2011 March 13 BVI's

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British Virgin Islands

The British Virgin Islands, also known as nature's little secrets, are comprised of some 40 islands rocks and cays that offer a wide variety of water and land-based attractions and activities. Their waters have been known to challenge the skills of seasoned world-class sailors while still offering first-time sailors a unique learning environment for the development of their sailing prowess.

Virgin Gorda

Population 4,100 (2002)
The British Virgin Islands are the paradigm of tropical island beach perfection, and the most popular cruising area in the Caribbean. Virgin Gorda combines the best features of all of them, packing enormous variety into its 21 sq km. Dramatic mahogany forests crown the volcanic Gorda Peak, the island's centre and highest point.
On Gorda's southern tip is The Baths, the most iconic geological wonder in all the BVIs: huge granite boulders are piled haphazardly on a curving beach, some of them forming natural pools which require a ladder to reach. They have also arranged themselves into secret coves that can only be entered on all fours, and into a series of eye-popping 'caves' and chambers, where shafts of tropic sun pierce waist-deep water to create the most romantic tableaux in the West Indies. The island doesn't even have a complete road system, so you can reach some beaches and coves only by boat. It means you can always find something idyllic and completely deserted. The area around North Sound is brilliant for getting lost among darting shoals of fish, or flocks of colourful birds, in the lap of affordable luxury rarely available to Caribbean visitors.


“501 Must-Visit Islands”

We left St. Maarten 6 pm Sunday, March 13. This was an overnight passage and our arrival in Virgin Gorda was 8 am, 14 hours later. While in St. Maarten, we had mostly anchored in the Bay and did not have good night sleeps; by the time we arrived at this destination, we were utterly exhausted, sleeping most of the day. By 2 pm, Jim had to do the mandatory immigration run – I (gratefully) continued to flop on the bed (it was one time I didn't grumble over the law/protocol that dictates only the captain may leave the ship.

The evening was spent quietly in the cockpit, continuing to feel stunned and out of touch. By morning of the 15^th however, we were back to normal and ready to explore. Munchkin carried us to Spanish Town Harbour where we eagerly secured her and began walking to town from the harbour. A half block walk brought us to a barbershop, on an otherwise rather isolated road, and Jim decided to have a much over-due clip. Our barber, Casey, was a very handsome young man, originally from St. Patrick's parish in Grenada (our final destination this year). We asked if he knew of a good restaurant nearby and he directed us to Fisher Cove, about a block further down the road. We also asked him how far we needed to walk in order to reach Spanish Town. Chuckling, he replied, “you've already been there – the marina IS Spanish Town!” He said that a lot of visitors make this error, and that in fact, he also had done the same thing when he arrived 6 years ago by Ferry.

So we made Fisher Cove our final stop for the day and enjoyed a pleasant lunch of “calypso chicken” (grilled chicken lavished with mangoes).

The following day, March 16, we took a taxi to the Baths. It was a marvelous, splendid, perfect day! The Baths are simply extraordinary; it would appear as if a giant threw a dice of countless bolders and let them rest wherever they fell. Flowers then sprang up in a helter skelter fashion in the surrounding landscape to add arrays of colour. The seas must have taken hundreds of thousands of years to create their own form of art on these rocks, and warm baths with white sandy bottoms, sprinkled everywhere (refreshened with each tide), are la piece de resistance.

March 17 brought us back to “downtown” Spanish Town where we searched high and low for internet access in order to send birthday wishes to my friend Patrick in Montreal. We hauled our laptops to every little restaurant, bakery, bar and marina office in this tiny town before we were finally successful.

PRICKLY PEAR ISLAND

It's almost 4 p.m., Friday, March 18; we've just set anchor in North Sound, Vixon Point, adjacent to Prickly Pear Island. Jim is preparing the guacamole while I make the marguaritas; our sailing had continued over lunchtime, and therefore this was our delicious substitute! Later, the salmon is marinating while it waits for the grill and wasabi sauce and a glorious sleepiness is setting in. After our 'lunch', Jim dives into the sea for a refreshing dip while I try to convince him that this is NOT a nude beach! (with the distance between boats, one would require binoculars and a voyeur attitude to see him).

Jim has just sent his son an email through the radio letting him know that all is finally well; no more lengthy repairs, the generator is working at last, he has added 50 gallons of water during our sailing time using the de-salinator. As he tells me what he has just written to Mark, I smile in agreement as I turn the nozzle for the kitchen sink. Oh........no........ there is no water. My gentle spirited husband is not so gentle verbally with inanimate objects. He is 'beside himself' in anger and frustration at these on-going breakdowns. I convince him that since it is almost dark now, any actions should wait until morning. In the meantime, our salmon is waiting to be grilled, and a nice bottle of merlot wouldn't hurt at all.

Our morning pills are washed down with grapefruit juice and gingerale. No coffee this morning; no squeaky clean mouth from brushing either, and the kitchen sinks are looking pretty pathetic with greasy dishes. Jim discovers that the culprit is a cracked filter housing. In this layman's understanding, the ocean water is pumped onboard and passed through a number of filters and the new fresh water is deposited into a holding tank. Every 120 hours, some of this new fresh water in the holding tank is mechanically forced back through this housing filter to cleanse it of salt and also to stop the growth of algae (this is called the flush cycle). Because there is this crack down the length of the filter, the water doesn't pass through it and continue its cycle, but instead, is leaked into the bilge (bottom part of the boat where water run-offs are deposited and eventually “spit“ out of the boat). So this poor little cracked filter just keeps on pumping....until eventually all the water in our holding tank was used up. We didn't hear the pumping noise it would have made because the generator was also running.

We have kneaded some special water-proof cement on both sides of the crack and now must wait for it to harden. If we're lucky, this will enable the watermaker to go through its process at least once to give us a new supply, then sail to Tortola where there is a marina where we should be able to order a new filter housing. In the meantime, we understand that Prickly Pear Island has a quaint little restaurant called The Sandbox where we can drown our sorrows (and try to forget all the other little islands and inlets we had planned to visit in this part of the BVI's (perhaps another year?)

Lall

View from The Sandbox

We were the only customers today, and our server, Lall, a gentle young man from Guyana, South America, chatted amicably with us as we munched on his exquisite breaded shrimp and spiced fries (darn, they were good!). I'm developing a taste for Carib beer and it definitely washes everything down nicely. (I can almost hear Jim's son, Mark shuddering if he reads this!). There are a couple of cats quietly observing us. Lall explains that there are quite a number of cats on the island as some people simply drop them off and sail away. These poor little critters, left to defend for themselves on a small island that doesn't seem to offer much other than a few families of goats and iguanas.

Later, we take our dinghy to the end of the island to an area called Bitter End. What a beautiful area – very americanized, very touristy, but beautiful just the same. Unquestionably, this is a location that draws the mega yacht owners and their guests. This country cousin still enjoyed taking photos of all this richness.

Well, we weren't lucky. The glue we used to fill the crack for a temporary fix on our watermaker didn't work, so the following morning the anchor is raised and Tortola is our next destination, where we hope to quickly find a new part. Fortunately, the wind was with us and it was a quick sail, albeit a roller coaster ride most of the way with huge swells.

The first night, March 20 we anchored in the harbour surrounding Road Town, the capital of Tortola, but took a mooring the following day at Fort Burt Marina. The moment we discovered we had internet access, all else fell by the wayside! Jim, of course, was searching sites pertaining to our broken water part, whereas my concern was to reach family and friends. Ironically, because of the intermittent conditions of the internet in this part of the world, I had very little success, whereas Jim was able to reach a handful of our friends, in addition to my daughter on his laptop.

The on-again-off-again internet is driving me to distraction. This morning, we were able to talk to my daugher for over an hour, hearing and seeing her, Alex and Jasmine so clearly, they could have been next door; this afternoon, Jim called one of his children and the connection was dreadful.

It's Thursday April 14; almost a month has passed and we're on a very very long trip to St Kitts. These past number of weeks have been a whirlwind of activity; first preparing for and then receiving our Canadian friend, Christine. We enjoyed her visit immensley! There's nothing quite like the company of someone who is up-beat and positive and makes laughter a large part of their vocabulary!

From April 1 through to the 10^th we visited Trellus Bay, the Baths, Devil's Bay, Spanish Town, snorkeling by Norman Island, The Caves, White Bay, Great Harbour on Jost Van Dyke, Pusser's Landing in Soper's Hole. We visited the famous Willy T's, Foxy's, Soggy Dollar (home of the original “Pain Killer” cocktail – now the BVI's official drink). By the 10^th we anchored in Road Town, Tortola where Christine could take a taxi to the airport the following morning.

Now it seems but a mere lovely dream as we sail against the wind and waves...hour after hour (for those folks 'not in the know' against the wind is very uncomfortable travel ...somewhat like riding on a hobby horse that doesn't know when to quit). This long horsy ride was made more tolerable by time spent re-hashing our 'Christine time', the countless laughs the three of us shared, the pleasure of such a congenial friend and the feelings of intimacy in being with someone from home.

2011 February

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The Lovely Leewards

The Leeward Islands span some 200 miles and include 10 major islands operating as differant nations. The variety is unparalled. Many areas make for easy, comfortable cruising: others are more tricky. There are islands where you need both patience and luck to find a comfortable anchorage, and sections that are so poorly charted they put high demands on your navigational skills. Yet the very factors which complicate cruising often make an island alluring and keep it unspoiled.

Chris Doyle, “Cruising Guide to the Leeward Islands 2004-2005 edition”

St. Maarten

Population: Sint Maarten 35,000 (2007)
Saint Martin 34,800 (2007)

Famous as the smallest island ever to have been partitioned, St. Maarten/St. Martin has been shared by the Dutch and French since 1630, when they united to repulse the Spanish. St. Maarten welcomes cruise liners, commerce, gambling, reggae, hard rock and rijsttafel restaurants. It's the only place in the Caribbean where shopping is 100 per cent duty-free, and in Philipsburg you'll find 500 of the smartest luxury shops in the world.  The French emphasize comfort and elegance on their side, with secluded, luxury resorts and the best food in the Caribbean. Euros will pay for your croissants in the cafes. Marigot, the capital, is the most French in spirit of all Caribbean cities. On the beaches you can always tell where you are by the dress code – modest on the Dutch side, topless or nude chic on the French. With steel bands and firelit dancing, it makes for heady beach barbecues. The combination of cultures means you can do just about anything here on some of the Caribbean's prettiest and liveliest beaches and in the towns.
A Team of 10 Travel Writers, “501 Must-Visit Islands”


As scheduled, my niece and her partner, together with their two sons arrived in St. Maarten via cruise ship on the morning of February 2. It was a good day of margaritas and beer on Montamarol, lunch at a restaurant, topped off with beach time at Maho Beach. The day flew by, and in the blinking of an eye, it seemed it was time to say farewell for another year.

Heavy Air Traffic, Maho Beach

Margueritas and Beer on Montamarol

My Sweetie

My lovely niece, Karen

An interesting 'view' on Maho Beach

Our dear boating friends, Jim and Jean contacted us a few days later while we were still trying to muster up energy from all the events over the past 7 weeks. It was a delight to see them again, and we made arrangements for another rendezvous in a few days.


February 8

Jim and Jean have rented a car for their time in St. Maarten and picked us up late this afternoon for a trip to Grand Case, and what a marvelous experience it was! Every Tuesday evening is a carnival; the main street of this town is closed off to cars. Music, food, entertainment, markets of every kind abound. It's an opportunity to sample the foods and drinks and purchase souvenirs from this area. It truly was a magical evening. We tasted bull's feet soup, danced in the street and purchased a gift or two for next Christmas. We will definitely return, and hopefully have the opportunity to take visiting Canadians to this very lovely event.


February 16

It's our last day at Island Water World Marina in Simpson Bay Lagoon, but I am not saddened to leave. Although a great location for our on-going repairs, it had many similarities to Bock Marine; it was not particularly attractive as it is another working marina, and most unattractive for me is the Mediterranean-style mooring - instead of disembarking our boat on the port or starboard side onto the dock, one must swing their legs over the bow of the boat, one leg at a time, hence toes perching on the anchor platform on the outside of the lifeline; then, with one foot gripping the edge of the boat, the other must reach out over the water and stretch as far as one might....and unfortunately for little people like me, that means an unattainable reach of the dock without the aid of a strong-armed man. This adventure is compounded in unpleasantness by the lingering fear of a slip-up, which would result in crashing ungracefully into the waters below.

Simpson Bay Lagoon is entered and exited by way of two draw bridges, one at each end of the lagoon, one in Marigot on the French side of this island and the other in Simpson Bay on the Dutch side. Today, Jim motors near the entrance on the Dutch side near the time of opening and circles the area slowly. There is a parade of boats of all types and sizes waiting on both sides of this bridge, doing a similar posture. We leave the quiet, but questionable waters of the lagoon and anchor in Simpson Bay on the other side of the draw bridge in the Caribbean Sea. It is noon now and we have a light lunch, followed by Jim returning by dinghy to the office of Immigration to inform them that we are leaving the Dutch side of this island.

By the time he returns, Jim is both tired and broke and we decide to spend the night in this harbour. It's a pleasant evening with a bbq in the cockpit and time spent admiring the comings and goings of mega yachts to this popular island.

One of the negative aspects of the lagoon has been its shortage of typical marina facilities, and in particular, the means to dispose of sewage from boat holding tanks. In lieu of such facilities, we make the mandatory three mile ocean sail to meet international laws governing this dilemma. Now, in clear conscience, we can continue our trip up the coast of St. Maarten. Our first stop is the little town of Marigot, where we have previously visited by dinghy via the lagoon. It is the official immigration office on the French side of the island, and Jim must again report our whereabouts, and for this pleasure, we are charged $40 to anchor for the night.

Marigot is a pretty seaside town. The buildings are brightly painted in typical Caribbean pastal colours intertwined with dashes of mexican flavours of oranges and browns. Palm trees, brilliant flowers and lush undergrowth abound. There are numerous restaurants, open markets, bakerys and flea markets to lure the tourists who arrive in their sailboats and motoryachts. The people we met were friendly, the French croissants were to die for and the weather ideal. This was a brief, but lovely visit.

The following morning, we pick up anchor and continue to our next destination of Grand Case. We had spent an exciting evening here with Jim and Jean on February 8 and eagerly anticipated a repeat performance. It's daytime now; February 19 – and we walk the main street of this small town. Finding an internet access, we stop for coffee, just long enough to send a couple of brief messages home. As usual, the weather is incredible and we walk along the beach towards the dinghy dock. On impulse, we stop at a colourful beachside tavern for a lunch of tapas, beer and wine and spend the afternoon talking to people who are also enjoying this seaside get-away. It's the perfect day, the perfect mood and I wish it didn't have to end.

But end it does, and our idylic days are over for a little while. We are wakened in the middle of the night by driving rain and howling winds, creating waves and swells that make sleep impossible. My innards are battered about once again and I feel miserable. Many times during the night, Jim leaves our bed to check on the anchor to ensure that we have not been dragged to shore or onto another boat. The next day, the winds subside temporarily and Jim takes a short video of me trying to scoop out the water in our dinghy. It is still rough enough that I must hold on with one hand while doing this job, to keep from being jerked into the seas. It's a bit scary, but also fun, because Jim is filming me making an idiot of myself. We both laugh at my unavoidably clumsy, awkward attempts to remove this rainwater.

It's Tuesday again, and another fun night expected in Grand Case, hopefully with Jim and Jean if they are able to get away. We know that they have visiting family soon, but do not know if this time is already upon them. In any event, we will take our dinghy to shore to feast on spareribs and wine at one of the open pits that are scattered about at this weekly event.

Late afternoon Jim guides us to the dinghy dock on unsettled seas, both of us full of anticipation as we have learned that our good friends will indeed be joining us. As we near the dock, the ocean takes deep breaths, filling her lungs until they swell to their fullest, then hurtling us forward as we ride on her sighs. It is a most difficult task to tie up Munchkin without being flung onto the cement floor of the dock. I feel helpless and frail, missing my youthful agility, and am relieved when we are finally able to walk to the land-end of this dock.

Our communications with Jim and Jean, together with Jean's visiting sister, Linda, are to be by portable VHF radio. Alas, to our dismay we discover that the batteries were totally discharged and no longer of use. However, Grand Case is but one long street following the shores of the Caribbean Sea, and we are not overly concerned; sure enough, we discover them while all of us are examining the wares on the same table. I embrace Jean with much glee as a long lost friend because it seems too long since we last met.

The evening is not a disappointment. We find the same lovely lady as last week, the vendor with whom we first tasted the bull's foot soup, and again, we sat with her tasting her liquors, calling out to the crowds that this site was the best on the street! The same band played the same music; Jim and I again danced in each other's arms and savoured the magic in the air. We filled our stomachs with ribs and slaw and our hearts with the joy of being with these beautiful friends once more. I feel so blessed with good fortune and love; tonight it feels almost more than I can bear.

We bid farewell at the end of our evening, strolling back to Munchkin, where we discover her lines have become twisted and enmeshed with those of at least a dozen other dinghys. Two kindly young sailors who are also returning to their boat for the night, assist Jim in the long, tedious process of following our lines to untangle them; then helping me board, by offering me their arms as I crawl across three other dinghys to reach Munchkin; all four dinghys feeling like bucking ponies as they lurch in the waves. We are all in high spirits and their generosity of time only adds to this perfect night.

It has been seven days without internet on our boat, with a 15 minute exception while in town. I miss it very much. I miss the ability to skype my daughter, see my grandchildren, and keep up with the events back home. These events weigh heavily on my mind because there are so many things I cannot do without the aid of my laptop; and this is the cosmopolitan island of St. Maarten. How much more isolated we might be once we set off for the BVI's?

It's Thursday, February 24, and all is not well. For starters, yesterday afternoon, we re-entered Simpson Bay Lagoon, but this time from the French side at Marigot Bay. We need to set anchor to have some work done on the generator; will this monster never stop haunting us? Using the GPS, we navigate the waters of the Lagoon with a site in mind, when, both of us are utterly shocked to realize we have grounded. With sinking hearts, I take over the helm while Jim transfers himself to our dinghy, Munchkin, in an attempt to guide our boat off the shoal in tugboat fashion. We are getting nowhere and our frustrations escalate. Much to our relief, along comes a sailor on his dinghy to give us a hand. Together, the two dinghies are able to bring Montamarol to deeper waters. We learn that this neighbourhood of the Lagoon is notorious for shifting shoals, which do not show up on the GPS. Our depth sounder indicates the fluctuating water depth, but this change was so swift that there was insufficient time to change course.

We have just returned from the local bakery where fresh bread, still warm from the oven has been purchased and eagerly cut and devoured. We are definitely enjoying the flavours of the french cuisine and I close my eyes in sheer pleasure of this gourmet delight, and relish in the amazing softness of its texture. This moment is short-lived as I hear shattering, cracking sounds, and am shocked to realize they come from within my mouth. My instant thought was “omg, there's something left in this bread that shouldn't be here” (recalling horror stories of a mouse at the bottom of a can of cola, and pieces of glass in a candy), so it was much to my horror to find myself spitting out particles of tooth. In 62 years, with the exception of my tooth fairy days, I had never experienced anything like this and was quite dismayed. My sheer delight had turned into a sheered tooth. Back home, I have a regular hygienist, Debrah, who I trust with anything to do with the inner workings of my mouth. She is a hygenist with a calling and she is also called friend. I instantly thought of her, wishing she was in St. Maarten to guide me, but in lieu of Debrah, I had to settle for a stranger's advice in the local laundermat, “Shrimpy's”, as to the whereabouts of a good dentist. A twenty minute ride by dinghy with an intermittently working motor, followed by a hike through Marigot of about 4 blocks found us at the doorstep of a tiny home, cum dentists' office. The interior was not much bigger than the main cabin on Montamarol, but it was gaily painted and decorated in typical Caribbean fashion. The receptionist, at first seemed cool, but polite. However, with Jim's usual joking manner, it wasn't long before her eyes were shining and she wore a steady smile. Although the room was filled with waiting patients, this sweet young woman was kind enough to squeeze us in for a consultation within the hour.

Dr. Bernadette Gourdange, a native of Belgium, had set up shop on the French side of St. Maarten about 15 years ago, and coincidentally, her three children are all studying in Canada (one in Montreal and two at the University of Ottawa). We hit “paydirt” with this lovely woman. Not only was she interesting and humorous, but she had a gentle touch and excellant workmanship. I think even Debrah will be impressed!

Dentist's Office

Dentist's Assistant

Dentist

Our days on the island of St. Maarten are coming to an end. Yesterday, the part required to repair our generator arrived and was picked up before meeting Jim and Jean for lunch. They later drove us to Cupecoy, where their boat, Windsong is comfortably situated in a modern, upscale marina; we spent hours talking of our sailing plans in the near future. While we will be exploring the Virgin Islands, their intention will be to set off for the southern Leeward Islands. This is our tentative route after the Virgins, so our hope is that our paths will cross again in the coming months before we return to Canada.

It was another night of stormy conditions with rain pounding down on Montamarol defying her to not leak under such a downpour. She took up the challenge however, and kept us safe and dry (it's her electrical attachments that give us problems – the old girl herself is quite dependable, or at least so far). When we get up the following morning, we discover that our dinghy, Munchkin, is drowning in fresh rainwater. I have a lightbulb moment: That's how we can wash our sheets! (I am still boiling inwardly at the recollection of spending $12 for a load of laundry, and a very small load at that). Munchkin is a washing machine just waiting to happen and I'm excited about this new project. Jim looks as me in bewilderment and says, “I spend months finding a way to repair our watermaker, now you discover the joy of rainwater!” I quickly take up the task with the few items needing laundering, dumping some liquid detergent into our dinghy, happily scrubbing away. Prior to this step, I have handed Jim a number of tubs of this fresh water to keep on our boat to rinse this experiment, tossing each piece to him as they are done. This leads to another idea; since I am already sitting in Mr. Dinghy in my bathing suit soaking wet, why not give her a good scrubbing too. By the time I am finished, she almost looks brand new and I'm thrilled with the difference. I am slowly learning that this salt water environment creates a necessity for constant maintenance and equally constant cleaning.

As I sit here admiring my work, Jim reminds me that today is the day we take Munchkin to shore to clean her bottom. We load her up with a scrub brush, j-cloths and a metal scraper. It takes a while to land on shore as there are many rocks on the seabed blanketed in coral, threatening feet and dinghy bottoms with their razor sharp edges. Eventually we find a small area offering soft sand for a less painful landing and the breaking waves violently toss us from the sea.

Now it's time for Tweedle Dee Dum and Tweedle Dee Dee to figure out how to do this for the first time. Munchkin has grown a bright green beard of about 6 inches in length. In addition, her entire backside is embedded with miniscule barnacles that cling with a death grip. After Jim removes her motor (which weighs over 100 pounds and thus not an easy task), together we lift one of her sides and gently turn her over. So much for all my hard work earlier this morning! Sand now clings to every pore, every crevice, every thing I had cleaned. It's quite a task to scrape and scrub her. Before doing this again, we will investigate other means of accomplishing this; definitely, we will not bring the motor next time, nor her cover, as both create much more work (her jacket is covered inside and out with wet sand.)

When we're finished, again we place her right-side up and drag her back to the shore. This is where the 'fun' began. Those same violent breaking waves are determined to keep us on land. Dinghy's aft end is facing the sea, and suddenly she is swamped in water from these waves. Jim and I seem to each have a different agenda; he is pulling one way and I, the other. Now we're both being pounded by waves and Munchkin seems to be climbing on top of Jim. It's a scene right out of The Three Stooges, and while trying to pull this friendly puppy off of him, I am laughing hysterically, as my mind flashes to the people on the beach watching this idiotic scene. Finally, now void of any sense of pride or dignity (dinghynity?), we are able to get her turned around so she is facing the waves, bail most of her water, get the motor back on her transom, re-load our oars and cleaning utensils, wait for a moment's break in the pounding surf, run with her as fast as we can in the shallow water, jump aboard and paddle for all we're worth. We have so much sand on our bodies and boat parts that we could probably pass for a tiny island floating in the bay. By the time we reach Montamarol, we are both bone-weary. While Jim works on removing the jacket-cover to let it float in the sea to rid it of the half-ton of sand from the beach, I slip into the water and swim to our platform at the back of the boat, cleansing myself in the process. It's a long time before our little dinghy looks as good as she did this morning, but I am grateful that Jim has taken over this re-cleaning assignment!


Boat life can be tremendously rewarding, but it is also at times much more difficult than life back home. A common task such as groceries: at home, we simply get in our car, purchase the goods, bring them back to the car, then transfer them to our house quite effortlessly. On our boat, we can't just lock the front door; four panels must be put in place, then bolted with a lock. All hatches and port holes must be secured so that in the event of a downpour during our absence, our home isn't flooded. We must remember to bring articles with us, like life-jackets, a lock for the dinghy, a cart for transporting our groceries, camera, sun glasses, sun screen, hats, flip flops (we once dinghied a long distance to shore where Jim discovered he had forgotten his shoes) in addition to the usual cloth grocery bags; all must be transferred from one person to the other (one on the boat and the other on the dinghy), often balancing precariously while waves slap at both vessels. On shore, we usually have long, hot walks through unfamiliar streets to find our groceries; each island demanding its own particular currency, i.e. Euro, US dollar, EC (Eastern Caribbean dollar) etc.

Sometimes, I find myself feeling grumpy and irritable (can't we just order in a pizza?!) There are moments when I am so exhausted, I wonder why we are doing this, but most of the time, there will be a reminder of why around the next corner: a spectacular sunset, meeting new and interesting people of different cultures, the feel of the white sand on my feet, the warmth of the sun and the comforting tradewinds on my skin, a sea turtle surfacing to greet me; the incredible sensation of hot skin meeting cool water when plunging from Montamarol into the sea, then relaxing with a marguerita in the cockpit; the nightly long conversations with my husband because in this lifestyle, we truly are each other's constant companion with no interruptions from the outside world unless mutually agreed upon; the romance in our life – that the youngsters think only they possess! These are just some of the things to remember when I'm really old. These are just some of the things to remember when things go wrong.