The Zen of Jet Skiing

Saturday arrived with the sun wrestling the wind for control of the temperature. In the morning, the breeze was ahead on points so we decided to head downtown to shop for awhile. But the first order of business was the next meal challenge. The breakfast buffet, originally deemed too expensive, became manna from heaven when we factored in the customary taxi rip-off. After our repast, we boarded the #10 bus ($1.25 per person, exact change only) for a twenty minute trip to Nassau center.

We were in the midst of great disparity in wealth. Unbelievably enormous cruise ships towered over the modest city skyline and lined up at Prince George’s Wharf right alongside an army of hawkers pushing deals on scooters, carriage rides, hand made trinkets and now infamously priced cabs. We passed elegant stores selling Rolex watches, Gucci, jewelry, and upscale fashions, followed by T Shirt shops and a fellow pushing his sculptures made entirely out of coke cans.

After a couple of hours we were weary, unburdened by purchases and looking for the bus stop. We turned a corner to find a crowd of #10 buses bunched. Several men in dirty clothes drank from paper bags, sucked on cigarettes and beckoned us to board. Fortunately, our driver appeared to be sober and was bearing the familiar bored countenance of the T personnel back home. In fact if he started texting as soon as pulled away from the curb then I think he would have qualified for that very position.

Back at the Sheraton, we changed quickly and made our way back out to the pool. Soon talk turned to renting Jet Skis. Well, truth be told, I was the one incessantly jabbering on about it until Kim and Tony conceded that that was a fine idea, if only to get me off the subject. Kim negotiated a fine deal of $100 for an hours ride, including the tip. This was my first turn at jet skiing, so naturally a large Bahamian man had to jump on the sled and reach around me to explain the controls. It didn’t take me long to master “dis on, dis off, dis your gas, no brakes”. It took me longer to figure out his last instruction, “no crazy drivin’!” I asked him to point me toward Miami and off I went like a bat out of hell. In full disclosure, my first couple passes were more like a turtle out of heck, but each turn brought greater confidence and velocity.

What a blast! Riding over the crest of waves and smashing on the trailing surf with warm ocean spray drenching me completely. I was literally laughing out loud all by myself until the wall of salt water threatened to drown out my insane giggling. After one particularly crushing slam, the engine cowl popped off. I reached up and banged it back into place noticing a menacing crack in the plastic cover… no way I did that, did I?

I swung back to shore to pick up Kim. During the slow ride back out she kept up a steady rap in my ear, “Remember go slow! I’m on the back don’t forget! Don’t be crazy!” Kim ended up showing a mixed appreciation for the sport. First wave: “Whoa!” Second wave: “Wheee!” Next one: “Slow down!” And so on.

After several minutes of moderate joy-riding, I dropped Kim off on the beach and headed back out into the surf. After a few more runs, unencumbered by inexperience and the voice of reason behind me, I was now at a relatively blistering (some might say break-neck) speed, I was chased down by one of the Jet Ski guys and summoned to return to “port”. I toweled off and offered that I couldn’t believe an hour had passed by so quickly. Unbeknownst to me, Tony had checked the time before we launched, and sure enough, we were owed about another twenty minutes. My cute, bikini clad, wife marched across the sand and approached the rather rotund Bahamian managing the Jet Ski operation to give him a piece of her mind… a rather precious commodity, by the way. “Ali” wisely conceded to my angry, little swimsuit model and offered Tony and me another half hour of frolicking in the surf whenever we wanted.

After showering, it was once again time to choose a dinner venue. We walked through the Casino (no small task for certain members of our party who know for certain which of the machines are just about to yield their fortune), and on the back end (so to speak) found a buffet for $35.59 per person (fifty-nine cents?). There was a sumptuous spread of food before us, not a hideous cab ride away. This place was just the ticket!