Eleuthera is a topographical string
bean. Achingly thin, it stretches its long, green crescent self
north and south in the heart of the Bahamas, about 70 miles east of
Nassau. With its arched northern end, complete with an extended
skinny “nose,” and its flared and curled tail at the south,
Eleuthera conjures up a seriously anorexic seahorse – if you can
imagine such a thing. It is so narrow in width, one is tempted to
conclude that not just a hurricane would make this place nothing but
a memory, but that a modestly robust high tide might do the same.
Like everywhere, I suppose, Eleuthera
has a rich and picturesque history. Folks disagree whether Columbus
actually did anything more than a drive-by, but what is clear is that
for centuries the island was the home to Arawaks. This was, of
course, until the Spanish came, decimated the population and sold
whoever was left into slavery – mostly for the mining operations in
Hispaniola. Shortly after the American Revolution, British loyalists
fled here along with their slaves. As a result of what became a
rather insular population, Bahamians who live here derive their last
names from the slender roster of those who survived – almost
everyone here shares about a dozen names, almost all derived from
their British slaveholders.
Eleuthera is really a land divided into
three parts: north, central, and south. It's not so much that the
three areas are so distinguishable from one another by geography,
culture or lifestyle, but rather because the 100 mile long island has
pockets of civilization at those various points, like Harbor Island
in the north and Governor's Harbour in the middle. The former is a
place where money is making its mark. As some have said, it is in
jeopardy of becoming “Nantucket-ized.” Elle MacPherson, Mariah
Carey and Penelope Cruz apparently wander about here, but we did not
see them. Perhaps they didn't get the word we were coming. (Or,
actually, maybe they did.) In between is a vast nothingness dotted a
bit by tiny settlements or a pineapple farm or leftover concrete
observation towers from WWII, or, of course, some amazing beaches.
Most notable among the beaches are those that revel in their
star-like quality as pink sand beaches. Imagine not sand. No, no –
that would be far too easy and would render a sensible description of
what we found far too mundane to capture its essence. No, imagine
instead walking on a surface that has the same tactile sensation one
might have by walking barefoot on a TempurPedic mattress: spongy,
dense and almost indescribably soft. The granularity one expects to
get back from sand on contact is practically gone, especially as one
approaches the water's edge. Here, the sand is liberally sprinkled
as if with cinnamon powder, but which is instead the remnants of red
animal life – formanifera – whose legacy is to create a stunning
visual and tactile experience for the ages.
Not all beaches here are like this. It
is just as likely you will stumble across a rock-filled beach or one
filled with sharp-edged coral. Among the latter is the famous spot
nearing the north end that sports what they call Glass Window Bridge.
Eleuthera, which is never at risk for being called “wide,”
narrows itself to the extreme where the island is essentially a few
feet from “coast to coast” if I may use that term here. The
bridge spans the meeting of the Atlantic and the Caribbean: the
sapphire, roiling, wavy Atlantic to one side and, literally a couple
of feet away, the iridescent turquoise calm of the Caribbean
separated only by a mass of coral heaving out of the water.
Depending on the tide, you can picture yourself laying down under the
bridge and having your arms span both bodies of water. But, the
beach here is not one to be traversed barefoot. Not unless your feet
are made of steel – and maybe not even then. The coral is jagged
and unforgiving. When climbing the rocks here – in flip flops, of
course – it was tempting to occasionally reach out or down to keep
from tipping over. Not wise. Unless, of course, you're wearing the
kinds of gloves normally found in cooler climes, which we were not.
A word about the roads here. As narrow
as the island is, there are not many. The heart and soul of the road
system is Queen's Highway which, like a virtual spinal column,
threads its way from the north end to the south end. It has two
lanes. A very narrow two lanes. For ninety percent of its length,
there are no lights. So – should you happen to find yourself out
at night to dinner, let's say, you must work your way back to your
hotel or house hoping your windshield is reasonably clear while all
the while watching for feral cats, clueless dogs, folks who tend to
walk inches from the road in dark clothing, and the oncoming brights
of the occasional car that leaves you momentarily blinded. All this
while trying to remember to stay on the left side of the road. A bit
challenging. There are other roads, some of them actually paved.
But, the Eleutherans seem to have a love affair with the pothole,
some of them crater-like. I'd love to have the monopoly on
automobile shock absorbers here. And, the signage. Ha! With the
exception of signs for the airports, which are plentiful, any
correlation between the map you're holding in front of you and
wherever you happen to be is purely whimsical. To be fair, however,
I did consider that in the U.S., where we have an instant and
unceasing need to know everything right now and often, it is possible
that we have become way too accustomed to an overload of signs
whereas our more laid back Bahamian neighbors are apt to be pleased
wherever they happen to be even if they don't know exactly where that
is.
One last word, this time about the
food. We have found over the years that Caribbean cuisine is often
not the best. Maybe a bit too tilted to the black bean or the
heavily fried whatever, I'm not sure. But, we were practically
ecstatic over what was laid before us in our stay on Eleuthera. Yes,
there is an entire culinary universe based on the conch: conch
chowder, conch salad, fried conch, grilled conch, and, of course,
conch fritters. I am surprised there is no conch marmalade or a
conch-tini on the cocktail list. But, there is so much more. The
place we stayed, the Sky Beach Club, had a kitchen that killed.
Everything from vegetable risotto to barbequed pork ribs and an array
of fresh seafood dishes, including lobster and crab. Other places
had sumptuous salads for lunch and tapas for dinner. Very elegant
and very varied and very professional, I must say.
You can go to Eleuthera for the
snorkeling or diving or fishing or surfing. Or, like us, you can go
for the beaches, the sunshine, the Cuban rums (Ah, Matusalem) and an
escape from the crowds. You decide. There is no wrong answer.
