At least there is always the beach

So what else has been happening?  Well,  we have just witnessed the most interesting election in this small country’s history.  A fiercely fought election campaign resulted in a landslide victory for the opposition, the PLP (Progressive Liberal party – don’t be misled by the name, it is a left wing, ‘party of the people’ which had ruled for 25 straight years until two terms ago when mounting corruption made the people turn against it).  Rather like New Labour it has used its time out of power to renew itself and done a cracking job at winning around the young and popular vote.  Consequently the old Government was really caught napping and went from thirty odd seats to seven.  Perhaps the London PR agency the PLP employed (don’t know who yet) also had something to do with it?

I went to one of the rallies, which has to be on a theatrical par with any large-scale event I’ve ever been to.  Imagine a hot evening and about 10,000 loud and brightly attired Bahamians, in high spirits, drinking gin out of coconut shells and eating anything that could be battered and fried whilst dancing to very loud rap music.  Booming music blasted out for a gaudy stage and every so often a wave of rash promises would come from some candidate or other who would then sling a load of mud at the opposition (libel seems a rarely used legal device).

It was a blast.

A strongly partisan affiliation with a political party is a required part of the culture here and is followed with the same fervour as some football supporters follow their chosen team back home.   On Election Day, supporters from each party camped out in force in front of the polling stations. Just about everyone wore specially printed tee shirts, badges, hats etc.  Cars sported flags and banners and bumpers stickers.  (The winning party’s supporters are still proudly displaying their flags and stickers).  On my road every single tree had one or other candidate’s picture nailed to it (not the most environmentally friendly nation unfortunately) so I feel like I know my local MP already as I’ve seen him grinning at me for weeks.

After the election we got caught up in the victory celebrations, which were loud, good humoured and  passionate.  As the motorcade of vehicles snaked across the island it was accompanied with supporters with brooms and rakes (symbolically sweeping out the old crowd) and rather large women wearing nappies and torn tee shirts (a sight to see) representing the young and unseated leader of the losing party.

My ‘cream cracker’ (white Caucasian) friends are mostly amazed at my fast level of integration and the fact that I will drive ‘over the hill’ (OK only in daylight) and have my nails done at a central salon where I am the only non-Bahamian.  What they fail to realise is that the Nu U Nail Salon is actually the source of all gossip and information in Nassau.  I was reliably informed about the landslide victory about to happen plus updated on the extradition order of the largest drugs lord here long before it was in the papers.

What I’ve learned is that Bahamians love to talk (or ‘sip sip’ as gossiping is know). They love to bear witness and eulogise which is why funerals regularly go on for four hours or more.  The words ‘fire’ (and I’m seeing daily bush and forest fires now in the heat), ‘accident’ (yep, still see daily accidents – hardly surprising when you see overtaking on blind corners by open back vans with 10 or so workmen hanging on for grim life) or ‘parade’ are rallying cries to the average Bahamian.  No one dreams of doing without TV and even small wooden hovels that have no running water invariably have a large satellite dish outside.  Bahamians are also great readers and the local scandal sheet The Punch is required daily reading.  Unlike the UK papers they happily call people liars and thieves and print their names, where they were seen with their mistresses etc. for all to sip sip about.

Equally, people aren’t afraid to tackle the newspapers.  Today’s Tribune has a front page story which reads: “Minister of Foreign Affairs, Fred Mitchell has accused The Tribune of manufacturing a ‘crises over freedom   of the press’, in a warning to the party’s political machinery to beware of the “lousy, slimy lies being told by the papers editors”.  Obviously the honeymoon between the new Govt. and the press is over.  The nation’s love of reading all about it isn’t and newspaper sellers happily emerge each morning and evening at most street corners waving the papers at cars as they slow down.  It is perfectly acceptable behaviour to stop your car, hold up all the traffic and have a chat to the vendor about what the really juicy news is as you hand over your dollars. I am now on first name terms with Lindon of the two gold front teeth and Queen Neferatiti Gold necklace fame whose patch is near my home.

I’ve been for my beach walk with the dogs. I’m slurping a huge ripe mango as I walk down the beach (I am now covered in mango stains on my top and shorts).  I can’t believe it is so utterly fantastic here. I feel too lucky and can’t start to tell people how amazing it is.

I felt quite the recluse when I went into town earlier, I can’t decide if I’m just rediscovering my true self or that really I am a recluse at heart. Weird thoughts as I ran a top London PR company and had an 8 bedroom house, nanny,driver etc.  And now, after slipping down the ‘no status’ slippery pole in Nassau (i.e. I went to dinner parties where no one asked me what I do/did/think/thought and the men talked and the women share choc cake recipes -  help me! Betty Crocker?) I start to put my ‘former life’ more and more into some contex.  

In some ways, I was totally rubbish, as I never asked for photo or autograph as I wanted to be cool (trust me when you are 24, wearing a suit that cost a month’s pay cheque and are doing Ronnie Woods Art Exhibition at Katharine Hamnett’s  gallery in Brompton Cross and Mick Jagger has just flirted with you it is weird).  And best EVER was having breakfast coffee at Daniel Day Lewis’s house before GMTV interview for London Lighthouse.  OMG.  If only I’d told him how much I love poetry etc.

Anyway – less day dreaming: back to farm life:  I suddenly thought ‘Oh no, I have no cat food.

The beach on a good day.

I’ll have to go to the shop’.  How weird is this?  Lived in London and popping into a shop (whilst making the cabbie wait) was a daily thing. Now, I actually think it through.  And actually, don’t always have any choice.  Went into Burrows today and no dog food. Great thing is that I realised that tinned Corn Beef is cheaper than Dog Food and they like it more.  I’m a convert!

At present, my world is the beach.  Seriously, the world must be full of one-legged people as there are so many odd shoes and flip-flops washed up every morning

Today I saw one black brogue, two odd trainers and two odd flip flops plus one broken flipper.

The rest of the debris was the usual glass and plastic bottles (bloody bandage is sticking by the way that makes walking difficult.  I think a) I don’t ask or demand enough info from the Cancer clinic b) I don’t want to and c)this climate is crap)

Back to the debris; it comprised: used medicine and toiletries bottles, lots of rope, bits of wood, plastic drums and containers, odd bits of plastic, several dead crabs today – one with only one leg which it moved pitifully when Tarpi sniffed it, little plastic balls from boat ropes and the polystyrene floats from boats too. Lots of light bulbs (change a bulb on a boat, throw the old one overboard obviously), the odd glass syringe (not hypodermic), small shells and lovely sand dollars.  The sea is not a dustbin people.  I shall go armed with a black bin bag next walk.

Slept until nine but woke in the night to heavy rain and high winds, which made the rattly doors bang.  Good old mum rang; I was drinking from my favourite Skegness cup and telling her how I really want a donkey (we have 10 acres and a three mile long pink sand beach and ever since I went to Skegness as a kid and rode Donkeys I’ve wanted one.  This was made stronger when I worked for the ‘Greek Animal Rescue’ society whilst at Lynne Franks and I heard about the poor donkeys that are thrown off of cliffs once the tourists leave.  Cheaper than feeding them evidently.  Horrid).

Just watching Tarpi wandering around the bush and chewing something. I forget that this toffee coloured small-domesticated animal that’s so keen to please is really a bush dog with a collar.

I watch as a beautiful black and white humming bird flittering in the bush in front of her. They love the Noni that is amazing as it smells so bad (Stink Apple). Tarpi is eating some kind of bush and Orange (the cat) is watching intently. I can see a couple of passion fruit by the front porch, sweetly left for me by the almost invisible Offany so think I’ll have them as a snack soon.

Today I am going to actually unpack so that I can feel at home.  I may even venture out to the shops later – whackaday.  Must remember to wear shoes. There was a huge centipede in the kitchen earlier – it was by the ring on the stove so I turned it on and bbqued it. Cruel but they have a terrible bite evidently and the Bahamian are terrified of them.

Oh yes, I think I flashed Offany with my boobs this morning. As I’ve dressed the wound I try to go topless for a while and I think he was working nearby.  Hey ho.

I’ve been busy as one of the darling brood of animals peed in the boy’s room and by the time I discovered it, it has seeped underneath six bin bags.  I just pulled them all out and dumped them in the square tiled bath, lizards and all, and done my best with Clorox and a bit of kitchen roll (must go to the shop today). Rusty has managed to tie his chain round a bush outside and has now dug himself down in the sand. Orange, despite being fed, is off stalking and I’m contemplating unpacking.  How very different this life is.

The view of old palms from my wooden office on the hill: painting by Rosalyn Palmer

So the city slicker transformation continues.  Had a wander around and found a sapadilly tree, pomegranate tree, vines with nearly ripened grapes, rosemary, basil, mint, spring onions and watercress (the dogs love lying in the watercress bed, I suppose it is very cool – I was shouting at them to get off and when they did eventually obey there were two dog shaped impressions in the watercress – oops).

Found the bins and Ian has put me some 5 gallon containers ready for Noni.  I feel a bit crappy and overwhelmed at times.  I don’t even know how to change the wick in the storm lantern.

Just gathered my herbs and veg with Marshi the cat/dog dog/cat in tow. He came the whole way with my dogs Tarpi and Rusty, running and playing with them.

God this is heaven.  Thanks.  I do need to remind myself that it is paradise on earth and I am getting better.

This morning I learnt a valuable lesson that flip-flops are not good enough on the farm. Stood on an ant’s nest whilst inspecting the pomegranates – v. painful.  What with that and my wound (which is actually a lot better albeit painful) I could get down again but won’t.  Mum rang and that cheered me up.

So my big choice of today is over whether or not to watch a movie (we don’t have TV – no reception/no cable and no TV for that matter as our last one blew up in Nassau (shoddy reconditioned thing from Robin Hood – very apt)). I thought about watching Ordinary People but my little world is so wonderful I am loathe to let another world into it.

I’ve just made passion fruit ice cubes from the fruit I collected today. Have fed the dogs after our beach walk and showered and washed myself and cleaned the wound.  I can see why animals just go to sleep at sundown and wake up with the dawn – it makes so much sense.   Am listening to Pavarotti and drinking a Becks Alcohol free beer. Nassau seems a far far memory. There was something  wrong with the energy at the house we were living in there – just thinking about the place makes me feel tired.

As I was walking on the beach today I was thanking God for bringing me here. I suppose I feel I walked my journey and it pains me to see many people who are unable to show any care or go beyond themselves.  Evolving to a higher soul will probably include overlooking these flaws.

View of the farm from my bedroom

My own private pink sand beach.

The breeze is blowing through and it is actually cool.  I may be forced into the drastic action of closing the shutters (or putting my top on as I’m letting my wound breath and there is no-one here).  Sometimes when my hand brushes across it I think I love my scar  – I must be spending too much time alone!  I do feel sorry for people who never experience solitude or the peace I have felt recently.  It is a haven here, my only selfish thoughts are how noisy it will be soon.

Well, just had a scare with Marshie cat disappearing for three hours (never normally misses feeding time, last seen at the gazebo by the beach). Even Orange was meowing pitifully for his mate and very excited when he came home. Orange meantime had one eye closed so I wrestled with him to put some eye drops in. I now have cat scratches on my arms, a huge scratch up my leg from Tarpi’s sharp claws when she jumped up when I came back from my sleep and several corkers of insect bites. Bert’s Bees insect repellent isn’t working very well!

As it’s nearly 10pm  I think I’m going to turn in.  Just noticed that my beautifully dusted tabletop is full of sand and cat hairs.  Bloody animals!  Better lock up the toilet rolls tonight from Tarpie the shredder.

There is not enough hot water for a bath but managed a quick cooling shower (it is so humid). There was a little lizard in the bath. Earlier I nearly put my shoe on as a lizard darted out of it.   I have a small lock on my outside bedroom door (we have no locks on the house!).  So am sleeping with a claxon under the bed (and a big glue trap after I caught a tarantula under the bed on the first night).  My animal protectors Tarpi, Marshie, Rusty and Orange will have to suffice.  Anthony the Haitian gardener is not too far away.  Infact I can hear his radio playing scratchy Creole songs on the wind… Nite all.

Well the Internet is certainly a fascinating thing. Whilst buying DVDs on Amazon I checked out Carmen (recommendation from Daisy last night for a flamenco DVD) and under it I found lots of Carmen Electra’s striptease plus ‘nude women’s wresting’ and ‘the mating habits of the earthbound human’ which gets a five star rating so obviously someone likes it.

Daisy and her new love are coming round. I’m off for my first sailboat trip with him from Smugglers cove to Governor’s Harbour tomorrow – I am the greenhorn crew and have to admit I’m pretty excited.

We had supper last night at their home.  Daisy told us of her three marriages: one for the children; one to learn to play golf and one for keeps.  She had a prenup agreement with no. 2 who was 25 years her senior. It included that she would agree to play golf, which she did, and discovered she had a passion and skill for it.  Sadly his children didn’t like her and after a few horrid dinners when ‘gold digger’ was hissed before pudding it all went sour.

Her fiirst husband took her child so that was very messy.

M. was married previously for 30 years and was a teacher in Yorkshire then, bam!  He came one day and his wife had served him with divorce papers.  He lost everything: the marriage; the house;  his kids. He has not seen his children for six/seven years and came here because his brother has a huge house in Tarpum Bay and took him in and let him live there.

He met Daisy through an Internet dating co.

Daisy claims she was offered a free trial and that she filled in her details whilst on a girls night in back home in Canada.

M. was looking for a tall thin cello player. Daisy convinced him he was just looking for himself and she was the one for him (she is not tall, nor thin, nor plays the cello).  M. is passionate about Bach.  He can tell you every detail about him including how Bach re-tuned the piano to be able to play any composition in any key.

As the evening drew in M.  sang me a folk song/sea shanty whilst Daisy made popadums and curry.  Their little clapper board sea side house was a magnet for mosquitoes and we sprayed the screens with OFF as the mosquitoes homed in and M played melodically into the night.  He was reminising as he played and told me of a 6 ft boa that bit him a few months earlier whilst they were sleeping at the side of the house when building it (oh yes, they built it themselves).  It made his finger bleed and swell up.  I swigged back some more rum, sprayed a little more OFF and laughed.

Life in Eleuthera

Life in Eleuthera

One day's beach bounty

When we moved to Nassau, we took our Basset hound Poppy with us.  You have no idea the rigmarole it takes to export an animal from the UK.  Dept of Agriculture, endless forms, vets, injections, money etc. It was more trouble than the rest of the move put together particularly as the Bahamas has never signed up to the Pet Passport scheme (no doubt the paper work in somewhere on an official’s desk….).

Poppy did not like it in the hold of the BA flight to Nassau.  Nor did the other two dogs flying onwards to the Caymen Islands.  As we came into land in Nassau the plaintive howling that only a very unhappy hound can make could be heard throughout the plane.  The flight crew had to assure several passengers that it was just the Basset hound setting the others off.  Bless.

At Nassau, armed with a thick manila file of official forms, I sought out my dog.  No one knew where the crate and its unhappy occupant would come in.   Well, that little dilemma was soon sorted as it was shoved down the belt with the other luggage.  Except this one was a lot more noisy.  Her lead and collar that had been securely taped to the top of the crate had obviously been ‘borrowed permanantly’ by one of the helpful luggage handlers so she had to remain in a crate howling the place down. The officials wanted her and us out of there (what would all those tourists think?). A large female official asked me: “Puppy had it’s shots?”. “Yes” I replied and with a wave of her hand we were cleared.  Not a glance at any of the forms.  Welcome to the Bahamas.

Our fist house in Nassau was a small town house and it was terrible trying to keep Poppy quiet.  Luckily we soon moved to a decrepit but big house right on the sea and it was not long before I received a call from the Humane society telling me that for the first time in their history they had an abandoned Basset hound.  As I had the only other one on the Island it seemed only right to go and liberate Rusty and so we quickly acquired the two most disobedient but beautiful dogs on the Island.

Oh the adventures Poppy and Rusty had.  Off along Cable beach.  In dustbins, fed by every passing tourist and adored when I walked them on the beach.  It took me hours to walk past the hotels as every US vacationer seemed to miss their dog and want to talk.  I had some great conversations though.  The Bahamians would run into the sea.  Most are very afraid of dogs and didn’t get that possibly mine may lick them to death but not much more.

It was the rats that caused us to acquire the cats.   Big rats and lots of them.

At first there were a few and we put down traps.  However, waking up to a house with no a/c when a rat has been dead in a sprung trap for hours overnight in a hot kitchen is not my idea of fun.  Nor is hearing them gnawing through the skirting board early morning and night.  Nor is going to feed the dogs a Boneo and when I put my hand into the (big economy size) box having a rat run up my arm and jump off my shoulder.  For that matter, nor is having one walk past when I was watching ‘The Greatest Race’.  Nor the one my housekeeper Marcia trapped under a bucket in the kitchen that I took a broom to.  No.  Trust me it was not fun and when we were offered two kittens we jumped at the chance so Marshmellow and Orange joined our brood.

Sadly, I flew back from the UK one time and found that Poppy was missing.  This rates as one of those ‘really not great’ days.  My father had had a stroke (on my birthday) and I’d flown to his bedside to return a week later.  Still wearing my travel clothes I went to find Poppy only to find her under a palm tree having been hit by a car.  I took her to the Humane Society and an hour later returned with her to bury her in the garden.  Sad sad day.

But very soon I would discover that Potcakes (Bahamaian mongrels) were the way forward and living in an out island, they just come your way whether you want it or not…….

……….to be continued (come back soon to read about finding the Potcakes,  how the cats ended up in a walled enclosure called Yellow and Mellow and more…..)

Marshmellow in the sun....

Rusty and assorted Potcake friends on the beach