S/V L'ORIENT

We're anchored here in Prickly Bay, getting ready to do a haul-out. That's where a big crane puts your boat on stilts and you paint the bottom and do all kinds of maintenance projects. It's important for us because it's "half-time". We're going to be heading west later...........possibly Cartagena, Columbia......definitely the ABC islands.........maybe even Honduras. The boat has to be ready. View from our boat this morning - Prickly Bay For now, we're waiting patiently for our haul-out appointment. Prickly Bay seems to be like the town square of Grenada (for non-locals). Everyone ends up coming to the bar/restaurant and congregating. This is like a Bogart movie............guys down on their luck swilling a cheap beer..........women with masculine looking tattoos eyeing every guy who walks in.........St. Georges University med students.......locals sizing up the situation......even Rasta gangsta looking guys. There all here for just one reason,

Welcome to Grenada. With Kirstin's chemical burns on her ass now under control, we proceed to the beach. Two miles of white sand, interrupted by a few beach bars. What could be nicer ? Or so we thought. We tie up the dinghy and proceed to a perfect spot under a palm tree. This is like a beer commercial setting, except without the models and unwarranted laughing. Of course it couldn't last..........and it didn't. Up walks this really drunk, vaguely Colombian looking Snoop-Dogg guy. He wants to chat me up. I want to read. Conflict ensues. El Snoop- "Hey, mahn.......jou ever read National Geographic ? Like, wit them animals, man ?" Tom- "Don't have any money........can't talk now. Good bye, my friend" El Snoop- "I'm tryin to conversate, man............I'm tryin to discuss shit, man" Tom- "Sorry, dude.........look, we just want to read and be alone. See you" Then, sensing trouble, the beach maintenance guy walks

My wife and I share one dangerous trait. When we get overheated or dehydrated, we lose the power of reason and our fine motor skills erode dramatically. Yesterday, Tom drank a bottle of water before shopping...........Kirstin did not (how's that for foreshadowing ?). Anyway, upon arriving in Grenada we quickly dinghied over to Island Water World. I know it sounds like a theme park, but if you live on a boat in the Caribbean this is your Home Depot. Everything you need. Well, we needed some charts, spare parts for the bathroom, and some waterproofing chemicals for the Sunbrella canvas  (hey, we have problems too, OK ?). We leave the store, and Kirstin's overheating symptoms start to emerge. Instead of throwing our master-lock into the dinghy, she hits me in the hand. "Oh shit !!!! WTF ?........." OK, I'm bleeding, but it was an accident, right? Whatever. Then, in the course of getting into our dinghy, the unthinkable happens. She loses a flip flop. Gasp. Kirs

House in Bequia Well, after a month we have left St. Vincent and the Grenadines (BTW, how can Grenada not be part of the Grenadines...........poor branding if you asked me). Anyway, one of the salient features of this place for cruisers is definitely the inability to spend money.........on anything. Case in point. We anchor off Carriacou (our final island in the SVG chain). A guy in a decrepit, sinking dinghy motors out to our boat. Sad-sack- "Hi, my name is Simon. You've probably heard of me." Tom- "Never heard of you" Sad-sack- "I'm in all the cruising guides.........I'm Simon........I'm famous for helping cruisers". Tom- "Nice to meet you Simon. Still never heard of you". He proceeds to try to interest us in "low impact" (on him) services he could sell us. He offers us these 4 small red snappers that are in their death-rattles flapping on the bottom of his boat.........in the oily, slimy bilge water.

Bequia Countryside Nothing like putting Caribbean medicine to the test like a long walk. Tom's recent trip to Dr. Babu was scarcely 24 hours behind us. How to get Tom to agree to such a long hike? My husband is a sucker for animal snuggles. If it snuggles, he wants to touch it. With that in my pocket, I was able to convince him that the 2 1/2 miles (each way) to the turtle preserve would be worth it. And it was. Will snuggle even turtles A man named Brother King started the turtle preserve some years ago. He finds hatchlings (who have a 1 in 3000 chance to of surviving) and brings them to his preserve. There, he raises them in tanks and when they are ready (usually in about 4 years), he returns them to the ocean. His success rate is 1 in 5. To date, he's returned 970 turtles to the wild. His preserve has about 70 turtles at any one time, ranging in size from gi-normous to babies the size of a cookie. This kind of conservation in Bequia is an interesting contrast to

This was what I was afraid of when planning this trip. We're in Bequia.  One evening.......pain in my right side. Go on WebMD........is it lower abdomen or upper hip ? Why? I get to choose between appendicitis and cancer of the gall bladder, intestines, or liver. It's kind of in between. Hmm. This island has a small "hospital". The corregated tin roof doesn't completely cover the interior of the building. Air conditioning, I guess. There's a Rasta house a few blocks away. 'nuff said Now I'm getting scared. Burst appendix down here and you have a big problem. Anyway, I let the pain get worse for a few days. My mind (which isn't occupied by much, I'll admit) is racing. Hopefully it's a problem with some part of me where there's a spare. Do I have 2 kidneys or is it 2 livers. Whatever. I go to this "hospital" as a last resort. (we can't really sail anywhere at this point). This nurse asks if I want her to examine me

We read a really sad article in the local paper yesterday. A German couple (long-time live-aboards) were peacefully anchored near a restaurant. A French tri-maran anchors too close, hits the German boat at midnight as the tide shifts, and all hell breaks loose. The French refuse to move, they hit again (this time doing damage), then in the process of re-anchoring the French pull up the German's anchor as well. The French leave the bay and shout derisively "Auf Wiedersehen". It gets worse..........the German guy is really upset......in fact, he feels light-headed. He passes out and dies of a heart attack before his wife can get help. Now there are assholes in every country, and at first when I read this article I failed to see why the fact that they were French was relevant. Until I started thinking about our own experience. Just about every case of anchoring too close........poor seamanship..........being discourteous............it's almost always the French. 

We sailed today from Tobago Cays to Bequia. Kirstin and I usually share driving "the party barge" as we call "L'ORIENT", but today I didn't really feel like doing much so she pretty much drove us here. As we rounded Admiralty Bay and began our anchoring maneuver, I thought about the wacky directions that life takes us in.........especially women. If your man likes Metallica..........you like Metallica (or at least get used to it). If your man likes golf............get ready for lessons or golf-widow status. Sailing works the same way. Co-captains enjoying a sundowner (or two) Many of Kirstin's contemporaries drive mini-vans filled with kids. An Escalade weighs about 4 tons (filled with fuel, diapers, and softball equipment). My wife is driving a 21-ton oceangoing yacht with enough diesel to foul every beach on this island. She swung our boat around the bay, found a great anchoring spot and stuck the landing. No big deal. I really didn't expect

Anchorage in Tobago Cays So we're in Tobago Cays. This is a lagoon teeming with  sea turtles swimming in a sanctuary. Cool snorkeling, but there's a problem..........no restaurants. No food stores. Nothing. We start eating down our provisions from October/November's long sail from DC to Tortola.........beefaroni (yum)...........chicken chili.........(also a yumfest). We get brave and buy a red snapper from a fisherman. The freaking thing has a spine that's like a telephone cable. I make a mess cleaning it. Scales, spines, other gooey stuff I can't even identify..........then I don't cook it long enough.  Kirstin observes me butchering this poor fish and  tries to be supportive, yet I sense her fear of eating this fish I destroyed. Yuck. I feel sick just looking at it. Reading spot on the beach "Sweetie ! Change of plans.........hoist the sails.............we're going 20 miles back north (into the hurricane zone) to Bequia. Why ? They've

Salt Whistle Bay - Mayreau  Mayreau is the smallest inhabited island in the Grenadines, with only 315 people. We met our first real Rasta there in 2007- Robert Righteous. He operates a restaurant with his wife, kids, and a variety of hangers-on.  Back in 2007, after we returned from the Grenadines, we sent him some "Obama stuff"which he used to decorate his place along with some school supplies for the children of Mayreau. Upon returning there on Friday, he remembered us...........and invited us to his birthday party which was Saturday night. Obama stuff was still in place all over his restaurant, as were pictures of us. Creepy. Hmmm. A Rasta birthday party. I'm thinking this could be dangerous. We spent the whole day Saturday trying to talk ourselves out of going. The dinghy could get stolen.........we could get mugged...........someone could break into the boat while we're gone..........we might be the only non-family members there (i.e. we'd be the prov

Typical "restaurant" in Chatham Bay - notice sign "figure licking food" Who knew? Chatham Bay, right around the corner from Happy Island...........not so happy. We get anchored in a small bay. A guy motors out to greet us. Local guy- "Hi, my name's Barracuda.........want me to make you a barbecue ?" Tom- "Sure........be there tonight. Say, what's your real name ?" Local guy- "Barracuda" OK, well, we hang out with "Barracuda". He tells us about Loretta...........she's the crazy beach bar competitor. If you go somewhere else to eat, she threatens to burn the place down. Bitter rivals with Barracuda. We stay clear of this chickie, as we don't want to start a war. During the barbecue, a mystery is revealed. Kirstin and I have been wondering why, when nobody works on Union Island........everybody has a car and plenty of fuel for outboards. Barracuda lectures us in Marijuanics 101............"Every

Kirstin and I were planning on spending a quiet night at home...........then, up drove our new BFFLs from Colorado. We know their names but on advice of counsel we won't publish it until they arrive safely back home. "Let's go to happy hour !!!" OK, sounds like a plan. I changed out of the dirty shirt I was wearing and put on a different dirty shirt (just to keep up appearances).  Happy hour was fun. The Germans aboard the Amel next to us joined in, and a riotous time was had by all........until Janti got weird. Let's rewind. Humble Janti........starts piling conch shells in the shallow bay.........makes an island.......builds a bar on it............appears on Anthony Bourdain "No Reservations" show on travel channel. That was "old Janti". Problem is that "Janti-wood" has gone celebrity-psycho on us. He stops the light reggae tunes in the middle of Happy Hour and starts a monologue (via the sound system) where it's part

One reason we don't miss TV is that we have Port-TV. What's that ? We get to watch boaters (experienced and otherwise) maneuver their boats in tight places, anchor, and make lots of mistakes while doing this. It's a participative medium...........we've starred in a few episodes as well. Yesterday may have been the best since we left Annapolis last year. I'll set the stage- French rental catamaran.........captained by "Pierre", a 30-something chain smoker with an elvis-bouffant. He's 5'6, or about 5'10 with the hair. Also on the boat are 3 french hotties in bikinis (you know the kind- they have that cool, disaffected attitude towards everything and everyone). Also, two dudes............they aren't wearing speedos, but have that peculiar European body type that's completely devoid of muscle.........good candidates for sex-change operations, as they kind of look like chicks now. Anyway, Captain Pierre tries to get his rental boat into

Happy Island... watch your head We're still anchored in electric blue water in front of Happy Island. We went to happy hour there, which was fun until I found that the unlit hallway to the bathroom had a 5 ft. tall cement ceiling. As I've just started seeing fewer stars in my vision, I thought I'd blog. (author's note- Chardonnay doesn't heal head trauma but it helps you forget). We're meeting more cruisers, and the thing that's on everyone's mind is "What are you doing for hurricane season?". Kind of sounds like college kids making summer vacation plans, but there is a serious side to this. Kirstin and I have been on a boat at sea during 70 knot winds for a total of about 20 minutes. We were blindsided by a freak super cell in the Chesapeake last year. We had zero visibility, and completely lost control of the boat........spinning around with no orientation. The chart plotter said we were rotating, but we had no other indication of it, a

We're still anchored in front of Happy Island. Remember when we were with "Cobra" ? Now we're with Roderick. He's the coolest dude we've ever met. Dreds, messed up teeth, and he's Billy Dee Williams cool. Anyway, he knows we like Mahi. Not frozen, in styrofoam and Sealed Air Corporation plastic (shout out to brother Todd). We like our Mahi still bleeding. Roderick set us up. Once again, the Tom and Kirstin Caribbean Stimulus Package continues, as we paid $100 EC or about $40 for a 30 inch Mahi already cleaned. I'm pretty sure I got screwed again, but that's not the point. I feel like those British colonial explorers who climb Everest with 37 sherpas hauling their silver plated tea service, tables, and expensive linen. We cruise in our own way. No apologies to those "roughing it" sailors who don't even have faux ostrich interiors. Gasp. Anyway, in other news we met probably our first legitimately cool Americans yesterday. They'

Canouan lagoon When we arrived in Canouan we were promptly met by a local entrepreneur on a half-assed, home-made trimaran who introduced himself as Wilbert. "Need anything man?".............We love local vendors and fresh fish, so I negotiate with Wilbert for two red snappers. He doesn't have them yet, but promises to go spearfishing to get them. Cool. Thoughts of Wilbert's years of time tested experience in these waters ran through my mind. The dude probably just dips his finger in the water and divines where the fish are. "OK, but if you're not here with the fish by 6:00 PM we're going out to dinner". Now, we're paying about twice the market price for these fish, but the whole transaction has this really cool "Gilligan's Island" feel to it, so what the heck. Anyway, we dinghy in to shore to catch up on our sunbathing and reading. Wilbert's boat is moored next to ours. "He's so freakin good at fishing that he&

"Excuse me ?"............I'm thinking that I heard the server incorrectly, or this is a Law and Order type entrapment bust. "I'm pretty sure heroin is illegal, ma'am"..............."Oh, no............not heroin........Hairoun (pronounced hair-oon).  Turns out that this is the national beer of SVG (St. Vincent and the Grenadines). "Oh.......OK. Well, I was going to order some speed-balls but we'll have the heroin/hairoun instead". So we're taking our walk (my new exercise regimen of 100 pushups is always scheduled to start tomorrow).........and these dudes have 5 stacked huge speakers......like a zillion watts blasting some demo quality reggae............about 20 yards from another guy doing the same thing - except with six speakers. Like a battle of the speakers. Imagine the loudest club you've ever been to...........louder than that. Really.  The server tells us that's normal. It's how they listen to music on Canouan