Sea Life
I am not quite sure where to begin. So much has been packed into this sailing adventure thus far, it's honestly hard to wrap my head around the girth, the vastness, the scope of it all right now. Cause, right now, I am getting used to it, living it, learning it, getting in the swing of it, and embracing it. We have been sailing, planning, anchoring (the most stressful thing thus far), dodging storms (so many!), wind gusts up to 35 knots (!), navigating through sallow waters, terrible internet connection, homeschooling, and trying to source fresh goods (fuuuuuuucking nothing). Through this past month or so at sea, I have learned to adapt to everything splashing my way and thankfully been reminded: I am stronger than I thought. I am sure many of us have experienced this in the past year in quarantine. That we can withstand more than we ever gave ourselves credit for and, most importantly, when faced with stress, discomfort, uncertainty - we can figure things out and move forward. Like when you come across an obstacle (a task like sailing!) and everything is going smoothly, but then winds shift not in your favor, and your sails go a fluster, and the waves start rocking about, and everything starts falling off the counters inside, and the kids are feeling sick, and you start feeling sick BUT, you are sailing or anchoring the ship and throwing in the towel isn’t an option. You have to put your big girl panties on, buck up, take a deep breath, pull yourself together and go with the shift of weather. You must roll with it, become one with it, honor it and make a new decision based on it. Not in panic (so hard!) but one based on solid (ocean) ground. The good news is that I am making progress, and, honestly, that is the most important thing cause this shit is lifelong.
Also, I have learned another thing - the sea is simply majestic. Hot damn. Truly. Living on it, floating above it as she carries us, holds us up, is otherworldly. Ancient. Like we are living in another time in history. To be able to sail from place to place in the comfort of our own home (this catamaran) is remarkable. Cause this is our home right now—our only home. The final destination is still unknown. Our plans are made based on the elements - weather, wind, tides, depth, etc. And then, after reflection of all, we move our house from island to island before sundown (so we can see where to anchor and not hit anything!) and park it for the night or even week. I could go on (and I will) but I want to back it up a bit, to the beginning of this journey. Where we began - in Flarida.
We stayed at a boat slip in Fort Lauderdale for about a week before we set sail. A slip, for those who don't know, is a place you can park your boat. Much like an RV park, you can tap into water, waste, and electricity. Usually, it's in a marina or a waterway with other boats in front of houses. We were next to an empty lot with a janky old rickety, rusty splintered wood dock—super high end. Anyway, we spent the week moving in with the tremendous amount of stuff we had been gathering. We were figuring things, organizing non-stop, the more I put away, the more it seems to be in disarray. We planned to pack the boat for six months. Not everything, of course, but dried goods, toiletries, medicines, non-perishable items, etc. You know, stuff we love and won't be able to order from Amazon. Ah, Amazon. Though it is super convenient and abundant in resources, I look forward to the day when we no longer depend on it. When we live in some small village somewhere and walk or bike to the little (or big) stores in town to get all the goods we need and support the local businesses. When will that happens, who knows. All I did know, was that we were about to learn the ways of the sea and this gorgeous boat, was our new home. I have never been a boat person, ever. However, now that I am living in one, I can see the charm. But I digress. I was talking about the slip.
SO, while you are docked in the slip, you have to go from the boat to the dock when you want to leave. Carefully waiting for the ever changing current to come in, moving the boat closer to the actual dock, where it will be in a safe enough position to go off and out, so you don't slip and fall into the murky water below (about an 8-foot drop) filled with floating rotten coconuts, iguanas, everyone's toilet wastes, thousands of mussels hugging alongside the bottom of the dock posts along with other ocean creatures I hadn't seen but heard. Everything was going smoothly until, of course, it didn't. Until one morning, as I was rushing off the boat with bags in my hands and such, I waited for the current to bring the boat in closer, threw my bags onto the dock, put my right foot on the boat and my left leg onto the wooden dock but as I did, within seconds, my left leg slide across the dock from the morning dew. Note to self: do not wear flip flops or any shoes without a grip when living on a boat. Shit gets slippery when water is involved (duh) Therefore, as I stepped over (in flip-flops!) my left foot slipped and slid across the dock, and my right leg went straight down, smacking my chachi down hard into the far edge of dock.
To my utter delight and surprise, I immediately clenched my lady parts which stopped myself from tumbling down below. In other words, my vagina saved me from falling. I am struggling with the best way to describe this, but it was my vagina to the rescue! It's like those stories you hear when a child is trapped in a car, and the mother becomes a superhero and can lift the car to set her kid-free. It was like that. I was quite literally hanging off the edge, dangling in the air with one leg spread in a split, my groin suctioned to the dock and the other leg hanging down. My mullabunda (a yogic term referring to the power of your inner cha cha) was holding tight and strong. Was it from years of yoga or all the burpees I have been doing this past year that kept me from tumbling down below? Or was it the superhuman strength we women innately have inside? Perhaps it was a bit of both. I was banged up pretty good, my legs and lady parts were black and blue and swollen, but I survived, and I am grateful I didn't break anything or worse. I won't go into the details of how banged up my swollen purple cha cha looked. You're welcome. But let's say, when I showed my husband, he responded with a beat, a long pause, a twisted look on his face, and said, "ohhhhhhh" to which I replied, "I told you. Now, do you wish you never saw it?" Then we had a good laugh for a good 10 minutes about it, which is always the best. Yes, my chachi was banged up for a week or so, but then she bounced back like new. And that, THAT is what women do; we bounce back. Swollen pussies and all. Ok, back to sailing.
We had overstayed our welcome at the slip in Fort Lauderdale, and so Tamas (our caption and teacher for a few weeks) moved in with us to begin our training. We were in good hands with Tamas. He is a lovely young personable Hungarian man (he’s my age) and the owner of the company Xquisite (the catamaran we purchased). He has a wealth of knowledge, years of sailing experience and no one knows this boat like him. He warned us that morning we were preparing for our first sail that the winds will be going against us. Which translates quite literally to - we will be sailing against the current. Which means, that it’s gonna be a bumpy 6 hour journey to Key Biscayne (a gorgeous island and marina right outside Miami). I was preparing for the worst, as I do. I had my sea sickness band, medications ready, vomit bucket and ginger chews by my side. I was hopeful though as I had not gotten sea sick once since we have been docked and it had, no doubt, been rocking about. While we set sail down the waterway, I noticed a brightly lite sign, TIDES hotel. Tides, I thought to myself, that is the new theme of my new aquatic life. The ebb and flow of the tides. Sometimes it will be smooth, sometimes rocky and sometimes just right. A lesson for life in general no doubt. A salty sailer said to me the other day, “you must be able to go with the flow while you are living on a boat. You are not in control of the day. The weather and winds are. If you have plans to leave and they are not in favor of supporting a safe journey, you will not be able to go. It’s just that simple. You have to wait and change your plan accordingly. You have to let go of your own desires and the fact that you are not in control of things. Especially the weather. Once you embrace that, you’ll be fine.” To which I responded, “I guess that’s why I am doing this adventure. To finally learn that damn lesson.”
There is something to being prepared for bad weather though, prepped beforehand, that I appreciated. It’s like when you are exercising and you are in who knows how many reps of leg lifts and your ass starts shaking and your leg begins aching and you think to yourself - I can’t do anymore. But then the instructor says 20 more and you say to yourself, ok I can do this. I can do 20 more. Because you have a goal, a map if you will. You are prepared to do only 20 more. It’s kinda like that. You are able to have some sort of (don’t say it) CONTROL. Not really, but you feel like you do. That is to say, I was ready for it. It wasn’t something unexpected and, most importantly, I learned when faced with sea sickness to sit outside, high above if you can (safely), smell the ocean air, look at the straight steady horizon, suck on ginger chews and peppermints, avoid going inside the cabin, do not watch your phone or the waves from the other boats around you while your boat rides the rocky waves (holy shit!) and, most importantly, get yourself a relief band and take a nap when shit starts getting real. The whole family (including our dog) was laid up on the couches, unable to move from the constant motion. No one threw up surprisingly, but it wasn't pleasant to say the least, and we all past out. That is really what I learned with motion sickness, it’s best to just close your eyes and go to sleep. When you wake up it won’t be gone (oh no) but at least you got some rest and some time passes until the moving will stop!
At any rate, we made it and ended up staying in Key Biscayne longer than expected, until the weather and wind were favorable to head over the gulf stream. Ah, the gulf stream. I've heard many stories about crossing over it. Some have done it with ease when the winds are calm, and some have puked the whole way if they weren't. We obsessively looked at the weather forecast (something you do constantly out at sea) and we saw a storm brewing a few days out which meant we had to leave sooner than we had anticipated since we had a window of good weather before it shifted and we had to jump on the chance. But, since we are living in these Covid times, one of the prerequisites to travel to the Bahamas is uploading a negative Covid test to get a health visa, we needed to find a place doing the rapid PCR testing site that day. The one we were going to take at Walgreens took to long to get the results so we did some research and found a independent medical company doing them at a hotel in Miami. We all jumped into an Uber with our masks, the windows open and ended up, very unexpectedly, at some 5 star posh hotel. Apparently, the hotel hired this independent company to offer to their fancy hotel guests COVID tests. Is this the wave of the hotel future? It seems so. And, if you can afford the high price tag for the rapid PCR test (a pricy $300 bucks a pop!) you can find out if you and your one night stand has the virus before you go back to your hotel room to fuck. I mean, why else would you offer this at a hotel?! Anyway, I am grateful we got to do thee old swab nose test in the comfort of a freaking hotel spa by a wonderful nurse. It was crazy and a kinda fabulous way to end our Miami stay. Not to mention, I am happy to report, our traveling crew of 13 (2 other boats are with us doing this training) all came back negative and we were good to apply for our health visa and set sail on our 22 hour overnight crossing from Fort Lauderdale to Chub Cay island in the Bahamas. We were in the race with the weather as a cold front was coming in. Shifting the winds from south (ideal) to north (not) within a few days time.
The passage was rough for me and the kids. My husband didn’t even get affected (I can’t believe it). It was rocking around, up and down like a freaking washing machine for 22 hours straight. The winds shifted even more after about 8 hours in and it felt and sounded like a battle. Loud crashing, riding the waves with not much pause in between (up and down up and down). I tried to sleep that night, but it was near impossible. As I tossed and turned (literally and figuratively) I felt like we were in the movie Moana, determined to get out over the reef into the open ocean. Smash boom bang. We were riding the waves and slamming back down on the water with as much drama as an opera. It felt tribal, like we were Vikings or something. And the most amazing (and comforting) thing was how safe I felt. How I viscerally understood that this boat was built to withstand it all. And, for the first time in my life, I embraced the elements of nature like never before and trusted her. The winds, the waves, the dark starry-filled night - that our boat was doing what she was made to do - ride the sea. Once I honored all that, I fell asleep (kinda), but at least I was able to roll with the motion instead of trying to fight it. I laid there in the darkness and became one with it all. I surrendered to the ocean, and trusted that she (and Tamas!) will take care of us and get us where we need to be. And learned, yet again, that the only way out, is through.
The chapter continues. Of course. Join me next time I have a strong internet connection and be sure to follow along on my Instagram for comical updates.
“For what it’s worth… it’s never too late, or in my case too early, to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit. Start whateveryou want. You can change or stay the same. There are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people who have a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.”
