If, perchance, you watched our last SV Time Bandit YouTube, you'll have seen us country bumpkins, gawping wide eyed in amazement as we dinghied past marinas in Florida built and run for the exclusive purpose of parking of one's superyacht. So, if like us you wondered what the "billionaire class" did with their playthings, we've found the answer.
They're all parked in the Bahamas, music blaring, the "toys" deployed and roaring around the anchorage. Wealth doesn't necessarily mean you're smart. The super yachts are handily parked adjacent to the equally handy island airstrips, one just a stone's throw from us, kindly financed by Pablo Escobar, or, more accurately, his coke snorting customers. Being less than three hundred miles from Florida, the superyacht owners can take a break from the boardroom, hop in their Gulfstreams and Lear jets and get to the boat in time for Sundowners.

The Bahamas is, like most of the Caribbean cruising grounds we've visited in the last two years, pretty busy compared to what enjoyed ten years ago. I can't imagine what the Hiscocks and Pardeys would make of it, accustomed as they were, back in their day, when they'd be the only boat in the bay and when they were filling the yachting magazines, and my head, with stories of cruising these palm fringed beaches on azure blue seas on their own.

We're in a bay called Big Majors, anchored off Fowl Cay Resort, on the shore, a place we visited about ten years ago, when we were but one of the few yachts in the bay. Today there's over fifty.

During that particular visit, after an hour snorkelling around the reef, dodging the circling sharks, we thought maybe we'd splash out and go for a refreshing cocktail at the fancy resort, possibly even a bag of chips. It was a short ride to the mini-marina where we tied up the dinghy and, still dripping in our dookers and wet T-shirts, and admittedly not really dressed for dinner, we went for a walk round the white coral sand paths among the luxurious bungalows.

We hadn't got far, not that there's really very far you can go, when a woman came running down the path frantically waving her arms and shouting, "You can't be here. You can't be here. You have to leave now."

She wasn't much impressed when we said were only in for a drink, possibly dinner. It didn't cut any ice. She just wanted us off the island, tout de suite and we were duly hustled back to the dock and chased.

"That's was a bit odd." we thought. I mean, for the last few days we'd heard them putting out calls on the VHF saying call and book for a scrumptious dinner, then when you turn up you get treated like lepers. Lepers with Covid. Maybe there was an "A-Lister" staying.

Two days later we were walking around Nassau, mystified as to why the streets were totally deserted. Everywhere we looked, not a soul in sight. Until, at a road junction, we looked up the street and saw large crowds. "That's where everyone is. Wonder what's going on." And so, we went for a look. Getting closer, it seemed like the whole population was turned out, Girl Guides, Boy Scouts, school kids, folk in their Sunday best and elevated, shaded platforms where local dignitaries tried to look elegant in the steaming heat.

"What's all the fuss about?" we asked one of the crowd. "It's Harry." "Harry who?" I said. "Prince Harry, he's coming." It was the Queen's Jubilee year when members of the royal family had been despatched around the globe to wish those in the Commonwealth good fortune. That's who was staying on the island last night.

And so, like Muppets, we and a thousand others stood in the baking sun for the next hour waiting....and waiting...and waiting.

Finally, the motorcade showed up, all blue flashing lights and flags.

The rear door of the limo gets opened by an underling and the Great Man steps out, blinking, into the sunshine. With barely a nod to the crowds he made his way to a lectern, pulled his mum's letter from his pocket, read out the contents, folded it up again, got down from the lectern, back in the car and buggered off. That was it. No glad handing. No smiles. No chatting with the kids.

"What just happened?"

We, along with everyone else were kind of stunned at the brevity and hasty departure.

I don't think he'll have sold many books in Nassau.