Today a diver from Barnacle Busters came to clean the bottom of our boat. Interestingly, by custom or perhaps mandated by the expectations of some of the local clientele, all the contractors that we’ve seen in the marina wear some kind of uniform when they work. Despite the heat, all the guys are wearing T-shirts or in some cases, button-down collared shirts with the logo of their company. Paula could see our diver park and exit his truck in a wet suit. He then donned a very nice red coverall, again with his company’s insignia emblazoned on the chest and talked to us about the boat and the job with clipboard in hand. Such formality! He was very nice and did a wonderful job and was able to inspect our zincs and hull and gave us the good news that everything was in good order. C Ghost looks very spiffy now since her hull has been shorn of her green Bahama beard.
By now the morning downpour was diminishing to a trickle, so we walked into town. We passed over the first bridge we will go under on our trip home, the Porter Bridge (the featured picture was taken from atop this bridge). We then checked out the Old Port Cove Marina in a gated community. We gained entrance via cards given to us at our marina office. Apparently, there is a reciprocity agreement between three closely space marinas and the North Palm Beach Country Club, so we are allowed the use of their pool and other facilities, etc. The condos were numerous and pricey. There is a nice restaurant at Port Cove called the Sandpiper Cove Restaurant so we walked in and made reservations for tomorrow night for when Karen and John (Tommy’s sister and brother-in-law, AKA Johnny-So-Jealous) join us for a much-anticipated dinner. The hostess asked if we were boaters. When we replied in the affirmative, she replied, “Oh good, boaters are always the nicest.” We were glad to hear she thought so.
We have recently had several people who’ve encountered us walking ask us (in the Post Office, etc.) if we are boaters. We think it is the combo of hat, back-pack, construction-worker tans and Crocs. This is pretty gratifying at least to Paula, who has worried at times that we are assumed to be homeless, as we walk along carrying packs and grocery bags some distances.
We visited UPS to send hand-woven thatch palm bags to the girls, and then had a tasty lunch at a family-run Italian Sub shop. It was wonderful! Fresh-baked submarine rolls and New Jersey accents. Paula felt very much at home.
Next, we went to West Marine for a few needed items and finally Doris’ Italian Market and Bakery. What an amazing and good-smelling space! We didn’t buy, but ogled to our heart’s content. It had wonderful cheeses, fruits and vegetables, sausages, meats of every description, calorie-laden pastries and a small café. After the supply-boat dependent tiny groceries of the Exumas, the food and produce seemed almost overwhelming.
We got home just before the next thunderstorm broke, and then rested and played chess. Paula won, but broke the rule one time during the game of “you touch a piece, you must move it”, so her victory is sullied. Oh, well.
Dinner was baked fresh salmon, steamed broccoli and cups of Paula’s chicken soup, lent an Asian flair by the addition of ginger and soy sauce.