Let the Decrescendo begin….

Lowering my chin, I breathed heavily into my Musto jacket collar to warm my nose with steam. Standing several feet from the bow, I stood one hand tucked in my pocket, the other holding a pair of bulky black binoculars as I squinted my eyes to look for fishing buoys.  The boat plunged into a wave and I held on as a large splash of sea water, like a timed fountain show, shot straight up into the sky and back down near my feet.  Maybe I'll back up a bit, I wisely decided taking a few quick steps back just before another splash descended on the decks. The sun was beginning to set as we headed out of Plymouth and the floating fluorescent fishing balls were becoming more difficult to see.  Our eldest crew member, a jolly old fella in his late 60's, had been the one to point out the last one just in time to avoid it.  Not to be outdone by my elderly partner, I thought it best to go ahead and take the precautions to avoid the next one.  The evening air was a bitter bite, two small patches on my cheeks burning a little from the cold wind. I rubbed my hands together, finally walking back to the cockpit after the sun had set.  My eyes would be no use in the dark and we had ventured out far enough now to not need to worry so much about dragging a fishing line. My watch partner and I moved around chatting, pacing, swaying back and forth, shifting from foot to foot to keep warm, hands shoved in pockets wearing several layers of clothing that stiffened  our movements in a funny Gumby-like manner.  We are definitely not in the Caribbean anymore, I thought.  

The crew of 6 guys and myself had just spent the last few days in Plymouth after a few weeks prior at sea. The beginning of this leg began in St. Maarten the end of April and lasted for 10 days.  It was a bit of a rough ride that first week with waves crashing hard over the bow from two opposing swells and 30 knot winds banging us abruptly into them.  One of our crew had also become quite ill and feverish and I imagine he wasn't enjoying himself so much.  Thankfully the crew pitched in to take care of him.  Many of those nights I'd stumble to the salon from my demon possessed bunk that seemed hell bent on furiously ejecting me.  I'd sleep on the couch where the middle of the boat wasn't so dramatically effected.   After a few days of the rough weather and sleepless nights the winds finally died down a bit and the ride became smoother, the evenings cooler, and our crew a little less haggard with a decent nights' sleep.  Our stewardess had taken off to see family for the trip so it was just the guys and myself.  I must admit I had begrudged the idea at first of being surrounded by all the testosterone and sure I would be pulling my hair out within a week's time but I couldn't have been more wrong.  They were great, very helpful, and when we needed it we all gave each other space. There's something to be said about going through crappy weather together in the middle of nowhere and I am sure my fellow seafarers can agree.  As much as you could strangle each other at times, it bonds you as well in its odd misery.  There are nights on end where you just can't sleep due to the waves and you are each miserably tired and ready for it to be over, your patience hanging on by a thread.  The one night you finally get some rest it is like Christmas!  Everyone is friendly, eating a bunch of snacks again, listening to music, having positive conversations about future plans.  You can finally take a shower without having to wager whether banging into the wall while getting knocked by a wave naked in an unsteady stream of water is worth smelling fresh. All is right with the world again and beautiful sunrises and sunsets are photographed.  Soon enough, 10 days flew by and we reached the Azores.

The Azores is a group of Portuguese island once known for its whaling industry and a popular midway stop between continents for yachts. On our arrival there was a huge surge in the bay with howling winds and dark skies.  We tied off in perfect timing as our fenders groaned in a rubbery protest to the concrete docks in the Horta marina.  A heavy gust of wind blew the cold rain in sheets as our local agent Duncan, a dead ringer for Uncle Ben, complete with yellow rain gear and sporting a thick grey beard, welcomed us with a big smile.   

"Heeeyyyy!!!  Welcome to the beautiful Azores!" he laughed, spreading his arms out wide as though presenting a paradise of complete opposite weather.  Shaking hands with the boys and handing out beers as we tied up, we couldn't help but be giddy and appreciative for his hospitality.  It would be nice to be on solid ground for a few days.  Bad weather or not, the Azores, like any first stop after being at sea, was a welcome site.  

Our first night in town we obeyed the ritual of sailors gone before and got drunk at Peter Sport Cafe, an old cozy pub with a small whale bone museum in the back.  A room full of strangers became a room full of long lost friends singing and drinking into the night as the wind and rain howled outside. We ate plates of delicious blood sausage and some of the best local cheeses I have tasted in my life.  No surprise, considering that the Azores are well known for their fantastic grazing land and cattle.   After too much indulgence, we stumbled back to the safety of the boat for a long night of sleep.  On the weekend we rented a car and drove around the island to explore the countryside, volcano, and grab some lunch at a local cafe. Blustery and chilly,  we ran from site to site with cameras in hand, the wind strong and dusty.  Although the island was fairly a ghost town aside from the inhabitants of the boats in the marina and the occasional leery local, it was a lovely place to take a nice walk or explore by car.  After our reprieve from the Atlantic crossing, we were ready after a few days to return to the open water.  

On our 6 day journey to Plymouth was when I think we began to feel the burn.  It has been a long couple months of non-stop work beforehand and with the addition of the crossing, everyone was tired and ready to get to shore.  Short questions on watch with your partner and long gazes out at sea with a warm cup of tea or coffee in hand. "Do you want me to fill in the log book?"  "Coffee?" was about the extent of conversation at that point. You've talked everything out by now and you're tired. Not to mention we had just done a crossing coming from Europe just a couple months prior.  As my captain rightly put it, "For the last 3 months all we've done is move this boat from city to city.  I can't wait to walk around a place I know I will be able to get to know for longer than a week."  I couldn't have said it better myself. Soon enough...

After 10 days' stop in England between the beautiful historic towns of Plymouth and Portsmouth visiting crew family and friends, we made our way to The Netherlands.   I loaded up on Cornish pasties, English sausage rolls, and hot water bottles for the freezing cold air of the North Sea and for a last minute bit of nostalgia for my English crew mates.  Thankfully it was only a 24 hour trip and the boys did all the evening watches (bless their hearts) so it wasn't so bad! 

I was so very grateful to wake up the next day and be land based again for a good chunk of time. We were finally in a shipyard in Holland where our journey of the last year would make a 5 month stop.   A couple weeks of hard work in wrapping up the boat, putting all the interior and many exterior items in storage, removing sails and masts, and moving into an actual house kept us pretty busy while the beautiful bike trails and many attractions of Amsterdam kept us entertained.  Having a nice dinner in a spacious and cozy house with a yard and decent size kitchen was a perfect way to end the season with my crew mates.  

I am sitting now in my apartment back in Oregon and marveling as I read back at all that has happened this last year between Spain and now here.  One of my favorite crew mates has resigned, new crew have now joined our rotations, and I get to take the next 4 months to explore a new phase off the boat.  After all this travel and exciting experiences I have been so blessed to enjoy, I cannot help but be grateful for the time I have been given to rest as well and to reflect on this last year.  I take some time off this next month to enjoy being home and catch up with friends.  My writing internship begins with Elephant Journal, thus, hopefully, ushering in a new phase of work in my life.  I get to ENJOY the amazing hikes around the NW, pet people's dogs, hug friends' children, hug my friends, and not set my alarm for a watch.  Ahhhhhhh…I made it.  And life is grand.

When You're Starving, You'll Eat Anything...

Drunken staggering shadows slip out of the anonymity of darkness into recognizability in the pale light of the marina street lamps.  A sailing regatta ends as the weekend does on a hot, muggy Sunday in St. Martin.  Zombie walkers sporting stereotypical boat clothing and rum laden expressions zig-zaggedly make it back to their boats. Two guys on the boat next door stumble onto the pristine decks of the multi-million dollar yacht they crew on and take turns pissing over the side.  A group of young women loudly sing as they stumble through the street, purses swishing and paper cups sloshing liquids over their sides.  I sit quietly in the darkness on the aft deck listening to music through headphones slowly sipping my after-work beer in my clean evening uniform.  I imagine they are all a part of a dance, moving in time to the haunting music that is making this scenario a drama it is not.  There was a time I would have been jealous to spend a night out dancing in a club in the Caribbean.  There was a time I would have done it even though I had to be at sea the next day.  Time has a funny way of branding unwise decisions into the brains of those willing to listen.  I have had to be branded a few times more than the average person, I imagine, getting slapped into listening eventually. Thankfully the last time stuck.  For now.  

I don't finish my beer.  It has no relevance tonight.  I am tired, I am at peace, I know I cannot do my job tomorrow if one becomes five.  My responsibilities to my future with my job and to my menu take precedence as I get up to head back inside.  There is nothing here I haven't seen and I would rather not see it and be peacefully dreaming than mindlessly staggering with a few less twenties in my pocket.  I am lonely, though, and that is why I can't really judge and also can't sleep.  Because deep down, I understand more than I want to.

Do I sound depressed? I don't know what I am, to be honest, but yeah, maybe a bit depressed.  I am something in the "other" category and it has made my hands want to type again.  To reach out through my words and send out my flare in the darkness.  It has been almost two months since we left Palma and another two until we arrive back in Europe to Holland.  We will have had just a couple weekends off in this time and everyday I begin with a cutting board and a knife to prepare food.  It is my constant companion, my vice, and my nemesis all in one.  I don't know sometimes whether I am getting better at it or if I have become stagnant.  I just know that everyday I create, everyday what I make disappears, and everyday I start again.  There is a comfort and a loneliness in the cycle.  And the loneliness has started to become the comfort because it is safe.  Connections with people exist through text messages back home and imagined connections through podcasts and films because connections with people are a lot like my cooking when you travel like I do.  You create them, you consume what comfort you need from each other, you disappear, and then you move somewhere else and you start again.  When you have been at sea a lot, when you know anyone you meet you will have to leave, when you realize that they also are in the same boat (no pun intended), you know what you can do for each other is very limited.  It is the ones back home, the ones who don't understand the lifestyle and its effects that still hope for you, that still believe in your connection.  They are the ones who don't let go, whose light is the electricity that can be felt across an ocean in the darkest moments of the watch. Who you miss the most yet spend little to no time with in any given year.

I'm not going to lie, it has been hard for me lately. Hard in a way that is so far into the depths of loneliness that I have talked to my thoughts as though a separate person were in the room with me.  I pray all the time, though I don't know that I believe in God.  I'm starting to question whether I am just talking to myself and naming it God to feel less insane or if I really believe that someone out there is listening.  Have I become Tom Hanks in Castaway, talking to my own version of Wilson? It reads funny but it is sadly true, which may even make that statement funnier.   There are a lot of people who do what I do that feel this way often as well.  My crew mates and I talk about it from time to time. Often the true connections I have with other crew are when we can talk about it together and open up to someone about it.  There is a comfort in speaking the truth and a need for it because what I am writing tonight is more than likely felt by a lot of yacht workers.  Oddly and randomly enough, even Jonny Depp has done some research and writing about this!  (http://thegeneralalarm.com/2014/08/07/global-study-concludes-yachts-create-prisoner-mentality-in-crew/ )  

I am sad but not in a destructive or even bad way and it is ok to be sad if it motivates you to change.  Throwing the truth is sometimes the best way to sling the rock at the head of Goliath and kill the giant that has taken over.  Letting the truth set you free.  I know in my heart that in writing this, I am not alone in feeling this and it isn't maybe exclusive to yachting.  There are phases to loneliness and having passed the sadness, I've come to the land of acceptance and realization.  I am tired of being alone and battling it alone.  I am tired of making connections with strangers and sadly leaving and feeling as though I am an escalator you can have a moment of time to enjoy and then you must depart.  I haven't written for my blog in a long time because I didn't know how to deal with the way I was feeling and how to battle my depression and loneliness.  I am writing today because it is time that I do and I cannot do it alone anymore.

Thank you for reading. 

Fall Days in Palma

I am sitting on my tiny attic balcony sipping a glass of Rioja and smiling across the street at my attractive young neighbor who is enjoying a beer on his balcony.  I look to my right and an elderly woman leans over her iron rails, peaking through hanging yellow sheets at passersby with intent curiosity.  I smile as she catches me watching her.  She frowns and retreats into her apartment.  The bars a couple floors down from the small apartment I'm renting in Santa Catalina have begun to bring tables out to the sidewalk and turn on neon bar names.  The sun has begun to set and the terra cotta rooftops along the buildings glow orange against pastel colored apartments, the mom and pop shops, and restaurants below.  I am in love with my little place that lies above narrow steep steps with its quaint, cottage-like charm.  An A- frame vaulted ceiling, a small balcony, a full kitchen, and a little glass-door enclosed bedroom in one of Palma's hip historic neighborhoods for cheap?  What more could I ask for right now?

Palma has begun to cool down from its very hot summer and I am told we will see the death rattle of tourism in a couple more weeks as the weather gets even colder.  For now, it remains its boisterous, tourist-driven economy with German, English, French, Italian, and Swedish travelers alike wandering the streets or wobbling on rented basket-boasting bikes through one of the many paths along the waterfront.  On my 10 minute bike ride to work it is a roll of the dice lately whether I will be met with a cool crisp morning and clear skies or a torrential downpour, grey and hiding the sunrise…and I love it!  I haven't been in a real autumn for a couple years now and I forgot how much I missed it.  The early morning rain hits my face in its baptismal life giving energy and, like a true lover of the Northwestern United States…I am at home.  I am reborn each morning in the mist, riding my bike through fallen leaves and puddles with a smile, marveling in the silence and wind.  I zip up my jacket and coast downhill from my apartment, past ancient cathedrals, early morning sidewalk sweepers, and dozens of quiet yacht crew making their way to the shipyard for work.  I wave my STP marina security badge and enter the highly secured shipyard, weaving between white work vans, cranes, crew on skateboards and bikes, and shipping containers, rounding the corner to the beautiful sailboat I work on.  A gang of men in white-shirts faithfully stand with coffees in hand outside the marina cafe just in front of my destination, smiles on their faces.  I imagine they are telling stories of their previous nights' events or the recent rugby game.  Several step out of the way as I get off my bike and lean it against a shipping container, take off my shoes, and walk into work for the day.  I take off my jacket as I walk into the warm crew mess and greet my coworker who smiles up at me from her cup of coffee as she almost always does each morning.   The boys one by one make their way into the galley and we take turns firing up the Nespresso machine to make each other coffees, each of us aware of how each other likes theirs, as the one at the coffee machine throughout the day ends up filling up everyone else's at some point.  Sitting around our crew mess table, it is a collective beginning to the work day, iPhones out and reading messages from the previous night, new podcasts beginning their downloads, and funny Youtube videos being shared.  We share gossip from our nights' outings or moan over sore muscles after a nights' gym visit.  Eventually we begin our work day and each crew member to their starting rituals.  

At my prep station,  I plug in my phone and begin to listen to whichever podcast catches my fancy today…WTF, Radiolab, This American Life, The Splendid Table, Criminal, Ted Talks, Snap Judgement…etc..etc…etc.  I have an addiction, much to my poor crew mates' chagrin.  I love this part of the day.  It is when all is new, when I have a clean wooden chopping board and I look around me knowing how much will be broken down, heated, designed, cleaned and then returned to this state again.  It is a sense of timelessness, a symbol of the whole.  I touch my cutting board, grab my knife, and know the next time this will all be like this again…I will be going home for the day.  And in that tempo my day begins with a light of the gas stove, a flick of the oven "on" button, and a rummage through my fridges to see what I need to toss, replenish, and most importantly…what inspires me today. It all goes by so fast, always too fast for us chefs who have a lot to do, and before I know it, the crew has sat down for lunch and I have learned about some new space exploration on my Ted Talk.  Plates are cleaned, the clock cycles, it is 3pm, and fresh baked cookies and tea await crew for their end of the day break. Old dayworkers or guests from out of town stop by to say hello, our captain updates us on our itinerary, or someone shares a pervy story that we all pretend to be prude about.  Usually the latter.  We return to work the rest of our day and wrap up our stations.  I set out dinner, pack up my bag, take a last look at my clean kitchen and bicycle back to my apartment after waving goodbye to my boat family.  I lay out my yoga mat, stretch a lot, decide I don't feel like doing yoga, pour myself a glass of wine instead and look out my balcony.  Today I have a writing assignment due and my Astrobiology course with HarvardX begins in a few minutes.  For the moment I am content to sit on my balcony in my own private little space, sip some wine in the sweater-worthy night air, and watch life off a boat in a neighborhood in rare appreciation.  Life is good.

In my writing class it has been suggested to me by my instructor that I let people in a bit more.  So here's an exercise in vulnerability.

I am weird and hard hearted.  I want to be quiet, I am tired of loud voices around me and I get really irritated with them.  Ever get to that point in your life where being alone is so much more desirable to being around other people?  Where you get home, drink a bottle of wine to yourself, dance to music you listened to when you were in high school (Weezer), and avoid all calls and messages only to send random hellos to friends you haven't seen in a while?  I am here.  I have been here for a while.  I can't get out.  I think its called depressed.  I read about how yacht life effects its workers and I relate more than I want to admit.  I feel a fake smile on my face every time I go out to a bar, dolled up, hair straightened, curves hidden or enhanced. When all my crew mates are laughing over some joke or hanging out together…I am not in it.  I don't feel me.  I don't feel like making low-eyed gazes and exchanging numbers and witty banter out on the weekend to one-up some guy in conversation so he'll think I stood out amongst the other circus performers. Why go?  Because even a fake connection for a little while is better than nothing.   Is it sad that a book or an episode of The Mind of a Chef coming out is the most amazing part of my week?  I feel like there are people in the world who understand this  thing I do….but they are not here.  The other day my captain granted me a month off in November to go HOME and see my friends for the first time in a LONG TIME.  I can't wait to not have to explain myself to someone, to reintroduce myself to another stranger and explain what I do, who I am, why I seem so crazy…to be around people who find me normal.  To be around the chefs that inspired me, the family that loves me and knows me and will have the courtesy to put down their cell phones to look me in the eye and listen to me when I speak, to be with my girls again and laugh so hard my stomach cramps.  I can't wait.  I have it good, it is no complaint.  But having the ones you love nearby and being loved, to be understood and to go home as a professional traveller…that is true bliss. 

The Mediterranean Experience

It is time to rev up this writing engine again and add some updates to this incredibly amazing life I am so fortunate to lead.  Sitting on the aft deck onboard the yacht I have called home for the last 9 months now,  I am sipping my coffee looking out on Porto Vecchio, a beautiful town on the southern tip of the island of Corsica. I woke up this morning, inflated the kayak, and paddled out along the coastline to seek out my morning meditation.  Calm waters lapped at my sides as I glided along, a rueful smile on my face and joy in my spirit to be floating peacefully and alone in the morning light.  A small white rock island with outcroppings of cactus and small shrubs was a perfect mid-way stop for me to sit and reflect.  I sat on the tiny sandy shore and said a prayer, sat in silence and breathed deep while the rhythm of the water and the cries of the seagulls played background music to my meditation.  Breathing long, healing breaths, I let the last week go.     

I have been in dire need of a morning like this for a while and this is fairly understandable when considering what I do for a living.  It is the same age-old complaint of any yacht crew who are nearing the end of a busy season, who have been in confined spaces with the same people for extended periods of time, who work the crazy hours that we do when guests are onboard, and who haven't seen their loved ones in a long time.  My absence from family and friends back home has begun to wear on me and I am long overdue for a visit.  It is in moments like today that I can relax, focus on their faces, breathe in the air of my beautiful surroundings, and say a prayer of gratefulness for where I am.  Because, in truth…I got it pretty darn good.

As I look back on the past 4 months in the Mediterranean, I am amazed how quickly time has gone by.   It has been a busy season that started with an Atlantic crossing and then went straight into guest trips around Mallorca and Ibiza, the Superyacht Cup, and our recent adventures to Malta, Sicily, Naples, Elba, and now Corsica.  The experiences have been epic with new and familiar faces along the way. I have been fortunate to have my mother come visit for a week of relaxation and fun in Palma, hiking to hidden bays to swim in the refreshing waters, catching up after a long time apart.  I have partied in Pacha with my buddy visiting from New Zealand, snorkeled my way around Mallorca, eaten my way through dozens of tapas and drank my way through bottle after bottle of delicious wine and Cava.  I have escaped the scorching summer heat wave with the Maltese in the cool turquoise waters of St. Peter's Pool, jumping from white limestone cliffs with the best local guide (and friend) one can find in the beautiful ancient country of Malta.  I stayed in a 110 year old house up in the clouds surrounding the active volcano of Mt. Etna in Sicily with cool mountain breezes and billows of white mist wafting into my hotel window like a friendly ghost beckoning me outside.  At sunrise I hiked to the top and looked down over lava fields standing 10,000 feet above the city of Riposto looking down on the boat docked far below.   I've stood in the ancient Greek Theatre in Taormina and strolled its stone streets with what felt like half of Europe on holiday.  In Naples I marveled at the Capella Sansevero and walked the beautiful streets of Piazza Plebicito, drank an espresso to die for, ate a Pizza Margherita at the restaurant it was invented at, and enjoyed a gelato while strolling along the waterfront.  In Bastia, Corsica I shopped at a local farmers' market with rotisserie chickens perfuming the air with herbs de provence, goat cheese crepes sizzling on hot flat griddles, and old farmers smiling as they sold fruits to local customers with church bells chiming through the hills in the distance on a bright Sunday morning.  I have been so lucky to be able to provision for my galley in beautiful little towns where homemade cheeses, aged salamis, fresh produce, and fresh caught fish are in abundance and sold by some of the friendliest and outgoing vendors the world has to offer.  I imagine to any local my confused, tasered numb expression is amusing as I try to remember what language to respond in…French? Spanish? Italian?  I have given up and just say "Si" to everything with a large apologetic smile.  Seems to work and I am constantly humbled by the kindness and simplicity of these truly beautiful people.  And as much as we can get on each others' frayed nerves and, as my crew mate says, "niggle" over trivial minutia, I wouldn't trade my crew mates for anyone else in the world.  My captain has done well in choosing relatively drama free, happy-go-lucky crew that are active, goofy, funny, and strong.  Each person takes their turn being quiet and/or moody for a day, but in general, we are a happy bunch.  Many days sitting cooped up in the crew mess we can be found reading aloud bits of news from our respective countries in shocked awe, discussing spiritual concepts one has found on Elephant Journal, sharing photos of recent adventures, sharing stories of our families back home, or laughing over one of our absurd private jokes that only we could find funny.  (trust me, we've tried them on other people)

My life is full and rich and at the end of this therapy I call writing, I read my words and I know that I mean them.  I have amazing friends and family back home that I am aching to see but in the meantime, they have let me know I am loved and missed and I can't ask for more than that.  Next week I head back to the homeland and visit my family in Egypt for the first time in 8 years and then hopefully a trip home to the States to deliver some very overdue presents and hugs.  For today, I think I'll just sit here with my coffee and continue to enjoy this moment of reflection and gratitude and rest in the beautiful memories I get to carry with me from this very fortunate life. 

Round Two...Let's Get This Party Started!

We left Martinique on a 3 day sail to Antigua with our core 5 crew plus our extra seasonal crew mate.  Having all returned from a month off after the boat was delivered from our last home in New Zealand, we were fresh and chatty.  Late night watches along the way were peppered with stories of our different vacations and experiences as we glided through the calm waters of the Caribbean to our new neighborhood. I had never been to Antigua before and each of the crew took turns describing their version of what to expect, all pretty much saying the same thing.  I got the gist that I was heading into party-ville with a lot of familiar faces and a lot of yachties (yacht workers).  One cannot complain to be anywhere in the Caribbean with its kind inhabitants, bountiful tropical fruits, fresh seafood, gorgeous weather, and pristine beaches.  However if you've done one Caribbean season, you have seen the depths to which crew can get themselves to.  It is a test of one's longevity in this industry at times because the music plays all night, the drugs are plentiful, the drinks are strong and inexpensive, and there are many yachts with many beautiful crew with lots of money to spend having fun.  I had not enjoyed my last Caribbean season all that much feeling a bit overwhelmed by all that was around me.  I breathed deep before we arrived having just had a lovely relaxing spiritual retreat in Bali and mentally buckled up for the anticipated ride.  

Arriving early in the morning I jumped out on deck as the dock guys with big smiles helped secure our lines.  It was starting out to be a beautiful sunny day, the weather warm and breezy.  I helped with fenders and assisted lowering the gangway, looking around.  We were sandwiched between two large yachts and the marina was buzzing with early morning dock traffic as golf carts with dock workers rolled along wooden planks.  I smiled at the stewardess who laughed back at me as man after man after man walked down the dock.  It was like a scene out of a movie I would pay to be in.  Everywhere I turned there was a yacht with several crew hanging over the rail to check out the new arrival.  I was giddy to be docked somewhere new for a couple months and I think the crew was giddy to be back somewhere they had fond memories and would be able to see old friends.  Like bulls let out of a pen, our very social and lively crew took to the scene quickly and developed our routine. Tuesday nights at Scullduggerys for live music and espresso martinis, Thursday and Friday nights at Mad Mongoose for live music and pool, paddle boarding to Catherine's on Pigeon Beach for rose` wine lunches and then finishing off Sunday evenings at Club Sushi.  We went for kite surfing lessons on the weekends and runs around the hills after work each day. For the first time in a long time I also found myself hanging out with a good core of girl friends which made the experience all that much more enjoyable.  Yachting seemed, if only for this quick season, like our world with our rules. We'd lay on the beach on the weekends or stroll up the street to the pub for a game of pool and gossip about who on what boat had made out with who and talk about our summer itineraries in Europe and how we could meet up.  We laughed over bottles of rose` and danced like fools to the local live music and had good one on one conversations about our futures and where we saw ourselves after getting off boats. Opposite to my apprehensions, life lightened during this awesome time full of get-togethers, dinners, relaxation, and a buzz of constant boats coming and going. Our crew also became good friends with the crew of the yacht next door and spent a lot of time hanging out with them.  Being on watch wasn't so bad anymore because you could just lean over the wooden rails at night with a glass of wine and chat up the person on watch next door.  They became our kite surfing buddies, gym partners, and dates to almost every event.  And though we were very socially active, I truly enjoyed the moments I was able to take to myself and the meditation that I was able to maintain each day.  The Goat Trail was one of my favorite after work hikes and/or runs with a beautiful view of the bay and sunset.  I would run back down through Nelson's Dockyard, through town, and back to the boat where I sat on the bow in meditation as often as I could after work.  So many great memories of this time that I truly have no complaint.  I may have left Antigua worn out, but with no regret and with a lot of fond memories. On our departure, the boat horns of our friends echoed in the harbor as we made our bittersweet departure from our little neighborhood and began our journey across the Atlantic to Spain. 

We just arrived today to Palma de Mallorca after 17 days at sea and a few in Gibraltar.  We begin a busy summer schedule we so desperately need after such spoiling.  One's feet much touch the ground of reality at some point, though being in Spain seems a dream all on its own!  The trip was calm and as easy as can be expected for an ocean crossing.  Lots of book reading, writing, and movie swapping. We were a bit quieter this trip, all of us "sea-toxing" after enjoying the fat of the land that was Antigua.  A large majority of the boats that were with us in Antigua will be docked with us again, our community transplanted to a new country.  I am looking forward to being based somewhere for more than 6 months and the opportunities ahead to go home to see loved ones and faces that I have waited too long to see.  I am also looking forward to this European season ahead and the many exciting trips we have planned this summer.  Antigua was an amazing time but I cannot help but think it was just a warm up…Lets get this party started already!

The Gem of Bali

I woke up early this morning to drive my sick friend Valentine to the taxi station on the back of my scooter.  Having seen him off safely, I rode back to my hotel, meandering through the narrow road between the rice paddies glowing green in the morning light.  The farmers were slowly plodding thigh deep in muddy waters while plunging long bamboo rods into the mud, tending to the rice fields.  The sun rose above ashy black stone temples on street corners as the food vendors threw buckets of water on dirty street roads to start the day fresh.  Locals rode in two's on scooters donning blue medical masks and zipping fearlessly in and out of traffic as stray dogs darted out of the way.  Old women in produce market stalls, open since 4am, peddled spinach, carrots, galanga root, young coconut, hot peppers, and tropical fruits alongside fried cakes and meats.  I debated a morning shop but remembered that Wayan would be at the villa preparing breakfast and I could not pass up the opportunity to drink my coffee while being in the presence of her warm smiling face.  

I pulled into the villa, removed my helmet and flip flops and padded into the kitchen.  As expected, Wayan was at the sink cleaning guest dishes and turned with her big smile when I walked in.  A mother in her late 30's, Wayan was the obvious grounds keeper of the villa with a bubbly personality and always saying something to make the rest of the staff laugh while gently directing them in their duties.  I liked to sit in the kitchen in the morning reading the news with my coffee while she trained her teenage daughter in the kitchen.   

Seeing me, she stopped her cleaning and turned to smile.  "Good morning Sarah!  How are you today?" 

"Im good Wayan, thank you.  How are you?"

She nodded with eyes closing in emphasis, "Always good, Sarah, always good.  You have breakfast today?"  She asks me this everyday though I almost never do.  

"No, just a coffee for now."  I laugh at her expression of shock that she gives me when I say this.  

"Sarah, why you don't eat?" she asks, turning around to heat up water for my coffee.

"I don't know, maybe with my friend in a bit," I lie, smiling at her guiltily.  I don't have the heart to tell her I eat late because I know she'll wait around to feed me because that is the Balinese way.  I can barely scoot around her to wash my own coffee mug before she playfully slaps my hand and grabs it.  She nods her head and casts me a motherly look of disapproval while still smiling.  I grab my seat in the kitchen and check my emails as the rest of the villa staff begins to filter in, smiling and greeting me, each of them remembering my name.  Wayan tells a joke and the young ladies giggle, covering their mouth.  I can't help but join in their infectious laughter as I look up and ask, "What are you saying over there Wayan?"  She explains how she's teasing one of the girls about a boy she likes with that huge smile. 

It is my last day here in Bali and I am a bit sad.  It has been a long time since I have been in a country like this where I am reminded of how much I have and how little many in the world around me have.  Yet, despite what material riches the Balinese lack, they lack for nothing when it comes to what is truly important in life.  Anywhere you go in Bali, you will find a hard working person that does not complain.  In fact, one of my favorite things I have noticed is how much they love to sing while they work.  And they don't just sing…they SING!  The other day I watched a fisherman grab a simple fishing rod and head out in his underwear in the early morning, strutting proudly, singing at the top of his lungs to the rising sun.  They are content and one smile from another brings a huge smile on their face, one grateful handshake is met with a lingering hand hold that they genuinely mean in unabashed and vulnerable intimacy.  They don't get angry, they just put their heads down and work hard.  Balinese typically live in tiny homes with electricity that goes in and out, large mosquitos flying to and fro, rains swiping dirt everywhere.  Their opportunities to ever see the kind of luxuries we could never live without are minimal to none.  Their competition for tourism business is challenging in a place where there are so many taxi drivers, massage therapists, and food stands fighting for business.  

Tourists from all over the world come here to exploit the luxury at cheap prices that can be afforded in such a place of poverty.  Yoga studios and organic food cafes abound in places like Ubud with thrifty travelers who haggle prices for things that would be 5 times the price in their respective countries.  I found myself bargaining over $2 the other day, went home, and felt shame as I looked in the mirror.  What have I become that I can come to places where $1 means so much to someone and I argue over it?  Where I brag that I was able to eat my meal for $3 and yet I'll buy a beer for the same price? "It is the principle of the thing," I have justified to myself in conversations with my fellow travelers.  Words that are hollow as they leave my lips and I marvel that I have fallen so far from the young girl who once traveled to Africa to help the less fortunate.   As I left today to the airport, I felt my eyes water as I hugged Wayan goodbye and I thanked her for everything she does out of the beauty and kindness in her heart.  She will never know how much it meant to me because she doesn't take herself so seriously and it is how it is done.  It has opened my heart, though, and I don't know how, but I am moved to do something about it.

When I look back on my stay in Bali I can recommend good places to stay, places to avoid, and what the cost of things are.  In all honesty though, the real treasure of this beautiful land is the people that live here.  To be able to be amongst them and to learn the lesson of gratefulness, humility, love, and survival is truly the gem that sits out in the open so easy to find.  I encourage anyone that comes here to truly look for that and to appreciate the simplicity with which these people live their lives and the joy they find despite their lack of material riches.  You will not have to look far to hear a beautiful morning song or to see one of those beautiful Balinese smiles. 

Thank you Bali.

Gili Island Nightmare

I took a trip to Gili Trawangen after a few days in Ubud.  Anxious for a beach, some good scuba diving, and a reprieve from the heat, I booked a trip through a local company to take me.  It was a muggy hot day and I waited in the shade in front of my hotel, sitting on my bags.  After a half hour wondering if I'd been forgotten, a rickety old van pulled up, tourists sticking arms out windows wiping sweaty brows.   A skinny older Indonesian man with a long white pony tail and a dirt smudged wife beater jumped out of the drivers' seat and grabbed my bags, throwing them on top of a mountain of luggage piled to the top of the van's back ceiling.  He grunted towards me "Sit" and pointed to the front passenger door.  I jumped up next to a pretty smiling, young bohemian woman with short bangs, long blonde hair, and a bag with takeout food on her lap.  "Hi," she said smiling. "I'm Katie."  I introduced myself and squished in next to her. 

 "Cozy," I joked.  "Looks like we're going to become good friends real quick."  She smiled and we both eased into casual conversation for the hour and a half drive to the boat.  An American from California, we talked about our travels, mutual love for Indonesia, and what we planned to do once we got to the island.  I liked Katie right away and we made plans to meet up again on the island for a drink.  

When we finally arrived to the boat we were ushered to a booth to get boarding passes and then to a dock where we waited in the shade amongst a 100+ other people.  Balinese women sat peppered amongst the crowd selling sarongs, sunglasses, cold beers, waters, Pringles, and spiced nuts.  American, Canadian, Asian, and European tourists fanned themselves in the humid heat with weak smiles, straddling bags and backpacks.  A friendly young Korean girl named Mindy sat next to me on the ground and we chatted about her last year living in Australia.  A tuba player in her local orchestra, she had taken some time to travel and spoke near perfect English.  This was also her first trip to the Gili Islands and she looked around asking a lot of questions I had no answers for.  "How long do you think this will take? Are all these people on one boat?" I told her I hoped not, having a brief flashback to news reports of ferries sinking from overcrowding and poor maintenance.  

After what seemed like a long wait, we finally started boarding the 80 foot "fast boat," as its called here.  The deckhands grabbed our bags and tossed them on the top as we were ushered onto the main deck where rows of seats lined next to each other began to fill up.  I sat next to a Malaysian couple that offered me the empty seat on the aisle.  A young Indonesian man tried selling me a cold Bintang beer and I declined knowing a possibility of regret if the seas got rough.  Groups of loud, young Australians down to party ordered a bunch and opted to sit up top with the luggage in the sunshine.  I considered going up there as well but decided against it and kept my seat.  It wasn't until we were underway for 10 minutes that the staff informed us that the air conditioning was broken.  A hundred hot and miserable tourists groaned, fanning themselves, tried to open windows, complaining some more.  The further offshore we traveled, the more clouds gathered, the wind picked up, and the rougher the seas began to get.  I passed the time listening to podcasts and chatting to a little Swedish girl who kept popping up over her seat to talk to me and feed me Pez candies.  I hadn't seen Katie in a while and I hoped she was okay as the waves seemed to get bigger and the boat tipped from side to side.  Having been in rough seas before I assured myself this was normal but after about an hour of gradually higher seas and high winds, I knew we were in a bad situation.  Waves crashed up over the sides of the boat and the windows that we were open had water spraying through, causing the staff to come and close them.  The heat became stifling and unbearable, the passengers bracing themselves, eyes closed, hands gripping those next to them in fear.  A man across the aisle got a sick bag for his girlfriend and held one out for me.  I declined and said, "Im ok, I work on a boat so I am used to this."  I looked at her and lied, "This is normal, don't worry.  We'll be fine."  Honestly, I had started to worry.  This was not normal and not being able to see out didn't help as the boat crashed into the waves, throwing me from side to side.  I gripped my jade necklace Luke had given me for protection and thought to myself, "I really hope this thing works." Unable to stand the heat anymore, one passenger foolishly opened the side door we had boarded through and a wave crashed into it, filling the boat with water.  The staff rushed to close it as passengers screamed.  A couple feet of water slashed around the bottom of the boat and the deckhands grabbed buckets and cups.  The man next to me turned to me and said, "You need to get up now."  I jumped out of my seat as he threw up all over the floor.  I moved quickly to an open seat across the aisle.  I have never seen a human throw up as much or as loudly as this man threw up, continuing for a good 3 minutes.  It was as if he didn't know how to do it and though the staff handed him a bucket, he could not hit it to save his life.  For what seemed like an eternity he continued to loudly throw up spicy, smelly food all over the floor.  I sat next to a French father with his young daughter on his lap and they held their hands over their ears as he shouted, "How much did this man have to eat!?" As if it wasn't bad enough, then the sick man's wife began to throw up as well.  This was more than passengers could handle and the lady sitting behind me threw up.  Person after person grabbed bags from ahead of us as the smell began to waft through the damp and hot boat, no windows open to help with the escape of smell or sound.  One lady threw up all over herself.  It was like a scene out of a ridiculous movie, so unbelievable and insane.  At least a dozen people were sick and the sounds and smells mixed with the pitching of the boat and crashing of the waves was overwhelming.  An Australian man in front of me turned and looked at me yelling, "Fuckin A!" and we both just started laughing.  I couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity and I felt terrible but it was all I could do.  As the waves continued to get worse, I could hear screaming from the top of the boat and bottles rolling around, grateful I didn't go up there.  Finally, after what should have been an hour and a half trip, our 3 hour trip ended at a nearby island.  The people who had sat on top came down drenched, some of them with vomit all over their clothes.  Their ride had been one of terror, as wave after wave crashed on them as they clung to the sides of the boat.  As passengers began to get off the boat, I moved over to a seat by the window to look out and decide what to do.  A young man that had been a passenger looked in at me through the glass and motioned for me to come with him.  I grabbed my backpack and darted out the door.

"They aren't going any further. You have to figure out your transportation from here," the Englishman said.  "I've got a speedboat with the Swedish couple and their kids.  There's only room for one more and there aren't that many boats.  If you want to come, you can come with us but we have to go now."  I nodded and thanked him.  I climbed up the boat ladder to get my bag instead of waiting with the rest of the passengers for it to be handed down.  Seeing that the dock was full of stranded tourists and that it was a matter of time before options would diminish, I knew I needed to grab this opportunity.  The Swedish couple smiled at me, introduced themselves, and I greeted the little girl again that had been feeding me candy during the trip as she reached up for me.  Our boat driver hurried us through the crowd and we piled our bags on his small speed boat and jumped on.  Other people tried to jump on but the boat driver stopped them as the dock helpers untied the boat explaining he could only safely take the 6 of us.  We pulled away quickly and I looked back to see my Korean friend standing there wide-eyed and scared.  I felt terrible wishing I could go back and get her but I knew that I couldn't and I felt selfish as I turned away.  Meandering through waves, speeding up then slowing down, speeding up and darting forward, I held on and smiled at the little girl sitting on her mother's lap next to me looking scared.  Shaking our heads with disbelief, we all looked at each other with incredulousness at what we had just experienced as we approached the island of Gili Trawangan.  We passed sunken boats and docks floating off into the ocean as we approached a beach with hundreds of people standing on the waters' edge.  I think this was the first moment I truly realized how bad the storm had been.  After a short struggle to dock, we finally got to shore, bags in hand.  I said goodbye to the Swedish couple and kids and thanked them for their help.  Simon, the Englishman, offered for me to come to his hotel to get sorted out and I gladly accepted.  The streets were rainy, muddy, trees strewn everywhere.  When we finally reached his hotel, I found out that the hotel I had booked had misprinted their location.  They were on a different island and now I was on this island with no place to stay.  What was worse was all the people who were supposed to leave couldn't because of the storm and so there were no rooms available.  Could this get any worse?  Simon offered me to stay at his hotel for the night and I thanked him, accepting a place to sit for a bit while I figured out my next step. We sat on his balcony, drank a beer, and watched as locals and tourists struggled to move trees out of the road and the passengers from our boat ride slowly began to make it into town.  I saw Katie walking down the street and yelled out to her in relief.  She had thankfully caught a boat over and we agreed to meet up later after she found her hotel.   The hotel owner helped me find a room at his friends' villa nearby for the night.  After 2 days of no electricity or wifi and trying to navigate through drunken tourists down dark sketchy streets at night, I cut my trip short on Gilly.  My friend Paul in Bali, knowing about my situation, had a room in a villa in Sanur just near the marina on the mainland and offered me to come rest after the insanity of those three days.  I happily joined him, recounting my crazy tale to him over dinner as he shook his head in disbelief.  I had found out later that over 30 boats had sunk in that storm.  No one on the island could believe we had been out at sea during the worst of it and we were lucky it wasn't any worse and no one died or was badly hurt.  I can only look back at that whole situation and think to myself how lucky I was to have had the Swedish people move quickly and get the speed boat.  I was lucky to have Simon pull me out of the madness, take care of me, and help me find a hotel.  I was lucky that the hotel owner went out of his way to help me find a place to sleep. I was lucky to have Paul to offer me a night of quiet, calm, and safety once I returned to the mainland.   This was definitely one of the craziest experiences I've had in a while.  It could have been a lot worse.  I am so grateful it wasn't and that I can now write about this from my safe and beautiful villa in Canggu where I am peacefully enjoying my last few days in Bali with my new friends. 

P.S.

 I must warn to anyone that is thinking to go to Gili Trawangan…don't go.  The rest of the story is so long and detailed but its extremely unsafe, fairly lawless, drugs everywhere, theft, and dangerous.  I got followed home in the dark by drugged up locals wanting money, saw some pretty sketchy things happen, heard some really bad stories that thankfully didn't happen to me.  Save your money and enjoy the monkey forest in Ubud or go surfing in Canggu.