Island Time: Because Otherwise, You'll Have A Stroke
We have finally figured out the "island time" phenomenon and let go of
our uptight American impatience! To successfully adapt to
stress-free living on a boat in the Bahamas, one needs only to never
take anything for granted and keep worst-case scenarios in the
forefront of one’s mind. Procrastination and assumptions
will really come back to bite you here. Replenish supplies before
they get low, attend to stateside business weeks before it’s
due. And if you do all this and still get yourself into a
spot, you’ll discover that it’s not the end of the
world. Life goes on, and you’ll probably be OK. Maybe
you'll get lucky tomorrow. Welcome to Island Time, where
completing one formerly simple task is a refreshing game of
chance!
Here are some situations we found ourselves in
that helped us learn to hold our horses, with morals to each story
included. What used to bring tears of frustration now only merits
a shrug, and we are stronger. More patient. Less whiny.
DAY ONE:
You
need to make an important call to the states, so you go buy a phone
card and decide to walk across town to the phone booth rather than use
the pay phone at the little internet shack, since there’s less
likely to be a line for it. When you get to the phone booth, you
are pleased to find it unoccupied. Your pleasure evaporates when
you discover that the receiver's been smashed. You hike back
across town to the internet shack, where their phone line is
temporarily out of service. Try again tomorrow! Moral: Working telephones are little gifts from heaven, and when you find one treat it like the rare gem that it is.
DAY TWO:
You
decide to live a little and wash your clothes at the laundromat instead
of by hand on the boat. You stuff all of your dirty clothes into
watertight bags, toss them into the dinghy and row into town. You
carry them the half mile to the laundromat, and when you arrive the
proprietress tells you that there’s no water available anywhere
on the island today. It will perhaps be fixed in a day or
two. You hump the laundry back to the dinghy, row back to the
boat and start washing the clothes by hand using your own tank
water. Moral: If it can be done on board, don’t try to be fancy. Just do it on board.
DAY THREE:
You’ve
just finished your taxes, so you decide to treat yourself to a beer at
the nearby beach bar. You take a lovely sunset walk on the beach,
and when you approach the bar it is just after dark. You
head toward the lights of the bar, and when you’re about 200
yards away, you see it plunge into total darkness. The
bar’s generator has malfunctioned and they have lost power for
the evening. You pull out your flashlight, head back to your boat
and make yourself a warm rum and Tang. Moral:
The bar’s loss of power was the universe’s way of saying
that having a nasty rum and Tang is better for your bank account.
Drink it and be satisfied.
DAY FOUR:
Your
shipboard pantry is getting bare. You wait until the supply ship
comes in, then head to the grocery store. You happily fill up
your cart with sensible items, but when you get to the register, the
credit card machine is broken. You run across the street to get
cash, but the bank has closed early for no discernable reason.
Try again tomorrow, when all the good stuff has sold
out! Moral: Never trust a machine, and always have some cash.
DAY FIVE:
You
are in an open-air bar and grill at 11AM, speaking to a mechanic about
the possibility of ordering parts for your outboard motor which will
have to be shipped from the US. As the mechanic outlines the
highly expensive customs procedures and services necessary to get the
parts from Florida to you, the (American) bartender within earshot
mouths “DON’T DO IT” and vehemently shakes her head
“NO” at you from behind the bar. Her wild
gesticulations convey that the parts will disappear as if by magic, and
she waves her arms the way an umpire does when declaring a runner
“safe”. You decide against shipping the parts. Moral: Buy local whenever possible, or learn to do without. Also, bartenders are generally a helpful lot.
A
few weeks of this regimen, and you'll be ashamed to remember the things
you used to complain about before you went cruising. But you'll
have mastered Island Time, and you'll be pleased as punch when you
manage to accomplish anything- anything at all!