CRUISERS, GIVE IT UP!

Lorraine's Cafe is a tiny restaurant in Black Point catering to cruisers, a restaurant so small, you have to radio in a reservation if you want to eat dinner. If you go there, you will be served by Lorraine, who then goes in the back, cooks the food, and brings it out to you. You will meet her children and buy amazing coconut bread from her mom who bakes it in the house behind the restaurant where they all live.

The family has two computers, a printer and wifi for cruisers as an enticement to bring in business during their fleeting 3-month season when their only customers anchor in the cove near the government dock.

There's a note on the wall at Lorraine's politely asking cruisers to contribute $3 when they use the computers. The sign states that some boaters were using the facilities all day without even buying a soda.

It's a pitiful refrain along cruising grounds, small businesses trying to make a living; cruisers stealing from them. So many businesses have posted lists of rules, rules obviously a response to repeated inconsiderate action.

SHOWERS $5 -- NO SHARING
COUCHES FOR PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY
FREE WATER: FOR DRINKING ONLY, LIMIT 5 GALLONS (We actually saw a guy filling a 40-gallon, soft tank from the free water in Georgetown.)

Why do you think there are NO paper towels in any of the bathrooms in these remote spots? I couldn't bear to ask, because I'm sure I know the answer: cruisers steal them.

While most cruisers we've met are delightful and inspiring people, a community I'm pleased to call my own, this dirty underbelly makes me ashamed.

Come on, cruisers! I know you're trying to get the most out of your cruising dollar but that does not entitle you to steal from these sweet people who are our hosts, these people who have so few alternatives for making a living, a hardscrabble one at that.

I know some of you fancy yourself anarchists, but anarchy is abandoning government, a system, not your fellow humans. Decency calls upon us to treat each other with respect, even more so those who have less than we do.

Stop stealing.

Start giving.

It will come back to you, to all of us -- either way.

LEAVING BLACK POINT

Black Point, Exumas 24º6.04N | 76º24.12W

This was our first experience of a true Bahamian community and the sweet, sweet spirit of those who live in it. Where everyone, including the smallest children and sulkiest teens will greet you as you pass, where the ladies call out to you in the evening as they sit on the front porch weaving baskets, where you can walk right into the kitchen to buy their coconut bread -- and play with the grandkids while you're there.

After eight days, we will reluctantly be leaving tomorrow, headed south for Cave Cay.

Chip serenading Lorraine with the Lorraine Blues, made up on the spot.

The eastern, ruggedly beautiful side of Great Guana Cay.

Dale showing off fresh bounty from the sea.

Dale teaching Chip to do a three-strand splice.

ABOUT FOOD

Cabbage growing in Willie's garden in Black Point, Exumas.

Two years ago, I participated in a cooking challenge where I agreed to go supermarket-free for an entire week, feeding my family only with what was already on hand. The project, called Eating Down the Fridge, was the brainchild of my friend Kim O'Donnell, cookbook author and food columnist for USAToday.

At the time of the challenge, I was living on land, in a house with a jam-packed freezer, refrigerator and closet-sized pantry, but at the time, the idea of going a week without grocery shopping was disconcerting, something I had never done.

I religiously followed the rules of the game, but I can tell you, there was such a glut of food in the house that there was not an iota of suffering. However, I did consider it my first lesson in provisioning.

Now, two years later, I have sailed six weeks through the Exumas without setting foot in a "super" market, and I look in the mirror to find a much different person. Out of a mostly empty, college-dorm sized refrigerator, a very small pantry/cabinet and a bin with baking supplies, we are still eating three meals a day -- and eating well.

But I did not get here without a lot of planning, agitation and lessons learned. In fact, three weeks into this eating-down-the-boat run, I went into a tiny food market in Staniel Cay no bigger than an American kitchen and not as well stocked, and very nearly burst into tears, wondering what I would eat during the remaining weeks it would take to get to the next supermarket in Georgetown. I had hopefully brought along five cloth bags expecting to fill them. I left with a few containers of yogurt, a couple of potatoes, a pound of butter, some onions, a head of cabbage, a can of juice and four empty bags.

Before we left Miami, we made repeated trips to supermarkets, trying to guess what we would need and how much of it to carry. In retrospect, we didn't do too badly. However, mastering a good corn tortilla eludes me and perhaps that stockpile of masa was not such a good idea. We quickly devoured all the pepperoni sticks and wish we had divested Florida of more of them before we left, but, we're still enjoying chicken salad made from all that canned chicken and hummus made from those dried chick peas.

On land, I would have snubbed the idea of eating fruits and vegetables out of cans, but I now find some actually palatable, including beets, corn, pineapple and mandarine oranges.

Out of necessity, we have learned to cook from scratch, using dried beans over their less tasty, less available and more expensive canned cousins. We make our own bread and muffins, because flour is easy to store and readily restocked at even the smallest market.

We now stretch a head of cabbage for weeks, stuffing the leaves with beans or reconstituted TVP (soy protein), incorporating small bits in tuna salad and couscous to stretch them and add some crunch.

Necessity has taught me to cut away a few blemishes and relish the flavorful tomato left behind -- but only a quarter of it! A whole tomato at one sitting? Gluttony!

I now track leftovers as if they were nuclear waste -- keeping a mental log of what is stored, where it is and when it should be consumed. The tiniest morsels that used to go straight into the trash, now get entombed in snack-sized zipper bags and savored like caviar the next day. Two years ago, I would have laughed at myself for putting five tiny tortellinis in a snack bag. I'm also pretty sure that same me would not have relished them the next day.

Now, when I enter a miniscule market, I can find something to eat for dinner, no matter how paltry the offerings. And you know what? I have discovered some delicious treats, like Irish butter and coconut cookies.

Absolute treasures found at Adderley's in Black Point. 

And along the way, I don't know when, I started celebrating fresh celery and being deeply thankful for a crisp red apple. When on land did I ever grow exultant over finding a head of fresh broccoli?

I have not become a great and wizened food appreciater looking down my nose at those who shop daily in Whole Foods heaven. On the contrary, I welcome the chance to take that for granted again one day.

On the other hand, I learn day by day to honor what is offered, to use it to its fullest and savor every morsel. Now that I think about it, I'm sure that's what Kim had in mind after all.

REWARD FOR A JOB DONE

Black Point, Exumas 24º6.04N | 76º24.12W

Whoa. That's a lot of sail.

A looming blow raised that ripped jib to the top of the TO DO list this week.

The last time we had removed the jib from its furler, things went a little south, or not, when it wouldn't come down easily, and the wind whipped it into a bit of a clatter (perhaps loosening that seam that finally came loose?). The problem with that failed dropping was user error -- on my part. Lesson learned, this time it dropped like the barometer before a hurricane.

We gathered it on deck and hauled up the sewing machine, my friend, my enemy.

Since we are not plugged in to shore power, we had to employ the hand-crank option. Chip volunteered to crank while I wrangled that cloud of sail through the tiny foot of the machine.

Chip has very little experience with sewing and didn't understand the rules.

1. The machine will malfunction at some point
2. The bobbin will always run out, usually on the last 6 inches of the last seam
3. A seam ripper is equally as important as the machine

Crank, crank, crank. "Stop." Adjust, adjust, adjust.

"Go."

Crank, crank, crank. "Stop." Adjust, adjust, adjust.

"Go."

We did this, hunched over the sewing machine, for about three hours with breaks for machine malfunctions (tension weirdness), human malfunctions, thread breaking, and lunch, finally reaching the last 12 inches of the seam when, of course, the bobbin ran out.

Then the needle broke.

We had to leave the last 8 inches of seam unsewn, because the bottom corner of the sail (the clew) is shored up with 5 or 6 layers of thick sail fabric, several layers more than the machine can manage. Sigh. 

I could try sewing it by hand, but we need to have the sacrificial cloth (the stuff that ripped) replaced this summer anyway, so I'm taking a chance.

The sail went back into place effortlessly, (!) and as we were cleaning up, I went below, just in time to hear:

"Cara Mia. Cara Mia. This is 5th Element."

It was our friends from home, Wes and Snow, pulling into OUR harbor.

One too short evening of catching up before they headed north, toward home. Two ships passing -- happily -- for one night!

Happy reunion with Wes and Snow.

5th Element and Cara Mia