Cruising

Some might say that it is the very definition of madness to winter over in Maine and leave for the tropics as summer begins to burst onto the scene. Those people would be absolutely correct. Nevertheless, that is just what we have done. The trip from Portland to Grenada took us within shouting distance of Bermuda, was entirely upwind, and graced us with a Gulf Stream crossing that was a low scale version of the worst conditions we could have hoped against (wind against current). The first few days had much of the crew horizontal and green. ...

Here are a few of the things that we saw when the fog cleared on our newest anchorage. More to come

The tradition of [European] sailors tattooing each other dates back to the 1700s when Captain Cook’s crew picked up the practice from the Polynesians. Since then, countless sailors have followed in their intrepid wake. I have chronicled some of my own experiences here, and here, but haven’t spoken much about how we adopted this tradition or how it has evolved in our cruising community. It started simply enough, with a proper anchor tattoo (Rocna), exchanged with a good friend on a buddy boat. In Johor Bahru, another sailor opted in, and since then, many more of our sailing buddies have asked (in spite of my strong disclaimer that I am not a professional) to exchange or receive tattoos. It’s become a bit of a thing. ...

This is where we bid au revoir to this country that has fascinated us with its warmth, diversity, creatures, landscape, and spirit. Majhunga, a city that cruisers alternately describe as “too dangerous” or “enchanting” is far from the crystal clear water of Tany Kely, but promises an easy clearance and provisioning for our trip across the Mozambique channel. Ready as we are to see what lies beyond this next horizon, I feel now that our time here was too short. There were so many places that we sailed by that I would have liked to have lingered in, and so many conversations that (due to my failure to learn the local languages) were not had. ...

Five years ago, a teenage girl died in the small Malagasy village of Antanambe. She was buried, as is her family custom, with all of her relatives, in a small plot cleared from the rain-forest in Verezanantsoro National Park. Here she awaits the decay of her corporeal form, so that she may finally join the spirit world. In the meantime though, she becomes lonely. The song and dance, the strong tradition of love and support that her village offered in life, is absent in death. ...

Imagine you are sitting down, enjoying dinner. It’s Taco Tuesday® (but on Thursday, because you have no sense of time). Suddenly the salsa jar becomes a projectile, it jumps straight up, then banks hard to the left and hurls itself at you, missing by inches. The jar (which you forgot to put the lid on between scoops) explodes, covering your last clean shirt in a delicious yet inevitably perishable blaze. You sigh. ...

We have an odd tradition on Convivia. I would like to believe that it was modeled after a trait I picked up in my wilderness canoeing days, but really , it is probably more just good fortune. We tend to set a day for departure, work our butts off to make that schedule, and then we realize that we have no real imperative to leave. So we postpone a day. This day, is a special kind of day because unlike other chilled out days, we really didn’t expect it (even after many many iterations). So we end up swimming around the boat (because Fatty is often either on deck or hipped and ready) eating popcorn, and generally being a family of extreme leisure. This photo pretty well captures that spirit.

The pace of life aboard Convivia has shifted. The hectic days of boatyard stress are behind us, as are the days in the Marina, fixing those last few (critical) systems. We’ve found a sleepy beachfront to anchor in front of and, with no transportation, have settled into leisurely days of kids floating beside the boat, easy conversation, and no plans to speak of. This transition to cruising-proper is one that you can’t see but in hindsight. I think it started three or four days ago when we returned our scooter. It was given a boost by our recent depletion of funds, which strengthens our resolve to stay put. We’ve got another kid boat nearby (Quasar) so ours have a friend to occupy the day. They come home exhausted and hungry, and crash out early, leaving plenty of time for Vick and I to play games and share a couple of ciders. ...

Thailand feels like cruising again. Our pace through Australia was breakneck, and Indonesia was challenging. Most of Malaysia felt like a race to the boat yard, and then there was that two month job. I thought Langkawi would feel like cruising again, but it ended up feeling a bit more like a boozy purgatory. The second we dropped the hook on Ko Tarutao I felt months of tension drain out of me. It didn’t hurt that this was about the time when Olive discovered that she could talk endlessly about Minecraft to me if she rubbed my back and feet. It’s been amazing in many ways. ...

The last 72 hours have been some of the most surreal, exhausting, and exciting of my life. I wrote about some of the first two days’ highs and lows here. The following night and day were just as full on. Things started out calm enough that I thought I might just watch a movie on my first watch. I was into a really high tension scene in Fury when I looked up and saw buoys all around. I had just scanned the horizon moments before using a combination of binoculars and a high powered flashlight. ...

“Where are you from?” they ask us. “Where is your home in America?” “How long was your flight?” It is difficult to answer and it is hard to explain in our few basic phrases. Our home has been only the boat for more than five years and San Francisco, California is written on the transom, so it’s the best answer we can offer. I think the true answer may come when I start to feel homesick. It’s the big latte at Cafe Fanny on a cold Saturday morning. It’s the vegan yuba roll ups at the Berkeley Whole Foods Market, eaten in the car after making it through the busy store. It’s the endless vegetables at the Berkeley Bowl. It’s the carne asada tostada salad at Picante Taqueria. It’s Acme bread’s big round walnut loaf worth the long lines at the Mountain View farmer’s market. It’s the roast beef sandwich I crave from Whole Foods. It’s that smell in the air in the Penny Ice Creamery. It’s the dark chocolate salt caramels at Recchiuti. Maybe home is the San Francisco Bay Area after all. ...

The sky feels too low here. That was my first and most enduring sentiment about Darwin. I also have an overwhelming desire to open my photo editor and drop the exposure, turn up the contrast, add a bit of saturation, and mess with the white balance. What Darwin lacks aesthetically, it more than makes up for in hospitality. On the business side, I have never had more things gifted to me. Including engine parts (small but significant, and delivered to my door), ice cream for the kids, tiny glass bottles with a scroll for messages, and rides. The kids are free on the busses, sailing club, and generally (it seems) anywhere there isn’t a specific kids price. ...

Parenting is *hard.*I still find myself waking up at night to tend to bad dreams, or bug bites, and there’s the constant sibling squabbles, and, with us, homeschooling battles. That’s not to mention the challenges of ushering our kids through their self-identification. I have noticed, several times over the busy few years past, that I haven’t really been focusing on those moments that make parenting awesome. On Lizard Island, we got our first real break of this leg of passage making. We snorkeled, and hiked and spent time together having fun. It really frustrated me that Olive wouldn’t get in the water. We know she can swim, and she is excited about her new wetsuit and mask, but she just wouldn’t take the plunge. Then one afternoon, after getting really upset about it, she and I were playing in the shallows and I started acting like godzilla, stomping and grunting, and she pretended to fight me. After a little of this horsing around, I asked her if she would like me to teach her something. She agreed, and we got her mask. I showed her how to clear her snorkel and how to put it on underwater. She was really good, and I let her know. She was visibly proud, and something changed in her. We spent the next hour or two snorkeling in the shallows and now she asks constantly when we will get another chance. ...

I don’t know what’s going on with me. We spent last night in this lovely ClubMed anchorage. This looks like a place you might like to stay at for a while right? I promise, the previous anchorage was even more picturesque. I, however, have no desire to stay. I don’t even feel the pull to slip into my brand new wetsuit and swim with the stunning fish that have been hanging out around Convivia. We are going to spend the day here, but only because the 100ish miles to Lizard will take us ~20hours, and we want to arrive with the sun overhead. ...