Some thoughts tonight

I don’t have the chance here in Saint Martin, to sit, and write, undistracted, and with good internet, to post it onto my blog, but surprisingly, tonight my 40 Euro/month wifi from the worst provider company on the island, is working. I am relaxed and happy so want to take a minute to try and write something worth reading, for a change. I hope here, to backtrack a bit, and recall the things that I have been saying lately to others, and writing in brief emails back home.

But first, let me address this. There has been some email from home seeking clarification on what is up with Davina. There is no romance here, nor any hope for it. She is just a free-spirit, hitchhiking aboard boats, and has free time, skills more than I, and willing to come to AF and work with, and for me. She is surely ‘easy on the eyes’ but we are becoming buddies, and now that I know her better, I regret that she will not come with me to Panama, but she is in a greater hurry to depart than I am capable, and will probably depart with a nice, handsome, young Frenchman - another world traveler - on his beautiful boat. Should the plan fall through, then she is welcome here. She has brightened my days a lot, and made me work at my repairs and preparations, and even cajoled me into throwing some things away! Something very hard for this ’hoarder’ to do.

So, that said, on to my original thoughts. I am happy. Very happy.

Having come through an ordeal at sea, in my first leg, and almost first week, I think, at sea, relatively unscathed, I have been asked if I regret moving onto a boat and leaving. And, did it scare me to sell everything and just leave? I have replied, repeatedly that I don‘t regret one single moment of all of this. (If there is one regret, it is that I am alone.) Sure, I hesitated, or procrastinated that last morning in Baltimore, when time came to untie and depart, and the same happened in Norfolk, the day I set out into the great grey Atlantic Ocean, and, the rest of my life. I have said that the Plan to depart had a momentum of its own, and when I might have paused to wonder, re-consider, or question my sanity, the Plan pushed on, without me, moving forward to that morning in Norfolk. With steering troubles, bad weather, torn sail, broken generator pump, lost lifelines - all of the issues that have - can I use the word plague here? - slowed me, shall I say? - well, they are part of this life, and tackling each problem, finding a solution, and making the repairs are part of living on a boat - part of my new life, and I am certain will continue to return, in one form or another, for the rest of my life. Each success has boosted my confidence a bit more. (Remember, I am scared to actually ‘sail’ the boat, and even scared of the critters that live below me all the time, every day and hour I am aboard, but work to conquer these fears all the time. )

In Bermuda, I remember thinking sometime after my first week of mental and physical recovery, that I was NOT ready to live on anchor yet, and it had been thrust on me, un-welcome, and very inconvenient. I had transitioned from marina resident, to sailor, to live aboard at anchor, and was not mentally prepared for even learning something else new. It was all so new to me, so many experiences coming at me rapidly, and my life changed from one day to the next so quickly. Learning to live on anchor was supposed to happen in St Martin, not Bermuda, I argued in my mind. I did my best at the time, but here, in the heat and sunshine, is where the Plan had placed me for this bit of education.

I have been lazy here, sitting for hours in the cockpit, in the shade and on nice soft cushions, coffee in one hand and smoke in another, watching this new world pass me by. The cruise ship tourists zipping by on their pre-packaged dinghy rides or wave runner tours (You must follow the leader, and not stray away from the pack.) The throaty roar of the Donzi’s, Cigarette’s, and other macho machines, that leave behind them a series of big wake waves to bounce Annah Foster, and make the roll that much worse. The taxi boats, ferrying rich people to the rich beaches, and locals to work at those beaches or home to another island. The ebb and flow of other sailors, whether aboard their ‘rent for a week’ bareboat charters, or the international travelers, cruisers, live aboards, motor yachts, mega yachts. The dive boats flying by with a load of tourists heading out, with tanks shining in their racks on the boat. All of this is new to me. And I love to watch. I wave to the tourists as they pass, to the cruisers as they come in, and as they head back out, headed for their next destination. I am dumb and happy, and perhaps lonely enough that a simple wave back, and smile, is such a nice reward.

Departing Bermuda was very much ‘getting back on the horse that threw me” and I recall, again, the Plan moving me to weigh anchor and depart, when perhaps I might have, in a previous life, preferring to stop and think, and think, and worry, and find a new excuse NOT to depart. It would have been easy to wait one more night, as the sun had set when I had made all the preparation for departure, but I left in the dark.

I am so happy I got back on the horse. So proud that the sails went up, fairly early that night, as I departed St George’s Bay, instead of safely motoring for hours at 1500 rpm. I am proud that I successfully navigated the miles here. Was so happy, after the 9 or 10 days at sea, with no one to talk to but those Canadian friends I radio'ed as we passed en route, to see land rising up in front of me that morning through the mist. Proud that, using only the autopilot to steer, I found my way to this anchorage, and got the anchor down and set. And I am proud that I am slowly learning HOW to live on anchor. I am glad that I am slowing down. Less stressed. More tolerant.

Sometimes, I am just happy to be immersed in a room where no one knows me, but I hear conversations all around me in different languages. Someone will often speak to me or invite me to their conversation, we talk and laugh a bit, and slowly I am accumulating a list of new friends in my new life. Bob from the US. Eli from Italy. George from Cleveland. Christine from Calif. Christina from Brazil. Cordelia from - jeeze - where? Jocko from Belgium. Bernard from Marseilles. Graham from Australia. We all share that common bond of fellow travelers - strangers, in a strange place, and sometimes they are also alone. Some, I might pass again some day, but most are just today, friendly, my friends, acquantances. No more. No less.

Instead of just living, I am growing. At my age, I am surprising myself, and I love it all. (I recently read that the Italians have a saying - is better to be a lion for one day than a life time as a mouse. And have now found that the saying goes back to Roman times "Is better to live one day as a lion, than a thousand years as a lamb." Could be a good motto, perhaps, for me.)

When my first wife and I were building our house in Charlotte years and years ago, one Saturday night we sat on the pad that would become our screened porch, sipping beers, and looking at the stars in the ‘country’ sky, and I started to laugh. She asked me what was funny, and I told her this,” I cannot believe we fooled all these people into thinking that we could actually do this!” Because we had borrowed a lot of money, and I was not qualified to build a house from scratch. Several nights ago, as I putt-ed along in the dark in the dink, under those same stars, navigating my way home from Simpson Bay to the French side, and out to AF at anchor in Marigot Bay, I had the same laugh. Only this time, I think it was because I couldn’t believe that I had fooled ME into believing that I could do it.

I am blessed. Life is great!