Have a Magical Day

Dear Jane,

The Experiment Prototype Community of Tomorrow (a.k.a. Epcot) lives up to its reputation, I'm

not my picture of Spaceship Earth

happy to report--any and all of them. I guess I didn't really understand how theme parks worked, having never been to one like this before. My misconception became apparent to me the moment I entered the park. You know the orb that looms above you the moment you walk in? Silly me, I had always thought that it was your basic Bucky Fuller geodesic dome, as in empty. Ho no! It's a ride called Spaceship Earth wherein one is taken on a tour (guided by none other than Dame Judi Dench) of the entire history of humanity and not just that, but a glimpse into our future. I sent a postcard back to the present when I was there. Did you get it?

Next, I toured a "green" home with many energy saving features including, counterintuitively, a toilet that plays your favorite music. It's programmable from a smart phone or tablet so that you don't actually have to wait until you get to the toilet to hear your favorite jams. I'm not sure how that saves energy exactly, but who cares. It is square, no really. It's a square shaped toilet! You know how I love squares.

I hadn't eaten breakfast, so I was pretty hungry by then. So many choices! I wound up at a place called the Electric Umbrella. I ordered a burger and fries. By the time I walked the five feet to the pick up counter, it was ready. Panama should give that a try.

not my picture of space module inside Mission: Space

My next big adventure was at "Mission: Space." Astronaut training for the first manned flight to Mars. But wait, didn't One White Tree's friend, Tim, the payload engineer for NASA, say they had terminated their manned space flight program? Oh, right, it's only a simulation, a ride. Check. There are two levels of training. More intense astronaut training and less intense ground control training. The more intense version comes with repeated warnings. "May not be suitable for people who are afraid of motion sickness, have high blood pressure, are afraid of tight, dark spaces, or spinning. Judging by the number of warnings on signs interspersed along the waiting line and on the "mission ticket" they hand out, I assumed they were pretty serious, so I took them seriously. Let's see: motion sickness? Pffffft. I live on a boat, for godssake. High blood pressure? I take meds and its only borderline anyway. Afraid of tight, dark spaces? You mean, like, my engine "rooms?" Spinning? How would I know if I'm afraid of spinning? Whatever, move along.

Finally, I made it to the pre-launch area where Gary Sinise ran me and the other members of my crew through our pre-flight briefing and where his assistant provided one last reminder that it was still not to late to opt out and sign up for ground control training instead. You know how stubborn I am. All their warnings only had the effect of making me more determined to do this thing. Bring it! Our crew consisted of four members: a pilot, navigator, commander, and engineer, each with a set of responsibilities and each determined by the order in which we were queued up to file into the capsule. Sure enough, the role of engineer fell to me. These poor, unsuspecting people, I thought. They have no idea how doomed this mission is with me as the crew member responsible for repairs. I had a sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to confess all. It's only a simulation, I reminded myself. I can't really screw it up.

We took our places and at Cmdr. Sinise's order, pulled the restraints down over our heads. I wondered how I was to perform my duties when my instrument panel was more than an arm's length away. As if on cue, it lurched forward to within 6 inches of my nose entirely eliminating the problem. Unhelpfully, the thought floated past my consciousness that unlike this capsule, I have the freedom to climb out of my engine rooms whenever I please and this struck me as highly significant. While pondering this, our rocket swung into place on the launch pad and through the portlight I could see the top of the tower. Oh, I get it now. I've seen this on TV. Our rocket is going to "rocket" straight up very, very fast. Huh...OH MY GOD! WHAT WAS I THINKING!! I never even go on rollercoasters because they terrify me. Abort! ABORT! Too late. I had only enough time to verify that the air sickness bag was where Sinise said it would be and to note, with alarm, that it seemed to be shared between me and the pilot.

It's only a simulation.  Breathe. It's only a simulaaaaaaaahhhhhhh! I screamed inwardly as my

not my picture of not me (but might
as well have been)

cheeks rippled back from the G-force necessary to launch us. Breathe! Breathe! Breathe harder! I kept thinking, becoming more fond of the air sickness bag by the nanosecond. Remember (breathe!) to tell (breathe!) Jane (breathe!): DO NOT GO ON THIS RIDE! ohgodohgodohgod!!! And. Then. Finally. ...the endless black dark of space where we would spend the next three months, the length of time required to get to Mars. Each of the crew had two tasks (because it really is only a simulation, pant, pant), the first of mine was to put the crew--including myself--into hypersleep. Unfortunate, that; I was really hoping to use the time to catch up on my reading. Seconds (to us, months to you) later, we were awakened by ground control who stayed on hand to guide us through the landing process (Yeah, I don't know why I needed to put us to sleep if they could wake us up remotely, either. We astronauts are apparently on a strictly need-to-know basis).

After a few harrowing moments of near-disaster, we landed safe and sound. Air sickness bag unnecessary, check. I decided that after my brief but brilliant career as an astronaut, I should probably take early retirement. So rest assured, honey. Wherever I am on earth at least I will be on Earth.

Speaking of being back on Earth (I still can't remember the flight back, must be a side effect of hypersleep), I opted for some more sedate types of amusement. Honey, did you know that while we've been at sea Michael Jackson has been brought back to life? Not only that, he's been restored to his 1986 incarnation. In probably his only acting gig, Jackson stars as Captain Eo, who along with his motley muppet crew, saves the Earth by singing and dancing (how else?).

not my picture of Ellen with Albert to her immediate left.

Next, in the Universe of Energy, Ellen Degeneres's subconsciousness is highjacked by Bill Nye, the Science Guy so that she can beat her snobby elementary school classmate and Albert Einstein on Jeopardy. I know you've been to Epcot, but it might have been before this presentation. If you'd seen it, you'd remember, trust me, it would be hard even for you to forget seeing an animatronic Ellen beating back a dinosaur with a branch.

A full day, I know, but it wasn't over yet. After Ellen, I listened to a lecture by Simba in an exhibit called--what else--"The Circle of Life." All about being more conscious of the environment. Now here was something curious. During Ellen's dream lesson on energy, the Hoover Dam was presented as a shining example of technology. During Simba's lecture, it was presented as a screwer up of the ecosystem surrounding it. Leave it to Disney to problematize the concepts of good and evil in a postmodern, post-industrial society.

not my picture of nearly colliding with hang gliders (not me in it, either)

Well, hon, by this time, I admit, I was getting tired. I pretty much lined up for anything that involved sitting down for a few minutes. I sat in a boat and drifted past Epcot's botanical experiments. Interesting. I sat in a shell and watched Nemo and his friends expound on the creatures of the deep. Very clever animation. I even designed a prototype car and tested it on a track at up to 64 mph. Stupid. Not, however, as stupid as standing in a ninety minute line to go on an 11 minute ride. Although being launched into the air and soaring over parts of California, from the Golden Gate bridge to--big surprise--Disneyland, was pretty amazing despite the PTSD I earlier acquired from my space shuttle experience.

And that was just day one.

Day two was less eventful.

not my picture of Epcot's World Showcase

I saved The World Showcase for my second day, starting with Norway, which, in my humble opinion was a little too reliant on the glory of their viking forebears. Their thing (I don't know what you actually call them, exhibits? rides?), was a low-budget viking ship that slid down a couple of three foot waterfalls. Lame.

China featured a 360 degree movie with highlights from many parts of the country. We are SO going there. I know you've been. I'll go myself on my next vacation if I have to. (How do they shoot 360 degree video, anyway?)

nope, not mine

Mexico also had a tunnel-of-love type boat ride where Donald Duck and two other "caballeros" unintelligibly explained some of the culture of the country. Pretty dull stuff. That is until the boats got stuck in the middle of the ride for a few minutes due to technical difficulties. I thought we might be in for a real adventure, but they fixed it and we were on our way in no time. Bummer.

It was all taking much longer than I thought and I realized I wouldn't be able to get to every country.

But I didn't want to miss Morocco. You know how much I love Moroccan art. Morocco had a small

not this one either

display of ornamental art, but really, the whole area was art.

Watching France's presentation (so going there, too) almost made me too late to get a good spot to watch Illluminations: Reflections of Earth.

no

But before hitting France, I had to stop in and see how Disney presented the U.S. Disney does nothing by half, that's for sure. In this enormous theater, a 35 minute presentation of American history, hosted by Ben Franklin and Mark Twain (well, their animatronic doppelgangers), closed with a photo montage that featured every--and I mean every--conceivable sort of American. It was over the top cheesy, but also moving. So Disney, so America. If they ever do privatize the U.S., I hope they sell it to Disney. Think about it. What a clean, customer-service, and all-inclusive nation we would be. I mean, we could do worse.

no, but see the little movie?

While waiting for the movie, I wandered through their collection of Americana, real and replicated. There are lanterns, coach lamps, really, but they call them lanterns that have little movies inside where the voices of Diane Sawyer, Whoopi Goldberg and other celebs discuss belief and hope and courage. I didn't get to watch all the lanterns but the last one I saw before I had to get in line for the movie said this: "Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are footprints on the moon."








This is the last thing I did before leaving. So, girlfriend, in case we ever decide to stop trotting around the globe and settle down somewhere... Just sayin'




(Whoops! That's supposed to be "Earth." Yes, this is mine. BTW, the background music which I can best describe as a cross between a fight song and a lullaby plays all day long from hidden speakers.)

There's an App for That

Yes, we're still here in Panama City but our To Do list gets smaller every day, despite the fact that we keep getting things done that aren't even on it (and then have to add them just so we can cross them out). It's hard to believe we're about to make our way across some 4,000 nautical miles of water, more distance in one enormous puddle jump than we have done altogether so far. Hard to believe also, that a little over eighteen months ago, we girded our loins to make our very first passage.

By most cruisers' standards (including our own, now) it wasn't much of a passage, just out of the

South River at Edgewater, Maryland, into, very briefly, the Chesapeake, and then back into the West River to Galesville. Ten miles in total; none sailed, just motored. Had it not been for the late October bite in the air, a harbinger of much colder things to come, who knows how long it might have been before we cast off the docklines that first time.

Or, more truthfully, the first time without "adult supervision." About a week after moving aboard, our broker, Tommy, taking pity on us, took us out for an afternoon sail to run us through the basics. But still... What if we... or... or... The one thought that kept impressing itself upon us was how improbable it seemed to successfully move a boat from one point to an intended other knowing as little about how to do it as we did. But every morning was chillier than the one before.

Dear Brad and Lindsay

Thank you for making the walk back down (well, first up then down) the hill from La Victoria to Minca as painless as it could possibly be. It was a pleasure to spend what miraculously seemed like too little time with you.

Mickey, regaling us with one of his many tales

We hope you guys found Mickey, the owner of the finca, as fascinating as we did. Imagine having the courage to attempt to take back your family's coffee estate from armed insurgents and actually managing to do it, or successfully negotiating with paramilitary assassins for your mother's life with nothing but your wits! Meeting people like him is one of the main reasons I decided to trade in my former life for this one.  And even if he never gets his spring water in biodegradable, pyramid-shaped bottles project, or his free-range egg project, or his fresh fruit project, or any of those other money-making schemes of his off the ground, even if, in the end, he is nothing other than the owner of a 120 year old coffee plantation, the only water pressure driven one in all of Colombia, he will still be one of the most interesting people I've ever met.

A is for...

Well, it happened again. I knew it would, it does every time we meet non-American cruisers: that "I Am So Out of My League" feeling. The embarrassment began the minute we introduced ourselves--in English as we always do, as we must because it's our only language, but the second, third, or fourth language for whomever we are meeting. Linguistic survivor's guilt, I call it. Directly after introductions, there is the de rigeur ice-breaker, the corollary of "So, what do you do?"  For sailors and world travelers it's, "So, where are you coming from?" This invariably elicits an enviable enumeration of countries that either makes perfect geographical sense or otherwise begs questions with ultimately intriguing answers--if, that is, one knows where in the world anything is to begin with.

¡Bienvenidos a Santa Marta!

Set in the quaint yet bustling atmosphere of Colombia's oldest city, your adventure begins the moment you arrive as you find yourself immersed in the mysterious worlds of Customs and Immigration. Your freedom to explore the country will depend on your ability to acquire crucial "papeles." Timing, perseverance, and appropriate attire are everything in this game of random chance and bureaucratic misalignment.

Background information: (courtesy of Sue and Andy Warman on SY Spruce as reported on noonsite.com, http://www.noonsite.com/Members/sue/R2012-07-09-2)

It should be noted the processes for managing foreign vessels in Colombian waters have not been designed specifically to enable visiting yachts to cruise the Colombian coast. The processes have largely been developed to manage commercial vessels and fishing vessels, both Colombian and foreign flagged. 

Agencies Involved

There are three agencies plus your agent who are involved in the necessary formalities and permissions:-

· Port Captain(s) – Responsible for the navigation of vessels entering a defined jurisdictional region within Colombian coastal waters eg Santa Marta, Baranquilla, Cartagena, and for controlling the movements of vessels within Colombian waters. Note that the forms indicate the port captain is acting for the Ministerio de Defensa Nacional – Direccion General Maritima.

· Immigration – responsible for permission for individual crew members and passengers to enter the Republic of Colombia and to stamp visas into passports depending upon the duration of stay permitted for different nationalities.

· Customs – responsible for temporary permission (Importacion Temporal de Vehiculo Para Tourista), depending upon planned duration of visit (see below), to bring a vessel into Colombian waters without being liable for importation taxes.

Sample Game Play Scenario

You arrive at the marina on a Saturday morning, your quarantine flag aloft.  Since you have not yet acquired a sim card or the ability to speak Spanish, the marina contacts your designated agent for you. (NOTE: ¡Bienvenidos a Santa Marta! does not guarantee a successful outcome for players. Several undesirable outcomes are possible. The developers of ¡Bienvenidos a Santa Marta! strongly discourage attempting to play through the game without the guidance of an agent. If in doubt, see Background Information section above.)

A mystery begins to unfold when you are told your agent will meet with you by the security gate at the entrance to the marina. Had something bad occurred in the past? Why is he not allowed inside?  He explains the various levels of play and the "papeles" required for each one. Bring your passport, boat documentation and outbound clearance certificate ("zarpe" in Spanish) from your last port of call. You may pay him his fee later as you do not have local currency. He informs you you may take down your quarantine flag and fly the Colombian courtesy flag even though no papers have yet been filed.

Several days later, you receive an email from your agent informing you that Customs will come to your boat the next day. You are surprised when they arrive during dinner the night before. Are they  ahead of schedule or is it a trap? Upon request, you show your passport and boat documentation. They want copies of each. Penalty for not having a printer onboard unknown. The agent tells you Customs will have your Temporary Importation Permit (level 1 play papel) in a few days. You agree to call him when you obtain your sim card to set up an appointment.

In order to save money for the purchase of more papeles, you choose to leave the marina and anchor in the adjoining bay. Six days pass. You hear nothing more from your agent or any agency.  Are you "legal"? You decide your agent will notify you if there are any problems. Late that afternoon, the guardacosta circles your boat. They explain something in Spanish. You still have not acquired the abliity to speak Spanish, but they seem friendly. Eventually, you are able to piece together that your Customs agent is waiting for you on the beach. You get in the dinghy and attempt to make a beach landing on an unfamiliar beach. Dual Obstacle Alert (DOA): Your efforts are complicated by the fact that one of you has a broken and casted arm greatly inhibiting movement and the other one of you can't swim and is afraid of being in water. You manage to land the dinghy while the Customs agent and half a dozen people look on. He had been waiting on a phone call from you so that you could arrange a place to meet to complete the paperwork and acquire your papel, but you have not yet obtained a sim card. He could think of no way to contact you other than to have the Coast Guard come to your boat. Undesirable outcome scenario avoided. During your meeting, your Customs agent tells you the guarda has informed him that you are not allowed to anchor in the bay. He offers to call them and translate for you. There has been a misunderstanding. The guarda was unaware that you had already collected the necessary papeles. Bonus: you may stay in the bay as long as your visa permits.

You flounder trying to get the dinghy back in the water until a Samaritan shows up to help you off shore.

Several more days pass. Your agent has completed the steps necessary for the acquisition of your level 1 play papeles. You and your vessel are now free to move about anywhere within the jurisdiction. At this time you may opt to acquire the papeles needed for advanced (level 2) play. You can take your chances and cruise beyond the jurisdiction without acquiring these papeles, your agent informs you, but if you do and encounter troubles, the guarda may or may not rescue you. What should you do?

You choose to play it safe and acquire more papeles. He tells you he will need a letter sized copy of the legal sized Temporary Importation Permit (level 1 play papel) you received from Customs. You receive bonus points (use unspecified) for having a scanner on your boat. This copied document is to be submitted to the Office of the Port Captain. You will be provided with an invoice for your Permanent Permit. This Invoice is then taken to the bank where you deposit $175,500 COP (Colombian pesos) into the account of the Port Captain. Your invoice is marked "paid." Your agent will then take your paid invoice to the harbormaster's office as part of the application for your Permanent Permit. Your agent will inform you when your Permanent Permit has been approved.

Once you have your document resized, you make plans to contact your agent. However, the game has put an obstacle in your way. Until you figure out a way around the obstacle, you will not be able to acquire a sim card.  You ask the marina office to contact him for you. You are told it is a holiday, though no one knows what it commemorates. Is this another obstacle or do Colombians have too many holidays? Try again tomorrow. Meanwhile, you succeed in finding a workaround to the sim card obstacle. You contact your agent to give him your new phone number.

You meet with your agent the next day. He has tried to call you, but you have not yet acquired the ability to operate your cell phone. You miss his call. When you meet with him, he tells you the reason that he had called was to tell you that the Port Captain's office is not issuing invoices that day. Reason: unknown. Try again tomorrow.

You meet with your agent the next day, hoping he doesn't notice you are wearing the exact same outfit as before and complete the steps above. You wait for your level 2 play papel...

---------

What will happen next?  Will you get to cruise the waters of Colombia or will you be deported? Not even you can decide when you play ¡Bienvenidos a Santa Marta!

Le Faux Pas (Troisième Partie et Finale)

Click here to read Part 1.

Click here to read Part 2.

Jasmine (L) and Makendy (R)

Makendy paddled out to us at just before six, although, at the time we thought he was almost an hour late. We had gone back and forth several times over whether or not Haiti observed Daylight Savings Time and ultimately came to the wrong conclusion. Truth be told, the longer past (our) six p.m. it got, the more strongly we suspected--hoped, really--that he'd forgotten, or something. We would have only partially minded. I went out to the cockpit with cash to pay off our balance and collect our meal.

"Hi, Makendy. Uh, where's dinner?" I asked, looking down into his boat, empty of everything but water. He requested that we meet him at the dinghy dock and he'd walk us to dinner. "Oh," I said, trying to try to hide my disappointment, "I was hoping we could get it to go, you know, here at the boat, for tomorrow."

"That will not be possible" he answered. Makendy's English was pretty good so I had to wonder how my request had gotten messed up in translation?  Or, had it gotten messed up? Perhaps he had never intended to be a "meals on keels" operation. More importantly, from what as yet unplumbed emotional depths were we going to get the energy to make it through a dinner, I wondered. There wasn't any politeness or curiosity or civility left between us.  Our plan had been to spend the evening curled up in as close to fetal positions as it was possible to get in our salon while watching downloaded TV shows on our laptop. But that was out now. An invitation was being extended to us and payment aside, it was a magnanimous gesture, we knew. We pulled psychic selves together as best we could, lowered our dinghy, and met Makendy at the dock.

Le Faux Pas (Deuxième Partie)

Click here to read Part 1.

We had the majority of the work yet to be done: Jasmine on dinghy cleaning, Harold on beer delivery, Colby on carpet runners, Pepe and Keke on boat cleaning, Edisson for a walk through his village to the other resort hotel and Makendy on dinner to go. It was going to be a long day.

As before, everyone showed up bright and early and everyone asked how we'd slept. Jasmine took the dinghy off a few yards so he could clean it in the shade of the mangrove trees by the shore of the harbour, Pepe had, the prior evening, delivered the rags, cleaned and folded but before he and Keke could get started, they needed to get fresh water, so we sent them off in Keke's mango wood boat with our water jugs and 300 gourde. Makendy had also paddled out the night before to take our dinner order, and to ask if we wanted music with dinner. I wasn't sure how he intended to accomplish that, include a flash drive with the baggies of food? Too exhausted to makes sense of it though, I just told him it wouldn't be necessary, we had lots of music on the boat.

With our dinghy gone and Pepe and Keke moving all over the deck, we were feeling as trapped as we had been in Marathon when the SALT technicians were working everywhere at once. Only this time without a handy tiki hut under which to escape. Needless to say we'd never been more happy in both of our lives put together than we were to see Edisson when he came to rescue us at noon.

Le Faux Pas (Première Partie)

Off the western coast of Haiti, south of the Windward Passage

"...OK, we've got Keke and Castro as guides tomorrow, We owe Karma for the courtesy flag and he'll watch the boat while we go to the market..."

"Lole's going to clean the bottom, Makendy's going to make us dinner. What were going to have Pepe do? And we still need something for Harold and Jasmine."

The irony of this is not lost on either one of us. The previous day's log entry starts, "It's hard as hell to get to Haiti." The offshore wind had been on our nose for the last three days of the passage and nearer to the shore, the mountains made the wind shifty and impossible to steer by. Jane tried everything she could think of to get us to Ile a Vache by sail, a goal with which I was more in agreement than usual. Typically, I'm the impatient one, the one who has little tolerance for sailing in ten hours a distance we can cover motoring in two. But we were down to one engine and on top of that, getting diesel onto JOY in Great Inagua turned out to be next to impossible. So for the time being I am a staunch supporter of sail power. Still, on the morning of the third day off the western coast of Haiti, I requested that we strike a bargain: she could try to outmaneuver the wind as long as she wanted so long as that we made Ile a Vache in time to have dinner at the Port Morgan Hotel. She agreed, primarily because there weren't any promising anchorages left between where we were and our destination. Were it necessary for us to tack back and forth all night, neither of us would get any sleep. JOY has her charms, but  sailing singlehanded isn't among them.

We tried long tacks, then short tacks, but we just couldn't get her to point high enough to make any way. Several hours into this endeavor, we replicated exactly the track from our previous outbound tack, meaning an hour's worth of sailing with not a mile, not even a foot to show for it. Jane calculated that we'd made a whole five miles to the good in as many hours. "It really is motorsailing" she said, dismayed, as she turned on the port engine. Yet, if there was disappointment to be endured at the underwhelming performance of our vessel, at least there would be some time to relax and a wonderful meal as compensation once we arrived.

JOY rounded the corner in to the Baie a Feret and entered the harbour just as the afternoon sun's rays slanted a golden light on the hill behind the anchorage. We hadn't quite made it in when a man in a small dugout boat began paddling over to us. "Oh, here we go" I said to myself thinking that he was coming to sell us some fish. Within minutes, there was another and another. They came, one or two to a boat. 

An Enquiry in to the Betterness of the Bahamas

Dear readers,

My original intent for this post was to offer you my insights on The Bahamas, it's people, it's land, and so forth. It was, in fact, to have been the first in an ongoing series of exposes into the culturally inscribed DNA of the citizenry of the various countries into which we temporarily ensconce ourselves. To that end, I had been collecting some choice phrases with which to add a certain journalistic flair to my reflections, phrases such as, "Behind the rugged backdrop of (appropriate land formation to have been inserted here), a (flattering character trait here) people..." or, "Undaunted by a legacy of (hardship or uncertainty or colonialism, etc., etc.) the Bahamian people look ever (something)ly toward the future.

Raft-Up: Are We Sailors or Travelers?

It's Raft-Up time!

We are part of a group of cruisers/bloggers who coordinate each month to write on a common subject.  Same topic, but different perspectives: it's pretty interesting!  Ean wrote our first Raft-Up article, about hobbies.  

The topic this month: Do we live on a boat because we want to SAIL or because we want to TRAVEL?

Of course, I could just say "BOTH" and let it go at that.  But this is, for most cruisers, one of those fuzzy "spectrum" questions that requires explanations and qualifications.  It becomes especially interesting if crewmates find themselves at different places on the sailor-traveler spectrum. 

You might guess, by this picture, which end of the spectrum I favor. 
South of Andros, entering the Tongue of the Ocean at dawn

Another Day in Paradise

We've been here for two and a half months, now and our lives are surprisingly settled (or maybe not so surprisingly).  In some ways life on a boat isn't much different from life on land on a day-to-day basis.  Instead of mowing the lawn, I grease winches; rather than change the oil in the car, I change it in our diesel engines.  Yes, it's true that we didn't have to think about our energy or water consumption back at the house (though we should have) and didn't have to worry about fetching our prop out of the canal (a stroke of luck, that one) or Percy out of the canal (do they EVER learn?), but we also don't have to think about shoveling snow, or snow even as an abstract concept and whenever it happens that we're not so keen on our neighbors, we can relocate in less than 15 minutes.  A more than fair trade off, I'd say.  Thanks to iTunes, we can even keep up with our favorite TV shows, not to mention find new ones--when we have an Internet connection, that is.  Someday, some $15000 from now (plus monthly charges), we'll be able to be online whenever we want.  For now, it's catch as catch can.  For instance, just now, I'm sitting at the local watering hole, which isn't open, or rather, isn't serving (it's an open air bar, so it's always "open"), but has wi-fi, and thanks to our having stayed at the marina when we first came to Treasure Cay, we know the password... until they change it.

We did finally make it Green Turtle Club to toast "the idea" with Tipsy Turtles as a provocative hour. We'd actually accidentally gone to a Valentine's Day dinner at different marina on the same island the night before.  I wanted to walk around the harbor to get a little exercise, but Jane felt that it didn't count if we didn't dinghy over, so we did.  She dinghyed back; I walked (those Tipsy Turtles are chock full o' calories).  On the way back I ran into Phil and Sally and Karin and Klitzer--fun to run into folks you know.

Last weekend, T-Cay (as it is it known to many of the residents), held a marine flea-market and because I've stared uncomprehendingly at all of the 3,127 spare parts on JOY, I though it was time to look at some new unidentifiable objects.  We were also hoping to get a larger anchor, as ours is a little undersized.  No luck on the anchor, but we were pleasantly surprised at how many of the items' identities we did have a guess about.  No need to buy anything, we decided as we're already overwhelmed by the prospect of deciding which unidentifiable items in our own inventory to keep, space being at more of a premium all the time.  We have provisionally settled on three organizational categories.  Not because three suffices better than any other number, but because we (and when I say "we" I mean I), can't keep more than three consistently separate.  The categories are: 1) "Know What it is and Know We'll Need it at Some Point"  2) Don't Know What it is, but it's Heavy and Therefore Probably Expensive to Replace" and 3) "It's so Small, it Can't Possibly Be All that Useful and/or Expensive."  Of course, it would seem to make sense to keep the small parts just cause they don't take up that much room, whereas the bigger parts do, all else being equal (such as our equal ignorance of their functions).  We may have to rethink our categories.

Our friends, Michel and Danielle on Gatito are back for a few weeks.  It's good to see them again.  We'll actually be leaving before Michel this time to return to the States for a major refit.  And then, parts south.  We're looking forward to moving on, much as we love it here.

Pete's 18th Annual 50th Birthday Party: A Pilgrimage of Sorts

We have sailed to Little Harbour to attend a party in honor of Peter Johnston's 50th birthday.  We have never met Pete, as far as we know, and it's not really his 50th birthday and the whole affair is just an excuse to raise funds for a charitable organization known as "Every Child Counts."   ECC is a philanthropic organization which, without benefit of governmental funding, seeks to provide educational opportunities for children with developmental disabilities.  Pete's "birthday" is one of several annual fundraisers they hold.

We're that much more happy to attend the party knowing that the proceeds are going for a worthy cause, but it is not really the reason we're going.  We first discovered Pete's Pub in the summer of 2008.  We'd decided to rent a car and drive the length of Abaco just to see what there was to see.  Pete's Pub and Gallery was listed in the guidebooks and online as a not-to-be-missed stop and so, we didn't.  At the time, vehicular access to Pete's Pub seemed recent.  Something about the 2+ mile extension cord which T'd off the main highway and provided electricity to the pub, gallery and the rest of the Little Harbour community.

Land Ho, Ho, Ho!

JOY proudly flies her Bahamian courtesy flag

Two pieces of cloth have forced wind to move us 467 miles over an ocean.  How is that even possible?  Fairly easy to understand; impossibly difficult to comprehend.  Days (3 of them) of nothing but water and sky, nights of water and starlight and not another ship in sight.

We make our way, aiming at a microscopic point on the face of the earth, trusting our instruments to "see" where we are in this featureless world and to point JOY where we want to go.

Jane is in her element, her reflexes honed to supple precision; I am dumb with awe, dimly able at best to assess situations in real time.  Jane periodically records Things of Significance in her iPad; I ponder continually and unsuccessfully how to relate this voyage, this event without resorting to hackneyed metaphors, unsure of whether there is anything to say at all since nothing is going wrong, but knowing that to describe it as "perfect" is to do it an injustice and to make for a short and boring tale.  All I can say is that we set our sights on making it back for the one year anniversary of this amazing, insane, life changing idea and wonder of wonders, we have!  I think if it and weep with disbelief and, yes, joy.

Beyond that, I give, I resign.  I try, but I can't.  I can't differentiate context from content, can't distinguish between the story and its events, the forest and the trees (for you hackneyed metaphor buffs).  This is not my tale to tell, clearly.  Jane?  This one's all you.  Take it away.

Reality Check (Probably Not the Last of Its Kind)

Jane and I have been to the travel clinic to get vaccinated for diseases prevalent in the areas we plan to sail for the first part of this adventure.  On the form which asks where we plan to travel, Jane (who went yesterday), put "The Caribbean, Central, and South America."  This drew an incredulous look from the receptionist, the purveyor of the form, who told her they needed to know WHICH COUNTRIES in those areas.

It reminds us again that people just don't do what we're doing--even people who travel.  They know where they're going because they generally get there by a plane that lands somewhere specific, and they generally have an itinerary.  All of which is (almost) utterly unnecessary when one travels in one's own house.  Jane explained that we didn't know which countries specifically and this brought forth one of the travel clinic nurses, who apparently thought she'd been summoned to provide a geography lesson to this rather thick traveler.

When Jane explained the method by which we are traveling, she (and by extension I) instantly became travel clinic heroes.  ...Well, of a sort: They both confessed--and I mean confessed--to me that they lived and probably would die in the Milwaukee suburb where they'd been born and that traveling vicariously through the clients that came into the clinic was sufficient for them.

For reasons too tedious to explain, we are only partially inoculated against Yellow Fever, Hep A and B, and Typhoid; we will, in fact, have to finish up in the Bahamas in the winter.  At which point we'll probably throw in shots for places such as "The South Pacific" and "Asia," what the heck.

Now, We Are Here

Jane's sister, Linnea, and her husband, Peter, happened to be heading off for a "weekend" getaway on the same day as us.  They reached their destination while we were only a few hours into our drive and sent us a picture with the caption, "We are here" Meaning both, "we have arrived" and "we are in this location."  I took a snapshot of a nondescript piece of highway 80 east in all its cloudy antiglory and texted her back with the same caption, but only half the meaning.  "How sad."  Came the reply text a few moments later.  "Yes," Jane and I agreed.  It is sad--for now.  Linnea laid down the pictoral gauntlet, but I knew who'd get the last shot in.  And so we did.  Here it is.

It is impossible to say if one of us loves the idea of this more than the other, but we come to it from different frames of reference, of course.  For me, this is an adventure, an odyssey; for Jane, there is some of that, to be sure, but it is also a homecoming.  Love her sense of herself as an educator though she may, she is nowhere more in her element than aboard a vessel underway.

Jane in her natural habitat
among the sails
looking  out  "to sea'

I don't belong anywhere in particular which gives me the freedom to go anywhere I want.  Ironically, Jane is not so free; she belongs on the water, belongs to the sea and it has ever been calling her back home. Who would have imagined that we could have bumped into a lifestyle that could dovetail our dreams so perfectly.  How serendipitous (though I think Jane would attribute it to the workings of a sometimes benevolent universe).  Either way, oh, fortunate we that my wanderlust and her homing instinct should find such amicable company.

Jane and Ean on Windsong

Today's Geography Lesson: Lamu, Kenya

The arctic weather has finally let off a bit and it's been in the balmy 30's F. the last couple of days.  This being Valentines Day, Jane displayed her abiding affection for me by poop scooping the fragment of our backyard that's been packed down enough for Floey to "take care of her business" on.  Ah. love...

We spent part of the afternoon "exploring" the countries on or nearest to the Equator.  This has become a cherished pastime of ours; we both get constant weather updates for Panama on our various smart devices.  I find this rather amusing.  Jane, being a veteran of both the U.S. Navy and world travel, has, whenever I broached the subject, made it clear that she has a decided preference for living in the U.S.  I, on the other hand, want to live somewhere else, having never yet done so.  There's such a lot of world to see, to quote the Henry Mancini tune.  So I was a little--what comes before shocked?--when the love of my life "sailed" past our Panamanian haunt and onto Kenya.  "It's even closer to the Equator than Panama" she stated as if the logic of that made her exploration merely sensible.

"Nairobi," I returned, wanting to feed her newfound curiosity as much as possible, "is apparently quite modern."

"Nairobi is inland" she replied.

"Oh, no.  That will never do." I agreed.

"Mombasa is on the coast. AND just four degrees south."

"So far, so good" thought I.

"But wait, what's this?  Lamu.  It's a city but it's on an island and there are no motorized vehicles allowed."

"What's its lat. and how do people get around?"

"Even better: two degrees south.  Donkeys.  There are two to three thousand working donkeys on the island."

(Pause for further reading.)

"And there's a donkey sanctuary."

"Now, really, how much better can it get than that?"  I quipped, genuinely charmed.

"But it's been predicted that  it will suffer damage in the near future due to lack of or bad planning."

"Then we'd better hurry and visit.  You know my policy on endangered things."

"You're horrible."

"You laughed."

"So, what's changed?  You didn't even want to take Panama seriously and now we're moving to an island city in Kenya where there's a donkey sanctuary?"

"Well, moving to Panama used to seem like a radical thing to do."

"Until we decided to live on a boat for an undetermined number of years."

"Yeah, moving overseas seems pretty tame compared to that.  Really, anything seems pretty tame compared to that."

How about that?  A win-win situation--and I'm just talking about myself.