Baloo and Dominica

Our boat on a flat calm

“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”         ― John Lennon

Just to let the readers know, this blog was written a month ago and I have not had sufficient internet to post it before now.
Thanks and happy reading.

So here we are in Dominica, another Caribbean island, in the way that everyone speaks a lilting kind of English, has a laid back Rasta attitude, and is generally friendly. We have been here for just about 5 days now, and I am enjoying it, despite the fact that:

    A.  It is quite dirty

    B.  There is no place to really throw away trash, ergo the dirtiness

    C.  The local kids are SUPER pushy

Having Baloo here is awesome, of course. So far, one of the highlights of being here is:

Yesterday we loaded our dinghy with about 2 to 3 weeks of laundry and headed for the river. Now, make no mistake, there are two rivers here. One is super clean, has two pools for washing clothes and showering, the other looks like a swamp mixed with a nuclear waste dumping ground. The water is all murky and stagnant. Funny thing is, you just walk down the street a few blocks and you get to the other river, which is the exact opposite. So anyway, Dad spoke with an elderly local lady who said the clean river is where people go to wash their clothes, many of them not having washing machines. We took our buckets, and scrub brushes, soap and hair washing stuff, put it on our dolly, and went to the river. Now, I am not a big one on doing laundry, seeing as I always forget which settings are the right ones on the machine. Also I am not too good at hand-washing things, because we never have enough fresh water on the boat. Tell me, have you ever washed your clothes in a river, scrubbing them clean on a rock, wringing them out, and watching those clear drops fall like shards of glass,  and then drying your things out on bushes? Only a few of you probably have, the majority being yachties like us. The thing is, it’s such an experience you wouldn’t ever have in normal life. We dumped our entire bag of clothes into the bottom pool, the shallowest one, and set up our buckets for soaking. Dip in soap, scrub with brush, dip again, and chuck to the left so it can lie against the wall of rocks and all the soap would get pushed out by the water flowing downstream. Then, wring, wring, throw onto the rocks. Jabez picks them up, and sets them over the bushes. After a fashion, everything is done and we change into our suits and head to the higher pool, armed with shampoo, conditioner and soap. This pool is deeper, about waist deep, and cold. That was the first time I’ve washed my hair entirely in fresh water, since we got back to the boat 3 and a half months ago. On our boat you wash your hair in salt water, and rinse with salt water, then a fresh water rinse from a spray bottle. For those of you who have lawns, and use horrible and nasty pesticides like Roundup (don’t use it) think of those spray bottles. On the boat we have one of those and that is what you get to rinse with. It is filled with fresh water, not roundup though. It was a bit awkward, showering in that pool, seeing as there was a school right next door and children watching us from over the wall. They wash that way, but it is a bit of a spectacle if ‘strangers’ do it. After we were thoroughly refreshed, we headed back to the boat and hung everything up. Our boat was transformed into one giant laundry line. It looked like a second hand clothing shop, things flapping this way and that. Lunch was a help yourself deal, though there was nice fresh bread that Mom made the day before. In the afternoon, around 2ish, Igal, Matar, Telem, and the Nogster a.k.a Noga, came by and asked if we wanted to come ashore with them. We agreed, grabbed our shoes, kites and the rugby ball and went ashore. They are a family from Israel, 4 kids, living on their boat for the past 4 years; they crossed the Atlantic in February, and have been in Martinique since then. We met them, by total embarrassment. What happened was this:

Hmmm. You think there's room for a couple more?

The second day we were in Martinique, we saw some kids playing off the back of a boat with an American flag. We watched them go to another boat, a catamaran, and join some other kids. So we went over, and through much shyness and some stilted conversation, we went to the beach together.

I'm totally innocent here! Really!

Our faithful George

 Both boats were from Israel, and were speaking to each other in Hebrew, and since we didn’t know any Hebrew, YET, it took a while to get the conversation going. 
That is how we met Noga, age 11, a real little firecracker, and one of my youngest best friends.

 She is a mischievous one when teamed up with my brother, so watch what you drink. The two of them once slipped fart powder into Telem’s drink, but he figured something was wrong after a sip, especially when they were watching him like a hawk. Jabez calls Telem, age 14 now, Pastry Boy because, in Portugal, there is a suburb of Lisbon called Belem, which sells the best Portuguese Pastis de Nata in the world, you know, for Portugal.

Here I am burying the poor guy. Ah well.

At least he's enjoying it.

Anyway he and Jabez immediately became tight, after they figured out they like the same video games, i.e Pixel Dungeon, Dungeon Quest. Now we call them the Pixel Twins, because if you are looking for them, they are probably going to have their heads down, pixelating.

Matar and me working on an art piece made of glass

RESULT!

 Next is Matar, age 15, another of my best friends and part time confidante. Also, he reads a lot so I get tons of good recommendations on books.

Noga, me, Matar (a.k.a Drac), and Jabez

 Finally Dolev, 17, our guru for anything IT. Also not afraid to take a dip at times. Taking a dip usually involves pushing someone into the water and then cannonballing next to them. Michal and Igal are the parents and they all live on Baloo, the name of their sailboat.

Telem, Jabez, Noga, and me.

 So anyway, that’s that story.

Baloo

We were heading to a field, next to ANOTHER school. A big field this was, Master Yoda agrees. We set up our kites, a gift from our friend James (best. present. ever) and were immediately overwhelmed by local kids asking things ranging from, “Can I fly your kite?” to “Where are you from?” to “Is your kite for sale?” You see, kites are a luxury item here, and I don’t think many people have that luxury. Jabez’s kite looks like a kite surfers, all fabric and string.

Colorful

 Mine on the other hand is what you might think one would look like, with plastic pieces in it, so I am a little worried about how long it will last if it keeps nose-diving into the ground every time the wind drops.

Quite graceful, dontcha think?

 It’s also light and easy to get in the air but more difficult to keep there, because it turns more easily. Jabez’s kite is  easier to control up in the air, but can still whap you kind of hard when it comes down. You can even lie on the ground and fly it. We took a break and played a bit of rugby and tackling. I poured water on my face because it felt so hot you could fry a steak on it. At 6.30ish we headed back, because the sky was darkening. We had a quick stop off at the river to cool our faces and then went back. No one was at our boat so we went to Baloo, and ended up eating there, pita pizzas of our own creation. After a very exhausting day, we returned home and conked out.  

Epilogue…

Throughout the entire time we were with this beautiful family, I was never once bored, nor could none of us come up with something to do. There were always genius ideas and some not so genius ideas. There was always laughter, smiles, jokes and fun. There were pokes and bothers, inside jokes, tickling, and very little sadness. I had 3 of the best months of my life with them. I just want to say thank you. I really enjoyed our time together.

P.S. There are some photos missing here of our friends, but I cant load them. Another time, another blog.
xx Anneleize

 The greater the difficulty the greater the glory

(Cicero, 106 – 43 BC)

We left St. Vincent quite early, around 6ish. The town was still asleep, only a few roosters were attempting to rouse people. We tied down George (our dinghy) and headed for the open sea and the 53 miles to St. Lucia, our resting place for the night.

Bye bye St.Vincent

God effect

B-e-a-utiful

 Rodney Bay, the main bay for boats in St. Lucia, is on the northwestern side of the island, making for a protected area for weary yachts people to take a well-deserved break. It was 30 miles across the channel between the two islands, and 20 up the St. Lucia coast. We set out, wishing great, green St. Vincent a warm farewell. Whilst waiting for Dad’s dental crown to be mailed from France, we moved north, up the coast of St. Vincent, and stopped in a small anchorage called Petit Byahaut.

The Headland of Petit Byahaut

Beautiful beach, with the remains of a tent camp.

Just stunning

To our back

 It was a tiny heaven, ensconced by two large headlands and surrounded by crystal clear waters; we tied a rope from our stern to a tree on shore and relaxed in paradise.

Little brother fixing the stern line for us to a tree

Swim!

I just love my life.

Tadaa

 Jabez and I swam ashore to a black sand beach and sat on the stove-like sand, trying not to roast ourselves on the fiery beach. After a while we decided to go check out a cave, a bay and a half away, known as… wait for it… The Bat Cave! So we took our dinghy, and our GoPro camera, and set off. Once at this so called Bat cave, we tied ol’ Georgie to a handy mooring and hopped into the water. Above the entrance were very interesting geological formations in the rock, like a kind of wavy pattern.

Into the depths we plunge

 Large underwater boulders guarded the entry to the passage way and it grew steadily darker as we progressed, swimming, deeper into the cave. Finally we were in the back of the cave and there was a squeaking and chirping noise above our heads that wasn’t quite deafening, but pretty darn close. At one point, I took my mask off to look up and got this wave of bat fertilizer. The only time I smelled something this bad was when I was at my grandparents in South Africa and their neighbors spread guano on their flowerbeds. We couldn’t open the windows for a week! Anyway, we saw the bats flying back and forth on the ceiling and then a pinprick of light to the left. We swam in that direction, trying not to get smashed against the narrow walls of the tunnel. After 3 meters, the bottom dropped down and all I could see was just an opening, of clear, deep blue water and the walls of the underwater tunnel going downward. We came out of the cave and into the ocean, then doubled back to the dinghy again. I think it was more fun swimming there than back. If you stop in St. Vincent, do yourself a favor, swim through the bat cave, and enjoy it, but don’t disturb the bats!

Back to our passage from St. Vincent to Martinique….

The funny thing is just about every short passage we do, once we set out, I get really tired. Dad says it’s a side effect of being seasick, but I don’t get seasick anymore. HA!! Take that, person who decided people should get seasick. (I don’t know who you are, but I will look for you, I will find you and I will slap you in the face!) Well, I was kind of in limbo between sleep and not sleep and at one point heard Dad calling Mom shouting, “whale, whale!” But I really couldn’t be bothered to haul myself out of the lovely soft bed. Too bad for me, because it wasn’t a whale, it was a massive turtle as big as our cockpit. For those of you who don’t know, that is freaky big. Later, I researched the largest species of turtle and found out it is the Leatherback turtle, genus Dermochelys Coriacea, named that because it doesn’t have a bony shell, instead it is covered by skin and oily flesh, that has hardened to form a kind of shell-ish. Eww. Oh well. After an hour or so I kicked my butt out of bed (well, who else was going to do it?) and went outside.

On our way, St. Lucia in the distance.

The Grand Pitons

Piton Anse

 I took the steering wheel and sailed the boat until we were within 2 miles of the Grand Pitons, sailing the channel between St. Vincent and St. Lucia. Majestic peaks soaring into the clouds, green rainforests covering much of the island, I can understand why it is one of the most visited islands for tourists, but it always seemed a bit bland to me. I don’t know why, just a feeling. We pulled into Rodney Bay and had the hook down, holding fast and the grill going before 5 o clock. After a dinner of chicken on the grill and couscous we hit the sack. Once again we rose early after a decent night’s sleep and started up the last 20 miles to Martinique. Jabez started hand steering for the first 5 miles or so,

Yeah, thats right pretty boy, smile.

Arr Captain!

 while I went downstairs and took an half an hour nap. After that refreshing reposo I took the wheel and set a record on the speed for that trip, 7.8 knots and nobody topped it.

Although there are times when I dont like to be wakened 

Really beating into it.

Nicely heeled over

Its not all smooth sailing in light winds!

 We were sailing about 60 degrees off the wind, and gaining nice headway. At about 13 miles to go, everyone was outside in the cockpit, and I was steering, when Dad said, “Look, look!” I turned to look off the bow, and saw this massive splash 200 meters off. I was a bit disappointed, but then it breached again, clear out of the water! A pilot whale, we determined, though not a huge one, but still, not something you see every day, and not something you forget easily.

We arrived in St. Anne, Martinique, after 3 or 4 hours of good sailing, and dropped the anchor. Jabez and I donned our swim gear and snorkels, and Dad handed us some cable ties to mark the chain. You know, it’s really kinda hard to pull yourself foot by foot, 4 meters down in the water having to come up every 40 seconds or so to breathe. Later in the day Mom and Dad took Bear Necessities, our optimist sailing dinghy, to shore to clear us into France. They returned loaded down with the bountiful yumminess that was two fresh baguettes, creamy brie and goat cheese, cold salamis, and a pot of pate de vollaile. This is Anneleize signing off for now.

Viva la vida loca

 

1.BACK ABOARD ABRACADABRA AFTER HIATUS

  We were welcomed back to ‘Abracadabra’ with a balmy tropical breeze and enough humidity to sprout some beans. Nothing like a warm, moist blanket to wrap ourselves in upon arrival! Tom, from the boat ‘Pontea’, came in the dark to pick us up, with all our luggage, and take us to the boat.

2.  Tom’s dinghy is an 11 foot, canoe shaped, wooden boat. There are three pieces of wood, slats, as seats and with a 3 horse power engine, that at full speed, would be as fast as an old person on crutches. With each person getting on, the boat rocks. He had the sailing dinghy from ‘Island Swift’ in tow, and with careful and slow driving, (as if there were an alternative) it was able to safely bring the bags without getting swamped, while we 4, plus Tom, rode in his dinghy.

3.  We had not met Tom before that night, as our friends on ‘Island Swift’ arranged that Tom would pick us up. And that is one of the most beautiful things to experience, in this lifestyle we choose. A person you have never met, coming in the dark, to take you and your family, plus 4 back packs, 3 computer bags, and 2 duffel bags to your boat and drop you off. Just because.

4.  Because you never know when it might be you standing there, with your family, or it might be you, out there on the ocean, in need of help. If you have never lived on a boat, or experienced the community that exists in the sailing world, you may not comprehend the depth of a simple act of selfless kindness.

5.  With all our luggage, Tom deposited us on our boat at 10 o’clock at night, and we opened the hatches, and let that warm tropical night waft through our home.

6.  Jo Jo and Simon, from ‘Island Swift’ left us a 5 liter bottle of water, and a bag of food to get us through until we could launch our dinghy and get to the shops. This care package consisted of : a loaf of fresh bread, a dozen eggs, a bag of muesli, a box of long life milk, 2 cans of local beer, and a bar of 70% Grenada dark chocolate. It was not a small gesture either, as the captain and crew of ‘Island Swift’ have a sailing dinghy to do all their provisioning and they must sail or row the distance it takes us 5 to 10 minutes with an engine.

Jo Jo and Simon from Island Swift, in their rowing/sailing dinghy

The next two weeks were taken up with scraping all the lines tying us to the mangroves. In the time we were gone, barnacles, little mussels, small oysters and plenty of sea grass had taken over the lines and the anchor chain. Anneleize in the optimist, ‘Bear Necessities’ and Jabez standing in the mangroves, took scrapers to the lines to chip, hack, and scrub their way back to something that resembles usable lines again. We won’t talk about the way they smell just yet.

The bottom of the boat was equally covered with its own aquarium, including areas of thick, tough barnacles, requiring the ice scrapers for car windshields to get the job completed. With the amount of growth on the hull, keel and chain, we would not have been able to sail with any speed, much less use the propeller to get us out of the mangroves. The barnacles are especially fond of the bronze propeller, but Jabez covered it with a plastic bag before leaving the boat, and so the growth on the propeller was minimal.

2Meanwhile, top sides, we had an infestation of mud wasp nests. The next generation had already come and gone, leaving behind little dirt cocoons with a larvae or two, spent and all dried up. The wasps made their nests on books, inside cupboards and hats, on curtains, and even one little mud parcel on the lens of a pair of reading glasses!

A fine mixture of sand and mud, with dried up cocoons

3.  During this cleaning process we were ready to launch our dinghy, in order for us to be able to get off the boat, and to get food, water and fuel. It’s also important to have transportation in case we wanted to socialize with any friends.

4.  We had two scratches on the port pontoon of the dinghy that needed patching and Philip remembered he bought hyperlon patches for this occasion when we were in the Canary islands last year this time. Perhaps you have experienced putting something somewhere and when you want it, you are not able to find it? This is a standing joke on boats because there are many small areas, lockers, underneath floorboards, and pockets of space that get used to keep all the food, clothing, spare parts, extra batteries, wet weather gear, snorkeling gear, and on and on, the list is not endless. As you have limited space in a  house, so you have limited space on a boat, incrementally so.

5.  And so now began the search for the Canary island patches. We looked, we rifled, we combed through all lockers, floorboards, quick stash places, we racked our brains trying to remember that specific day, what we did, what Philip was wearing, if he put them in a carry bag, with the diving equipment, with his tools, in a jacket pocket. There was even a reward put out for anyone finding the patches. And then we had a day of only searching for the elusive Canary Island patches, a total of 12 man hours put into this endeavor. Alas, t’was not to be.

 We used other patches, two of them, that made the job less than ideal. But at least we had a floating dinghy.

  Next came the outboard engine that needed to be carried from the bunk inside the boat, outside and carefully pulleyed down and placed in the dinghy. Because of good preparation by Philip and Jabez, for the outboard to sit for a long time without use, and with the fuel tank installed, the 15hp engine started right up with the first pull.

 With mobility comes provisioning, water, fuel and finding a washing machine. Once a week a woman brought local produce and eggs to Secret Harbor, which was a 10 minute dinghy ride away, and for heavier provisioning, there was a bus from Secret Harbor to the supermarket. This process got us started in filling the boat up and stocking the lockers. Secret Harbor also had water and fuel, so with each trip a 25 liter jerry can was filled with water, and the dinghy fuel tank was kept topped up.

 With all this amount of work, there needs to be the balance of play and Anneleize and Jabez took turns jumping off the spinnaker pole with their friend Lochi. We managed to get Christmas and New Year’s squeezed in there as well.

          And as we were nicely tucked into the mangroves, we did have excellent front row seats to watch and listen to what must have been a Green  Heron.  There was nothing green about him, with a rusty colored head, grey wings and tail feathers, and a beak that is much more like a kingfisher than a heron. They are a bit stumpy looking, but sitting on one of the lines tied to the mangroves, one would watch the water, quietly, patiently, and then all of a sudden, his or her neck would stretch out like a giraffe’s!!! And without moving from his place, without getting in the water, there would be some breakfast in the beak.

            There were also brief sightings of the Little Blue Heron and, my favorite, the Antillean Crested Hummingbird.

 Imagination rules the world

                                    -Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1824)

This is officially the beginning of my blog writing. I suppose it is a form of journalism, as a foundation for future possibilities. I don’t actually have any plans, other than the fact that I would like to be a pilot, though not necessarily commercial flights. I would like to join the army and/or Air Force. But enough of me! It’s time for you to be regaled with tales of my family and me, on our boat, just living.

 Sailing is our life. We meet many friends this way, some of whom have become family. So here we are in the famous Caribbean, feeling the heat, dare I say, enjoying it. I know, I know. You’re wishing I would quit moaning about the high temperature. But how would you like to feel as if you are slowly being roasted alive. The only respite is swimming.

Unfortunately, at times, the water is actually warmer than outside by a few degrees. I have recently shaken off the ruinous disease known as sea sickness. Equally unlucky, is the fact that I seem to have passed it down to Jabez. His way of combatting it is either to sit dejectedly, in the cockpit, with his head over the side as we thunder over the swell, or simply to stand up, keep his eyes on the horizon whilst busily steering the boat. Personally, I think the latter one is by far a much better option, despite the fact that it makes him VERY grumpy, for the simple reason as he wants to be sitting out on the deck and not confined to the arena that is the steering area.

Me, on the other hand, well, I feel great during these little day sails, (hops, if you will) though I am not too eager to test my newfound immunity on a long distance passage. There’s no guarantee that I won’t be contributing a nice buffet for the creatures down below the water. I apologize for that grotesque imagery, but it is kind of funny, in a disgusting sort of way. Mostly, however, I am out on deck enjoying the sail, fashionably outfitted in my rose tinted ‘cats eyes’ sunglasses. Well, I find them fashionable. That’s not to say everyone else does. If people think they look funny, good for them. I don’t care.

Then of course, there is the matter of my brother and I. At times, we have this kind of ability to read each other openly, as you would a book. And at other times we close our pages on purpose, as to not let the other one in. To be straightforward, we have our good moments and we have our bad. I prefer to dwell on the better instances, though it is usually the troubles and mistakes mixed with the accomplishments and smiles that makes for a perfect moment.

smiling.