Bula from Fiji!

Ah, Fiji.  I must give this a nice write up because it is deserving.  I am pleased to say we are finally done with the hardest part of this journey and only have a 5 day trip left at sea to reach the promised land…New Zealand.  I am not joking when I say I will probably cry a big bucket of little baby girl relief tears when we arrive, like a kindergardener awaiting their mamma at the end of the day.  But for now, I am enjoying my two days off and doing everything I swore I would do once back from our two week guest trip.  The first of which is…I will be around Fijians and away from my crew mates for a bit of sanity.  I am happy to say my first impression of Fijians sticks and has grown deeper roots with a much more solid foundation of experiences.  I am so humbled by the demeanor and kindness of these people.  They are simple and laid back carrying big smiles, gentleness, and hospitality.  Some of the friendliest I have ever met in my life and that is no exaggeration.  Among many interactions of feeling a genuine love, I have to share this kind of funny experience from the grocery store the other day. 

Typically when I go to provision for the yacht, I am the asshole with three big overflowing carts of food and most people don't want to wait behind me.  The poor cashier usually lets out a patient sigh as they see me wheel up to the counter.  I am always so apologetic and feel bad and that is just my personality and typically for good reason because a lot of what I buy is fresh produce and it can take a while to ring up and package.  I realized about halfway through checking out a massive amount of items that I had to weigh all my vegetables in a different part of the market before checking out and I had a LOT in my second cart.  Embarrassed to hold up the line, I apologized to the growing number of people behind me as the clerk asked them to wait for me to go back, weigh everything, then come back and continue.  I look back at the people behind me, apologize and tell the clerk to just ring me up for what she's scanned and I'll go and come back. She laughs and says, "Darling, dis is noooo problem. They can wait."  Without missing a beat, the man behind me grabs my produce and disappears smiling.  He returns 10 minutes later with all my produce weighed and priced.  I apologized and thanked him profusely. He patted me on the back and said, "Don't worry!  You worry too much!  Its okay, you are on Fiji time now."  The clerk laughed, the people in line laughed nodding, and it made me smile and relax.  Coming from a country where you have people huffing behind you if you carry 15 items to a 10 item counter, I was amazed. And this is not just one isolated incident.  It is the Fijian way.  The whole point is to be happy.  That is all.  A lot of Aussies and Kiwis vacation here and can come off as I am sure Americans must.  A bit impatient, entitled, and loud.  The response from the Fijians is like throwing a dart at a pillow.  It is fairly pointless.  Their humility is humbling and admirable but also powerful as if to say, "No no no…This is OUR way."  They MAKE you slow down by showing you how to react.  Everyone begins to relax, I must think, once in the presence of a Fijian.  

When we visited Wasaimo Island on our guest trip I encountered the same sort of spirit amongst the locals of the village we were in.  It was magical and very much a spiritual experience for me.  I looked up into the trees as my eyes would water with tears.  I was emotional as though my soul were overflowing with healing water that I so badly needed to drink of.  The healing waters of love.  I had been around the demands of guests, the frustrations of my crew mates, the complaints brought on by bored wealth, and finding myself floundering back and forth in waves of negativity.  I had bowed my head low for a few months just willing myself to make it through and truly unable to take much more.  Thank God for this experience though!  I stepped into this village as though stepping into an earthly version of heaven. The children had these beautiful looks of joy and innocence on their faces watching us very closely and curiously and an heir of being taken care of, not wanting anything from us but to give us love and to show us around. They smiled big, they hugged without fear or reserve, the elders smiling down at them with acceptance and approval.  They didn't want for anything because their system of taking care of each other and the love and patience they put into each other was sufficient.  I spoke with a couple of the school teachers of the village that had trained in the university on the mainland but chose to come back to this small village.  When I asked one of the ladies why she chose this life she said, "Because I am free.  I don't carry money.  I don't carry keys.  I have all of this around me that God provides and I do my part.  The others do their part.  We are all free."  Wow.  Just…wow.  She gave me a hug and all I could say was, "Thank you."  We gave coloring books, pencils, paper, and candy to the island Chief for the school.  They gave me life and a mountain of love that I desperately needed.  We said goodbye and I still cannot stop thinking about that experience. 

Fiji is, of course, not perfect.  There is a divide at times between the local Fijians and the Indians that are also a prominent culture on the islands. The Indians were brought here in the first place by the English to work the sugar cane fields after the English realized the Fijians weren't going to move very fast out in the fields.  They were on island time and valued time with their families and having a peaceful relaxed life.  They had no want to change and to adapt to the ways of money, which I find so darn funny.  Its just their way and it is amazing.  So then came the Indians with their frugal money tendencies and their hard work ethic.  They are financially powerful here due to their savvy with money and own a lot of the real estate and profitable businesses. Both complain about the other's way but at the end of the day, they co-exist without too much drama.  The Fijians are almost all Christians and the Indians are Hindus.  They both seem to embrace the peaceful sides of their beliefs and I find this interesting how this works in almost a symbiotic manner with one group being the worker bees and the other being the social personalities. They both also have AMAZING food and as a chef, it is a dream come true.  They are very different in their styles but both very rich and full of flavor.  Fijians cook with coconut, pineapple, fresh fish, fire, taro root, cassava, and love their pork.  Somewhat similar to Hawaiian food.  The Indians have amazing curries, samosas, braised goat, roti, and tamarind based dips.  Each morning myself or one of my crew mates will go to this tiny old Indian lady at the end of the marina to buy tuna and chicken roti to take back and share with the crew for breakfast.  They are less than a dollar each but they are worth gold to us.  I think if I could start my day off with one of these roti everyday, I would never have a bad day! 

I end my time in Fiji with a couple days off and have begun my day catching up on family business and relaxing with a much needed massage.  My massage therapist (a Fijian) gave me a big hug after my massage and told me I needed it because my back was so tense.  Little baby girl cried again.  What can I say? Love has a way of opening the floodgates within me.  It has been a very difficult last few months and I would be lying to say it has all been exciting adventures and privilege.  I will admit I have it good and that I don't feel it right to complain too much when I put my life into perspective.  But every now and then, I am down on myself, I am needing my cup to be filled, and I am not ashamed to say I need to lean on someone to hold me and to tell me to not worry so much, to feel their love, and to relax.  I must say "Vanaka!" (thank you) to the people that I have found in this beautiful land of Fiji who have been a direct answer to my prayers.  My cup surely runneth over. Bula Bula!

The Stars That Shine The Brightest

In the early sunrise of Sunday morning, I prepared food and the galley for our arrival.  We had just entered the waters of Fiji as the sun came out from its slumber highlighting small islands, their black half moon orbs dotting the horizon.  With the exception of our quick stop in Tahiti, we had been out at sea for a month.   A shower of relief ran down me from head to toe as I saw the end of the journey coming closer into sight.  The rest of the crew began to move around the boat throughout the next couple hours in preparation for our arrival.  Stewardesses put restocked stowed items to their stations and gave the boat's interior a cleaning.  The deck crew sprayed the sticky humid salt off the three decks starting on the sun deck and working their way down to the main.  The captain made a call to the port to confirm our arrival.  Everyone moved with a little more juice in their step.  The drudgery and tired expressions of the last month had turned into smiles and hugs as we started talking about what we would do with our day on land. I read through the immigration paperwork again to begin setting aside the items (such as produce and unsealed grains) that the officers would be likely to confiscate.  I laughed to myself as I read that Fiji also will throw away all pornographic material or Holy Water found onboard.  Interesting.  "Every country is different in their own weird ways," I thought to myself as I remembered the ridiculously old labrador Mexican immigration brought onboard as their "drug dog".  Smelling our lunch in the crew mess he'd led the police in a hurried chase down the crew stairs to a plate of sandwiches and then proceeded to roll around on his back for belly rubs, his handler blushing and smiling.  I wondered if we'd get a furry little friend to play with in Fiji.  

I stood on the swim platform with a fender in hand as we backed into our slip on the dock in case we came too close to one of the large steel pillions we needed to maneuver between.  Our starboard bow thruster was on the fritz and we were in a strong current so it took us a bit of time to dock.  Calm as always under pressure, our captain joked on the radio, "You guy having fun yet?"  Relaxing from our tension we laughed at his greatly timed joke and cheered causing claps from the dock hands who had come to help us with our lines and had now sat down to wait patiently for us to dock.  "Bula!"  they yelled out to us in greeting waving us in.  "Bula!" we yelled back.  Ryan released our starboard anchor, Jake pulled me back up to the main deck, and I threw one of the stern lines to the dock helper as we tied off, aft facing the dock.  As I looked around the neighborhood of yachts, every single boat around us was an expedition style yacht like us.  I guess they are the ones best fit for these long trips!  The yacht next door had also just come in from the United States a few weeks prior and greeted us warmly making plans with the guys to go for drinks later.  Overwhelmed and heart racing, I checked with Jake to see if I was needed on deck anymore and then retreated back to the galley to finish cooking brunch with what I imagine was a huge smile on my face.  

We passed immigration quickly with the same welcoming and friendly warmth from the officers that we'd received from the dock crew.  They took none of our produce or food off the boat and gave us advice on places to eat and drink in town before hugging us goodbye.  Hands down the easiest and kindest entry into any country we have yet to experience.  When they left, we danced around the boat excited to officially be on land and had a champagne toast with brunch.  The crew cleaned up afterward and I left with the captain to check us in and to grab a few food items for the weekend from the local grocery store.  I floated on land as I half walked, half skipped smiling and saying "Bula" to anyone who should walk by.  Thank God…we were finally in Fiji. 

I have been learning so much through these travels in particular, like a crash course in understanding one's limits. I have had to come to terms with a lot that lies within me. Maintaining calm and holding opinions, learning to sit in silence in the dark and be at peace without the need to fill the void with my words or to shut off.  There is an ever present energy that surrounds the boat underway with waves crashing our portholes at night, the gentle and sometimes intrusive rocking of the moving water below, and the wind that is constantly moving in the sky.  Constellations above become bright in the darkness and fade in the bright moonlight that brightens the ocean below.  Sun rises as moon sets, blue light becomes golden, and new days are born out of lapsed time.  We listen to news broadcasts on the radio and comment to each other about the state of the world, the conflicts in each of our countries, our distance from these things.  It is hard to not let your imagination go wild when you are left to your thoughts so much but it is also hard to relate when you are so far from civilization and any other people.  I watch Facebook posts and feel so remote and unable to connect to my friends' lives and yet I keep on watching because I don't want to be alone.  I don't want to be forgotten or to forget.  I post thoughts and photos on a more regular basis than I would to drop a line out into the universe saying, " I'm still here!" I daydream about walking to my favorite coffee shop down my old street with my dog and sitting with my girlfriends after work enjoying a beer amongst locals that recognize me.  I have sleepless nights where I am haunted by all the poor decisions I have made in my past, the people I have hurt, shake my head to try to think about something else.  My mind constantly entertains the question of how much longer I see myself working on a boat and if all these experiences are worth the loneliness. I don't want to be out in the middle of the ocean anymore.  I don't want to have this be my end.  I miss the little things I didn't appreciate before and I am seeing how small and insignificant I am in this world surrounded by nobody that loves me.  My watch partner said to me yesterday, " I am so ready to get to land already that I don't even care that we are going to Fiji.  Can you believe that?"  he laughed self consciously.  I laughed with him in agreement.  I couldn't have worded it better.  It may sound like such an ungrateful thing to write but I really don't care.  Its the truth.  My happiest thoughts are of home.  My joy to just be free of the confines of the boat and my sleepless schedule has no preference for the piece of land that will furnish that. 

I am having breakfast in bed watching CNN now in my hotel room catching up on my world news.  I have been here the last two days enjoying the large bed, the nights full of sleep, and the beautiful Fiji sunsets by the pool. The Myna birds have been chirping loudly outside my window since sunrise and I can hear hotel staff dropping off newspapers and trays to rooms around.  I took a stroll early this morning wishing I had brought a sweater.  Mornings and evenings are chilly and overcast.  It is not as warm here as I had thought it would be and that is a pleasant surprise.  Returning to my room, I set myself to write this blog that I am just now able to write.  My whole reason in beginning this blog was to go out into the world and to write about what truths I experience as well as to learn through other people and their view of truth. I have hesitated because it has not been the most positive of experiences getting here.  It has been hard and I have learned that my sanity is perhaps more fragile than I had previously thought.  I have to be okay with the fact that not all truth is some beautiful story wrapped up with a line of gratefulness at the end.  Sometimes it is an open-ended story with no resolution or maybe one that may not come for a long time.   It is, however, better that I wrote this blog now and did not send out the myriad of depressing writings that dotted my trip and just say that they were there and leave it at that.   

I am so very very grateful to all my friends and family who have posted funny videos and musings on Facebook.  I know you didn't do it for me but let me say, it was these little things that helped me or gave me a nice chuckle.  I am proud of myself for getting to where I am but mostly for the clarity this trip has given me in realizing the people and the things that truly matter to me the most in this world.  The money and the destination has faded from importance and I hope I can always see this as clearly in my life as I do right now.  I am desperately looking forward to returning home for a couple weeks in December and hugging my dear loved ones who were next to me each dark night of this journey.  In the darkness, they are the stars that truly shine the brightest. 

From a Pollywog to a Shellback

Day 1 began with a bit of hoopla, the crew up early and excited, anxious for the day to begin and the trip to commence.  Sandra and I skipped around the main salon singing, "We're leaving today, we're leaving today!" I cooked breakfast sandwiches, stowed dry goods, and made lunch amidst fire drills, abandon ship drills and the rest of the crew stowing away all loose furniture and equipment.  The energy was high, the crew in a tizzy moving around quickly as we waited like children for Santa for our last UPS shipments before we could take off.  After several hours of waiting, time lapsed and we became deflated and impatient eating our lunch sighing. Not too much later, however, we finally took off for the 2 1/2 week first leg of our trip across the Pacific en route to Tahiti.   The crew of Oberon, a yacht full of crew we had become friends with and enjoyed a weekly game or two of rugby with, threw us our lines and waved goodbye.  We were finally off!  Not wanting to miss a memory of the event, I photographed something fierce and recorded video of my crew mates to the point of annoyance.   Anxious and slightly apprehensive of what the seas would bring on our venture, we talked about what we thought the following weeks would do to our psyche and if we might encounter an unforeseen storm.  After a long day of rising and falling emotions, packing away and stowing of breakables, and goodbye phone calls while still in range, we finally nestled cozily into the forward guest cabins we would reside in while underway.  Since our normal crew cabins are situated at the bow of the boat, we move further back into the less tumultuous cabins when we do long crossings, which makes it all that much easier for the voyage ahead and lessens the chance of getting tossed out of bed by a large wave.  Finally…we were underway.

We spent a little less than a month in the States, too short in my opinion.  The crew however were itching to get out to sea again and the truth of it is, a little part of me was as well.  After so much time in simple lifestyles outside the U.S. without the spoilings of wifi, shopping malls, and coffee shops on every corner, we learned to appreciate more and to bond with each other better.  It seemed the more convenient life became and the easier to acquire what we wanted, the more independent of each other and the more we indulged.  I cannot leave the U.S. with ungratefulness though. We were sustained and able to fuel up in many ways, seeing family and friends.  I also cannot complain about being in San Diego.  Being one of my favorite cities in the U.S., it did not disappoint with its predictably great weather and laid back ease.  I know I will be back there, though, as I always somehow end up.

Now it is nine days in and we are starting to become a little restless.  Though the days go by quick, it is a fog of a life to live in constant physical motion, waking up at odd hours each day as our watch schedules shift, yet eating at the same times. Sometimes it feels like you get up to eat and have watch and the rest is in bed.  I finished my watch yesterday morning at 7am, went back to bed for a few hours, woke back up to prepare meals for the day, then went back to bed for another few hours.  I try to do a workout everyday but sometimes when the seas are rough, there is no way to maintain balance.  And to be quite honest…motivation takes a back seat after a while.  Mostly we lie in our cabins reading books or watching movies.  Everyone stocked up on their favorites so the boat has become a dvd exchange community this last week.  Late at night on watches my partner and I sit listening to audiobooks we chose together at the start of the trip.  We are currently listening to The Travels of a T-Shirt in a Global Economy and just finished The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari.  It helps to pass the time and allows the mind to wander, which is imperative right now. I also downloaded a constellation app on my phone and spend many nights figuring out what group of stars I am looking at while listening to French language lessons.  Two more months at sea and I could be a scholar!  A crazy one…

My bunkmate Kate rooms with me and it is kind of like camping out.  We arrive at different times to our bunks but each day there is always a time where we reminisce over our boredom and talk about what we will do when we reach land.  She is positive and funny and it is personalities like hers and my watch partner Chris  that make an ocean crossing easier. I certainly offer no complaint of the trip except for the boredom and anxiousness to see land but that is a given.  We have been so ridiculously lucky on this crossing and I dare say the smoothest ride I have ever had on any boat underway.  Each day has gone by smoother than the last and this is unheard of for a Pacific crossing.  Nightmares and conversations of what may happen weeks before of high seas, waves crashing over the beam, and unbearable seasickness are only nightmares.  They are forgotten and replaced with a calm, a serenity, and a smooth sail across small ripples and brightly lit starry skies.  We have caught a few Mahi Mahi which have made for some delicious fish tacos, fried fish dishes, and fresh grilled lunches.  The crew are in good spirits and we are experiencing no personality conflicts, no drama, and lots of laughter.  As I have written in earlier blogs, you really know the metal your crew mates are made of by how they handle situations like this.  And I am honored to be amongst so many strong and determined souls.  I learn so much from each of them everyday and I hope they can say the same of me.  Each of the boys have taken a night to cook a meal to allow me to do my watch or to give me a break, which I find so darn sweet.  Tomorrow night we are having an "appetizer night" and each person will come up with their own personal favorite.

  In two days we will be crossing the equator and since Kate and I have never crossed the equator at sea, we are going to take part in an old British and American Navy and Marines ritual called the Pollywog Ceremony.  It is a bit of a silly tradition but a long standing one that initiates the "pollywogs" into Neptune's protection.  In order to receive our certificate, (yes, there are real certificates for this) the captain and first mate pour fish guts and all sorts of stinky garbage on us.  Then we will have to kiss a dead fish, do some embarrassing relays, and pour a bottle of champagne out in honor of Neptune.  Once this is complete we swim across the equator and we are initiated into Neptune's protection.  We then get to lose the title of "pollywog" and become "shellbacks."  I think the boys are overly excited to pour garbage on us and I am just excited to get off the boat for a swim.  Kate is terrified of swimming in the middle of the ocean so it may just be me.  But I don't care.  All in all, it will be a fun day and one I am sure I will remember for the rest of my life.

And so we move forward and once we reach Tahiti we will be halfway to New Zealand. Only a couple days ago the swell has picked up and we are a little more tired from having to balance as we walk as well as the watch schedules getting to us.  I can see that by next week when we arrive in Tahiti, we will all be jumping off the boat and ready for a much needed break before we continue on for another 10 days to Fiji.  Thankfully, our captain is giving us a few days off to stretch our legs, lay on a beach, and take some necessary alone time beforehand, as well as fuel up the boat and restock some fresh produce.   I realize that as I am writing about these adventures and that I am going to Tahiti and Fiji I sound incredibly spoiled and lucky.  I cannot deny those accusations.  I truly am.

The Importance of Home

My room is full of fading sunlight and I lay in bed attempting to sleep.  I just finished cooking dinner for the crew after a 4 hour watch and I will be on watch again at 1am till 5am.  My sleep schedule is off and yet so onto the circadian rhythm that it won't allow me to sleep with this light.  We drag ourselves up and down the stairs in opposing schedules and shifts in two's to sit in the bridge for 4 hours at a time to watch out for other boats, check the radar, and keep each other awake.  Passing the crew mate whom I am replacing, I nod and take their seat as they update me on what they have seen and I sit in their spot to continue to babysit the darkness.

It may not seem like a lot of work but it messes up a sleep pattern something fierce coupled with the boats' rocking and constant motion.  An insatiable hunger and desire to snack is always there as my body is constantly expelling energy overcompensating to maintain balance in the sway of the boat.  Thankfully this is just moving the boat from one country to another and not another 2 week trip at sea with 12 guests and 17 hour work days.  We arrive to the U.S.A  finally after 9 of the busiest months I have yet experienced on a yacht and I think I may cry when the immigration agent says, "Welcome home."  I have been looking out my window to this day like a dog awaiting the rain to stop.  As much knowledge and  priceless education I have received from provisioning as a chef in remote parts of jungles and small Central American towns, I can't help but have a sigh of relief at the convenience that lie ahead.  

There is no doubt I live a privileged life and that I am experiencing things that I don't have to look back and appreciate…I DO already.  Just today a humpback whale almost ran into our bow, I suppose thinking we were another whale.  It dove down just before running into us, its large tale swatting the side of our bow as it submerged below. My crew mate and I nearly shit ourselves screaming "Oh my God, we're going to run into it!"  We hugged each other, hands running through hair nervously, laughing and gasping at our near miss and the amazing site we just witnessed.  Each day we are out at sea some new phenomenon happens that I am pinching myself over from watching lazy sea lions floating on their backs in the currents waving a flipper up at us to marlin leaping out of the water, elegant and majestic.  In the evenings, the breezes we have missed for so long whisper through our hair as we put on dusty forgotten jackets in our approach north.  Millions of stars dotted a black, moonless sky last night as we quietly sloshed through calm seas up the Mexican coast.  I smile through puffy tired eyes as I sip my tea and marvel at how beautiful this world is.  No lack of sleep can take the wonder from my eyes, regardless how tired they may be.

And so our schedule will continue but a little easier for me and I will take it!  After a couple days we will suit up for another 2 week trip packed with A-listers, dive exploration, shark experts, and scientists.  I will get to cook for a culinary icon, a musical idol, and a ridiculously accomplished film producer.   Breathe in…breathe out.  You can do this, I tell myself.  But I have to be honest…even with the wealth, privilege, and ease of the U.S…I am exhausted.  Exhausted in a way that is soul deep and brings longings and sadnesses up in dreams of things that I left behind to forget when I began this journey.  I return with a question of where those things are now and where they will go.  At the end of it all, I want to crawl to my mother's door. lay in her lap, fall asleep, and not wake up for a very long time.  To have a night of un-tossed sleep, to inhale fully the love and acceptance that I know lies there.  To somehow know I am in the arms of someone who doesn't' judge me by my looks, bank account, my age, my weight, how many calories I eat, or if the food I cook tastes good.  Just to be loved regardless and to rest in that.  To be home. It is in this return again that I miss my family so much, even though I just saw them a month ago.  It wasn't enough.  I miss my dog Tilly still.  We didn't have enough time either and I am still not over that.  I want to rest and I want to be home.  I want to rewind time and I want to fast forward it.  Maybe that's what all this travel was meant to teach me the importance of…the importance of home.   The importance of letting go as well.

La Paz...A Dream Come True

Contentment thy name is Tecolote Beach.  Sunshine is bursting out of every pore of the earth here in this dream-like heaven that lies gently and white sanded on tranquil blue waters. Except for my obvious self, the owner of this small tiki bar and his affectionate and adorable Pete-y look alike of a dog are the only other ones here.  I grab a $3 22oz beer and go to sit under one of several thatch umbrellas and enjoy the absolute human silence and plug into the sounds of nature.  It is hypnotic and unreal here. This place is everything that hurting, stressed, worried, and under slept people  should go to cure their ills because it is everything that is opposite.  The sea is a calming background symphony that's variation of pale green, to light turquoise, to deep blue sets all fires inside to cool.  A small cliff juts out at the end of the beach creating a cove-like privacy.  Seagulls hover above shallow fish and I motion my new canine friend to come over so I can pet him.  He has a dog grin on his face and rests at my feet licking them and sprawling out in the shade while I scratch his belly.  Warming up in the rising sun, I decide it is a good idea to go for a swim.  Several people have warned me of sting rays in the area so I carefully walk into the surprisingly cold water and submerse myself in the refreshing baptism.  Life is good.  This is good and all that is right with the world.  I cannot imagine why anyone would try to venture to anywhere else knowing this existed.  I am sad I am just discovering this but all the more motivated to make my way back.

Today I began my day on Alvaro Obregon, which is the main street on the waterfront in La Paz. It is another bright and sun soaked experience, the waters of the ocean aqua and moving slight waves not too far from the store fronts. The morning breezes were still cool in their breath before the impending doom of the rising heat.  Shop owners twisted keys into locked doors and aluminum gates swung open for visitors.  The local street merchants hung colorfully woven woolen blankets for tourists to buy for their imaginary donkeys back home.  Fake silver bangles clanged in the last of the morning breezes while tiny taco stands sold delicious corn tortillas with seasoned beef and fresh salsas for a dollar.  An old man with a large fanny pack walked by me with two racks of bracelets and necklaces for sale and I politely declined his lifted display.  I gathered my things after my morning coffee to drive up the coast in La Paz for some rest and relaxation alone.  I made the right decision and so fortunate to not only see this beautiful landscape but to meet its very friendly inhabitants.

The Sierra De La Laguna Mountain range is the only mountain range to speak of, though desert cliffs and dramatic clay-like ledges rise out of the beautiful waters in stark red and sand colored contrast to the clear cobalt hue of the ocean.  I cannot help but compare it to the geography of the coast of Egypt and maybe that is why I feel so much at home here, reminded of my childhood on the Red Sea.  The ocean life is spectacular with seasonal visits from a variety of whale species, whale sharks, seals, and a vast spectrum of fish and dolphins.  Due to the local school for marine biology, so many of the people I have had the pleasure to talk to have a passion for these creatures and for their conservation.  It is sadly being threatened by human impact, commercial fishing, and pollution due to the dewatering of freshwater sources like the Colorado River.  However, it is still bursting with life in a way I haven't seen since my childhood with rays sticking wings in the air and jumping out of the water, sea lions galore spawning new baby pups each season, bull sharks returning to the protected waters of Espiritu Santo, and schools of colorful Jacks and fat Parrot Fish munching away on corral.  I have never felt so moved towards a cause of conservation as I have in working here. I imagine it would be very difficult for anyone to feel otherwise once experiencing this beauty.

Finally in my travels I am truly feeling content and satiated. The term "save the best for last" could not be truer .  Of all the places in Latin America…and possibly the world…this is the one I like best.  I find myself entertaining thoughts of a future life here.  I picture myself joining the locals walking to work each day and resting in the cooling evening sunsets.   La Paz…The Peace…could not be more appropriately named.  It is a beautiful coastal town with raging hot days and beautifully breezy cool nights.  It is dry and quiet, simple but special in a spiritual and secret way I struggle to name, almost as if I am not meant to. It just is. To be here is to feel that something magical and comforting walks beside you.  It is the simple and pure life.  Once again…man…I have SO MUCH to be grateful for. 

A much needed nap.

Our guests left early a few days ago.  Tired crew drug tired feet in covering the boat back up in its protective tarps, saran wrapping of trays and glassware, and an emptying of garbage and remnants to conclude work.  I prepared my last lunch for the week. Sighing heavy exagerated sighs we gathered in the crew mess to toast a beer to the end of our long line of trips in Central America.  We vented, we laughed, we enjoyed a few more beers, said a few more cheers, then climbed back into our beds for the long awaited after-trip nap.   The boat was finally silent again except for the sounds of heavy breathing and snoring.  I slept 4 hours, got up and ate some snacks, caught up on Game of Thrones, went back to bed for 3 more hours and would have gladly slept through the rest of the night if Jacob hadn't made me get up to eat dinner.  We shuffled along the marina restaurant line to a small table, sat down, and quietly sipped our beers. The sun sets around 8 pm in La Paz taking the days' heat with it.  I sat in the cooling evening breeze with my friend and we had our unwinding and usual after-trip conversation.  Crew need to vent to each other about guests.  And then crew need a crew mate to vent to about crew.  Jacob is always my safety for that.  With a little more weight off our shoulders, weary smiles, and a bag of take-away food, we made our way back to the boat, ate our dinners, then headed off to separate beds for more sleep.

This last trip was the end of a long line of trips and the first time we have been able to truly rest in a while.  After recovering from our first Cocos Island trip, we prepared and planned our second venture back to bury treasure.  A fun and physically challenging trip, the treasure was finally buried after a couple weeks and we said goodbye to our guests for a second time.  We got the boat ready again, provisioned for our week, and buckled down for sea.  Saying goodbye to our almost year long stay in Costa Rica, we then made a 6 day trip to Puerto Vallarta in rough weather.  It was a sleepless, physically exhausting trip rocking our bodies back and forth in our attempted sleep.  My poor crew mate who has the unfortunate issue of seasickness, lay pale faced and moaning for the majority of the time.  We changed course closer to the coast a couple days in and the waves, which were around 4 meters at this time, hit us on our starboard side.  I remember waking up that morning for my watch and falling immediately over on my face.  Sometimes you learn the change of direction the hard way!  Shaking it off, I walked uphill out of my cabin and climbed on hands and knees up the stairs to my seat in front of the radar to join my crew mate for the morning watch.   Afterward, I spent a good portion of the day in the galley preparing desserts, appetizers, and sauces for the upcoming trip, while avoiding clanging and banging cupboards that came to life with each large swell rolling beneath us.  The camera equipment and books on shelves were thrown into the salon as the wave height increased and I hurried to finish crew dinner amidst sloshing boiling water pots.  As tired as a person can be in these conditions with their body in constant movement and overcompensation, I must oddly admit I live for these moments at sea.  I never feel more alive than when I am at a loss for control in this way.  However, the amount of exhaustion it added to an already exhausted crew was too much for what lie ahead.  We needed more time.  

Upon arrival we provisioned for 1 day, ran around town finding fish markets, produce provisions, a mariachi band and decorations for our new guests' arrival, prayed for a miracle to get our internet up again after a lightning storm at sea, and then welcomed new guests onboard for another trip.  As excited as we were to be in Mexico finally, we welcomed guests on a half tank of gas…maybe less.  As my crew mate Sandra so eloquently put it, "Oh my God Sarah.  No one is young enough for this shit.  I am beginning this next trip feeling worse than the end of the last trip!"  And I couldn't have agreed more.  I knew we would be exhausted for this last trip but truly had no idea how much. To think a couple months ago we stared down the barrel of the buried treasure expeditions, the preparations to move the boats' 1 year in Costa Rica and Panama north, to begin new steps out of the jungle and closer to U.S. soil.  And now this journey is over.  

 Like a climber at the base of steep plans, we looked up the mountain fearing the exhaustion and insanity of the schedule that was ahead of us.  And as much as it was to get through, I am proud to say we are stronger than we thought we would be and we are closer than ever before because of it.  My heart went out to the boys because we had to change our trip itinerary last minute due to Hurricane Amanda.  So planning down the drain, they scrambled to reroute our trip and Soccoro Island became the Sea of Cortez. Each day the strongest person was a role carried by someone new and the weakest leaned heavily.  However, despite it all, they pulled through and we are here on this day now. We are finally in La Paz and have the next couple months to recharge our batteries, to enjoy the convenience of supermarkets, to take some much needed time off, and to breathe a little easier. 

There is so much I can say about my experiences, so much that runs through my mind when I am in the middle of cooking, and of course a lot of questions asked by friends about what the people are like that I serve.  Really at the end of the day, it can be summed up by saying I am blessed to meet some amazing and talented people.  We work hard to be given the opportunity to celebrate the life we are lucky to live. Our guests are always interesting people with unique passions that drive them in life.  I learn so much each trip. Even as tired as we were, we had some real connections despite it. There is never a dull day and we are lucky to continue these relationships and friendships beyond our job.  I am proud of myself and my crew mates.  I am grateful for my job and I look forward to the next round of adventures ahead.  For now though…this chick is dead on her feet.  Adventure can wait.  I'm going back to sleep!

Onward North

Santa Semana (Holy Week) has ended and the city tourists from San Jose and Liberia have left back to their homes after their last day of summer vacation.  The dry season has come to its end and almost in perfect timing the dark storm clouds began their loom Monday after Easter, new fish making their way into the marina bay and grumbling echoing from the new skies.  We are making our final touch ups on the yacht and provisions for our second trip to Cocos Islands. Today is Thursday and my last day off to enjoy the city and its attractions before we slowly make our way up to Mexico. It is always sad saying goodbye to a place you have been a few months and have come to get used to.   The season has begun to get into something I am truly excited about…RAIN!!!!  QUIET!!!…and thus we have to leave.  Yachts don't chase rain…we chase sunshine.  So a sad goodbye to the next journey I could have taken here and onto a new sunny journey in another sunny land with more tourists, pina coladas, and sweaty walks up dusty hills to the fruit market.  YAY!

I decided to take it easy today and take the bus up the hill to Manuel Antonio to have lunch overlooking the jungle and the ocean.  Manuel Antonio is the local national park that is separated by the city of Quepos by a hill.  Two cities…one hill.  Tourists are scarce and restaurants are already running specials, a skeleton to the fat consumerism of last week.  I take my table for 1 and sit on the patio drinking a sangria and reading my George Carlin biography, erupting in belly laughs every few minutes. Breezes are refreshing in the overcast brightness and the swells down in the ocean below rolling into perfect sets.  I decide against telling my crew mates later how perfect the surf was.  No one wants salt rubbed in their wound and truly it is one of the few outdoor things we addictivly look forward to every day, as it is too screaming hot to do much else and bars get old.  I was explaining to my friend Amy today how selfish I feel in my laziness to embrace the things most tourists are jumping to do in Quepos.  After a while you find yourself trying to escape the heat in some local cafe drinking frozen blended juices and reading just like the locals.  Sweating and struggling through the heat to try to find a "tranquil" spot on the crowded beach that has sand fleas or to wait behind 50 people trying to glance a monkey in a tree at the park just isn't my idea of a day of peace.  I have spent many a day struggling for that experience that would grant me some amazing photo to prove that "I'VE DONE IT!!!" and ended up back on the boat exhausted and finding my weekend over quicker than I had anticipated with no peace.  I prefer today.  I prefer this.  Sometimes a sweaty walk up a quiet hill ending with a deliciously blended pineapple juice is a paradise worth more. 

Our departure looms a week away and we are closing in on our distance to the United States.  At this point, after 6 months of provisioning in Central America, my spoiled ass has to say she is glad to be headed to the land of easy.  No more huffing sweatily between butcher, fruit market, fish market, and dry goods market.  No more haggling with taxi drivers over a couple bucks and sweating on vinyl seats with Celine Dion blasting "My Heart Will Go On."  (Seriously, what is up with Central America and this song?!!  I cant' count the times.  I can't.  Too many.)  No more being undressed by every male eye I pass.  I can't wait to be invisible to men again and to be able to wear my hair down without looking like a Chia Pet, to be able to buy a bra without 2 pounds of padding in it, a pair of jeans without a leopard print strip up the side, or to be able to wear an outfit outside without pit stains in 5 minutes.  I have realized more and more how much I am so ungrateful and dependent on in the land I call home.  To be able to afford a car is a luxury.  To be able to have decent wi-fi, to be able to eat a variety of cuisines from a variety of countries, to have a change of seasons that we continue to have business and commerce through, to know that the price you are given is unilateral and not because you are white…I am excited.  I know I sound like a spoiled brat and I truly don't mean to.  But what can I say?  In Central America coming from the United States…I am.  And that is the truth.  Homeward bound and I hope to take home with me all this and remain as I always strive to be…grateful. 

Quiet in Quepos

My alarm rings and I reach under my pillow to squash the yell of the rooster cry I have chosen as a ring tone. It's 7am and time for me to get up and dress for my run before it becomes unbearably hot.  If I don't jump out of bed right when my alarm crows I will never jump out. It is a thing I know about myself.  Choosing the wiser, I jump off my top bunk and grab my running clothes off the end of the bed to change in the bathroom quietly while my roommate sleeps. I brush teeth, splash cold water on my face, pull my hair up, and change my clothes.  Stepping out of the bathroom, I am quiet and do my best to keep the morning light out of our bat cave of a room so as not to wake Stacey who is still breathing sleepy breaths.  Close bedroom door and walk through the crew mess to the main deck where the exit stairway bobs gently in the early morning tide.  Half asleep set mechanical instincts move my limbs this morning as I pull my Smiths down over my eyes and set my iPod to my jogging playlist.  I tie my shoes, do a few stretches, and start to jog down the dock.  My eyes start to enliven a bit and legs groan in defiance to their early use.  Ignoring I run past Mario who waves hello with a pervy smile.  Run past the new sailboat that looks like it belongs to Swiss Family Robinson, chocked full of early rising hippies and Captain Ron look-alikes.  The marina is swimming with mullet fish, box fish, and beautiful jellyfish batting themselves against the walls like blind patients in a mental ward.  I run past the security guard with a nod onto the long dirt road that leads to the marina exit.  Tails exit the road in a flurry as iguana after iguana leave their early morning sunshine perch to a location on the edge of the road. Raising mohawked heads to the sunshine, they appear a not very friendly lot, snobily looking aside  with tails twitching.  I snap a couple photos and run slowly, creating dust and sweat.  Every morning this is how it goes down.  I run the dusty reptiled road across the city of Quepos avoiding drug offers and too early morning male looks of lecherousness, lower lips sucked and oily eyes marinating in dark desire.  Old men sit on rocks looking out at the waves gathering on the shore in the early morning wind.  My favorite stray dog sits perched on a  rock chewing on a stick with no care for my attentions without treats. I jog past over a small bridge and into a small neighborhood of brightly colored stucco homes.  Bags of garbage sag in front of iron gates as I realize ignorantly that it is trash day.  This means it is also stray dog day.  I dodge fur and plastic to the sounds of "Outkast", bring a bottle of water to my mouth for a gulp and continue on.  The morning is hot already and salty sweat streams into my eyes.  I am loosened up, my heart rate pumping to the music, my lungs open and asking for air.  It is another beautiful day.  

We have been here in Quepos now for a couple months and relaxed into our Costa Rican life on Dardanella.  The quietness of this small town, the developed relationships with the local businesses, and the ease with which one can enjoy the simple beauties of nature routinely have made it feel like a home and less like a resort or city to try to maneuver a normal life through.  The fishing boat next door has travelled near us from Panama City, the crew a couple nice fellas who share the occasional barbecue or surf break.  The World Championship Billfish Tournament just ran its course and ended yesterday bringing a festival-like atmosphere with men from all over the world parading out in the early morning for their catches and back at sunset with flags raised as trophies.  I was able to finagle Mahi Mahi and Snook catches from some of the boats for which I exchanged cooked dinners for their return.  It was a fun way to make friends, get some free fish, and have a hot meal ready for grateful hungry men.  I look at this life here, this simple and pure life and I see I can be good at multiple ways of making a living as long as I am happy where I am.  I know I will be sad when we leave here.  

Today I will pack my beach bag and cooler with snacks and drinks.  An ex-pat friend Jonny is picking me up and we are picking up our friend Sheree to head down to the beach.  Our spot is a windy, bumpy, seemingly endless rock filled path down the hill to a private, untouched beach near Manuel Antonio Park.  We will unpack the Jeep, lay under palm trees, listen to music, surf all day in the turquoise wash of waves.  At dusk we will pack up the jeep and head back up the hill to watch sunset from Emilio's while a local jazz artist sings in the background. It is a $10 day and a priceless one at that.  I know I say it all the time…but truth is truth…I am one lucky girl.

Title-less

The stern lines groan in agony, stretching and releasing in the evening tide, the boat being corralled back to the dock by their faithful guidance.  It is a hot and muggy night but I have spent all day inside cooking and have become unappreciative of the air conditioning and the hotel-like comfort of the yachts' interior.  I need a little discomfort, a little reality.  My crew mates are in the crew mess watching "Sin City" which is oddly gorier than I remember.  It is not my preferred cup of wine for tonight and we have been so close this last trip that I need my space.  I grab my laptop and walk my tired legs slowly to the aft deck table to enjoy the sounds of the marina and write alone beneath the privacy of the yacht security cameras.  I debate going for an evening walk but decide better.  We are at the very end of a horseshoe shaped marina, our walk to the end of the dock a trek of about 15 minutes in scorching heat that makes you question the importance of what you needed at the end of it.  I didn't need anything worth leaving for.

These last couple weeks have been hard.  I know it is the beginning of a long chain of a lot of hard.  I liken it to the beginning of the Spartan Race when I thought after the first 10 minutes,  How will I make it?  I am already exhausted!.  But I made it to the end and I was better for it.  I hope I can say the same of this.  I must decide that I will and let it be so. 120 hours on your feet in one week can be a bit much bringing with it a small varicose vein each time and hardening the balls of ones' feet to shallaq.  My emotions are high and my body fragile after these last two weeks still unable to sleep through the night without my legs twitching and knowing that in another two weeks I dive back into another month of it. I know that this is one of those times I will look back on and be proud of myself for having achieved.  My job is one people dream to have.  One I have dreamed to have.  There is so much to be grateful for from the amazing itinerary, crew that I genuinely get along with and laugh with, and a great leader who pulls us through it.  To be able to live this close to people, closer than any family member spends time together, through grueling hours and impossible demands….and to still love each other and care for each other.  It truly helps and has grown me towards love in a new way. I feel like a jerk to complain.  This is the beauty of the therapy of writing.  Even as I am writing this my ungrateful and defeatist attitude is starting to lose the war.  I know I will be alright I just got to muster through. I think in these moments when my soul needs to say something…What is it?  What will be solved in saying or writing this?  What are you looking for Sarah?  Understanding?  To be heard and know you are not alone? All of the above and also peace in these writings.  I long for answers.  I long to vent and to whine. I want to know I am doing this for some reason and that there is some sort of carrot in front of this horse edging her to the ends of this world for something greater.  I think about what I do and why I should be grateful and it helps a lot but something is missing. Our journey on this boat takes us from Latin America upward north to the U.S. and then to the far east of the South Pacific.  At this time next year, we will be in Antarctica and I will truly be standing on the edge of civilization.  And what will I say then?  What will my gratitude or gripe be then?  I am between myself, if that is even a way to describe it. I can't filter today.  I just can't.

The weeks before my boss comes onboard are a lesson in preparation and humility that I consider priceless and nuts, even to my years of experience in this industry.  It is a hustler-type finagling of prices with local vendors. A sweaty walk down a dirt road to an amazing Carniceria where the butcher offers his own cuts and cured meats that only the locals know about. It is a visit to the local spice farms to buy monstrous and fragrant vanilla beans at a price worth killing over. A moment of  being humbled by the loyalty of a hard working old farmer who drives 2 hours out of town so we can get bananas on a stalk that my boss has demanded.   I sweat, I exercise for my work, I rest when I am in the galley washing off the hundreds of bugs from my farm fresh produce.  But what I do is nothing compared to what those who provide for me do.  I appreciate the work that goes into what I make because I know that so much more work came before me.  I have never worked on a yacht that required and also allowed this life of me.  My efforts from beginning to end come down to one dish that is a blink to the hand that raises it to the mouth.  They gulp down wine, they have a conversation, and all that happened before is a vapor that has passed.   It can crush or raise your spirit to climb up a mountain to this one moment of accomplishment to have it loved or unloved.  I get through it in remembering what I have gained in the journey that bringing food to the table brings.  It is that journey that makes me feel like a chef and not the luxury of the cooking afterward.  I know what each piece means to each person who brought it there and it is as priceless as gold to me at times.

I sound like a sad puppeteer to myself when I re-read that last paragraph yet I am proud. I have been nothing but me and my work for this time in such a way that I almost feel lost in it.  Like it is all I am anymore.  This life on the boat, this fulfillment of experience is rare and is unique.  I miss home so much though.  I want to be selfish and go home. The plethora of photos of me in places that I can only dream to be cannot replace the beauty of the embrace of a dear friend or watching a movie with my dad on the couch with my dog sitting in between.  I question myself all the time in why this worked out how it did.  It was timely, it was a prayer answered, and now I wonder if the answered prayer was one that I never made...to be taught that I had it all in my hands already and was just too damn blind and ungrateful to see it.

Peace and Gratefulness in Quepos

We left Panama City on the 11th of February.  Our captain drove us to a beautiful, remote, surf resort several hours outside of Panama City for a couple days off.    It was a gorgeous location, nestled in the middle of a long stretch of beach, untouched by cities or stores, with beautiful waves that curled into sleek barrels consistently throughout the day.  We arrived in the early evening and took the tender to the beach for a delicious dinner under the moonlight.  During the days, we kayaked to the beach from our anchorage or rode the small tender in.  Since the waves were a decent size, we would be dropped off as close as the boat could get and then jump off with surfboards and dry bags to surf in to the resort.   When we arrived we were nothing short of amazed.  A bohemian, modern-day hippie surf retreat in Playa Venao, it is owned by a beautiful young Israeli couple whose 5 kids bounce around their outdoor shaded paradise in the middle of nowhere.  Their resort offers 3 different hotels for low, mid, and high income travelers, which brings a nice mix of people to interact with.  The cost is fairly inexpensive, a decent room costing around $80 a night.  All get to enjoy the bamboo outdoor living room and restaurant on the water, which are connected in a very home-like setting.  Surfers and families lay on couches reading, ambient-massage parlor-ethnic music plays in the background, lunches arriving to hungry guests in the restaurant.  A small circular thatch covered bar hangs off of the end of the living room, patrons tipping back cold beers and looking out at the set of waves rolling in. Little boys skateboard through the restaurant,  mops of curly uncut hair.  We sat outside in peace each day, quietly reading our books in the outdoor living room, drinking freshly blended fruit juices.  I walked up and down the beach looking for shells and taking pictures.  The surf was perfect and glass-like with gentle breezes. We would return to the boat for dinner and have barbecues on the swim platform every night and enjoy sunset together.  After our three months in Panama City where our activities were limited in the big city to movies, malls, restaurants, bars, and casinos…it was nice to be out of the rat race and back into the breathing world.  I had begun to forget again what it was like to be in the outdoors and to be quiet in nature.  After our 3 days in one of the most amazing places I have been to, we made our way through perfect, calm waters to Costa Rica.  We caught two large Mahi Mahi on our first afternoon out and sailed quietly for another day before reaching Quepos.  After a couple days, we arrived. 

Quepos is a quiet town known for its sports fishing and for Manuel Antonio National Park.  It is one of the top destinations in Costa Rica for tourists from the U.S. but still a quiet and peaceful town with beautiful beaches, mountains in the backdrop with unreal jungle mist, and an occasional monkey hanging around.  HOT as hell.  So much hotter than Panama but I am happy for the exchange to be able to be on the water and to actually be docked at a marina and not anchored outside of the city.  We re-provision here for our next trip, relax a bit, and then the madness begins as we slowly make our way up the Pacific Coast amidst 3 long guest visits with lots of hours of work ahead. 

I have only to pinch myself every day to realize this life is not a dream.  It has been such a blessing, such a healing, and necessary place for my heart to grow again.  I am in the best shape of my life and able to help our crew to make healthy eating choices and to encourage exercise.  Some people describe it as a lonely life and perhaps that is partly true.  I consider it to be a quiet, reflective time for me and a gift at this time when I needed it so much.  It is STILL hard for me to think about my dear Tilly, though I try to let it go more and more each day.  I see her face in every stray dog that runs the streets and long for her energy and warmth in the mornings when I am not motivated to go on runs.  It seems unbelievable that anyone could have been so attached to a dog but I guess I am starting to see now how lonely I really was when I was in Vancouver and hurting still so deeply after losing my relationship with Brian.  She was the only living being I felt safe opening up all my love and care to, though I know I had people in my life I could have shared that with.  The crutches that have been removed have been replaced with warm hearted and loving people that I live with and a career that allows me to open up my creativity and share it with others.  It's funny how life turns out sometimes when we surrender to the leap of faith.  I thank God for this opportunity.  It has not only made me so grateful for all that is around me, but for all of those who stood beside and behind me to help me to get to this amazing place in my life.  I am one very blessed lady.

Taxis and Hookers

I am in the restroom of the Veneto Casino washing my hands when two tall and beautiful Latinas flank me on either side, applying exaggerated lines to their eyelids and plumping up their bras.  One is darker skinned with a leopard-print bustier, long silky black hair resting down over a pair of skin-tight black pants, long legs standing in gold 6-inch heels.  The other is a little more European looking wearing a sparkling sequin silver pantsuit boasting one of the largest fake asses I have ever seen. Her feet are squished into tall heels, hair cut into a black straight bob.  There is a lot of upkeep to this kind of beauty and it is a deliberate exaggeration of appeal. 

Hookers.  I am standing in between two hookers.  I finish up my hand drying, try real hard not to stare, and scuttle out of the restroom to the roulette table my crew mate is saddled up to, feeling as inadequate as a 12 year old girl.  As I sit down and take a look around, I realize that the bar top is lined with sex workers awaiting the evening traffic, lipstick applications occupying small hand mirrors, leaning bangled wrists on the bar ledges lazily.  Men smarm around the casino slowly sucking on toothpicks, eyes lazy and pervy checking out the menu for the evening.  A young woman close to me in age and a little more casually dressed sits down and smiles.  I scoot over graciously. She orders a drink from the waitress and orders Jake and I another.  We thank her, raise our eyebrows to each other impressed with our luck in meeting such a nice person and go back to playing.  She asks if I am having a good night.  I tell her it isn't bad so far.  She points to my chips and squishes her bosom on the table closely.  "Can I have some of your chips?"

I greedily hug my pile in realization and shake my head with a smile. "Sorry hon. I don't think so."  Her candy sweet smile melts into a disinterested line and she turns to my crew mate.  Giving up, she moves to the blackjack table where two young men hand her a couple chips.  She's smiling and on her game again. The waitress returns with our drinks (which are free at the casino), we shrug to each other and continue on. 

To learn a lesson from a good hustler one need not go much further than Panama City.  Taxis and hookers are where I would look first.  They await you patiently in dimly lit corners of slot machines in casinos and in the dark alley you stammer down in the late hours when the bars let out.  Bass blasting in the background, drinks sloshing the movement of your legs, hand up, they arrive. The fare for American travelers is what is called the "Gringo Tax" here amongst ex-pats.  Five to even 10 times the price for cabs but still so much cheaper than we can experience back home which is why most don't complain too much.  Hookers cost around $80 for an hour of their time.  A very hurried time, a cab driver once complained to me, but still not as expensive as in the States.  They spend an hour at a time with several different men a night, turning each quickly.  I have never thought to know this much about the sex industry here but you really can't help it.  It is everywhere and fascinating with its allure and manipulations to more than I would care to have known about.  Taxis and hookers work hand in hand, taxi drivers offering young men places to get special massages and pretty women to keep them company for the evening.  The working girls shuffle their business back into the waiting cab drivers who carry the buyer back to their expensive hotel room downtown.  Overweight Tommy Bahama-wearing old white captains on our dock almost always eventually end up sporting a young twenty-something beauty as a girlfriend for their stay in Panama City with no shame.  

A month ago I was invited to a dinner by a young guy on the dock I am friends with.  Crashing our lovely outdoor evening dinner came 2 of these captains and one yacht owner from a few boats down.  Snapping their fingers at our waitress, they drank their rums and quickly delved into the subject of fun for the night.  I listened quietly while evil-eyeing my friend as they discussed the kind of fun they would like to have.  Classier or younger?  Venetto or call up Manuel for his contacts?  One of the captains looks me up and down and asks me what I do  for a living.  I told him I was the chef on the yacht next door.  He smiled at me sheepishly, pointing to his admittedly large man boobs.  "Hey would you date this?  I can't get a pretty girl to look at me or smile at me unless I got a $100 bill attached to my forehead."  I smile and look him in the eye, put some food in my mouth and try to eat my meal and listen. I wanted to ask... Why do you have so little respect for yourself? I am almost embarrassed to admit I wanted to hear more of this conversation and to see truly what these guys would end up talking about.  They were pretty comfortable talking about their sexual options for the night.  I listen to the yacht owner beg the guys to stay out with him.  His wife is asleep on the boat and he is looking for "young ass."  I have passed this yacht owner and his dear wife everyday as they tool around their retirement home of a fishing boat, traveling the world for their golden years. I shake my head in disbelief.  My friend looks at me and says, Let's go.  I am relieved. I feel as though my eyes are darkened inside somehow.  Tinted from this.  I cannot explain it in any better way. I am becoming numb to it now.

That being said, this conversation is not uncommon.  It is almost like a sport, talked about with ease, something I am not used to.  Many young and old men from the United States let their inhibitions down and buy a woman for the night or simply entertain her with drinks at the blackjack or dinner table to have the attention. For a lot I naturally assume it is their shot at having a beautiful woman by their side that perhaps they may not be able to otherwise attain.  For all it is some sexual issue.  For some, something to try.  Some things I wish I could unsee, it is so unbelievable to me how common it truly is.  I know it is not just a Panama City thing too.  It is a Jaco, Costa Rica thing…it is a Dominican Republic thing…It is a Las Vegas thing.  It is an everywhere thing, especially in Central America.  

As for these women, a lot of them are truly stunning.  I can understand the allure handed so deliciously on a cheap platter of ease.  A lot of the women come from Colombia.  One of my regular cab drivers, Diose, tells me that this is due to a corruption in Colombia where a lot of these women are forced into this line of work at a young age.  Often voluptuous, often with plastic surgery, of which the butt implant seems to be the fad to a point of ridiculousness. They are given these surgeries and makeovers, brought to Panama, and required to bring in a certain amount of income a day towards their debt for all their "upgrades."  Some have their families threatened. They need to do a lot of business in one day and there is a lot of competition. The reason they are brought here, naturally, is because Panama boasts the U.S. dollar with a much better economy.  Although this is new to me, this is a business transaction that has been in action for many years with our military and the settlement of U.S. and European citizens. It is obviously a huge part of Panama's draw for travelers here, foreign business men from all over the world partaking regularly.  The government turns a huge blind eye to it, requiring these women to have health check-ins, yet maintaining their hypocritical stance that it is still illegal.  As with many areas of the law in Panama, the police seem nonexistent. This is, after all, a huge money maker and what government can be upset about that?

Taxis are like hookers in that they are also everywhere and they are typically there to scam an unknowing traveler.  It costs the average Panamanian a couple bucks to ride across town.  The average tourist will pay $10-15.  I have gotten my cabs lowered to $5, sometimes paying a couple bucks more if I am impatient and it's hot out. They don't operate on metres, so you can be stuck in traffic for an hour like I was yesterday and the agreed-on price remains the fare.  Due to the amount of business we give to cab drivers with provisioning for the yacht, we have 3-4 taxi drivers daily that will call trying to outbid the others.  It works in our favor for this sort of thing and I have come to really care for and enjoy talking to the drivers that I have gotten to know over the last few months here. Taxi cab drivers that work for us also are still relatively inexpensive, charging us around $10 an hour and offering butler-esque service.  My regular guys escort me through the fish market carrying my cooler and helping me through watery walkways.  In the grocery store they help to carry bags and through the cat-calls of the produce market, they are escorts of security.  Taxi drivers are as diverse as people normally are.  Some are good, some are sly, some will try to drive you to their house at the end of the night and drag you out of the car (true story, though I obviously got out alright), and almost all are hustlers in some way or another.  Their eyes are guarded, they don't talk a lot, they don't ask a lot of questions, and they seem to understand more English than they lead on.  I have yet to meet one who obeys any traffic laws and rightfully so.  Nobody here does.  No one is above cutting into any corner, to get an edge, to pass miles of traffic to the front of the line and force their way in.  It is a survival of the pushiest and an inability to care about anything but the destination and the dollar being acquired quickly that allows these men to continue to raise the small funds that they do to support theirs.  

I want to wrap this blog up with something safe and explain.  But sometimes things just are what they are and there is no making them anything else.  Certainly there are other wonderful and beautiful parts of Panama and I will write about those too.  For now…Taxis and Hookers. 

From Costa Rica to Panama City...

Small wakes from the local ferry jostle Dardanella on this early Saturday morning. The motion rolls me around in my bunk, as though the boat were telling me to wake up and join the day.  Try to go back to sleep and get rolled again.  I give up and swing myself into a sitting position. This isn’t going to get any better today.  Ferries and fishing boats zip closely by Dardanella’s side several times a day, so we have become used to the occasional sway or unexpected wave that sends you stumbling into the nearest corner. I can only battle it so long in the mornings, and reluctantly dangle my feet over the bottom bunk waiting for my eyes to adjust. My roommate is on a month long trip to South Africa.  I have the room to myself and it is a luxury looking down and not having to step over someone to hit the ground.  Several of my crewmates have taken the weekend to get out of Panama City, so I am not only enjoying the freedom of a room and bathroom to myself  this weekend, but a boat with only a couple people on it, quiet and home.  I jump out into the crew mess and no one is up yet.  I have the television to myself to watch the morning news without a running crew commentary, the toastie machine all for me and the coffee pot.  Today is going to be great.  Now I just have to figure out what to do with it.  There are a lot of options.

Panama City is a book all on its own. It is a city that wakes up with hot mornings and lately ends with a breezy cool night.  Cab drivers drive locals and tourists through the alleyways and highways for a fair price that must be haggled, roads lit up with yellow and black vehicles.  American and European tourists walk in the old town of Casco Viejo with Panama hats and cameras flickering at the colonial ruins and churches.  The women from the local Kuna Indian tribe sell their wares and woven baskets while cradling a small child swaddled in bright colors and wraps. The evenings are littered with foreign backpackers drinking rum at the local bar with a bowl of ceviche and casinos full of old white men picking out a Colombian prostitute for their hour.  Lots of locals come to the Causeway de Amador where we are staying to get out of the city for the day and ride a bike down the long peninsula to the small island of shops, tiki bars, and marinas. Sloths and iguanas move around in the trees that line the marina, while raccoons and cats play together near the entrance. Fishermen come home from their sun soaked day with Tuna and Dorado.  Cabs take people up and down the Causeway and the sun sets over the Canal where I usually take an evening walk.

Today I will probably enjoy the city, however, in Casco Viejo, my favorite part.  It is beautiful, feels safe, clean-ish, with alcoves and doorways, garden bars hidden in hostels, top notch restaurants nestled in refurbished historical colonial buildings, breweries, and water-front walkways with artists everywhere selling and creating.  There are bright murals and graffiti splashing color on the white washed walls that line many of the narrow streets in Casco, large dark wooden doors with heavy brass knocks, an occasional stray dog or cat, and brick ruins of buildings soon to be refurbished in this small piece of progress.  It is very tourist friendly and reminds me a lot of Taicang Lu in Shanghai.  It is an easy place to get lost in with a camera and an appetite.  I will miss this old town when we leave in a month.

Coming here from Costa Rica was a welcome change.  The two locations couldn’t be more different so there is a definite “grass is always greener” effect going on.  Costa Rica is lush, green, beautiful beaches, local surf spots, small cities and towns, remote and quiet.  Though Panama certainly offers the same experience outside the city we don’t really get that here.  Panama City is a big city, dirty, noisy, lots of people to meet, lots of restaurants to try, shopping, and history with malls and skyscrapers.  When we left Golfito in Costa Rica we were waking up to glass-like waters, morning kayaks, rain in the afternoon that didn’t let up till the evening.  We would walk up the wooden dock in rain jackets to the marina restaurant the Banana Bay, and use their Wi-Fi while sipping a beer for a couple dollars.  Weekends we would go to the local surf spot or nearby beach and play outside all day.  There weren’t a lot of people to meet, there wasn’t much to do after dark, and provisioning was a joke. But it was amazing, nonetheless.  Panama City is a welcome change for the crew to be somewhere to send packages home, buy a new set of headphones, go out to a movie theater, eat and stock up on foods so hard to find in Costa Rica, or to enjoy the nightlife and meet other people.  I personally have met a lot of nice people in the city and know that returning here is a possibility in my future.  Provisioning for me as a chef is also preferable here.  Panama offers what I need, as they are on the U.S. dollar and have a strong international draw.  The fish market here is amazing, with a ceviche market adjacent to enjoy with a nice cold beer in hand.  It has been a welcome break for me to get everything I need and a time of appreciation, both for what I had in Costa Rica and for the friends I have met here and gotten to enjoy while I can.

As for the yacht life, I am wiggling my way back into it like a duck to water.  We do live such an unusual life, even for yachties, and one of a lot of privilege for our hard work and trade of freedom.  As a yacht chef, I couldn’t be more grateful.  I get to travel the world and learn other cuisines, learn to provision and negotiate with all sorts of vendors from fishing boats, to trading with neighbors and asking local restaurant owners for advice.  I walk through the local fish market during my workday and pick fresh local produce from the fresh produce outdoor market.  I’ve gotten to know several of the fishermen on the dock and a couple of them have given me some of their catches in exchange for fresh baked cookies and fish tacos. My crewmates catch fish for sport, and I get to cook it for sport.  

No complaints there!  We do work hard, 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and non-stop 17-hour days when the boss is onboard.  But we are greatly rewarded for our efforts. The only other downside is living in such close quarters with people you don’t choose who are from all over the world…but it sometimes lends for amazing friendships…which we have…and for interesting debates and growth of open mindedness.  We sometimes want to strangle each other but we mostly get along great and live very close lives to each other. 

And of course…the life on a boat is the best part.  We got to stop at small deserted islands for several days on the way from Costa Rica in order to do scuba diving and surfing “research” for our boss’ recent trip. Late night watches at sea sitting up at the wheel in the bridge watching the boat dip in the waves, coffee in hand, a comedy recording playing in the background as my crewmate and I giggle into the darkness looking out for other boats.  Next morning we are anchored somewhere else and exploring the reefs and surf breaks there.  After our Christmas charter, we anchored out into the bay of this small deserted island near the city of David, full moon hanging above, no other boats around.  I paddle boarded out to the small island, about ¼ mile in circumference, with a dry bag, a tent, and a couple beers and snacks.  I lit myself a small fire and slept the night under the stars listening to the waves crash on both sides of the island and the occasional hermit crab trying to get into the tent.  Not a bad way to spend Christmas day.  

I know I sound like an asshole when I say this, but it is easy to take this for granted because it becomes such a closeted and unique experience.  More and more so these days when we are in the city and living closer to a normal life than when we were in Costa Rica. When I step outside of it and spend time with my friends in Panama City, I realize how rare and special this experience is.  I get to live a life that not a lot of other people get to live. When my day ends on land, I walk down to the end of the marina, radio the boat, and the small tender departs from the side of the big boat to come pick me up.  One of the boys arrives shirtless in a pair of board shorts, sunglasses, music blasting, and a relaxed smile.  I jump in the boat, he hands me a beer, and we drive out into the bay back to the boat swaying in the waves with the sun setting in the distance.