Going batty in Austin
We have to drop the hire car off in the morning and they wouldn’t let us drop it at the office we found close to the hostel, so we have to drive all the way back out to the original office. They then give us a lift back into town, so it works out, it just takes far longer than necessary. We walk up to the Capitol Building, which is impressive, buy fresh juice smoothies, then head to the Bohemian end of Sixth Street, full of strange little boutiques, souvenir stores, bars and restaurants. Lunch today is Tex-Mex. I have nachos, which a requite different from the standard bowl of corn chips with topping. Instead it is crispy tortillas, quartered and individually loaded with refried beans, tomato, cheese, jalapenos and sour cream. It's very filling and good value for $6.
We spend the afternoon wandering along the banks of Town Lake. There are cycling and walking trails all the way along and it’s very green. At one stage, we come across a little rivulet packed full of turtles. After a few hours of sweating in the sunshine, we catch a bus back to the hostel.
One of the unusual attractions of Austin is the bats. There is a colony of around 1.5 million bats that lives under Congress Bridge and at dusk, they all fly out to feed at the same time. As the sun is fading, we walk the two kilometres or so to the bridge, and arrive just in time. The bridge is lined with people, so we watch from the riverbank as swarms of bats fly out in a steady stream, all heading the same direction.
Slightly better dressed, we go back to Lambert’s, our previous night’s preferred dining option. This is in the Warehouse district, which is full of trendy eateries, rather than diners. The restaurant is in an old stone building and they take traditional food and add a twist. I opt for hickory smoked ribs, rubbed with coriander and maple, with asparagus with melted goat cheese on the side. The ribs are different from BBQ ribs – the meat is not as soft, more the consistency of ham. Quite awkward to eat round the bones, but tasty. Despite being a few steps up from some of our other meals, the whole thing including tax and tip still only sets me back $23.
Couches and conches
I splurge and book a taxi to the airport, rather than lugging my rucksack three blocks to catch the bus and having to transfer twice. I try calling twice and am on hold for a ridiculous amount of time both times, but discover you can book through their website. I have a nice relaxed morning, re-packing and saying farewell to Alexis and then receive a call to say the taxi is outside. Alexis walks me out and the cab zooms away. He doesn't even look in his rearview mirror or he would have seen me jumping up and down waving. I have to call the taxi company again and get them to send another one. This one shows up and lets me into the car before driving away, which makes life a little easier.
The flight to Atlanta takes a couple of hours and after another few hours there, it's on to the Bahamas flight. A few more hours and all of a sudden it's evening and I am in Nassau. It’s amazing how quickly the days disappear when you are en route.
Back in Nashville, Marc told me about a programme called Couchsurfing, where you can register to host people if you have space in your house, or to just meet other travelers or locals for a drink or meal, or stay at people’s places. The people who host get verified and people write testimonials about them, so you know you’re safe staying with them. I signed up and given that I’d been deliberating for ages over Nassau hotels – most are expensive and the cheap ones get bad reviews – thought I’d see if there was anyone registered in Nassau on Couchsurfing. To my surprise, there were quite a few. I read all of their profiles and found a slightly older guy who had a lot of positive feedback, so I got in touch with him to see whether he was willing to host me – hosts can refuse at any time. He agreed and even offered to pick me up from the airport. He asked me to text and let him know if my flight was on time.
I text my host,but I don't receive an answer, and realise I’ve only copied one of his two numbers down from my email. Not to worry. He'll be there. Then I arrive at the airport and he isn't there. Problem. My mobile doesn’t work in the Bahamas. I try calling on a pay phone, but I don't have the minimum amount. I get change and try again. Get an incorrect number message. I go to the information centre and explain the situation to the friendly, helpful ladies there, to see if there is any WiFi available. No such luck, but they load up Gmail for me and let me into the booth so I can see the screen and find the number. They then call for me and I get hold of Scott. He hadn’t received my message and has been wondering what time to come to the airport. Much relief. I stay and chat with the ladies for the half hour or so until he arrives. I'm quite relieved that he seems normal. He’s a 43-year-old PhD educated American sociologist.
We drive back to Scott's place, which is a lovely wooden cottage divided into two units. It is painted bright colours and I have a small room to myself. We head straight back out to meet some of his Bahamian friends down the road. There are four women and two guys sitting on the side of the dock drinking beer and they have saved us some spicy fish cooked in foil with cabbage and carrots. It takes me a while to get the hang of their accents – imagine a drawled Jamaican accent, combined with an Irish accent, with a few slang words thrown in. The best slang word I learn is grabalicious, which means greedy.
We then move on to the conch shacks under the bridge to neigbouring Paradise Island. I get a surprise when I look over the water, as the Atlantis hotel here looks exactly the same as the one in Dubai. It’s disorienting. It makes me a little homesick for Dubai.
Conch – large shelled sea animals – is a local delicacy and is eaten either raw or breaded calamari-style, but we’re not eating, just observing. This is the local hangout on a Friday night and it is packed with young Bahamians dressed up in their finest bling. There are some amazing outfits and lots of cleavage, thigh and belly on display. Our next stop is the Green Parrot, which is an open-air bar, a step up economically from the conch shacks. The clothing is classier.
Nassau's finest
Scott has some work to do in the morning, so I go exploring, heading back to the conch shacks for some photos, and then in the opposite direction to find the Starbucks. It rains on and off, but the rain is so warm it doesn’t matter. The wierdo magnet is at full tilt. Everyone I pass wants to talk to me/be my tour guide/take me on their scooter. I even get whistled at. I’m friendly, but keep marching along saying no thank you.
Around lunch time, Scott offers me a lift into town and suggests that Ray, the 11-year-old son of one of the Bahamian ladies from the night before, could tag along. He’s trying to foster an interest in the world in Ray, and encourage him on to further study. Ray is a sweetheart. He’s a little shy to start with as we walk through the straw market, where the locals make wood carvings and straw bags, and sell them alongside Gucci rip-offs and cheap t-shirts. We stop in at the little slavery museum next door and he starts asking more questions, then we head to the pirate museum, which is where the ice is truly broken. There is a guy dressed as a pirate outside who is scarily good at his job – he has the costume, the language and the cheeky banter down pat and Ray is totally intimidated by him. We enter and the first room is dark and eerie, with flickering lights and pirate mannequins, along with a huge pirate ship. We are half waiting for someone to jump out at us the whole way round. There are a number of different sections. Some are well lit and informative, others are dark and scary. For these Ray and I walk close together and try and stick close to the other people in there. I think I’m just as scared as he is.
After surviving the museum, we stroll down Bay Street, which runs all the way along the coast and is lined with colourful old buildings. We stop for lunch and Ray orders cracked conch, the calamari-style conch. I try some and approve. As we eat, a wedding rolls past – there are about twenty cars and people are sitting on the roofs or hanging out windows in their finery, giving the royal wave. Two trucks at the front and rear blare out pumping music to add to the atmosphere.
Nassau is a cruise ship hub – a boat comes in at least every day and the dock is down here, so there are quite a few people milling around the souvenir stores. We walk from here all the way back and decide a swim is in order. Ray grabs his swimmers, showing me off to the dock workers, and we go and see if Scott will come along – or give us a lift. He agrees, so we drive across the bridge to Paradise Island and go into one of the beach club areas down from Atlantis.
The sand is pure white and slopes steeply into the water. For the first few metres you are battered by waves and sand makes its way inside your swimmers, until you get out past the break. Ray is not a confident swimmer, but Scott has been teaching him and he obviously loves the water. I give him some tips on how to float and on request, teach him how to dive. He’s a fast learner. We end up surrounded by chatty little kids and a woman I start talking with asks me how many of them are mine. She’s surprised when I tell her none. I’m tempted to introduce myself as the Pied Piper.
Back at the house, Scott disappears into his room and I’m left at a loose end. I try and hook up to the internet but that doesn’t work, so go and grab another coffee instead. When I get back, Ray has come back and Billy, the next door neighbour, feeds us all pasta. It’s nice to have a home-cooked meal again. Scott goes back into his room after dinner to work, so I do the same, not sure whether we are doing anything in the evening. Soon enough a girl called Dia shows up. Apparently Billy, Dia, Scott and I have plans to go out.
Our first stop is Senor Frog, a crazy open air club full of drunk cruise ship young Americans. We stay a while then move on to a club called Bambu. Some of the people from the night before join us, but by now we’re all tired, so we don’t stay long. It’s interesting to see a bit of the party scene – alcohol seems to play a big role in island life. There are no public drinking or drink-driving laws in the Bahamas.
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