Monday, May 16, 2011


Spanish Wells, Bahamas 25º32.565N | 76º44.715W

The pink sand beach of Harbour Island. I would call it pinkISH.
To reach the charming village of Dunmore Town on Harbour Island by boat, you either have to go way around outside and still have to tiptoe through shallow waters with your keel tucked up under your skirt -- or blast through the even more unpleasant gauntlet of reefs north of Eleuthera Island, eerily yet aptly named "Devil's Backbone."

We opted to take the ferry.

What a luxury to go on a daytrip by boat with none of the accompanying responsibilities. No routing, no sail handling, no tide tables, no navigation or piloting, no moorings, no docking, no anchoring. Just sit in a big comfortable seat for the ride and walk haughtily down the gangplank on arrival. Lovely.

Dunmore Town, the 300-year-old, former capitol of the Bahamas, is beautiful, charming, idyllic. I know. Yawn. Can't I think of something else to say about these towns?

Well, this one did have a little different flavor. It tasted a lot like money. The first shop I went into had designer shirts for $350++. Okay, now that's not typical of other little villages we've visited. Apparently Dunmore Town is a playground for the rich and famous. I guess so. Who else could afford this stuff? We fondled it anyway.

The ingredients that make up Dunmore Town are a strange recipe. Charming, restored Loyalist cottages from the 1700 and 1800s stand a few blocks away from roughshod, ramshackle houses with a week's clothing hanging on the line, some boarded up altogether.

The next block might have a five-star hotel, a pricey restaurant, a Rolex dealer, a sad little produce stand or a conch shack, all with hens and roosters running about.

For me, it was the happy children playing in the streets that gave this town some down home spice.

Some more than happy to be photographed.

Bahamian charmers.
While searching for the BBQ/fundraiser at "the fig tree," we followed our map to a villa that, peering in from a distant locked gate, looked lovely but empty. A man across the street asked us in his unique and very thick Harbour Island brogue if he could help us.

"Ah, this is the Fig Tree house you can rent. The barbecue is under the fig tree down by the Bo Hengy you come in on," he said referring to the ferry.

He obviously had us pegged. I don't know if he laughed at our miscue, but we sure did.

An interesting sidetrip, but I have to say, I was happy to return to sleepy little Spanish Wells where you can buy a shirt for $12.

No comments:

Post a Comment