Landfall in Kira Kira, Betelnut, Guadalcanal

I know I scared you with that last dispatch. A few of you asked, "Why in the world would you do that to yourselves?" Here's why -

After dropping anchor and shutting off the engine, there is a quiet and a calm that follows a horrendous passage that is immeasurable. Even though our anchorage in Kira Kira was horribly rolly, slipping into warm crystal clear waters off the stern ladder, staring at pristine jungle running down to black sand beaches, and knowing that we have arrived at yet one more exotic country & that we did it on our own, brings a sense of accomplishment that is as equally hard to describe as the nightmare that was our time at sea. We could fly around the world, but then we'd never see these little villages that exist without tourists, and of course we'd be sacrificing that sense of accomplishment. We chose a different mode of travel, and it has its dangers and its rewards, both are staggering.

In an earlier dispatch I mentioned that 1 of the first things I look for upon entering a new country is how quick the people are to smile (the 2nd is the money and it's stupid here). Upon making landfall in Kira Kira, I immediately noticed a lack of returned smiles. Then I got a smile from an older man. He had a mouth stained red with rotting teeth. The next person looked the same. Then a woman I asked directions from spoke and I saw the decayed red teeth in her mouth as well. I made 2 flash conclusions. 1.) This is a plague island. 2.) They're sick and I need to get out of here. Then it dawned on me - these people chew Betelnut. I now know that damn near everyone here, has a rotten red mouth and spits their drug juice everywhere. It looks like some vandal went nuts with a can of "Rustoleum". They peel the husk off the nut, chew the seed, and then dip the bean into lime and chew that too. Not the kind of lime you'd squeeze into a Mexican beer, the kind of lime the Mafia would pour over your corpse before interning it in a shallow grave. They make it out of coral and wonder why their teeth are disappearing. The combination gives them a mild buzz. The lengths humans will go to for a "high" will never cease to amaze me. Truth is, the stuff tasted so horrible I couldn't keep it in my mouth long enough to feel anything.

Then we sailed to Guadalcanal. We sailed right up "The Slot". Pappy Boyington and his black sheep squadron, as well as 100's of other men flew combat missions through this same gap between islands. Before turning into Honiara, the capital of the Solomon's, we glided over Iron Bottom Sound, thus named due to the 62 huge battle ships that lay on the sea floor. Guadalcanal was the first troop engagement the US had on land against the Japanese. Midway was all planes, but Guadalcanal was a fierce 6 month fight that involved many more islands and tens of thousands of lives. It was a turning point for the war. Upon signing the surrender in 1945, Japan's admiral Tanaka admitted that Japan's fate was sealed when they lost Guadalcanal.

Our new friend Laurie took us to a small village in the Mount Austen area. This is what they call "The Gifu". It was the last of the organized Japanese resistance. I literally jumped from foxhole to foxhole and the amount of material that is still there is astounding. I found 5 live Japanese hand grenades; the pins still in them and ready to be pulled, canteens, teeth, morphine bottles, gasmasks, mortars, eye glasses, bones, buttons, buckles, clothing, helmets, and lots of live rounds. This stuff is all 65 years old and still lying there in the foxholes that those soldiers dug with their bayonets. Now let's talk bayonets - Laurie was given one by his "house boy", and since Laurie will never be able to fly that back into Australia, he traded it to me for 2 Coke bottles I found back in Vanuatu. You gotta see this thing. It's in really good shape and the wooden handle is completely intact. I am 13 years old again!

In 1999-2000 The Solomon Islands had what they call "Ethnic Tension". The island of Malaita seems to produce people that succeed at a rate higher than the other islands, jealousy ensued, tribal warfare broke out, people died, and soon RAMSI was created. "Regional Assistance Mission to the Solomon Islands". Almost all the white people you meet here work for it, or through the Haliburton-esque company called PDL Toll. It stands for Patrick Defense Logistics. They go to troubled hot spots like East Timor, after winning the contract. Hmm, I see some parallels here.

So far so good, but it's shocking how many things are out here to get us. Salt water crocodiles. They're all over the place. 30 - 50 Islanders die each year from crocs. I hired someone to clean the bottom of the boat. It cost $9 and he lived to spend it. I was reading up on the next string of islands we are heading to and the notice to mariners warns of sea mines. "Don't anchor here. Don't trawl there." It also says that some of the islands charted may be off by up to 2 miles. Scary as hell! This is also malaria country. Suzi and I started taking 100 mg of Doxycyclin every day, even before we left Fiji. Sunset is called the malaria hour. Suzi sewed 2 types of screens before we left the marina. The top hatches all have billowy covers with shock cord around the edges so we can open and close the hatches without having to remove them when the rain comes. She also made some semi-rigid screens for the water line hatches. She should patent those. Then she went on to sew a complete barrier that we use in the aft cabin as a secondary buffer. On this net she used an even tighter mesh and it even keeps out the "no-see-ums". Our bedroom has now become a "no fly zone".

We left Honiara 24 hours ago and we will be back there in about 7 more. The transmission is leaking fluid at an unacceptable rate. I hope this doesn't cost much or take long.

Wish us luck,

Capt Bob

A Casualty At Sea

We didn't lose Suzi, but Suzi lost it.

I think the Beach Boys summed up the trip from Vanuatu to The Solomon Islands when they sang: "This is the worst trip, I've ever been on." We ripped the headsail on the first day when the fierce winds and waves rounded the boat into the maelstrom. It turned us around and flogged the hell out of the genoa. Ok. No problem. I rolled it away and committed ourselves to sailing 400+ miles with only a main sail. The sea conditions were appalling. We had regular squalls of 40 knot winds, torrential rains which brought zero visibility, huge breaking waves, and a new leak at the rudder. Suzi's crying jag started as soon as we left the protected waters of Luganville. She was quickly reduced to a sobbing mass. She was inconsolable and incomprehensible. Something snapped, and she would tell you the same thing. She just lost her nerve. I don't know how else to describe it. She went from asset to liability in the first few hours. And this is the same girl that lived through the 5 day nightmare that was our sail to Palmerston from a year before. This is the same Suzi that sailed to New Zealand with me. It just doesn't make any sense. But we're working on it. If you feel moved to do so, give her your support @ suziroberts1@yahoo.co.uk. Although she's doing better, she could really use a pep talk.

Then I noticed a new leak at the rudder and wondered when it was going to fall off, or when the autopilot was going to quit with all the new noises it was making. We were at such an angle of heel that we couldn't pump out the overflowing toilet. We were scared, and exhausted, and unable to eat - for 4 days. Sometimes this trip just sucks.

I'm telling you, sleep deprivation while under life threatening conditions will make you dig deep. It's as if sleep and the sea are good friends because they are both trying to kill you. Like cohorts in an attempted crime. Just one little doze could be a critical mistake, but it's so tempting when you're that exhausted. It's a frightful realization when you catch yourself talking out loud to calm your panic. I'm an atheist who repeatedly mumbled "Please, no more" when the next squall line marched in from the rear. At 05:00 I could hear myself talk through the final hour of darkness with the words: "Just let the sun come up, please let the sun rise. I'll feel better when the sun comes up." Who was I talking to? Me. That inner me, the one deep inside that is all you have left to rely on when you are drained to your core. Look - some of you who read this are long haul blue water sailors, but most of you have no idea what it can be like out there. And this trip was a total anomaly, even for me. Not only did I have the seas and the wind to contend with, but I had my broken Suzi to assuage as well.

How can I possibly explain in terms that you can relate to, what this experience was like? It begins with the knowledge that you are completely on your own. Sure, you can set off the EPIRB and if you are still afloat when the helicopter shows up (if it shows up, and in time), you can get airlifted off (maybe), but short of giving up your boat, there is no one who can save you. There isn't even anyone who can help you. You have to fix every problem on your own using only the tools and materials you have on board. And you have to do it at a 35 degree angle that alters every 45 seconds. Are you a surfer? Can you try to comprehend what it is to surf a 41 foot 20,000 lb boat down a 20 foot wave: It's exciting right up until the point she gains so much speed that she turns into the trough like she's going cut back and hit the lip. Then the wave catches us on the stern quarter, spins us out, turns us wildly onto our beam and rockets us up as the white water explodes all around us. Nah - that isn't going to convey it. You need to live it. And you need to understand that all of this is happening at night, 100s of miles from land, in pouring rain with more wind noise then your nerves can handle.

In summary: The Sea was throwing everything it had in the hopes of killing us, my boat was disintegrating, my girlfriend was losing her mind and had turned against me, and I had to find a way to pull a rabbit out of a hat. It took every bit of everything I had to get thru it. I'm equal to the challenge. I just hope I've passed the test and there will be no follow up exams anytime soon.

We made a "mechanical emergency stop" in Kira Kira which is 140 miles short of the check in port of Honiara (which is where we are now, safe and sound). We just needed to sleep, check our leaks, get a real meal, and swap head sails. It was the worst anchorage I've ever been in and we stayed for 3 days. Under normal conditions I wouldn't have spent a single night there. That's how spent we were.

It ain't easy being free, but things are now looking up.

Next email: Betelnut, Guadalcanal, and a Japanese Bayonet

Your Captain,

Bob Friedman

"It seems to be a law of nature, inflexible and inexorable, that those who will not risk cannot win.
- John Paul Jones -

Nangol (Land Diving), Million Dollar Point and The Coolidge

How many extreme sports have their roots in the traditions of primitive cultures? The Vanuatu ritual of tying vines to their ankles and jumping off towers they've constructed from jungle scrap, gave birth to bungee jumping. I've been told 2 completely different explanations as to the superstition behind it. One involves appeasing the gods for a good harvest and the other is too farfetched to type. I don't think they know why it originally began; only that they have a cash cow on their hands and that it continues cuz their pikininis and tourists love it. They charge $85 per person and it lasts about 2 hours. In the hierarchy of authentic native experiences, this one is a bloody nose and a black eye. It felt absolutely canned. However, in terms of dramatic spectacle - the performance was an over the top jackpot. And at that price, it needed to be.

The jumping begins in April when the yams and vines are wet and strong. As they dry, they become brittle and people get hurt. A tower collapsed this year and a photographer was killed. We caught the 2nd to last performance in June (they jump only on Sat), and there were only 5 divers. 4 of which were preteens jumping from lower platforms (the pikininis love getting naked and jumping). The one adult did leap from a huge height (about 35 feet) and as with all the divers, he went head first to crash into the raked and softened dirt below (he was unscathed). Had we been here in April, we could have witnessed dives from twice that height, but now the tower is not safe at the higher reaches and the vines are drying and could snap. Chief Luc implored me to encourage my fellow sailors to come in April for the high jump spectacle.

"No can do Chief. Big winds in April, not safe for yachties."
"But we have black magic. Pentecost is safe."
"Cyclones dude. Not safe for white man."

We agreed to disagree.

Unlike the dynamic diving, the tower is static and ghostly in appearance. It looks like it was built by witches. It stands with a tenuous purchase at the top of a steep hill that over looks a perfect "bowl" of a valley. Upon closer inspection, one can see that it's actually cantilevered, and that some science went into building this thing.

I paid for the diving but I got the testicles for free. If you take a look on http://www.suziroberts.co.uk/ you can see the pics she posted. They quietly change out of their stinky hand me down clothes and don a "numba". It's a penis sheath that is anchored around their waist. It works quiet well for hiding the exact dimensions of their units, but I believe it's "numba" 1 purpose is to lift the penis out of the way so that you can see their majestic testicles. I'm working on an anthropological theory that will propose that this tribe has evolved beyond penis envy and has embraced the power of a lustrous scrotum. Being pygmy blacks, they can't compete with their African brothers so they've bypassed the size issue and moved directly to showcasing the root of their fertility. Ingenious!

Then we sailed to Luganville and the war history began. The island of Espiritu Santo was made into a US military base from which to launch the assault on Guadalcanal. The Segond channel is extremely deep and could accommodate scores of destroyers. 100,000 of our troops were stationed here. You can still see our quonset huts everywhere, and if you dig a little deeper, like I & my Kiwi buddy Miles did, you can find some fun relics. We dug on the beach where the sand meets the jungle. We were told the Americans used that area as a dump. Sure nuff - we found 3 pristine Coke bottles with the year 1944 on them, a man's razor, a fork, a flashlight, 2 padlocks, and a couple 37 mm shell casings. This was Miles' 2nd trip here and upon returning to New Zealand after the first adventure, the customs officer asked him if he was bringing anything back from Vanuatu.

"Ah just a couple of shells."
"From the beach?"
"Yep".
"How big are they?"
"Oh, about 37 mm."
The official made a funny face, shrugged and let him pass.

If you really want to find remnants of our war effort here in the South Pacific then you need to go to Million Dollar Point. Here's the story and it's all true:

The Americans had won the war and were pulling out of Vanuatu. The French and British were going to continue to "condominium rule" the New Hebrides (that lasted until 1980 when the locals gained independence and changed the name to Vanuatu). We offered all of the material that we had shipped into the island to the Euros for 10 cents on the dollar. Pretty good deal right? Well the Euros decided that the Yanks would leave it behind anyway, so they declined to pay for it. And why shouldn't the Euros take advantage of us - I mean, we had just saved their little countries from the Nazis at the cost of a staggering number of US lives. It seems fair to me that they should quibble over more of our generosity. F--king ingrates. But they were right; we did leave it behind, even though they wouldn't pay for it. We built a jetty and we pushed it all into the sea. Take that you unappreciative bastards!

There are tractors, trucks, boats, cranes, fork lifts, steel girders, jeeps, office furniture, and about 1,000,000 Coke bottles lying in shallow water. We snorkeled it, and boy was it spooky. It's a sunken time capsule rusting beneath the sea. I can't post the video on the website due to the slow connections, but thanks to Todd Girouard's underwater cam that he traded me for pearls I can show it to you when we meet again.

MDP is one of those spiteful pollution sites that tickles me with the history and bravado of the American spirit. We, as a people, are wonderful villains. We are noble and cruel. We are vengeful heroes who make selfless sacrifices, sometimes morphing into self-serving blunders. We are, at a minimum, a dichotomy that is rarely boring. Here in this part of the South Pacific, where we fought and died to save the world, (and we accomplished nothing short of exactly that) I've decided that the Yank bashing will no longer be tolerated when it reaches my ears. I've been listening to it for 2.5 years now and on these beaches it will not stand.

There - I went public with my own nationalistic fervor. It's my trip, it's my dispatch and I'll rant if I want to.

Wanna here about my dive on the President Coolidge? First a little history: It's the largest accessible shipwreck in the world, and it's just down the beach from MDP. She started as a luxury liner and when war broke out she was converted into a troop ship. She hit 2 sea mines entering the Segond Channel in '42 and the Captain ran her up on the beach to save the lives of his men. He lost 2 but saved 5000. She then slipped back into deep water and all 600 feet of her is now lying on her side in 80 - 200 feet of water. I saw a 3" gun and the shells that it fired, jeeps, half tracks, gas masks, bombs, rifles, and more jeeps. The ship is so big that most people do 10 or more dives and still only see a small portion. Most of the dives require decompression stops because you go so deep. That danger, and the problems my left ear give me, ended my dives after the first one. They aren't cheap either.

I fixed the battery monitor, flew all 3 flags on the 4th of July, cleaned the sprayers, went aloft and checked for chafe, remounted the radar reflector, and bought 6 lbs of vacuum packed filet mignon (they sell this beef to Japan who repackages it as Kobe beef. It's that good). We are now checking the wx for our departure to The Solomon Islands. It just keeps getting better.

Your Man on Point,

Captain Bob

Kava, String Bands, and the Suicide Jumps

We anchored in a bay that was unpronounceable and immediately upon going ashore, met John. He taught us how to avoid Chief Alan and his anchor tax of $50. He also forced his wife to give us veggies and her handbag (Suzi would tell you it was voluntary). Then they came out to Barraveigh for some snacks and cold drinks. We put the hospitality ball back into their court as they marched us up the hill to a nakamal (meeting house) in the midst of a kava plantation. The party was the celebration of a 1 year olds birthday. In the hierarchy of authentic experiences you hope to experience as a traveler, this one was the equivalent of winning the brass ring.

The women had prepared an earthen oven and began excavating it shortly after we arrived. They removed a layer of palm fronds, then hot rocks, more palm fronds, more rocks, and then after the final layer of fronds, we finally beheld the taro and pig parts. The men were busy making the kava. They had conical tools made of coral that they've chiseled with stone (truly a stone age culture) to resemble teeth of a gear so as to make the rasping of the kava more efficient. One hand twists the tool while the other forces the meat of the root unto it, as it's reduced to a pulpy mass. It falls into a wooden bowl and they add water and mix with a high powered electrical blender (Not really, they mix by hand you numpty. This is the part they used to do by mastication. That means chewing and spitting. Thank god they don't do that anymore). They then strain it repeatedly thru the husk of a palm tree. It's tantamount to nature's cheese cloth. It worked perfectly. I could probably filter my diesel through that bark. As the male guest, I was offered the first coconut shell full of the greenish brown elixir. The crushing stupor was quick to follow. John drank his next and within 10 minutes we made eye contact from across the dirt floor. He gave me the eyebrow-rising-head-shake that universally means "Dude, I am wasted." He's a native and he was grilling his melon, can you imagine what it did to me? I can only say that the effect reminded me of college. It was as if I'd ripped way too many bongs and knew I'd be skipping every class.

Even without the frost that was encroaching on my consciousness, I thought the string band was one of the most interesting things I've witnessed in Vanuatu. The drink amplified the bizarre performance. It consists of 1 ukulele (it starts every song), 4 guitars, and one bass. Now let me explain what I am calling a bass: It's a wood box about 2 feet high and one foot square. Out of the center of the top comes a rope. That rope is tied to one end of a stick. The other end of the stick is wedged into a brace that is built into a corner of the box. The player puts 1 leg on the top of the box, pushes the rope away from him by using the stick and plucks the rope. He adjusts the tension on the rope as he plucks and thus alters the pitch of the bass. Ingenious! Then there's the singing. It's a cross between what a cat would sound like if you stood on its tail and the "Soggy Bottom Boys".

Vanuatu has turned out to be the primitive village experience we were hoping for. Their standard of living is 100 years behind Fiji. It's easy to tell that some of these pikinnis haven't seen many whites. No one can fake that expression of astonishment mixed with fear. The homes they live in look like they came directly from the set of Gilligan's Island. They're nothing more than woven bamboo shacks with palm frond roofs, but the job they've done of weaving designs into the wall paneling is fantastically ornate. Ditto for the bags everyone, men included, carry over their shoulders. They're lovely people. They have nothing and are eager to give. On some of the islands, that's how you get to be chief; throwing lavish parties to redistribute your wealth. It's called "taking grades" and is similar to the NW American Indians and their potlatches (Another US Indian similarity is in the pidjin English that the natives here use, and how it sounds to my ear like the syntax I used to hear in Flagstaff: "me wannem big heap smashed potatoes"). I'd spend more time with these people except for 2 reasons - 1.) Let's face it; they are the island equivalent of uneducated hillbillies. 2.) They stink worse than the Czechs. (However, Prague still holds the world record for "most waiters with b.o.")

The conversations are short because . . . well, their worlds are microscopic. I thought I ran out of things to say to the beach dudes back in SD, but it happens faster here. Every conversation follows roughly this outline: Agriculture, clan hierarchy, what to trade, and then we go back to agriculture. Sometimes you get a little superstition thrown in, but that's a complete dead-end. Further questions on that topic all wrap up quickly with, "It's our kastom."

I was told by Samsam that they only need money for kerosene, clothes, and soap. They might need it for those 3 things but empirical evidence proves they are only spending it on kerosene. The clothes never change so even if they wash with soap (not likely) they're still going to reek. And god do they reek. 3rd World Reek - new band name.

Then there are the runny noses on the kids and the communal lice picking from their afros. I think what we're beginning to see, are the first stages of real poverty. Now I feel like an asshole.

I'd like to tell you about the Land Diving at Pentecost Island. This is where the wire haired freaks jump off towers of scaffolding with vines tied to their ankles. Insane. However, this dispatch is long enough. It'll be on the next one.

Your Ugly American,

Bobby

P.S. / Suzi has posted a lot of new pics at http://www.suziroberts.co.uk/

The Volcano

There are few things I've experienced that have absolutely taken my breath away. Standing at the rim of an active volcano and peering over the lip (that could collapse at any time) was beyond awe inspiring. We could see the molten red lava slosh upward, and hear it pound on the rocks around it, sounding just like waves crashing on a beach. Deliciously terrifying. That immense gaping maw with the white smoke that bellowed out and temporarily obscured the far rim made it seem otherworldly, verging on the brink of evil. I heard my lips push out a sound like I was punched in the stomach. That is literally what they mean when they say, "It took my breath away." "Wow", and "Oh my god" were the only words I heard anyone repeat for the next few minutes. Our native guides stood close by, I imagine they were prepared to grab us if we fainted. 5 billion years old and the core is still molten rock. Being this close to it reminds one of just how thin the mantle we stand upon truly is. There is something within the human psyche that craves fear. It's why amusement parks and ski resorts can charge $100 for a day pass. The ocean does it to me regularly and now the earth itself has shocked me into seeing how small and finite I am. It's a beautifully humbling experience. My suggestion to you: Seek it out.

Before I left on this trip, I, and the world famous "Monkey Brothers", climbed the highest peak in the 48 lower States; Mt. Whitney in CA. It was a 3 day exercise in suffering. This climb was 11 hours of the same. For the last 3 hours of down climbing I was in excruciating pain and last night Suzi moaned in agony at regular intervals. Today we are hobbled, yet proud and enriched. Tomorrow we'll be fine, and we'll sail to the island of Pentecost where the natives perform a ritual we call, "Land Diving." You've seen pictures on "Ripley's Believe It Or Not". This is where they tie vines to their ankles and jump off enormous towers of scaffolding to crash into the softened earth below.

What an amazing window on the world this cruise has been.

Bob

P.S./ I was asked a question about my last dispatch. I apologize if my response is boring and technical. It's attached below if you are interested.

VMG - It stands for velocity made good. SOG is speed over ground. VMG computes the speed I am making relative to my target waypoint. SOG is merely the speed the satellites are tracking me at.

Example - My target waypoint is 100 nm due north. If I was sailing at exactly 360 degrees and SOG was 5.0 knots then my VMG would also be 5.0 knots. However, if I crack off 20 degrees for comfort and my speed stays the same my VMG will no doubt drop. In other words: I might still be moving at 5.0 knots, but I'm not moving in exactly the correct direction at 5.0 knots, so my VMG is less than my SOG (the computer has a program for computing this). Flip side of the coin: If I crack off 20 degrees to increase speed it's possible that as my SOG increases to, let's say 8.0 knots, my VMG might actually rise above the 5.0 knots I was doing even though I'm 20 degrees off course. This later point is less probable the closer to the target I am.

Hope that helps.

Havannah Harbor

We moved around Pango Point in 35 knots of wind. I don't think we'll ever get another easy sail. The trades are mighty this year. We were in the process of anchoring when a local named "Bill" zipped over in his launch and told us to use the big gray mooring. "Boss man catamaran is outawata. It wan bigfala. You live there plenty ok." We did as we were told. The next day our new best friend Nelson paddled over in his handmade dugout canoe. With the exception of a few nails it was made of all natural materials, nightmare to paddle though. I traded him a paint brush for a bag of lemons and I threw in the mineral spirits for free. He lives on 1 island and farms his plot on another, so he crisscrosses this channel everyday. This is Havannah Harbor. It's where the US parked its huge battle wagons during WW2. His grandfather remembers the war and has told Nelson good things about the Americans. Nelson showed us where the TV show "Survivor" held their "Tribal Council Meetings". He didn't quite understand the rules of the game show with its 2 tribes and contestants competing to be the last person thrown off the island. It sounded goofy as hell to a native, but he agreed with his grandfather that the Americans are good and generous people. It's nice to come to a place where people finally like us!!! He came back later after collecting veggies and stayed to eat the lemon cake Suzi had made. It became clear after a while that he wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon, so we set him up with his local newspaper in the cockpit, topped him off with refreshments, and as he read out loud, we went back to completing our chores. He finished the paper and then wandered around checking on us. It was really quaint how comfy everyone was with each other. We kayaked to shore and then snorkeled off the reef. All the while, he paddled his outrigger next to us making sure we were alright and that all our questions were answered. When you make a friend in the SPac, you really make a friend. I knew this from my months in Fiji. I printed out a picture Suzi had taken of him and me earlier and gave it to him. Nelson Parro our first friend in Vanuatu.

That night we ran the generator and the ice machine. After shutting it off, we had cocktails, and watched a movie in the cockpit beneath a night sky of black velvet. The stars so bright you could almost hear them.

I bought $200 worth of duty free booze back in Port Vila. The customs officer came out to the boat and packed up the hootch. Then he put his royal stickers all over it. We can't open the box until we depart Vanuatu waters. There's the rub. I stare longingly at the box, knowing that, inside, the Southern Comfort 100 proof needs me too.

Port Vila is a city worth leaving. It's overwhelmingly ex-pat and full of the same old people I keep running into. The Au Bon Marche grocery store is rather amazing though. Where ever the French have ruled, they leave their 2 hour lunch breaks and excellent selection of cheese and meats behind. I don't pick on the French or power boaters any more. I like them both. And the open air market will blow your mind. The vendors come from all over Efate and even other islands. They set up on a Monday morning and stay 24 hours a day until it all sells or Sunday rolls around, whichever comes first. You can wake them up at midnight and buy a pamplemousse. They'll be sleeping on a mat next to their taro and husked coconuts. Fascinating how different lives can be.

I recruited a couple of Scandinavians and we went off in search of kava. I'd been told throughout my whole time in Fiji that the Vanuatu kava is a crippler. And it was. 3 bowls later the stupor was around my neck like an ascot. I felt flush and nearly nauseous. It was nothing over powering, or physically debilitating, but definitely stronger than the Fiji waka. A strong serenity was forced upon me. I'm aware those are contradictory terms. I would imagine, that taken to it's logical extreme, kava would end in a peaceful coma, or maybe a Parkinson's disease freeze out, in which you are imprisoned in your own body. . . but in a good way. I better try it again. I'll let you know. 2 things that were absolutely better and worse than drinking kava in Fiji: 1.) Better - You get your own bowl. 2.) Worse - the savages hawk and spit everywhere.

"Released because the police are fed-up with having to recapture"

We're sailing comfortably in 1 foot swells making 4 knots in 9 knots of wind speed. Sure, we're 30 degrees off course but I can keep the sails full and our VMG is only a knot off of our SOG. We'll gibe at midnight. This is heaven. I guess we can still get lucky on passages. It's been 7 hours of these conditions, so I have every hope it will continue for the next 15 until we get there. We're headed to Ambrym in the northern islands. It's a double headed volcano. I'll bet it'll be something worth writing about.

Your man on point,

Bobby

Ah . . . The New Hebrides

What are the New Hebrides? That's Vanuatu baby! This island chain was ruled by a succession of foreign governments. French, Brits, and then with WW2, the Americans came in and built real roads, deep water ports, and airstrips. That gave rise to one of the most interesting aspects of this exotic locale: The Cargo Cult.

Turns out the locals witnessed first hand the immense production capabilities of the mighty USofA. They watched as tons and tons of cargo arrived daily. Trucks drove out of airplanes and Coca-Cola was stacked in piles taller than the chiefs house. It was overwhelming for these primitive people. When the war ended and the Yanks packed up and left, the cargo dried up. They did the math, and reckoned that if they made wharfs and landing strips, and stood around like soldiers with fake wooden guns, then the cargo would come back. They're still waiting. When asked about the waiting period, one believer said, "How long have the Christians been waiting? It's only been 60 years for us."

2nd most interesting fact: They speak Bislama. That's pidgin English. There are only 200,000 Ni-Vanuatu (what the people are called) and they are very isolated from each other on their different islands and secluded villages. Hence, they speak a myriad of languages and can't understand each other. Somehow, English won out, and they adopted it as their national language, but not the English we speak. Check out these examples:

"Long God yumi stanap" - "In God we stand" You see this one everywhere. Money, buildings, everywhere
"Lukim yu afta, tata" - "See you later, goodbye"
"Tank yu tumas" - "Thank you very much"
"Wannem taim plen i fall down?" - "What time does the plane arrive?"
"Mi laikem" - "I like it"

And my personal favorites (remember, "blong" means "of". As in "belong"):
Eagle - bigfala brown pijin
Dawn - taim san i kamup
Unconscious - ded
Dead - ded finis
Spear gun - muskat blong solwata
Snorkel - paep blong pullem wind
Too fat - fatfat tumas
Too skinny - bonebone tumas
Womb - basket blong pikinini

Eve Mecham was the governor of Arizona and was impeached for many reasons, but one was that he referred to a little black kid as a cute pikinini. Here they say it all the time. Perfectly acceptable, and man are their pikininis cute.

See if you can figure these out:

Piano - i gat tith, sam i waet, sam i blak
Violin - yu scratchem belli i kri

They look like pygmy Fijians. They seem more reserved. No big "Bula!" upon meeting them. That's ok - their goofy pidgin English keeps me laughing nonstop.

We ended that damn passage early on the morning of the 5th. I was prepared to come into the bay in the dark since I didn't want to hold off and wait for the sun to come up. It seemed very straight forward but all of sudden there was a flashing red light right in front of us that wasn't on my charts. We stood off in 25 knot winds with boarding seas just powering into it for 2 long hours. Sometimes everything sucks and you just need it to end. We were spent, and 4 days of sleep deprivation makes you do stupid things. After we got the anchor down in the quarantine zone and passed inspection, I pushed the button on the throttle to disengage the tranny so I could rev the engine to pump up the amps that I would need to lift the anchor with the power sucking windlass. So stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. That goddamn button sticks and I know better, but again, my head was on overtime and all synaptic nerves were sleep and food starved. Stupid. We had to get towed to a mooring ball.

I fixed it all, and actually, it's better than ever. That button will never stick again. I changed all the fuel filters and mopped out all the water under the floorboards. Barraveigh is ready for the next slugfest. Do your worst yu freakin solwata!

Capt Bobby Bislama

Barraveigh Travelogue - Fiji to Vanuatu

It's June 1st 2008, 11:50 am. At 09:00 we pulled up our anchor at Mana island. Creola escorted us through the pass, and we motored along the western side of Malolo with 20 knots on the nose the whole way. We're still inside the protective reef and the waves have us slowed to only 2.7 knots. It's going to take another 3 hours at this rate to get out of the Momi pass. Suzi is sleeping in the cockpit. It's the first time either of us has been to sea in 7 months. Ok - we've motored out to the Mamanuca islands but nothing outside of the protected waters, and even as protected as it is in here I think the poor girl is feeling it. Strange cuz she never gets seasick. I'm about to take the Fijian courtesy flag down from the spreader. It just feels wrong. I hate saying goodbye to this country and all the friends we made. It was tough waving goodbye to Creola for the last time. They're heading to the Marshall Islands instead. A little depression mixed with a little trepidation about returning to the big blue makes for a foul mood.

Back at the marina we had a little fish that made a home in the scupper tube. He stayed in there all the way to Mana island. We've tried everything to scare him out, but the deep water has him spooked. He's a reef fish, he isn't gonna make it out in the big ocean. He better get out now, or stay all the way until Port Resolution in Vanuatu, which is where we hope to make landfall in 4 - 5 days.

It's 2pm and we just cleared the Momi pass into deep water. We're double reefed in 20 knots of wind on the beam and making 7 knots of speed.

There's a fear that eats in my gut. It's that'll I'll spend so long in harbor that I'll forget how to sail. That I won't remember how to navigate. That I'll screw up and sink my boat. All these fears and landslides of confidence haunt me. You look at a map and you see an innocuous outline of the continents. I look at the same map and I see a chart of all the life threatening waters and reefs I have to navigate to complete this mad dream of mine. My god it's an enormous blue marble. The distances are so far and my boat is so small. It scares the hell out of me. Then I take a deep breath. I focus on how far I've come. I steel my nerves and I push myself back out into the unknown and cast my lot to the big salty. There's still a fear about what to do if the conditions quickly worsen but for now, at this moment, this feels pretty good. I let my tension ease. I'm out here again. I'm a sailor in command of my ship. Barraveigh seems to know what to do, and fortunately, it's coming back to me too. It's muscle memory. The body knows what line to grab, how to work the winch, when to cleat and clutch. We're going to be fine. It's going to be a fast wet ride though. The swells are rolling us over quite far.

It's 450 miles to Port Resolution.

June 3rd 10:30 am. I just changed course to head for Port Vila on the island of Efate instead of Port Resolution on the island of Tanna. After looking at the charts and the wx report, I've decided Res won't be a safe anchorage with these strong SE winds. Suzi is completely dejected. We now have 2 more nights of this and have added another 70 miles to the passage.

The gap in this travelogue is due to severe sea state. The first day out we thought about turning back. It was rough and Suzi was very sick. At this point we've reclaimed our sealegs. Let's just forget that June the 2nd ever took place. We're doing 6.8 knots in 20 knots of wind on the stern. The seas are 10 -12 feet and occasionally breaking. They look like monster puppies running around crashing into each other with the errant large guy trying to jump into the cockpit, and succeeding. We're running a course of 270, that's due west. We have 247 miles to go.

It's 9:00 am on the morning of the 4th. We are 103 miles from Port Vila. It's like living in a virtual sailboat simulator. No wait - this is all real. Nothing is broken but the boat is a mess. No ripped sails, no missing fuel jugs (almost), nor leaks, but we live in our foulies and everything is salt damp. Our appetites are just now starting to come back. We're having a greasy hair competition and I'm sporting a beard. The people at quarantine aren't going to enjoy our olfactory gifts I'm afraid.

And so we have begun Leg 3 of Barraveigh's circumnavigation. Here's the itinerary: The month of June in Vanuatu, the month of July in the Solomon Islands, the month of Aug in PNG, and entering Indo waters on the north side of Irian Jaya Sept 1. I think we'll do 3 months in Indo. That puts us in Bali near the end of Oct, and ending the year in Malaysia or Thailand depending on how much we like Malaysia. The plan now is to meander around those same waters for all of 2009, maybe even make it over to Cambodia and Vietnam.

One more bouncy night and we should be in port. Enjoy your stationary, stable existences because gravity isn't treating us kindly at the moment.

Capt Bob

Fiji Wrap Up

My visa is good for only 9 more days. The time to leave is upon us. Let me say right here that I will return to the island nation of Fiji some day. It's the best I've seen so far and my decision to stay here for 6 months was the correct one. I really love Fiji.

As usual, it's the people who make an exceptional experience fantastic, and Fiji is populated by the most gentle people in the world (the Indians 45%), and the most friendly (the Fijians 55%). It's as if the Fijians have a score card that they review at the end of the day, "How many people did you say Bula to today?" "Let's see - 38." "Ha, I win." It's as if they have a happy gene and they just have to smile. Now that I'm a short timer and am about to leave, I literally have to avert my eyes and cross the street so I don't make any more friends. They are just excellent people. The Indians are more demure but highly personable. I never say "Bula" to an Indian, always "namaste" or "RomRom". The fact that I use Hindi instead of Fijian makes their faces beam. Then when I hit them with a "Phir Melange" (until we meet again), it blows their mind and they won't let me leave. I've never been anywhere in the world where such poor people give so much.

One of the reasons Fiji is so great is because the citizens are unsophisticated capitalists. They don't know about add on, or upgraded sales (i.e. "Would you like some fries with that burger?"). That makes for more trusting business exchanges because they don't start their offer with the low-end product only to switch once you've been baited. There aren't extended warranties, or service plans or "gold package" offers. Simple straight commerce, it's a nice change. Plus - they didn't get television here until 1991 so that probably makes them better people too.

Here's how Fiji got its name: Hundreds of years ago the natives called their island Viti. When Captain Cook was in the Tongan Islands he asked the savages there, what the islands to their west were called. Now the Tongans can't make a "V" or a "T" sound. So Cook picked the absolute worst word for them to pronounce. It came out "Feegee". Or at least that's what Cook heard, so when Cook wrote about "Veetee", he referred to it as "Feegee", or as we know it today; Fiji. The "Vitians" quit trying to correct the world long ago and are now resigned to the name Fiji. But just so you know - the real name is Viti and in private, that's how they refer to themselves and their islands.

My first thoughts upon arrival in a new country are always the same: "Do these people seem easy to smile?" "What's the money look like?" "How much is a beer?" Here in Fiji the coins are manageable and the denominations are practical. I still remember the stupid mass of Mexican coinage that would build up in my pocket daily. The weight never equaled the value. Smaller coins were worth more, silver cost more than gold. That's not right. Fiji's coins mimic the English, right down to the Queen. As for the easy smiles - that's a currency Fiji is rich in. Those beaming teeth are a great welcome to this country and I'll miss it for a long time. I'll bet Vanuatu is pretty good too.

We are currently swinging on a mooring ball at Musket Cove off the island of Malolo Lailai. Today is Suzi's 3rd day of PADI training for her open water dive certification. It's nice to be out of the marina but we'll be returning again for our final provisioning and repairs, before blasting off for the 3rd leg of this circumnavigation.

Stay tuned,

Capt Bob

The Scalpel

Apparently, I love hospitals. I can't seem to stay away.
The mole showed up about a month ago and it itched. Not a good sign. If you have to be diagnosed with cancer, basal cell carcinoma is the least dangerous strain. I used to joke that when I caught it, I'd just metastasize into a complete cancer and live forever. Funny how cancer jokes no longer seem humorous when I'm losing sleep night after night fixating on that word; "metastasize". I do have to admit that for awhile, in the midst of my gloom, sunsets did seem more beautiful and the meals tasted better. Then I realized I was going to live and everything went back to normal.
Dr. Nandan was the 1st doctor and he just said, "Cancer. Get it to the lab to see what kind." "Gee thanks doc. I'm sure I'll sleep well tonight." A couple days later I was down in Suva getting a second opinion from the dermatologist, a Dr. Meciusela Tuicakau. He was 6' 4" without the afro, and had sausage fingers. He said it was basal cell carcinoma. My dad died of cancer, but before he did, he said small hands were a quality you want in a doctor. At the hospital I picked Dr. Yi Pan as the surgeon. He was 5'4" with tiny lady hands. The only words I could understand him say were "basal cell carcinoma", but I liked those dainty digits. The whole drama turned out to be "sanga na langa", that's Fijian for "no problem". Dr. Pan cut it out and sent it to the lab. Then the wait began. The pictures will be on line soon for you sickos.
Now get this - after all that hand wringing, it turns out it was just a benign skin legion. Nothing scary at all. Cancer Free! They'll be no 10 k named after me. This is the one dispatch that I'm pleased to write up with an anticlimactic ending.

So now it's back to work as usual.

Capt Bob - working on my tan - Friedman

The Americans!

Apologies for the delay but Bobby has had me chained to the boat making mosquito nets for all the hatches & sewing more pockets!!

Actually if I’m honest, writing this is not something that has been easy to do. Being a Brit, plus the fact I don’t know many of you, its been a little hard to openly “take the piss” so bear with my British sarcasm & take it all with a pinch of salt ; )

Like Bobby I’m making my disclaimer at the beginning- very American! These are my observations of Bobby & his fellow American cruisers. It will not encompass you all & I’m fully aware Bobby is his own species!! Some have been confirmed by my fellow countrymen & women, whilst others were discovered after big disagreements in the early days, before finally working out they boiled down to cultural differences…. now we just argue but at least we know why!! ; )


The Yanks

1. Americans don’t do subtle. It has to be in your face. Bobby wanted a flag for the boat. Does he buy one in proportion to the size of the flag pole? No, its extra big & almost the size of the sails!

2. Meat is necessary in EVERY meal & not just a little meat. A whole pig must be placed between two slices of bread to make a ham sandwich (for those of you that know Bobby, this is then followed by an entire bottle of American mustard). It will be interesting to see how Bobby survives next year as we have no tinned (canned for you yanks) chicken & the corned beef over here is pretty bad so after a few days out at sea we will be out of meat.

3. They require loads of praise when something has been achieved. A quick pat on the back, “well done old chap” will not suffice. I have resorted to following my “Well done” with a “Was that enough?” Equally, I run & hide if he starts giving more compliments than I, the stiff upper lipped Brit, require.

4. When speaking about a person, who is in their presence, to a third person, Americans will refer to that person as “she” or “he”. Brits deem this as rude & the phrase “Who am I? The cats mother?” is often repeat to us as children to ensure we use the persons name.

5. Americans do not say “Please”. They ask for something (without saying please), they receive it & then they say “thank you”. We Brits are over polite, we say please & thank you. Can you see how the arguments began!! ; )

6. Life revolves around food. I’m not sure how much of this is down to Bobby who will eat every hour of the day & drives me up the wall, or cruisers who discuss where they can buy certain foods. One thing I know for sure is that it doesn’t mater whether you are from the east or west coast you are all hooked on your Mexican food & discussions about Mexican restaurants & the last time you ate Mexican food continue all night!

7. You love your sports & are very competitive but you are not so gracious when it comes to losing. We the Brits, can pride ourselves in being good sports, but I feel this maybe as a result of having much more experience with loss, especially due to our National football (soccer) teams. Bobby’s way of ensuring he doesn’t lose is to only play games that he is likely to win, if I start winning - we are no longer allowed to play!

8. We love people watching & guessing what countries they come from. Spotting the American is pretty easy. It’s a cliché but true, your white trainers & baseball hats stand out a mile, although the Ozzies are giving you a run for your money.

It has been fun to see how the British can transform themselves after a couple of hundred years on their own continent & you have done quite well. (was that enough praise??!!)

Suzi – the English Rose

The English

Back in 1991 I lived in Britain for 3 months. One of my first memories is a sign permanently tiled into the wall of a restaurant next to the entrance. It read, “No Prams Allowed.” I thought to myself, “These Brits are very open about their racism. Now who the hell are the Prams?” Turns out, a pram is a baby stroller and the Brits are really rather tolerant. What’s it like living with an English girl? I know it’s completely unlike me, but I’ve compiled a list. I’m not sure how many of the following observations are based on gender differences or Suzi oddities, but I’m going to go with the broad generality that they encompass all British people worldwide.

1. When walking on a crowded street they want to swerve to the left and I to the right.
2. They hate to admit their wrong. “Oh yea – well that would work too.”
3. They believe that if your stomach gets cold you will catch diarrhea – Once you have it, forget the proper meds, just don’t eat for 24 hours.
4. They leave soap bubbles on the dishes after they wash them. They don’t believe a final rinse is beneficial. This is probably the real reason they have diarrhea.
5. They don’t gush. Stiff upper lip and all. “Good job. Well done.” That’s the most you will get in the name of a compliment.
6. They like high calorie food because it helps with survival when you come from a frozen island. Here in the tropics, it just puts the pounds on a person.
7. Their women (Suzi, her friends & family excluded) have more bird faces than any other nation. I don’t even use the word “Britain”. I refer to it as “The Island of Bird Faced Women”
8. They make great tv shows. Do yourself a favor and watch the following: Extras, The Office, Life on Mars
9. They have refined their language into inaudible murmurs. They are the only people on the planet who can whisper & mumble at the same time. It’s either that, or the shrill chicken accent, which will drive you to put an ice pick in your ears. They invented the language, the Scots screwed it blue and we perfected it. Very rarely do English speakers of any nation say that they can’t understand the Yanks. That’s not so for the rest of our English speaking cousins.
10. They leave room for the letter "r", they just don't pronounce it.

Here are some translations:

1. “Pants” means “Bad”
2. “Trousers” are “Pants”
3. “Phaff” or “Palava” means “Hassle”
4. “Jammy” means “Lucky”
5. A “Numpty” is an “Idiot”
6. “Got the ‘ump”, “the strop” or “being narky” means “being moody”
7. “A Sirrup” is “A Wig”
8. “Chav” means “Tacky”
9. When something is “Naff” it means it’s “No good”
10. “Tatt” is “Junk”
11. “Dappy” means “A bit clumsy”
12. They never say “The hospital” it’s just “Hospital”
13. If you are “Poorly” it means you are “not feeling well”
14. They say “Leads”, we say “Cables” or “Cords”
15. “Catarrh” is “Flem” – no joke, I actually saw that on a box of cold medicine
16. “Yonks” means “A long time”
17. “Squwiff” means “Askew, curvy, not straight”
18. “Bubble and Squeak” means “Left over food”
19. “Porkies” are “Lies”
20. “Squiffy” means “Tipsy” – Careful, it’s easy to confuse this one with “Squwiff”
21. “Pips” are “Seeds”
22. If something is “Pete Tong”, that means it’s “All screwed up” – this is one of my favs but I think it derives from Cockney rhyming slang.

I’m guessing Microsoft has to use a very different dictionary in their Word program so that the above words aren’t underlined in red. Remember, I’ve been accruing these from Suzi for more than a year, and new ones still pop up. I don’t know who said it but it’s true that “We are 2 cultures divided by a common language.”

Now go out and find a narky Brit who’s poorly and take them to hospital. Be careful that the chav numpty doesn’t spit in a squwiff manner and get catarrh on your trousers. That would be pants because you might become poorly and then everything would be Pete Tong for yonks. What a right palava that would be!

- American Bob -

The Return of the Blonde

My friend & neighbor from SD, Todd Girouard was just here for 2 weeks with his girlfriend, and I learned something. If you follow the arc of the characters on this odyssey that you’ve been reading for the last 2 years, maybe I don’t shine through as a hero. I think I’m fine with that. It would actually be a far more interesting plot line. Maybe the emerging hero is Suzi. Maybe she’s a girl who pulled through the English caste system to overcome a horrendous family tragedy and embark on this personal challenge beyond anything most would dare. Now that I see it in words, it’s true. With the exception of the “black cari years”, my life has been a rather charmed one and because of that, my character arc isn’t nearly as interesting as Suzi’s. Her sister was killed by the sea and 6 months later she crosses the largest ocean on the planet. Now that’s a story worth reading. Todd’s boss’ wife made this apparent as she can’t get enough of Suzi’s website.

She’ll be returning to Barraveigh on Feb 29th after 4 months off for bad behavior. Let me explain-

Everything dies a premature death on an ocean going sailboat: electronics, rigging, relationships, everything. The stresses, the confined spaces, the life threatening situations, It’s like living inside a pin cushion. And the ocean just rubs salt in your wounds. A life in motion on a blue water cruiser accelerates the demise of everything. 2007 was a tough year. We fought a lot.

And then we took 4 months off. Perspectives change, blame shifts, the earth dries and gives way beneath heels that have dug in. Emails begin to be exchanged, followed by brief phone calls, and then longer phone calls. The sweetness gradually returns. Slowly, I find a way to give this a 2nd chance.

In the immortal words of Leonard Cohen, “Maybe there’s a god above, but all I ever learned from love, is how to shoot somebody who out drew ya.” I, like everyone else that calls Earth home, am dysfunctional in my own majestically flawed ways. It’s the ugly that makes us interesting, maybe even attractive. I’m nowhere near perfect, but I like myself (a lot), and that puts me a leg up. Let me tell you something else I’ve learned -

As the captain of a ship, everything is ultimately my fault. It’s incredibly empowering to know complete personal responsibility. Since I and I alone, am held totally accountable, it forces me to confront problems differently. This wasn’t marketing’s fault. The lost contract wasn’t due to production not shipping on time. I can’t blame personnel for bad hires. I am resigned to perfecting my circumstance. I look for the zen in patching my dinghy. I find the sublime in chiseling the barnacles off my rudder. I blame myself for mismanaging a relationship.

Suzi, our returning hero, will be back aboard in 3 days. 2008 will be an enormous year. We’ll sail to Vanuatu, The Solomon Islands, Papua New Guinea, Indonesia, Malaysia, and end the year in Thailand. We’ll eat orangutans, dive WW2 shipwrecks, find lost tribes, dodge pirates and navigate uncharted waters. And of course, there’s always the odd row or 3.

Wish us luck,

Captain Bob Friedman

I Live In Fiji

Morning: If you really want to get an insight to the working economy of any country – take the early bus. That means public transportation. Forget taxis. Taxi can only teach you where the hookers and drugs are. Make sure you catch the earliest bus possible. Then you can see the proletariat at its best, instead of at the end of the day when they’re filthy and grumpy and tired. The early bus will put your finger right on the pulse of the workforce. What’s the age range? What type of work do they do? Is it only men or equally mixed? How many hours do they work? Is the bus packed? What’s the attitude? It’s a great way to get a ground view of the place you find yourself in. My new favorite past time here in Fiji is riding a bus around, sitting in the back, & staring at the afros. Oh – and read the local paper. That’s usually not an option in foreign nations but English is the national language in Fiji. 

Midday: Global sailing is beginning to reveal to me its schedule of motion vs. repair. It seems I sail about 8 months and then repair Barraveigh for 4. I guess that’s an acceptable ratio. Even the repair months are peppered with adventure and cultural learning’s. It’s forced me to learn Spanish in Panama and some Hindi and Fijian here. These months, when I’m not entertaining visiting US dignitaries (Mom, Brother, Todd G, Nash and their girlfriends) I spend the days repairing and making alterations to my boat. Somewhere after the first year, I learned to stop throwing things away. I’ve activated this “handy gene” within myself that I never even knew I had. For the most part, I can now keep this boat running with my own skills and the things I used to pitch. 

Evening: 240 volts snake their way past my A/C unit, tumble down the companionway stairs, and take a U-turn through my very expensive (borrowed) 3000 watt transformer. The high pitched, almost inaudible whine is music to American ears. When most of the rest of the world is 240 volts (Hurts like hell when you get zapped. I expected to see my fingers on the wall), we in the US of A run 110. The newly converted 110 volts then climb back up my stairs, takes a run thru the cockpit to the shore power plug-in and gives me endless electricity delivered in a form that is so irresistibly simple, docile to use, and dastardly veiled that I make the link nearly daily. They only charge for it, if they catch you using it (however, they only check at exactly 2 am. I was tipped off by the security guard in exchange for a $6 backpack. It’s a weird country). I have so much power that I run my radar while slipped in the marina just cuz I like the green glow that the screen throws off into the cabin at night. That emerald hue, coupled with the red from the chart plotter (ha! It pulls a paltry 3 amps) turns my living quarters into a nightclub affair. Disco Barraveigh! I dare you to resist my play list. 

The drinking has already begun and I have a karaoke machine. 

 Pathetic in Fiji, Bobby

Subjects for Your Next Poem

The following numbered items are random notations I’ve made while in Fiji. I can’t seem to incorporate them into a cohesive email to you, so I’ve come up with what I hope will be a fun exercise instead - I encourage all of you to write a poem based on any of the following subjects. Or multiple poems if you get your flow going (Randy – this was built for you!). Send it to me – Just me, and I will compile them. 

1.) Occasionally you see swastikas but you must remember that the Indians were using it long before Hitler added his evil stigma to the insignia. 

2.) Third World Pawnshop – sounds like a band name. There is one here in Lautoka and if it wasn’t so depressing it would be slightly humorous. The obsolete objects on the barren shelves make one inhale and cringe. 

3.) Fiji - It’s like being in India with Africans walking around. 

4.) All movies are submitted to the Cannes Film Festival. Somehow, someone copies them and they end up on the black market. I’m watching 1st run movies for $1. That’s not the price of the rental – I own it for $1. 

5.) One of my waitresses looked like an Indian Betty Boop.

6.) A word to those who want to do this trip but can’t make themselves give up their slip: All you have to do is leave. It’s the hardest part. Believe me. I’m speaking from experience and my fellow cruisers agree. Just give up your slip, and the rest will happen out of necessity .

7.) Here in Fiji when they want to get your attention they make extremely loud kissing noises. You hear it all over town. Try it. Get into character by telling yourself you’re a construction working hanging off the 2nd floor, looking down at the office ladies going to lunch. When you get the sound right, the vibration gives your lips a tickle, just like that time when you were 12 and you hit the correct note on the saxophone. 

Now it's your turn to start writing. Hopefully you learned a little something and, in turn, you get to be a little creative. Hey - this is fun! 

Your Life Coach, 

Bobby

Right About Now

By now you should be sick of hearing that I have endless ice cubes, air-conditioning, and gallons of surplus rum I smuggled into Fiji. What you don’t know is that due to my brother’s unnatural obsession with protein, I’m also well stocked with canned tuna that he left behind. In addition – you generous readers have fortified me with hundreds of hours of DVDs that weighed in at over 11 pounds (that doesn’t even include the round of silicon that the Dunbars sent direct. Think about that Farber. And yea, I weighed it, so what?) If you’ve done the math, then you can probably visualize the picture that is Barraveigh, on the evening of Jan 19 2008. I sit reclined, fully wacked on Abuelo rum, watching season 1 of Arrested Development (Steve Holt!), dripping mayo and tuna on my sweatshirt, while outside, the cyclone beats the heat down to a paltry 95 degrees. It was a splendid month of family. In addition to the tuna cans and gray t-shirts he left behind, Skinny also bequeathed me a karaoke machine complete with 2 microphones. Yep – I’ve got a karaoke machine and I live on a boat. That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. But, it makes for a great story. You can tell your children about a man the savages called “Guy Smiley” who sailed around the world with a karaoke machine. Am I even spelling that correctly? 

My mom was here too. We really should have our own sitcom. She could only get on and off the boat during mid tides and with much assistance. During high and low tides we ferried her from the quay staircase to the port side of Barraveigh using the dinghy of the cement boat next door (who would make a boat out of cement?). She would repeat aloud the process of getting onto my boat as she performed the maritime cirque du soleil. “Face the opening, step on the gray seat, turn around and sit down.” God she’s precious. During her last night, with the coming of the storm, she was sure we were sinking and woke me numerous times. One of my last enduring visions of her was watching her standing tip toed, peering out the window at that dinghy, as I proved to her that we weren’t lower than it. It was a childlike fascination that flooded her face in that gentle light and made her appear to be a kid stealing a hopeful glance at Santa Claus. I love that lady. 

The following is her favorite experience while here in Fiji, retold with the magic of the internet. You can’t order this through K-Tel: 

She rented a car for her 2 boys and we drove all around for 4 days. At the slightest prospect of picking up a hitchhiker we pulled over. It was our destiny to pick up every and all hitchhikers. In fact, the destination was secondary to the number of hitchhikers we could pick up. Actually – the majority of the people we forced into accepting a ride were never hitchhiking to begin with. We just “smiled” them into that Toyota with 133,000 miles and the steering wheel on the wrong side (every driving session began with mom and I repeating aloud, “drive on the left side, drive on the left side, drive on the left side”. The impulse to migrate onto the right side is overwhelming. You don’t even want to hear about round-abouts). We picked up 3 teenage Fijians with bigger smiles than ours. Upon dropping them off the eldest said, “As a thank you for your kindness for driving us, we would like to invite you to our village tomorrow at noon. We can have lunch on the beach.” His name was “Beese”, and we showed up right on time. He took us to his parents’ house where we presented ½ a kilo of kava, a pineapple, and 2 cartons of cookies. They hacked open coconuts and we passed around the orbs as his father made a prayer in our name. 

The only word we understood was “America”. Beese’s mother Mary toured us around the village and explained the different bures. Then we sat on a communal mat under some shade and the village youngsters sang us one of their native songs. Mom returned the favor and we left shortly after. It was rich experience and I’m so glad I was able to share it with my brother and mother. She’s right to name that day as a highlight. Their gone now, and I miss them both severely. I’m going to pour a double, listen to the clink of ice cubes drown out the howling winds, and raise my glass to family. Join me. 

Your man on point, 

Capt Bob

Jan 2008

My mom and brother are here visiting me. I’ve told them first hand, the story that I am now going to relate to you. It’s a “big time near miss” and I didn’t want them to hear it from anyone but me. 

Suzi and I were in Suva, which is the capital of Fiji and located on the southern coast. It’s an old harbor with dark muddy water, lots of discarded junk laying on the bottom and rather exposed to the southwest winds. The squall showed itself to us before the winds really built. I pointed out the black clouds to Suzi and we prepped the boat for the excitement that was to follow. By 07:30 the winds were up to 25 knots and the anchorage was bouncing us around like we were at sea. By 08:00 the winds had built to 35 knots and the seas were 8 feet and choppy as hell. I started the engine just in case we dragged. We were only about 2 football fields from the huge fishing boats that were hanging on the gigantic mooring ball behind us. The bow was bouncing up and done so violently that it wasn’t safe to go forward. 

At 08:30 I felt it. Barraveigh’s nose fell off to starboard and she began turning to face the opposite direction. That meant the anchor had broken free from the seabed. I slammed the tranny into forward and at 1800 rpms the nose turned back into the wind. I didn’t want to drive forward; I just wanted to keep up enough power to stop her from falling backwards. During some gusts I really lost ground and had to gun her to get her back to where we started. Those big fishing boats were looming just behind me and I could see them pounding up and down in these rough conditions. If I hadn’t got Barraveigh pointed forward and revved up enough to stop our slippage over ground we would be hammered in half and sunk by those monstrous ships. And if they didn’t end us, the reef just behind them would have. Thank god I have a good strong engine. 

Just then – the engine hesitated, and quit. I thought I was going to puke. “How could this be? What would stop my beloved Perkins?” Then it came to me all at once. I had a nuisance fuel leak at the throttle that I planned on fixing when we got to the marina. Since we planned on sitting at anchor for a week, I shut off the fuel line from the tank to the Perkins to reduce the drip. This whole time I was running her on borrowed minutes. The wind was now down to only 25 knots but we started drifting backwards again. “This is it. This is the day I lose it all.” Suzi popped her head up, “Why’d you shut the engine off?” “I didn’t. It died.” “Oh my god!” She took the wheel and I dove below to open the shut off valve and bleed the air from the system. “How are we doing?” I screamed, the vomit rising in my throat. “Still drifting. You gotta do something.” I tried everything but nothing worked. We got within 30 feet of the boat smashing fishing fleet when the anchor finally caught and took hold. The stern swung around and the anchor held as she straightened out. It was pure luck. We were 30 feet from the end of my dream. Just pure dumb luck. I was panting and trying not to throw up. It really rattled me, but it wasn’t over. I knew I needed to get that engine running again before the squall clocked around and hit me from another direction. I knew that anchor wasn’t properly set and if there was a wind shift I could drag out to deep water and then unto the entrance reef. I tried for an hour to bleed the air. No luck. I got my friend Ken on Spray to come over and we were once again defeated. I had one more idea. I called my friend Dan who lives on shore and has a car. “Dan – I’m in a serious situation and I need a diesel mechanic immediately. Can you get me one and bring him to the Royal Suva Yacht Club please?” What a star Dan is. He found Tesi and drove him to the yacht club ad I put that monster of a man in the dinghy and got him out to Barraveigh as fast as I could. It took a couple hours and 6 hands but we got it done. I could barely drink my celebratory beer. I over paid him and thanked him numerous times. We reset the anchor and were asleep as soon as the sun set. What a nightmare. That was over 2 months ago and I still cringe when I think about it. Captain Bob

New Zealand

It was a fairly easy sail down to New Zealand. It only took us 6.5 days. That’s what you can do in a big fast boat. We pounded her straight into the swells and some broke as far back as midship. That’s a distance of 35 feet. Those were big swells. We broke everything; the water pump – no showers or available water (We flushed the toilet with bottled water). The propane sensor – the alarm screamed continuously. The forward hatch – John had to sleep in his foulies with water pouring over him. The forward head – that meant Suzi and I had to share with 4 stinky men. The batteries were wasted – that meant hand steering during your watch. I greatly missed my autopilot. No matter, we made it and Mike completed his circumnavigation. It took him 7 years and 2 boats.

“New Zealand is not such a wide country, but she’s rather long.” This was said to me in failing light by John Gillespie, the captain’s father, just as we saw land for the first time. (I love this guy cuz he handed me the perfect rebuttal to the Euro jabs re WW2: “Well, you came in a bit late mate.” Try to dispute the war with me now you British dandies, and I’m gonna smoke you). It was delivered in an almost apologetic tone. He has nothing to apologize about. It was a lovely country and so long, in fact, that it has palm trees in the north and penguins in the south. That makes for some dramatic landscape. With it’s flora and geography, it looks like a cross between England, Norway and the Land That Time Forgot. Jurassic ferns and blooming hand grenades of burning orange punctuate the countryside’s dense forests. I have no idea what they were called but I couldn’t get enough of those, or the fiery red bottle brush trees. Here’s a bit of trivia: On the narrow side - It’s so thin in spots that Auckland is the only city in the world that occupies both coasts.

Cultural Identity: They have the Queen of England all over their money even though they call the currency “Dollars” and not “Pounds”. Hmm . . . makes you think. I reckon they want the British decency and the Yank economy. I know they think they are culturally different from either, and in the microscopic view they are, but in my mind – they’re Brits with a passing hope for good weather. I’ll share with you my developing “Continuum of Britishness” scale. It looks a little like this: Brits to one extreme side. Kiwis (New Zealanders are called Kiwis after their mascot/zoo bird. I know it’s real but even few of their own citizens have ever seen one in the wild) one inch to the right. Australians 18 inches to the right, Canadians 36 inches to the right, and Americans 72 inches to the right. Don’t get hung up on right vs. left. In this example it has no correlation. I’m just trying to show that the Yanks are very unBritish while the rest of them are more British. Not sure where the South Africans fit yet. I’ve only just perfected their accent.

The Kiwis are extremely nice and polite and generous and welcoming. I had a wonderful time. My friend (and gracious host) Graeme, thinks that there is a direct relationship between country culture and size of landmass. Kiwi’s are very similar to the English (small countries of roughly the same size), Aussies are more like Americans (big countries of roughly the same size). I think he’s on to something.

Suzi rented a car and drove us around a bit. We stayed in hostels, and for the first time in a long time we weren’t surrounded by other long haul sailors. It was an ego trip whenever we met a fellow traveler.

“So how long have you been traveling around?”
“2 years.”
“Holy cow! What, you bought an around the world ticket or something?”
“Nah – I bought a sailboat. I sailed here.”

I never get tired of that conversation. Then the circle would draw in a little tighter and we'd hold court until the scope of the trip would finally dawn on them and they'd go silent. Either that, or they'd realize we were full of ourselves and couldn't think of a polite way to get out of the conversation.

I had surgery while I was there. My finger is now straight again. The exercises feel like torture, but the mobility is coming back. Suzi was a good sport and did all the heavy lifting and back washing. The doctor told me not to use that hand for the next 6 weeks. Yea – right. “Doc, I live on a sailboat. Are you kidding me?” Consequently – I hurt it daily. The pain just gets boring.

You are probably already in love with the HBO show “Flight of the Conchords”. I think it’s magic. Kiwis have a sense of humor (I left out the u on purpose) that can be wickedly clever. I had a great time with them even if they do pronounce “Best” as “Beast” and make “Tennis” rhyme with “Penis”. My parting experience was at the airport. I had 2 bags and 1 was way over the weight limit. The nice female employee helped me shift the weight around and then she looked the other way when the scale still said I owed an extra $60. It was very kind of her. She did find one tube of flammable adhesive that she confiscated, but didn’t notice the other 3 tubes cuz her attention was fixated on the CO2 cartridges. Take note: When smuggling, always have a legal diversion or a cheap illegal diversion you are ready to relinquish.

The modern world is always a nice respite from the primitive one that I’ve chosen to live in. However, NZ has McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Mobile, KFC, and lots of strip malls. White people love to pave things. Tarmac planet. Why not!?! I’ll tell you why not; It’s ugly. Not NZ, NZ is pretty. What’s ugly is the fact that they’ve made some poor choices in what to emulate from the US of A. I think “ugly” stands on it’s own as a solid reason to rebuke convenience. Sorry – Am I preaching again?

Then I came back to Fiji.

And we had a cyclone. It had a name. Daman threatened to rip my boat apart. I busted my butt taking down everything on Barraveigh and stowing it. The cyclone turned east and wiped out another island instead. It was a good drill. Life then returned to normal. That means big plates of Tikka Masala and super cold Fijian Bitter for a grand total of $4 US. Did I mention NZ was incredibly expensive? Fiji is cheap. Cheap is good.

It feels like I’m following the Survivor television program. They did The Pearl islands of Panama, the Marquesas Islands and also Fiji. I think I might have it a little better than they did. Today I bought and installed a 9000 BTU A/C unit. It’s blowing cold air down my companionway as I type. Unlimited electricity now means air-conditioning and ice cubes. In fact, I only left the boat today to watch the 7pm movie that they project onto a big screen in a grassy area near the bar (which overlooks the sea). This is dangerous. I may never leave the marina again.

Bobby
P.S. / Please shoot me if you catch me listening to Jimmy Buffett

Vuda Point Marina

I haven't been in a marina in exactly 2 years and 3 days. This is weird. Completely still, endless fresh water, endless electricity, and my neighboring boats are inches away. The sidewalk is the highway that all residents stroll and it’s maybe 5 feet from my open front hatch. It’s now impossible to talk about my fellow cruisers without being over heard. Pros & cons, right. 

Suzi and I added a new friend, Dan to the ship’s manifest and sailed the 24 hours from Savu to Vuda Pt. No wind, then too much wind. It was the obvious last voyage before wrapping up Barraveigh so she could sit in the slip while we rush off for more adventures. 

The plans have changed once again. We were planning to fly to Australia and rent a camper van for a couple weeks. Instead, we just accepted 2 paying crew positions on a gorgeous 72 foot 1.6 million dollar yacht going to Auckland in 2 days. The skipper is a friend of mine from Panama. Part of the compensation package is a free flight out of the country. I’ll fly back to Barraveigh and Suzi will fly on to Oz for her flight to England. I never wanted to sail to New Zealand in my own boat shorthanded, but in this thing with 7 crew members – sure! We’ll then rent a camper van and tour NZ for a couple weeks. Same thing, different country. Plus, we get paid and airfare is covered. I think I’ll fly to Australia sometime in Feb or March maybe. There is every chance this is going to be a wet and wild ride. The adventure continues! 

Crewman Bob

I Love Fiji

Fiji is inexpensive, interesting, physically blessed and my new home.

The 4 day sail from Tonga to Fiji was hardly a sail at all. We only had the wind in the canvas for about 15 hours. That means the sea was flat & calm but we burnt $300 worth of diesel. That hurt a bit but I prefer it to some of the teeth grinding passages we’ve had lately. At this point, the passage making is all behind us for about 6 months. Nothing but day hops now! The only traveling I’ll be doing is island skipping and riding that big 747 to Australia (Adam M – We gonna party!)

Suzi and I are going to get this boat to the marina, belt her down for bad weather and fly to Oz. We’ll camp around in a rented van for a couple weeks and then I’ll have my hand surgery. She’ll fly back to England and I’ll return to Barraveigh. I’ll recuperate, work on the boat, island hop, drink too much, and enjoy my bro and mom when they come to visit and then in April we’ll leave Fiji for Vanuatu, the Solomons, Papua New Guinea and Micronesia. ’08 should be as exotic as ’07.

Fiji is a wonderfully strange place. The people are made up of 2 ethnic groups: ½ are Fijian and ½ are Indian. The Indian’s came as cheap labor 3 generations ago and now run the place. Every time they win an election there’s a coup. I think they’ve had about 30 of them now. Each one is bloodless and as civil as it gets. Everyone is extremely kind and friendly. We’ve been here for 2 weeks and never lock anything. None of the cruisers have had any thefts. “BulaBula!” is how you greet someone so you hear it all day. Try it. It’s fun to say. Here’s the thing that I wasn’t expecting: The Fijians aren’t Polynesians. They’re Melanesians. They’re black. I’m talking afros and African features. After so many Polynesian islands it’s strange to have such a drastic change in the physical appearance of the inhabitants. From Tonga to Fiji the races just abruptly altered. I’d love for one of you amateur anthropologists out there to explain this to me (Just me. Plz don’t hit reply all).

If you like curries and roti then Fiji should be on your list. I’ve been digging (“tucking” for my English audience) into bowls of delicious spicy foods every day. A beer in a bar costs US $1.50, and that’s in the yacht club which is the most expensive in town. This place is ½ the cost of Tonga and 1/3 the price of French Polynesia. I’m living like a king.

I lied earlier. We have a 24 hour trip to make to Suva from Savusavu. We left a couple hours ago. Then one more overnighter to the marina, but that is definitely the end of the black night sailing.

Capt Bob

Nuie

Thank you for your letters of concern. I appreciate it. All is well and nothing hurts. I haven’t removed you from this list. I just don’t have any drama to report. Our life has been one of day sailing with multiple anchorages to choose from. After a few days we head back to the main town and reprovision. There are always friends there, so we end up drinking and staying longer. Plus the restaurants and the televised rugby games are hard to pass up. It truly is a cruisers paradise. Sorry to have neglected this Vicarious Dispatch for so long.

We are in Tonga, the Vava’u chain of islands to be exact. This is where the humpback whales come to teach their calves to swim and play. As I said earlier – it really is an amazing place. The best we’ve seen so far.

Now for the catch up:

Niue – “Please” is fakamolemole, and “thank you” is fakaway. It’s real easy to get yourself in trouble.

While we were at anchor in Niue, a boat named Journey was caught in a storm. Their head stay broke and they were in danger of losing their mast. If that stick comes down, then so does their backstay, which is their antennae for the SSB long range radio. That would mean they would lose all communication over 15 miles away. That includes all wx reports and email capabilities. Very bad. It could, in fact, hole the boat and be the end of them. It was obvious they were exhausted and desperately trying to get into port. We had been in those shoes only a couple weeks before. We set the alarm and Suzi and I took shifts waking every 2 hours through the night to talk to them on the SSB. The connection was not the best and they heard “Barraveigh” as “Faraday”. I wasn’t about to correct them in their current state. When they finally got into Niue 24 hours later we met them on the dock and introduced ourselves as “Barraveigh”. No discernable reaction. “Wait – you know us as Faraday!” Their faces melted. They hugged us and thanked us. There was no reason to speak of the horrors that they had come face to face with hour after hour. Their expressions were familiar to us. We’d seen them on our own faces. There was a calm knowing glance shared by all of us who had been there and back. It was a moving experience.

When we crossed the International Date Line we lost a whole day. Saturdaythe 8th of Sept never occurred for us. I hate losing a Saturday.

I went to a Tongan feast. In French Polynesia the dancing was all hips. Here it’s all hands and no hips. It’s that gentle story telling with the most graceful of wrist rotations and finger dances. The food was all native and wrapped in plantain leaves and steamed in an underground dirt oven. They served it in palm shoots which look like over sized celery stalks. No utensils. Fingers only. For my taste, it was either too fatty or too sweet. Then the power shut off and I couldn’t see what I was eating at all. That’s when the drinking really began. I ended up at a Spanish restaurant on a different island having a shoving war with a tame goat while some Spaniards “rocked out” on a flute jam. Very surreal. While making our way home my buddy Chris Miller on Barefeet managed to fall in the water again. That’s 4 times now and he holds the record in the entire Southern Fleet.

A South Pacific notation – These people are islanders. They live surrounded by the sea. They respect those that sail on the sea. That’s rather different from those in Spanish land. Those people live on the coast but they also live on a continent and don’t quite understand why people would take top the sea if they didn’t have to. They don’t understand crossing oceans because they really aren’t seafaring people. A cruiser gets respect when arriving at one of these islands, and that makes for friendly exchanges. I prefer this leg of the trip over the previous by a gigantic margin. Here, not only is there zero theft, but actually genuine friendliness and respect. The SPac is going to be hard to beat.

I’ve made a big decision. I’m not sailing to Australia. I’m staying in Fiji for 6 months to wait out the cyclone season. I have a reservation on a slip at Vuda Point Marina. Check it out. http://www.vudamarina.com.fj/. It must be one of the best cruising grounds ever. Island after island and a big city close by with unlimited power and water when I am in the slip. That means air conditioning, ice and freshwater showers. Wow! Now for the scary part; Fiji is the heart of the cyclone zone. On the plus side – this marina is supposedly cyclone proof and this year is a La Nina, which means that the chances of getting hit are diminished. It’s a lot cheaper and exotic in Fiji. I’ll take my chances.