St. Martin, St. Bart's, St. Kitts and Forest Gump

Pictures are at the bottom of the text and not in any cohesive order.  I really can't figure this stuff out!

Aside from our less than optimal crossing from the BVIs, we arrived safely, if beaten, in St. Maarten, (aka St Martin, Sint Maarten), half of which is Dutch and the other half French.   The unsubstantiated legend is that a Frenchman with a bottle of wine and a Dutchman with a bottle of gin faced off in civilized and gentlemanly fashion and walked the island, each declaring for their country the portion that they traversed.  The Frenchman claimed the bigger piece as he was less intoxicated at the end of the challenge.  The French side is dirtier, disorganized and expensive, with the best Pattiseries (bakeries) and cheese in the Caribbean.  The Dutch side is cleaner, shows more evidence of government regulation, and cheaper.

There are four languages spoken here; Dutch, French, English and Pidgeon.  There are three kinds of currency; Euros, Gilders and the US dollar.  Exchange varies wildly from place to place.  Bill found he could buy a cold beer for $1 US in the Chinese grocery.  Really.

We were anchored in the land locked Lagoon, which is huge – at least 9 square kilometers.  It is accessed by two bridges, one on the French side and the other on the Dutch - that are raised twice a day to allow entrance and egress, in single file.  We came in on the French side where it is narrow and harrowing: a pucker-factor parade, with boats on both sides waiting in Mexican standoff style to enter and exit.  Immediately upon entering, the waves calmed down and we were no longer buffeted by the enormous swells and distressing wakes of the ferries.   Once inside we found good holding off a point of land called Witch’s Tit.  God’s truth.

The first thing that came to our attention was the amazing number of large wrecks  - left over from a major hurricane in the 90’s to rust and rot.  They could only have come in through the much larger Dutch bridge. 

The second thing we noticed was that the water quality isn't up to Caribbean standards.  There are literally hundreds of boats anchored, moored and docked here, ranging in size from mega yachts and huge sailboats with 250 foot masts to dinghies and derelicts, many of which are occupied full time by people who live and/or work here.  With so few and such narrow openings to the ocean, the water doesn't get circulated well.  There are no pump out boats or stations.  Yuk.

The French side grocery stores are a hoot with all the imported cheeses and sausage, the croissants and baguettes, and scores of unfamiliar items.   The Dutch side grocery stores are larger, filled with everything you can find in a large Safeway or Publix.  Both Bill and I enjoy these excursions, although packing 10 bags of groceries back to the dinghy and getting everything to the boat intact is often a challenge. 

Our cruising season, so far, has not been fraught with boat problems - touch wood.  We engaged the German couple on the next boat to make a shade canopy for the cockpit, something I’ve been hankering for since we started.  He is a shipwright; she is a seamstress.  To ward off the sunset heat wave, we have been putting up an ugly blue tarp with flapper-stoppers, and looking like the Beverley Hill Billies, but the new covers make look quite spiffy – and shaded!  Now that we are this close to the equator, and the weather is HOT! HOT! HOT! and shade is more of a necessity than a desire.  

We’ve encountered some interesting characters in our travels. We met (at a bar, but you knew that) a couple from Norway who were taking their home built 71 foot sloop back home for the two months of summer that they get.  Sounds like Alberta.  He built the keel, with it’s 12 foot draft out of iron he took from the Tripitz, a German battle ship from WWII.  Another couple from the UK will make the crossing back home shortly as well.  I have to give it to the women on these boats; 3 to 4 weeks - or more -offshore is NOT my cup of tea.  We are delighted to cross paths with several boats we met last year and enjoy many sundowner hours together.

The wind pipes up to over 30 knots every five minutes or so and then dies down to nothing.  Weird.

I can’t say enough about the great food here.   I hardly cook at all as the fabulous restaurants beckon us daily.  New cruising friends Ian and Jacqui on Black Thorn Lady from the UK have become agreeable dining partners – they enjoy the same style and variety we do, so its really fun to share meals with them.  Ian is ex-military, a sailing instructor with the kind of ability to fix engines I wish I had.  That came in handy when one of our motors crapped out and he was able to refurbish the starter motor. 

One Sunday we attended a tourist draw at the Princess Julianna Airport.  The touchdown point is a mere 50 feet from the beach and the security fence has been lowered down to roughly 4 feet as the wheels of the planes barely clear it.  People on the beach deliberately stand in the flight path and get the bejeezus scared out of them by how close they are to the bottom of a 747.  The big planes arrive and exit on Sunday so it has become a weekly event.  Even more astonishing is the departure of these huge beasts.  They start from the touchdown point and run up the engines, causing the sand on the beach to sandblast everything and everyone in it’s path.  People intentionally hang onto the security fence hoping to get lifted off their feet by the jet blast.  Hats, umbrellas, drinks all fly everywhere.  It’s a hoot to watch, but we looked on from the periphery (yes, it was a bar) as I had no intention of getting a sand enema.  See YouTube videos for Maho Bay St. Martin Airport and you’ll see what I mean. 

The night before our intended departure, we had a farewell happy hour on our boat with 8 other people.  Troy off Storyville, brought his guitar and serenaded us with his sweet Texas voice.  Everyone brought food and their own drink and a very good time was had by all.

But, in the spirit of ‘no good time goes unpaid for’, we awoke the next morning to a dead generator and diminishing battery power.  Seems the collective 2000 pounds of people had sunk the back of the boat down below an intake that siphoned salt water back into the generator.  Get this: we’re on a boat, in the ocean for crying out loud and we’ve got important equipment onboard that doesn’t like getting wet.  Jeez.

Big problem?  Yes, likely, if it weren’t for our hero Ian!  We stopped by their boat on the way to check out marina prices – no power means docking at a marina – and he insisted on checking it out before we spent a fortune getting a diesel mechanic to help us.  It took him over two hours of hot greasy work – with Bill's help of course, to put things right.  Saved us a bundle and put us back on our sailing plans.  We took them out for dinner to the Rancho steak house and enjoyed a fabulous steak dinner and a couple of bottles of good red.  They are people that I hope will stay in contact forever.

We finally left St. Martin on Monday, April 14^th after a protracted discussion over the weather – depending on how you interpreted it, this was our best opportunity to make a 70 KM run to Antigua after a brief hop to St. Barths.  We wanted to be in Antigua for the Classic Boat Regatta.

The sail to St. Barth’s was comfortable and the island was again, interesting and different from the others we’ve seen so far.  St. Bartholemew (aka St. Barths, aka St. Bart’s) is considered part of France, like a bedroom community with a really long commute.  French is the first language and the anchoring/mooring practices are very European – hundreds of boats tightly wedged together.  Not what we are used to at all.  But we managed to find a spot and dinghied into the main port of Gustavia and enjoyed the clean, well managed town.  They even recycle!  Every major couturier, purse and bag maker and watchmaker in the world is sold there.  I fell in love with a carry-on bag from Longchamps until I saw the 1600 Euros price tag.  Bill ordered a diet Coke at the restaurant where we had breakfast and blanched at the bill – 5 Euros, or roughly $7 for a can of pop!  He had to ask for a glass and some ice. 

Once again it is such fun to wander through the grocery stores wondering what that vegetable is or what’s in that box.  I did buy a christophine and cook it – quite good!  We came across one store named “American Gourmet” which claimed to have foodstuffs from every country in the world, but nothing from Canada.  Hunh.  I could have bought a box of crackers for $12.95 Euros ($17) or a bag of chips for 15 EU.  Or a gorgeous heirloom tomato for 7 EU.  Didn’t happen.  This is the place the world’s ‘beautiful’ people come to holiday, and they must also be the world’s most wealthy.  It is clean, beautiful and EXPENSIVE!

We left there Thursday April 18 at 3:00a.m. – yes, the middle of the night, in the pitch black because to make the 70+ miles and arrive in daylight, it would have taken over 14 hours.  Once again, the jacklines were attached, and all the usual safety and comfort preparations were made for nighttime travel, one of my least favorite things.   Ranks right up there with a colonoscopy or a root canal.  Or a root canal while having a colonoscopy.  With no anesthetic and a fire hose.    

And again, the weather forecasts were dismally wrong.  The predicted 2 meter seas were more like 4 meters, the ENE winds that would have enabled us to sail failed to produce even the slightest northerly and we pounded straight into the wind for six solid hours before we diverted to St. Kitts, a much more comfortable point of sail.  In fact, we topped 11 knots fairly regularly and averaged over 8.5.  But by then the damage was done.  We had had over 4 inches of saltwater washing over us in the cockpit, a new and totally disagreeable experience.   The suction from the wave action actually pulled the stateroom hatches up and soaked one bed.   I was a basket case.  It’s going to take some real convincing for me to ‘get back on that horse’ again.  Begging, pleading AND bribery will be involved.  Possibly handcuffs, if he's smart.  

Our generator problems were not over.  After the dust settled on the last fix, both Bill and Ian were flummoxed and somewhat concerned by a curious leftover part, a copper ring that looked like it might be useful or important.  But they could find no place for it and the genny was working, so an uneasy acceptance that things were fine settled in.  Not so.  Upon setting the anchor in the harbor at Basseterre, we fired it up and it ran, but only for a few minutes.  Then it wouldn’t run at all.  Dammit.

We were able to get one of the few precious slips available at the Point Zante Marina and get a wonderful mechanic to find and repair the problem.  We have found the people here to be exceptionally friendly and helpful.  We’ve decided to stay here until we leave for Florida and put the boat on the hard here.  I can’t wait to explore this beautiful place.   After all, it is LAND.

New Bill-isms:

After spending, say, a whole minute, maybe two, trying to get an app working for him, a frustrated Bill yells,  “They’ve (Microsoft, or some other software company) dumbed this thing down so much that I can’t work it.  Charlene, can you come here and help me?!!”.  

Uh huh, I’m gonna come running for that kind of call.

Do I look like Forest Gump?

 Bill and Dirk relaxing at Orient Beach.  Yes, it's the nude beach but there were only two French ladies there who were topless, nothing more.  And they were a testament to how women over a certain age without, er, enhancement, should keep their tops ON.

 Bill harnessed with life vest, EPIRB and tether.

 Bill's not dead yet, but if he keeps taking these kind of pictures, he's gonna get closer to it. 

 Cocoanut seller on Orient beach.

 Colorful vendor of souvenirs on Orient Beach.

 Street festival barbecue.  GOOOOOD ribs!

 Maho Beach bar attractions.

 Farewell to friends happy hour aboard the RSVP.  

 This is a gas delivery boat seen in St. Barths. I thought it was unusual.

 Orient beach stretches for miles and is a main shore excursion for the cruise ship passengers.

 Usual suspects at the street party in Grand Case.  Note the number of beer bottle empties.  The restaurant actually ran out of beer.  Don't they know cruisers?

 Iguana on the dinghies.  Hopped from boat to boat and finally into the water as Bill chased it to get a better picture.

 John and Manuella measuring the boat for the canvas cover.  They did a superior job!

 We rented a car and took this picture of the Lagoon from high up the hill.  If you look really hard, you can see the RSVP.

 Lowered fence at the Princess Julianna Airport on Maho Bay.  Note the two lane road that separates the runway from the beach.  Never happen in Canada or the U.S.

 Phillipsberg beach.  Pristine tourist attraction.

 Insel Air landing.  

 RSVP in a sea of boats in the Lagoon on St. Martin.

 Ribs and 5 side dishes, $10.  Cruisers know how to find the best food at the best prices.

 Sandstorm kicked up by departing plane. 

 And these people deliberately stand there to experience it!

 Shopping on the French side.  Fun!

 I threw this one in to show you the rocks we had to miss when we departed at 3:00a.m. in the pitch black from St. Barths.  You gotta believe in your chart plotter!

 A view of the inner harbour of St. Barths.  Best cared for island in the Caribbean. 

 Hotel De Ville, or City Hall, St. Barths

 Street performers in Grand Case.  Those girls were gorgeous!

 Witch's Tit, St. Martin.  Do you see it?

 Wrecks left to rot away.  This lagoon is such a priceless piece of real estate, that were it located in Canada, it would be a national treasure, and garbage like this would be removed.  

 Some kind of tourist gimmick called the Yellow Submarine in Gustavia port.  Weird, eh?

 Really, this sign is posted right on the beach.  

Just before we left Nanny Cay, to officially commence this cruising season, I found a terrific baker who came to the boat with his wares.  They looked fabulous and tasted better, the like of which we have never seen in the islands before.  And because he was from PEI, I trusted him; bought everything he produced, and promptly served it all to friends on the boat at happy hour.  Sue and Bruce, and their newly arrived  very pregnant daughter Erin, and fellow Edmontonian and boater, Terry Loat, who captains the fearless aFloat.  All went well until Erin debarked, tried to get around her Dad who was attempting to get his shoes on (post drinking)  on the dock - she unceremoniously fell in - YUK!  By the time we got her back on the dock she was badly bruised and had pulled a muscle in her shoulder.  But, as they say in fairy tales, that was just the beginning.  By 4 a.m. Bill was vomitting up a lung, sicker than a dog with food poisoning that could only be ecoli because it lasted almost a week.  He was SO sick.  I wasn't; guts of a sea gull, can chew nails and spit rust.  Also, I hadn't eaten any of the offending piece.  I ventured over to Terry's boat to find he was similarly afflicted; sick, both ends, non stop.  Now I was extremely worried that Erin had also been struck, so I went over to Andiamo 35 and knocked on the side of the boat.  Happily all was well there with all three, except for Erin's shoulder, which she had in a sling.  You can't imagine how relieved I was.  Now I just had to support Bill and Terry through their ordeals.

Within a couple of days, Bill felt sufficiently better that he was ready to leave the dock.  We needed to fill with gas and diesel so stopped at the fuel dock on the way out of the marina, at which point I knew for sure he still wasn't up to snuff.  I  had to back the boat onto the fuel dock, Bill just wasn't up to it.  He had pulled a muscle in his back retching.   Well.  There is NOTHING a woman can't do in a crisis, and nothing like it she will do without one.  I backed onto the dock without incident, or grace. We fueled up, motored in uncertain seas over to Norman Island, with me driving and Bill looking a little green  - claimed it was a combination of the spilled diesel smell, the 'aroma' of pumping out our holding tank when we were out in the open sea, and the lingering malady of a superior case of ecoli.

Fat Hog's bay has nothing to recommend it other than a brand new laundromat & a great eatery!
This is the Koi pond outside the restaurant

Ron, bartender par excellence, espousing the benefits of 'omega trees, mon'!

At Norman Island, things improved daily as we snorkeled the caves and enjoyed the beach bar and restaurant.  Also, the wind had really piped up and we we securely attached to a mooring ball in one of the most ideally located bays in the BVIs.  Not in any hurry to leave.

Friend Jerry and Erin dancing to MJ's music.  Note the sling!

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We had so much fun when MJ, a local celeb was playing wonderful jazz and contemporary music, and we danced, ate and drank the night away.

We cut a mean rug!

MJ was a joy to watch and listen.  But he was really hard to photograph!

After 5 days we were ready to change the scenery and motored over to the Bitter End.  It's a big bay on North Sound and a very upscale resort-y place.  The first night we tied ourselves to a mooring ball in front of Saba Rock and watched the ball submerge itself over 3 feet  in the horrendous winds.  Those same winds, while uncomfortable for us on the boat were ideal for the kite sailors who criss-crossed the bay between the boats, hurtling themselves over 30 feet into the air,  overtop of boats and navigational aids.  It was awesome and really made me wish I was younger - I SO would have tried that!

These guys HONK at up to 30 Nm.  See him in the air?

The  next night we moved to get out of the fierce winds and, at sunset, someone on one of the boats played a haunting TAPS on the horn.  It echoed around the bay, and every ear was tuned and silent.  It was so moving.

We were surprised at the number of super huge mega yachts showing up here until I googled them and found out they were being judged in the annual 'mega yacht regatta' where the worlds largest and most opulent yachts are judged on their merits.  Our money is on the tug-boat looking boat with the helicopter, ferrari and super speed boat on the deck.  Mega yacht number 43 is Nirvana and she's for sale, although finding out the asking price is not easy.  I was going to submit a low-all offer, but my computer doesn't allow me to input that many zeros.   Also,  Richard Branson (Virgin, etc.) owns the next island over, Necker Island, and we will have to avoid hitting it when we leave here.  That's if we're  not distracted by his helicopter buzzing over our heads constantly.  My shameless name dropping is over right here.

Terry Loat and his friend Brant joined us for the last 24 hours and we enjoyed their company on our boat and their hospitality on aFloat.  We were sad to see them off; they left for Grenada this afternoon.

We are currently watching the Stupor Bowl at a bar here and enjoying the real fans gong show.  Loud, drunk, but strangely not offensive or obnoxious, we enjoy the side show of their histrionics.  I also found the opening ceremonies involving the choir from Sandy Hook  and Alicia Keyes national anthem very moving.

Our next port of call, tomorrow morning is Anageda Island where we will celebrate Bill's 69th birthday with lobster and a tour of the flamingos on the Salt flats.  

Jewelry Cruise

Jewelry cruise; (noun.) an overnight sailing passage that involves false promises of good weather and calm seas, instead, one gets beaten up by the seas and winds, frightened out of one’s mind (F only) and results in the purchase of expensive trinkets (again, F only) as compensation for not committing murder.

The beautiful USVIs and BVIs have become as familiar as the streets of Edmonton to me.  I know where I can find everything I need or want and we’ve built a solid community of friends who have become our sailing family.  I’m comfortable and safe here, and happy to be on the boat.  In other words, (Bill’s), it’s time to leave.

Friday, March 15^th

Crown Bay Marina, St. Thomas: We bid a fond farewell to (Bill’s brother) Bob and  (sister-in-law) Brenda who were great company and easy guests.  Did 8 loads of laundry, grocery shopped and headed out to Cooper Island to meet up with buddy boat, Beleeza and friends Grant and Brenda.  A window for crossing to St. Maarten from the BVIs was available for two days only and wouldn’t open up again for another two weeks.

 

Hooked up in Coopers Island and began planning and coordinating with our buddy boat.  It is a 90 NM trip requiring a 5p.m. start in order to arrive during the daylight.  Grant has a high-tech satellite weather system that indicates all systems go.

Saturday, March 16 4:00p.m.

Left the safe anchorage at Cooper Island after making every possible preparation.  Jack lines (bright yellow flat ropes tied from the front to the back of the boat so that if, for some reason, someone had to go forward, they would carabinered on and, in the event that should they be swept overboard, they would still be tied to the boat – makes finding them much easier in the dark) installed, all phones, lights, portable VHF charged, water made, ditch bag filled with emergency supplies, EPIRBs and life vests and tethers at the ready, soup made for comfort during the long night.  We were ready.

Turned the corner into the wide open Atlantic and immediately things were way bumpier than I like.  Bill said not to worry, things would get better, according to the forecast.  LLPOF (Liar,Liar,Pants,On,Fire)

7:00p.m. It’s been a long trip already, and I’m counting the minutes.  The sun is setting, dark is closing in around us and things are NOT getting better, although they aren’t getting worse.  Yet.

10:00p.m.  It is glaringly apparent that the forecast was wrong, wrong, wrong.  I’m going to suggest to Grant that he take his fancy weather device and tie it to the anchor as fair warning to other electronic devices, should they decide to disappoint as badly. The deck slapping causes such loud noise and harsh vibration I am sure the boat is coming apart.  I look Bill in the eye and say, fervently, “Never again”.    Grant’s anemometer (wind indicator) is stuck at the top of the guage – 38Knots;  therefore, the winds are upwards of that.

1:00a.m. Our radar and Grant’s AIS are lit up like pin ball machines.  There is more traffic out here than expected, and some of it is not well lit.  When a freighter towing a barge goes by, without warning and within half a mile, Bill’s sphincter  factor goes up, but he does his best to smile at me and say, “We’re not in any danger, it’s just uncomfortable”.  (He is wrong on so many counts; he is very much in danger of losing his life.) And it’s not just uncomfortable, it’s unbearable.  Brenda, on Beleeza has the right idea I think, she takes two sleeping pills and knocks herself out for the night because that’s the only way she can stand it.  (That was the plan, but it was too rocky for her to sleep, so, in spite of the pills, she was groggy, awake and miserable).  I am unable to heat the soup because the act of bringing a spoon to one’s mouth is impossible.  And anything hot would just bounce out, spill and likely burn the holder.

3:00 a.m.

There is unexpected water on the bathroom floor.  Bill was worried that we’d sprung a leak, but I knew where it came from.  The waves hit us so hard that water blasts backwards through some of the through – hulls and sends a water gun cascade backward up into the sink drain and the shower sump.  I have to remember to pump out every hour or so to prevent the water from getting further into the boat.

The thoughts that run through my head are the following:

1.  What can I throw up into that won’t throw it back at me?

2.  MAKE IT STOP!!!  I want to get off!

3.  Why couldn’t I have married a normal guy, like a dog catcher, circus clown or a nice cereal killer? (I know I spelled it wrong, it’s just funnier that way)

I am too old to engage in activities that require being strapped into life saving devices and tethered on.  Bill, however manages to maintain his good humor throughout the whole ordeal, (likely faking it for my sake).  Had he not, I would have lost it.

5:00a.m. Everything we own is on the floor.  The toaster oven, which has never, ever moved, has dented the floor where it crashed.  Fortunately, it was manufactured in some South American country where toaster-oven-tossing is a national sport, because that tough little thing still works fine, except the door doesn’t close properly anymore.   We are looking forward to the sunrise, when we can at least see the 3 meter waves coming at us from every direction.

6:30a.m. Oh, it’s light out all right, a grey, dull, rainy, blustery miserable light that barely distinguishes itself from the charcoal angry seas.  And yes, we can see very well, the two – not one, but two – squalls that are coming at us.  Bill managed to skirt the first one, but Grant got caught.  At one point, even though his motors were pinned, they were standing still, getting beat to smithereens.  We were full throttle too, making 2 knots.  We were only 8 knots from St. Maarten, but at that rate, it was going to take us FOUR more hours.  Bill said later he knew we were in trouble when the marker lights from the island, which had been visible for the past hour, disappeared.

9:30 a.m.

We finally pull into Marigot Bay on St. Maarten and throw the anchor down, the quarantine flag up, and get some sleep.  We will worry about checking in later. Bill’s still grinning and saying foolish things like, “See?  We survived!” which is no measure of anything I ever want to do again.

  But I am going to find a VERY expensive jewelry store. 

Anageda, Feb, 2013

Anageda

We arrived in Anegada on Feb 4^th after a brisk and pounding sail – yes, I said sail.  Took some serious deck pounding, but curiously, this doesn’t bother me much anymore, except from the aspect of what could be broken and costly as a result.

We were going there to partake of the famous Anageda Lobster in a belated celebration of Bill’s 69^th birthday.  Beyond the lobster, and the hope of seeing the re-introduced flock of West Indian flamingos, now up to 300 from extinction (which is 50 more than it’s human population), we had little expectation of this most easterly and last of the BVI chain.  We were very pleasantly surprised.

We were personally invited to the Whispering Pines Restaurant by a local man named Barry.  He boated out to us when we moored and sang a little ditty of welcome and issued a glowing recommend –yes, he works for the place - for the restaurant.  He was so charming that we signed up immediately – reservations were required, along with your meal choice as they only prepare what is ordered in advance. 

We dinghied to the brand new, courtesy of Hurricane Earl in 2010, dinghy dock.  Whispering Pines is on the beach where the tables and chairs are set in the sand and the water laps gently about 10 feet away.  There was a candle on our table and lovely, soft Caribbean music playing.  A crisp salad and tropical drink appeared almost immediately and then the lobsters were presented.  Sliced in half down the middle and curled up on the platter, Bill and I tucked in to enjoy lobster like no other.  It had been bbq’d and basted with garlic butter and had a slight smoky caramel flavor – this little slice of heaven melted in your mouth.  Each lobster, we estimated, was over 2 pounds.  Whether it was the location, the food, or the company, we both agreed, all elements were perfect.

This is the only non-volcanic island in the Antilles chain made up of limestone coral.  Its highest point of land is 26 feet above sea level.  It is surrounded by shallow water and coral reefs that make the approach a must for paying attention to the charts.  There is no approach by boat from the the Atlantic side.  But the beaches on the north are world class spectacular and stretch as far as the eye can see, protected by the coral reefs and providing excellent snorkeling and swimming.  The sand is that pure, silvery, fine stuff that slides through your toes like water and makes you wish you were a child again. 

Cow Wreck Beach gets its name from the wreck of ship carrying cattle that crashed onto the reef many unknown years ago, sending only cattle bones ashore.  This dubious tale was told to us by our cab driver/tour guide who took us on an island tour, and who couldn’t vouch for it’s veracity.  He also had no explanation for the many, many, skinny unclaimed cattle that freely roam the island, so it is my suspicion that some of them survived the wreck.  But as no one feeds or waters these poor beasts, nor do they pen or slaughter them, they have become a tolerated nuisance when they raid gardens and wander into the traffic on the only road that transverses the middle section of the island.  Our cab driver was really chuffed as they had broken into his thriving pumpkin patch and destroyed it, along with his budding peanut plants.

Jerry carted us to the standard tourist attractions and managed to combine our fare with another couple from Minnesota.  We were delighted to meet Beth and Hector  from St. Paul and during our short time together became fast friends.

At Loblolly Beach, I was treated to another odd but wonderful occurrence.  I swear I’m not making this up.  Bill and I were having a drink at the beach bar when the fellow on the next stool struck up a conversation, as is common in the tropics.  Turns out, Dick Sweeney was one of the three and only remaining partners who invented, developed and marketed the Keurig Coffee machine.  My Keurig is one of my favorite kitchen machines, and as I have either recommended or purchased one of these for all my friends and family, this was a special event for me.  Dick had actually sent me an email and a complimentary box of coffees a few years ago after I had sent in an email request.  Imagine that!  What does it say about a person when she is a bit star struck by the guy who makes a coffee machine?  Don’t answer that.

The other major reason for us being there was so that Bill could observe flamingoes in the wild, and we sure did!  They were those tiny pink blobs we could just make out in our binoculars.  Apparently, they are camera and people shy.

Our cab driver took us on a tour past one of the three  restaurants on the island and was upset to find it closed.  He had sent his 7 year old daughter there for lunch, so was concerned that she didn’t have anything to eat.  Off  we went to the school; he went in and found out that one of her teachers had taken her home for lunch.  That would never happen where I come from.  

We’ll be back.

November 2012 to January 2013

Summer, 2012

The dahlia show.  Bill took hundreds of pictures of the over 2000 vibrant, surreal flowers

Our four months in Comox was a LOT more fun than the previous year, and I was able to glimpse, at least,  the notion of being happy there.  We had ten days WITHOUT company and I was in heaven!  What a treat to enjoy our friends and family!  Turns out Comox is a more attractive destination than Edmonton.  Who knew?

Build, Bail & Sail at Nautical days

This was a hoot as teams signed up to make a boat out of $85.85 worth of materials and their own hand tools.  Then they raced out to a buoy, changed places in the boat and finished the race.  Needless to say, many did not complete the race.

April Point No Smoking Sign

Cathedral Grove, a most magical place - Bill took this picture

Pat and Laura got married in New Jersey in December.  We are delighted to welcome this lovely young lady to the family.  They are pictured here at Trent Falls just south of Courtenay

Seals at Comox Harbour where everyday at 6p.m. we can purchase freshly caught fish.  Delightful!

I lucked out to find some really good girlfriends who provided me with entertainment, information, and connectivity to the major goings-on on the Island and who continue to share with me their lives, loves and livers (I hoist a few in their honor and absence, and they do the same for me) from afar.

September, 2012

At the condo in Florida, we enjoyed our friends there too enormously.  Our best friends and boating buddies made the shocking decision to quit cruising and go back to work after 5 plus years of retirement.  Everybody thinks he’s lost his mind(!)  but Chris had been becoming increasingly antsy and disgruntled; he and Robin put their boat up for sale in Puerto Rico and moved to Houston, where he hopes to get a job.  While we wish them well, both of them are sorely missed and will be even more so from the Caribbean.

Robin in the lineup for grub at the Building A Party

But before they left, we headed out on a road trip to Alabama and Tennessee to see the sights and visit with boater friends, Troy and Betty from Betty Boop.  They own a Tara-esque plantation in Alabama and treated us to some southern hospitality, the likes of which we have only read about.

Antique Anthology sample

Jack Daniels where they make their own charcoal from the pallets you see.  It's in a dry county of Tennessee,  not too far from Marker's Mark and Jim Beam.  We think they can imbibe in spite of the interdict.    This was a very good distillery tour, and we've been on a few.  We can even remember some of them......

Chris blowing the conch aboard Kaos.   Last night aboard!  Allan and Susann (middle two) are now in Costa Rica checking out how it would be to emigrate there.  Do they know how to live, or what!??

We enjoyed a lovely round of send off dinners (thank you John and Sue!) and our good friends Pim and Eleanor even drove us to the airport, saving us a good deal of money and stress.  We left our great place there in the good hands of Binnie and Jim, again.

The day before our departure to the BVIs and the RSVP, we attended the Stuart Boat show in an effort to divert ourselves from the dragging time.  We weren’t expecting much compared to Annapolis, Fort Lauderdale and Miami Boat shows but were pleasantly surprised at both the number and variety of vendors.  It proved to also be the germination of a new plan and potentially the start of an altogether new adventure. 

We both fell in love with a tug/trawler powerboat, which is sort of a natural progression from sailing. (the older you get, the more important your creature comforts).  We still enjoy the flexibility and stamina afforded to us by the contortions, climbing, pulling and lifting on our sailboat.  The challenge of fitting 20 pounds of sausage into a 10 pound casing never loses it’s appeal.  Boldly going where no (sane) man has gone before (without a biohazard suit) and relying on the wind, waves and dramamine to get us places.   We’re thinking of selling the sailboat (Bill tears up a bit here), buying a trawler (IF the stock market is good to us) and bringing the new boat to Comox.  That means going to Cuba, Mexico, Belize, Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, El Salvador, through the Panama Canal and up the west coast of North America.  Fun, huh?  Other people have tried it, and some of them even lived! At this point, it’s just a pipe dream.

We arrived safe and sound in Nanny Cay, after dragging one awkward 50.4 pound duffel bag and one 49.6 pound rolly bag, and lugging two 40 pound carry-ons, all the while smiling and pretending they weren’t that heavy so we didn’t get charged extra.  I think I have a hernia.  Do women get hernias?

Bill boarding RSVP - note the buffer on the left

The way it works down here is that you leave your boat for 8 months, with the instructions to fix this and repair that – which will be extremely costly – you arrive to find that they started the work the day you arrived and so an extended hotel stay is required before you can put the boat in the marina, where it takes an additional week to get all things working and stocked.  If you want to bitch about it, stay in North America, where everything runs on time. 

Our hotel was lovely except for the roosters, who can’t tell time and are cock-a-doodle-doing at all hours of the night, and frequently from our patio.  Even with this extreme provocation, Bill will not let me get a gun.

The pool next to the beach.  Not too shabby!

Best marina bathrooms in the world.  Believe it!

This is what happens when the Captain has more $ than IQ

$1.3M EU - sunk after 2 days off a well marked reef.  Salvage value: $50,000US

Check it out on Youtube

The two marina restaurants are both excellent.  At The Gennaker the waiter, Devon, provides boundless energy and million watt smiles to all his customers.  He could give positivity lessons to Tony Robbins.  Everything is, “Bes on de eye-lan”.  Other than that and the word, “Well-come” we don’t understand a word he says.  The other restaurant, Peg Legs has wonderful upscale food, about the same caliber as Cheesecake Café.  But the view is world class; it’s elevated one floor, open air and oversees on three sides either the beach and ocean or the marina and boats.  We are entertained again by pelicans, which dive bomb the water from great height and at a ferocious speed for fish.  They’re hilarious.

                                                               "Bes on de I-lan" 

Bill at Peg Legs. " It just doesn't get better than this."

Dinner with friends at Peg Legs

Joyce & Dave (Autumn) Vancouver, Sue & Bruce (Andiamo 35) Calgary

and Terry (AFloat) Edmonton

The marina has been hit with an outbreak of Dengue Fever, which is no fun.  Three confirmed cases spread by mosquito bite.  There is no cure, just treated like a bad flu and tough it out.  One couple here arrived in November and left yesterday after a severe bout.  The marina imported some oddball looking devices, powered by propane that fog the area and kill the mosquitos.  It appears to be working as no new cases have been reported.

Dengue Fever Fogger - does that breed confidence, or what?

Our trip out of the slings and into a slip was the usual RSVP clusterf’k.  The dockmasters failed to show, and owing to our advanced seamanship –guffaw, guffaw - that normally doesn’t bother us too much anymore, but on this occasion we really could have used some dockside help.  We were assigned the T of the short leg of an E dock (middle leg much shorter than the two parallel docks.)  We had to approach straight in as the channel was very narrow, and the plan was to rotate the boat once the front was close enough for Bill to jump out and tie us up sideways.  My knees are too bad to be doing any jumping anymore.  So I WAS DRIVING!  In typical RSVP fashion, we got to the dock, I attempted to throw the knobby thingys into reverse but the right one wouldn’t budge and the left engine quit altogether when I threw it into reverse.  Augh!  So I ran out to the front, tried to push us back so that we wouldn’t hit the dock, or the other boat that our anchor sticky-outy things were now on top of!   In the meantime and unbeknownst to me, a couple of yahoos in marina employee t-shirts (where the F were they earlier?!)  were dinghying along,  saw our plight, and decided to ‘help’ by pushing us on the outside hindquarters with their dinghy.  The resounding thump gave me a freaking heart attack as I stalwartly put my body between the boat and the piling.  All those mop-squeezers  could say, was, “did you hit the dock?”  which we didn’t.  Or the other boat.  Bill got us tied up and we immediately headed for the bar.

You folks are so lucky to be learning all these nautical terms from me. 

You know you are lucky when:
1.   you have more bathing suits than dress shoes
2.  your husband says he likes you as much as he loves you
3.  getting up in the morning is optional

LIFE IS GOOD!