Dinner at Eddie’s

We arrived in George Town at the Exuma Docking Services in Kidd Cove (where Captain Kidd, it’s said, never was) about 5 p.m.

After an exemplary docking—springs, lines, and bumpers set with military precision—I headed for the showers. I wore my flipflops. WW had warned me footwear would be a good idea in many of the showers we would meet. This was my first experience of such a shower. I got the key from the office and went round the back to an unmarked but locked door. The key fit the lock. Inside there were three rooms, each featuring a toilet, sink, and shower. Selection of which to use seems to depend on current need. One has toilet paper. One has two shower settings: dribble or scald. One has a functional shower, but no light. The shower tiles in all are chipped or gone and sport a lively growth of…growing things. I had a scalding shower. It was wonderful.

The Rough Guide told us Eddie’s would be a good place to dine, so we headed over there after our obligatory SRP. George Town is wrapped around a small body of salt water called Victoria Pond, reachable by dinghy through a narrow channel. From Exuma Docking Services, we turned left and followed the road around the pond until we reached Eddie’s. A very friendly, very drunk man came to slur useful information at us as we entered the little blue-and-white building. An attractive woman behind the bar took drinks orders. Frisha and I retreated to the outside, carrying chairs to make a table for four. Frisha had dressed up…nice dress, fancy necklace, pimp shoes…this wasn’t that kind of place. In fact, I don’t think George Town has that kind of place anywhere. WW and Whit joined us outside with drinks and we gave our dinner orders. The increasingly incoherent but friendly local drunk came by again. WW agreed with everything he said and he wandered off. He was eventually adopted by another cruising pair. Turns out he was looking for someone to buy him dinner.

Dinner was very good. Three of us had turtle, one had conch. Turtle was disappointing in that you might as well be eating very tender, rather bland chicken. Tasting the conch after the turtle was a flavour treat.

Our gentlemen told us they’d been advised to go to the “fish fry, down the road, outside town”. After dinner, we asked the waiter/bartender how far it was and she reckoned it was well over a mile. Did she know someone who could take us?

“Kevin!” she barked.

A tall young man appeared instantly and agreed to drive us. His price? A drink when we got there. We got into his rather spiffy SUV and headed off. She was right, it was well over a mile.