A noon appointment with a Bahamas beach
Friday, February 11, 2011; 1:37 PM
Beep, beep, beep.
The cab honks while Washington sleeps.
The plane takes off into the dawning sky, flying southbound like a giant migratory bird. I close my eyes to the frozen tundra below.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
The flight attendant unlatches the exit door and attaches the staircase. The passengers barrel out; I'm at the head of the line.
Move, move, move.
At immigration, visitors form two rows, fidgety as they wait to enter Grand Bahama Island and start their vacations. I'm next in my line, after a young woman in a flouncy skirt who's talking too much, taking too much time. A third counter opens; I break for it.
Go, go, go.
Racing to the rental car desk, I rush past a bathroom and a snack shop. I turn back for one of them.
Drive, drive, drive.
Cruising down unfamiliar roads, I keep to the left side, as the sticker on the windshield reminds Yankee drivers to do. I don't see a sign for the speed limit. Do I pass on the left or the right?