“Let the alluring aquamarine waters and white sands seduce you. Coral-fringed islands scattered across turquoise seas promise snorkeling among shoals of rainbow-colored fish, fresh conch fritters, and ice-cold rum cocktails under a tropical sun…” 

Yep, you’ve seen the ads. The sterile, impossibly glossy brochures filled with a daydream of families and couples who probably only met each other that day, all frolicking on a faraway beach somewhere. It’s all in the name with Celebrity cruises and Royal Caribbean.

And writer David Foster Wallace couldn’t have summed it up better in his hilarious piece Shipping Out: “The promise is not that you can experience great pleasure, but that you will. They’ll make certain of it. They’ll micromanage every iota of every pleasure-option so that not even the dreadful corrosive action of your adult consciousness and agency and dread can f*ck up your fun”

But here’s the thing: I would rather not be cajoled into believing I’m some kind of “celebrity” on my trip just because I’m within 10 feet of Steve the towel guy at all times, or have unfettered access to the midnight chocolate buffet. I don’t want my travel montage to be accompanied by the melody of “Don’t Stop Believing” on the steel drums, and I most definitely, under no circumstances, want to be forced to pose with a parrot or a pirate.

And if someone tries to rope me into a conga line, I swear I’ll hurl myself over the railing with the kind of theatrical finality reserved for a Shakespearean tragedy. 

And if that’s your version of bliss. No judgment. It’s just not mine. 

What I want is immersion. I want to sit on a cracked sidewalk in a little hamlet nobody’s heard of, surrounded by stray cats, listening to locals argue about where to send me for the best homemade lunch of my entire life. And when I can’t speak your language? I want to be the best damn cross-cultural communicator through exaggerated gestures and interpretive dance. 

So, this week after reading tabs upon tabs of dead Reddit threads on “Bahamas off the beaten path” my interest was naturally spiked when I read a throw-away comment about travelling between some of the islands. “You could try the mail boat, lol” 

Enter my latest hyperfixation: sailing the Bahamas by mail boat.