Why not go out on a limb? That’s where the fruit is.

It feels like every sail is our last, probably because each time we go to sea we expect to come to a harbor where we can pull out our boat with an H-Crain, but so far we are out of luck. With a bit of research we finally found a harbor with an opening – Independent Yacht Harbor in St. Thomas USVI – and now it seems we have a week before we pull the boat. Phew. That is a relief. The next step is figuring out how I get back to San Juan to meet up with my friends, but that is a different problem. With this extra time, we decide we might as well spend a few days playing in Culebra – the other Spanish Virgin Island.

The anchorage is just too enticing to pass up. Ensenada Honda is protected by an almost complete long shallow reef except for a tiny little entry way marked with red and green buoys – this gap wouldn’t be big enough for two boats to pass through at the same time. To the east of the opening there are around thirty boats all anchored just inside of the reef. We continue on deep into the bay and anchor just off the dinghy dock at Dewey (we need to be close as we have to row the dinghy). Yep, no shame, straight to the front. Two of the boats behind us quickly fled, which was probably a good idea as we did drag anchor a bit and had to remaneuver a few times. We were lucky not to have had the wrath that usually comes along with leaving port on a Friday. We begin the massive amount of work that we have to complete before we can pull the boat next week. With a spray bottle and a 5-1 solution of muriatic acid I take the dinghy and go after the rust stains on the hull of the boat. I do my best but have no idea how Domingo in Luperon got our boat so clean, because even after my best our boat still looks dingy. After the boat is “clean” we now have to wax it – surprise, we have only bought red and black wax – no white. So luckily we are close to shore as its time to row in.

Culebra is very mountainous and after we tie up to the dinghy dock we walk up a steep hill and pick up some white wax for the exterior of our boat. Culebra is much different than its sister island of Vieques, although I prefer Vieques because of its bioluminescent bay – I prefer Culebra for every other reason. Culebra is full of drunk, ex-pat sailors. There is no pretentiousness like there was in Vieques. We go over to Heather’s for pizza, where everyone we meet asks me how Shaggy is doing as I am wearing his Barstool Sailor Bar shirt from Luperon and I soon find out he used to live here. This makes perfect sense – Shaggy would fit in Culebra perfectly. Heather’s is delicious and part of a line of bars and restaurants where the people spill out into the road that is shared with tourists on golf carts and kids on skateboards. I am in love with this island.

Wax on, wax off, wax on, wax off. Whenever anyone talks about 2 foot fever, how everyone with a boat wants a boat just 2 feet bigger, remind them that they will have to wax those extra two feet. This takes the majority of the day and it still doesn’t look clean. There are bad oil stains around the bilge through hull, but I just can’t get them any better. Of course the day started with a few snippy comments about how Nea can never get up before 11 am to go to work, so I take a nautical worker strike day. I am so excited to explore Culebra! We stop at the Dinghy Dock (a restaurant) for lunch (and WIFI).

Dinghy Dock Restaurant at Night and Maps of the island of Culebra and the city of Dewey

I consider going up to Flamenco Beach where old military tanks still like the pristine beach, but I have had my fair share of pristine beaches in Vieques. Instead I decide to walk south to the area of shoreline where all of the other boats are anchored – towards Punta Soldado/Dakity. The hike from Dewey to Dakity is ideal. The roads are lined with big yellow flowers and bougainvillea. The views include desert stretches next to tropical forest. It is quite the diverse biosphere with different floras ranging from pine trees to tropical flowers to cacti. I walk up to the Bahia Marina resort, which isn’t the neatest place but the walk was still worth it.

After a few happy hour drinks at Mamacita's, a fabulous Mexican bar, just on the shore along a water byway through the city of Dewey (which also has a life bridge). After happy hour we have huge juicy burgers at El Batey, a pool hall just outside of town. The rain has begun and refuses to let up. Even the next day we only get rain – lots of rain. So we do inside work like packing our things and oiling all of the teak in the boat – there is a lot of teak in our boat! It was still very choppy, but the next day we decide to head out anyway. I am sure you would have guessed this by now that the Moyers don’t really listen to the weather gods.

It wasn’t too far and the seas were relatively easy, unfortunately, we had to motor the whole way again. We passed on the south side of St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands and on our way to Jersey Bay we also passed the capital city of Charlotte Amalie. Jersey Bay is well marked with red and green buoys. Once the buoys end we are in an open bay dotted with boats while the marinas line the back of the bay. We go straight north into Independent Yacht Haven through that minefield of nice boats, derelict boats, thatched roof floating restaurants, and goodness knows what else, but it does have an easy path so soon we are headed toward the white building surrounded by palm trees (our recommended landmark). We find our slip with a bit of yelling and stern looks not to mention a bit of fear – the entrance to the slip is just about six feet deep, pretty shallow for us (thus the fear). After our lines were tied, power cords out and showers taken we are now in business. We head over to Maritime Yacht Brokers to have us list the boat for sale, which they did as you can see HERE. Our very friendly broker gives us a ride out to Red Hook so we could sit in the American Yacht Harbor patio to get internet as we really needed to organize our flights out of St. Thomas. After burgers at Fat Brothers we use the public transportation in St. Thomas, which are called jitneys or Safari Taxis. They are open air large vans with no doors or windows. On the east side of the island they only run east to west from Red Hook to Charlotte Amalie and back on a loop. Usually the fare is only a dollar and they run very regularly, but you have to be careful of the jitney you get on as some are full of white tourists and those ones are not cheap (thus follow the old traveler rule – follow the locals and steer clear of the tourists).

We have two and a half days to put the rest of the boat in working order. We scrub, muriatic acid, scrub, muriatic acid, scrub everything. We rewax the detailing and repair broken speaker netting.

With hands and eyes burning Mom switches to packing and we break for happy hour (its like we are back in Islamorada). As Dad says I have a tendency to close the bar when I go out, so after happy hour at the yacht club I head over to American Yacht Haven area to see the bars there with two locals – Frank and Angel. There is live music and dancing at Fat Boys and more dancing at the open air, parking lot bar Duffy’s. Duffy’s which is a total ex-pat hangout during the day is unfortunately full of 2K10 Spring Breakers. I find that Frank is covered in blood in a parking lot and I decide not to hang around to figure out what happened. I make my way home alone, instead of dealing with that. One thing I do find on the way home is an amazing view. Drake’s Seat. Drake’s Seat is a lookout point where you can see all the way to the BVIs. It is the highest point on St. Thomas and was the Pirate Drake’s old lookout point. It is probably one of the most beautiful vistas I have ever seen with the outlying BVIs, the bustling harbors of St. John and the mist rolling over the rainforests of St. Thomas.

It is the last day on the boat and we need to prepare to our new found life as landlubbers. We hop on a Safari Taxi to take us to Charlotte Amalie (a whooping $2 fare). The roads are twisty and narrow with cars whizzing by on the wrong side of the road (the left). Dad and I are sure we would make a killing as brake pad repairmen here. The small town/suburb of Charlotte Amalie is Havensight. Havensight isn’t really even a town it is just a hub for cruise boats. It has Coach, Ferragamo, and other ridiculously expensive stores, but it has a few neat restaurants and bars. One of our favorites is Pizza Amore where we have delicious sandwiches before continuing our search for a hotel continues in Charlotte Amalie. There is no tax here, so it is a playground for the rich to buy expensive goods and boutique outlets. So even though booze, cigarettes, and luxury goods are cheap – everything else is not. But we are still excited to be roaming around instead of scrubbing with muriatic acid.

Even though we still have a boat to sleep on once we saw a large soft bed and a working shower – not to mention a TV we had to stay. We stay at the Galleon House which is up like a million steps (when I said St. Thomas is hilly – it is really hilly, everywhere). The hotels in St. Thomas are also not cheap so we end up paying $200 per night, but there is a pool and a balcony overlooking all of Charlotte Amalie as well as a gourmet breakfast. We also talked them into some free internet! Our last night on the boat is spent in an expensive boutique hotel – oh the irony!

For your consideration, a very charming way to mark an entrance to the water and one of the things I will miss most about sailing – fresh mango, avocado salsa.

I have no plan and I’m sticking to it.

We sail through the night – actually it is mostly motoring again. Nonetheless, it is pleasant. We pass the bright lights of Ponce and pass the ominous Isla Caja de Muertos. Just past this I see a strange sight – large white lights. Such things I would usually associate with land, but I am sure that there is no land where these lights are located (and if there were I would be in some big trouble). They also seem to be moving. Dad comes up to relieve me of my shift and enlightens me – shrimping boats. They use bright white lights to attract the shrimp. Mystery solved.

We arrive midmorning to Vieques the next day. Vieques is one of two islands, the other is Culebra, that make up the Spanish Virgin Islands which are owned by Puerto Rico. The next set of islands are the U.S. Virgin Islands which are also an American territory and then from there is the British Virgin Islands – you guessed it – owned by the British. Vieques and Culebra were both used as bombing test sites by the American government who pulled their testing facilities out of Culebra in 1996 and out of Vieques only a few years ago. Thus the waters around Vieques are labeled on the charts as restricted areas or undetonated bomb site or no anchoring, unexplored ordinance. We pull into Esperanza on the south shore which is the city nearest to where Costello has his guest house. We pull in to find horrid holding, but the nearby Sun Bay is rife with petty theft and Isabel Segunda is far away from Costello and has a lot of ferry traffic (but next time that would be the anchorage I would pick). Once we are finally anchored we bring the dinghy to the westernmost of the two dinghy docks. Unfortunately we encounter a crazy man here, so on second thought we pick the eastern dinghy dock – with less crazies. Finally, we make our way up the beach and meet up with Costello. We have supper at Duffy’s – seared tuna salad and, get this, Abita beers! This makes Duffy’s my favorite bar in Esperanza, but we are not in Boquerón anymore. You can see that Vieques is an ex-pat hangout (as it is expensive and fru-fru) while Boquerón is a sailor and local hangout (because it is cheap and down to earth). The anchorage is very rolly so I spend the early evening people watching at Bananas. Day two at Vieques is a tour in Costello’s jeep., including a stop at the lighthouse in Isabel Segunda. I have a thing for lighthouses.

From there we spend the afternoon lounging on Sun Bay beach with champagne and Gasolinas. Due to the fact that the majority of the island (this is true for both Culebra and Vieques) is now a nature reserve (everything that used to be military zones were turned directly into nature reserves) this means there is a vast amount of undisturbed beauty. The beaches are pristine and the nature is abundant – including semi-wild horses.

Mom and I organize a bioluminescent bay tour of Mosquito Bay for that night. The bioluminescent bay in Vieques is supposedly the best in the world. Puerto Rico has three bioluminescent bays – La Parguera, Fajardo, and here. The bays are home to little dynoflagellates which flash green as a defense mechanism. Only take boats with electric motors or kayaks as these are delicate creatures, in fact most of the bay in La Parguera has been destroyed due to motorized boats. For only $30 (via Fun Brothers Adventures – the best tour agency to go with to do this bio bay) each they give us two hours in a kayak on an empty bay where you can jump in and watch the world glow around you. When you raise your arms out of the water they sparkle as if you are covered in stars. It is the most mesmerizing experience I have ever enjoyed – the best bio bay in the world is really the best. You repeat, repeat, repeat, catching stars on your arms and watching them fade away or wildly kicking your legs to watch the world under you glow or twirling in circles. If nothing else this is the reason to go to Vieques (also, this is something that will probably be gone by the time I have kids, so guys – go – do it now – the world won’t wait for you).

After the perfect day, we come back to the perfect mess. We have a quick, lovely supper at Bili, but on arrival to the dinghy we see that someone has stolen our dinghy gas tank. Really. Petty theft makes me so angry. Fine take the gas, I can get more gas, but the tank! Really? You don’t need that and where the heck am I supposed to get a new one of those. Jerks, yes, but we had read there was petty theft here and we didn’t prepare for it so it is just as much our fault as theirs. After a breakfast at Belly Buttons, a very cute breakfast joint, and after Costello and Dad attempt to find a gas tank we realize that we just need to cut our losses and head for Fajardo (not to mention we are so over this darn surge-y anchorage). The ride over is quite easy and we are soon searching for slip 1061 in Puerto del Rey Marina – the largest in the Caribbean. I had previously emailed with interest in a haul out with their H Crain and a place to leave the boat for 5 or 6 months, but received no response. We pass the break water but go down the wrong line of slips so turn around (if you ask me our boat turns on a dime). We move to the correct side of dock number 10 (the side that has the odd numbers) and spot the dock boys. As Dad starts to make the approach turn the boat starts to not listen. Soon we have lost all control – no shifting and no acceleration. The dock boys are yelling orders, but unfortunately the only thing controlling this boat now is our hands and the dock lines. The dock boys wail on the lines and we push off of the pilings and somehow smoothly glide into the slip. The dock boys think they just witnessed the worst docking ever, but really what they witnessed was the best docking ever. We decide to indulge in this luxury life tonight – showers, electricity, fresh water, and a meal out – at La Banda Waterfront Restaurant. We have a huge pasta supper, calamari appetizer, and three milks dessert and return to a secure boat that is surge free. Luxury.

Unfortunately luxury gets a bit boring. Even though the restaurant is great - the marina is empty and removed from town. We are currently waiting to find out if and when we can get hauled out as the boatyard organizer has been out for the past few days. So we spend the day oiling all of the wood in the boat – that is A LOT of teak. We also repair out broken steering column which involves putting a lost screw back into the plate that held the steering cables. Puerto del Rey Marina is basically our last hope for a haul out as we had tried the rest of the marinas in Puerto Rico and they are all full. Another downside at Puerto del Rey is that the internet doesn’t really work, so the next day we are really itching to get out of here. Unlike Dominican Republic there is very limited public transportation here, so we got a ride from a canvas maker who drops us off at West Marine and Wal-Mart just to the west of Fajardo. There doesn’t seem to be much to Fajardo and we head back to the marina knowing that the next morning we will find out if we can get the boat hauled out. What we will do if we can’t – who knows? We will have to continue on and find a new haul out facility farther down islands, but where – and when? These are important questions as the pressure of a possible flood and my friends coming into San Juan, Puerto Rico in a few days is really mounting.

Well the answer is no. They are full. And now it is Friday and we are being forced out of the marina with no idea where to go.

For your appreciation – a sailing photo session and what a cashew looks like when it is still on the shrub.

If a man speaks at sea where no woman can hear, is he still wrong?

Hello America! We haul up the anchor and after a quick phone call to customs pull over to the seawall to show them our passports (that’s right, you heard it, cell phones, civilization, it’s a crazy thing). Unfortunately, they are expecting us to pay them $25 to tie up to the seawall for twenty mins or so – no way. Dad somehow agilely steps off the boat and leaves me to do loops in the harbor. I guess that the seawall is owned by the cruise company, but the customs officials themselves are great. They even managed to id Mom and me to our passport pictures from out the window. Dad shows back up and I pick him up at the seawall (via three attempts) with minimal damage to Departure, only a knick in the teak bowsprit – I call that a success.

Mom, who had spent quite a bit of time in Mayaguez already after her first Mona crossing, suggests we head down to Boquerón. After traveling along the Dominican northern coast for so long, it is such a beautiful thing to see all of these little anchor markings along shoreline on my charts! Knowing that we can just pull in any ol’ time is refreshing. Even better is reefing the main and pulling out the jib. It has been so long since we have really sailed and here we are whipping up an easy 6 knots in a 10-12 knot breeze and cruising along the Western side of Puerto Rico. It is bizarre that something so nice – sailing Western Puerto Rico – is next to something so nasty – the Mona. We sip warm Nattie Lights and make phone calls to gloat to friends at home.

We are soon dropping in the dinghy and pulling up to the glorious town dinghy dock. This town is made for boaters! The dinghy dock leads to a bar, restaurant, pool hall, and snack bar. The streets are lined with stands selling oysters and stone clams between $4-6 per dozen. There is a laundry mat, bar with internet, marine shop, and grocery store all nearby along the side streets. During the week this town is pretty much shut down except for those frequenting the nearby beach or the boaters living in the bay, but more primarily this town is made as a weekend getaway for those from Mayaguez or Ponce. We snack on empanadas (meat/seafood stuffed turnovers) and surullitos (fried cornmeal and cheese sticks) and drink the local beers ($1 cans of Madallas) at the Shamar Bar – the first bar off of the dinghy dock. After exchanging stories about the Mona with other boaters (ps. this is where I became certain all boaters are liars!), we tour the town, get our bearings and eat Dorado tacos and guava deep fried cheesecake at Pika-Pika. What I learned from this is go straight to Boquerón, catch a ride or pay for a cab to clear customs up at Mayaguez and enjoy the comforts of Boquerón because you DESERVE them – you just crossed the Mona.

Oyster Bar!

Dollar Beers

Deep Fried Chocolate and Guava Cheesecake

We stay another day to do internet at Galloway’s and for Mom to do laundry along with some provisioning, resting, and drinking. After hours of working on computer work at Galloway’s I find that their Margaritas are much stronger than I anticipated. Dad and Mom continue to jerry can diesel from the local gas station and we all go to provision with diet coke and chips at the store where we came across the most beautiful part of Puerto Rican culture (I am being factious, of course) – Gasolina. This leads to a chicken and the egg sort of question – the song Dame La Gasolina by Daddy Yankee is this song about sex, gasoline, or this potent Capri Sun-esque adult beverage. I googled it several times but all I really found is the Urban Dictionary definition:

“Gasolina- Spanish word for gasoline. Gasolina is a ready made cocktail from Puerto Rico. It's made with rum, tequila, and fruit juice. 11% alcohol 200ml and comes in a pouch that looks like a Capri Sun (straw and all). In the states you can drink it in front of the POPO. When I drink and drive. I drink GASOLINA.”

After an epic night on the town which included signature drinks, cordon blue balls, loaded oysters, dancing with lesbians, biffing with people from Michigan, and drinking with locals in a closed down bar with pirate statues, we are ready for in the morning to move along and we head to La Parguera.

La Parguera is on the western end of the south coast of Puerto Rico. We still have a very nice sailing day and we pass some enjoyable landmarks including a beautiful lighthouse. I have never really been too keen on lighthouse before, but Puerto Rico has 16 of them with around 11 which are still functional. After sailing for these last few months I value lighthouses to a much larger degree and find them absolutely beautiful. It is crazy to think about how many people have been comforted by the light of a lighthouse or how many tragedies and close calls these lighthouses have seen.

Once we rounded the corner with the light house we see the next bizarre landmark – a blimp. I google it on the Kindle and come to find that it is a radar drug blimp that is used to find low flying drug planes. The locals around here seem to think it is for other weird United State government things. I understand their animosity toward America and especially the United States’ military due to all of the bombings of the Spanish Virgin Islands.

La Parguera is the polar opposite of Boquerón. Both may be weekend towns, but this town is not built for boaters! There is no public dinghy dock, no place to land your dinghy, and every inch of water front is taken up by stilted houses that are colorfully decorated. The houses are lined with private boats and people partying on their porches. What a life. This is the way to live in Puerto Rico! On the water, with your boat, near Boquerón and Ponce and since this island is the size of New Hampshire you can cross the island easy enough. The town, in personal opinion, isn’t as fetching and unique as Boquerón and it also seems quite a bit smaller. We do make a friend, Norm, who is opening a bar – Norm’s Place in town.

I bet you guys are thinking – hey, slackers, don’t you guys have a broken boat? Oh yes, you may have forgotten that our wind generator is lashed to our mizzen mast with a tangle of lines and the mizzen halyard. We haven’t forgotten, in fact we had to fashion a pulley system to get the dinghy engine down since the halyard was unavailable. So it is 9 am and time for me to go up the mizzen mast. Dad has rigged me a better harness, which I actually don’t much care for. We pull off the lines and I fill my fanny pack with wrenches and the different bolts we bought in Boquerón – this time stainless steel. I climb up the mast and Dad pulls the wind generator forward while Mom tails my harness. I begin having a ton of trouble with tightening the lock nut because I can’t use both of my hands to hold both ends of the bolt. I need my free arm to hold me onto the mizzen mast. I am not brave enough to just lean off the mast itself. I start yelling at Dad that he is in no position to give commands. I am getting nervous because after a while in a weird position on a mast your legs start to give out, not to mention, there are lots of dinghies and power boats here so the longer I am up here the more likely the boat might get rocked with some boat wake. I stop… breath… as Cap’t Fatty says…

Fixing stuff is just intelligence applied.

Last time I had two wrenches and it worked. I need another wrench so I can just hold the wrench immobile while simultaneously using the arm to hold me against the mizzen mast. Bam. Done. I am starting to get too good at this – I hope Mom and Dad don’t notice that fact. As a reward we go on a dinghy tour through the mangroves with Norm. The pathway was deep, manmade trench through the mangroves which leads out to monkey island – an island where they used to do monkey experiments. Once this ended they just abandoned the monkeys on the island and they slowly but surely made it to mainland and now live in the mountains outside of La Parguera where they harass the rural workers. We lunch at Dona Luisa where I see my Michigan friends from Boquerón – I swear this is the third time I have been in a random country where I am supposed to not know anyone and someone calls out Nea. Each time it’s a bit jarring.

By 4 pm we are hauling up the anchor. We have places to be and people to see, specifically, our family lawyer and close friend, Patrick Costello, in Vieques, one of the Spanish Virgin Islands.

For your appreciation – Puerto Rico is owned by Coors Light. I SWEAR! I think all the bars on this island should just be renamed Coors Light Bar 1, Coors Light Bar 2, etc. Every bar is plastered with Coors Light signs – actually most buildings are plastered with Coors Light signs. Can you find the one hidden in this picture?

Getting down to the end – Book reviews for library biffer Ms. Anna.

The Sinner. Tess Gerritsen.

Margi Moyer, i.e. Mommy, gave me this book and told me that this author was almost as good as Patricia Cornwell. That is alot to live up to, but it is true - Mrs. Gerritsen is almost as good as Patricia Cornwell, the only difference is that Patricia Cornwell is a scientist while Mrs. Gerritsen is a writer. There was no quoting of Latin and pretentious use of long multi-syllable words as Cornwell does. The lead character, Maura Isles, is normal. She isn’t the superwoman like Katy Scarpetta is (the lead character from Patricia Cornwell’s novels). So, really, Mrs. Gerritsen is no Patricia Cornwell, but she can tell a great story. I read this book while I was sitting in the Santo Domingo airport… waiting for my flight to New Orleans. And, well, I couldn’t put the book down. I couldn’t stop reading it. No sleep, no snacking, only being involved in the story. The story line involves: people with no faces, bizarre diseases, pregnant nuns, incest, bad ass woman detectives, FBI love lines, ex-husbands, sexual thoughts about priests, and the whole gambit of other interesting twists and turns.

I read the prelude and I thought… blech… another boring novel. But soon I thought, okay, this is a pretty good Patricia Cornwell knock off. It truly is. But Mrs. Gerritsen can really tell a good story. The characters are a bit too feminist. But as a feminist, I noticed this fact then dismissed it as I did like both of the main characters. I understand both detective Jane Rizzoli and medical examiner Maura Isles. With the recent Patricia Cornwell books I usually figure out the culprit before the end of the book, but with this author I was truly enraptured with the story and had absolutely no idea who the offender was.

• “She heard rustling all around her in the shadows, and thought of thousands of insect legs skittering across the walls and clinging to the ceiling above her head. She might be stoic about the gory and grotesque, but scavenging insects truly repelled her.” – This is a great excerpt to show her type of writing, which is very good, yet sometimes feels like she used the Microsoft Word Synonyms option.
• “Was there any house of cards more rickety than the belief in human chastity?” – Answer: probably not.
• “Neanderthals buried their dead with flowers. It was evidence of their grief, and therefore, their humanity.” – I like this passage for two reasons. First, because it shows that this author did her scientific research and isn’t just writing from whatever is in her mind and second, because of the fact that I believe that it is a very sweet concept to think of our genetic ancestors going though the same stages of mourning as us.
• “So many different lives intersecting in a myriad of ways. Most people were wrapped up in their own little corners of the universe. A cop sees it all.”
• “We met over a few dead bodies.” – I like this so much. Because it is a girl saying – yeah, we started a relationship steeped in business and the business is dead bodies. Awesome.
• “The first stages of love were always fraught with confusion. As were the last stages of love.” – This author knows relationships. Its, actually, quite impressive.
• “Is it sin to find a priest attractive? If not sin, then certainly folly.” – There are many situations when attraction is truly folly and I know this quite well.
• “Death does not discriminate; whether saints or sinners, in the end, all are equal.” – Remember that.
• “Only the forgotten are truly dead.”

I love the quote section of reviewing books, because it reminds me of my favorite parts of the book. Anyway, as you can see from the quotes this author is very introspective. She really understands relationships, the criminal justice system, and the mindset of a medical examiner. In the end the book kept me guessing, therefore, it is a winner. Overall, I will start reading Tess Gerritsen (after Patricia Cornwell) when I am in the mood for a novel. But then again I am a sucker for a female medical examiner.

Cutting for Stone. Abraham Verghese.

Since I had raced through my last novel and was only in the Charlotte airport I needed to find a new one to keep me entertained through the rest of my flights. I hate buying books in airports. Instead of finding aisles and aisles of glorious interesting books, you find an overflowing section of self-help books and the latest Dan Brown novel. Airports are a perfect microcosm of the worst parts of American society. I digress. As I sift through Dr. Phil, Stephanie Meyer, and other books that literally pain my conscience mind I find two books worth reading. The first is called, I believe, In Search of the Land of Z, and is about a 1920’s discovery of some ancient ruin in the rainforest and the second is called Cutting for Stone, and is about twins growing up in Ethiopia in a hospital. Cutting for Stone is a whooping 667 pages long and therefore is drastically longer than In Search of the Land of Z, which makes me favor the former. What threw me over the edge were the recommendations in the front cover from Atul Gawande, who I very much like as a medical writer, and Tracy Kidder, who I absolutely adore (read his book Mountains Beyond Mountains).

‘Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end, the King said, very gravely, then stop.’

This is a fictional story about a set of twins born to a nun and a doctor. Their mother dies in childbirth and their famous surgical father abandons them. They are taken in by two other surgeons working at the hospital in Addis Ababa in Ethiopia. I don’t want to give away the story because it is so wonderful, but the 667 pages of this are rife with tales of intertwining lives - both of the twins, Shiva and Marion, their mother and father, their surrogate parents, their nanny and her daughter, and many other characters in between.

Some characters are vile, some are courageous, others are just lost; but all are strongly written and developed. Most characters have a particular chapter dedicated to them so you really understand a piece of their history. One of my favorite relationships in the book belongs to Shiva and Marion’s surrogate parents Ghosh and Hema, who worked side by side for so long, while being in love, yet never had the courage to tell each other. Once their love did blossom it stayed in full bloom for the rest of their lives. When Ghosh asked Hema to marry him, she said yes, but only for a year – if after a year you are sick of me then we can just call it off – thus leading to a sort of renewing your vows every year. Or when Ghosh tells the boys that pregnancy is a sexually transmitted disease knowing that this will just rile up Hema who is an obstetrician. To really get a feel for these two characters here is a few words straight from them:

• “Life became sharply focused, meaningful just when she wasn’t thinking of meaning.” – Hema, the twins surrogate mother
• “…what madness, so much worse than tragic! What to do except dance, dance, only dance…” – Hema
• “A rich man’s faults are covered with money, but a surgeon’s faults are covered with earth.” – Hema
• “Ignorance was just as dynamic as knowledge, and it grew in the same proportions.” – Ghosh, the twins surrogate father, and my favorite character.
• “The land of milk and honey, milk and honey, and love for money.” – Ghosh’s thoughts on Ethiopian hookers.
• “He had a theory that bedroom Amharic and bedside Amharic were really the same thing: Please lie down. Take off your shirt. Open your mouth. Take a deep breath … The language of love was the same as the language of medicine.” –Ghosh
• “Tizita meant “memory tinged with regret.” Was there any other kind, Ghosh wondered.”

My second favorite part, aside from the characters and their well developed relationships, is the medicine. As Abraham Verghese is foremost a surgeon, he executes many surgical scenes with stunning detail. The most vibrant for me is his depth in recounting information on fistulas, which is probably the most grotesque and discussing medical misfortune that I could ever think of. The book starts out with the traumatic birth of the twins, in which their mother dies. This scene only leads in to more exciting and interesting surgeries.

Finally, the book takes place in Ethiopia (yes, now I really must go to Ethiopia as it sounds like a radically moving and fascinating place) but characters range in their backgrounds and political instability abounds. The book adds another dimension when it addresses the political aspects of Ethiopia and what it goes through during the attacks by Eritrean guerrilla fighters. The politics and fear instilled in the people of Ethiopia during this time is stirring.

• “Not only our actions, but also our omissions, become our destiny.”
• “Pus somewhere and Pus nowhere means Pus in the belly.”
• “Beware of a man with a glass eye and a big liver…”
• “Whatever American needs, the world will supply. Cocaine? Columbia steps to the plate. Shortage of farmworkers, corn detasselers? Thank God for Mexico. Baseball players. Viva Dominica. Need more [surgical] interns? India, Philippines zindabad!”
• “You live it forward, but understand it backward.” – this pertains to M&M panels and to life.
• “Where silk and steel fail, story must succeed.” – when healing must be explained through stories and not through doing.
• “a small spark may perhaps be hidden” – motto of Royal Humane Society (pioneers of resuscitation).
• “Not only our actions, but also our omissions, become our destiny.”

Overall, I am becoming more inclined to well written medically inclined stories, because not only do you get a wonderful story but you learn something also. Abraham Verghese is now ranked among Tracy Kidder and Atul Gawande for me. The story is well constructed and multifaceted. The chacters, the settings, the surgeries, and the timeframe all bring important aspects to one simple story. The story of growing up. The story of one life… affected by so many.

Outbreak. Robin Cook.

I was naturally drawn to this book because I love the movie so much – Dustin Hoffman, Cuba Gooding Jr., and Morgan Freeman – yes please. Unfortunately the book was kinda ho-hum. I mean I became enthralled in it and read it in one day, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good book (I mean I have read Twilight). First, I know this is supposed to be a medical thriller, but come on, just because you throw the word Ebola around a few times doesn’t mean it’s a medical thriller. The story is about several outbreaks of the Ebola virus around the US and Dr. Marissa Blumenthal, new to the CDC, is in charge of first identifying them and then deciding on a course of action. It is a fine novel, its not good, not great – just fine.

Also, how Marissa can handle dating three guys at the same time is a mystery to me. How do I get that to happen to me? Do you have to be 5’ tall and be brunette? Another thing that really bothers me is when males write their lead characters as females. It doesn’t bother me at all when it’s the other way around. But something about guys thinking they can write a good, strong female lead, well it doesn’t compute in my head. Especially this guy – Dr. Robin Cook – if I saw him in a dark alley or even a well lit street I would run the other way.

Overall, the book was okay. It was written just fine and the story took appropriate twists and turns, but it was nothing all that stirring. In the end, I would say watch the movie, because the movie is awesome.

The (insert every curse word known to man)ing Mona Passage

In high school one of my best friends, Anna Ewart, had an older brother who used to swear, a lot. He was only two years older and really smart and athletic and popular, but when Anna would piss him off (break one of his tennis racquets, sass him, or just be around) he would chase her and beat her up. Most of the time she hid and this is when Dave would swear - just unleash tangents of curse words. Lots of curse words in what seemed like unending strings of f-bombs, the b word, and other ones that I didn’t know at age 15 and they just kept getting worse. Anna and I, of course, picked up on this tendency. I hadn’t swore or thought about using that string of curse words until we hit the Mona, then I wanted to swear at the Mona Passage until my face turned blue.

I think of blue water sailing as a bar fight. You have the best intentions, the night is going great, then one little thing goes wrong and you are getting yourself an asswhooping. The sea isn’t looking to beat you up, but it does not suffer fools, ignorance, arrogance, fear, indifference, incompetence… actually there are a lot of things you cannot get away with at sea. But the Mona is a completely different girl. Whereas you have a chance in the ocean, you do not in the Mona – because the Mona is a street fight. The Mona is the guy waiting outside of the bar for you with a tire iron. The Mona is Edward Norton in Fight Club. Anyone who tells you otherwise you can punch right in the gut.

We were to attack the Mona on Monday. On Sunday our plan was to run into town, spend the rest of our pesos, buy some diet coke, and check out with customs. Best laid plans. I sometimes wonder how much time in my life I have waited for customs officials – it has to be days… at least. We waited for a few hours on the benches outside of the customs official’s office until finally we gave them the rest of our pesos and left the harbor, which they were insistent on. We moved to the island just outside of Samana harbor, which was unfortunately a very rolly anchorage.

A lovely, but rolly island anchorage.

Before I tell you our story, I should first tell you the way you should do it. Due to my indepth researched through the charts, local knowledge, and the bible (The Gentleman’s Guide to Passages South: The Thornless Path to Windward by Bruce VanSant). From compiling all of the information from these sources I have derived what I believe is the best way to cross the Mona (if you have to, but otherwise, do your best to avoid it).

Crossing the Mona

Needs:

• a working engine
• 2 nights and a day with E 10-15 knot winds or less & less than 5 ft. seas OR 2 nights and a day with ESE 15 knot winds or less & 4-6 ft. seas

Musts:

• Leave Samana early afternoon to dusk to use the night lee and then hug the shore to use the island lee
• Leave Punta Macao (the last point on Dominican land) at dawn (between 6-8 am) to avoid the storms that are funneled through the Mona from the south shore of Puerto Rico – these storms build and hit at night and are lessened during the day
• Rough conditions lessen after Isla Desecheo as you are now in the lee of Puerto Rico
• Mayaguez is well marked and can be entered at night if necessary (it is never recommended to enter an anchorage at night)

Waypoints:

1. N19.09.00 W69.07.00 End of Samana harbor buoys.
2. N19.05.00 W69.00.00 Start of hugging the lee of DR.
3. N18.47.20 W68.31.50 Punta Macao, where you leave DR land.
4. N18.40.00 W67.55.00 End of Hourglass Shoal.
5. N18.22.50 W67.29.20 Isla Desecheo.
6. N18.13.30 W67.12.70 Mayaguez entrance.

Total Miles: 155

Route:

Follow buoys out to Waypoint 1 (W1) then rhumbline to W2. Use the island lee to W3 at Punta Macao. Head offshore (at dawn) and head for W4 north of the Hourglass Shoal. Continue through the Mona, then to W5 south of Isla Desecheo. Finally continue onto W6 at the entrance of Mayaguez.

Caveats:

If anyone stumbles across this information and plans on using it, you must do your own research – DO NOT rely solely on my advice. Please consult your own guidebooks, charts, weather forecasts, etc.

Back to our story, we left Monday morning at 8 am. We no longer had Chris as a crew, but Mom was now back with us after she had previously crossed the Mona twice (once on a ferry and once on a Canadians’ Dufor sailboat). We discussed waiting until Wednesday where there was a perfect weather window, but Monday’s window also looked acceptable and we were all sick of being in the Dominican Republic so we were going. We followed the red buoys out of the harbor and from there followed the coast down. We were in the lee of the island so we had limited swell and diminished winds. By 10 pm that night we were shoving off from land at Punta Macao and starting to skirt the Hourglass Shoal. As you know, from what I mentioned earlier, you should not cross this area at night because this is where the storms are funneled and this is the time when they are the strongest.

We didn’t get any major squalls, luckily, but we did get rain and lots of nice big 20-25 knot winds gusting to 30 right on the nose. Those eastern trade winds were really trying to push us back, but luckily we still didn’t have any large wave action. By 9 am Tuesday morning we were past the Hourglass Shoal. We still don’t have an autopilot so Dad and I have been doing 2 hour shifts each this entire time, but last night Mom threw in a few hours so that Dad and I weren’t zombies today. Thank goodness too, because now we were right in the Mona – the blender that is the Mona.

When you are dealing with big swells it is usually pretty consistent in angle and severity… and usually right on your nose, but, like I mentioned earlier, the Mona is a completely different animal. Every once and a while during some big swell you get one of those lovely rouge waves that comes out of nowhere and launches tons of spray into your face and knocks your boat to a precarious angle. Well being in the Mona is like being in a washing machine of rouge waves. You have no idea where the next one was coming from or how it would rock you. After me being on the helm for 20 minutes or so and getting it by a few rouge waves which shook not only the boat but us to the very core Dad forcibly removed me from the helm and took over for a very long time. We hoped that something would calm down once we got in the lee of Puerto Rico, most likely when we passed Isla Desecheo. And it did, but that took us all day, and we pulled past Isla Desecheo at around 7 pm. We were now in the lee of Puerto Rico but still getting smashed by lesser swell (5-7 feet). By this point I had layer upon layer upon layer of crystallized salt water due to all of the spray we were getting. I had taken the last few hours of helm duty so Dad could get some sleep and Mom could continue her marathon sleeping and soon it was continuously just within sight.

My Gill Oils - the best purchase I have ever made.

Being the navigator, I knew exactly how long it was going to take us to get to Mayaguez, where you check in for customs. Yet, somehow this was not getting through to Mom or Dad and I had to continuously break the news to them that even though it looked so close it was be another few hours. By one am we were dropping the hook in Mayaguez, which, even though I do not recommend entering a harbor at night, was very well lit for big tankers to navigate the entrance. We had made it – and everything looked brighter on the other side. Like I said, do as I say, not as I do.

After a swell free few hours of sleeping we woke up to the realization that we could once again use our cell phones. We called up the harbormaster and went over to the sea wall to clear customs. Unfortunately, the seawall was owned by the cruise company and wanted to charge us $20 to tie up for the five minutes of customs. No thank you. So Dad jumped off and Mom and I did circles with the boat while he organized our re-entry into the United States. The customs agents were amazing as they identified Mom and I to our passport pictures by looking out into the bay at our boat and saying “yeah, they are both blond, that looks right.” Next time we will go straight to Boqueron and just run back up to Mayaguez to clear customs as we are soon to find out that Boqueron and Puerto Rico were just what the doctor ordered for us Dominican weary travelers.

For your consideration: the Mona didn't only take a toll on us and our boat, but also other various hardware... including Dad's wedding ring which seemed to mold to the boat's steering wheel.

Lombardi Gras

Samana turned out to not be too horrible when it came to repairs. Granted it was hard to get things and multiple things had to be shipped out, but the next morning when the repairman came over he quickly pulled out the temperature shut off gauge which Dad and Lee had looked for before.


Although that was just problem one. Mom was gotten a hold of and told of the situation. She stayed in Puerto Rico for a while, but was generally getting quite bored. As I was mostly useless to the situation, not to mention in the way, I went to New Orleans. (Ok, it looks like I am abandoning Dad, but he told me I could and I just mentioned my justifications – and I am sticking to them!) I bought a flight on Monday morning, took a Caribe Tours bus (for 300 pesos – just under $10 USD) to Santo Domingo, but unfortunately the airport is 12 kilometers outside of the town. As I was broke and not about to change money again, I start walking. A blond girl walking on a highway does not get far, so I had a nice (read – mildly creepy) elderly man. A free ride is a free ride and I know how to duck and roll. I have a very nice (read – uncomfortable) sleep on the airport benches and was ready to go for my 7 am flight. US Airways now charges for all checked luggage, ugh, so I didn’t check any luggage which was lucky because otherwise I would have missed my connection from Philly to Charleston. An hour and a half is no longer long enough for a layover (as I did the same thing on the return trip an almost missed my connection between Atlanta to Puerta Plata.

I arrive in New Orleans Tuesday night and guess what it is frigid. Where in the world am I supposed to live if I can’t stand a New Orleanian winter? I spent my first day exploring the French Quarter with Dan Haber. We tasted cracklin in the newly refurbished French Market, which finally once again has fresh produce, played the block game, where at each block one of us picks a direction, ate muffalettas at Central Grocery, rode the streetcar and just were tourists. The second day was spent rebonding over beer pong, flip cup, and Celeste’s new amazing LSU invention – the beer rifle at Micha’s house as all of the parades were cancelled.

This pushed all of the parades to Friday, which made for quite an eventful day as Celeste, her sister Josie, and I had to organize our MOM’s Ball outfits. After lots of humming and huffing we came up with Earth, Wind, and Fire. After a day of crafting, literally, a full day of crafting we had our outfits made. I even bought a bedazzler. We managed to make the end parade – one of the best – Muses. Where we were introduced to the Camel Toe Stepper and the 610 Stompers, two of the best dance teams I have ever seen.

Saturday during the day Celeste’s Dad, Freddie, and a lot of our ex-coworkers from Arthur J. Gallagher were riding in the Tucks Parade so we stopped by their float as they were setting up and introduced our bosses to the beer rifle. Gosh I miss that job.


And of course Saturday night was MOM’s Ball. There is nothing you can really say about MOM’s Ball except that it keeps getting better and we keep getting better with it. This year our costume was better, the limo was better, the dancing was better, the body painting was better, and there was Stand Up and Get Crunk.
Wind, Ms. Laurie, Earth, Fire
Sunday had to be a full recovery day which it was. We laid in the sun, we bedazzled, we ate snacks… but then we also had to play some make shift flip cup – because, come on, we went to Tulane.


As is the tradition we made it down to the Howling Wolf for the Sunday night Dumpstafunk show, which means lots of dancing in a grimy warehouse. Exactly what we needed at that point in Mardi Gras – less drinking and more dancing!

This entire time I had been in contact with both Mom and Dad. Dad was getting frustrated with a lazy crew and Mom was getting sick of sitting by herself in Puerto Rico and not knowing what is going on. So after many emails to Dad and phone calls to Mom, it was decided that I would go see a diesel mechanic to discuss our engine problem and Mom made a friend who would give her a ride over the Mona to Samana as they were headed that way. Finally we had a plan. So Monday was spent on the West Bank of New Orleans. I love the looks I get when I walk into machine shops. They expect me to ask for directions, oh no boys, I can talk tools. At one point, the mechanic looked at me and said “so you actually know what you are talking about.” I can’t blame him. I had a flower in my hair and glitter on my face. I didn’t look like the person who mildly understands a diesel boat engine.
This is our engine. Perkins 4108.
This was our whole day event. I have never done Lundi Gras right. I always try to stay up all night and then just die in the morning and miss all of Fat Tuesday. Not this year. We danced at the Goldmine until early morning hours, but then napped before catching St. Ann’s Parade at Mimi’s and then continuing to the tumble where Craig, Celeste, and Uncle Billy were.
GOLDMINE

The tumble ended at the Blue Nile and after an impromptu dinner with Uncle Paul, Celeste returned to Craig’s and I was in bed. Wednesday was all sleeping and getting to see a movie in a real movie theater!!! Something I have missed so much. I love movies in theaters! The next morning I was off and by 2 pm on Thursday I was back in the Dominican Republic. Of course the tourist card man tries to give me ripped American cash (which no Dominican exchange place would take), then the money change place shorts me 30 pesos, then the cab driver tells me it will be $200 USD to get to Samana, then the bus lady says there are no buses until tomorrow, and the motoconcho wants $10 USD to go to the bus station in Sosua. Then I want to punch everyone in the face, but instead I get a diet coke and start walking. As soon as I get to the main highway I see a guagua with “Puerta Plata – Samana” written in big letters across the front. I hail him down. He says “Samana”? I say “Samana”? We both don’t believe the other. Does this gringa really want to go to Samana? Will this guagua really take me to Samana? The answer to both is yes. For 250 pesos (under $7 USD) the guagua takes me all the way to Samana, we even stop for a snack break. I am there by 6 pm and find our dinghy tied up, our boat still on the mooring, and Mom and Dad at the Snack Shop. Back together again and it feels so good.
Day one back on the boat and we really need to test the engine. It is overcast and threatening rain, but there is a national park two hours to the south and we need to test the engine anyway so we go. The park is so beautiful and quaint. Everything is lush and lovely and lonely. We are the only ones there. Pictures never do these things justice, but here are some images of my first day back to the boat. It was perfect.







The next day we head back and as the engine (just barely) passed its overheating test we need to check the weather as it REALLY is time to go to Puerto Rico. We decide on Monday. So we spend Saturday at the Meringue Car Wash (yes dance club slash car wash) and Sunday preparing the boat and provisioning. And Monday – it is TIME FOR THE MONA.

For your consideration - pretty pretty Samana!