Underwater Disposable Camera

I figured I'd just round up the photos I took with a combined 1 and 1/2 disposable underwater cameras. Fat T. warned that I would take a bunch of photos and none would be terribly good and I must agree the lack of clear focus choice led to a bunch of rather grainy photos that even with a modicum of photoshopping are still a bit impressionistic. Nonetheless, with no real commentary, some things I saw in the water:

I thought this was a barracuda but I'm not sure.

Purple and yellow fish just a smudge in this photo.

Opening Eleuthera Scenes and Giant Moth

My ride to the airport was generally without issue, as it was 5 in the morning on a Saturday and traffic was pretty light. It was still a bit of a shock to see just how many other early risers were preparing themselves for their Jet Blue flights ... there were some serious lines for baggage drop off and security screenings; I was told if I had been 15 minutes later then they would not have allowed me to check my bag, which would have been quite a bit problematic. Jet Blue also has its own terminal at JFK and it was very fancy and hopping even at 6 in the morning. I abstained from any overpriced snack, though I did buy a bottle of water for the ride. As time passed, the sky went from near dark to sun lit to blue and cloudy. 

The flight from JFK to Nassau went pretty well. I made up for the lack of sleep I was able to clock in on Friday night by sleeping through the majority of the four hours in the air. Once in Nassau I went through customs, picked up my baggage (which was not on the labelled carousel for my flight thus causing me to have an almost heart attack about missing my connecting flight to Eleuthera), and headed to local section of the airport. I should have taken photos because the comparison between the facilities available in the international terminal and those offered once you get to the facility geared more towards actual Bahamians is striking. Everything's run down. The light's bad. Seats are torn up. Coffee's self-serve (horrors!). Just a very different vibe. I took Pineapple Air to Eleuthera, bought some beer, waited to be picked up and then had an entertaining conversation about love with the dude who picked me up/set me up with my rental van. He was one of many to ask me if I was married or had a boyfriend within five minutes of saying hello. Eleuthera is not an island accustomed to single women it would seem.  

I ultimately arrived quite safely at Edge of the World's Tamarind Cottage in Gregory Town. I had found the place through TripAdvisor and had every expectation that it was going to be a great place to call home for the next six days, and that certainly turned out to be true. Kimy and Terry are wonderful proprietors and seriously welcoming. They've created a wonderful haven that I very much am glad I was able to share for as short a time as it was. It was a little sad making that the weather was decidedly not sunny nor terribly warm upon my arrival. I had only leggings and two light sweaters among my wardrobe for the trip and wished that I had decided to pack two less sundresses in favor of one pair of jeans, because those first two days were super windy and rainy. This is me soon after arriving at the cottages. My bangs are being pushed aggressively by the wind. 

There were three cottages on the property, in addition to our hosts' own house. The property was right on Gregory Town's main harbor/cove area. A short stroll down a bromeliad and palm tree laden hill brought me to the property's deck.

I thought I'd take advantage of this deck and its complementary kayaks at some point, but this turned out mainly to be the spot I'd enjoy when I first woke up. I'd walk down with my earl grey tea and mystery novel and just adjust to the morning before heading out to other beach vistas.

The view of town.

Sunday was also a bit of a wash in terms of adventuring during the day. It was just very rainy and there would be these thirty second views of the sun followed by much more prolonged bouts of rain and wind. I basically just holed up in bed reading for the majority of the day. Venturing out from time to time whenever it seemed like there was a break in the clouds. This was my front door view.

You know I logged some quality time sitting on this porch.

On Sunday evening I decided I'd go out for dinner and make vacation friends, but first I had to stop at the town's convenience store for a bit of gas. There I ran into Wallace, from whom I was renting a van and with whom L. and I spent some time last year. He told me my intended destination was closed and invited me to a party instead. I was hesitant to go as I don't necessarily thrive in environments where I know no one, but I thought 'what the hell' and ended up going. That experience was definitely something to write about in more depth in another space but for now I think I'll be doing a pretty Cliffs Notes version. The house/party was out on Whale's Point and it was quite a beautiful location and had a great view of Harbour Island.

The wind was serious and it got quite cold once the sun began to set.

The party was just a very strange thing. A weird mix of folks who seem pretty happy with being very insular. The best conversation I had was with another 'outsider' - a contractor from Canada. I could only enjoy myself so much when surrounded by a generally indifferent group of strangers and soon was ready to go. Wallace was kind enough to drive me back to my car, which I had left at a restaurant a few miles away at his suggestion -- basically I think I would have enjoyed myself more if folks seemed more interested in conversation with an unknown (me) and/or if I had the freedom to leave without having to rely on someone else, but Wallace had said that the roads were rather rough for my van (questionable)  . In any case, it was still neat to end up at a party my second day on the island. I never get invited to strange parties in Philly, and that's a shame.

Once I returned back to the cottage I made myself a cheesy snack and retired to my lofted bedroom to read. The winds were howling so I battened down the hatches and snuggled deeply into the sheets and quilt, reading a Margaret Maron novel. At some point I looked up at the screened window closest to the bed and saw this sight. So huge! Made sense that this moth would want to get a little respite from the winds outside but I noticed that it seemed to have pooped a bit on the edge of the bed, which looked at first like bleach spots. While I considered just leaving it alone I ultimately decided I didn't want to be pooped on by a giant moth while I was sleeping, so I gently scooped it up and returned it to the outdoors. So crazy.

Parting Scenes in Cape Henlopen State Park and Crab Cake c/o Surfing Crab

The last day of a camping weekend is always a sad thing for me. My feet are inevitably very filthy, sand can be found in my hair and all my clothes smell like smoke, but my emotional balance is better than it often is in the city. I think one of the reasons I find myself happier when alone in pretty places is that the pressure is off. Cities remind me that there are so many folks out and about, living their lives...sharing similar interests, falling in love, eating, drinking, holding hands while walking the streets, having compelling conversations about things I've never heard of, dancing well or poorly, watching movies in parks on blankets, gathering together in kitchens to bake bread. All that stuff. And sometimes I feel like I'm not really doing any of that in my own life ... even if this blog might try to convince you otherwise.

So when I'm camping by myself, or spending a long weekend in the country by myself, I usually don't have that same falling sense of emptiness or loneliness that sometimes overwhelms me in the city. Though technically more alone in these environments,  I am not as concerned with the ways my current life doesn't quite match up with the life I might have imagined for myself five or ten years ago. I am not as caught up with the sense that I'm treading water while most of those around me - friends and strangers alike - are streaking by me with purpose and intention.  I am contented with a warm spot to sit with a good book. Or I am more contented than when I'm reading a book in my room, with the sounds of the city right outside my window. No place or scene can completely sooth the less positive thoughts in my head. On this camping trip I encountered at least a few moments of longing. That I was at a point in my life where the kids riding bikes in circles around the campgrounds were mine, or that I was one half of one of the couples taking twilight strolls with flashlights in their back pockets. But that was not the main tone of the weekend, which was one of independence and peacefulness.

So the last day of camping is a sad one because this sense of solace - this sense of worrying a little less about the things I feel are absent from my life - it starts to slip away. There is the business of striking the tent, taking trash to the dump and shaking the sand out of the towels. There is the decision process of whether to walk to the beach one last time in swim suit, or whether to forgo that particular activity in favor of sitting in the shade reading a book (it may not surprise you that I chose the book). Eventually there is the bittersweet driving away from the campgrounds and the greater Cape Henlopen State Park, and with every mile between me and the campsite, reality seeps in: three weeks of laundry to do, four months of bills and credit card offers to shred, a kitchen floor in need of a good scrubbing.

On this particular trip I learned a few things about the park that I hadn't know previously. These things included: there is a place where you can go and pet sea creatures (I imagine mainly horse shoe crabs), one can rent a bike for free (this state park is one of the few environments where riding a bike seems like a really appealing option to me), and there is also a 'frisbee golf' course. I ended up driving around the park a little before leaving, and found this second beach area, which seemed to be the go-to spot for trucks and fishermen.

It was a little cloudy and blustery on this last day, which made my choice not to suit up a little less fraught.

I decided that I would stop at the Surfing Crab after I departed Cape Henlopen. All the friendly ribbing about how I'd regret not trying their crab cake had gotten to me...I don't like to miss out on tasty things. No. No I do not. So very soon after they opened I rolled on into their gravel parking lot. I was greeted by a friendly and rather cute young man (does it make me creepy to note that this kid was attractive? I imagine he was in college, not, like, high school). The youngster then ushered me into the empty dining space and allowed that I could sit wherever I liked. I took a seat at the end of one of the large and long tables and took a quick look at the menu. I was interested in trying a half and half of their Maryland crab soup and their cream of crab soup, but they were out of the one and somehow I didn't want all of the other. After getting a lager I placed my order: the crab cake sandwich with vegetable side. The vegetables on this day were asparagus and were serviceable if not very memorable. But let me tell you what. This crab cake lived up to the hype. I didn't bother with eating it like a sandwich, which would have ruined some of the crabbiness with bread filler, and just ate the cake with a fork. It was nice and crispy on the outside, and creamy crabby on the inside. Scarcely any filler. Well flavored. Lovely large morsels of lump crab meat.

Comparing this meal's simplicity and friendly server with Claw's far less satisfying dinner of the night before is perhaps unfair. Having already had one good meal at the Surfing Crab I was predisposed to expect good things. Though, actually, I was predisposed to think the Claws' association with Fin's was going to be lead to good things. And I really do know that it's not fair to compare the manner of two 20-something young men as servers when one was dealing with multiple tables during a busy time of day while the other was faced with only two tables in the middle of the afternoon. And yet. I wonder. For many people serving tables at restaurants is a summer gig or only a temporary state of being; something you do while you're getting your college education, or something you do while supporting an artistic pursuit of some kind. I don't know where I was going with that. That both servers were young men, but that one referred to me as 'friend' at the end of the meal and encouraged me to sit and read my book even when my plate was cleared...while the other gave me my check without asking if I wanted another beer or anything else. Shrug. Friendliness counts for something. But then I feel bad because I have worked in the food service industry. I know how hard it can be to give a shit about your patrons when the kitchen and you are completely in the weeds. I know what that's like too. Yeah, I've lost my point. To conclude: Surfing Crab, you do a good job of making a girl feel welcome and your food is good.

Then I got back on the road. The remaining pit stops I made included this farm stand, where I bought two things of flowers (one geranium, one mystery), which I planted in a bigger pot and haven't yet died after a week or two (I imagine they'll die any day now, a green thumb is not one of my qualities/appendages).

I also bought three ears of corn. And then finally, unpictured, I stopped at the last fish market on Route 1 before going inland and picked up a few soft shell crabs to make my future meals a little more interesting.

And that concludes my Delaware/Cape Henlopen/Rehoboth Beach camping and eating adventure. And some stray thoughts on service and loneliness.

Rainy Day Preacher's Cove

Saturday I woke up to wind and rain. We hoped that it would pass in the morning hours, as our plan was to use the car to take ourselves to the Harbour Island ferry and to spend a day living 'the high life.' But a key component to 'the high life' was lying on pink sand beaches for hours, which isn't quite as appealing an activity if it's windy, rainy, and kind of chilly. While we were hoping the weather would improve, we went to the Laughing Lizard to take advantage of its wireless connections to the outside world. There we spoke to two rather handsome devils, who told us about a number of possible other places we could see and enjoy even with the less than ideal weather. This sparked an interest in going to a specific cave, but upon further discussion with the woman who owned the apartments we were staying in, we realized we didn't have the serious flashlights necessary to go on such an adventure. So, instead, we went to Preacher's Cave. As was the case in many instances during our time in Eleuthera, we were almost alone on the road to get there, and certainly alone during our time at the the cave and nearby Atlantic-facing beach. The cave had a wide mouth but was a little deep. It kind of reminded me of the cave in the first season of Lost, only easier to get in and out of and minus the waterfall/indoor pool. Total sidenote: about once every six months I remember to be very angry about the last two seasons of Lost.





For lunch L. made turkey sandwiches with mustard on white bread. Was it the best sandwich of either of our lives? No. But did the location prop it up a little? Yes.
I forgot to adjust my settings when I asked L. to take this photograph, so I'm all washed out. Oh well.
After enjoying the cave and our lunch, we followed the trail to the beach. The waves were a'pounding and the wind was a'whipping, but we took full advantage of the perhaps 20 minutes of sun before the next round of rain clouds came across the horizon.


Loves it.

On the limestone outcroppings (outcroppings?) there were all these tiny little zebra-like snails. I dug them, as in, I thought they were neat.

Jiving and Jumping Beach-Side

Tuesday's weather wasn't quite as ideal for swimming as the other days, which was a shame because I wanted to get back into the water and I had lured M. with the promise of the ocean. We certainly did walk on over and spend a little time nestled at the base of a dune, but full ocean immersion would have been a bit much (it was windy, the waves were pretty fierce and there was no sun to warm up under). I asked M. to take a few photographs of me in the ocean.

Then M. wanted a few photographs of herself. Jumping became part of it. This photograph, every time I look at it, makes me chuckle. It's like an M. shark jump hybrid.
Then I wanted to have photographs of myself jumping, but they all made me look really bad, so I've gone with this one of me prancing more than jumping.

Beachy Times

I so enjoyed my Delaware camp-escape last year that I knew that I wanted to do it again this summer. So after a little dilly dallying, I reserved a campsite back in June for August. I told L. and T. and C. and J. about this plan and encouraged them to join the fun. In the end L. and Fatty Mcgee couldn't come, but C. and J. brought their own posse, all of whom I met up with after driving down to Cape Henlopen on Saturday. C. helped me put up my tent and then we headed for the beach where the rest of her crew were taking in the sun and waves.
No dolphins were seen, but some jellyfish. At one point I brushed up against one while floating, which resulted in my screaming like a little girl and quickly paddling myself out of the water. This reaction is not all that surprising. Jellyfish stings hurt. But the thing is, I knew they were there and just touching one made me need to get out...but I had every intention of going back in. So, why get out in the first place? Why does being confronted with something unpleasant, but expected, result in an exodus even if you know that you're going to put yourself right back into that position again?
I took my obligatory feet at the ocean pictures.

I asked J. to take a few photographs of C. and me in the surf.


No dolphins were seen (by me) on this day. I was saddened by this because last year my first foray onto the beach resulted in many, many dolphin sightings...including them FLIPPING OUT OF THE WATER OF THEIR OWN VOLITION. I had high hopes. Dashed. Those hopes were dashed.