Earlier this week I told you about finding paradise in the Bahamas. Despite the way that story may make it sound, we’re not your typical “go to the beach & veg out all day” vacationers. We try to look past the shiny brochures and seek out the more cultural experiences.

Afternoon tea & pud in Wexford, Ireland. Southern Harbor in County Cork. The Collinsville Flea Market in North Alabama. Stuff like that.

So when I learned of the celebration of Bahamian Independence that was going to take place while we were in Nassau, I knew it would be something we didn’t want to miss.

Over the next day or two from various waiters, waitresses & jitney drivers, we gathered that the independence celebrations would last from 8pm to midnight on Friday night. Then after that, Junkanoo would begin & last well into the morning. But that, the Junkanoo, is a story for another day.

So after enjoying Love Beach all day, we cleaned up and took naps in preparation for a long night.

All rested up, we boarded a cab at 9 and made our way to the “Fish Fry” we had heard so much about from the locals. The Fish Fry is sort of like all of the Daiquiri places in New Orleans. There are a bunch of venues selling a different version of the same thing.

There weren’t many people around that looked like us, if you know what I mean, but nobody was really staring at us either.

So we picked a place that looked particularly inviting, chose a table & placed our orders. I ordered the broiled snapper. I’m starving, so we also pay $9 for half a dozen conch fritters as an appetizer.

In hindsight, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but when our food arrived, Jackie & I both had fish on our plate. Like, whole fish. Fish that look like they just jumped out of the water into the pan. Eyes, fins, tail…the works.

I’m not as hungry as I thought.

Finally, dinner ended and we went in search of the celebration. We wander around for a while, then ask a police officer which direction we need to go. He points. We walk.

Found it. We jockey for position and find ourselves standing at the edge of a huge field with a stage setup in the middle. 10,000 Bahamians and us. The field is surrounded by spectators and there’s a huge grandstand opposite the stage. At the bottom of the grandstand is a small VIP section, complete with Prime Minister. Cool stuff.

We walk up the hill and noticed another field behind the stands with a bunch of folks selling food. I’m suddenly hungry again, and score another 6 fritters. Total bill this time, $1.

We make it back to our original spot & the celebrations start to get interesting. The Police Marching Band begins warming up in front of us. Soon after, a line of police motorcycles, cruisers & a fire truck make their way onto the field. The spectators cheered. Turns out the government had bought a bunch of new police cars and wanted to show them off.

Glad somebody can be proud of their government’s spending.

The motorcycles, cars & fire truck were then followed by the whole of the Bahamian military, marching in formation onto the field. Very cool stuff. I felt almost like I was inside one of those newsreel videos we used to watch in history class. Only this one didn’t involve swastikas.

Just before midnight, things started getting really interesting. We made our way back up the hill to get a better view, and then all the lights went off. We stood there in darkness for what seemed like forever. About the time I started wondering when my pockets were going to be emptied, an enormous explosion sounded & we were surrounded by startled screams.

Then another explosion. Then 35 more explosions rang out of a massive cannon set up in one corner of the field. One explosion for each of the 37 years of Bahamian independence.

Somewhere between explosion number 10 & deafness, Andy looked at me and nodded towards a figure in the distance. I knew exactly what he meant.

Here we were, 4 Americans watching thousands of Bahamians celebrate an independence that most of them surely remembered. Experiencing actual Bahamian culture, not the touristy facade exhibited during daylight.

This is why we didn’t stay at the Atlantis. This is why we travel the way we do. This is what we’ll remember when we remember the Bahamas. This is real.

Oh, and Andy? He was nodding at an oblivious cruise ship sitting in the shadow of the gigantic fireworks show that followed the final explosion. Thousands of people, presumably intent on “discovering the Bahamas”, sleeping cluelessly on their floating resort. A few hundred yards away physically, but miles away culturally.