Wednesday, October 31, 2012
who answers when you talk to yourself
It seems the polish is worn off and the excitement of Magpie and the travels, explorations and cruising life have fallen to the wayside and everyone is back to their busy lives. So I am talking to myself here, which is not a bad thing. Magpies often don't notice, or slow up to take a breath and let another speak so it matters little that there is no intelligent life out there. I am here in the Dominican Republic and have my daily adventure, my daily lessons in spanish, culture, humidity and sweating, scruffy street dogs, beautiful beaches, cleavage, beer and rum, burros and chickens, coco frios, mosquitos, langostinos(big mosquitos!) and life in the slow lane. I am in a primarily european community, with ancillary dominican and haitian folks milling about. There will be more and more americans I think, but overall this is french, italian and german territory. Many of the french speak little or no english, some not much spanish either, trying to maintain their small circle of smoking haggard silhouettes, with their dainty frilly french farm girl fashion. Alittle odd to me after having been on a boat, then a rural farm, and now the most northeastern tip of the island, Samana Peninsula. There is even a french mob here, with the newly arrived russians trying to get their feet in the revolving door. I miss the campo, with just country people, simple and unchanged in their resolve to work just enough to get food , and drink for the day , and a long midday nap. school is only half a day, if you are made to or can afford to go. And there is plenty of time left to socialize, pull up a chair , and discuss the neighbors. Or listen to some chest vibrating dominican polka music...
Monday, October 22, 2012
She's Back
well, its been a long time, more than three years, and many things have happened, many changes to the physical, the emotional, and all that was stable and sure... three long years. Or three short years that flew by packed so full, that if this Magpie should feel any emptiness it is purely feeling sorry for ones own condition.It is something Magpie does more than she should, hand in hand with worrying about things that are no more than a wrinkle on an elephant. My responsibility in relaying all that is Magpie is forlorn and ragged, full of apology for the time so long and silent. And so unlike the raucous magpie, rarely silent or apologetic.
But even magpies change, and some of the twists and turns, or just plain twisted turns have made a change in magpie as she no longer floats freely in the waters as planned. As vessel Magpie has found herself in dire straights, to do with her engine and some of the more ancient parts that no longer allowed herfree motion, she made two passages in search of a new owner: first from Luperon to Ft Lauderdale, FL in May 2010, then after a lonely year behind a nameless crumbling Florida subdivision home, a story unto itself, Magpie motored to Hilton Head , SC (another adventure on the high seas, full of danger and romance) where she found a talented fellow to pay a pittance and tinker on her at the dock.
She is forever a part of this magpie: a vehicle, a dream catcher, a sturdy soul of the sea. So in a nutshell magpie the motoryacht has limped gracefully off stage after playing a magnificent part to many hearts, many encores, many lives changed and bettered. I definitely should have gotten more money for her!!!
But this is not the end of magpies travels, and many adventures came about around her and she played a part in the present as strongly as if she were moored off the beach right here and now. Because this magpie is still tied to the water and to the adventure that began March 7 2009.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Diary of a Mad Bilge Monkey
Boy I would ring an internet gurus neck if I could find one. I always want to write when there is no vehicle. And today, I have had the perfect day for the trece de Julio.I really have lots of things to share but a perfect day is a perfect day.
I worry a lot about things that don’t matter, a given fact. Sometimes worrying pays off, but rarely. So I woke up worrying about the aft bilge. Mostly because I had a weird dream and couldn’t remember the last time I peeked down there.Worse than monsters under the bed.
So after my Dominican coffee, raisin toast and pineapple with mango, the dogs and I set off to spy on the ocean from afar. There's a cut-through usually bound with thorns and stickers at the crest of the road, and off we chase down a paved road, complete with cement gutters decorated with rocks, all overgrown as part of a past development project. You have to be wary of the open manhole covers, now removed probably for scrap, down the middle of the road. My neighbor here has told me tales of burying pot up here for the security of not having it on the boat, and I wonder if its all gone now. We trot into afew clearings that must have once been potential home sites. A very odd critter shoots across the road ahead of us, not a cat, not a squirrel and since there are no vermin here, I am not quite sure what it was. The dogs choose not to ford the one foot gutter for fear they will mess their dos and feign sudden indifference. Such wusses. We cross another discarded street and crest over the brambles to view the ocean with cliffs on one side and a breakwater and private home on the other and the most incredible vast blue waters as far as you can see. Lots of sniffing, looking for cow treats, no doubt (not me, the dogs.) I watch a small herd of goats along the cliffs, with one trying to get down the cliff the hard way, and suddenly there's Max down on the beach having a goat-herders' fit. Alma and I shrug and head back for the streets, me whistling frantically. Don’t want to buy chivo for dinner tonight, thanks. Max finally shows up, no goats in tow and we head back to de-tangle and remove burrs. No water on the dock today, no dog baths you lucky sand muffins.
Eventually I sidle up to The Captain and mention my strong desire to de-bilge the bilge, cupful by cupful. Well, I don’t want to get the hand pump dirty, so I though we could make a vessel and I could use a drinking cup… OK, so finally agree to do it the easy way, and get the pump and a bucket and clump down to our stateroom and pump two buckets of mostly water(you don’t want to know what else could be down there…) out of the bilge. Having water in the bilges is a natural expectancy for the Capt., but for me it still means we are that much closer to sinking, so it must go. That was so easy, I volunteer to check the forward bilge, and manage to remove 10 gallons of water, and wipe it down so it looks nice too. OK so I am on a different plane than most boaters….I am not not Marfa Stewat, mind you, just different. Rock made a sign for our house in Eastover,SC years ago that said ‘Marfa don’t live here’ and just the other night we tried to have a sane discussion with someone here who is a true believer that Marfa improves women's lives, not exploits them. To each her own, Marfa definitely would have approved of my cleaning the bilge by hand, but I did not paint a decorative border so I probably failed her bilge 101 class outright.
And more perfection, two loads of laundry washed and air dried in record time, dog grooming completed with minimal snapping on Max’s part, and then tackling the teak veneer I shredded on arrival. Yes, it has been four months and I am just now addressing it, but the time had to be right. During the passage to Luperon, I became quite obsessed with things coming loose and bumping and rolling around the boat underway. One especially sore spot was my cabinet of canned goods in the salon, which had let loose daily. When you are socked in and waiting to sleep or go on watch, that can of tomato paste down the stairs and to your side of the bed can really unnerve you. It finally wore me down to the point that I grabbed a roll of duct tape and made sure nothing would burst forth, nor would I be able to retrieve anything…no problem, solved so easily. I briefly wondered why I hadn’t used duct tape before. Well, I found out on arrival in Luperon when I casually ripped the tape off to cook something and all the teak veneer ripped right along with the tape. And has hung there for four months, reminding me of another lesson learned. I thought about writing a woman’s sailing book that just had the ‘wait, don’t do that’ list in it….like using a chisel and hammer to defrost the ice box one last time, but that’s another story…..
So me and my contact cement repaired the teak so it now looks like the dogs might have had a small issue with something in the cabinet, and since Max was in a snappy mood while I clipped his nails, he taking the hit on the teak veneer for now. The buzz from contact cement reminded me of my brother’s early teenage model building, and left me with a nice kind of a fuzzy headache plus I had erased one of my well-intentioned solutions.
Then it was peeling and putting up a dozen mangos, a gift from the night watchman Andre, who thinks I am his in-town esposa when I am at my friend Marty’s house. Back before I learned to say NO, and when I wanted to do something for a dear friend, I house-sat for a week, and became fast friends with Andre the night watchman across the road. I always appreciated his wandering flashlight up the hill in the middle of the night. I took him cookies courtesy of Marty in her absence, and then leftovers from dinner each night after Rock drove off back to the boat. So Andre and I would hug,and have very disjointed conversation in espanol only, once with me leaving and the only thing I could think to say was,"Hasta La Vista" and Andre grinned and said," Yeah Baby…." So, he sent a bag of mangoes to Marty which we split. They’re in the freezer for inspired chutney or my slutty mango daiquiries….And yes, theres more: the day is not over. Happy hour up the stairmaster at the Yacht Club and for 55 pesos (about $1.60 ) we had rum and soda/tonica with the usual crowd and bullshit banter. Then came the culinary treats, my now-perfected conch fritters on the stern with vino and music, and gourmet grilled pork, tomato salad and steamed potatoes, all products of the local economy….I don't know how a day could be much better, and now at the end of another one, I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
I worry a lot about things that don’t matter, a given fact. Sometimes worrying pays off, but rarely. So I woke up worrying about the aft bilge. Mostly because I had a weird dream and couldn’t remember the last time I peeked down there.Worse than monsters under the bed.
So after my Dominican coffee, raisin toast and pineapple with mango, the dogs and I set off to spy on the ocean from afar. There's a cut-through usually bound with thorns and stickers at the crest of the road, and off we chase down a paved road, complete with cement gutters decorated with rocks, all overgrown as part of a past development project. You have to be wary of the open manhole covers, now removed probably for scrap, down the middle of the road. My neighbor here has told me tales of burying pot up here for the security of not having it on the boat, and I wonder if its all gone now. We trot into afew clearings that must have once been potential home sites. A very odd critter shoots across the road ahead of us, not a cat, not a squirrel and since there are no vermin here, I am not quite sure what it was. The dogs choose not to ford the one foot gutter for fear they will mess their dos and feign sudden indifference. Such wusses. We cross another discarded street and crest over the brambles to view the ocean with cliffs on one side and a breakwater and private home on the other and the most incredible vast blue waters as far as you can see. Lots of sniffing, looking for cow treats, no doubt (not me, the dogs.) I watch a small herd of goats along the cliffs, with one trying to get down the cliff the hard way, and suddenly there's Max down on the beach having a goat-herders' fit. Alma and I shrug and head back for the streets, me whistling frantically. Don’t want to buy chivo for dinner tonight, thanks. Max finally shows up, no goats in tow and we head back to de-tangle and remove burrs. No water on the dock today, no dog baths you lucky sand muffins.
Eventually I sidle up to The Captain and mention my strong desire to de-bilge the bilge, cupful by cupful. Well, I don’t want to get the hand pump dirty, so I though we could make a vessel and I could use a drinking cup… OK, so finally agree to do it the easy way, and get the pump and a bucket and clump down to our stateroom and pump two buckets of mostly water(you don’t want to know what else could be down there…) out of the bilge. Having water in the bilges is a natural expectancy for the Capt., but for me it still means we are that much closer to sinking, so it must go. That was so easy, I volunteer to check the forward bilge, and manage to remove 10 gallons of water, and wipe it down so it looks nice too. OK so I am on a different plane than most boaters….I am not not Marfa Stewat, mind you, just different. Rock made a sign for our house in Eastover,SC years ago that said ‘Marfa don’t live here’ and just the other night we tried to have a sane discussion with someone here who is a true believer that Marfa improves women's lives, not exploits them. To each her own, Marfa definitely would have approved of my cleaning the bilge by hand, but I did not paint a decorative border so I probably failed her bilge 101 class outright.
And more perfection, two loads of laundry washed and air dried in record time, dog grooming completed with minimal snapping on Max’s part, and then tackling the teak veneer I shredded on arrival. Yes, it has been four months and I am just now addressing it, but the time had to be right. During the passage to Luperon, I became quite obsessed with things coming loose and bumping and rolling around the boat underway. One especially sore spot was my cabinet of canned goods in the salon, which had let loose daily. When you are socked in and waiting to sleep or go on watch, that can of tomato paste down the stairs and to your side of the bed can really unnerve you. It finally wore me down to the point that I grabbed a roll of duct tape and made sure nothing would burst forth, nor would I be able to retrieve anything…no problem, solved so easily. I briefly wondered why I hadn’t used duct tape before. Well, I found out on arrival in Luperon when I casually ripped the tape off to cook something and all the teak veneer ripped right along with the tape. And has hung there for four months, reminding me of another lesson learned. I thought about writing a woman’s sailing book that just had the ‘wait, don’t do that’ list in it….like using a chisel and hammer to defrost the ice box one last time, but that’s another story…..
So me and my contact cement repaired the teak so it now looks like the dogs might have had a small issue with something in the cabinet, and since Max was in a snappy mood while I clipped his nails, he taking the hit on the teak veneer for now. The buzz from contact cement reminded me of my brother’s early teenage model building, and left me with a nice kind of a fuzzy headache plus I had erased one of my well-intentioned solutions.
Then it was peeling and putting up a dozen mangos, a gift from the night watchman Andre, who thinks I am his in-town esposa when I am at my friend Marty’s house. Back before I learned to say NO, and when I wanted to do something for a dear friend, I house-sat for a week, and became fast friends with Andre the night watchman across the road. I always appreciated his wandering flashlight up the hill in the middle of the night. I took him cookies courtesy of Marty in her absence, and then leftovers from dinner each night after Rock drove off back to the boat. So Andre and I would hug,and have very disjointed conversation in espanol only, once with me leaving and the only thing I could think to say was,"Hasta La Vista" and Andre grinned and said," Yeah Baby…." So, he sent a bag of mangoes to Marty which we split. They’re in the freezer for inspired chutney or my slutty mango daiquiries….And yes, theres more: the day is not over. Happy hour up the stairmaster at the Yacht Club and for 55 pesos (about $1.60 ) we had rum and soda/tonica with the usual crowd and bullshit banter. Then came the culinary treats, my now-perfected conch fritters on the stern with vino and music, and gourmet grilled pork, tomato salad and steamed potatoes, all products of the local economy….I don't know how a day could be much better, and now at the end of another one, I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Insomnia is not so bad afterall
I tried to post this at 3 am the other morning but had no internet signal. Not sleeping through the night is something I have come to understand as a lone part of my life, and although it used to happen back when I lived in the real world, always at times when there was an early commitment the next day, now it just comes and goes whenever it wants, and I let it in like an old rival who no longer inconveniences me. I won't say I like it, because there is nothing better than sleeping on a boat. Nothing compares to the barely perceptible motion rocking you and the soft lapping water noises that lull you into a suspended place.
But I have been seeing the one and two and three ams of the morning and its a very beautiful and peaceful time to be awake, especially without that anticipated morning stress. Rock and Max deep breathe in our bed below, pendulous and unaware. Wandering naked around the boat with Alma padding behind me or sitting beside me on the bow, when everything is still, except for a light night wind or land breeze.... My dock neighbor, a sailboat away is usually up, her light varies from the forepeak reading, to the galley making coffee(or having a Sambuca.) We talk the next day and always agree to let each other know we are there, up when all is asleep, but neither of us disturb the night to ruin it with words.
The stars are amazing and I have watched the Big Dipper slide around our stern to the north and west and settle over the yacht club in the last few months. I glimpse a few shooting stars no matter which direction I look, and pick out the constellations I know, amazed at the expanse overhead. Never did finish that book on celestial navigation... Count the mast lights, always just a handful compared to the boats anchored out. There is a faint city glow in Puerto Plata's direction, about 14 miles east on the coast but nothing to give the sense of much civilization, lots and lots of lonely black sky.
I watch the late night stragglers, the hunters, the lost. The owls of the DR are plentiful, small beige ground-dwelling birds that call out as they pass into the mangroves for dinner, bats flit by silently blocking the starry ink, a big jittery flying thing zips by....The sounds of the night and early morning are many once the ear drops its expectations. A number of rookeries dot the mangroves in the harbor, and the occasional eruption of egrets chattering is music to the night. Punctuated by the splash of fins chasing a meal , the thump of the dinghy catching a tiny wake into Magpie, the sound of the ocean roaring and the blowholes in the cliffs along the shore beyond the harbors entrance, a deep cow moo or the high-pitched donkey-having-sex bray, the rooster who can't sleep and the dog that barks after the shadow of an owl on it's hunt all play together in a soft symphony of the sleepless.
Around 4:30 theres a dinghy motor and before long TipTop , an 80 or so foot tourism catamaran starts to purr and slides out in between the boats with a flashlight to guide it to the ocean. No thumps , only the low engine rumble and bouncing lights, off to pick up touristas from resorts for a day of idyllic deserted beaches, swimming, snorkeling, and beer. The lone captain is the only one up and off to work. I stretch, consider coffee and my book, but pad back to bed for a deep rest before the rest of the harbor awakens. What a magical place to be.
But I have been seeing the one and two and three ams of the morning and its a very beautiful and peaceful time to be awake, especially without that anticipated morning stress. Rock and Max deep breathe in our bed below, pendulous and unaware. Wandering naked around the boat with Alma padding behind me or sitting beside me on the bow, when everything is still, except for a light night wind or land breeze.... My dock neighbor, a sailboat away is usually up, her light varies from the forepeak reading, to the galley making coffee(or having a Sambuca.) We talk the next day and always agree to let each other know we are there, up when all is asleep, but neither of us disturb the night to ruin it with words.
The stars are amazing and I have watched the Big Dipper slide around our stern to the north and west and settle over the yacht club in the last few months. I glimpse a few shooting stars no matter which direction I look, and pick out the constellations I know, amazed at the expanse overhead. Never did finish that book on celestial navigation... Count the mast lights, always just a handful compared to the boats anchored out. There is a faint city glow in Puerto Plata's direction, about 14 miles east on the coast but nothing to give the sense of much civilization, lots and lots of lonely black sky.
I watch the late night stragglers, the hunters, the lost. The owls of the DR are plentiful, small beige ground-dwelling birds that call out as they pass into the mangroves for dinner, bats flit by silently blocking the starry ink, a big jittery flying thing zips by....The sounds of the night and early morning are many once the ear drops its expectations. A number of rookeries dot the mangroves in the harbor, and the occasional eruption of egrets chattering is music to the night. Punctuated by the splash of fins chasing a meal , the thump of the dinghy catching a tiny wake into Magpie, the sound of the ocean roaring and the blowholes in the cliffs along the shore beyond the harbors entrance, a deep cow moo or the high-pitched donkey-having-sex bray, the rooster who can't sleep and the dog that barks after the shadow of an owl on it's hunt all play together in a soft symphony of the sleepless.
Around 4:30 theres a dinghy motor and before long TipTop , an 80 or so foot tourism catamaran starts to purr and slides out in between the boats with a flashlight to guide it to the ocean. No thumps , only the low engine rumble and bouncing lights, off to pick up touristas from resorts for a day of idyllic deserted beaches, swimming, snorkeling, and beer. The lone captain is the only one up and off to work. I stretch, consider coffee and my book, but pad back to bed for a deep rest before the rest of the harbor awakens. What a magical place to be.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
TheTop Ten Reasons to...
...Temporarily Abandon A Blog.
10. Guilt. Once you get 'behind', and you get friendly reminders that no longer sound like praise for your writing but failure to keep appointments....and the pea under the mattress begins to grow and soon lying down is another painful reminder no entry was made again today. All I needed was more guilt, my manufacturer did take a bit of a holiday, but production is back on track. The gland is full.
9. Sweat. Its hot here. and humid. Sometimes breathing is all it takes to drench me in a bath of sweat. If any exertion is involved you can bet I will slide off my barstool. I sweat , I dry off, I sweat again. I am very uncomfortable, especially around Dominicans who do not sweat, always look cool and fresh. Where is that damned trade wind?
8. Hormones. I never thought of myself as a homicidal lunatic in capris, but my fists are clenched,my breathing is shallow, I am sweating (again), and thinking very bad thoughts about how deep the water is here, and how quickly someone could sink to the bottom. Probably don't need that rope and cement block.
7. S.B.S. Social Butterfly Syndrome. Or the inability to say "NO." So far , taking people for provisioning , to the airport (and picking them up) , a stint of house-dog-garden-sitting (without internet services), cooking & serving at a local bar/restaurant, attending too many Happy Hours (never really a problem for me, really), lunches, dinners(also not a problem in the food department), an 'intervention', pool parties, birthday parties, freedom parties(bye bye Bob), going away parties, coming back parties, concerts, ballgames (yes, I now attend softball games after avoiding all sports, all of my life) and whatever else I can do to assuage #10... I am there!
6. Scratching. Or maybe this should read itching. I am somehow allergic or very sensitive to the No-Seeums (which you can actually see, like a speck of black pepper) that bite me everywhere they can at dawn and dusk. So first I itch, then I scratch, then I have these bites that remind me I need to scratch again. Have gone through bug spray(does not work, even industrial strength), itch ointments( I should gain 20 pounds for all the topical steroids I have lathered on me) , and Neosporin for the remains of the battle. Hard to type while scratching certain places. Rock says I look like a junkie, always a man of succinct description.
5. Insomnia. I have found that I am unable to blog during the hours of 1 or 2 am and 5 am, despite the burden of #10, it is not a good time to write for me. I am usually keeping No-Seeums off me, and trying not to scratch.
4. Goats,Donkeys,Cows, Horses, Dogs, Chickens, Birds, No-Seeums. The abundance of wildlife here, wandering around freely or being utilized for transportation, food, etc... is amazing and it takes alot of time to take it all in (and not scratch.)
3. Bougainvilleas,Flamboyant Trees, Mango Trees, Papaya Trees, Banana and Coconut Palms, Royal Palms, Ficus Benjamin, Bromeliads and all the local flora that grows indiscriminately like weeds that make the landscape change constantly. Its an engaging process to go from one place to another and not be taken by a plant.
2. Pineapples. OK so I got carried away soon after arriving and bought too many papayas, but on the last trip to Santiago I bought over ten pineapples for 150 pesos, and they were rolling around on the floor of the car, smelling so sweet. I managed to give 6 or 7 away. But fresh fruit takes up your time here, and you have to pace yourself in the preparation and gorging of them. Mangoes are still in season, and I wait anxiously for avocado season when they will dump armloads into your car at stoplights. I can't wait.
AND THE NUMBER ONE EXCUSE, I MEAN REASON FOR NOT BLOGGING:
1. Internet Availability. My only real frustration, my only means of communication. Its better today but we had another visit from Alexander: the new provider for the harbor is a sweet gentle young man who has been given his internet knowledge by God, and although he is on Dominican Time, he will come to the boat and fix things, repeatedly. We have finally achieved some consistency, and I am hoping that since we now have a cable from one computer to another(wireless was the problem!?!) things will improve.
Fingers crossed, the blog has had its holiday and returns with no apologies.
10. Guilt. Once you get 'behind', and you get friendly reminders that no longer sound like praise for your writing but failure to keep appointments....and the pea under the mattress begins to grow and soon lying down is another painful reminder no entry was made again today. All I needed was more guilt, my manufacturer did take a bit of a holiday, but production is back on track. The gland is full.
9. Sweat. Its hot here. and humid. Sometimes breathing is all it takes to drench me in a bath of sweat. If any exertion is involved you can bet I will slide off my barstool. I sweat , I dry off, I sweat again. I am very uncomfortable, especially around Dominicans who do not sweat, always look cool and fresh. Where is that damned trade wind?
8. Hormones. I never thought of myself as a homicidal lunatic in capris, but my fists are clenched,my breathing is shallow, I am sweating (again), and thinking very bad thoughts about how deep the water is here, and how quickly someone could sink to the bottom. Probably don't need that rope and cement block.
7. S.B.S. Social Butterfly Syndrome. Or the inability to say "NO." So far , taking people for provisioning , to the airport (and picking them up) , a stint of house-dog-garden-sitting (without internet services), cooking & serving at a local bar/restaurant, attending too many Happy Hours (never really a problem for me, really), lunches, dinners(also not a problem in the food department), an 'intervention', pool parties, birthday parties, freedom parties(bye bye Bob), going away parties, coming back parties, concerts, ballgames (yes, I now attend softball games after avoiding all sports, all of my life) and whatever else I can do to assuage #10... I am there!
6. Scratching. Or maybe this should read itching. I am somehow allergic or very sensitive to the No-Seeums (which you can actually see, like a speck of black pepper) that bite me everywhere they can at dawn and dusk. So first I itch, then I scratch, then I have these bites that remind me I need to scratch again. Have gone through bug spray(does not work, even industrial strength), itch ointments( I should gain 20 pounds for all the topical steroids I have lathered on me) , and Neosporin for the remains of the battle. Hard to type while scratching certain places. Rock says I look like a junkie, always a man of succinct description.
5. Insomnia. I have found that I am unable to blog during the hours of 1 or 2 am and 5 am, despite the burden of #10, it is not a good time to write for me. I am usually keeping No-Seeums off me, and trying not to scratch.
4. Goats,Donkeys,Cows, Horses, Dogs, Chickens, Birds, No-Seeums. The abundance of wildlife here, wandering around freely or being utilized for transportation, food, etc... is amazing and it takes alot of time to take it all in (and not scratch.)
3. Bougainvilleas,Flamboyant Trees, Mango Trees, Papaya Trees, Banana and Coconut Palms, Royal Palms, Ficus Benjamin, Bromeliads and all the local flora that grows indiscriminately like weeds that make the landscape change constantly. Its an engaging process to go from one place to another and not be taken by a plant.
2. Pineapples. OK so I got carried away soon after arriving and bought too many papayas, but on the last trip to Santiago I bought over ten pineapples for 150 pesos, and they were rolling around on the floor of the car, smelling so sweet. I managed to give 6 or 7 away. But fresh fruit takes up your time here, and you have to pace yourself in the preparation and gorging of them. Mangoes are still in season, and I wait anxiously for avocado season when they will dump armloads into your car at stoplights. I can't wait.
AND THE NUMBER ONE EXCUSE, I MEAN REASON FOR NOT BLOGGING:
1. Internet Availability. My only real frustration, my only means of communication. Its better today but we had another visit from Alexander: the new provider for the harbor is a sweet gentle young man who has been given his internet knowledge by God, and although he is on Dominican Time, he will come to the boat and fix things, repeatedly. We have finally achieved some consistency, and I am hoping that since we now have a cable from one computer to another(wireless was the problem!?!) things will improve.
Fingers crossed, the blog has had its holiday and returns with no apologies.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Day 52 Luperon DR
Wow thats amazing to say, it feels like its been a slow moving line of time, like a lava flow or a molasses spill. The more I know and see of Luperon and the Dominicans, the less my opinion changes from that first warm, safe, contented, unspoiled beauty. As living on a boat is one(large) kind of compromise, so is Luperon. I will gladly trade the lack of electricity, lack of basic infrastructure, lack of clam sauce for pasta, and bits of garbage and trash for the air conditioners/appliances/plug-in noisemakers, for too much infrastructure, for the McDonalds & Walmarts, and for the overabundance of garbage any day.
Its so easy to become critical until you remember the price paid for each and every convenience.
I can look outside and get a saxophone concert from the sailboat across the way, breathe fresh air (with the exception of the occasional generator cough), feel the Trade Winds and the Land Breezes blow, watch a school of fish cruise by, check out the mangroves for birds and the sound of livestock munching down on some tasty greens, and feel the majestic security of the ring of mountains surrounding the harbor. I am not assaulted by high rise buildings, power lines, pollution, or the buzz of air and commercial sea traffic.
We dinghy into town on Tuesday mornings for Market, and buy fresh, large sized, local produce at amazing prices. Produce grown with no pesticides or chemicals. I have made myself a promise to not buy any more buckets of mangoes(that would be twelve mangoes), armfuls of pineapples(try eight), entire stalks of bananas(too many), or the seven papayas for three dollars.... must resist the temptation. Sometimes they come round to the marinas and docks in pick up trucks loaded full of produce and its amazing to buy pineapples, papayas, mangoes, bananas, limes(limon), squash, eggplant, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, beans, celery, onions, peppers, tomatoes, lettuces, thyme, cilantro, cucumbers, carrots, potatoes....and while Dominicans live a simple life, with the exception of cell phones, there is no hunger(and no obesity.) I am in love with the local yogurt and homemade queso, pan de agua(water bread) and the coffee grown in the mountains here.
I went to the Hospital last week after not being able to get Rock's insulin at the three local pharmacies in town (getting medications or anything else by mail is another compromise that is gradually starting to work out.) It was an odd feeling to see laundry hanging out of the windows, to know there is a sterilizer there that no one knows how to set up... but the pharmacy is professional, no prescription is required, and running at a brisk (and inexpensive) pace.
I only mention inexpensive because not everything is "cheapy cheapy" here. Gringos say rub your elbow and say "cheapy cheapy" before asking "cuantos pesos?" of any Dominican. I still find this alittle Christopher Columbus Offensive. Just as I find the cost of living here to be low, it is not my primary enjoyment, or reason to be here after 51 days. It reminds me of the greedy Yankees (I am a New Yorker, so I have the right to talk) in South Carolina who just can't resist divulging how much they sold their property in New York for and how cheapy cheapy their gated community, golf course front mansion cost and that they found a New York deli that gets them their bagels and....well its the same everywhere! But it is just the added bonus here, not to be treated like a Tourista (or worse yet, Ugly American!)
Stay tuned for more Luperon adventures, culinary and otherwise. Max and Alma have asked for a Dog's View, as they have not yet given their perspective. That would be a head down, eyes up look coming soon.
Its so easy to become critical until you remember the price paid for each and every convenience.
I can look outside and get a saxophone concert from the sailboat across the way, breathe fresh air (with the exception of the occasional generator cough), feel the Trade Winds and the Land Breezes blow, watch a school of fish cruise by, check out the mangroves for birds and the sound of livestock munching down on some tasty greens, and feel the majestic security of the ring of mountains surrounding the harbor. I am not assaulted by high rise buildings, power lines, pollution, or the buzz of air and commercial sea traffic.
We dinghy into town on Tuesday mornings for Market, and buy fresh, large sized, local produce at amazing prices. Produce grown with no pesticides or chemicals. I have made myself a promise to not buy any more buckets of mangoes(that would be twelve mangoes), armfuls of pineapples(try eight), entire stalks of bananas(too many), or the seven papayas for three dollars.... must resist the temptation. Sometimes they come round to the marinas and docks in pick up trucks loaded full of produce and its amazing to buy pineapples, papayas, mangoes, bananas, limes(limon), squash, eggplant, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, beans, celery, onions, peppers, tomatoes, lettuces, thyme, cilantro, cucumbers, carrots, potatoes....and while Dominicans live a simple life, with the exception of cell phones, there is no hunger(and no obesity.) I am in love with the local yogurt and homemade queso, pan de agua(water bread) and the coffee grown in the mountains here.
I went to the Hospital last week after not being able to get Rock's insulin at the three local pharmacies in town (getting medications or anything else by mail is another compromise that is gradually starting to work out.) It was an odd feeling to see laundry hanging out of the windows, to know there is a sterilizer there that no one knows how to set up... but the pharmacy is professional, no prescription is required, and running at a brisk (and inexpensive) pace.
I only mention inexpensive because not everything is "cheapy cheapy" here. Gringos say rub your elbow and say "cheapy cheapy" before asking "cuantos pesos?" of any Dominican. I still find this alittle Christopher Columbus Offensive. Just as I find the cost of living here to be low, it is not my primary enjoyment, or reason to be here after 51 days. It reminds me of the greedy Yankees (I am a New Yorker, so I have the right to talk) in South Carolina who just can't resist divulging how much they sold their property in New York for and how cheapy cheapy their gated community, golf course front mansion cost and that they found a New York deli that gets them their bagels and....well its the same everywhere! But it is just the added bonus here, not to be treated like a Tourista (or worse yet, Ugly American!)
Stay tuned for more Luperon adventures, culinary and otherwise. Max and Alma have asked for a Dog's View, as they have not yet given their perspective. That would be a head down, eyes up look coming soon.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Good,The Bad, The Gringos
I've been sitting on this, literally, as so many recent events have colored what I want to say about my misconceptions of cruising.
I was worried back in Georgetown that I didn't know cruising ettiquette, like there is any...and I remember asking a friend and singlehander about what the social circle is like, and how do you get rid of unwanted boaters who overextend their welcome....like I have trouble with that on land, why should this be different? Well, somehow I thought this amazing lifestyle elevated people to like mindedness. We had a sailboat come through G'town for afew weeks in December last year, and I initially liked them(well maybe until he brought his guitar over and played German folk songs) but there came a point where they were at our boat too much, when they reciprocated with dinner they wanted to cook it on our boat, they began to peddle their pyramid scheme and finally I was crawling around so they couldn't see me from their boat.
So my singlehander said it was never a problem, you just dismiss them...tell them its time to go home. I am thinking what if everybody wants to raft together and I can't get away from them. All these like-minded people who live and work on their boats are going to be respectful and understanding neighbors.
Welcome to Luperon where after afew short weeks I was subjected to a variety of versions of peoples' lives and more of it was coming in on a daily basis...bad relationships, princesses on boats, drinks too much, doesn't drink enough, jealous , controlling, self appointed harbor authorities , lazy Domincans, water aerobics classes, nudists, french canadians, bridge games,pot lucks, daily happy hours, too many details that almost spoiled my relationships with new people.
They actually call the hillside where several cruisers have built homes Gringo Hill, in the same evil vent I used to make fun of physicians on Pill Hill... This was going to be titled As the Harbor Turns, or As the Anchor Drags, but I became so disappointed that Ugly Americans are everywhere, even in isolated little corners of the world, each one toting their own baggage, contents spilling over the side.
On the positive side although I smiled and thanked them very much I will not be rushing to town to buy a 'noodle' so I can attend the water aerobics classes I have avoided for the last 25 years. No one has asked to raft up together and get plastered on rum and beer, but I do understand this is not uncommon, in dinghys, and you have to bring an hors d'oeuvre to share...maybe later on that. We have been to dinner on Gringo Hill , and to another gringos home and had wonderful times, and wondered where all the rumors sprouted from. I thought I had left all the petty childish behavior in the States.
We have now entered into our own little childish ring or fire here on the dock. How can this be possible with only 4 boats clumped together? Usually I offer up Capt. Rock as a fine example of how easy it is to piss people off, or that maybe one of my catty little remarks or names has slipped out, but we have been on our (relatively speaking)best behavior . Up until now. The fur is bound to fly here before long. Seems the contestant on boat #4 didn't like the work being done on Magpie( sanding and refinishing the brightwork, and sanding off the deck paint by two local workers) and last week he complained to the yacht club management(using the term very loosely) and an environmental specialist was sent down to the boat. This is in a country where nothing is regulated, there are no sewers, health regulations, nothing, nada. Turns out our worker knew the environmental guy and they chatted and he left with a grin and my favorite Dominican response,"no problemo."
Rock would not let me call Boater#4 the Dock Snitch, so he remained Motorcycle Al (sung to the tune of Basket Ball Jones) and we went about our work.
There was a small incident at happy hour where Motorcycle Al and Capt Rock disagreed about line of sight at sea, and it upset Motorcycle Al's wife so much she had to sit at another table, but we didn't think much of if,other than an amusing thing to do if we were all back in high school having a malt at the hop. So maybe there was tension when I walked the dogs by Boater#4 two or three times a day, but I wasn't crawling yet.
I should add we are in week three of grinding and sanding, and it is a day from completion, we wash down boats # 2 and #3 and apologize profusely when we are all hunkered inside waiting for 5 o'clock when we can take a deep breath without scratching fiberglass . Boat #4 is the farthest away, and quite protected from the dust and wood shavings.
Unfortunately the day after the decks were finished, our wonderful wood guy , who had hand sanded everything from day one, picked up a sander to do a flat surface. It was just wood and not much but it put Boater#4 and his esposa into a frenzy and he went to the owner of the marina with his story , had a tarp put up on our boat, and complained to anyone who would listen, with the exception of us. And Ms Esposa was unable to leave the boat due to crying about our ruining her boat. It was a most uncomfortable scene, boaters #2 and #3 were now involved, and stuck up for us. Theres alot more tension on the dock now, and while we still attend the occasional happy hour and pot luck it is not comfortable and the gringos have much to wag their tails about. I do not crawl by with the dogs, and am looking forward to telling my singlehander that I have solved the problem of the social circle . The bright spot is I am now allowed to call Motorcycle Al the Dock Snitch, but Rock misses the song....maybe I will have to get a noodle and play water aerobics after all.
I was worried back in Georgetown that I didn't know cruising ettiquette, like there is any...and I remember asking a friend and singlehander about what the social circle is like, and how do you get rid of unwanted boaters who overextend their welcome....like I have trouble with that on land, why should this be different? Well, somehow I thought this amazing lifestyle elevated people to like mindedness. We had a sailboat come through G'town for afew weeks in December last year, and I initially liked them(well maybe until he brought his guitar over and played German folk songs) but there came a point where they were at our boat too much, when they reciprocated with dinner they wanted to cook it on our boat, they began to peddle their pyramid scheme and finally I was crawling around so they couldn't see me from their boat.
So my singlehander said it was never a problem, you just dismiss them...tell them its time to go home. I am thinking what if everybody wants to raft together and I can't get away from them. All these like-minded people who live and work on their boats are going to be respectful and understanding neighbors.
Welcome to Luperon where after afew short weeks I was subjected to a variety of versions of peoples' lives and more of it was coming in on a daily basis...bad relationships, princesses on boats, drinks too much, doesn't drink enough, jealous , controlling, self appointed harbor authorities , lazy Domincans, water aerobics classes, nudists, french canadians, bridge games,pot lucks, daily happy hours, too many details that almost spoiled my relationships with new people.
They actually call the hillside where several cruisers have built homes Gringo Hill, in the same evil vent I used to make fun of physicians on Pill Hill... This was going to be titled As the Harbor Turns, or As the Anchor Drags, but I became so disappointed that Ugly Americans are everywhere, even in isolated little corners of the world, each one toting their own baggage, contents spilling over the side.
On the positive side although I smiled and thanked them very much I will not be rushing to town to buy a 'noodle' so I can attend the water aerobics classes I have avoided for the last 25 years. No one has asked to raft up together and get plastered on rum and beer, but I do understand this is not uncommon, in dinghys, and you have to bring an hors d'oeuvre to share...maybe later on that. We have been to dinner on Gringo Hill , and to another gringos home and had wonderful times, and wondered where all the rumors sprouted from. I thought I had left all the petty childish behavior in the States.
We have now entered into our own little childish ring or fire here on the dock. How can this be possible with only 4 boats clumped together? Usually I offer up Capt. Rock as a fine example of how easy it is to piss people off, or that maybe one of my catty little remarks or names has slipped out, but we have been on our (relatively speaking)best behavior . Up until now. The fur is bound to fly here before long. Seems the contestant on boat #4 didn't like the work being done on Magpie( sanding and refinishing the brightwork, and sanding off the deck paint by two local workers) and last week he complained to the yacht club management(using the term very loosely) and an environmental specialist was sent down to the boat. This is in a country where nothing is regulated, there are no sewers, health regulations, nothing, nada. Turns out our worker knew the environmental guy and they chatted and he left with a grin and my favorite Dominican response,"no problemo."
Rock would not let me call Boater#4 the Dock Snitch, so he remained Motorcycle Al (sung to the tune of Basket Ball Jones) and we went about our work.
There was a small incident at happy hour where Motorcycle Al and Capt Rock disagreed about line of sight at sea, and it upset Motorcycle Al's wife so much she had to sit at another table, but we didn't think much of if,other than an amusing thing to do if we were all back in high school having a malt at the hop. So maybe there was tension when I walked the dogs by Boater#4 two or three times a day, but I wasn't crawling yet.
I should add we are in week three of grinding and sanding, and it is a day from completion, we wash down boats # 2 and #3 and apologize profusely when we are all hunkered inside waiting for 5 o'clock when we can take a deep breath without scratching fiberglass . Boat #4 is the farthest away, and quite protected from the dust and wood shavings.
Unfortunately the day after the decks were finished, our wonderful wood guy , who had hand sanded everything from day one, picked up a sander to do a flat surface. It was just wood and not much but it put Boater#4 and his esposa into a frenzy and he went to the owner of the marina with his story , had a tarp put up on our boat, and complained to anyone who would listen, with the exception of us. And Ms Esposa was unable to leave the boat due to crying about our ruining her boat. It was a most uncomfortable scene, boaters #2 and #3 were now involved, and stuck up for us. Theres alot more tension on the dock now, and while we still attend the occasional happy hour and pot luck it is not comfortable and the gringos have much to wag their tails about. I do not crawl by with the dogs, and am looking forward to telling my singlehander that I have solved the problem of the social circle . The bright spot is I am now allowed to call Motorcycle Al the Dock Snitch, but Rock misses the song....maybe I will have to get a noodle and play water aerobics after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
