vacation notes: saunders beach. [west of the moon, 23 march 2018]
There was the snick of the keycard in the lock, then the door opened. Declan walked up to me and murmured, tears in his eyes, “Mom, I am very sorry to have to inform you, we won’t be stopping at Great Stirrup Cay,” and here he choked back a small sob, “because of, because, because of bad weather.”
He was echoing the announcement the captain had just made from the bridge--Matt and Declan had been playing a little chess, killing a little time, while I packed the bags for the beach day. The cruise stops at a private island in the Bahamas, we had a reservation for a small cabana, a little beach-house home base, and plans to spend the whole day digging in the sand, going on a nature walk with his new binoculars, swimming around and looking for fish. But heavy thunderstorms had washed through the region the night before, and the water was still too rough for us to safely transit to the island on the tiny tender boats. They’d done a test with the boats, the captain said, and it just wasn’t safe. He’s very sorry, the captain went on, but the safety of the passengers must come first. I can’t even imagine how much money the cruise line loses in refunding the payments for all the beach-island shore excursions, so I believe them that they wouldn’t cancel on a whim.
The ship made straight for Nassau instead, docked overnight. We recovered the day; six rounds of mini golf, a few hours on the waterslides, discovery of a climbing tower in the back corner of the sports deck. Dec wanted a few hours at the kid’s camp in the afternoon, but when we tried to drop him off after lunch we found that the hours had changed suddenly because of the new itinerary, sorry, come back in an hour. Declan had faced the cancellation of the much-anticipated beach day with only a few minutes of sniffly crying but a one-hour delay in access to Splash Academy had him sprawled on the carpet in the 12-Forward elevator lobby, thrashing and sobbing. (“I’ve had a lot of disappointment today,” he whispered to me later.
But it was a good day, even if not the day we’d planned. I just still wanted a little beach in my vacation. (Collectively we are not much of a beach-vacation family; individually, I love the ocean more than almost anything.) And we’d packed all those sand toys, buckets and shovels and sand-castle molds, it seemed a shame for them to go to waste. We needed a beach.
I am, when it comes to it, pretty good at research.
Because the boat docked overnight in Nassau, we were able to get an early start. Declan wakes early; even exhausted from so much vacation fun, it was six-thirty in the morning when he stuck his little face right in mine and whispered “Mom, I’m awake.” So: out of bed, dress for the beach, get the bags I’d packed the night before. (Contents: two beach towels, two passports, some cash, sunscreen, granola bars, bottle water, my book, and a giant heap of sand toys.) We stopped for breakfast on Deck Fifteen, watched the sun rise over our coffee (mine) and Froot Loops (his), then wound our way through the empty early-morning boat to the exit gangway.
I actually love the early-morning thing, when busy places are quiet instead. The cruise port in Nassau is normally a riot of sound and energy, but that early in the morning it had only a skeleton staff, the vendor stalls and performance stages boarded up and silent.
The dock agent found us a taxi; there was stuffing coming out of the seats, and Declan’s seatbelt didn’t work. The driver asked how we’d heard of Saunders Beach, and I said that I’d done some reading, that I’d been looking for a beach with nice sand and a nice view of the ocean. Declan volunteered that we had been supposed to go to the beach yesterday, but they cancelled the beach because of bad weather.
“He was so sad,” I added, “so I wanted to find a way for him to have some nice beach time.” I didn’t add that really this was more for me than for him--I think he’d enjoy the beach, but I don’t think he’d consider the vacation lacking if the beaching never happened.
“He’s your only baby?” I agreed, yes, my only one. “He gets what he wants, then, I bet you,” said the taxi driver. “Good boy, the Boss Lady here makes sure you get what you want. I have four of them, and a crazy wife, my baby never gets what he wants, four kids. What’s your name, little man?” Declan tries, but no one ever understands him when he tells them his name. “You know what, little man, I call you Baby Boy. You lucky, Baby Boy. My baby, his name is Toby, he’s three. He has a pet monkey. You like monkeys?” Declan is trying to keep up with this conversation but it’s confusing him. “You like monkeys? My Toby has a monkey, we live right near Saunders Beach, yeah? You want him to come play with you? You like monkeys?” Declan ducks his head a little, says that his mom sometimes calls him a monkey, he likes monkeys but mostly he likes trains. “My Toby, his pet monkey is named Oliver, I tell you. We live right near the beach there!”
At this point the driver apparently decides that we’re not interesting, because he turns the volume on the radio way up for the rest of the trip.
Saunders Beach was about a ten-minute drive out of downtown Nassau, about twenty dollars for the taxi ride, but you can do it for a lot less if you’re willing to navigate the jitney bus system. At eight in the morning, it was perfect and beautiful and empty. Two dogs were playing on the beach when we got there, and they circled us for a few minutes, saying hello, but mostly left us alone. The sand was soft. I gathered some in my hand and showed Declan how you can see that the sand is really all different colors up close, it’s bits of shell and rock that have broken down over time, and you can still see all the different things it used to be. He dug a series of deep holes in the sand at the water’s edge and watched the waves fill them up. The water was warm and clear, with rocks and tide pools. Between the beach and the road, there’s a playground, with some good slides and swings and tunnels.
I think it might be the one of the nicest beaches I’ve ever been to, honestly.
I think I could have stayed there all day, but after an hour, hour and a half, the wind picked up and Declan asked if we could leave. We took the #10 jitney bus back to the port. By ten-thirty in the morning I was back on deck, sitting in the sun, with a tropical drink at my side, hanging out with my husband and watching our amazing kid go down some pretty big and twisty waterslides (he shouts “yes! yes! yes!” the whole way down), feeling like a genius and the queen of vacations.