"The Coast" is not "The Beach"

At the tail end of Spring Break, we snuck in a quick weekend jaunt to the coast with our adventurous friends the Sharps. A trip to "The Coast" usually involves an intense amount of trailer provisioning, a plethora of motocycle gear, copious amounts of sand, tire pressure gauges, and sometimes sand shovels and a towing strap that can pull out 20,000 pounds of truck and trailer. The emphasis is usually more on the sand part of the coast and less on the water part. But for this trip we decided to take it easy and leave the steel horses in the barn and just take our bicycles for a leisurely relaxing weekend.

Kass, Mitchell, Tanner, Connor, Brock, and Chloe trade in their quads for bikes...they spend a fair amount of time complaining that peddling is a lot more work than twisting a throttle. Such cruelty!

This is Deanne, Mont, and Mark leisurely basking in the legendary hurricane-force winds so generously offered by "The Coast".
"The Coast" never ceases to shock me. No matter how many times I visit, it has always been a stranger to me. Like visiting a foreign country where you don't speak the language or that friend you're nice to but not really interested in hanging out with. My guess is that my relationship with "The Coast" is probably due to the fact that I'm not a native Oregonian. I spent my youth as an ordinary kid from Orange County wearing flip-flops year 'round, always outside and usually frolicking with friends at the beach. Huntington Beach was just a few blocks away from my childhood home in Fountain Valley.

All too abruptly, my family moved to a place called Oregon. The only thing a Southern California kid knew about Oregon was that people hunt there and supposedly wore coon hats. (We were misinformed about the latter, folks from Oregon have evolved to John Deere caps-which is a much more domesticated breed of hunter.)

When my new Oregon friends would talk about going to the ocean they called it "The Coast". My sun-baked ears had never heard of that term used as a destination before and I would often correct them, in my all-knowing California way, and say, "it's not a coast, it's called a beach". Everyone knows a "coast" is obviously just a map term, not a real place, and certainly not to be confused with "The Beach" which is tangible, where sand and surf blissfully meet for the barely clothed to frolic in, sunbathe upon, or surf within. I spent months correcting my misinformed friends who unknowingly confused the terms. A Coast is for a coastal highway, a beach is where one frolics...

The day came when I finally got invited to go with some friends and I couldn't wait. (I don't remember if it was the Cluff's or the Clark's who had the misfortune of inviting me along...) The three hour drive was more than I could take, it only took 7 minutes from my old house. The drive west was a bizarre patchwork of farms, pastureland, myrtle wood shops, twisted roads, colossal redwoods, and thick gray mist. Not one surf board strapped to a car the entire way. (This should have been a clue.) At last the car pulled to a stop, the doors flew open, and...through a veil of hair wildly windswept across my face I caught my first glimpse: plagues of huge jagged rocks erupting out of the swells, swollen dark clouds looming above, Oregonians not bathing in the sun but fully clothed and flying kites! Flying kites! The wind had stolen the leading role and was the star of the show! The water devoid of humans, upstaged in its moment of glorious soliloquy! The cold air numbed my tear-streaked face. In horror, I quickly turned to my friend and said, "This is not a beach. This is a coast." I stepped back into the car, forced the door shut from the snapping wind, and sunk into despair. I had packed my beach towel and SPF for naught.

I haven't quite recovered yet from that awful day, but now, when I come to "The Coast" I come prepared. With courage, kites, and coats...and hiking shoes don't hurt either! I have figured out that Oregonians visit the coast for the wind! (Incidentally, I hate the wind!) And as my hair will attest, during our weekend visit, the wind did not disappoint.

We brought our cousin Tanner along who happens to be afraid of heights and so he declined to pose in our cliff-side photo above. Instead he stood safely inland and shuttered at the thought of getting any closer.

So of course Mitchell had to freak Tanner out even more by hanging over the cliff...

Which of course made Tanner do this...

Once back on level ground Tanner was more than happy to join us for a family picture. He is playing the part of Cheyenne in this scene-she's still at BYU...(Cheyenne, whatever have you done with your hair, that buzz cut really plays up your eyes!)

Here Connor shows us one of the many fine features of "The Coast": Dead sea life.

Here is Chloe enjoying the chilly water by staying out of it!

Mitchell and Mark decide to do some bouldering, and of course Tanner declines with a brisk shake of the head.



Connor and Brock give it a go...


Tanner decides it can't be all that bad and gives it a try...




Here Tanner changes his mind and decides it's a bit too high for his liking. It's obviously a little late at this point to back out now so Uncle Mark and cousin Mitchell give him a nice scratchy tug up the rest of the way. (Sorry about your knees Tanner...and anything else that endured a little scratchin'!)


Tanner makes it up and actually poses for a photo but not too close to the edge...


See, it really is Tanner up there!


This photo was taken for Tanner's mom. These smart children are speaking whale. (Chloe looks like she has the most authentic accent!)

Another fine weekend at "The Coast". Next time we'll bring the quads-kites just don't cut it!

The New Math & The New Book Report

It's Spring Break here in Oregon and I am basking in the glory of two solid weeks with homework-less kids! Ahhhhh! Splendid Bliss. Not as good as a Caribbean hammock of course, but pretty darn close. Almost as good you say? How can that be as relaxing and restful you ask? (Okay maybe you didn't ask but I'm telling you anyway.)

The Friday school lets out, Connor and Chloe came home with two giant sacks of recent papers/projects and dumped it on our kitchen counter. A massive pile of elementary exertions which had been finished, turned in, and graded. The completion of a homework's life cycle, now awaiting parole on the fridge or a sentencing to death in the trash bin. As I rifle through it all, I come across a plethora math papers and two recent book reports. At first I sigh heavily, relieved to know we've got two weeks off before the madness begins again, then I mount my soap box (...er...blog spot).

THE MATH PAPERS
If you're a parent then you've heard of "the new math". For me, this new is definitely not improved. See, when you give me a bunch of numbers to add up or multiply, I stack 'em up and get it done! Quick, fast, and usually spot on! Well, apparently that's the OLD way of doing things. No more stacking numbers parents, we've gotta break the numbers down into units, you know, into 100's, 10's, 1's. Why? I dunno. My only guess is cause they (whomever "they" are) want kids to get the concept that there is something real behind the numbers. So now, when kids do math they are asked to show three different ways of solving the problem...and I only know TWO; that would be the archaic stacking method (heaven forbid) and, method two, using a calculator, which, if you have not gotten the memo, are two options that aren't acceptable anymore. Now, you've got to draw boxes representing units, which, in my day, would have been called "doodling" and heavily frowned upon. Now, once you've drawn a hand cramping amount of unit boxes you've still got to solve the problem two more ways! As this befuddles and confuses me so much that I have finally resorted to checking out the teacher versions of their math books so I could look up the demonstrations in order to appropriately coach my kids through their homework! How humiliating is that? I can't even do 3rd or 4th grade math! So I have an idea that would simplify this whole mess...if you want a kid to understand there are "units" behind the numbers then schools should forget the cutesy doodle boxes and give each of the kids a hundred bucks, then ask 'em for 10-ones and 80-tens (are you following me here or do I need to draw you some boxes?) and they'll pretty much figure out the digits represent something real pretty quick...enough said. As a follow up, you could then tell them that for 10 bucks you'll let them get out of having to show you two more ways of doing their math! Voila! Little math genius'!

THE BOOK REPORTS
This new math merely gets me started on my favorite subject...something I like to call "the new book report". Old school book reports, when I was a kid, simply required you to read a book (or in high school, read the cliff notes) then turned in a simple one/two page summery of the reading material noting the author, genre, copyright and such. The hardest part of the book report, besides locating the copyright, was the reading-the-book part...right? Well not anymore! Now, "The New Book Report" can take up more time than the reading of the book part. Take for instance Chloe's recent book report on George Eastman (of Kodak Fame):
What you're looking at is a fine example of "The New Book Report" for a third grader. Chloe had to read about George Eastman and give a "book report" (teachers still call it by it's old name cause they don't want to scare us). This included a two page summery of his life with an accompanying jacket cover decorated to feature the important aspects of the subjects life, then a puppet rendition of the character (this involved a stove, flour and some fancy paper mache-ing action, a fan and hairdryer to dry the thing in time to paint, a very hot finger scorching glue gun, and some gray yarn...oh and paint), AND (...no I'm not done yet!) a written script for the "puppet" to give as a speech to the entire class...whew...are you exhausted from just reading this harrowing tale?

Now if this doesn't scare all of you parents out there with pre-school aged youngsters into homeschooling, this next part will! You see, Connor also had a book report due that very same week! Here it is in all it's cardboard shoe-box glory... This is the fourth grader version a book report on the novel "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea". A fine novel which can be read in about three weeks-less time than it takes to complete a "New Book Report" on the book itself! As you see featured in the lovely photo above, you may note that the report required the book's theme to be encompassed in a thematic based shoe box (a lovely duct taped and authentically painted treasure chest), containing inside; three objects featured in the book, displaying central facts and characters, and, last but not least, a list of ten ill-understood vocabulary words from it's very pages noting the definition and correctly used in an original sentence!

And now you see why Spring Vacation is a holiday for kids and parents alike! The absence of "New-Math" and "New Book Report" constructing! Ahhhhh a fine vacation indeed!

Touring the Leewards

TOURING THE LEEWARDS
This blog posting is for all our family and friends who’ve been calling to see if we’re still alive and well…yes we made it back, yes we are safe, and no we’re not happy to be back in the rain! Here’s a lengthy recap of the incredible adventure our friends the Williams so generously shared with us (sorry it's a long one!).

During the time we visited, we got to sail to St. Martin, St. Barths, Antigua, Guadeloupe, Iles de Saints, and Dominica.


ST. MARTIN/SINT MAARTEN

St. Martin is a great place to start an adventure. As I posted earlier, it’s two counties in one. Unfortunately for Mark, due to boat issues, he never made it very far off St. Martin’s coastline. But, I must say, St. Martin is also a great place to end an adventure too-for this island offers a lot to it’s visitors. We had a great time exploring that island; amazing French food...


...delicious French bakeries (I still dream of almond croissants), two seriously crazy jet blasts at the airport, one very manly photo op...


...motoring through the Simpon's Bay Bridge several times more than we bargined for...


...a great road tour of the island, sunny French beaches (yes, very French indeed-no pictures of that and you should thank me as I have learned that most nudity is displayed by those who should refrain!), and lest we forget, the lovely serenading we endured each night on the dock! The week went by quickly and way too soon it was time for Mark to go. Although I was sad to him leave, I must admit that I was looking forward to having his extra pillow!

A fine Caribbean Crew! Notice Keith and Mark are sporting earrings!


The day Mark flew out, we took the dingy to the closest spot near the airport where the dock guy made us pay him $6 to drop Mark off on his little pier! From there it was a short hop, with his duffel bag in tow, to get across the road to catch his plane. Keith and I then returned to the newly mended “One Life” where the rest of the crew was getting us ready for the 4pm raising of the bridge to let us out of Simpson’s Bay so we could make the passage for St. Barths.

This is the bridge opening to let all the boats out and then in. The boats have to impatiently wait each day until it opens if they want in or out of Simpson’s Bay. Worse yet, the drivers on the island have to wait for long periods of time for the bridge to go back down! This stops traffic for miles in each direction. When we rented a car here we got to experience that wait too…I think the car wait is worse! Pete squeezed the boat through the gap and motored us out into open sea. (This is a view from "my beloved trampoline" I'd sneak out onto each morning and night from my hatch.)


Catching the late bridge opening out meant that we would have to make the short passage to St. Barths at night. I was curious as to how this is done, the only passage making I have done in the last couple of years has been in the daytime. We charted our heading and after a beautiful sun set off our starboard side the only light for the rest of the trip came from the stars overhead and the bright glow of the nav screen at the helm.


ST. BARTHELEMY
Christopher Columbus named this tiny island after his kid brother. For a long time it was so small it was hardly noticed by mapmakers and sailors alike. It makes you wonder what Chris really thought of his little brother when he named the island for after him-a place that was so small it got ignored.

The swells during the short passage to St. Barths kept “One Life” rolling at a good swing and uneven tempo. This may have been the passage that Kathy’s eye injury took place (see previous blog), I can’t remember. Nonetheless, here is a very handy tip for all you sailors out there: when the boat is being tossed to and fro it is not a good time to undertake ANY task that requires fine motor skills…you’re libel to poke your eye out.

A few hours later we spotted the flashing lights around St. Barths bay and Keith, Pete, and Bryan smoothly transitioned from passage making to anchor setting. It wasn’t as hard to find a suitable place to anchor in the dark as I thought it would be. Once set, we turned our eyes toward the island sparkling with lights and luring us in. Technically, you’re not supposed to go in until you’ve cleared customs. A few of us really wanted to risk it but cooler heads prevailed when Kathy enticed us to stay on board by making us chocolate no-bake cookies. I spent the rest of the evening eating chocolate goodness in my favorite place, the trampoline at the bow of the boat. Each night I’d gotten in the habit of crawling up on deck out my room’s hatch and gaze at the stars, and this night I stared intently at the shore and tried to picture how the island would look bathed in daylight.

In the morning, the warm sun revealed the mystery. St. Barths is a posh little French island. Her marinas are filled with jaw-dropping yachts, her shores are home to wealthy vacationers, upscale shops, and some unbelievable food. We looked pretty flashy anchored out there with our duct taped windows, we sort of sported it like flashy hip-hop tooth bling.

St. Barths open-air post office...oh to live in a place with this kind of weather!


The town was fun to roam around and soon I started feeling brave enough to try out my very bad French. I was excited to find Rue de Joan D’Arc because I had just finished an amazing book about her and she totally inspires me. (Notice Pete sitting in the right corner, more on this in the Iles de Saints section.)


After a very nice lunch I got my first real French kiss, that is, a kiss on each cheek-from the owner of the restaurant no less! I'm going to speak french more often! (I seem to be pretty hot with the over 70 crowd, not bad huh?)

Here's a hospital I think we shall evermore think of in honor of Captain Bryan...


...for courageously taking Keith's stitches out. A few days later I got to take the rest of them out! Fun! Fun!


I've traveled with the Williams before and they are notorious animal petters. To me this is not a pastime you want to get yourself involved in when traveling abroad. They do it anyway despite my constant disapproving glares and heckles.


As I said, no pastime should involve hand sanitizer when you're done! (Okay Kathy, the monkey's in Honduras pet YOU, you don't pet them! So it doesn't count!)


Our plan was to leave for Antigua in the morning so Kathy and I headed off to a local market to do a little provisioning before we made the passage. One thing I have learned about sailing is that provisioning can be pretty tricky. Every store carries different things so you can never count on finding the same thing anywhere. We’ve decided that when shopping it is best to strike when it’s hot and stock up if you ever find anything you think you want. We found the most amazing avocados on almost every island but it took us three islands before we found tortilla chips! (We found tortilla chips on Dominica but no avocados!) The other, and hardest lesson, was that everything costs three or four times more than back in the states.


ANTIGUA (and Barbuda)

For the long and choppy passage to Antigua we raised the dingy, secured the anchor and harness with extra line, and tied a jack line around the boat so we could attach our harnesses to it should we have to go up on deck while we were underway. (This was at the start of the passage before the swells got bigger.)


As the sea grew bigger I wondered how my stomach would fare. The only passages I have done are ones in the sheltered cold waters up in the San Juan Islands off Washington’s coast. Happily I did great, well except for the 45 minutes Bryan (he was on the boat for the first few weeks acting as our training wheels) had me working the charting table plotting our fix, taking a heading, and such. We were moving pretty good and the combination of reading, swaying, and plotting did me in. I looked up and told Bryan that if he wanted the chart to remain readable then I’d better stop! Other than that I did great and never felt sick. Yahoo!

My three hour watch at the helm was between 9pm and midnight and I enjoyed it more than I expected. With not a ship in sight, it was just me, a canopy of stars and the glow of the nav screen…which I thankfully figured out how to dim to a subtle glow. Despite the crushing blow of leaving my I-pod at home charging in the docking station, I fared pretty well in complete silence. It was pure bliss; here I was harnessed in at the helm of a boat, everyone else asleep, out in the middle of a churning ocean, which would occasionally spit cool water in your face, without land or boat in sight!

A word on being captain at the helm…this is me working hard at watch…


It sounds difficult but this is basically it. (Keith will kill me for telling you this, and I'm sure Bryan will be disappointed I'm not busy fixing our location...) I figured out that for the most part, ol' Keith had the best job on board. He got to sit here at the helm and command the crew (course he never put his feet up like I did, I’m sure he didn’t want the rest of us to get the idea it was this easy!). Keith pushed buttons and pulled throttles all while calling out to us deckhands, orders to unfurl the jib, reef the main, pull sheets up (which is too hard for my weak arms to do!), wench in lines, and pull up the darn dingy! Guess when you’re paying for the boat you get the cushy job and the rest of the crew has to work for their keep. Thing is, I loved every minute of it…yes Keith, even when you had us flushing out the heads! I loved it all.

When my shift was over I woke the next watchman Pete, and went to bed. Most nights the rocking of the boat lulled everyone into a gentle slumber but on this night there was nothing gentle about it. As my room was at the bow of the ship I was in for a crazy ride all night long. Not unlike sleeping at one end of a see-saw! Most of the time it was a steady pounding interrupted occasionally by a lurch upward followed by an enormous free-fall back into bed! Who needs Disneyland?

After a 12-hour passage, we arrived at Antigua’s Jolly Harbor, quickly set the anchor, and then everyone went happily to bed knowing we were tucked safely into the harbor. Even without a full night’s sleep I still woke in time to crawl up through my hatch and welcome the rising sun from the trampoline (yes mom, I really did get up that early).

After an official check-in with customs we were all clear to go ashore and strait to a laundry. Many of the islands don’t have plain ol’ laundry mats with self-service and you have to pay to have it done for you, pay A LOT to have it done for you! We paid about $80 US dollars for SIX loads of laundry!

And now a word on carrying money around with you (PG-13)…

When you’re at sea you’re always prepared to get in the water, which, means you mostly wear a swimsuit everywhere. I don’t know about yours, but most of my swimsuits have absolutely no pockets. So where does one carry money? Guys swim shorts all have those convenient velcro pockets but not us ladies! So what’s a girl to do?? Well I’ve decided that’s what cleavage is for and it works pretty well for carrying bills (not so much with change!). I never really thought much about it until I went to pay the laundry ladies and they began to point and giggle at my “wallet” as if they’d never seen this done before (I am hardly the first!). I was quite amazed that they’d never considered this option before. These ladies were quite large and so were their “wallets”, so much so that they could have kept more than just cash in there, why I’d bet they’d have room for chapstick, car keys, cell phone, and laptop computer. Enough said, I couldn’t resist.

With fresh bed sheets and towels, we were ready to welcome Chris and Malinda aboard, Keith and Kathy’s son and daughter-in-law, who had just flown in.

Not long after picking up our new crewmembers, we were off for a quick day sail over to a nearby wreck that was in shallow water. The visibility was terrible. I had to constantly look above the surface to locate the mast, which was sticking up out of the water and when I reached it I could barely see anything below. Up until this point the visibility was great in most places we’d snorkeled. Disappointed, we quickly sailed back to Jolly Harbor, checked out with customs, and headed south to our next stop: Antigua’s English Harbor.

The three hour passage was calm and smooth. There’s something euphoric to me about catching the wind in the sails and turning off the engines. Everything is quiet except for the water kissing the boat and the wind powering your sails...pure bliss. The crumbling ruins of Fort Berkely welcomed us to her port...



Once again, another visit to customs. Antigua is the last stop for Bryan who’s been coaching us through our voyage so far. We say farewell and wish him well as he heads for Dominica by plane, land at last Bryan!

Kathy and I spend the next morning honing in our newly acquired skill of locating French bakeries (Boulangeries). We’re getting quite good at this.


After a lazy afternoon of shopping and eating (this takes a lot out of you!) we found some great lounge chairs beneath the canopy of a large welcoming tree.


One of the pleasurable things about sailing is that you begin to unplug from your typical life and things uncomplicate themselves. Pleasure becomes simple when you’re far from the ringing of a phone and the constant beat of a schedule. Basking in the calm of a chair beneath a shady plot, the luxury of a cool breeze, and the balmy kiss of sunshine on bare skin. The smoldering of midnight stars, the shape of a swell, and the arch of a sail being pressed by the wind. These simple things become wonderfully euphoric.

We dingy back to “One Life” and spend the rest of the day swimming, eating, and playing cards. As evening sets it’s due time for a fresh water shower off the back of the boat! We conserve water on board so these only come every couple of days. There is nothing like rinsing the salt off and having clean hair and newly shaved legs…ahhhhh! When you’ve got salt-free skin and clean soft hair that means one thing…HAMMOCK TIME! Depending on your mooring, this can involve either a gentle sway or a heafty swing, I like them both.


GREEN ISLAND

In the morning we set sail for green island which almost touching Antigua’s shores. In route, Pete decided to liven things up (Kath was asleep) and entertain us. He competed at state in swimming so the water was calling his name. With the help of his brother Chris, they lashed a rope about his waist and a life vest to his chest and he jumped in while we were under sail. I've never seen him do the fly so fast!

Kathy, upon seeing the wet line and soaking life vest that they boys failed to put away, figured it all out anyway!

To our delight, we discover a beach called Rickett’s Harbor and it is picture perfect! A crescent shaped deserted beach with crumbling white sand! (I took some great photos of the beach but they are still safely lodged in Keith's camera out in the Carribean.) There are two small boats anchored in the bay but no people in sight. I decide to snorkel into the beach while Kathy takes my beach towel and meets me on shore by way of her sea kayak. The water is crystal clear and the temperature is ideal, you couldn’t set a thermostat this perfect. I’m swimming in a postcard.

After spending the day on a glorious beach that could have been ripped from the pages of a travel magazine, we reluctantly headed back to the boat. Goodbye awesome beach! Pulling myself back onto “One Life” I noticed our neighbors were home…really home! They were totally naked. Not just, hanging-out-and-tanning naked, but repairing-the-boat-and-fixing-dinner kind of naked. That is an entirely different kind of nude if you ask me. We’ve spent our fair share of our days so far on this trip on French beaches and we’ve gotten used to bare bodies, but this was more of a creepy kind of nude! I shall not comment anymore because I’m sure to cross a line of appropriateness (Mark is certain to be amazed by my showing some sort of self-moderation and holding back further comment!).

The next morning brought two exciting events (thankfully neither of them involving our naked neighbors!). First, was the “Storming of Normandy” as I like to call it. As we were finishing up breakfast along came a huge pleasure boat full of what looked like 50 or more tourists, a wonder of white flesh, fresh off the plane, all sporting those oh-so attractive orange snorkel lifesaving vest-contraptions about their necks. Their boat appeared suddenly as they rounded the point of our little travel poster island and headed right for our beach. OUR BEACH! Ahhhhh! Without warning, they lowered the plank, stormed our beach, and burst forth in their glorious pallor, two-by-two! So much for the glossy postcard photo! We’d been invaded.

The second event was the near loss of my precious finger. Normally bringing up the anchor is a no brain-er but on this day the harness decided it didn’t want to come off the anchor chain. As I tried prying the belligerent hook from its grip, both Keith and Chris pulled up on the chain to ease the tension. After some quite attractive grunting on my part, I finally forced it free. With a job well done the two boys simply let go of the chain-which still had my hand attached to it, and down it went! My hand stopped abruptly when my middle finger caught on the rim of the anchor’s hatch opening. Ouch! (that might not be exactly what I said) I quickly pulled my hand up to see how much of my throbbing middle digit was still attached to my hand and was relieved to see it still there in all its glory and sporting a nice red gash at the point of impact. Whew! Close call! The scary part here is that Kathy has taken to putting everything on board in ziplock baggies so that things don’t get wet or soggy or lost. EVERYTHING. I know that if I had lost my finger that day, she would have sent a diver to retrieve it and zipped it inside one of her ziplock bags and tossed in the freezer. Catastrophe avoided!

With the anchor up, my finger still on, we happily motored over to Brown’s Bay, a quick 10 minutes away, to a place called “Harmony Hill” which had been featured in Gourmet Magazine.


Here’s the great table and view from Harmony Hill:


After a fantastic meal we headed to the other beach on Green Island’s south shore. Everyone heads for the shore with either their snorkel gear or by sea kayak but this time I stay on “One Life” and take a long lazy nap in the hammock. Ahhhh!

In order to clear out the next day we must back track and motor back to English Harbor to check out of customs and say goodbye to Antigua. Each country we visit has it’s own way of operating their customs office. St. Barths was fairly smooth-grand offices, lots of paperwork (in French), quick fee, followed by official stamps. Dominica (my last island) was a casual affair at the police station. Antigua however, was an interesting experience that lasted over two hours! First you had to clear out at the customs window, then at the immigration window, followed by the I-don’t-even-remember-what window. The latter stop was manned (or shall I say un-manned?) by a guy who decided to show up to work two hours late. So picture a closed window with about seven or eight captains standing impatiently for this worker to show up so they can clear out. Not a pretty sight. When he finally did show the guys in line clapped and said worker did not take the reception very well. At this point you must chalk it up to “island time” because no one working there batted an eye at the late hour he chose to punch in the time clock…if they even had such a thing! So sailor beware: if you should travel to Antigua it is not a one stop customs shop!


GUADELOUPE

Guadeloupe is home to over 400,000 people and is a territory of France (like Alaska and Hawaii are to the United States). The people who live on this butterfly-shaped island carry french passports and are french citizens.

Bananas make up half of Guadeloupe's exports. They grow upside-down (from the way we're used to looking at them) and in blue bags to keep the birds from scratching them. These banana trees take 9 months to grow a bundle of banana and then you have to cut them down and replant.


We didn't get much news on the boat so we didn't really know too much about the issues going on in Guadeloupe when we sailed there. For the most part we found it to be a beautiful island with nice people. Had we gotten news we would have read this statement which was being put out:

"WARNING: The current situation in Guadeloupe is unstable. Recent demonstrations in Pointe-à-Pitre against high prices and low wages have eroded into violent riots, with many injuries and at least one death reported. The mainland government have deployed military police to keep order (very attractive military police Kath and I would like to add!), but basic infrastructure systems on the island remain halted. Should you find yourself in Guadeloupe, be sensitive and alert to the political situation. "

A little late now for that memo! We're glad we didn't know much about it because we had a relatively safe and fun time on Guadeloupe. But "sensitive and alert" we were not as you will hear below.

Because the island was so big, Keith rented a lovely french Peugeot that can seat 4 very uncomfortably so we decided to cram 6 Americans in it and tour Guadeloupe!


A word on french cars...

...this is no Ford Excursion which I am used to driving. I'm not sure the words "Ample Leg Room", "Power", and "Speed" are foremost on Peugeot's design preferences. My guess, from serious experience squeezing into this car, is that their focus is mainly on the words "Compact", "Minimal", and "Efficient". Some serious yoga postures had to be employed to get us all inside. At several points along our touring I thought for sure a few of us would have to get out and push the little car up a few hills! A side note on being compact: Should your driver be crazy enough to attempt it, your puny size permits you to drive in places that weren't intended for cars. For Keith, this meant having a go at an ancient drawbridge, threading the hole between a garbage truck and cement barrier, and jumping a curb to flee from a mob! "Compact" does have it's rewards!

Guadeloupe had a major freeway system and is easy to drive in. Just don't try and force your way into traffic. We watched a dump truck ram a little Peugeot like ours out of the way when he tried to merge into his lane!

Island shopping at it's best...a bag with a new pair of shorts and a shoulder carrying newly purchased line for the boat! Shorts and line, sailing essentials!


A hike to Carbet Falls. Christopher Columbus reportedly wrote of this waterfall in his ships log after sighting it from his boat. Every time you'd pass another hiker a round of "Bonjour!", "Bonjour" would ensue. That's a first for me!


This bridge offers a great view of the waterfall but was closed down after an earthquake in 2004. We still couldn't resist a quick peek (sorry mom).


This bridge has seen better days!


Because of the rioting, many of the stores were being forced to close because little food was getting in. We managed to find a store and this is what we found-notice the shelves:


Somehow during our tour of the island we decided to take a random exit and look for a place to eat. Naturally, as luck would have it we ended up right in the middle of the storm. No sooner had we exited the car, a demonstration began to form! A friendly school teacher came to talk to us and said that he had not left his home in a few weeks and that we were standing right near the place that a riot had stoned someone to death (lovely!). He also said something that no traveler wants to hear: "It's so good to see tourists come back to this area again!" I'm not sure we wanted or meant to be the first.


Later at the end of the day we happened to find ourselves back at the heart of the storm and this time it had kicked up a notch or five from the above picture. By then a larger crowd had amassed and riot police and armored vehicles showed up. As sketchy as the situation was, Kathy and I still had time to notice how manly the police looked in their riot gear. (very manly!) I am so sorry I did not get a photo of this as I was both alarmed at the situation and in awe of the attractive brutes in sexy riot gear keeping the peace.)

This was a really great island whose inland was astonishingly beautiful. I would like to come back someday and do some more exploring! We had spent a handful of days tromping around and doing more laundry and now it was time to make the quick passage to Iles Des Saints...more french speaking!


ILES DES SAINTS
If there's an island that can steal your heart, this is the one! Terre De Haute, one of Iles des Saints, is a lovely french beauty with stellar views...


We made the hike across the island to this jaw-dropping beach "Pompierre" TWICE. The first time we ended up at the wrong beach but had a great hike past a classically beautiful french cemetery. For the second hike, I used my very rusty french to get us started on the right road.


A nice warm evening stroll...


The folks on Terre Haute are very friendly and were kind enough to talk french to me, course they couldn't speak english so they didn't have a choice. The man I am sitting next to saw me speaking my kindergarten french to someone else earlier in the day and got excited to talk to me and introduce me to his wife and friends. Not sure why it was so exciting 'cause he spoke french very very fast, but they were very fun and nice! (again, notice I'm attracting that over 70 crowd! man I'm good!)


This man (over 70!) insisted on having me take his photo with this TV and washing machine. Again not sure why...go figure.


Terre Haute had its fair share of teenagers who liked to dress like American kids. I met these guys on the walk to Pompierre. After some serious exchanges, I finally convinced them to take a picture with me. This was not on their "hoodlum" agenda as they were working very hard to be tough and cool so it took some doing.


This photo below, by far, was the weirdest bunch of folks. This photo is obviously posed but it captures the true essence of these three travelers (I call them "The Sitter", "The Scratcher", and "The Pointer"). On the left is Pete "The Sitter" doing what he likes to do best- sit and wait for his companion travelers to get a move on. This poor boy has sat like this all over the world. He is a patient kid. Next is his brother Chris "The Scratcher" who purposely likes to wander in front of your camera while your taking a picture, take his hat off and scratch his head, all the while, acting as if he doesn't realize he's in the way of your photo. The last is their father Keith "The Pointer", who, I kid you not, points at the featured scene in most photos. I have traveled quite a bit with him and have taken his picture in front of grand structures like the Colosseum in Rome, the ruins of Chichen Itza, the Acropolis in Greece, and the Great Pyramid in Egypt, and the mighty sarsens of Stonehenge. In all of them he is pointing at the scene behind him as if a viewer may not be able to spot the huge mythic creation which looming right behind him! (If you don't believe me come see my travel album!) This man is a doctor, may I remind you, and this strange habit of his confounds and amuses me greatly.


Eating at "Les 3 Boats" with chef George Garcon which translates into "Boy George".


I fell in love with this tiny island and dream of living here. It is kind, quaint, and drop dead gorgeous.

A CRAZY NIGHT
After dinner we headed back for the boat and a rough night at anchor. The ocean got a little crazy and in the late night our anchor started dragging and we began swinging towards a neighboring boat. I woke Keith who confirmed the situation wasn't looking too good and that we'd better wake Pete and Chris and get them up on deck. The first thing we needed to do was pull in the dingy so its line wouldn't get caught up when we started the engine...too late. The craze of the swells had already tangled it up and it needed to be freed before we swung into our neighbor. Keith called for someone to jump in the water, his courageous crew all hesitated (Chris and I were smart enough to hesitate the longest) so Pete grabbed the flashlight from his father's hand and heroically jumped right in. He had just been rudely woken by me less than a minute earlier! He quickly worked at freeing the dingy's line while Chris and Keith ran to get some fenders to protect the boats from touching. Pete freed the line and handed it to me so I could pull it to the port side and tie it off. Once I did, he started the engine. Our boat would have touched our neighbors had it not been for Keith getting his bumper over the starboard side just in time. Both boats kissed the bumper that night. Pete revved the engine and gently moved us away from the other boat and out to deeper waters. We decided to find a new place to anchor and motored the short distance, under the light of the moon and a few handy flashlights, to another anchorage. Here we had all kinds of trouble finding a shallow spot that would hold us. The waves were not cooperating and were causing headaches for more than just our crew. While we were trying to set the anchor we heard a loud smack and some cursing. I looked up at Chris and said, "Did I just hear two boats knock into each other??" He shook his head and confirmed my suspicion. We could not get a firm hold and each time we tried to anchor you could hear the distinct sound of the anchor slipping and see the harness vibrating and we knew we weren't going to find a safe anchorage where we were. Pete motored us to a third spot farther away and looked for a shallow enough depth to drop the anchor and try again. At last we found a suitable place and set the anchor. I'm not sure how many of us slept the rest of the night. The boat rolled and swung in the crazy weather and kept us all alert. (In the morning, many boats were telling their own harrowing tales) Keith stayed on deck for a long time making sure we were staying put.

And stay put we did. The next day when we went to pull the anchor up and head for Dominica, the darn (I cleaned that word up for Deanne) thing wouldn't come up! One extreme to the other! We tried and tried but to no avail. Finally Chris donned scuba gear and went to take a look. Of all the places to drop our anchor, we had hooked it in between two sunken buoys which were joined by a 5' tether. I doubt if anyone could have deliberately placed their anchor where we did if they had meant to. Keith motored the boat directly over the anchor and Chris saved the day by dragging the anchor free!

Chris de-thrones his brother Pete and becomes the new hero dubbed "Dirk Pitt" after heroically freeing the anchor.


Before making my last passage to Dominica, the three BRAVER crew members attempted to get to town one last time to provision. The swells were still crazy so the three of us were sent in to see if we could make it! Here's Malinda the smart one with a life vest on, and Chris and I too proud to don "Orange Loveliness". We figured we'd use the dingy as a life preserver in case we capsized-like we had watched a couple of guys do just hours before. (This photo does not do the swells justice!)


as I depart my last french speaking island, here are
SOME HANDY FRENCH LESSONS:
(this is all you really need to know)

"Ou' est un distributeur automatique?"-Where's the ATM?

"Je parle un petiet peu francais"-I speak very little french. (both don't say this with a good accent or they won't believe you and will quickly rattle off rapid french to you and expect you to understand!)

"L'addition, s'il vous plait"-the check please.

"Tape la"-Gimme five (use it on little kids and island gangsters.)

"Je suis marie"-I'm married

"Tu es mon plus beau souvenir!"-You are my most beautiful souvenir!

Lastly, I never figured out how to say "shut that rooster up!" or I would jot that down here under french essentials too.

"C'est Degueulasse!"-this sucks (use sparingly.)


DOMINICA
Arriving in Dominica, or rather, returning to Dominica. It was great to be back. We visited this unbelievably beautiful island a few years back with the Williams and it took my breath away. I was excited to return and explore it's awesome wonders once again.

When you arrive by boat you are greeted by a small boat whose owner becomes your personal concierge for the duration of your stay. In our case, we were met by Albert (you can hail him on channel 16 if you sail in too!) He took care of us in fine style! Including dropping us off at this pier for a stroll through town.


Albert takes us on a boat tour of Dominica's Indian River, complete with historical facts, species names, and a cool stop for chocolate tea.


The gang's all here: (L-R)
Kathy, Malinda, Chris, Keith, Peter, Stacy, and our guide Albert.


Power boats are not allowed on Indian River so Albert pulled his motor up and rowed us the entire way.


This is the stretch of the river that the movie Pirates of the Caribbean was filmed. This was "the way to the witch's house". Albert says they filmed the night scene in the middle of the day and used lots of fog machines.


After our tour up the river, Albert hooked us up with a local driver named Dillon that would take us down south to Trafalgar Falls. On Dominica you drive on the left hand side of some very shaky roads. On the way to the falls, Dillon stopped by his old village that he grew up in and showed us his old neighborhood. We met these girls who were headed home from school for lunch. They loved having their photos taken.


This cute girl's name is Janelle. She was so excited when I told her my niece was named Janelle too, that she wanted to have a picture taken of just the two of us so I could give it to my niece. Then we hit the road again for the falls.



Here's Connor and Mark back in 2006 enjoying one of my favorite spots on Planet Earth...Trafalgar Falls in Dominica. It's a challenging but exhilarating swim to get under the falls. I've been dreaming of getting back there ever since.


Thanks to the Williams, my dream came true and I got to go back, it was better than I remembered! I forgot about that you had to do a little bouldering to hike into the pool. Not a lot of it, but enough to stop most people from getting up there and enjoying an INCREDIBLE experience.


Once you get up to the pool, the mist from the falls gets heavy making it hard to breath. I had to hide behind a rock to shelter my camera from getting soaked. The water is chilly compared to the warm ocean we're used to swimming in so that first dive in takes your breath away! Then you have to swim pretty hard against the current to make it under the falls. This time Keith and Pete had Mark's job of pulling me in and under the falls cause I'm just not strong enough. You can't help but smile and think your in heaven, a watery heaven that'll put a permanent part in your hair.


Kathy found this awesome pool we totally missed back in 2006. This was the find of the trip, after the chilly swim under the falls this natural hot bath on the way back down was a welcome sight! Our first hot bath in weeks! We stewed in that glorious cauldron until we were prunes (almost an hour).


On the way home, Dillon dropped us by this store to pick up a few things. Isn't this place great?


This, sadly, was my last night. We had an awesome dinner cooked by Chris-Keith even did the dishes!


At 4am the next morning Keith kindly motored me to shore where Dillon was waiting to drive me the hour long ride across the island to the airport. Very sad journey indeed. At the airport they charged me a $50 exit fee which I thought about refusing to pay and catching a ride back to the boat with Dillon! Boy would the Williams be surprised. If that didn't work out I'm sure Albert would have let me stay!

This is the view from my hammock on my last night at sea. Hard to leave this place, this boat, and my good friends. I think I'm going home and selling all my worldly possessions and trading it in for a boat! Mark will be thrilled with my total conversion!
Thanks Williams for an incredible adventure!!