Rock Sound, March 20, 2008

Ben and the sapodilla



The cotton growing outside of Lita's at the Ocean Hole



Guy who thinks that's Tupac on his shirt



Power meter at Lita's house



Lovely Lita, lovely Ruth

ROCK SOUND, THURSDAY. MARCH 20, 2008 by Mister Scritch Scratch
I guess that’s what the kids are into these days, the big “rock sound.” And the heavy heavy beat, and jungle rhythms that we all know drive them absolutely mad. Well, Ruth and I are here in this harbor called Rock Sound, or Rockton, or Rockville, hanging out with the Rocksons and the Rocksmiths. It sounds like the Flinstones, which, for some reason, never occurred to me was about a bunch of cavepeeps till I was way older than I’d like to admit. Yet, I admit it here, without disclosing the number, maybe making the case worse for myself. Funny how the conscience works. And don’t blame me, it’s really early.
It’s 7:43, the crack of damn, (that’s mine, I just made it up, but you can use it), and the roosters are a-crowing. For real. This place is lousy with roosters, actually. It really is. You’d be surprised. They sometimes crow all night. And yet not a hen in the bunch, as far as we can find. And they walk around loose, apparently finding their way home when the streetlights go on, or whatever a rooster curfew might be, but the people aren’t worried aboiut their wherabouts is the point I’m trying to make. They just carouse around all night, sometimes in roving gangs, which, I think, if geese are a gaggle, might then be a gangle (murder of crows, gaggle of geese, herd of cows, nipsy russel of voles, school of dolphin, etc.) menacing the oldsters and the chickies. It’s not like the old days, mate, when the old ones could walk about with some security. No, for real though. There really are no hens. It is a veritable cock farm, in the purest sense of the word, and yet, in two senses of the word at the same time, if you can get your brain around that.
Hey, I already told you it was 7:43 a.m., and don’t blame me for what’s said here. I’m not only not responsible for it, I won’t even remember this when I actually wake up, and I’ll have to look up my last blog to see what I’ve told you. Whether I’ve let on as to where the bodies are hid, the treasure buried, etc.
I mean, no treasure, bodies, just kidding, HA HA.
Where was I? Okay. Ruth and left the north of Little San Salvador, taking advantage of the slowness of the cold front that was imminent, and had a couple of false landings where the cruise ships land and we, apparently, do not.
We stopped in a marina for water, and met this cat Ben, who was really cool, and who then proceeded to dtive us all over hell running errands. Including to his secret fish pond, where he stocked it with fish, and is cultivating a huge school of 300-400 grouper, and triggerfish, and some others we never heard of, or I can’t remember at this hour, in any event.
Moving on and whatnot, we pressed for Rock Sound, and anchored in a creek on the way, and met a couple really cool young guys who stopped by the boat to ask if we had any bait, and we said no, but who nonethelesser stopped by again a bit later to make sure we were okay, at which point we gave them some hooks, bought some fish, and then passed on some snacks. Our precious oreos, you can tell we must have liked them a lot. Imagine that happening in the states- young black guys coming by in their car with big smiles, laughing, joking, and making sure you were okay, on their way out fishing. Again, living proof to the racists that it’s culture, not race, that they’re not liking at times, and if it is that, how important it is not to judge a book by it’s cover, but by the content of its character. Sorry, I’m a preachy bastard, but it’s tough not to reflect perceived truth as you see it.
I have a new book coming out by the way, in the fall. Look for it at your local bookseller. It’s called “I Know What’s Best for Everybody.”
We understood there was a festival in Rock Sound this week, and with their assurances we would see them all there, we proceeded to R.S. The journey was way harder than anticipated, with 20-25 mile winds on the nose the whole time, the dreaded coldfront having arrived in full glory. Even the though it was only 8 feet deep, I spose, on average, the waves were growing across the 12 miles of fetch that was our path, and so, up to the last 2 miles or so of our journey, they were 4 feet tall at least. Now, that in itself, is not the hardest part though. It’s the steepness. These waves were very close together, and thus, very steep. If we went slow, the engine was constantly out of the water, but if we went fast, we were slamming into them super hard, still barely making headway, but making a lot of water all around us. Finally, we just gave up, put the top down, battened down everything, put on our less-than-dry raingear, and went full on into them, eventually arriving, with the boat quite damp, inside and out.
Right away, Dennis and Doris spotted us, and stopped by, and eventually others that know our little sloop.
Exploring here, we found that the have a huge hardware, a bank, restaurants (one called Sammy’s was cheap, and really good, with $3 glasses of table wine, and $12 ribs-wow!), and even (gasp!) pizza. Sure, it was $18, and you have to order it a day in advance, but the lady that made it drove it right to the beach once she found out we’d have to walk a mile or so to pick it up. Really nice.
The event here started last night, and will go through the weekend, and is supposed to be some kind of Junkanoo celebration, which is good, since the cold front has stalled, and now has us pinned down here for the next several days. That’s okay though, because now we can hang out with Dennis and Doris, and Ben, and the young guys, Remy, DJ, and (I forgot his name), Marlene, Ben, Wilton, Alberto, Rolvin, plus Glen, Wilton, Leonardo, (I forget the next son’s name) and the old guy that has been nicknamed “Peace,” “Mack,” or “Taliban,” because he’s old and looks like Osama bin Laden. We about fell down when he told us that one. It’s really cool here that pretty much anyone you meet here wants to introduce themselves, wants to know your name, will make an effort to remember it, and you could just hang out with after you have an introduction. There’s no overstepping bounds or making things weird to invite a stranger (or new acquaintance, rather) to hang out somewhere, or for that matter, to ask something of them, even though the guys asking for fish hooks were the first ones who actually asked something of us. Really, really easy to make friends here. Fully half the people you meet are cool enough to hang out with, too. Everybody just has a great attitude. Do your thing, but help everybody out as you go. I love it.
Well, battery power remains the issue of the day, and Ruth and I just watched two movies last night, eating it all up, since we found a store that sells burned DVDs 4 for $20, since the Bahamas doesn’t believe in copyright laws (true story). We spent $60, and bought all kinds of silliness. “the Departed” was about the only really good movie we got, but we got a couple of Clint Eatwood movies, including “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” which was fun. People here, considering they are incredibly cool and peaceful, seem to buy the most gruesome, plotless, sadistic horror flicks the U.S. is making, including “Saw,” “Grudge,” “Gag,” etc. Just the goriest of gory, with torture/abduction movies seeming take up the bulk of the horror section, which is about a third of their stuff. Next to that is Christian, including “Little Anna’s Conch Salad Christmas” (it was tempting, but we passed), and martial arts which takes a quarter, drama another quarter, and then porn, with some Sanford and Son being the only comedy. Go figure. These people are nuts. Of course that same store is also the go-to place for wood carvings, basketball outfits, and Cuban cigars ($4 for the runts). These people are totally nuts by our standards, and largely, very cool. Especially the men. The women often seem to me to be much colder, or formal, but I’ll ask Sparkle when she wakens from her golden slumbers if she would concur.
Speak of the devil, she stirs.
Adios, hamburguesas.

P.S. We got one movie called “Shark Attack in the Mediterranean,” that I think is actually one of the funniest movies I’ve ever seen, if not the funniest. It’s so bad, it makes “Plan 9 From Outer Space,” any other Ed Wood Movie, or Mystery Science Theater movie, or even the former titleholder “Suburbia,” look like sheer genius. I cannot WAIT to have a viewing party with anyone who is willing. It is amazing.