October 3, 2008 - Nusa Lembongan, Bali, Indonesia

Local boats anchored over seaweed farms

We've spent the last few days in Nusa enjoying the change of scenery and cooler climate. I've been living in my bikini, but Sten has been drydocked, due to an infection in his pinky finger. This is the finger he squashed back in Kupang. He didn't end up losing the nail, but the cuticle gave up the ghost. That little separation was enough to let in germs, most likely from the filthy water in Serangan Harbor, and now he has a pustulous infection in his finger. He's taking antibiotics, arnica and soaking it three times a day.

We were thinking of heading back to Lombok, so that Sten can surf while we wait for my dad to arrive in two weeks. But that's out of the question now. We're going to stay here, close to health care, until the infection is cleared up. Instead, Sten sits in the cockpit, soaking his hand in a bowl of warm water (to promote circulation and flush the wound), while he enviously watches the surfers at Playgrounds.

September 4, 2008 - Bali Marina, Bali, Indonesia

We've spent the past two days hanging out in the 10km strip of shops, restaurants, hotels and beach that stretches along the south west coast of Bali from Kuta to Legian to Seminyak. Kuta has the heaviest density of surf shops, bars and hawkers, while Seminyak has more high end boutiques and restaurants. Legian falls somewhere in the middle. Having checked the "visit temple" and "watch traditional dancing" boxes on our to do list, yesterday we headed to Seminyak to do some shopping.

While window shopping in Seminyak, we weren't hassled at all, except for the occasional query "transport, transport?" But today, at a beach on the northern edge of Kuta, the beach ladies descended upon us like a swarm of locusts as soon as our feet hit the sand. They grabbed our hands and asked our names. Everywhere we go here people ask us our names, where we come from, where we are staying, and where we are going - not necessarily in that order. I've read that the Balinese need to orient strangers in their universe, and it helps them to know where we are headed. So the first question we often hear, from total strangers, is "where are you going?" This strikes us, with our western notions of privacy, as very intrusive. But to the Balinese, it is a normal question. And they don't mind if you ask them questions that we would normally find prying. After an hour long $5 massage at the beach I knew more about my masseuse than I do about most of my former co-workers.

Nearly everyone in Bali (regardless of sex) has one of four first names - Wayan, Made, Nyoman or Ketut - which translate as first-born, second-born, third-born, and fourth-born. If a family has more than four children, they just start back at the beginning of the list. This gets very confusing, so everyone has a nickname. My masseuse's business name was "Adidas" to distinguish her from the other 3 Nyomans working the same little stretch of beach.

The beach ladies pay for the right to work a certain area, selling massages, foot scrubs, cheap beaded and carved jewelry, and sarongs. If they venture beyond their zone, the ladies working in the next zone will raise a ruckus. So the ladies working within each zone are in stiff competition with each other for the rupiah of the tourists who flop down in their stretch of beach. When we first arrived, it was completely overwhelming to be swarmed upon by all of them at once; but, soon other tourists showed up and filled the chairs around us, and, once the ladies realized we weren't going to buy anything other than a sarong (for which I paid way too much at $10, but I'm chalking up the excess as direct aid), they extracted promises of future massages and were off to try their chances with the newcomers.

Sten worked on his haggling skills by bargaining for a surfboard rental for the afternoon. I've been honing mine with the taxi drivers. Suzy is an excellent bargaining partner. Whatever price they give me, I come back at them with a counter offer of at least 50% less. If they stall, Suzy starts to walk towards another taxi. They immediately crack. "Okay, okay," they say as they open the door.

This afternoon I continued my world tour of dental facilities with a stop at a dentist's office in Denpasar, the capital city of Bali, to have my Tongan/New Zealand root canal checked. Bali's dental facilities (at least those frequented by ex-pats and Australians on holiday) are an amazing combination of easy booking (I made my appointment that morning), technologically advanced equipment, good hygiene, and rock bottom prices. After examining a panoramic x-ray, the dentist advised me that my tooth looked fine, but that he thought there might be an air gap between the material filling the canal and the wall of the canal on one of my roots. He assured me that it was probably fine, but that I could have a 3-D x-ray to be sure. He hesitated to order the other x-ray because it was "very, very expensive." I asked him the price, and he said "600,000 rupiah," which sounds like an awful lot but comes out to be about $65. That stuck me as short money for peace of mind, so I said to go ahead. One hour later, I'd had two fillings, one regular x-ray, one "very, very expensive" x-ray, and peace of mind in spades for a grand total of $114. I'm coming back to Bali for all my future dental work.

July 31, 2008 - Kupang

Purple is the new black.

Yesterday Sten mashed the tip of his pinky putting down one of the dinghy wheels. Now it looks like he's soaked it overnight in a bowl of mashed blackberries and raspberries. Earlier in the day, I scrapped up my arm fending off a steel boat that had anchored so close to us that when the wind shifted, their bow was a dozen feet from our stern. They started raising their anchor (which was clearly under our boat at this point) without alerting us. If they had told us that they were upping anchor, we would have fired up the engine and motored forward on our anchor chain so that they could raise their anchor without having to drag it out from under us. By the time we got on deck, alerted by the clanking of their anchor chain through their bow roller, their pulpit was right next to our transom and getting closer. I made the stupid mistake of bracing my upper arm against our pushpit as I tried to hold off their bow. Realizing that I couldn't hold them off, I wrenched my arm out of the way, and our BBQ took the brunt of the impact. I was telling another skipper about the incident and he responded with "Well, you've heard the story about the two racing boats. As they were approaching a mark, one called "Starboard," and the other replied "Steel!" We were lucky to get away with a few scrapes.

Today Sten hauled me up the mast to do some measurements on our running backstays so that we can order replacements from Rigging Only before Suzy visits us next month. The wind was blowing out of the west, making this anchorage a lee shore. We're anchored pretty close to shore, so with the chop piling in here, we were bouncing around like a pogo stick. Any movement at deck level is amplified up in the rigging. I usually love to go up the mast - it is my favorite boat chore. It is a rush. But I'd never done it in anything other than a really calm anchorage or when the boat is on dry land. In the bumpy anchorage today, I was swinging around up there like a human tetherball. Using my legs to brace myself and a sail tie to lash myself in place, I managed to take the pictures we needed, but had Sten haul me down to deck level to do the measurements, but not before getting a sweet purple mark on upper arm for my efforts. But it was a good experience; now I have an inkling of what to expect if Sten ever has to haul me up the mast when we're offshore.

Meanwhile, the new wind direction has caused boats to drag all over the anchorage. The bottom here is incredibly foul - a result of the local river emptying out into the bay here, dumping all kinds of plastic waste into the water. As a result, the bottom is coated with plastic bags, which makes for very pour holding. While we were ashore this morning, another boat lost its grip and started to drag down upon us. Luckily for us, the folks on Renaissance 2000 came aboard and put out our fenders to protect Mata'irea's hull. The big catamaran anchored next to us has a huge, center console dinghy that they have been using to run search and recovery missions for the past few days, reanchoring boats that have started to drift away or drag down through the anchorage. Sten has been pitching in to lasso boats and bring them back to the corral. So far, he hasn't picked up any bruises on other people's boats, but with these holding conditions, we expect that it is only a matter of time. We'd leave to find a safer anchorage, but there is the issue of that big impoundment sticker plastered on Mata'irea.

July 24, 2008 - Darwin, Australia

Daily controlled burns create amazing sunsets

After two and half months in Vanuatu, one of the least developed places we've ever been, we arrived in Australia with two weeks to get ourselves and Mata'irea ready to drop off the grid again. Between tackling our work lists during the day and catching up with old and new friends at night, we've been running hard since we arrived here a week ago. We are wiped. But the long hours have paid off. We've got a boat full of food and booze, a freezer full of meat, cabinets full of clean sheets and boxers, fresh oil in the crank cases, full diesel, unleaded and propane tanks, shoulders aching from Typhoid and Hep A boosters, Indonesian Social Visas in our passports, unread books on the shelf, and an envelope stuffed with Indonesian Rupiah. After we pick up our fresh fruit and veggies at the market on Saturday morning, we'll be good to go.

Darwin has been a blast. We could easily have spent a lot longer here than two weeks. As the woman who cut my hair our first day here said, "Darwin is a party town in a matchbox." There is something happening every night of the week. After work, the tables that line the sidewalks in front of bars and cafes fill with workers pouring out of offices and from construction sites. Longshoremen and construction workers sporting florescent vests and dusty Blunnies (Blundstone work boots) rub shoulders with office workers in their smart suits and shiny shoes. As the night wears on, they move to different venues to continue the festivities. It is a hard drinking town. But there are a few weekly events that are family friendly. Every Saturday morning the Parap market is filled with locals shopping for fruits and vegetables, and snacking on crepes, satays and laksa (our new favorite thing - an aromatic Malaysian noodle soup, lavishly garnished with seafood or meat, chiles, herbs, limes and veggies, all of which is swimming in a rich coconut broth - delightful). The food stalls reflect the refugee populations that have settled in Darwin - from Greeks to Vietnamese boat people to East Timorese.

On Thursday and Sunday nights, the scene moves down the road to Mindil Beach, where twice as many food stalls compete for space with stalls selling any kind of Northern Territory souvenir you could possibly want - and several you wouldn't want. We're assuming here that none of you want a kangaroo scrotum gear shift cover for Christmas, but if we've got that wrong, just let us know. An hour before sunset, the market fills as people select their dinners from the stalls. Then they wander down to the beach to watch the sunset.

Who knew pollution could be so beautiful?

Darwin is a city on a human scale. It is a town big enough to host big events, but small enough that everyone can take part. Those events run the gamut from low to highbrow. A week before we arrived, the whole town turned out for the V-8 races. The day before we came in, the annual beer can regatta was held. 3,000 people lined the beach to watch people race boats that they constructed from beer cans - some more seaworthy than others. The pictures made us really wish we'd been here for it. Two days after we arrived was another big event - Ladies Day at the track. At first, I couldn't figure out why all the stores in town had fantastic headgear on display. Then we learned that most of the women in town had been spending the past few days visiting hairdressers, spas and boutiques to get all dolled up and go show off their best outfits to each other at the horse track. Later this month is the Darwin Cup Ball, which is the largest outdoor ball in the Southern Hemisphere. It is almost enough to make us want to stick around. But Indonesia beckons.

June 4, 2008 - Lamen Bay, Epi Islandi, Vanuatu

Over the past four days this has become one of our favorite anchorages of the whole trip. Our relationship with Lamen Bay got off to a rough start. On Sunday night Sten had a bout of food poisoning. Luckily, it ran through him quickly and he's feeling just fine now. This is the first time on this trip that we have been in a malaria zone. We first tried just closing up the boat at dusk, but that ended up making the boat too warm and stuffy. Our third night here we deployed a mosquito net over our bunk and opened the hatches. Now the aft stateroom looks like something out of a mid-80's Ralph Lauren ad. It looks romantic, but makes both of us feel completely claustrophobic. Adding to the discomfort, the swell wraps around the northern tip of the island, and comes rolling into the bay a couple times a day. All of this makes for pretty cruddy sleeping conditions. In addition, it has rained on and off almost every day of our stay here. But for all the drawbacks, this has become one of our favorite stops on this circumnavigation.

This is the first anchorage in Vanuatu where we have swum from the boat. The anchor is set in white sand, and all around us are coral heads. The coral seems to be in tough shape, but the there is a wonderful variety of sea life around us. Diving from the boat we have encountered huge turtles, crayfish, and interesting varieties of coral, including one that looks like a bouquet of flowers. We've seen several varieties of anemones, each hosting a different type of anemonefish. We've come across two crown of thorns in the anchorage, which are similar to starfish, but have 10 arms rather than 5, each of which are covered in toxic spikes. We gave them a wide berth.

Crown of Thorns

Just across the bay, lies Lamen Island. We have had some fantastic snorkeling over the past few days off of the southern point of the island. There is heavy current and a big drop off which creates ideal conditions for any number of creatures. Between yesterday and today we saw a mother and calf dugong (sort of like a manatee), turtles, zebra and blacktip sharks, and eagle rays. The variety of numbers of large fish is just incredible. We've seen a huge Napoleon wrass, giant and bluefin trevally, and lots of big snapper and grouper, some of which were actively chasing schools of fish - pretty exciting to see. The southern tip of Lamen Island is home to one of the largest concentrations of big fish we have ever seen. Making it even more interesting for us, this was the first time we've seen many of these fish.

Leopard or Zebra Shark

Dugong Mother and Calf

All right, I'll stop with the dugongs already.

On shore, there is a lovely village, full of friendly folks. Their leader is Chief Willy, who is younger than we are! The population of Vanuatu is very young. Only about 2% of the population makes it to 60. So when she learned that Nick on Kika's 40th birthday was on Tuesday, Isobel, the island's representative in the national government, decided to throw a feast to celebrate this milestone birthday. A pig was slaughtered. Yams were mashed to make laplap. All of it was placed in underground ovens in Isobel's garden to bake. As the sun set, Nick and Charlotta from Kika, Patty and Giff from Phoenix, and Sten and I wandered down to the other end of the village to see the evening's kava ground in the village's kava grinder (which looks just like my grandmother's meat grinder). In fact, some beef had been ground in it a few days prior. Still, the resulting drink was probably more sanitary than the chewed kava we enjoyed on Anatom.

We all returned to Isobel's garden where about 40 members of her extended family, half of which were very young children, were sitting on woven mats spread on the grass. We, along with Chief Willy and the ranking men in the community, were guided to benches along the perimeter of the yard. The pig was brought out and set on the picnic table. Laplap was sliced up and piled on plates. Isobel made a speech, welcoming us all to her family. Isobel's son gave Nick a walking stick, so that he would be considered his brother. Isobel's daughter gave us all woven fans and floral leis to wear. Chief Willy spoke briefly, asking us to tell others how welcoming Vanuatu was. Then the local minister led us all in prayer. Kava was drunk. We were invited to eat. We took a sampling of food from the buffet, and returned to our seats. The women and children then came to take a bit to eat. The men and the bucket of kava retired to a dark corner of the garden to drink. Isobel traveled back and forth between the visitors and the kava drinkers. She was the only woman who did so. We had a brief glimpse into the source of her popularity with her constituents when Chief Willy joked with her that "she was always on the men's side."

Charlotta, working the Mother Hubbard like no one else can.

October 22, 2007 - Neiafu

With the thought that we might catch the final pennant game between the Indians and the Red Sox on the satellite TV at Mango, we headed back into town in time for the first pitch. Unfortunately, major league baseball isn't as popular as football (soccer to us) or rugby, so the game wasn't picked up. While we were watching Sportscenter, hoping to catch some game highlights, the crew of Bahati, who used to live in Brookline, joined us.

Over the past 4 and a half months we've only eaten out a handful of times, because everything was so expensive in French Polynesia. We are enjoying the low prices here, and making a good effort at sampling the fried food options around town. Sten prefers the fish and chips at the Yacht Club over those at Mango. The bacon cheese burger at Mango was much better than the one at the Crow's Nest.

The most beautiful sight in the South Pacific

After lunch I headed up to the Hospital for my second round of root canal work. We received a weather report this morning that showed a favorable weather window for the jump to New Zealand. Takoko, the dentist, and I discussed my options, and we decided to do another treatment with the medicine and seal the tooth with a temporary filling. I'll have the next step done in New Zealand. For all Takoko's work the fee was equivalent to $60 US. My last root canal, 10 years ago, cost $900. So this is pretty much the bargain of the century. During my first appointment, we had talked about how limited the food options were around here if you weren't into mutton or really fatty pork. So to thank her, I gave Takoko some odds and ends from our stores, including tofu, green tea and smoked oysters. I returned to the boat to the report that the Red Sox had won the league and were headed to the World Series. We headed over to Bahati to celebrate.

We noticed today that for the first time since coming through the canal, there are more east coast boats than west coast boats around us. Also, there are quite a few boats here with younger crews.

October 19, 2007 - Neiafu

Seriously, would you be thrilled about having a root canal here?

As soon as we left Bora Bora, one of my molars began to bother me. Our first priority here is to get it looked at by a dentist. This morning, with some trepidation, I approached the run down hospital where the dental practice is housed. The grounds outside were covered with litter. The floors of the hallways inside had recently seen a broom, but the walls didn't look like they had seen a bucket of soapy water in a long time. I put my name on the waiting list and sat down to wait. After an hour or so, the Tongan dentist came out to ask me about the nature of my problem. She explained that Tongans don't practice preventative dental care, so every patient is an emergency. I was barely listening to her, as I was transfixed by the decorative gold inlays in several of her upper teeth. Not feeling reassured, I sat back down to wait some more.

Finishing one book, and a few chapters into my second, I was really wishing that I had brought a bottle of water with me when the volunteer dentist from Japan came out into the hall and called my name. Breathing a sigh of relief at her lack of decorative gold inlays, I followed her into the office. I was also relieved to see that the walls of the dental office had been washed down more recently than those of the hallway.

After taking x-rays, she explained that I needed a root canal and that she could do the first step that afternoon. It was already close to 5pm, so I asked her if she had time. She reassured me that she did, and we got started. I was really nervous at the start, but she was so gentle and quick to give me additional novicane whenever I started to feel pain, that I eventually relaxed. About 90 minutes and 20 shots of novicane later my rotten root was cleaned out, filled with medicine, and a temporary filling in place.

I'll need to see her two more times before I'm patched up enough to make the trip to New Zealand. I'm booked in for another appointment on Monday. In the meantime, I'm taking oral antibiotics from our medical kit, and avoiding chewing on that side of my mouth.

August 20, 2007 - Maeva Beach, Tahiti

A Tale of Two Frenchies

It was the best of attitudes, it was the worst of attitudes . . .

Our day started with a trip to the doctor. Lately, I've pretty much looked like Michael Jackson with an acne problem. For the past few months I've had the creeping crud, as Jay so endearingly put it. Little white dots first appeared on my shoulders, chest and back in the Caribbean.

With advice from Sten's dad, I tried to hunt down a prescription treatment in Bequia, but the best I could find was Selsun soap. It seemed to work. Since then, the dots have shown up repeatedly, but the soap always took care of them. At least, it used to take care of them. Recently it has been ineffective, and the crud has crept up my neck and onto my face. It looks like I'm losing my pigmentation. Not so attractive. Today I learned that the technical term for the creeping crud is Pityriasis versicolor, for which the doctor prescribed Ketoderm. He said that it is very common in the tropics. I've seen it on other cruisers. Our sweaty skin is a perfect breeding ground for the fungus. He also diagnosed my other skin problem (crusty acne) as excema - no big surprise there, I've had it repeatedly. If these treatments work, there will once again be pictures of me in the blog. In the meantime, you'll just have to look at Sten. But the real point here is, the doc was genuinely interested in our trip and perfectly pleasant.

From his office we trekked several miles across town to the sailmakers. Along the way we stopped to get a new reef shirt for Sten and have a fight about whether sushi was too expensive for our budget. The sailmaker seemed completely uninterested in selling us a new top batten for our mainsail (Quantum Thurston cut our original too short and over time it shredded from moving around in the batten pocket). We brought along the broken batten to show him what we needed. "Oh no. I have nothing that will work for you." Really, what about this piece that is practically the same dimensions as our sample? "Hmm. Well, I would have to sell you the whole piece. I have no use for the remnant." Um, we don't need the rest, nor do we want to store it. "Mmmhhmph." He proceeded to cut off the size piece we need. "Do you have spare battens on board?" Ehh, no. "Really? Well, that is a very bad idea." Well, we've made it this far. I don't know whether we did something to tick this guy off (perhaps it was saying "hello," instead of "bon jour"), but from the moment we walked into his shop he was hostile and haughty - your stereotypical Frenchman. Later in the afternoon Sten asked me what I thought set him off. "Maybe his wife told him he couldn't have sushi for lunch," I responded.

From there we headed to the industrial section of town to look for some engine parts Sten thought he wanted, until he saw the prices. Then we made our way to a travel agent to book my dad's inter-island flights for his visit next month. By the time the le truck dropped us back at the Carrefour, where we dropped $100 on one bag of groceries, we were both overheated, thirsty, hungry and tired. It was one of those days that make me wonder why we ever bother to go ashore.

March 26, 2007 - Bonaire

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzzzzzz. That's the sound that we've been listening to as we try to fall asleep. "What I don't get is how there can be mosquitoes on this island. It is so dry!" Sten exclaimed in frustration this morning. He had an even worse night than I did last night, as I'd taken the desperate measure of swabbing my forehead, ears, neck and arms and legs with a 24% deet solution before turning in, and then again each time I woke up in the night - I might get cancer, but at least I won't get dengue fever or any more scars from mosquito bites.

We've both just finished reading The Path Between the Seas, an excellent history of the building of the Panama Canal. One of the most striking facts was the extent to which mosquito borne illnesses - primarily malaria and yellow fever - decimated the workforce. So we're both a bit sensitive to getting bitten by anything right now. We did have a slew of immunizations before we left Boston, including yellow fever, hep A, and hep B, but there are still a lot of bugs out there, all of which we'd like to avoid getting.

So, as much as we've enjoyed Bonaire (especially the donkey sanctuary), we're out of here.

January 14, 2007 - English Harbor, Antigua

Bloody hell. After clearing the coral heads around Coco Point, we had what should have been a simple close reach passage from Barbuda to Man O’ War Point on the windward side of Antigua. Lenore and I were both seasick for the duration. I spent much of what should have been a beautiful day sail hunkered down in my bunk. You would think that by now I would have learned to put on my seasickness bands or take a Stugeron. I only came up on deck as we reached the windward side of Antigua to help Sten take off the mainsail cover.

As we rounded Man O’ War and headed downwind along the south coast of Antigua, a squall opened up on us. Drenched, steering and concentrating on keeping us from jibing while Sten manned the mainsheet, ready to dump the main if the windward helm got to be to much, I managed to forget all about being seasick.

After a quick tour of English Harbor, and two failed anchoring attempts, we were anchored, the dinghy was launched, and we were showered and changed. With a road beer for each of us, we hiked up to the top of Shirley Heights for the Sunday night barbeque. After some tasty ribs and pecan pie, we joined the jump up as the steel drum band ceded the stage to a reggae band. Good times. As an added bonus, we didn’t break either of our uninsured necks on the way back down the trail at the end of the night.

December 23, 2006, St. Martin

The boats coming into Marigot to pick up charter guests or restock their galleys are simply amazing. Maltese Falcon, Tom Perkins’s Perini with the aero rig, which was just launched this summer, is the most stunning of the bunch. With its three masts light up at night it has a sinister glow about it.

It seems as though every few days I’m writing about some malady, most of which are self inflicted. Last night I woke up with searing pain in my right ankle. I thought I had twisted it on the walk back from the refrigeration shop, but there was no sign of swelling or bruising, and this didn't feel like a sprain. After a few more stabs of pain I got up to take some Advil. It hurt no more or less standing on it than lying in bed. Completely befuddled, I went back to bed. But soon there were tears running down my cheeks as jolts of pain coursed through my right calf. Sten flicked on the light and looked at my ankle. Agreeing that it probably wasn’t a sprain, he went to grab the medical reference book out of our first aid kit. We’d previously read in Lin Pardey’s Care and Feeding of Sailing Crew that dehydration could cause cramps, but could they hurt so much? The fist aid book confirmed that the cause was probably dehydration, so I slugged back a Nalgene bottle full of Gatorade. The pain lessened a bit, and I was able to go back to sleep.

In the morning, the pain was back, so I grabbed Pardey’s book to see what she had to say about treatment options. It seems that dehydration depletes the body’s stores of salt. She recommended a few teaspoons of salt mixed with fruit juice. It was vile, but I got it down. This is a miracle cure - within 30 minutes, the cramps were gone. A few hours later, Sten began to cramp up too. He took the cure as well, with similarly quick results.

We spent the rest of the day wandering around the shops in Marigot. I picked up a new bikini and Sten went in search of a Christmas gift for me.