was exactly what I was going for when I booked this last minute trip (minus the driver), I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what my adult holidays were going to look like from now on. I am getting more comfortable with my own company and with that comes the fear of pushing people away because I mentally am capable of being content when they’re gone.

Traveling solo brings up A LOT of conversations you don’t necessarily want to have with yourself, but need to in order to be fully honest with yourself. I have a lot to be thankful for this year, my ability to self reflect being one of them.

So What Was I Expecting?

I don’t know what I was expecting from the Bahamas, but it was very different from the impressions it left me. Upon clearing customs in NAS, which was a suuuper easy process, I started looking for transportation options from the airport. On my phone it only showed walking directions, no public transit which was very shocking to me. I asked the transportation desk what the best option was for transportation to my place on West Bay Street and if they would recommend walking there. The woman helping me out strongly advised it was unwalkable and I had to take a taxi home. This was problematic for me as I would usually rather walk an hour or use public buses than deal with the scam of taxi companies.

After about five minutes arguing with the driver over a price and drop off location, I told him to just take me to Love Beach and I’ll figure it out from there. In my head, Love Beach was relatively close to my airbnb. In reality, it was a 40 minute walk after the driver ushered me out of the car on the side of the road. Only a 15 minute difference than if I would have just walked from the airport. I spent the next 40 minutes wondering if I should have been more direct or if the driver just had absolutely no interest in helping me out.

It’s crazy how much I rely on google maps because maps were practically unusable in the Bahamas. Typing specific addresses in maps in Nassau will lead to the completely wrong place so you have to have a general idea of the area you’ll be in.

First Day Hospitality

Day one was a bit of a culture shock for me. I thought for an English speaking country I’d have an easier time fitting in, but I stuck out more than I did as an American in Paris. Perhaps it was my pale skin from the lack of Washington sun. Or maybe that I was comfortable walking alongside the road instead of using a taxi service to get places. Either way, as I mourned my moldy raviolis and ate my protein bar and shake for dinner, I thought about how much more isolated I felt here already than any other trip.

Then began my tour on day two…

Who’s The Dirtier Animal in The Water- Me or The Pig?

Swimming with the pigs is a Bahamas tourism staple.

Is it the cleanest thing to do? Most definitely not.

This was probably the weirdest tour I’ve ever booked and coincidentally the only tour I’ve actually ever made. I have a history of abandonment with tour companies abroad, or maybe it’s just my lack of an internal compass for the meet up points. Either way, I was so relieved J&S Tours was so on top of communication to make sure they accounted for everyone who booked. The owner (and later personal driver) Jungle even confessed to having waited outside someone’s hostel for 30 minutes to ensure they didn’t miss out on the experience. I greatly valued this because tours are damn expensive and people who don’t have the luxury of a lot of money to blow are highly selective with their experiences.

Upon pickup, I met a wonderful woman from Germany named Steffi who became my friend and as I would later discover, guardian angel. Steffi and I conversed about our travels and what brought us to the same place. She inspired me a lot as someone in her late 50s still finding the freedom and inspiration to discover all things human and unknown.

Rose Island or Poop Island?

At the dock, Jungle and his sidekick TJ picked us up and bantered the way back home.  Apparently it isn’t normal to walk distances longer than 7 minutes in the Bahamas. And honking your horn is a way of saying “hello” not “fuck you.” Jungle insisted next time I needed to get to a destination, to call him to come get me. This was the first time I felt a sense of welcoming from the Bahamian people.

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My last full day in Nassau was spent discovering the places that aren’t advertised. Let me explain…

Fox Hill, Bahamas

I wanted to take an outdoor martial arts class at a studio I won’t name because maybe they are reputable and I’m just a wimp.

Once Jungle picks me up and looks at the address he goes, “Oh so you wanna go to the ghettooo.”

Of course I’m like, “fuck off, just take me there.”

Right….Wrong

The farther we drive, the more broken down the area becomes. Windows knocked in, holes in walls, some real Central Valley stuff. He wasn’t joking. We stop in front of a broken down shack that’s supposed to be the “studio.” To the right lies what used to be a house. To the left lies people smoking something fun and looking at us threateningly. Onwards Jungle and I go. Away from the gym and towards more familiar zones. This area was, you guessed it, Fox Hill.

So I spent the rest of the day at Sandyport Beach getting hit on by Jungle, proposed to by his son, and eating Thanksgiving pizza and mojitos at Twisted Lime to pass the time.

Deck For One, Please

I booked this trip with hopes of escaping from reality and being engulfed by nature and in pure isolation. This is exactly what I got with my airbnb. A private deck with water access I didn’t have to share with anyone. Sun setting for what seemed to my eyes only and waves outperforming thoughts in my head. So maybe I had a quieter version of the Bahamas than what some people might have, but I think that’s exactly what I needed. It’s exactly what a lot of people need.

 As I danced in the ocean my last night at my deck, I craved for more.

More romanticizing of solo trips, more time in the present, more love for the person I am becoming and the person I used to be.

The Most Unwelcoming Hello and Hardest Goodbye

Saying goodbye to the solitude I had there was probably one of the most difficult goodbyes so far. I am grateful for my new friend Steffi for helping me with my German, sending me trusted drivers, and looking after me even when I’m not in her presence. For Jungle and TJ informing me if someone owns a Honda they’re a “boss bitch.”

Too bad I have a Toyota.

I have no idea how my trips are going to turn out.

Ever.

After each trip I can say I’ve given part of myself to a place in exchange for a memory in my internal collage. What I love most might just be that the power of interaction and laughter are the same anywhere you go. And maybe that’s validation enough that you aren’t as fucked up as you thought. If you can still smile with others regardless of the setting.