What is it about a small body of land surrounded by the bluest of ocean that seems to change the nature of time? We tend to live our days and nights in chopped up, numbered increments, counting down to nothing in particular. But spend a few days on an island, and the concept of hours, minutes and seconds begins to feel vague and elusive, like some long ago memory we’d rather forget.
I buried my useless watch deep in my suitcase recently during a trip to Eleuthera, Bahamas, a 110-mile long, 2-mile wide strip of lush forests, ancient black rock and pristine white and pink beaches. I’m not sure if I would have experienced the same sense of time on a trip to thriving Nassau or Grand Bahama, but Eleuthera, with a population of less than 10,000 and a lack of large resorts, allows travelers to easily melt into days governed only by sunrises and sunsets.
I was traveling with family to visit my cousin, Al Curry, and his wife, Janice. Both are Houstonians who, on vacation five years ago, fell in love with Eleuthera and later bought a house to spend their semi-retirement balancing months of Houston bustle with months of island life. Semi-retirement didn’t take for very long though, and a year ago Al bought a diving and sport-fishing business, Ocean Fox Cotton Bay, and now spends his days showing tourists some of the most beautiful spots of Eleuthera — those places under the waves.
Within a few hours of landing at Governor’s Harbour Airport, I realized that though it’s metaphorically easy to get lost in Eleuthera, it’s quite difficult to get actually lost on Eleuthera. The only major thoroughfare, the two-lane paved Queen’s Highway, runs the length of the whole island. Take pretty much any road, paved or gravel, off the Queen’s Highway and sooner or later drivers will hit water. Chances are, they’ll also find a beautiful, deserted beach they can claim as their own for the day.
