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Of beaches, boats and blarney in the Bahamas


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We tie up at the Staniel Cay Yacht Club dock and walk to the bar to get lunch. Tim is first in the door, scattering people who see his scowl and close-cropped hair as a sign of trouble when he’s actually just a sweet kid squinting to make out the fuzzy shapes and colors in front of him. Next is Frank, who’s taken to wearing his lycra dive suit as extra full-body protection against jellyfish, with a bright green bathing suit over top for modesty. He sees no need to take it off on land, and with his ghostly pale face and skin-tight outfit, looks like a mime on vacation. I follow, my swollen face peppered with dozens of stings making me look like a Peanuts character with impetigo. Look out ladies, the Friel boys have hit town. My dad? He saunters in as Mr. Normal. Usually by this time on a trip he’d already have starred in a series of embarrassing moments — perhaps spinning a fish tale that would make Moby Dick blanch, displaying table manners that would get him banished from a prison cafeteria, or jumping atop a barstool to reenact his paratrooper days. But up to this point he’s been unerringly charming and eerily erudite. It’s making me very nervous. 

Bob Friel

Back on Sampson Cay on our last day, Tim and I walk down to the dock to see the sharks one final time, then head for Maine House to pack up. I find my dad sitting on the couch looking very proud of himself — often a sign of trouble. “I liked your laundry trick,” he says, referring to how I’d rinsed out the dressiest fishing shirt I have and left it hanging below a ceiling fan to dry in time for the trip back. “So I did some washing myself.” I walk into the bedroom to find several clothes hangers twisted together and strung with the sweat socks he’d been wearing all week — kind of a nightmarish mobile — slowly rotating beneath the fan and oozing a grayish liquid onto my light blue shirt.   

At first it feels like my head is swelling all over again, but then I realize that it’s OK, just my dad being my dad, setting the world back in balance and reminding me how special family travel is. So special, that it shouldn’t be overdone. Once a year — maybe once every two years — is fine.

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Caribbean Travel & Life is the magazine for anyone in search of the perfect tropical getaway. Each issue presents expert insider’s advice on where to find the Caribbean’s best beaches and attractions, its finest resorts and spas, liveliest beach bars and activities, and its friendliest people.



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