We found some tomatoes and green peppers that were about to kick it, so we had western style scrambled eggs for breakfast. Then I counted up the eggs we had left and the number of miles to go and put the kabash on using any eggs in anything but baking.
Key Lime Custard
WahooThis is the most fly-blown place we've been. The flies drive Sten crazy, but provide me with endless hours of amusement as I watch him wield his fly swatter like a kung fu fighter. The flies don't bother me, but the flying ants are another story. The last thing we need on board is an ant infestation.
We woke up this morning with still no wind in the anchorage. Looking at the latest Grib file, it showed the wind sitting about 100 miles to the west of us. That wind line wasn't going to get any closer over the next four days. So we decided to motor out to it. With Darwin 2200 miles away, which is at least a two week sail from here, and the start of the Sail Indonesia rally less than a month away, we just can't wait around Vanuatu for an ideal weather window.
It took about two hours to get the boat put away for passage. We had a pleasant day motoring in calm seas. We cleared the northern point of Santo and turned west towards the now falling sun. We were towing the big marlin lure just to see what might be out there. It was getting towards sunset and the reel gave a quick yelp. I was down below reading, and missed the beginning of the action, so here is what happened next, in Sten's own words:
"I turned just in time to see a huge marlin come clear out of the water in our wake. I stood and watched in awe as the fish spent the next 30 seconds tail walking and greyhounding in an unbelievable aerial display. By the time the fish stopped jumping, 3/4 of the line on the reel was gone and I was seriously concerned about getting spooled as the fish first appeared to me to be in the 400lb class and way, way too much fish for my equipment. I cranked the drag on the reel down all the way in an attempt to break the fish off before I lost the entire line. The fish just kept going and made a big circle off to the right. It is a strange feeling to see you line going into the water directly astern and then see the fish surface way off to the the side all the while with a deep bend in the rod. It goes against logic that the two can still be connected.
I recovered some line and for the first time thought we might have a chance of getting the fish to the boat. As soon as I started to feel a little better about the situation, the fish made a second long run against the max drag of the reel. 20 minutes later, after much grunting, sweating and swearing, we saw the fish below the boat. The problem became what to do with a big marlin at the transom of a high sided sailboat. This is the largest fish I had ever seen in my life and contemplating going down onto a narrow swim platform within a foot of a very upset animal with a very sharp bill and a long way from any medical help was not the most appealing of scenarios. In the end it went perfectly: I grabbed the sandpapery bill in my right hand and was astounded when the hook came right out. I lowered the fish's bill back into the water and after hovering at the transom for a moment, it turned and glided into the deep.
Having never actually seen a marlin before I'm not the best judge of its size and weight. However, we feel conservatively that the fish was close to seven feet long and at least 250 lbs. From the seven or eight vertical bars on the flank of the fish we are guessing the fish was a striped marlin rather than a pacific blue marlin. We'll post pics when we get to Darwin."
Wahoo!While the rod dug into Sten's gut (he'd had no time to put on the fighting belt) and he struggled to keep the fish at the transom, I flailed around with the gaff, trying to jab it into the fish's jaw. First I hooked him in his flank. But it wasn't a deep enough wound to hold him. I twisted out the gaff and I tried again. This time I got his jaw, but this fish was way too big for me to get up on deck. I traded Sten the gaff for the rod and opened the transom gate. Sten hauled the still very much alive fish on deck warning me to stay away from the fish's mouth, "wahoo are known for their razor sharp teeth." Finally, a wahoo. We've never caught one before. This pompom of a lure has now brought us two nice big eating fish - maybe the Cubs do have a chance at winning the series.
While we made our last few miles towards Ranon, our anchorage for the night, Sten cleaned the fish, gutting it and trimming off its head, tail and fins. Once we were anchored, it was only a matter of minutes before an outrigger pulled alongside. A local man introduced himself as Barry. We offered the fish, as a gift to the village, explaining that it was way more than we could eat. Even after we cut a few steaks off the tail end for ourselves, there was still at least thirty pounds of slippery fish to maneuver into the outrigger. "Where is the head?" Barry asked. "I threw it overboard," Sten explained. "That is too bad. Head very good for island people," Barry responded. "Next time, keep the head."
The next morning, we took a walk around the village. These are a few of the things we saw.
Rom mask, sand drawing patterns and stone sculptures
Tree fern sculptures
Tamtams, also known as slit gongs or slit drums -
Waiting for the copra to dry
We received the picture above from a friend with the instruction to " . . . put a real hat on that boy."
He bought himself a huge, garish lure to try to hook a marlin. The waters around Vanuatu are teaming with game fish. He's been checking out lures like this the past few months in New Zealand but couldn't justify the expense. When he found this one for 1/3 the NZ price in Port Vila, he just couldn't resist the temptation. What I want to know is what he thinks he's going to do with anything he catches on this thing. Big lures catch big fish. As it is, we struggle to land some of the things we hook on our 6 inch lures. But even so, we have a better chance of landing a giant marlin than the Cubs do of winning the World Series.
This morning we caught a big mahi-mahi on the trolling rod. It was so big (isn't this how every fish story begins?) that Sten had to put on the fighting belt to land it. He looked pretty silly with nothing on but his Red Sox hat, boxers and the codpiece-like protective belt. The fish fought valiantly, its beautiful turquoise, green and yellow-orange skin flashing just beneath the water's surface. Every few seconds it would break the surface, as it tried to dislodge the hook. Sten got it to the transom, and let it bleed out a bit before bringing it on deck to skin and clean it. We watched the colors of its skin fade to a silvery green as it died. Such a beautiful creature. And such a delicious one. We have plenty to eat for the next few days and will still have some to give to the local chief as a token of our respect when we arrive in Vanuatu.This evening we experienced a fish story of another kind. I noticed a reddish-brown smear on the bathroom wall, just under the toilet paper roller, and I thought, "Well, that's weird, neither of us is incontinent." Then I looked down, saw what had caused the smear, and started laughing. "Hey, Sten, come back here." He came back to the head. I pointed to the floor and he started laughing too. At our feet was an 8 inch long flying fish, surrounded by the scales it had shed as it thrashed to death on our teak and holly sole. Poor, stupid flying fish. We're used to finding flying fish on the side decks in the morning. They seem to be attracted to our running lights, like moths to a porch light. We'd been having such a light wind day that we had the side ports open in our galley and the head. The fish must have flown in through the 5" x 10" port and bashed itself against the wall as it fell to the floor. What are the odds? We weren't laughing at its demise, but at the incongruity of finding it in our aft head, next to the bath mat.
On our first day here, we took care of our top priorities - getting a cheese burger, fries and a giant salad at the restaurant at the quay. The restaurant is on a terrace that overlooks a coral garden, where we saw the biggest moray eel yet. After lunch we traded some books at the Kia Ora, snorkeled the pass, and went back to Kia Ora for $15 cocktails.
The next day began with some fishing excitement. Sten had noticed that there were lots of fish feeding around our boat, so he set about trying to catch some lunch. After losing an old Gibb's striper fly to a garr fish and catching a remora with a small minnow fly (and releasing it) he got the fish he was after. After breakfast, we went to a magasin and spent $20 on 2 cucumbers, 2 tomatoes, a small head of lettuce and 2 baguettes. Seriously.
We had noticed one other American boat in the anchorage, Storm Along out of Chicago, so I dinked over to ask them if they wanted to join us for dinner at the local pizza joint. I assured them that I wanted nothing more than to spend an evening speaking English, with someone other than Sten. They completely understood. We had a great time with Brian and Nell, and hardly noticed that the service hadn't gotten any better than the last time we were here. One of our pizzas came with a mostly raw egg cracked on top of it. It looked revolting, but the egg was slowly cooked by the heat of the pie under it and the pizza turned out to be really good.
The following day was a work day. Over pizza Sten and Brian had been troubleshooting our SSB riddle. So Sten uninstalled, opened up, inspected and reinstalled the antenna tuner. Nothing obvious seems to be wrong with it. Sten also cleaned the goop out of the bilge pump intake strainer - a very messy job. In the afternoon, he pitched in on my project of polishing the stainless on deck - our windlass has never been so shiny.
The next day was overcast with periodic heavy rain showers. We spent some time visiting with Storm Along. Brian and Nell have been living aboard for decades. We were blown away by the level of organization on their boat. Thrilled to find some other folks who love Mexican food and margaritas, we invited them over for steak tacos - one of our favorite meals. I was able to score a bag of ice from the bar at the Kia Ora for the 'ritas.
Our Top of the Line Margarita Recipe
1 part - Fresh squeezed lime juice
1 part - Top Shelf Blanco Tequila - preferably Chinaco or Porfidio
1 part - Orange liqueur - preferably Patron Citronage or Cointreau
Combine ingredients in a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake very vigorously and pour into salt rimmed glasses. Enjoy! Credit to Frontera Grill in Chicago for this easy to remember arrangement.
Sten tried his hand at making tortillas with the press that Jay and John gave us before we left last fall. Nell provided a dessert of rum soaked bananas. The food was awesome. We were all having a great time, or so I thought until Nell noticed the time, not so discretely kicked Brian under the table, and within minutes it was just Sten, me and the dishes.
Today the wind shifted, providing us with a good opportunity to head to the far end of the atoll. We started the 25 mile trip by commissioning our new autopilot - 9 months after leaving Newport. The water was pretty flat and the wind light. I spent part of the trip making banana nut bread out of some of the bananas that Nell and Brian gave us. Sten started compiling the New Zealand boat work list. As we approached the south east tip of the lagoon, the water became much shallower and filled with coral heads and a few small white motus.
As we approached each coral bed, the water would slowly change from blue to aqua, then lime green just over the coral heads. I spent the last hour of the trip standing on the pulpit, one arm wrapped around the forestay, calling directions to Sten as he steered us around the coral. It is a beautiful anchorage. We're looking forward to spending the next few days here.
Luckily for me, Sten has gotten pretty good at spearing them.
While Assam and Sten extracted the clams, with their vibrant purple, emerald green and turquoise mantles, from the coral heads growing in the pass between this motu and the next, NiNi set me up with the gear to fish the current (a bucket of hermit crabs and a handline, weighted with a small piece of coral) before she sat down to clean the clams that Assam and Sten brought her. I've gotten over my squeamishness about dragging the hermit crabs out of their shells and snapping their heads and claws off of their bodies. However, I wasn't quite prepared for splattering myself with crab guts as I twirled the weighted handline over my head to get up enough momentum to launch it into the current. NiNi got a good laugh out of watching me wrap the handline around myself. I haven't seen anyone quite so entertained by my attempts to fish since the first time I went saltwater fly fishing with Sten's dad. NiNi and Ah Samg are always laughing. They have such a positive outlook on life. It makes them both seem much younger than their years.
We joined NiNi and Ah Samg for dinner. We were just expecting clams, but she also made fried fish and a dish of bok choy stir fried with corned beef (not a combination that I would have ever dreamed up - it wasn't bad, actually). Sten grated and squeezed the coconut to make the coconut milk. Fresh coconut milk is so much better than the canned version we usually use for curries. My Papeete shopping list includes a coconut grater so that Sten can keep me in coconut milk. As NiNi says, making coconut milk is a man's job. That's a bit of sexism that I'm willing to embrace wholeheartedly. Assam also turned some of the clams into a tasty ceviche of sorts - he used vinegar (rather than lime juice) for the acid and flavored it with mustard and garlic. My desert offering was chocolate chip cookies made from Sten's family recipe, which were a big hit. We've had some requests for the recipe, but I can't add it to the blog before getting permission from Bill and Suzy.
This morning we spent an hour with Alfred combing through bags of black pearls. Black pearl is really a misnomer. The variety of colors was amazing - from aubergine (eggplant), peacock (green and blue), red (a deep purplish red), blue and a tawny golden color. Unlike Ahe, where we traded rum and whisky for pearls, Alfred was interested in cash. He treated our US dollars as on par with the Polynesian franc (CFP). Therefore, we got about an 11% discount for using USD. There was no haggling over prices or bargaining. The price is set by the shape, size and surface quality (the fewer imperfections, the more expensive) of each pearl. Alfred measured and examined each pearl we chose, then applied a grade (A - nearly perfect, B, C, or D - like your dog chewed on it) to each pearl. The largest pearl I chose was baroque (pear) shaped, which is considered less valuable than a round pearl. Thus we paid more for each of a smaller set of pearls (for earrings) of similar surface quality than for the large pear. Alfred explained that the price they charge per pearl in the family's new pearl shop in Bora Bora, which is run by his wife Pauline, would be about 3 times as much per pearl. I'm looking forward to seeing the shop when we are in Bora Bora in September.
We were still thinking about leaving this afternoon, until Alfred invited Sten along on a pig hunt. Hmmm, passage or BBQ? Again, that's an easy one. I gladly stayed behind to do laundry (I just don't need to see my food running around before I eat it) while Sten went off with the guys. Enroute to the motu where the pigs live, they stopped at a fish trap to spearfish. Sten said it was like shooting fish in a barrel. With one shot, he speared three fish. After the fish trap, Sten and one of the guys got dropped off a little ways away. While swimming down the beach to meet up with the boat, Sten speared two grouper. Meanwhile, Alfred, Tony, and Ocean went pig hunting. Alfred shot a pig from a distance, and was dismayed to discover that it was still nursing. They brought one of the piglets back to the family's motu to raise it. The other five were left to fend for themselves.
Dinner tonight included fish smoked over a coconut husk fire. Very tasty. Over dinner Alfred gave us advice on catching lobsters on the reef at night by mesmerizing them with a flashlight. The key is to wait at least 7 days after the full moon when the moon isn't so bright and the swell isn't so big. Actually, Alfred said that he could do it 3 days after, but that we amateurs should wait until the 7th day. We hope to give that a try later this week in Rangiroa. The weather is settling down a bit, so our current plan is to head for Rangi tomorrow.
We've sailed into a hole, an area of very little wind, which our latest weather chart suggests we may be stuck in for the next few days. With less wind, the sails slat loudly as we roll in the swell. The noise is grating, and the motion is not good for the rigging. Sten had just gotten out of the cockpit to tighten up the preventer when he noticed a weather buoy about 100 yards off our port bow. "Holy shit," he exclaimed. We would have hit the thing if we hadn't immediately altered course. Then he whooped, "we're going to catch some mahi here - they love things like this." In the next moment he saw a fish break next to the boat. Then the reel on the rod whirled as it paid out line and the two handlines snapped taut. We landed three 8 to 10 pound mahi, and kept two of them.
Today, Sten set out one line and picked up a mahi-mahi, one of our favorites. I should mention that the first thing that happens, after Sten yells "fish on," is that he drops his pants. This comic ritual is a courtesy to me as laundress-in-chief. I'm not fussed about boxers stained with fish blood, but back in the Caribe, I got a bit testy about trying to get blood stains out of too many ruined pairs of shorts. This is why Sten is only wearing boxers in most of the fish trophy shots.
My great provider also set about making cardamon rolls today, from his grandmother's recipe. Six months ago he bought a bag of whole white cardamon pods in a spice market in St. Martin, with these rolls in mind. Last night he picked the seeds out of the pods and ground them in a spice mill. Now that he has taken over the baking, I'm not left with much to do around here, so I spent the day studying French. I can now say, "the boy sits under the plane," however much use that will be on an island without an airport.
We left Isabella just before noon this morning. We are motoring south west to find the wind. Just offshore we saw a green turtle and a few whales. We also caught two yellow fin tuna. They were both so big that we let one go. After the excitement of the tuna catch had faded, Sten was looking a bit restless. I asked him what was wrong and he explained that he had no idea how he was going to entertain himself for the next three to four weeks. But we have loads of books and DVDs, the latter thanks to my sister who has burned a bunch of movies and shows for us, to keep us entertained. And if we're looking for intellectual stimulation, we have some French language software.
Early this afternoon Sten climbed up into the cockpit to look at his lures. "I've got a fish on," Sten announced as climbed the companionway ladder. "Oh, shit. I've got a bird." He grabbed sunglasses and a shirt to protect his eyes and body, and gloves and pliers to remove the hook, while I got a towel to hold the bird. Sten slowly and steadily pulled in the line, while I stood there with the towel draped over both arms, ready to receive the bird. The bird fought against the line the whole way to the boat. Once the bird got close to the aft rail, he stuck out his feet and pushed against the pulpit. "The key here is to not break a wing," Sten said. At Sten's suggestion, I draped the towel over the bird's head to calm him down. Once blinded, he dropped right to the deck, and Sten was able to work the hook out of the bird's jaw without using the pliers while I gently held the bird down. Once the hook was free, I bundled up the bird and held him out past the transom, and tossed him back into the water, making certain that he didn't land on the swim platform. He bobbed for just a moment, then took off, getting away from Mata'irea as fast as his wings could carry him.
The lightening storm that kept us entertained, and not a little concerned for our electronics, during dinner last night, lasted late into the evening. We woke to overcast skies and discovered that the wind had shifted in the night. We weren't comfortable being on a lee shore with such unsettled weather, so we took turns keeping watch during the squalls. As the rain turned to drizzle, Sten made pickles out of the first casualty of our fresh provisioning. The carrots were quickly turning to mush, so he sauted them and mixed them with ginger and sesame seeds and orange zest. In the meantime, I downloaded updated weather files and checked them against the advice in Jimmy Cornell's World Cruising Routes.
We decided that rather than taking the rhumb line route to the Galapagos, which would result in us motoring into head winds, we're going to head south southwest for two days, then west southwest for the rest of the trip. Hopefully we'll wind up on a reach into the Galapagos.
Just one of the many giant logs floating through the anchorage.
When the rain let up, we went exploring Isla San Jose a bit in the dinghy. The lush coastline is dotted with caves and beaches, some white, some tan and some lava black.
But it is the teaming waters that hold our interest. After the barrenness of the Caribbean, the Pacific Coast of Panama seems all the more alive.
As we departed Las Perlas, we had to take a slight detour when tuna started busting all around us. The chartplotter's record of our path as we chased the tuna around the anchorage makes it look like there was a drunken sailor at the wheel.
I swear, it was just cold medicine in that bottle.
Sten was all business chasing the tuna. After his first cast, he decided that he didn't like the rod he was using. After one cast with the next rod, he decided the lure had to go. A quick lure change, and he was back on the bow casting into the turbulent water. A half dozen casts later, he was hooked up and hauling in dinner. That's my husband. I'm so proud of him.
As he cleaned the fish, I brought us back on course and set the jib. As we raised the mainsail, rays were jumping out of the water all around us. Then Sten noticed two marlin greyhounding. He counted 6 jumps out of the water.
As we sailed into the sunset, we were joined by a pod of dolphins surfing our bow wake. After twenty minutes, they moved on. Just as they were leaving us, another pacific blue marlin jumped out of the water, just off our bow. And again, and again he sliced out of the water, twisting in the air, only to crash back into the sea on his back, a dozen times in all. What an amazing end to the day, and what a promising start to a passage.
Bonaire doesn't permit anchoring. Their marine park regulations require everyone to use the moorings that they provide, as a measure to protect the coral reef. We were all set up to pick up a mooring, but the cruising guide failed to mention that the float lines were ridiculously short - as in so short that there is no way one can get a line led through them from the deck. Three different cruisers offered to help us out, but the quickest on the draw was Trevor from the Tayana moored behind us. Almost before we realized that we needed help, he was in his dinghy and headed over to help us. For his efforts he'll be getting a few pounds of mahi mahi in the morning.When Suzy visited last month she was bemused by how unimpressed we were with the eastern Caribbean. We would enter another postcard pretty harbor and be more interested in how the anchor was set, whether there was any decent provisioning nearby, and whether the French cruiser or charter boat that came in after us was seriously going to drop anchor so close to us, than the environment around us. After a while, all of the islands started to seem like variations on the same theme: more or less arid, more or less verdant; piles of conch shells on the shores, but no live conch to be found in the water; settled by the French or English or both, if the former the provisioning would be better; peopled primarily by the descendants of the slaves those colonists imported; spending Euros or EC dollars; drinking Presidente, Caribe, Piton, Carlsburg, Kubuli, or Haroun. We had become blase.
Las Aves has knocked us both back on our heels as we try to take in the beauty around us and come to grips with how lucky we are to be here.
This morning, we were joined in our solitary spot on the reef by a flamingo. A single pink flamingo in the wild. I've never seen one before that wasn't the plastic lawn ornament variety. As we explored the mangroves in our dinghy we were surrounded by blue and red footed boobies. They see so few people, they haven't learned to fear us. We were able to observe nesting boobies with tiny little hatchlings in their nests, just a few feet from our boat. We spent a few hours this afternoon snorkeling. The coral life and fish life is both diverse and thriving.
This morning, when I started to pull out the ingredients for baking bread, I asked Sten to fire up the generator to heat the engine room so that the bread would have a place to rise. He soon noticed that there was a saltwater leak. Very quickly we went from a relatively tidy salon to a work zone as Sten moved the companionway ladder aside, removed the panel that covers the front of the generator, and started mopping up saltwater. My yeast was already proofing, so we worked around each other. He diagnosed the problem (a hose connecting to the saltwater cooling pump inlet was leaking), fixed the problem (pulled up some slack in the hose, cut it back an inch and reattached it), and had the mess cleaned up and the generator restarted, heating the engine room, before I was done kneading the dough. What can I say, the promise of fresh bread will make the man do marvelous things.
The local fishermen came by this afternoon again, this time asking for cervesa. We gave them each one, and a loaf of the bread that I had baked this morning. They didn't have any fish for us, but they asked for rum anyway. Sten managed to get across in his limited Spanish that we would like some lobster or fish first. "Manana," they said. Manana. We'll see.
After they left, Sten went off to surf cast on the windward side of the reef for dinner. He came back with a blue runner and a jack and a report that "on the first cast half the ocean converged on my lure. By the time I reeled in the lure it had been hit at least 4 separate times and had lost its tail. The next cast resulted in a similar phenomenon, and a missing lure. I switched to a orange surface popper, a larger lure than before, and soon landed several small, spectacularly beautiful black grouper with purple spots. I threw them back because they were too small. I eventually ended up with a blue runner and what I think is a horse eyed jack. I lost a good sized grouper that had been swirling at my lure for about 10 casts before I hooked him. He dove back into the reef and was gone, luckily giving me back my lure." He had a great time, and came back grinning from ear to ear. Lenore had the trimmings, and we had the runner in a cumin, coriander, salt and pepper dry rub with a variety of sides for serve-yourself fish tacos.
The highlight of our sail was a rainbow around the sun. Really amazing, but we didn't have the photographic equipment to do it justice.
Las Aves get their name from the thousands of birds that nest in the mangroves along the coasts of these islands. As we approached the south coast of Aves de Barlavento, our fishing lures drew the notice of some boobies, and Sten called me back to the stern rail to help him reel in the lures before we caught a bird. With the luck we've had lately, we would catch a bird rather than a fish. We're now officially 2600 miles without a mahi mahi. Sheesh. A girl could go into sushi withdrawal around here.
We rounded the southwestern corner of Isla Sur around 3pm and picked our way to the easternmost anchorage (back out towards the reef we just rounded) through the coral in decent light. No sweat. After Los Roques, we're much better at reading the water. There are three visible wrecks, one is the upside down hull (what is left of it) of a 30+' dual inboard fishing boat, another is a smallish sailboat, and the third is around the corner to be explored tomorrow. Deep into this maze of reefs, I wonder what kind of weather caused the carnage.
There are no stores, houses, or gas docks in Las Aves. There is only a lighthouse and a small fishing camp in Aves de Barlavento. On the other Aves, a dozen miles west of here, there is a small coast guard station. Other than that, there is no development on these islands. They are pristine. There are only four sailboats here now, including us. We chose to drop anchor away from the others, which are all tucked in by the mangroves. As soon as we were anchored, Sten was off to a magazine perfect flat to see if there were any bonefish around here. Unfortunately, there weren't. He returned with a conch, then decided to try his luck at snorkeling for lobster. He returned, looking downright dejected, so I guess it is conch fritters for dinner. Yum.
As Sten was cleaning the conch on the fillet table on the stern rail, a local fishing boat came charging up. They asked for cigarettes and bread, but we didn't have any of either. I ended up giving them some super preserved hamburger rolls that we bought about two months ago in Guadeloupe. They were thrilled and promised to bring fish tomorrow. I may have to get off my duff and actually bake some bread.
The water here is crystal clear, and it varies in shade from dark aquamarine in the deeper parts to the palest of teals in the shallows. Sten reported that the snorkeling was the best he'd seen since our honeymoon almost three years ago in French Polynesia. There is a large variety of good sized fish and vibrant coral life. We both feel so privileged to experience this unspoiled location; but, we wonder what our impact is on it - from the conch we took for dinner to the dish soap and shampoo that flows out of our drains.
We were low on ice, so Sten, wearing only his swim trunks, went over to Petite Martinique to pick up ice and a few beers. A few months in the Caribe has made us much more relaxed about appearances.
After dinner, Eryn did the dishes, and she and Graham taught us how to play a very cool game called Settlers. We're really enjoying having them aboard. Not only do we get to exploit them as parts mules and unpaid labor, they entertain us as well. All of the sudden, a week starts to feel like a very short visit.
