Posted by: travadmin on Jul 16, 2003 – 11:24 AM
exoticlocations  Lauren Ritchie

July 16, 2003

There are jobs and chores and questions
And plates I need to twirl,
But tonight I’ll take my chances
On the far side of the world.
— Jimmy Buffett

The temperature is at least 98 degrees, the humidity is suffocating, the sun boring relentlessly down.

Here’s me:

Long, skinny, ghostly-white legs covered with 61 oozing bug bites, a bright red face, sweat dripping from every pore, hair plastered to the head beneath a hideous straw hat.

Here’s them:

Bahamians in crisp white blouses with pressed khaki pants or kicky little tropical dresses with sporty heels. Not a dot of sweat mars their upper lips. The ladies have intricately braided and twisted hairstyles swept up onto their heads.

All coolness.

How do they do it? Polyester? Genetics? Surgery?

Somehow, I know they’re cheating.For the past week, I’ve been relaxing on the remote island of Eleuthera, known worldwide for its dozens of spectacular pink-sand beaches and easy-access snorkeling. Eleuthera is one of theOut Islands in the nearby country of the Bahamas, an archipelago of 700 coral rocks of varying sizes dotting about 500 miles of the Caribbean, starting off the eastern coast of South Florida.

The Bahamas is a near neighbor geographically but a planet away in other aspects — unless you go to a swanky resort in Nassau or Freeport to gamble away your time and watch the other perfectly tanned tourists admire themselves and each other in the flawlessly clear waters of a chlorinated pool.

The real Bahamas is found on the other 698 islands, where only six settlements have populations exceeding 1,000 each.

The Out Islands have few roads, sometimes no cars, few sewer or water systems, almost no shopping, and airports that can be described only as teeny-weeny. The country has 62 airports, 33 of them with paved runways. Some residents have wells that tap into the lens of fresh water between the bottom of the coral islands and the salt water of the Caribbean. Many, however, have elaborate systems for collecting rainwater and storing it in cisterns.

Little is made or grown in the Bahamas. Nearly everything is shipped in — less than 1 percent of the land is arable — so if it’s a heavy item, it costs big bucks. A box of Cheerios, for example, is nearly the same price as it is here, but the price of a gallon of milk hovers at more than $6.

The biggest grocery in Governor’s Harbour, a town of about 1,500 in central Eleuthera where I spent last week, is about half the size of a single-car garage. Everything you really need is crammed into that space. Brand, as you might imagine, is not an issue. Availability is.

(My all-time favorite Bahamian retail outlet is the lime-green-and-white “pharmacy” on Elbow Cay in the Abaco islands, north of Eleuthera. It’s a couple of shelves tacked to the walls of a 6-by-6-foot wooden shack that is secured by a padlock at night. Hours of operation are variable. Well, actually, “optional” is a better description.)

Residents of the Out Islands buy clothing and consumer goods via catalog, or they travel to the United States or Nassau. People travel to Miami for the sole purpose of shopping at Wal-Mart, and they return laden with televisions and boomboxes.

Still, material things are few. But each time I return to the Out Islands, I am struck by what they possess that we lack.

We may have a choice of six types of fabric-softener sheets at Publix, but they have home-baked bread in nearly every little settlement.

And they’ve got some important things we once had as a community but so far haven’t been able to reclaim. We’re too big or too sophisticated — even here in Lake County — or just too something.

First, they have a commitment to education that stands out amid the economic poverty. The per-capita income of the Bahamas is about $12,000 a year, a third of the U.S. figure, as measured using a nation’s gross domestic product, or GDP. Yet each little settlement has a school, and the literacy rate is higher than that of our country. Governor’s Harbour, for example, also has the beautiful Haynes Library, a 107-year-old pink-and-green structure with polished wood floors and a dozen Internet-connected computers in a loft overlooking the harbor. It is open six days a week.

A teacher who was doubling as a reserve police officer during last week’s festivities marking the 30th anniversary of independence from Britain boasted about the school system. Her son had just graduated from the University of West Florida in Pensacola and was starting work on his master’s degree. Will he come home after that? we asked. She hopes. But so many young people leave, seeking a faster pace of life.

As we talked about education, a second big difference between communities in our two countries became apparent. We were standing back from a canopy under which a gaggle of dignitaries was seated on metal folding chairs, waiting to speak. One of four preachers on the program was winding down a long prayer, and a half-dozen kids were milling around behind us. They weren’t rude or loud or disturbing anyone. They just weren’t participating. Another reserve officer strolled over.

“Where are your parents? You should be sitting with your parents. Go on down there and sit by them,” he said, pointing to the spectator seats.

They yes-sirred him and did what they were told.

There were many other signs that proclaimed we were vacationing in a community where everyone has a stake. For example, literally everyone speaks to strangers. The lady who braided my daughter’s hair described the chickens that roam free on the island as anyone’s to claim for a Sunday dinner. Her niece said crime occurs only when the men sometimes drink too much on Saturday nights, and fists start swinging. Violence is rare on the Out Islands.

Maybe it’s not the people. Maybe the remoteness of the geography does it, or the fact that there’s really nowhere to run if you’ve done something wrong. Maybe Out Islanders would be just as material and rootless if they lived in our world.

Or maybe not.

Lauren Ritchie can be reached at lritchie@orlandosentinel.com or 352-742-5918.Note: Copyright © 2003, Orlando Sentinel