Monthly Archives: April 2018

Stingray City

We came to the Cayman Islands to haul the boat out for an insurance survey, and also for the supposedly-stunning underwater landscape. We got the survey sorted out the first week. and broke out of the marina to experience the rest of the island. One thing many people strongly recommended we check out was Stingray City.

We did a little research, read through sickeningly-cheesy articles in tourist brochures, and talked to other people. Apparently, it all started as a bunch of fishermen in the early 1900s, who always cleaned their catch in the same place every day. Before long, the local stingrays caught on, and began showing up for the daily banquet. Not long after that, the local tourist industry caught on, and began running tours to see the stingrays.

Sting Ray

There are two sites: The Sandbar, which is shallow enough for non-swimmers, and the actual Stingray City, which lies in 12 feet of water and is hailed as the #1 shallow diving spot in the world. Both are frequented by dozens of “gentle giants” in search of an easy meal. Dive masters and tour guides throw squid in the water, and when the “lovable creatures” show up, the tourists throw themselves in to “cozy up”. Supposedly, stingrays only sting when under attack, but I would think that getting lifted out of the water, kissed, or ridden would register as attack. But apparently, not enough people have been stung to ruin the fun for everyone else.

From our anchorage, we couldn’t see the famous place, but we could see the mass of boats anchored on top of it (and almost, it seemed, each other). It looked awfully crowded, and we generally avoid large crowds. But Grandma Mary flew down for a week, and we were going to be sailing around anyway, so we figured, what the heck, and went. It was early evening when we anchored nearby, and all but a couple speedboats were left. We swam over.

Sarah Swimming with Stingray

There certainly were heaps of stingrays, some of the largest I’ve ever seen. The stingrays would get close enough to touch, but didn’t hang around after they realized you didn’t have any squid. It was still pretty cool, but not “magical” and we were not “mesmerized by the antics and charm of these fascinating creatures” as advertised. It seemed like just a bunch of ordinary stingrays. Of course, I doubt that the average tourist has ever seen a stingray, so the chance to touch a wild one must seem exotic and “unforgettable.” The stingrays themselves were a diverse lot. One of them, a particularly large black one, had no tail. Another had a gash that split its face almost to its eye. Most of them were buried in sand, trying to sleep.

The sun went down, and I swam home. I enjoyed it about as much as I normally enjoy an early-evening swim. It seemed to me that the whole stingray thing was hugely overrated.

Stingray City at Sunset

The next day, we returned. It was quite a beautiful day, with cloudless skies. The Sandbar was thickly-coated with tour boats and their camera-wielding cargo. Mom, Rachel, and Mary swam over to look at the stingrays, and the rest of us (except for Aaron, who stayed on the boat) swam over to the reef. The coral, for the most part, was bleached, but there were quite a lot of fish. We saw a number of ridiculously large snapper, which were so docile, I could easily have shot one with a short pole spear (which is totally illegal, of course). We returned to the boat. Mom, Mary, and Rachel were still off playing with the stingrays, so we just swam around the boat, reluctant to mix with the throngs of tourists. I absently began stacking rocks and lumps of dead coral into a big heap. Sam and Sarah joined in the fun, and the heap soon turned into a cairn, and the cairn into a tower. We decided it was done when it was as tall as I was.

Eli's Underwater Cairn

Mom, Rachel, and Mary had since come back, with lots of photos. We picked up the hook, and left the zoo behind us. So much for Stingray City, the island’s premier underwater attraction.

Mary, Adventure Grandma

Adventure Grandma!

San Andres and Providencia, Part II

While San Andres receives a million visitors each year (comparable to Costa Rica), very few of these visitors make it to Providencia, which has only a small airstrip and a little ferry, which runs the fifty miles between the two islands twice each day—there and back—in nice weather. Instead of multi-story hotel complexes, it has only a few bed-and-breakfast type places, privately-owned rentals, and small hostels. It is quiet and peaceful, and the residents like it that way. While there is some Colombian influence, the island remains much closer to its English roots—the locals still refer to it as Divine Old Providence, and most speak English. The contrast between the two islands couldn’t be more dramatic.

Santa Isabel, Providencia

We knew we would love it the moment we dropped the hook. No jet-skis, no traffic noise, no boats zooming around, a nearly-empty anchorage—just a beautiful, green, hilly island fringed with white beaches, turquoise water, and coral reefs. It reminded us of a volcanic island of the eastern Caribbean minus the cruise ship terminal. We called Mr. Bush, the agent for checking in with customs and immigration, who told us to come in the morning, poured ourselves a drink and settled in for one of the prettiest sunsets we’ve seen in a long time.

Sunset, Providenca

Two nights later, as the full moon rose, a rainstorm passed through the anchorage, causing a quick scuffle on deck as everyone battened down the hatches. The storm over almost as quickly as it had begun, we witnessed a phenomenon I have never before seen: a giant moon-bow—the colors of a night-rainbow clearly visible in the bright moonlight.  No camera could have properly captured that image, but I will never forget it.

Everything in Povidencia was like that—magical. We snorkeled in the lagoon near Crab Cay on a cloudless day in the clearest water I have ever seen. We drove around the island (it only takes 45 minutes!) and found Divino Niño, a beach restaurant with great food and atmosphere, that was recommended by friends. We walked around Santa Catalina on a nature trail and jumped off of a rocky overhang dubbed “Morgan’s Head” into the ocean (it looks a lot like a head, and is named for the pirate Henry Morgan, who is said to have buried treasure in this popular pirates’ lair.) We climbed the Peak, the tallest point on the island, and had a view of the famous “sea of seven colors.” And we made friends, which instantly transforms any place one visits.

Morgan's Head, Old Providence

Three boats came in while we were anchored in Providencia—Aqua Lobo of New Zealand with twin ten-year-olds aboard (insta-friends for our younger crew), a young couple on Soul Rebel (Aaron discovered a fellow guitar-player, Joe, with similar musical interests), and Sea Horse, with a crew of three, one a teenage girl who plays the ukulele! We were at a crossroads—they were heading south to Panama, and we were heading north towards Cayman, but for a brief span of time, they were the best friends you can imagine. We went out for fried chicken together, toured the island on gas-powered mules, swam, raced sailing dinghies, watched green-flash sunsets over drinks and laughter, shared pie on my new favorite holiday, Pi Day (3/14, of course!), and generally had a wonderful time in a beautiful place.

Hike to the Peak

One afternoon, we were relaxing in the cockpit, and a kayak with four local young people came by. They had been out fishing and stopped by because they liked our boat. They seemed friendly, and it was a hot afternoon, so I invited them into the cockpit for some shade and a cool drink.  They introduced themselves (Luis, Tachi, Dashaina, and Jose), I introduced the kids, and within moments, we discovered a common interest in music, and I lent Luis a guitar and he began to play reggae and calypso and sing. I pulled out a ukulele and an impromptu jam session began. They stayed all afternoon, and promised to visit again. We got to hang out a few more times, and a friendship began, which culminated a couple weeks later in a spearfishing trip and an evening beach-barbecue-extravaganza with the other boat-friends joining us for amazing fire-roasted fish and pot-luck side dishes.

Little Luis with Uke

Little Luis playing the ukulele

Old Fort Beach Fire

We even got to go see Luis practice with his band before they left for mainland Colombia for a competition. I dinghied over to the shore where Luis and Tachi picked me and the three boys up. We piled onto the back of two motorbikes and zoomed to the community center where the other band members were gathering for the last practice before their departure the next morning. I loved every minute—but especially enjoyed seeing the horse jaw-bone used as a percussion instrument!  My favorite song is called “Coconut Woman,” about a woman who sells coconuts every day, and lists all the benefits of that amazing nut. (Luis began to teach me how to play it before we sailed away.)

Luis and the band

As is always the case with a place one grows to love, it was hard to leave. With an insurance deadline looming (we needed a survey by April 1), we felt pressure to head north as soon as a weather window appeared. We sadly went to check out with Mr. Bush and spend our last Colombian pesos. The next morning, after a terrible night’s sleep and a very strange dream, we knew we should pull a “Take Two.” We are famous for these do-overs, not because we are indecisive, but because we prefer to travel at the right time and recognize when something doesn’t feel right. We went back to see Mr. Bush and he straightened everything out. We were lucky enough to spend another week in lovely Providencia and have a good-bye pizza dinner with the other boat-friends.

On our last day, I paddled over in my kayak to see Tachi and to give little Luis a hug good-bye. We sat on the beach under a shade tree laughing, talking, and watching 4-year-old Luis and the other the kids play with my kayak in the shallow water. It is hard to describe the kindship I felt—it didn’t matter that I live on a boat and she on an island, or that I am 15 years older than she is, or that our skin isn’t the same color, or that we speak differently—the mysterious bond that connected us was strong enough to surpass these differences, and to make my imminent departure seem insignificant. Somewhere on an island in the middle of a turquoise sea, I have a sister. Like a rainbow in the moonlight, that is a rare and beautiful thing.

I love Providence