Location: Stuart Florida
In the morning we decided to sneak into shore. We haven't called customs yet so we don't know if we're breaking the rules by not abiding by the quarantine but we figured since we are US citizens we can risk it. The problem was there was no place to dingy ashore, the waterway was surrounded by private homes. We eventually rowed up to an empty lot with a dock where a sign said "police property, no trespassing" but to me the sign just as good as read "public property."
We ate some breakfast, got some groceries, ice, and oil for the engine. When we returned to the dingy there was a man in a truck eyeing us suspiciously. He called us over and told us that we weren't allowed to dingy up to this dock and that he is suppose to call the coast guard if people did. We explained that we had been sailing all night and just needed a place to pop on shore quickly. He said again "I'm suppose to call the coast guard." Dad told him were leaving right now and he said AGAIN "I'm suppose to call the coast guard," and added "where are you from." We told him about home in Connecticut. He was from Massachusetts and the New England camaraderie seemed to do the trick and he let us off with a warning. Dad thinks that the strict neighborhood watch program and the inconvenience of no shore to dingy up to speaks to a fear of illegal immigrants coming ashore here. At least it's not militarized but these Florida neighborhood watch programs have a history of taking it to the next level. The sail down to Port Saint Lucie was not easy. It was hard to get reacclimatized with channel markers, bridges, dug channels, and he increased number of vessels about. When we reached the marina in Stuart it was like reaching Mecca. It was the most beautiful marina I had ever seen and it was municipal. They had bikes, a lounge, a gift shop, laundry, bathrooms, wifi, and a patio with a grill. The lounge was the best with a big flat screen that hosted a movie night twice a week, a half kitchen, and a number of couches and desks. Dad and I signed up to stay the week in the mooring field and called customs. Customs told us we had twenty four hours to reach their nearest office (Fort Pierce) and to bring our passports and all aboard. We still didn't know what to expect, maybe a customs officer would then accompany us back to the boat to check it? But no. We went to the customs office and they basically stamped our passports and told us to get out of the line. We heard the Canadians grumbling behind us that it wasn't so easy for them. I was shocked at how simple the process was, after hearing how hard the government has come down on drug smugglers and illegal immigrants crossing the Mexican boarder it seemed that it was really about race and not about drugs or an influx of non citizens. If Dad and I wanted to smuggle some Bahamians over or anything it would've been only too easy.
While in Stuart we met up with friends, picked up our bikes and other gear we left behind, did some shopping, and caught up with our favorite basketball teams watching both them men and women huskies take home the NCAA championship. Stuart was a great town and the marina was just a city block away, we had all the amenities of home, finally. It felt great to have left the Bahamas and be back in the states the main difference between the two was choice. In the Publix in Florida you didn't have to buy just any cheese, you could choose between Gouda, cheddar, feta, Swiss, American, etc. I really took our amount of choice in this country for granted before now. If money doesn't lead to happiness then choice is the next best option, choice = freedom. However, this same agency of choice, like money, is not the cure all to unhappiness. I found myself staring at the immense variety of butter on the shelves. How many kinds of butter do consumers really need and how do I decide which one is for me? Have you ever been to an ice cream shop and wished the only flavors they had were chocolate or vanilla? That is an easy choice, and a quick choice. Having to sift through the garbage of advertising in order to find the product (or in this case the butter) that is right for you can easily lead to stagnation, and time is money after all. Some of the time that stagnation of the decision making process can even lead to skipping the choice all together, the freedom to opt out. Maybe this doesn't happen in the dairy isle, because we all need butter but this happens to me almost every other time that I'm in the junk food isle. It takes me so long to decide, Lays or Doritos that eventually my conscious kicks in and says 'you don't need any of this.' As I walked through the supermarket in Stuart that's all I had on my mind "I don't need any of this." The amount of choice is sickening compared to other places, like the Bahamas. If there is a happy medium between the freedom of choice and a moderation of choices it doesn't seem like any supermarket in any country has figured it out.
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