The Bahama Blunder

It’s been a little while since I’ve told one of those stories.

One of what stories, you may ask?

Oh, you know, the kind where I suffered in a foreign country and you laugh and says “Wow, better you than me!”

Well, good news, I have a new one.

I went to the Bahamas 2 years ago on a very short trip.

My mother and I were actually visiting my grandmother in South Beach, Miami, when we were offered a two day vacation to the Bahamas.

It was all quite impromptu, but the plan was that we'd drive out to the dock in the Everglades, get on this big ship that doubled as a casino and booze cruise for college kids, and head off.

On the way there, I met this really cool little guy named Carlos, but he did not have much to say, considering his snout was taped shut.

We were soon on our way to a tiny, tiny, tiny island called Freeport.

So, we boarded this huge ship and it was quite luxurious. Large casino stands, rowdy young adults, the works, it was fun.

About 45 minutes into the ride, though, everything was quiet. Why?

Well, here’s the thing about the Florida straits. They’re really, really, wavy.

Imagine a ship full of 250 seasick people. Including yours truly, I might add sheepishly.

Seriously, had I not been dying, the whole situation would have seemed pretty funny.

Baby strollers, carts, and other debris were rolling around the ship with no one there to catch them. At one point, I went into the bathroom and there was a guy (in the ladies bathroom) in a half-puking/half delirious state, just laying across the sinks with his face in the last one.

We eventually arrived safely, albeit queasily, and found that the island was deserted.

It was quite nice, we had this tiny house to ourselves, and there was essentially no one on the beaches or at the pool.

But, before I knew it, it was time to return. We were informed by the program director that, due to unforeseen circumstances, we would be taking a different boat back to Florida.

An all-night boat.  

Well, if you recall a certain Peruvian all night bus ride I took, you’d think I had learned my lesson and would be wary of all-night boat rides, too.  

I was, and I had a right to be.

So, why would this trek take all night? Because it was a mail boat.

Literally, a boat designed to ship mail across the bumpy straits between Florida and the Caribbean islands. I repeat, not meant for human cargo.

So, we board this ancient ship and are greeted by rows and rows of cold, plastic benches. AKA our sleeping quarters.

Keep in mind, we had only packed for a one night stay in a tropical place, so we were not exactly equipped with enough clothing to cushion the hard seats and warm ourselves against the overly air conditioned atmosphere.

It was a long, uncomfortable night and, after the lights went out and my ipod died, there was not much to pass the time except dreams of sleep and the tropical air.

But, we made it back to Florida and thawed, thus completing another dysfunctional story.