sea

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Floating Home

It’s been ten days since we first stepped off the South West Chief train into the Los Angeles sunshine. It was 6am and we were bleary eyed. Our get-away from Wisconsin involved a torrential down-pour that soaked our bike boxes and belongings, a 15 minutes-to-spare arrival at the station, a few desperately insulting Amtrak employees, and a mad panic that left Charlie and I separated, unsure of where the other was, each jumping between the closing doors, hoping like hell the other was onboard.

As the train pulled out, Charlie found me a few cars up, still struggling with our 6 or 7 bags. We threw our arms around each other, giddy with relief. Then he explained the bad news: our bikes hadn’t made it. They’d be on the next train (if only their boxes could hold together long enough). Finding our seats, we settled in for our three-day rolling adventure across America, finally able to relax.

John was waiting for us on our arrival, and sped us through the busy streets of building rush-hour traffic, to our new home off Palawan Way. With typical graciousness, he then found somewhere else to be for a few minutes, while we walked down the dock, to our floating dream. There she was. All beauty, all beat-up, all strength and character, as I had imagined. We stood together in the cockpit, disbelieving. Then we ventured down below, into the cosy cabin. It felt like home already! We giggled and sniggered, like a kid on a brand-new bike, unsure of how to express such joy.

We ought to have slept, at last able to rest horizontally, but at 9pm, after a day of sorting and cleaning, we looked around, saw it was dark, and wondered where the time had gone. Our first night was spent in perfect slumber, in the bow and belly of our boat, with the warm understanding that a new fire and adventure was now beginning.

Our bicycles arrived (somewhat unexpectedly) the next day, and since assembling them in the Amtrak warehouse, we have seen L.A on two wheels. We still haven’t ventured very far afield, but so far bike lanes and courteous drivers seem to be the norm rather than the exception. Our first priority has been to repair the engine, so many days have seen us scuttling around from shop to shop, looking for one part or another. We’re getting closer to the climax, and hope to hear the sweet puttering of diesel soon. That will be cause for celebration!

Which, speaking of, we’ve found no-lack of excuses for. Our first day marked a memorial of course, then the electricity hook-up (not as easy as it sounds on a floating home), then our bikes arriving safely, Charlie finishing his final class paper (and at last a free man) was another, then our week anniversary etc… etc…

And with only having finally hooked up our stove today (relying on the microwave until now), cafe breakfasts have been the logical and welcome feast for all our celebrations. Tomorrow though, to honor our propane efforts, it’ll be home-cooked eggs and bacon, with freshly brewed coffee! And our new little home will never have smelt so good!

 

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Alive

A pair of turtles floating lazily as we pass, trying to crawl on water. A little lone bird perched on our lifelines, exhausted and thankful for some repose amongst the vast expanse of ocean. A pod of dolphins, more than twenty, all swimming along our bow, crisscrossing over and under each other, their bowed backs breaking the surface sporadically. A flying fish jumping straight into the side of my face then hitting the deck with a thud and splattering about as I try to grab hold of him to throw him back. A pilot whale not 10 meters away… then its dark shadow seen gliding under our hull, resurfacing on the other side with a loud blow. At night in the pitch-blackness, more dolphins, this time trailing bioluminescence, their shape lit up and glowing. A Dorado fish hooked on our line, given a blessing and thanks before transforming into sushi, wrapped in seaweed and nourishing us all. A white, bigger bird with an elegant wingspan and a strange white mousy tail dragging behind. Phosphorescence sparkling on all sides of us, reflecting the starry night. Tunicates, baby jellyfish, floating in every few inches of sea and coming up with our buckets of dishwater. Scores of startled flying fish, springing up and scuttling off in all directions as we pass. No mosquitoes, no ants, no flies or bugs of any kind. An arid liquid desert where only those with intended design can withstand the stark saltiness for any length.

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Stem to Stern

After her three square meals of beans and rice, she got into the whiskey. The scuttlebutt she had heard earlier had let the cat out of the bag. He was having an affair. She had thought she’d been at the helm of that relationship… that they had been sailing along smoothly… so the news took the wind out of her sails. Undecided as to whether she should cut her lover some slack or give him the heave ho, she just set to drinking. And drink she did – almost enough to sink a ship. By the tenth tall glass she was by and large, three sheets to the wind. She knew she wasn’t toeing the line, she knew it wasn’t professional, but hoped – and touched wood – that the captain would giver her some leeway, considering the circumstances. He was a pretty first rate guy, and they were on an even keel, more or less, so she let loose. The bottle was drunk to the bitter end, and she sensed she had gone a little over board. On her way back to the cabin, Robin, another crewmember, had to hit the deck as she passed, stumbling around as she was. “Whatever floats your boat” thought Robin, but gave her a wide berth anyway.

The next morning found her between the devil and the deep blue sea. She felt about ready to keel over, her quarters were far from ship shape, and yet the problem had not been confronted. She decided to take a different tack this time – she would speak to him, and hopefully make some headway. Maybe they could give it a clean sweep. If that didn’t work – well, she would either jump ship, or send HIM by the board.

*this is a fictional story, sailing jargon in the english language compressed!*

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Coast to Core

It has been a long winter.
The last time I swam in the sea was January this year. The last time I swam in the sea and enjoyed the temperature was almost a year ago. Today I immersed myself in the cool liquid… floating slowly on… blue skies without a cloud, ripples lap lap lapping at the shore.

Sure, winter fell away long ago, but this summer breeze has only just reached me. I made it to the coast of Croatia, and lying on the pebbled beach, alone and soaked in sunny rays, a smile involuntarily crept under my skin. The heat radiating off me refreshes my spirit. The water so close to stumble into, calms my head and flutters my heart. I am so happy to be here. A familiar friendly face and warm converstaion over cups of tea set my inner candle to flickering. It is a good time to be here. I am eternally in love with simply the sun and the sea.