Abby’s Diary | Saints and Singers Part: 2
My editor brought it to my attention that I accidentally on purpose entitled last week’s blog Saints and Sinners just to make a few people sweat as to what I might write about them this week in Part 2 of the week in the Bahamas. After examining my conscience, I‘ve come to the conclusion that Saints and Singers better described the second half of the week. (Deep sigh of relief for all!)
Thursday was transition day as the “Saints” flew out in the morning and the “Singers” moved in that night. In total the second group consisted of six couples including Juan and me. Four of the couples are friends from our church and parish, one couple a neighbor, and the last was the sibling and husband of our host.
Two important observations were made immediately upon their arrival. No one was going to be in their jammies at eight o’clock any night from this point forward, and the noise level went up several decibels with each night we stayed. In fairness, the crowd almost doubled! I chose to stay in the room I occupied earlier in the week which was right off the kitchen, and that choice proved to be not one of the wisest I’ve made lately.
Friday was a nice day spent back at Tahiti beach and in Hopetown. I heard that some of the guys raided another guy’s room and got an image that may haunt them for the rest of their adult male lives. That became the joke of the week! We cooked dinner at home and played a game of giant Jenga with the wives of course beating the husbands. We politely refused the offer of a rematch opting to quit while we were ahead. Some music was played, songs were sung, and even a little dancing to My Brown Eyed Girl, but the evening ended somewhat early and peacefully in anticipation of the boat trip the next day.
(Feel free to sing along to the rest of the blog with the Gilligan Islands melody. My apologies in advance to Sherwood Schwartz and George Wyle as these verses were rightfully left on the cutting room floor.)
So sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of that Saturday trip, that started from a Bahamian port, aboard a chartered ship. The mate was a beautiful worldly girl, the skipper young, rich, and cute, twelve passengers set motoring, for an eight hour tour. And eight hour tour.
The first stop was for snorkelers, who wanted to see some fish. Most of the folks stayed aboard, cold water was not their wish. The next stop was magnificent with water too many colors to describe, we all jumped out in spite of the chill, to see the ocean and bay collide.
Next thing you know one male passenger gave birth to a case of Kalik beer, he’d carried in and under his long t- shirt, boy the crowd did cheer. First one, then two, and some maybe more, they lost count I’m sure. I’m not much of a drinker one drink is all I can endure.
Our focus then turned to getting back on that boat at neck high depth, with waves going over our head, away we could have been swept. Personally trying not to drown, for swimming is not my strength, I had more men’s hands pushing my butt up the steps, safety was just at arm’s length.
Then off to another island we went, too beautiful for words, for lunch and drinks and the photo above and steal bread for the pigs and chicken birds. Some ask if that’s a fake backdrop, but it’s really how breathtaking it was. Now off to see the lemon sharks and big manta rays, and see who was brave enough to feed them with their bare hands, I stayed aboard to spot the sharks feeding them is just cray cray!
Finally off to my favorite spot an island filled with swine, that’ll swim right up to your boat, where junk food is just devine! Since conch is in abundance here, they turned up their snouts to that, turns out pita and Bahamian bread is really what makes them fat.
Now here’s where things got a little crazier, because I thought it was pigs that rolled in the mud, but two of our male passengers rolled right with them covered in sand trying to be the stud. Then the next thing you know they upped their game and fed the pigs by mouth. I’m not sure who squealed louder, the pigs or the men of the South. The pigs or the men of the South!
The party continued in the aft, on the long boat ride back. Some of us chose to go fore and brave the waves and bumps, we’ve bruises of blue and black. In the rough of the mighty waves my husband’s shoe went airborne, but we arrived back safely at Firefly just in time for a beautiful sunset in the sky to adorn.
I thought the party was winding down with everyone salty and tired, but some apparently got a second wind, after dinner they got wired. The “Singers’s” began the concert then, outside my bedroom door. It covered songs of four decades and lasted what seemed four score.
It was then that I got my rosary out and prayed for “The Saints” to come back! I needed a spontaneous rosary prayed to save me from giving “The Singers” a smack. Giving those Singers a smack!
All in all it was an amazing trip for me parts one and two. Good times and memories with old friends and the new. Thank you to our host and hostess for including us for this trip. What I’ve learned from this experience is, I still have a long way to go, to ever be that “hip!” I’ll never be that hip!!!!!!!