Providenciales
Providenciales (“Provo”) is the main
island in the Caicos group which, with
the Turks Islands to the southeast,
comprise the Turks and Caicos. T&C is
a British Territory, part of the British
West Indies. The Caicos Bank and
Turks Bank are similar to, but smaller
than, the Bahamas Banks: large areas
of shallow water surrounded by low-
lying islands and dotted with coral
heads, reefs and shoals.
Provo describes a long, shallow arc
running west to east, opening to the
Atlantic Ocean on its north shore. The
entire length of the ocean side is
protected by a reef that, in places, is
as much as a mile offshore, forming a
Providenciales (“Provo”) is the main
island in the Caicos group which, with
the Turks Islands to the southeast,
comprise the Turks and Caicos. T&C is
a British Territory, part of the British
West Indies. The Caicos Bank and
Turks Bank are similar to, but smaller
than, the Bahamas Banks: large areas
of shallow water surrounded by low-
lying islands and dotted with coral
heads, reefs and shoals.
Provo describes a long, shallow arc
running west to east, opening to the
Atlantic Ocean on its north shore. The
entire length of the ocean side is
protected by a reef that, in places, is
as much as a mile offshore, forming a
Providenciales, Turks and Caicos
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
protected lagoon, with surfers riding the offshore waves breaking over the reef. Seller’s Cut, our entrance to the
lagoon and the channel to the Turtle Cove Marina, was blasted through the reef back in the days when such
environmental havoc was sanctioned in the name of development. It was unnerving, to say the least, sailing through
this narrow cut, the two buoys marking the entrance barely visible through the surf breaking within yards on either
side of us. Once through the cut, we were able to pick out the buoys marking the channel to Turtle Cove, which
twisted and turned through the lagoon to avoid shallows and coral. The final approach was up a narrow but deep
creek into the protected cove, where we were happy to tie up after three long says of sailing down from the
Bahamas.
Provo is in the midst of a development boom. With its official currency being the U.S. dollar, and direct daily flights
from Atlanta and Miami, it’s the newest “in” vacation investment hotspot for east coast gringos. Vacation houses,
resorts and timeshares are springing up all over, so much so that our cruising guide, published only a few years
ago, sent us to deserted beaches that were deserted no longer. There is so much construction going on that the
local labor market can’t support it, requiring workers to be imported from Haiti and the Dominican Republic.
After spending the last 6 weeks island hopping through the Bahamas, we suffered a bit of culture shock. This was
our first stop since leaving Nassau where “civilian” (i.e., non-boat) tourists abounded. We must admit to harboring a
vague sense of superiority; as Dianne put it, “It feels like we deserve to be here. We worked to get here, these
tourists just fly in for the week.”
That didn’t stop us, though, from renting a car and engaging in a day of good old-fashioned tourist shopping, hitting
the t-shirt shops, duty-free stores, art galleries and gew-gaw purveyors on the eastern, developing end of the
island. To atone, we also spent a day on the western, local’s end of the island. We stopped into Kishko’s Music
Man, an Indian-owned department store sprawling through three or four adjacent, pastel-colored buildings and
selling everything from furniture to wigs to electric guitars, all jumbled together in little apparent order. We were able
to buy a scientific calculator for Jay, replacing the one stolen from his luggage when it was “inspected” on the flight
to Nassau back in January, to enable him to pick back up with his Geometry studies … sines and cosines and
tangents and all that. We stopped for lunch into a Haitian-run lunch shack, right on the beach, where we feasted on
barbecued ribs and grits made with conch, chicken and ox-tail. We snorkeled the reefs, and saw our first sea turtle
close up.
The Provo IGA Supermarket puts our Von’s back in Coronado to shame. After our last provisioning visit to the Last
Chance grocery in Rum Cay, where their entire stock of fresh fruits and vegetables consisted of 2 apples worthy of
purchase, the expansive produce section at the IGA made our eyes widen and mouths water. Just what we needed
to provision for the long sail from Provo to the Caribbean.
As in the Bahamas, driving here is on the left side, and the roads (such as they are) are dotted with roundabouts
and potholes. The Mitsubishi we rented was right-hand drive, despite which Steve did remarkably well, except that
every time he went to signal a turn he turned on the windshield wipers instead, always with the same reaction:
“#@&*!” From the condition of our car when we picked it, it was obvious that previous renters had had more trouble
than we did with the whole driving-on-the-wrong-side experience. When we picked up the car, rather than trying to
chronicle the existing dents and dings to assure we’d return it in the same condition in which we’d received it (and,
undoubtedly, to try to charge us for any new bodywork we inflicted), the rent-a-car folks settled for the much more
practical and colorful approach of plastering Budget bumper stickers over the more egregious craters and taking a
live-and-let-live approach to the cosmetic discrepancies.
We spent three days in Provo. On March 9, Dianne, Jay and Maddy flew to Puerto Rico, via Miami, to spend a week
there while Steve and a small crew of friends from St. Augustine sailed directly from Provo to the Virgin Islands,
bypassing the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico. Steve picked up his crew from Provo International Airport that
same evening. Their flight arrived on time, but their luggage hadn’t made the connection in Miami. The American
Airlines agent was of limited help: “The next flight arrives tomorrow at about 11:00 am, come back then, maybe your
bags will be on it, I don’t know, maybe not.” Steve then learned that the parking lot at Provo International Airport
closes up tight at 7:30 pm, with thick chains across the entrance, exit and any breaks in the thick surrounding
hedges and concrete barriers that could have otherwise provided an escape route without too severely damaging
the car. Luckily, we found a janitor who knew the parking lot boss and who was nice enough to call him at home,
summoning him back to the airport to collect our $2 parking toll and let us out.
So, the next day, rather than getting an early start on our voyage, we returned to the airport at 11:00, where we
found that the standard procedure for retrieving lost bags was to wait until all of the passengers on the arriving
flights (two flights landed at the same time) had collected their luggage and cleared in through Customs and
Immigration; at which point we would be let into the baggage claim area to search. So, we went off for lunch,
returned in two hours, and got our bags. Nobody checked our claim tickets.
We left Turtle Cove at 4:00 pm that same afternoon.
lagoon and the channel to the Turtle Cove Marina, was blasted through the reef back in the days when such
environmental havoc was sanctioned in the name of development. It was unnerving, to say the least, sailing through
this narrow cut, the two buoys marking the entrance barely visible through the surf breaking within yards on either
side of us. Once through the cut, we were able to pick out the buoys marking the channel to Turtle Cove, which
twisted and turned through the lagoon to avoid shallows and coral. The final approach was up a narrow but deep
creek into the protected cove, where we were happy to tie up after three long says of sailing down from the
Bahamas.
Provo is in the midst of a development boom. With its official currency being the U.S. dollar, and direct daily flights
from Atlanta and Miami, it’s the newest “in” vacation investment hotspot for east coast gringos. Vacation houses,
resorts and timeshares are springing up all over, so much so that our cruising guide, published only a few years
ago, sent us to deserted beaches that were deserted no longer. There is so much construction going on that the
local labor market can’t support it, requiring workers to be imported from Haiti and the Dominican Republic.
After spending the last 6 weeks island hopping through the Bahamas, we suffered a bit of culture shock. This was
our first stop since leaving Nassau where “civilian” (i.e., non-boat) tourists abounded. We must admit to harboring a
vague sense of superiority; as Dianne put it, “It feels like we deserve to be here. We worked to get here, these
tourists just fly in for the week.”
That didn’t stop us, though, from renting a car and engaging in a day of good old-fashioned tourist shopping, hitting
the t-shirt shops, duty-free stores, art galleries and gew-gaw purveyors on the eastern, developing end of the
island. To atone, we also spent a day on the western, local’s end of the island. We stopped into Kishko’s Music
Man, an Indian-owned department store sprawling through three or four adjacent, pastel-colored buildings and
selling everything from furniture to wigs to electric guitars, all jumbled together in little apparent order. We were able
to buy a scientific calculator for Jay, replacing the one stolen from his luggage when it was “inspected” on the flight
to Nassau back in January, to enable him to pick back up with his Geometry studies … sines and cosines and
tangents and all that. We stopped for lunch into a Haitian-run lunch shack, right on the beach, where we feasted on
barbecued ribs and grits made with conch, chicken and ox-tail. We snorkeled the reefs, and saw our first sea turtle
close up.
The Provo IGA Supermarket puts our Von’s back in Coronado to shame. After our last provisioning visit to the Last
Chance grocery in Rum Cay, where their entire stock of fresh fruits and vegetables consisted of 2 apples worthy of
purchase, the expansive produce section at the IGA made our eyes widen and mouths water. Just what we needed
to provision for the long sail from Provo to the Caribbean.
As in the Bahamas, driving here is on the left side, and the roads (such as they are) are dotted with roundabouts
and potholes. The Mitsubishi we rented was right-hand drive, despite which Steve did remarkably well, except that
every time he went to signal a turn he turned on the windshield wipers instead, always with the same reaction:
“#@&*!” From the condition of our car when we picked it, it was obvious that previous renters had had more trouble
than we did with the whole driving-on-the-wrong-side experience. When we picked up the car, rather than trying to
chronicle the existing dents and dings to assure we’d return it in the same condition in which we’d received it (and,
undoubtedly, to try to charge us for any new bodywork we inflicted), the rent-a-car folks settled for the much more
practical and colorful approach of plastering Budget bumper stickers over the more egregious craters and taking a
live-and-let-live approach to the cosmetic discrepancies.
We spent three days in Provo. On March 9, Dianne, Jay and Maddy flew to Puerto Rico, via Miami, to spend a week
there while Steve and a small crew of friends from St. Augustine sailed directly from Provo to the Virgin Islands,
bypassing the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico. Steve picked up his crew from Provo International Airport that
same evening. Their flight arrived on time, but their luggage hadn’t made the connection in Miami. The American
Airlines agent was of limited help: “The next flight arrives tomorrow at about 11:00 am, come back then, maybe your
bags will be on it, I don’t know, maybe not.” Steve then learned that the parking lot at Provo International Airport
closes up tight at 7:30 pm, with thick chains across the entrance, exit and any breaks in the thick surrounding
hedges and concrete barriers that could have otherwise provided an escape route without too severely damaging
the car. Luckily, we found a janitor who knew the parking lot boss and who was nice enough to call him at home,
summoning him back to the airport to collect our $2 parking toll and let us out.
So, the next day, rather than getting an early start on our voyage, we returned to the airport at 11:00, where we
found that the standard procedure for retrieving lost bags was to wait until all of the passengers on the arriving
flights (two flights landed at the same time) had collected their luggage and cleared in through Customs and
Immigration; at which point we would be let into the baggage claim area to search. So, we went off for lunch,
returned in two hours, and got our bags. Nobody checked our claim tickets.
We left Turtle Cove at 4:00 pm that same afternoon.