A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back

Vegas in the Tropics

Sam and Alex Fortescue

Sat 14 May 2011 18:55

Vegas in the Tropics, they call it.

But I haven't been to Vegas, so to me the Atlantis Resort on Paradise Island more closely resembles north Kent. Not the sort of Kent that many readers will know: green, pastoral, rolling hills etc; no, the shopping centre end of the county - flyovers, car parks and malls.

I'm perhaps too harsh, as the whole place has been done up with concrete whelks, conches, nautilus and marlin to give it a 'lost world' feel, and there are parts - like the marina - that are exceedingly swanky. And as the guide insisted that no holiday in Nassau would be complete without a trip to Atlantis, we pottered off this morning in Jemima the dinghy, carrying beach garb and smart clothes and trying not to look too much like Grotty Yotties. As regular readers will know, Jemima is a solid, workmanlike tender, but not the sort of vessel that inspires lackeys to drop what they're doing and stand to attention as we approach. It was thus with some trepidation that we moored on the dinghy dock at the Atlantis Marina, where a berth for the night would set us back some $250.

As I clambered out in bathers, sunglasses and my Cuban hat, I mentally straightened myself and gave a stern look about, in case of watchers. We remained unobserved, and soon blended into the crowds thronging the shops alongside the marina. So far, so good. All the usual culprits were represented, from Starbucks to the omnipresent Colombian Emeralds discount jewellery chain. And normally, this would not be in any way exciting, except that we still feel slightly in need of an outlet for our pent-up consumerism after three weeks of locking horns with Cuba's state-run enterprise. But a bigger shock was in store.

Ducking under a large concrete nautilus, spouting water and passing through an archway supported by gigantic conches, we found ourselves in the main Atlantis complex. Spread out in front of us lay a huge gaming floor dotted with every imaginable slot machine and tables for roulette, blackjack, craps and many others. A subdued, embarassed sunlight made its way into the huge hall and the air tinkled with a thousand electronic clicks and jingles from the machines. There was the heavy smell of last night's party, still thick with old smoke and spilled booze.

We'd been planning to head to the beach, then return here for a token spin of the dice before going out for supper. but one long look at the few gamblers was enough to put us off completely. A large overweight woman in a gigantic t-shirt wearing a sun visor slouched sideways on a chair, one hand jabbing at buttons on a slot machine, while the other shovelled quarters in. At a table, an intense looking trio of latino characters wordlessly played blackjack with an edgy-looking croupier. And a large sign on the wall informed punters that the casino was off-limits if they were Bahamian, resident in the Bahamas or married to someone that was. It wasn't seedy, it was magnificent, but it was completely without soul or apparent pleasure, so we fled towards the beach.

Our first foray led us to a grockley strand known unbecomingly as Cabbage Beach. It wasn't the sort of place we wanted to sit for the afternoon. We retraced our steps to the dinghy and buzzed further along the shore to moor up at a yoga reatreat, from whose bowels emanated a slightly stoned chanting. Paradise Island is thinner here, and it is easy to stride across to the Atlantic side, where a glorious, empty beach of white sand was being battered by energetic rollers. This was more like it.

Tomorrow we'll be back to our usual haunt, a Texaco petrol station with free wireless. As you read this, picture us hunched over the laptop behind a display of Castrol engine oil next to a shelf full of Dairy Milk and Fox's glacier mints. We're mulling the idea of a blow-out in the evening at the Poop Deck, a resto with a good view of the harbour and excellent, still wriggling snapper on ice. All washed down with the local beer, the Aubreyesque Kalik.

View from the top of the mast