When we climb on board the ship, the submersible is waiting for us on deck. It is sleek and gleaming and slightly comic, like a tiny spaceship. It has a banana-yellow deck and a huge, Jetsons-style cockpit contained within a transparent bubble: an acrylic globe that is perfectly clear and spherical, temporarily shrouded in a thick grey cover to protect the interior from super-heating in the Bahamian sun.
It is at once impossibly futuristic and yet intriguingly solid – like no vehicle I have ever seen before. And it feels oddly in keeping with my present surroundings, which are, admittedly, perplexing. I don’t spend much of my time on superyachts, so this all seems strange to me. There’s a bridge full of glittering equipment and flatscreens of data. There’s a gleaming white kitchen filled with food. Capable, suntanned young staff buzz around, busy with ropes and fenders, knives strapped to their ankles, offering to whip us up margaritas at a moment’s notice.
