crossin the street, San Blas, Cusco

making Arroz con Leche in Cusco!

Checkin out the scene, first day in Cusco

amazing

Woke up this morning in Cusco feeling exactly like I do on Christmas mornings home in NY! I'm buried under a wonderfully warm duvet, but my nose is freezing; I smell coffee and hot breakfast and hear the comforting sounds of my bunkmates stirring, and the muffled voices and familiar clatter of pots and pans...the only foreign addition is the intermittant explosion of FIREWORKS outside signifying the Peruvian Independence day celebrations!

more later, gonna see about some coca tea!
xoxo M

Made it to PERU!

after a long day of traveling, we arrived in Lima around 10pm Sunday, and took a cab to the Pariwana Hostel in Miraflores, a backpacker-friendly area of sprawling, smelly Lima!
Fell asleep in our super cozy bunks almost instantly, and woke up to a room full of singing Israelis, a gringo, a Swede, and one exceptionally large Brazilian man (Robs was prretty nervous about having the bunk below him!)!
Enjoying the (complimentary) coffee and bread and jam!

Robin trying to feed me a straight-up greenish-black granola bar...thankssss buddy

Airport napping...

Hostel Livin'

Last full day on Catbird! Packing...

St. Lucian sunset

From Sea-Level to Cloud-Level

Well, after a solid month island-hopping down the Caribbean, Robin and I decided our time aboard S/V Catbird has come to an end.

As I write this, we are cruising at 30,000 feet above sea level, on a rattling, rusty Liat jet - and we can't stop smiling.

My man William Arthur Ward once wrote, "The Pessimist complains about the wind, the Optimist expects it to change; the Realist adjusts the sails.".

So, after a month of madcap mishaps and miscommunications, we quit expecting things to be different, and decided to adjust the sails. For two ocean-lovers, we are both thrilled to be far above it, speeding off to wonderfully landlocked Machu Picchu!

We realized that for both of us, the joy of traveling has always been the idea of following our own path, exploring on our own terms, and taking the time to meet amazing people and get to know some incredible places. On a boat (on THIS boat, at least), we were never in control of our own time, or our experiences - the captain was. At every beautiful island we came to, we sat at anchor far out in the harbor, to "catch the breeze" - or avoid docking and mooring fees - and watched life in the port towns through binoculars on the bridge (this we coined, "watching ants").

Going ashore was an option only when there were errands to run, and we spent every hurried, precious moment on land being screeched at, either in person or, on rare solo trips, through the static of a VHF.

Back on board, we were novice crew on a large, old sailboat (see the dangers and derailed decision-making I mentioned a few posts back), and we found it wasn't the poorly-maintained boat, the sailing, or the tight communal living that got to us - it was not being able to trust the instructions of the captain when we needed his help.

Every word out of his mouth, every line drawn on a chart, had to run through our "Don-sense" detector (good one, Rob-o!), because it usually made no sense whatsoever. As novice crew on HIS large, old sailboat, however, our opinions remained unanswered raised eyebrows across the bridge.

And I'm thankful for the experience, no regrets. As I said, it taught me to speak up - and it showed me that though I love sailing - the surprisensalt spray, the feel of grinding a winch and the pull of lines in my hands, the power of a sail - I will never own a charter boat!
That the make-up of the crew comes first and foremost (so glad we stuck it out together, R), and can make or break your time on a boat,
That when I'm traveling, autonomy is one of the things I value the most. Having the independence to stop watching ants, and instead dive into the culture I'm visiting is a freedom I regained as soon as I booked my flight.

So that's our plan. We bid adieu to S/V Catbird and we're fast-tracking to South America. We're going to dive in - we are going to surround ourselves with people, sights, and smells and food and music.

Off to Peru! Where we'll climb mountains, hug some llamas, trek and explore on our own time, on our own schedule. Where the only water we want to see is that of hot hostel showers and Lake Titicaca!

See ya in Lima!

Catbird from the dock, Young Island, St. Vincent

enjoying a Lucian sunset

jumping off the bridge, Gros Piton, St. Lucia

Dr. Feel Good and his pirogue, St. Lucia

charter-ready!

Soufriere, St. Lucia

In Sum:

In Sum:

We have now become expert
food preps, sous chefs,
jib sheeters, latrine cleaners,
bridge walkers, smooth talkers,
chart readers, fish feeders,
dolphin watchers, pirate dodgers,
mast scalers, coffee inhalers,
engine repairers, tourist scarers,
bottom scourers, biweekly showerers,
line untanglers, fruitstand finaglers,
fuel moppers, island hoppers,
Patois speakers, man creepers,
punch spikers, bull dykers,
sun bathers, bagel cravers,
ass kissers, stern pissers,
daydreamers, night screamers,
frequent whiners, almond diners,
multitaskers, gas passers,
dinghy drivers, boat MacGyvers,
ball peekers, adventure seekers,
Beyoncé bumpers, turtle humpers,
toenail losers, yachtie schmoozers,
goat cheese hoarders, bottom paint snorters,
shark baiters, navigators!

Excited for land. See ya soon, Lima!

and the moral of the story is...

and the moral of the story is...

This delivery has been one of the most challenging experiences of my life, amd
for that, I am grateful. Sailing an 82-foot cat was physically challenging,
to be sure - staying up all day and night with no land in sight, grinding
those winches, hauling the dinghy, and the constant scrubbing and running around - but I know Robin will agree, the hardest part was the mental and emotional toll of this particular passage.

It was very difficult, indeed, to be put in a position where I was in well over my head, and therefore compelled
to follow orders, even when those
directives went against what little sailing knowledge I might have acquired.

This trip forced both of us, naturally non-confrontational, to listen to our gut instincts, trust them, and voice our thoughts, even at the risk of starting an argument. We learned to think more critically, and act more cautiously, and not once did we regret it. This is, after all, a dangerous undertaking for the careless.

As a result of our looking out for each other, we have avoided (or at least cannot be held responsible for): crashing the boat, running aground, falling overboard alone at night without a harness or lifejacket, being assaulted by a drunken charter guest, losing a hand in between the anchor chain and windlass (our fingers are forever grateful!), losing an eye to an exploding block, solo drift diving in unfamiliar waters with a 4 knot current and no dsmb, swimming while underway in the Atlantic moments before two large, possibly hungry sharks race by the boat, or falling from 80 feet up the mast while our trusty belayer sneaks off to the galley to snack on some mango slices...

so kids, just remember: TRUST YOUR GUT & SPEAK UP! ...you never know when that excessive 400 feet of anchor chain in 15 feet of water is the result of your captain falling asleep at the helm with his finger on the 'anchor down' button...

Music: Mishka - Above the Bones

PS: Mom & Dad, please don't freak out. We are both safe and sound, thanks to some common sense and teamwork. Ducks fly together.

The Pervy Russian

The Pervy Russian
18 July 2011

Of course, what would a surprise week-long, six-person charter be without us having to ward off the lecherous advances of one former Soviet Intelligence officer?

Our charter consists of two families, with two 8-year-old kids fighting and screaming like Siberian banshees. They eat constantly, (the one young prince, Max, informed our chef his breakfast tasted like 'crew food'.) creating a never-ending stack of dirty dishes towering like a precarious Pisa over our tiny galley sink.

They predictably override our selection of mellow, beachy tunes in favor of blasting Russian techno at all hours
of the day, and in true Soviet form, they spend their days - pasty legs dangling off the stern - fishing and ripping shots of vodka.

The alpha male, also named Max, while
attempting - quite successfully - to decimate the local reef fish population (ciguaterra soup, anyone?), has made it clear on Day 1 that his primary objective is to ignore all marital and familial obligations in favor of courting two extremely reluctant crew members, with such winning lines as,

"Make me a drink, my sweet Mee-lisa; I need your spirit in my spirits."

...and a few 'spirits' deep:

"What size are your feet? Size six? I could just tell. I hate women with big feet, feet as big as mine. She could be the most beeyootiful woman, but big feet? Disgusting."

"Let me take picture of you. I think you are very photogenic."

"Are you going swimming? No? Are you afraid of sharks? But YOU are a shark! Sleek, like a shark. Do not be afraid of your own kind! Why aren't you smiling? Smile for me. Look at me. Answer me. Don't look at her - why do you keep looking at her instead of me? What, are you lesbians or something?"

...we informed our captain, and our grizzly-like chef, Chris, of Max's unwanted advances, and they both cornered him and his apologetic friend, and reassured us that was the end of the Commie Creeper.

Needless to say, our steward service has been less than obliging since.

Broke & Barefoot in Tortola

Broke & Barefoot in Tortola
...or, Big Z and Little M in The Case of the Stolen Tender

Road Harbor, Tortola
25 June 2011

Set alarm and wake up at 5:30 am to give myself a half-hour to eat breakfast and have coffee before motoring the boat over to the fuel dock to fuel up for our sail.

Of course, in true Catbird fashion, as soon as there is any movement above deck, Captain Don puts us to work, with the vaguely promising, "Oh, but we'll sit and have a nice bowl of cereal once we reach the fuel dock...I want to make sure we're there extra early this morning so we have room.".

D tells Robin to get ready on the port bowline and puts me at the stern. We motor over, and as we're pulling up to the dock and tossing the lines over to the fuel attendant, Don yells for me to pull the dinghy up alongside.

Well, I look behind me, and there is no 14-foot dinghy in sight - must already BE alongside. I check the starboard side and...no tender to be found. Shout back, "Um, Don? I don't see the dinghy..." and he returns, rather brilliantly, "It's at the stern!" - where I am standing. "No, no it's not..."

He comes down from the bridge to confirm that no, I am not mistaken, there is no tender, no tender line - our dinghy has disappeared.

6:30 am
While he sets up the boat for fueling, he instructs a groggy Robin and I to pull down the double kayak and "just go paddle around and see if it drifted to shore.". Still no breakfast. And shore is quite a distance from the fueling platform. Robin and I exchange a look as we drag the kayak to the stern and set about lowering it into the chop. I suggest we throw a shirt and shorts on over our bikinis, and we hop in, as graceful as we get at 6:30 in a pre-coffee morning, and set out looking for T/T Catbird.

We paddle through the swell and into the sulfurous-smelling mangrove swamp, around the ritzy Moorings, and through the Village Cay Marina, but there is no tender to be found.

We tie off the 'yak, (a subtle shade
of hunting orange) to a cleat at the marina and hop onto the dock, soaked, starving, shoeless and smelling of swamp. It is 0700, and everything is still closed up, so we wander around for a time waiting for the marina office to open, and trying vainly to hail Captain Don on our VHF.

0730
Ravenous and half-asleep, we stumble (quite literally) upon a little French cafe about to open, and both are ecstatic when I find a crumpled, soggy one-dollar bill in the pocket of my jean shorts. Skip barefoot back to the bakery to see what our one dollah can buy us. One dixie cup of coffee, not brewed yet. Oh, we'll be back.

We post up on the pier by the marina office and watch the harbor wake. A very salty woman and her hefty jack russell walk by on their way to the square of crapable grass and tell us to check out the dolphins by the Necker Belle on A Dock.

Walk out, see no dolphins, but use the opportunity to creep on the Belle, and try to hail our trusty captain again from close range. No answer. Feelin pretty punchy at this point, and walk back to the coffee shop to trade in our lone dollar. Practically throw it in the poor girl's hand, grab our tiny Styrofoam shotglass of java juice, and
split sips outside under an awning as it pours rain.

Walk out to the point to try hailing Don on the radio again, and still no response. We do, however, have a lovely exchange with the only other person standing barefoot in the rain at 7:45 in the morning on a field cleared for a public market: a semi-toothless homeless man in a blue and yellow tracksuit.

Walk back to the marina where we make friends with James, the Road Harbour Marine Officer. He ushers our delirious, bedraggled selves into the air-conditioned office, and we all try again to hail our elusive commander. Nada. Attempt to call the police station to report our dinghy stolen, but, it being our third day on Catbird, we have not a clue as to the make and model of the tender, and, not being owners, are not much use ("Umm...it's maybe 25 feet..no? 15 feet long - what's that in meters? Sure. white-ish? Off-white? Eggshell?).

0830
Decided to post up dockside and wait for our space cadet capitan to come kayaking in. While we're sitting, lamenting our broke and barefoot condition, we are momentarily cheered by the tan and shirtless commercial dive crew as they start loading their boats for the day's work. A few
of them give a smile as they saunter
down A Dock, and we are startled out
of our hypoglycemic reveries by two rather great-looking scuba masters asking if we want to meet for a drink later.

The day's looking up!

More highlights:

The rope-assisted 'nature walk' led by two fourteen-year-old money-grubbing con artists by the names of Claude and Dr. Feel Good (Gros Piton, St. Lucia)

One Night with Vampire Bill and the Buena Vista Social Club (Rodney
Bay, St. Lucia)

The Exceedingly Short Shelf Life of a
Log of Herbed Chevre in the Presence
of Two Sleep-Deprived Premenstrual Sailors (en route)

14 Hour Sail with Russia's Top 20 Disco Hits of 1986

Barfing over the stern to the backdrop of Luciano Pavorotti

sharks love scrambled eggs

Two words: Jazz Xylophone

Impressions from St. Lucia....
"Ooh, would we call them pirates? How about 'overly inquisitive local boaters'?" - Capt. Don

At anchor in St. Lucia, we have to post a guard on the boat at all times, as pirogues (big, brightly painted wooden boats with outboards on the back..used
for fishing and..inquiries..) will cruise by night and day to check out the vessel, count the crew, and wait for the dinghy
to leave for town so they can come aboard and rob us blind. Several times, while we were anchored
outside the fishing town of Vieux Fort, one of us left on Catbird would step
out of our cabin to one of these inquisitive local boaters ready
to throw a line on our cleat and hop
aboard!

Here's a little somethin we picked
up when provisioning at the local market:

M: i saw captain don's ball sack.

M: i saw captain don's ball sack.
dinghy.
hole in shorts.

GAPING hole.

R: i feel bad for the rest of the island.
so youve seen his sack, ive seen his wang. the whole shebang is covered

note passed in back of taxi

When The Going Gets Tough...

We are now purposely ordering
tap water and raw, unwashed vegetables in every port in the hopes
of contracting some tropical illness and getting sent home.

Haha

Thursday, July 7
Rodney Bay, St. Lucia

SOS, Chris Parker!

Due to that tricky mainsail batten, a broken winch and port engine troubles, we changed course on Tuesday to skip Dominica (bummer!) and head straight for St. Lucia. Longest passage yet - arrived around 4am this morning to Rodney Bay (I steered us into the bay in the dark and set the anchor - and didn't hit anything! whew!), and all fell asleep as soon as the anchor grabbed the bottom. There is something really amazing about arriving in port at night and waking up to a whole new scene! We are here in St. Lucia for a week before 6 guests arrive to do a weeklong charter through the Grenadines - didn't know that chartering the boat was even a possibility on this delivery, but hey, we may make some moolah! Too bad Robin's CatBird shirt fits her like a dress..well at least she doesn't have to worry about finding some khaki shorts!
We both are feeling pretty boated-out after a long 48-hr sail/motor and some drama with the Captain's wife, but we're trying to keep our energy up and stay positive! It seems like every day we have some major mechanical failure, but I think that just comes with the territory. I'm getting good at taking apart winches and putting them back together again (and ducking
flying chrome, and keeping my fingers
on my hands)!
Captain Chris has joined us for the St. Kitts to Trinidad leg, and we are relieved to have him aboard! He's a great big bear of a guy, a hard worker, knowledgeable, and super upbeat, which is a blessing when another passenger
has nothing nice to say...He is also a professional chef, so Big Z and I
don't need to pretend we can cook for the charter guests!
When it was just Robin and I and Captain Don, sailing through the night (as is his preference) was pretty intimidating - one of us would be up on the bridge for hours through squalls and big seas, and the only person who really knew what he was doing was either asleep or down below trying to keep the engines from overheating. With Chris aboard, we now have someone who is not only a great sailor, he also understands how to communicate with his crew so that we're all on the same page! Beforehand, we had to look at the logbook to figure out why the port
engine hatch was billowing smoke, or that yes, we did indeed pass Dominica on purpose, so we can stop worrying we overshot it!

The Free Lunch Debacle, Or Happy 4th of July Hunger Strike:

In Which Big Z and Lil M Learn There Really Is No Such Thing as a Free Lunch


After a long, breakfastless morning of scrubbing and boat repairs, Mel was feeling a little faint, and decided to rummage through the less-than-frosty
freezer to make a veggie burger for lunch.

BIG MISTAKE, MEL.

Upon entering the galley, semi-frozen patty in hand, Mel was instantly accosted for her choice in cooking methods by the Wife: "You are
going to pan-fry that? You must
grill it!"
Mel calmly explained that really, throwing it on the stove was a far more efficient, if not epicurian, way
of heating the burger. Wife sits back
down in a huff.
Wife watches Mel pull out a pita, hummus and some leftover salad to accompany her burger.
Wife asks Mel to leave out some
of "her" salad because she is ravenous, as she did not eat breakfast. Why? Because she doesn't like granola and almond milk, and her husband was
too busy working on the boat to make her something else.
Mel leaves the salad out, with fork, assembles her sandwich, and sits at the table on the stern to enjoy her
meal.
Robin walks into the galley to grab a snack herself- little did she know she was entering a warzone.
Wife: " I cannot believe this. This
is rude, so rude. What are you, barbarians? You make food for yourself, and you don't even ask if
we all want to eat? then you sit down
outside all antisocial (We eat ALL our meals outside)? It is rude and uncivilized and I am disgusted with both of you. Never have I ever
seen such rude behavior! Opening and shutting the fridge! Always opening and shutting the fridge!"
(Mel is frozen mid-bite just outside, Robin slowly lowers her hands and returns her would-be lunch to the fridge)
"...I don't understand how he puts up with you both - you are rude! and selfish girls! Just get me off this f'ing boat, I mean it! I can't f'ing stand it anymore! Let him deal with you how he likes, I'm getting off this f'ing boat right now!!"

Mel is quite shaken up by the
unexpected outburst, and both girls calmly try to explain that, as they understood it, breakfast and lunch were fend-for-yourself, and dinner was a more structured, sit-down affair. Wife kept screaming, and
Mel, still in shock, tries
to appease: "but I left out the salad?"
"it's only 11:30 - I didn't think anyone was ready for lunch yet?"

Mel and Robin retreat to the stern
to bail water, and mutually agree
to not set foot in "her" kitchen.

Almonds for dinner.

Monday, 4 July 2011
(Mel) We've been in St. Kitts since Thursday, and I'm writing it down as a place to revisit. Because of the vet school and the other two colleges
on island, there are a lot of young people here, and hanging out with them has been a welcome change from the inevitable loneliness that accompanies any significant time spent on a boat! Robin and I have both become close with our captain's friends Chris and Sam, Sam's amazing lady Caché and her girls, and especially Dove and Richard, visiting from Phoenix (dreamers unite!).
Fab bbq at Chris & Sam's big pink house
Thursday night, complete with dance
party led by Dove and Robin (flawless execution of Beyoncé's Move Your Body).
Had everyone on the boat Friday for an Israeli-style dinner of falafel and
pita, then said goodnight to the Captain and his wife, and Chris and his 8-year old son, who was having a ball on their boat-slumberparty. Drove up to Chris and Sam's house to get ready for the weekend fun (note: don't bother trying to look good when you're about
to hop in a dinghy and tear through the surf - soaked through)!
Went out that night to the newest spot on island, Sobe (like the tea), and man it felt good to get dressed up and dance! A great scene - big indoor/outdoor bar with a deck right over the beach and crashing waves, and a lighted beach volleyball court with amphitheater seating (complete with shirtless spikers!)...amazing fun. The best part? Unlike St. Thomas, where everyone is spread out between happy hour spots and there's
often a clear dividing line between Weet Indians and Whites, it was clear that this was THE place to be - it was full of people, college kids, vets-to-be, and locals alike - everyone dancing up a storm (Shout out to a certain veternarian - sun never sets on a badass!).
Slept on Chris and Sam's couch - Big Z and I were happy to sleep on a bed that didn't move - and woke up (late!) Saturday morning to Sam and Caché making pancakes.
Sailed with the gang over to Nevis, which was just gorgeous. Arrived at dusk, starving, and all 10 of us piled into the dinghy and tied up at
Oualie Beach to dine. Amazing food, and a really romantic Caribbean-style open-air restaurant. They didn't seem to mind we were all in cut-offs and boardshorts - if you go, the key lime pie is perfection, but it was the priciest place we've eaten at - bring some serious EC$!
Motored back to Whitehouse Bay, as everyone was too tired to sail. Heard hushed whispers of a change of plans for our delivery, which made Robin and I exchange a few worried looks - charter? 6 people? St. Lucia? or back up to St. Martin? Maybe someone would fill in the clueless crew in the morning.

Robin serenaded Dove and Richard and I in the saloon, and we said goodnight once we set the anchor. I dinghied our guests to the dock in the
dark, but the maglight didn't prevent
me from stepping on a fisherman's
forgotten fish head while unloading passengers - ugh ugh ughhhhh!
Woke up early the next morning to the magnificent Whitehouse Bay by
daylight - only a few houses in sight, and lots of green, jagged hills
and rocky cliffs.
Went on another catamaran cruise
over to Nevis (a more verdant, posh Jost Van Dyke) to celebrate Sam and Caché's birthdays - yes, we were still on a boat, but on this one all the work
was done for us, so we could kick back, hang with their friends, and sip a dangerously delicious rum punch! Did
a snorkel stop along the way - so much fun to be on the other side and play tourist for a day!
Will miss you amazing people, keep in touch! xoxo