I was once told that if you've never missed a flight that you have too much time on your hands. I certainly have too much time on my hands and yet... I think it's mainly because it's become so mundane. I need to stress a little more about.... well everything, but flights in specific. On the plus side the Tel Aviv airport has free wifi. woot!
I can say a lot about Israel. So to make it easier I will start by talking about Dahab.
I mentioned last time that you can walk across the border. I did not mention that you walk from shopping malls and fast food to villages built out of scrap metal and plastic bags. It's quite a dramatic change. Dahab tries to stay above all that. Dahab thinks in Euros not Egyptian pounds. It is still however very cheap. I slept there for about $4 a night. It was not too bad. for $8 a night I could have had my own room with a bathroom and whatever other fanciness I could want. Everywhere you stay the beach is across the street. People who live there live for years in a tiny room with a shared bathroom and seem to be fairly happy about it. There is certainly a great community and I feel like I would always have a great experience if I were to come back.
Two days ago I broke the "never eat anything in any bus station anywhere in Israel, ever!" rule. My stomach is still punishing me for it. Brings back fond memories of India.
There is an old Bald guy riding around the airport on one of those weird twisty boards with 2 wheels. I would bet if I added the ages of all the kids I've ever seen riding these things they might add up to his age. He's talking on his cell phone while doing it.
So Israel. Funny thing about israel, everyone speaks English but it's not written anywhere when you need it to be. For instance The road names are written in English but the bus lines are not. The train announcements are in English when you leave the airport but not when you go back to it. They don't even have the common decency of using the universal airport logo. Almost no place that serves food you want to eat has menus in English but someone working there will always speak just enough.
Israel is one of the few places in the world (maybe the only?) where you can see Hassidic Jews dancing in the streets on almost a daily basis. In fact on my way to the airport I saw a car of them stop at a red light, pumpin music, they get out of the car, dance in the street, when the light turns green they get back in the car and move on. I still don't understand why. Maybe with my newfound time here I'll have to ask one of them.
There is a bit of a battle, mainly in Jerusalem between... well in Jerusalem there is a battle between everyone, but between the non-religious and the ultra-religious jews. Obviously the two sides hate each other. The Jewey jews want people to not do anything on the Sabath. I was arriving in Jerusalem on Friday evening. The sun had not even fully set yet but as the bus was pulling in kids in the street were shouting at the bus something about not respecting the sabath. The city is fairly dead anyway come Friday nigh but the added sight of orthodox Jews zombying through the streets at sunset is a very interesting sight. They are trying to make the biblical law the law of Israel. This seems greatly unpopular with anyone I talk to. You do always see them standing around and campaigning for something. They don't talk to me as soon as they hear I don't speak Hebrew.
The Israelis hate them for other reasons though. The feeling is that the Orthodox Jews are a serious drain on the economy. They usually just study the Torah instead of something marketable. They breed like rabbits and don't go to the army like everyone else has to. “If it weren't for them though Israel will be all Arabs.” They are the two groups who have the most kids.
In general there is the feeling of dissent. When I was surprised that all my couch surfing requests came back 'yes' my hosts told me “Of course, you're not from Israel, everything not from Israel is cool.” Most I talked to would only be to happy to leave. None have any specific plans to do so.
I feel like I have to mention the army in all this. The reactions to it are wide ranging. From having it be one of the best experiences, to serving jail time to avoid it, to jumping off a building while in it. It has been described as good professional experience, a unifying experience for Israelis while at the same time acting as a segregating force against the Arabic cultures. The necessary amount of racism required to work borders or occupied territories only builds from working there. Nobody spends much time talking about what specifically makes the military so horrible for some, in Israel it's just understood.
Speaking of occupied territories. I went to Bethlehem for a day. It's occupied territory. Which means that it's Palestinian land under Israeli rule. Israelis are not allowed there however to get in all I have to do is wave my closed American passport and they don't look twice at me. In Palestine the official currency is whatever you got. The ATMs vend dollars and Euros and Sheckles and Jordanian...s? The place does not look any more religious than any other nation with a lot of Muslims. You can see the towers of Mosques all over the place but people are walking around in western clothes and things don't 'look' too.... ok well in Bethlehem in the city... how do I say this.... It looks a lot better than it did in Sinai. The guy I talked to on that side was not too hopeful. Said education is way to expensive, the prospects for peace are unlikely, hopes at least his kids will get out of there.
When I finally left Israel I did so by calling a travel agent and asking what the last minute deals are. This brought me to Bucharest, Romania. There I met 2 German guys who are on a road trip and I finish this on a couch in Serbia. More about these places later.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Eilat
Another bus. Egypt. I'm on my way to Dahab. There is something about buses that inspires me to write. Maybe they punctuate the bits of the trip into describable segments. I had a very weird experience today. I walked across a border. Not just a town or state or even country. In a sense I just crossed the border into Africa and to do it I got up early in the morning and just walked.
I've been trying recently to not forget to be amazed by things. I did a dive with an instructor who told me "You're good but you use your arms too much. They aren't helping you swim you know." When diving I don't use my arms to help with propulsion. I use them to help with memory. If I don't put them out to the sides and pretend like I'm flying or push the water in front of me to quickly move myself up then I sometimes forget. I forget how fucking amazing it is that I'm just hanging out in the water for an hour and breathing like a fish. I need to look like an idiot on occasion to remember that. What do you do?
"There's nothing to do in Eilat." Anna tells me when I arrive. I went diving and kite surfing on one day. Diving and hiking on the next. Walked to Egypt. Saying that Eilat is a place people go to vacation in Israel is misleading. Eilat is a place where people in Israel go to vacation. It becomes apparent quickly. English is almost non-existent. There is some Russian but almost everything is in Hebrew. You don't even hear anything else spoken in the streets. Russian being the exception. This makes nightlife a little difficult.... for me.
From the bus I'm surprised how rocky this place is. It's no like mountain rocks though. It's like someone ground up mountains into little rocks and then made piles of them all over the place.
"I've been to Dahab four times but I've never been to Egypt" says a Russian man on the bus with me. I'll see in a few hours.
I've been trying recently to not forget to be amazed by things. I did a dive with an instructor who told me "You're good but you use your arms too much. They aren't helping you swim you know." When diving I don't use my arms to help with propulsion. I use them to help with memory. If I don't put them out to the sides and pretend like I'm flying or push the water in front of me to quickly move myself up then I sometimes forget. I forget how fucking amazing it is that I'm just hanging out in the water for an hour and breathing like a fish. I need to look like an idiot on occasion to remember that. What do you do?
"There's nothing to do in Eilat." Anna tells me when I arrive. I went diving and kite surfing on one day. Diving and hiking on the next. Walked to Egypt. Saying that Eilat is a place people go to vacation in Israel is misleading. Eilat is a place where people in Israel go to vacation. It becomes apparent quickly. English is almost non-existent. There is some Russian but almost everything is in Hebrew. You don't even hear anything else spoken in the streets. Russian being the exception. This makes nightlife a little difficult.... for me.
From the bus I'm surprised how rocky this place is. It's no like mountain rocks though. It's like someone ground up mountains into little rocks and then made piles of them all over the place.
"I've been to Dahab four times but I've never been to Egypt" says a Russian man on the bus with me. I'll see in a few hours.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
izzy
'm sitting on the sand. The waves quietly caress the edge of the beach 10m in front of me. An old guy has just caught a fish the size of my hand. My laptop informs me that if I were sitting a little closer to the restaurant 50m away that this beach would have free wifi. The sand here is that extra fine type that gets into everything forever. The weather is just about perfect for beach sitting and the water is not too cold to swim in. A guy just walked by wearing a sweatshirt but he's an anomaly. Tel Aviv looms behind me. I can see 6 people from where I sit. So far Israel and I are getting along just fine.
Getting here though was not as uneventful as I'd hoped. My host in Rome gave me a ride to the airport and I was there nice and early. No more missing flights for this guy. At checkin I learned that to enter Israel without a special visa or an Israeli passport one needs to have booked a return ticket. A return ticket? This is a foreign concept to me at the moment. Why would I return to where I came from when I can go somewhere new instead. Furthermore I am waiting on a number of things know where I'm even going after this. Thinking fast I find an internet connection and manage to have my credit card declined on the cheapest flight out of Israel (it knows when it's an emergency and does not work at those times). The flight was going to Belgium. Low on hope I made my way to the ticket office of the company I was flying with and told them "I need to change my flight or find the cheapest flight out of Israel some time in early December. Don't care where." The lady at the ticket counter, being not in the mood to do so much work asked me "Why don't you just make a reservation?" "What does this involve?" I asked having no idea what she was talking about. "Well" she explained "you don't pay anythin-" "Sign me up." I answered before she finished. In the end having given her only my passport I walked away with a piece of paper (that I could have printed myself) suggesting that I had possibly thought about leaving Israel on Dec 23rd. It was good enough! So I, with an army of people who's average age must have been about 75 'speedily' boarded the plane and were off ahead of schedule.
The interrogation begins the moment you're off the plane. As you leave your gate a team of people are there to ask you questions. The first time is like a practice for passport control. The questions are the same so you can get used to giving the answers. "why are you here? where are you staying? for how long?" I confidently said that I'm flying out on Dec 23rd and said that I'm staying with friends who's last names they did not even ask for. Then you walk by a fountain that reminds me of the king from the Mario Brothers movie (I'm certain nobody is getting that joke). And before you're free you get the 2nd round of questioning from passport control. This round also involves "Have you ever been to Israel before"? And when you politely ask them not to stamp your passport they give you the eye and ask again "are you SURE you've never been to Israel before?" It's at this point that you realize that you could have bullshitted the entire process.
One of the most uncommon things that you see in the streets are not just the large quantity of people in their army uniform but the fact that some of them are not just carrying but wielding their pistols as they walk around. "They are ready to shoot you" said Pavlik the guy I'm staying with "well not you but you know..."
The people are generally attractive especially coming from Italy where the average girl you see on the streets of Florence finds themselves somewhere between 'eh' and 'ugh'. Rome was better. The average around here goes somewhere between 'huhm' and 'M!mn'. 'Huhm' being that uncommon kind of look that you're not sure what to think of immediately but grows on you after a few minutes, or doesn't. Strangely enough in Italy the tourists were the most attractive while here the tourists are mostly elderly.
There are three official languages written on the street signs, Hebrew, Arabic, and English and the non official language of Russian which is found in stores and spoken widely. For the most of the locals' places though, there is only Hebrew. It makes things difficult. Whereas European languages that I don't understand I can at least read and try to sound it out and guess. Hebrew may as well be Chinese as far as my chance for understanding it goes.
The people I'm staying with so far are awesome and I think we'll have a few more nights of good times together. It's time for me to find where the rest of this beach is.
Getting here though was not as uneventful as I'd hoped. My host in Rome gave me a ride to the airport and I was there nice and early. No more missing flights for this guy. At checkin I learned that to enter Israel without a special visa or an Israeli passport one needs to have booked a return ticket. A return ticket? This is a foreign concept to me at the moment. Why would I return to where I came from when I can go somewhere new instead. Furthermore I am waiting on a number of things know where I'm even going after this. Thinking fast I find an internet connection and manage to have my credit card declined on the cheapest flight out of Israel (it knows when it's an emergency and does not work at those times). The flight was going to Belgium. Low on hope I made my way to the ticket office of the company I was flying with and told them "I need to change my flight or find the cheapest flight out of Israel some time in early December. Don't care where." The lady at the ticket counter, being not in the mood to do so much work asked me "Why don't you just make a reservation?" "What does this involve?" I asked having no idea what she was talking about. "Well" she explained "you don't pay anythin-" "Sign me up." I answered before she finished. In the end having given her only my passport I walked away with a piece of paper (that I could have printed myself) suggesting that I had possibly thought about leaving Israel on Dec 23rd. It was good enough! So I, with an army of people who's average age must have been about 75 'speedily' boarded the plane and were off ahead of schedule.
The interrogation begins the moment you're off the plane. As you leave your gate a team of people are there to ask you questions. The first time is like a practice for passport control. The questions are the same so you can get used to giving the answers. "why are you here? where are you staying? for how long?" I confidently said that I'm flying out on Dec 23rd and said that I'm staying with friends who's last names they did not even ask for. Then you walk by a fountain that reminds me of the king from the Mario Brothers movie (I'm certain nobody is getting that joke). And before you're free you get the 2nd round of questioning from passport control. This round also involves "Have you ever been to Israel before"? And when you politely ask them not to stamp your passport they give you the eye and ask again "are you SURE you've never been to Israel before?" It's at this point that you realize that you could have bullshitted the entire process.
One of the most uncommon things that you see in the streets are not just the large quantity of people in their army uniform but the fact that some of them are not just carrying but wielding their pistols as they walk around. "They are ready to shoot you" said Pavlik the guy I'm staying with "well not you but you know..."
The people are generally attractive especially coming from Italy where the average girl you see on the streets of Florence finds themselves somewhere between 'eh' and 'ugh'. Rome was better. The average around here goes somewhere between 'huhm' and 'M!mn'. 'Huhm' being that uncommon kind of look that you're not sure what to think of immediately but grows on you after a few minutes, or doesn't. Strangely enough in Italy the tourists were the most attractive while here the tourists are mostly elderly.
There are three official languages written on the street signs, Hebrew, Arabic, and English and the non official language of Russian which is found in stores and spoken widely. For the most of the locals' places though, there is only Hebrew. It makes things difficult. Whereas European languages that I don't understand I can at least read and try to sound it out and guess. Hebrew may as well be Chinese as far as my chance for understanding it goes.
The people I'm staying with so far are awesome and I think we'll have a few more nights of good times together. It's time for me to find where the rest of this beach is.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Going to Italia
I'm in an airport in Rome waiting for my connection to Venice. I tried a new style of flying: leaving the aiport after a shot, 2 beers, and 3/4 of a bottle of wine. It was good wine and now I have a couch in Estonia. There are pros and cons to this style of travel. The pro being I don't eveen remember the takeoff. I got on the plane on the round and woke p when it was on the ground again. The cons... When asked if I wanted a window or an isle seat I answered "I don't care just put me next to that cute redhead who just checked in" (I got a window seat in an emergency row, far from the cute redhead, who I had completely forgotten about come boarding time) and, when I did wake up, it was with quite the headache. I'm still uncertain as to what my plan to fix this is. I probably just need a bloody mary. The bus from Barcelona to the airport was not working tonight. This in itself was a minor inconvenience but to make it more fun they didn't tell anybody about it. There was a guy at my busstop who, when asked directly would admit that it's not going to come tonight but there was nothing about him that indicated "ask me about how fucked you are." A button would have been nice, a sign, something. Luckily my spanish was good enough to not only realize the severity of my situation but to find 4 people to split a cab with. In the end, a nice conclusion to a wonderful stay in Alicante. I actually took some pictures of the place I stayed and while I'm sure they aren't doing it justice, they express the awesome nature of the view at hand. I was staying with my friend's family, it is the house of her aunt and uncle. At dinner time there were usually about 11 people at the table. Mostly students of various student ages. I can't remember what all the connections are but in some way they have some vague connection to the family. Manuel, the uncle, a professor of coppyright law, talked about how important it is to always have an open house and welcome people and to be trusting of others. This is a philosophy not built on endless positive experiences as he recalls a time when one of the guests just disappeared one day with a significant quantity of money. "These people are the exception you can't let them stop you" The dinner table reverberates mostly with Spanish but a little German sneaks in on occasion and Manuel requests English for my sake. Everyone there except the grandmother speaks it. The food at dinner is awesome, they had the best blood sausage I've had so far.
The weather hit a low of about 16c at night. The beaches are long, the sand is soft, the water is not too cold but far too calm, the city has a big castle in it. As usual I did not go into the castle but it was a fun climb exploring the big hill around it.
2 hours was not enough time to transport my bag from one plane to another. I'm in Venice, my bag is in Rome. A good start. The plan to be hung over for the museums is backfiring on me. It's twice as painful. I need a new plan.
The weather hit a low of about 16c at night. The beaches are long, the sand is soft, the water is not too cold but far too calm, the city has a big castle in it. As usual I did not go into the castle but it was a fun climb exploring the big hill around it.
2 hours was not enough time to transport my bag from one plane to another. I'm in Venice, my bag is in Rome. A good start. The plan to be hung over for the museums is backfiring on me. It's twice as painful. I need a new plan.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
hippies in scotland
I have been meaning to write about my recent travels but lately I've been in no mood for it. I'll finish talking about the last month soon. For now, here is what I just came back from.
So the one time my plane is on time I happen to be there only 35 min before it leaves, and not the required 40. I'm on a bus back to Edinburgh, leaving my phone off hoping that when I turn it on again the 5 min of battery will be enough for me to receive a text saying that I can indeed have a place to sleep. I smell like campfire. It's the only thing cheering me up at the moment. I was told the airport is 10k from Edinburgh central and did not expect the bus to take 1.5 hours to go 10k. Expensive lesson learned. My arms are covered in camp fire smell as well. I'm coming back from staying at a protest site. The site was set up 7 years ago to protest the building of a bypass. They tell me the bypass is still not built because they don't have funding for it and proudly proclaim that it is very expensive to evict them. Including me, last night there were 4 Americans and 4 Brits. The only Scottish man is a very old guy who is quite difficult to understand and travels with his dog. 'Fuck off' is 50% of what he says to her. “Dolly was made just over there” he points. “Now they got her cut in half on display at the museum.” “Awesome” I think. “Disgusting” he corrects. I keep quiet. The man who's been there the longest past 5 years is from Spain. “We're stopping the growth of biotech in the area and the locals support us” he explains. I'm not entirely sure how though. I don't see any there. Being there for 7 years they still have no running water or electricity. The tree houses are fairly nice. I got to sleep in one that had a spring mattress, twin size, even some bedsheets that I discarded in exchange for my sleeping bag. They remake or move them once every few years when the tree starts to grow around the ropes. “Nails are bad for the trees. We only use rope here.” Explains another long timer. There is a river that splits the camp in half and the sound of the river and the campfire and the small amount of wildlife (mainly owls or rats) create a very peaceful ambiance. The site is conveniently located a 5 minute walk from the bus stop and, 10 min away from the local wholesale store, like Costco. This is the site's greatest asset. If you were to visit, in addition to living in trees and drumming around a camp fire, one of the available activities is skiffing or as Americans know it, dumpster diving. Dumpster diving at a wholesale store really brings the experience up a notch. There you find wheels of Brie larger than your car tire, boxes with 20 cartons of scrambled eggs. More bread and assorted cheeses than you know what to do with (I suggested fondue) and assorted items that don't even really have an expiration date. For instance we deep fried meat pies in walnut oil, made pizzadillas (I'd call it a calzone if it wasn't a frozen pizza folded in half and stuffed with cheese), fried battered chocolate balls, double fried chips (fries as most of you know em) with the left over walnut oil. In the protest site world these people eat like kings, in fact they even export their unused food to other protest sites. They tell me of a new one, a few hours away by bus, where most off the people are. People travel the country going from site to site, some by bike others by bus. I asked if there is ever someone in charge at these things. “In charge? That's a bit of a foreign concept to me. I usually just listen to everyone's ideas and follow the best suggestion.” I didn't ask what happens if people disagree on what the best suggestion is. --side note: when this bus stops I can see the next stop from the one that it's stopping at, no wonder it takes 1.5 hours. -- When leaving the site one of the residents told me “I went to the doctor for my compulsion and he discriminated against me because of the way I look. (hippy dreads, flannel, untied boots, 'I shaved exactly 3 days ago' beard yes that guy in your mind exactly) He wouldn't recommend me to a psychiatrist. Told me it's a problem of the way I live. I said he was discriminating against me and he didn't even deny it. I have some chemical imbalance and need drugs to make it better.” The irony was lost on him. I didn't explain it. I did a lot of keeping my mouth shut.
If I have no couch tonight. I will probably head back there.
PS: Go couch surfing.
So the one time my plane is on time I happen to be there only 35 min before it leaves, and not the required 40. I'm on a bus back to Edinburgh, leaving my phone off hoping that when I turn it on again the 5 min of battery will be enough for me to receive a text saying that I can indeed have a place to sleep. I smell like campfire. It's the only thing cheering me up at the moment. I was told the airport is 10k from Edinburgh central and did not expect the bus to take 1.5 hours to go 10k. Expensive lesson learned. My arms are covered in camp fire smell as well. I'm coming back from staying at a protest site. The site was set up 7 years ago to protest the building of a bypass. They tell me the bypass is still not built because they don't have funding for it and proudly proclaim that it is very expensive to evict them. Including me, last night there were 4 Americans and 4 Brits. The only Scottish man is a very old guy who is quite difficult to understand and travels with his dog. 'Fuck off' is 50% of what he says to her. “Dolly was made just over there” he points. “Now they got her cut in half on display at the museum.” “Awesome” I think. “Disgusting” he corrects. I keep quiet. The man who's been there the longest past 5 years is from Spain. “We're stopping the growth of biotech in the area and the locals support us” he explains. I'm not entirely sure how though. I don't see any there. Being there for 7 years they still have no running water or electricity. The tree houses are fairly nice. I got to sleep in one that had a spring mattress, twin size, even some bedsheets that I discarded in exchange for my sleeping bag. They remake or move them once every few years when the tree starts to grow around the ropes. “Nails are bad for the trees. We only use rope here.” Explains another long timer. There is a river that splits the camp in half and the sound of the river and the campfire and the small amount of wildlife (mainly owls or rats) create a very peaceful ambiance. The site is conveniently located a 5 minute walk from the bus stop and, 10 min away from the local wholesale store, like Costco. This is the site's greatest asset. If you were to visit, in addition to living in trees and drumming around a camp fire, one of the available activities is skiffing or as Americans know it, dumpster diving. Dumpster diving at a wholesale store really brings the experience up a notch. There you find wheels of Brie larger than your car tire, boxes with 20 cartons of scrambled eggs. More bread and assorted cheeses than you know what to do with (I suggested fondue) and assorted items that don't even really have an expiration date. For instance we deep fried meat pies in walnut oil, made pizzadillas (I'd call it a calzone if it wasn't a frozen pizza folded in half and stuffed with cheese), fried battered chocolate balls, double fried chips (fries as most of you know em) with the left over walnut oil. In the protest site world these people eat like kings, in fact they even export their unused food to other protest sites. They tell me of a new one, a few hours away by bus, where most off the people are. People travel the country going from site to site, some by bike others by bus. I asked if there is ever someone in charge at these things. “In charge? That's a bit of a foreign concept to me. I usually just listen to everyone's ideas and follow the best suggestion.” I didn't ask what happens if people disagree on what the best suggestion is. --side note: when this bus stops I can see the next stop from the one that it's stopping at, no wonder it takes 1.5 hours. -- When leaving the site one of the residents told me “I went to the doctor for my compulsion and he discriminated against me because of the way I look. (hippy dreads, flannel, untied boots, 'I shaved exactly 3 days ago' beard yes that guy in your mind exactly) He wouldn't recommend me to a psychiatrist. Told me it's a problem of the way I live. I said he was discriminating against me and he didn't even deny it. I have some chemical imbalance and need drugs to make it better.” The irony was lost on him. I didn't explain it. I did a lot of keeping my mouth shut.
If I have no couch tonight. I will probably head back there.
PS: Go couch surfing.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Camino 2
“Donde esta el camino de santiago” I ask a few times a day. The response is usually a long string of gibberish that I don't understand with some pointing. People repeat numbers twice but they are the only part of the explanation I understand. “yes 2 something in that direction, gracias” I have met a fairly large number of people who speak some English. In fact they speak a fair bit of English, enough for me to be able to converse with them fairly easily. Well easy for me, I'm the one speaking my native tongue. The camino really is quite scenic. The northern part frequently takes you to the water and the shore has been compared to the shore of Ireland. Big rocky cliffs that yield to short stretches of sandy beach. One such beach was carved out by a small stream that feeds into it and after swimming in the ocean one can rinse off in the fresh water of the mountain stream. The water is cold but very refreshing after a day of walking. When not along the water the camino takes to the hills, walking up and down the hilltops you can look out to see nearby green fields, red roofed towns, grey mountains poke out of white clouds and if one can ignore the physical difficulty of the hike, the scenery is quite beautiful. I can no longer ignore the pain I've been feeling. Every day my knees get worse and I fear they will actually suffer permanent damage. The camino has beaten me, for now. But one day I'd like to finish what I started. I'd walked about 160k and as I sit on a bus going south I admit defeat.
Monday, September 7, 2009
El Camino Del Norte De Santiago
The Northern Path to Santiago. I have been a tourist and a traveler but right now I'm trying something different. Right now I'm a pilgrim. I'm sitting in a dwelling provided by a church in some town in Spain who's name I don't care to know. Next to me is a sleeping cat. Around me on every wall are photos of some of the pilgrims who came through here. 2 rooms down is the room I will share tonight. It has about 30 beds, bunked. No sheets or anything. I asked, someone to ask, for a blanket without it the night would have been quite cold. My right foot hurts from knee to toe. A combination of aches and pains that leaves me considering the pros and cons of a wooden leg. Think about it, it's all I'm saying. Today I have sent a little over 6 kilos (~15 pounds) of stuff I don't need to a friend in Valencia. My pack should not have been more than 6 kilos total to begin with. I feel prepared for this now. I can do this. We started 3 days ago in Santander. We have walked about 60k. 35 on the first day. The pilgrimage requires a lot of faith. The path is marked by a series of arrows. They are found on the ground, on curbs, trees, signs, walls, benches, all over the place. Sometimes there are 6 arrows at an intersection telling you which way you should be gong. Sometimes there is one that a car has parked on top of. Other times it takes a leap of faith. These arrows don't take you via the most direct path to anything... other than a church. Have no fear ye of most pious faith, if there is a church on a hilltop 2 miles out of your way then the arrows will direct you to that hilltop. From this hilltop you can see another hilltop with another church and rest assured that it shalt not be missed. On occasion a local will point out a shortcut but do not fall into temptation. Sure, this shortcut will save you 3k of walking but you will miss both a church and an opportunity to cross a river on a bridge made sometime just past the roman era. These shortcuts require a different type of faith. For instance faith in my Spanish.... It's getting better. When not on the most out of the way wilderness trails possible you find yourself on roads not entirely made for pedestrians. The pilgrimage is a popular concept with the locals so they will honk and wave and sometimes it takes a little faith to assume they are saying hi as they drive straight at you honking at 50 miles an hour. At the moment it is taking a miniscule shred of faith to believe that none of the 30 people who I will be sharing a room with will snore too loudly. Maxine has faith that by continuing to do exactly what caused her legs to hurt will suddenly cause her legs to get better. I have faith that despite any preparation, prior research, experience, proper gear, or any idea of where I'm going, I will inevitably arrive where I need to be. So have faith my friends, I will return.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Post Pueblo
Soria bus station: Maxine, my travel partner de jour is reporting her camera lost at the police station. I don't want to hang around, I need to write while I have time. The bus will take me to a point along the el camino. A famous pilgrimage trail, we're doing a small piece along the north. Maxine says it should take 3 weeks. I just heard of the plan last night. We got a ride from the teary goodbye session at the end of Pueblo Ingles. I think I'm far too used to good-byes. The program its self was amazing as is to be expected from any program where you confine a group of 30 people to a ghost town and force them to interact in a one to one basis. Everybody leaves feeling like they have made a dozen friends. I make no speculations of the future but I had a great time. I was asked many times why I do it and what's in it for me and the answer is simple. There is no other venue that will allow me to have so much interaction with so many local people, from so many backgrounds, of a country where I don't speak the language. I've met everyone from house wives to business owners. They have told me about many aspects of Spanish culture, a little about the politics, much about Spanish business, and a large assortment of life philosophies, stories and viewpoints. I would certainly do it again.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tomatina
Tomatina
We wake up at 5 in the morning, get ready and pretend like we don't know each other as we leave the hotel. The room is paid for 2 and there are 5 of us. The metro arrives at 6:00, three girls sitting there tell us they've been sitting since 5:30. The city is suddenly different, everyone speaks English and everyone has a plan, the plan, your plan. As the metro gets closer to the train station the tourist to local ratio skyrockets. Outside the train station is a line of 200ish people waiting to get in, as we arrive the cops are letting them in one by one. We sneak around and take the elevator. The train is packed, the last time I hear Spanish is when I buy my tickets. We see the sun rise wile on the train. As far as I know I'm on the first one to leave Valencia. Nobody sleeps they are all too excited. As we step off the music is thumping. Its a walk of about a mile or two from the train to the pole. The entire way is filled with people selling beer, sangria, food, shirts, goggles. The only purchase more useless than the goggles is the shirt. The sangria however is a wise investment. As we reach the pole we see more houses draped in tarps. It's been daylight for maybe an hour or two and the drunk population is staggering, some are still drunk from the night before others are quickly working their way up as time goes on. After the first giant cup of sangria I realize that a 2nd one is more than I need to join these people in their impaired state. I stay at 1 cup.
Part 1 of the event is the greased pole. Ceremoniously a telephone pole is greased up with lard (see pictures) and stood upright. A cured leg hangs on top. They are found in even the smallest of Spanish grocery stores. Some will even have one on display so that you can taste the difference between the cheap and the expensive ones. They are quite tasty. One the pole is up people are encouraged to reach the leg on top. It's obvious to everyone after about 10 minutes that the only way to do it is to build a human tower and cooperate because there is no holding on to the greased pole. ... it's greased. Drunk people spend about one hour climbing over each other hoping that their friends will get pictures of them 'climbing the pole'. After an hour people start to cooperate a little bit and help each other up. After 2 (or more I don't have any way of telling time) hours of drunk shirtless men homo-erotically humping the pole there is a bang to indicate the festival is starting. From down the street (all the streets are flooded with people) a giant truck appears. A few men make sure it doesn't hit any one, and about 10 people sit inside the truck and as it goes by chuck tomatoes at the people in the crowd. Common misconception #1 At Tomatina you do not throw tomatoes. Tomatoes are thrown at you and you pick them off the ground, out of the air, and off of yourself and throw them back. The first truck comes and goes, I've found 2 tomatoes to throw, there is a light splattering of red all over the place and people stand around picking tomato off themselves. I think “well that was disappointing.” And then the second truck comes and the third, fourth, fifth... after the eighth I lose count. After the fourth I am no longer bothering to remove the tomato chunks from my face. Tomatoes are everywhere. The trucks stop near the pole and dump tomatoes on the ground. What follows looks like a tomato orgy as shirtless people almost swim in semi crushed tomatoes. Tomato paste enters every orifice. I pick tomato chunks out of my ass-crack... and throw them at people. Pools of tomato paste form in the street. After the last truck passes and the final shot says 'no more tomato throwing' people start to head back through this 1-2 mile trek back to the station. Locals throw water from atop their homes, the tomato paste of the streets gets diluted to sauce. After it all ends some people are injured, some have had things stolen, or lost, anyone dumb enough to wear a shirt had it ripped off of them, some have loved it others hated it. Many are disgusted despite knowing full well what they signed up for. Everyone smells AWFUL. Locals help wash down the crowds. You need 3 things to get on the train 1) a ticket 2) a shirt 3) not be covered in tomato chunks. It is easier for girls, they can get away with bikini tops and those are not ripped off in battle. When you get back to Valencia everyone knows where you've been. An old Spanish lady on the metro literally called it a 'shit fest' in Spanish.
Suggestion for things to do and not do:
1.Catch the first train, second if you have to but don't wait. There were many people walking back perfectly clean.
2.Don't wear a shirt it will get ripped but don't lose it. I tucked mine into my belt and that worked great.
3.There is no practical way to get to a bathroom from the middle of the crowd. Remember that when taking a swim in the tomato pool.
4.Don't wear anything that you want to ever see again. I've thrown out everything I wore to the festival. No regrets.
5.Theft is common, don't bring more than 20 bucks, don't expect to come home with it.
6.Buy a return ticket when you buy your ticket to get there. It doesn't have to be dry or even in one piece but you will have no money when you get back to the station.
7.There is a wine festival that goes on the whole week in an adjacent village it comes highly highly recommended by the couch surfers I met who went. Many went as far as saying it was more fun than Tomatina its self. When I met them at Tomatina many were still drunk from the night before and very happy about it.
8.My final recommendation is not one I give often. I heard a large number of people complaining about being unhappy about the festival and it sounds like being covered in tomato guts and trampled is just not their thing. So if it's not your thing... don't go. I got a sense that many of the people there were thinking “FESTIVAL YAY LETS GO GET DRUNK YEA YEA OZZY OZZY OZZY!” (50% aussies at this thing) but when they were suddenly covered in tomatoes were actually surprised by it.
Any way I had a great time. Now on to Madrid.
We wake up at 5 in the morning, get ready and pretend like we don't know each other as we leave the hotel. The room is paid for 2 and there are 5 of us. The metro arrives at 6:00, three girls sitting there tell us they've been sitting since 5:30. The city is suddenly different, everyone speaks English and everyone has a plan, the plan, your plan. As the metro gets closer to the train station the tourist to local ratio skyrockets. Outside the train station is a line of 200ish people waiting to get in, as we arrive the cops are letting them in one by one. We sneak around and take the elevator. The train is packed, the last time I hear Spanish is when I buy my tickets. We see the sun rise wile on the train. As far as I know I'm on the first one to leave Valencia. Nobody sleeps they are all too excited. As we step off the music is thumping. Its a walk of about a mile or two from the train to the pole. The entire way is filled with people selling beer, sangria, food, shirts, goggles. The only purchase more useless than the goggles is the shirt. The sangria however is a wise investment. As we reach the pole we see more houses draped in tarps. It's been daylight for maybe an hour or two and the drunk population is staggering, some are still drunk from the night before others are quickly working their way up as time goes on. After the first giant cup of sangria I realize that a 2nd one is more than I need to join these people in their impaired state. I stay at 1 cup.
Part 1 of the event is the greased pole. Ceremoniously a telephone pole is greased up with lard (see pictures) and stood upright. A cured leg hangs on top. They are found in even the smallest of Spanish grocery stores. Some will even have one on display so that you can taste the difference between the cheap and the expensive ones. They are quite tasty. One the pole is up people are encouraged to reach the leg on top. It's obvious to everyone after about 10 minutes that the only way to do it is to build a human tower and cooperate because there is no holding on to the greased pole. ... it's greased. Drunk people spend about one hour climbing over each other hoping that their friends will get pictures of them 'climbing the pole'. After an hour people start to cooperate a little bit and help each other up. After 2 (or more I don't have any way of telling time) hours of drunk shirtless men homo-erotically humping the pole there is a bang to indicate the festival is starting. From down the street (all the streets are flooded with people) a giant truck appears. A few men make sure it doesn't hit any one, and about 10 people sit inside the truck and as it goes by chuck tomatoes at the people in the crowd. Common misconception #1 At Tomatina you do not throw tomatoes. Tomatoes are thrown at you and you pick them off the ground, out of the air, and off of yourself and throw them back. The first truck comes and goes, I've found 2 tomatoes to throw, there is a light splattering of red all over the place and people stand around picking tomato off themselves. I think “well that was disappointing.” And then the second truck comes and the third, fourth, fifth... after the eighth I lose count. After the fourth I am no longer bothering to remove the tomato chunks from my face. Tomatoes are everywhere. The trucks stop near the pole and dump tomatoes on the ground. What follows looks like a tomato orgy as shirtless people almost swim in semi crushed tomatoes. Tomato paste enters every orifice. I pick tomato chunks out of my ass-crack... and throw them at people. Pools of tomato paste form in the street. After the last truck passes and the final shot says 'no more tomato throwing' people start to head back through this 1-2 mile trek back to the station. Locals throw water from atop their homes, the tomato paste of the streets gets diluted to sauce. After it all ends some people are injured, some have had things stolen, or lost, anyone dumb enough to wear a shirt had it ripped off of them, some have loved it others hated it. Many are disgusted despite knowing full well what they signed up for. Everyone smells AWFUL. Locals help wash down the crowds. You need 3 things to get on the train 1) a ticket 2) a shirt 3) not be covered in tomato chunks. It is easier for girls, they can get away with bikini tops and those are not ripped off in battle. When you get back to Valencia everyone knows where you've been. An old Spanish lady on the metro literally called it a 'shit fest' in Spanish.
Suggestion for things to do and not do:
1.Catch the first train, second if you have to but don't wait. There were many people walking back perfectly clean.
2.Don't wear a shirt it will get ripped but don't lose it. I tucked mine into my belt and that worked great.
3.There is no practical way to get to a bathroom from the middle of the crowd. Remember that when taking a swim in the tomato pool.
4.Don't wear anything that you want to ever see again. I've thrown out everything I wore to the festival. No regrets.
5.Theft is common, don't bring more than 20 bucks, don't expect to come home with it.
6.Buy a return ticket when you buy your ticket to get there. It doesn't have to be dry or even in one piece but you will have no money when you get back to the station.
7.There is a wine festival that goes on the whole week in an adjacent village it comes highly highly recommended by the couch surfers I met who went. Many went as far as saying it was more fun than Tomatina its self. When I met them at Tomatina many were still drunk from the night before and very happy about it.
8.My final recommendation is not one I give often. I heard a large number of people complaining about being unhappy about the festival and it sounds like being covered in tomato guts and trampled is just not their thing. So if it's not your thing... don't go. I got a sense that many of the people there were thinking “FESTIVAL YAY LETS GO GET DRUNK YEA YEA OZZY OZZY OZZY!” (50% aussies at this thing) but when they were suddenly covered in tomatoes were actually surprised by it.
Any way I had a great time. Now on to Madrid.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Gibraltar
I'm in a bus station, sweating, not just light 'oh you must be tired' sweat. No. I'm sweating 'I think there must be something wrong with that guy over there' sweat. I'm the only one, but nobody else walked to this bus station with all their belongings on their back. My boat departure was brief, almost sudden. 'Drop the anchor, fix the chain, call that guy in the dingy over here, *hugs and hand shakes*, *wave from the water*, “Sure I know where the bus station is. I got here via bus 2 days ago.” he and his brother are delivering a beautiful wooden boat “as the Germans say there is a dead rat behind every door” they explain the condition of the boat, I walk down the dock, realize I have everything but my passport, wave down a Brit who took me back to the boat again “don't leave your stuff unattended for even a minute, gypsies everywhere they'll steal your dingy soon as you turn your back”, “EY! EY! I forgot my passport!, *passport*, *more good-byes*, “just finished a 3 year long circumnavigation and spending the winter in Gibraltar”, *walk 15 min to the station*, “Bus leaves at 7 from terminal 12 arriving in Valencia at 7 the next morning” I understand through gestures, broken English, basic Spanish, *3:30 buy myself a drink, juice, tropical, open up my computer*, no internet. ....
“You're looking at now, now”
“What happened to then?”
“We passed then.”
“When?
“Just now.”
“When will then be now?
“Soon.”
*I drink it and feel it seep out of my pores again*
It all happened that fast. As for final thoughts on the boat? I had a good time. My Russian is noticeably better, maybe my boat knowledge as well. I'll miss the crew. I enjoyed Boris's stories, the uncommon level of honesty that Hana and I shared. Even the new crew left an impression. I was astounded by Dennis's insatiable motivation (He started, raised and sold a business in a foreign country and after knowing him for only a couple days this doesn't nearly fail to surprise me but I'm left thinking “Just 1? Well he's still young”) and Anna's (yes we found a 2nd one) existential perspective, I have a feeling that if I stayed on the boat longer we'd have had some very interesting conversations.
As with all sudden changes in my life I feel confused, uncertain, anxious, and a little scared. But you know what they say, happiness takes all forms. At 7:00 I get on a bus, I have no idea what I should be doing 12 hours later when I get off this bus. *smile* I'm excited.
“You're looking at now, now”
“What happened to then?”
“We passed then.”
“When?
“Just now.”
“When will then be now?
“Soon.”
*I drink it and feel it seep out of my pores again*
It all happened that fast. As for final thoughts on the boat? I had a good time. My Russian is noticeably better, maybe my boat knowledge as well. I'll miss the crew. I enjoyed Boris's stories, the uncommon level of honesty that Hana and I shared. Even the new crew left an impression. I was astounded by Dennis's insatiable motivation (He started, raised and sold a business in a foreign country and after knowing him for only a couple days this doesn't nearly fail to surprise me but I'm left thinking “Just 1? Well he's still young”) and Anna's (yes we found a 2nd one) existential perspective, I have a feeling that if I stayed on the boat longer we'd have had some very interesting conversations.
As with all sudden changes in my life I feel confused, uncertain, anxious, and a little scared. But you know what they say, happiness takes all forms. At 7:00 I get on a bus, I have no idea what I should be doing 12 hours later when I get off this bus. *smile* I'm excited.
Monday, August 17, 2009
puerto
The boat has changed to all Russian and turned toward Morocco. Jessica is visiting friends in Spain and Avi has gone back home. Before Avi left he asked me to help bring the boat to Tangier. He bribed me with paid transport back to Spain. He also offered to fly me from Spain to anywhere in Europe if I stay the whole way to Israel. I don't think I will. But adding a free continent to my list is not something I can pass up. I still have a week till the tomato festival. As always the plans are shaky. That's not what is on the menu today, today we talk about Spain.
Avi has lived in Spain for years. He says it's the place where Europe goes to party. All I can say is never in my life have I gone to sleep at 3:30 in the morning 3 nights in a row and felt like I'm being lame and going to bed early every one of those nights. It's not just that there is a posh bar at the marina. There is another bar ¼ mile away from the marina and along the entire shore every parking lot everywhere is filled with people. So is the center of town and the bazar and the beaches, everything. And I'm not talking about seeing people walking by every now and then, no. I'm talking about pushing through crowds of people, walking around people playing cards on streets and benches. Going past parking spots where every 3rd car has its own music going and drinks being passed around and people walking every which way. I stopped at one car because I heard music playing that I was particularly fond of and asked... swallowing my 'I'm not a tourist' pride, if anyone spoke English. Everyone helpfully pointed to 1 guy who was very friendly and informed me that I'm listening to Alborosie, Italian reggae. The whole experience was just very friendly and I felt that I'd have been invited to stay and talk if I had asked but I've had enough translating back and fourth for the time being. Still I like this place. I'm not actually in Cadiz I'm across the river at El Puerto de Santa Maria. A place known for its bull fights which Anna got to witness via 'pretty girl' privilege while the rest of us went for a drink.
The people are mostly attractive and everyone I've talked to so far has been friendly. At the beach the pretty girls go topless while the fat/old/ugly stay clothed. (a SHOCKING change from the Caribbean!) The prices are reasonable unless you're looking for water or soda. A 3 euro bottle of wine from a convenience store is all I need to be happy. There are rocks and walls and old buildings to climb and even when people see you nobody says shit. I'm glad we got stranded here for a weekend. I highly recommend this place to everyone.
I will however mention that I'm sweating my balls off. Siesta does not come easy on a boat, no AC.
Avi has lived in Spain for years. He says it's the place where Europe goes to party. All I can say is never in my life have I gone to sleep at 3:30 in the morning 3 nights in a row and felt like I'm being lame and going to bed early every one of those nights. It's not just that there is a posh bar at the marina. There is another bar ¼ mile away from the marina and along the entire shore every parking lot everywhere is filled with people. So is the center of town and the bazar and the beaches, everything. And I'm not talking about seeing people walking by every now and then, no. I'm talking about pushing through crowds of people, walking around people playing cards on streets and benches. Going past parking spots where every 3rd car has its own music going and drinks being passed around and people walking every which way. I stopped at one car because I heard music playing that I was particularly fond of and asked... swallowing my 'I'm not a tourist' pride, if anyone spoke English. Everyone helpfully pointed to 1 guy who was very friendly and informed me that I'm listening to Alborosie, Italian reggae. The whole experience was just very friendly and I felt that I'd have been invited to stay and talk if I had asked but I've had enough translating back and fourth for the time being. Still I like this place. I'm not actually in Cadiz I'm across the river at El Puerto de Santa Maria. A place known for its bull fights which Anna got to witness via 'pretty girl' privilege while the rest of us went for a drink.
The people are mostly attractive and everyone I've talked to so far has been friendly. At the beach the pretty girls go topless while the fat/old/ugly stay clothed. (a SHOCKING change from the Caribbean!) The prices are reasonable unless you're looking for water or soda. A 3 euro bottle of wine from a convenience store is all I need to be happy. There are rocks and walls and old buildings to climb and even when people see you nobody says shit. I'm glad we got stranded here for a weekend. I highly recommend this place to everyone.
I will however mention that I'm sweating my balls off. Siesta does not come easy on a boat, no AC.
Friday, August 14, 2009
more stuff
I woke up this morning anchored in Cadiz Spain. I went to bed last night somewhere around 5 in the morning. The winds have not been treating us right and the engines are for entering port purposes only. They might give at any time says Boris. This is his 7th time across the Atlantic. He says compared to the other ships he's done it in this is the equivalent of drift wood. We couldn't get through the straight of Gibraltar. We stopped a few miles short and decided not to fight the strong east winds. It's already been 2 days of “If the winds cooperate we'll get in tonight. In, is Gibraltar. Avi and Boris worry about the boat being able to make it to Israel. I look at the date and factor in how long it took us to get this far and fear that even if I get off in Malta, I'll miss the tomato festival and then my subsequent Pueblo Ingles appointment.
I can't wait to get on land. Anna says she's all about exploring with me, maybe we'll find some rooftops.
I should have some pictures up when you get this. There is a story with them that you can read if you scroll through them.
I can't wait to get on land. Anna says she's all about exploring with me, maybe we'll find some rooftops.
I should have some pictures up when you get this. There is a story with them that you can read if you scroll through them.
more stuff
I woke up this morning anchored in Cadiz Spain. I went to bed last night somewhere around 5 in the morning. The winds have not been treating us right and the engines are for entering port purposes only. They might give at any time says Boris. This is his 7th time across the Atlantic. He says compared to the other ships he's done it in this is the equivalent of drift wood. We couldn't get through the straight of Gibraltar. We stopped a few miles short and decided not to fight the strong east winds. It's already been 2 days of “If the winds cooperate we'll get in tonight. In, is Gibraltar. Avi and Boris worry about the boat being able to make it to Israel. I look at the date and factor in how long it took us to get this far and fear that even if I get off in Malta, I'll miss the tomato festival and then my subsequent Pueblo Ingles appointment.
I can't wait to get on land. Anna says she's all about exploring with me, maybe we'll find some rooftops.
I should have some pictures up when you get this. There is a story with them that you can read if you scroll through them.
I can't wait to get on land. Anna says she's all about exploring with me, maybe we'll find some rooftops.
I should have some pictures up when you get this. There is a story with them that you can read if you scroll through them.
“I'm on a boat to Israel.” Is the last thing I let people know before disappearing again. It's Friday they tell me, August 7th. We've been in completely still air for the past week. As I write the wind has picked up but we have 500 miles to go... till we hit the straight of Gibraltar. The sun is shrouded in clouds and the water is flat. We just turned the generator on and are charging up devices. The boat is a completely different experience than the last boat. Where on the last boat we lost a few devices in a storm, here they have not worked to begin with. Turning on engines is always a battle. Navigation devices are similar too the handheld backups we had on the last boat. There was no autopilot on day 1 and fixing it is not even a priority. I stare forward from my bed and see the backs of the panels that start the motors. If there is a storm I'll need to make some sort of plastic bag covering to stop them from leaking on me. The first thing I did when I got on the boat was to bleach the fuck out of the bed and the room in general because it was covered in mold. Then I washed all the sheets. Why is the boat in such a mess? This requires an explanation of the crew.
I got on this boat by sheer accident. But, as all things I encounter in my travels happen that way I've almost come to accept this. It started in Horta, at 'the bar'. As far as the sailing population is concerned there is only 1 bar. Peter, Jes and I had our celebratory dinner. We started drinking beer, then went to rum, then wine (red then white then red again) and were ordering some more beer at the bar when Jessica started talking to some people who were waiting for drinks. I went out to find a table and with some minor rearranging “hey do you mind if I....”, “oh is anyone using this...” I staked out a place for all 5 of us. Peter had gone back to the boat so it was Jes and I, an American guy, his wife a German girl and their crew a guy from somewhere in South America, Chile most likely. Others came and left but eventually the 3 of us went back to their steel hull boat and emptied a handle of rum. The American guy, the captain of the boat, and I decided to go out for a walk sometime in the middle of the night and ran into this guy named Alex who invited us onto his boat. I had seen Alex before. I heard him speaking Russian to some girl but did not decide to make them aware that I understood them. On the boat was another guy named Avi who I had talked to before, there was also some food on the stove, Russian hamburgers called katleti. They were particularly good. I had commented that they were good and called them by their Russian name. And as always when I suddenly whip out the Russian this surprised the Russian speakers and Alex asked me, still in English how I knew that word. After throwing some Russia that I know very well “well I was born in Moscow” “no I consider myself an American I've been there for quite a while” “oh since I was 7” “thanks but I know I still speak with an American accent”... etc. from having that conversation many times, we all switched back to English and Avi was suddenly a bit more interested. I had told him, and just about everyone else I'd talked to that I'm stranded on the island and looking for a way off. At that moment he asked me if I'm still looking for a boat and we decided to talk about it when everyone was more sober. I went to be after the sun rose the next morning.
Avi: Short for Abraham. Believes that to be happy in life you have to be your own boss. Have your own company and that is the only way to live life your way. He was born in Israel but having spent much of his life outside it on what I understand to be some money making scheme or another. Avi owns the boat. He's silly when it's time to be silly and knows how to have fun but this trip is his business venture and he makes most of the decisions, in sailing matters however Boris has the final word. Avi has a business back home, something tourist related. He's got a wife and kids there too. The boat is for him to fix up and to rent and do charters. It comes from Cuba and he hired Alex to go there and bring it back for him.
Alex: Aka Sasha has been, as Boris put it, dishonorably discharged from the boat. I have not actually had a conversation with Alex himself after the initial one in Russian. Everything I know about him has come from the mouth of Boris or Avi. Jes and I are his replacements. As I understand it, Alex got himself a skipper licence and after vastly embellishing his sailing experience he got Avi to hire him to get this boat. He had a budget of $70k at his disposal for repairs and expenses to get it across and from what I understand the boat was in better shape before Alex and the 70k touched it. After having proven himself incompetent at just about everything he hired Boris, an old and very brief acquaintance of his to help. By the time Boris had got there a large amount of the money was gone and no improvement had been made. Avi got on the boat in Bermuda because he sensed that things were not going as planned. In Horta Alex and one of the other crew, who as I understand is not worth mentioning, were kicked off the boat.
Boris: is the captain of the boat for the trip. He was born on a boat and lived on boats till he was 16. Boris is the kind of person who will always tell you what he thinks. He lives by simple rules and Russian traditions that he tells you about if you care to listen. He does not care about money, says he's gone from nothing to millions and back multiple times. Doesn't like the land, calls his home the ocean. Has a million stories, pieces of advice, articles of wisdom and everything else you'd expect from a confident and competent captain of 60. He likes to randomly break into song or recite a poem, some of which he has written. When Avi and I talked seriously, soberly, about being crew on this boat he went to Peter and asked him about us and then told me that I need to be interviewed by Boris as it is his final call. Boris does not speak English, he understands a little though. On our interview he asked if I was handy, what my parents did in Russia, my immediate plans, if I was handy... again. Boris has life figured out, knows what he wants and what makes him happy. It seems like everyone he encounters eventually comes to respect Boris. One can not be afraid of the boat falling apart with Boris onboard. He's a survivor, and he'll hold it together with his teeth for the rest of the journey if he has to.
Anna: When talking in Hebrew the guys throw that Hebew HHHrhhhHHrhh in there and call her Hanna. This morning when I got up Anna was making breakfast, and sailing the boat at the same time, and, looking really sexy while doing it. In addition to knowing where everything is, being in charge of the kitchen, being the Avi to Boris translator, and general hotty, she's a proper sailor. She got on the boat with no sailing experience at all and now Boris tells me that when going from Bermuda he could only sleep while she was on watch. She left Russia when she was 16 and moved to Israel. She likes to draw and when she gets home wants to go to school for design. She got on the boat because she thought it would be a good experience and she wanted to see Sardinia. Sardinia is no longer on the menu but I have yet to hear her complain about anything, even Alex. Sadly my limited Russian doesn't permit me to tell her how fucking hot it is when the main sail breaks and we're out in front fixing it in storm gear and she comes running out in a short skirt, and is no less useful than I am.
Communication is a bit awkward at times. So I made a chart:
Names are surrounded in native tongues, the dotted line is because Boris speaks limited Hebrew. I'm sure you can guess what color is what language.
I got on this boat by sheer accident. But, as all things I encounter in my travels happen that way I've almost come to accept this. It started in Horta, at 'the bar'. As far as the sailing population is concerned there is only 1 bar. Peter, Jes and I had our celebratory dinner. We started drinking beer, then went to rum, then wine (red then white then red again) and were ordering some more beer at the bar when Jessica started talking to some people who were waiting for drinks. I went out to find a table and with some minor rearranging “hey do you mind if I....”, “oh is anyone using this...” I staked out a place for all 5 of us. Peter had gone back to the boat so it was Jes and I, an American guy, his wife a German girl and their crew a guy from somewhere in South America, Chile most likely. Others came and left but eventually the 3 of us went back to their steel hull boat and emptied a handle of rum. The American guy, the captain of the boat, and I decided to go out for a walk sometime in the middle of the night and ran into this guy named Alex who invited us onto his boat. I had seen Alex before. I heard him speaking Russian to some girl but did not decide to make them aware that I understood them. On the boat was another guy named Avi who I had talked to before, there was also some food on the stove, Russian hamburgers called katleti. They were particularly good. I had commented that they were good and called them by their Russian name. And as always when I suddenly whip out the Russian this surprised the Russian speakers and Alex asked me, still in English how I knew that word. After throwing some Russia that I know very well “well I was born in Moscow” “no I consider myself an American I've been there for quite a while” “oh since I was 7” “thanks but I know I still speak with an American accent”... etc. from having that conversation many times, we all switched back to English and Avi was suddenly a bit more interested. I had told him, and just about everyone else I'd talked to that I'm stranded on the island and looking for a way off. At that moment he asked me if I'm still looking for a boat and we decided to talk about it when everyone was more sober. I went to be after the sun rose the next morning.
Avi: Short for Abraham. Believes that to be happy in life you have to be your own boss. Have your own company and that is the only way to live life your way. He was born in Israel but having spent much of his life outside it on what I understand to be some money making scheme or another. Avi owns the boat. He's silly when it's time to be silly and knows how to have fun but this trip is his business venture and he makes most of the decisions, in sailing matters however Boris has the final word. Avi has a business back home, something tourist related. He's got a wife and kids there too. The boat is for him to fix up and to rent and do charters. It comes from Cuba and he hired Alex to go there and bring it back for him.
Alex: Aka Sasha has been, as Boris put it, dishonorably discharged from the boat. I have not actually had a conversation with Alex himself after the initial one in Russian. Everything I know about him has come from the mouth of Boris or Avi. Jes and I are his replacements. As I understand it, Alex got himself a skipper licence and after vastly embellishing his sailing experience he got Avi to hire him to get this boat. He had a budget of $70k at his disposal for repairs and expenses to get it across and from what I understand the boat was in better shape before Alex and the 70k touched it. After having proven himself incompetent at just about everything he hired Boris, an old and very brief acquaintance of his to help. By the time Boris had got there a large amount of the money was gone and no improvement had been made. Avi got on the boat in Bermuda because he sensed that things were not going as planned. In Horta Alex and one of the other crew, who as I understand is not worth mentioning, were kicked off the boat.
Boris: is the captain of the boat for the trip. He was born on a boat and lived on boats till he was 16. Boris is the kind of person who will always tell you what he thinks. He lives by simple rules and Russian traditions that he tells you about if you care to listen. He does not care about money, says he's gone from nothing to millions and back multiple times. Doesn't like the land, calls his home the ocean. Has a million stories, pieces of advice, articles of wisdom and everything else you'd expect from a confident and competent captain of 60. He likes to randomly break into song or recite a poem, some of which he has written. When Avi and I talked seriously, soberly, about being crew on this boat he went to Peter and asked him about us and then told me that I need to be interviewed by Boris as it is his final call. Boris does not speak English, he understands a little though. On our interview he asked if I was handy, what my parents did in Russia, my immediate plans, if I was handy... again. Boris has life figured out, knows what he wants and what makes him happy. It seems like everyone he encounters eventually comes to respect Boris. One can not be afraid of the boat falling apart with Boris onboard. He's a survivor, and he'll hold it together with his teeth for the rest of the journey if he has to.
Anna: When talking in Hebrew the guys throw that Hebew HHHrhhhHHrhh in there and call her Hanna. This morning when I got up Anna was making breakfast, and sailing the boat at the same time, and, looking really sexy while doing it. In addition to knowing where everything is, being in charge of the kitchen, being the Avi to Boris translator, and general hotty, she's a proper sailor. She got on the boat with no sailing experience at all and now Boris tells me that when going from Bermuda he could only sleep while she was on watch. She left Russia when she was 16 and moved to Israel. She likes to draw and when she gets home wants to go to school for design. She got on the boat because she thought it would be a good experience and she wanted to see Sardinia. Sardinia is no longer on the menu but I have yet to hear her complain about anything, even Alex. Sadly my limited Russian doesn't permit me to tell her how fucking hot it is when the main sail breaks and we're out in front fixing it in storm gear and she comes running out in a short skirt, and is no less useful than I am.
Communication is a bit awkward at times. So I made a chart:
Names are surrounded in native tongues, the dotted line is because Boris speaks limited Hebrew. I'm sure you can guess what color is what language.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Dimitri's Travel Guide: Horta
Horta, Portugal (Faial Island, Azores)
History
Back when whaling was the cool thing that all the Atlantic islands were all into Horta was a slave to the cool whaling trend. However, now that most of the world thinks that whaling is just not as cool as it used to be Horta has decided to embrace the niche industry of catering to trans-Atlantic boaters. Basically if you're crossing the Atlantic and are not in a crazy rush, you stop in Horta.
Geography
Faial and all the islands in the Azores in general were craped out by volcanos. From Horta the most obvious landmark is Pico Alto, a giant volcano on the adjacent island of Pico. Faial has it's own volcano. A 1 hour scooter ride from Horta gets you to this volcano, and the adjacent museum. Inside the museum is a 10 euro entry fee. The animal life that can be seen from the side of the main road incudes cows, horses, birds, geckos and tropical fish. The whole island is very green with nothing growing too tall. Hydrangeas infest the landscape. They are all over the roadsides and people even use them in the shrubbery walls that separate properties. The beaches in Horta involve a lovely dingy grey sand. They are so popular that the larger of the two is being torn down to make more room for a new marina. Kids can actually be seen swimming in the nasty marina water rather than walk the 10 minutes to walk to the remaining beach 4 blocks away. Tourists drive the hour to swim near the volcano to avoid the sand altogether and swim on sharp rocks.
What to do
Drinking is a favorite past time of any sailor town and Horta is no exception. When in doubt about what to do the central sailor bar (Cafe Sport) is the most frequently recommended option. In fact travel guides to Horta basically look like the writers never left that one specific bar. For the locals the grass is always greener on the other island. “It's way cheaper on the far side of Pico” 2.5 euros for just about anything you want to drink in the most popular bar quite steep and it's true that just about anywhere else a beer is about 1 euro. 1 beer however is .25L large. Furthermore anything liquid anywhere on the island is smaller than what you're used to. ¼L is really the standard size for all liquid consumables. Also the concept of a cup of water is unheard of. You pay just as much if not less for beer/wine. As for other attractions, as the sailors say “Anything in the Atlantic is just a stop, not a destination.” Horta is no exception.
History
Back when whaling was the cool thing that all the Atlantic islands were all into Horta was a slave to the cool whaling trend. However, now that most of the world thinks that whaling is just not as cool as it used to be Horta has decided to embrace the niche industry of catering to trans-Atlantic boaters. Basically if you're crossing the Atlantic and are not in a crazy rush, you stop in Horta.
Geography
Faial and all the islands in the Azores in general were craped out by volcanos. From Horta the most obvious landmark is Pico Alto, a giant volcano on the adjacent island of Pico. Faial has it's own volcano. A 1 hour scooter ride from Horta gets you to this volcano, and the adjacent museum. Inside the museum is a 10 euro entry fee. The animal life that can be seen from the side of the main road incudes cows, horses, birds, geckos and tropical fish. The whole island is very green with nothing growing too tall. Hydrangeas infest the landscape. They are all over the roadsides and people even use them in the shrubbery walls that separate properties. The beaches in Horta involve a lovely dingy grey sand. They are so popular that the larger of the two is being torn down to make more room for a new marina. Kids can actually be seen swimming in the nasty marina water rather than walk the 10 minutes to walk to the remaining beach 4 blocks away. Tourists drive the hour to swim near the volcano to avoid the sand altogether and swim on sharp rocks.
What to do
Drinking is a favorite past time of any sailor town and Horta is no exception. When in doubt about what to do the central sailor bar (Cafe Sport) is the most frequently recommended option. In fact travel guides to Horta basically look like the writers never left that one specific bar. For the locals the grass is always greener on the other island. “It's way cheaper on the far side of Pico” 2.5 euros for just about anything you want to drink in the most popular bar quite steep and it's true that just about anywhere else a beer is about 1 euro. 1 beer however is .25L large. Furthermore anything liquid anywhere on the island is smaller than what you're used to. ¼L is really the standard size for all liquid consumables. Also the concept of a cup of water is unheard of. You pay just as much if not less for beer/wine. As for other attractions, as the sailors say “Anything in the Atlantic is just a stop, not a destination.” Horta is no exception.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Land Ho
7/20
We're 24 miles away from our first destination. I eagerly peer out the window in hopes to see land first and be able to shout LAND HO! Sadly a large fog has descended and with the first outcrop of land less than 20 miles away all I see is fog, and birds. We skipped the first island, we would have arrived there yesterday but the ship is in need of repairs and the first island has no facilities to make them. The list of broken things is HUGE. First and foremost the starboard engine does not start. We spent 2 days trying to fix it to no avail. Second, the navigation system is currently flickering on and off. It's like the GPS in your car except it has all the info on how the boat is moving which is very difficult to tell without it. The autohelm is not working again. This morning while manually steering the boat I actually had to look at a compass. I feel like I'm sailing through the 18th century. Next on the importance list is probably the radar. There is nothing quite like the shock you get as you look around while in the middle of the ocean to see a giant tanker suddenly appear a mile away from you. Tankers should not appear out of nowhere. That is why radar exists. The power generator is also not working but luckily the engines charge the batteries. On the subject of charging we are missing one off 2 solar panels and one of two wind generators. The hatch in my berth leaks and the combination of that and some other unknown forces make us empty the bilge on the port pontoon every two days. The sat phone randomly dies. The fitting for the cooking gas has broken and the spare does not fit the tanks we have, we're on an emergency tank, it looks like it's older than the boat its self. There is damage, though mainly superficial, to the jib. It looks like it has been attacked by a dozen rabid raccoons. Despite all of this we've made it. The town of Horta on Faial island in the Azores (Portugal) is supposedly the best of the island chain for boat repairs. Peter hopes to at least get the starboard engine fixed before moving on. This should give us time to take the ferry to the adjacent island (Pico) where I plan on hiking to the top of Pico Alto, a 2351m tall volcano. I'm looking forward to being on land.
Anyway, I'll be putting up some pictures with this and hopefully responding to emails soon.
Surprised you've read through all of this,
-Dimitri
PS The island is beautiful. It's 8:30 in the morning we couldn't get a spot on the dock last night, especially with only 1 engine but this morning is calmer and we're going to have to try. I have yet to be on land. The island has green hills where land is separated by enormous hedges. White houses with red roofs are sprinkled sporadically. I can't wait to get off the boat.
We're 24 miles away from our first destination. I eagerly peer out the window in hopes to see land first and be able to shout LAND HO! Sadly a large fog has descended and with the first outcrop of land less than 20 miles away all I see is fog, and birds. We skipped the first island, we would have arrived there yesterday but the ship is in need of repairs and the first island has no facilities to make them. The list of broken things is HUGE. First and foremost the starboard engine does not start. We spent 2 days trying to fix it to no avail. Second, the navigation system is currently flickering on and off. It's like the GPS in your car except it has all the info on how the boat is moving which is very difficult to tell without it. The autohelm is not working again. This morning while manually steering the boat I actually had to look at a compass. I feel like I'm sailing through the 18th century. Next on the importance list is probably the radar. There is nothing quite like the shock you get as you look around while in the middle of the ocean to see a giant tanker suddenly appear a mile away from you. Tankers should not appear out of nowhere. That is why radar exists. The power generator is also not working but luckily the engines charge the batteries. On the subject of charging we are missing one off 2 solar panels and one of two wind generators. The hatch in my berth leaks and the combination of that and some other unknown forces make us empty the bilge on the port pontoon every two days. The sat phone randomly dies. The fitting for the cooking gas has broken and the spare does not fit the tanks we have, we're on an emergency tank, it looks like it's older than the boat its self. There is damage, though mainly superficial, to the jib. It looks like it has been attacked by a dozen rabid raccoons. Despite all of this we've made it. The town of Horta on Faial island in the Azores (Portugal) is supposedly the best of the island chain for boat repairs. Peter hopes to at least get the starboard engine fixed before moving on. This should give us time to take the ferry to the adjacent island (Pico) where I plan on hiking to the top of Pico Alto, a 2351m tall volcano. I'm looking forward to being on land.
Anyway, I'll be putting up some pictures with this and hopefully responding to emails soon.
Surprised you've read through all of this,
-Dimitri
PS The island is beautiful. It's 8:30 in the morning we couldn't get a spot on the dock last night, especially with only 1 engine but this morning is calmer and we're going to have to try. I have yet to be on land. The island has green hills where land is separated by enormous hedges. White houses with red roofs are sprinkled sporadically. I can't wait to get off the boat.
The Margarita of my life
July 12th
Come tomorrow the boat will be covered in salt. Every surface of everything will have big gobs of salt. “Clothes covered in salt don't dry” Peter mentions. It's true, try it at home go outside into the humidity, sprinkle some salt on a piece of paper and wait. It's 9:30 in the morning and I want to write out the events of the pat 24 hours before I go to sleep. I slept about 1 hour last night. When I went to bed, soaked from head to toe even in all of my waterproof gear, the wind at around 40knots had just ripped off one of the fan blades of the wind generator. It made a horrible noise but the other blades flew off a few minutes after Jessica's watch started. It stands motionless. I couldn't sleep. The howling of the wind, crashing of the waves, the dampness, the movement of the boat... all of it kept me awake for the 3 hours Jessica was on watch. No sooner than 10 min after Peter came to relieve her I knew any chance of sleep tonight would be destroyed. Before she had even dried off and gone to bed I heard the whiiiiiine CRACK flutter flutter and knew I would be getting no sleep tonight. Right before Peter called me to help him Jessica informed me that the wind hit 60 knots on her watch. For reference 64knots is the threshold for a hurricane. Peter decided that with the great power of the electric winch he would fight this wind and tighten the sails. To his great surprise he did not win that battle. I had recognized the sound from an earlier experiment. While on a dock we tried to change the sail and when the new sail got stuck Peter just put more force into it until a pulley was ripped from the mast. When Peter yelled to me that the main sail is stuck for some reason, over the howl of 40knot winds I pointed to the same exact pulley that had broken before that was now jammed between the lines and the mast. “We need to fix it” he said. So throwing on only a jacket and the pants still wet from my watch, and keeping it mostly closed with the harness, bare chested I ventured out onto the front of the boat in killer winds and spent well over an hour fixing the mistake it took only seconds to make. High tension lines, crashing waves, crazy winds, my kind of morning. When all was fixed I took my 1 hour of damp sleep to find the weather calmer for my watch. The winds had subsided to 30knots (the fastest they had been outside this instance with only 1 brief exception). The waves picked up a little and the ensuing roller coaster had shown its effects on the boat. The carpets were soaked, things were scattered all over the living room. A solar panel had ripped off and rested in the dingy. Fish the size of my arm jump from the waves and jiggle in the air as if to see the the ship that survived the storm. We have 800 miles left to go. Peter, seeing me tells me “there is good news and bad news” I save the good news for last. The bad news is the auto pilot has stopped working and we may have to steer the rest of the 800 miles by hand. Awesome. The good news? We're actually on course as for the past 2 days we've been about 60 degrees off. For reference this is like driving from NYC to Boston via Albany. Yesterday we hit halfway point. So far this trip has not been a disappointment.
Come tomorrow the boat will be covered in salt. Every surface of everything will have big gobs of salt. “Clothes covered in salt don't dry” Peter mentions. It's true, try it at home go outside into the humidity, sprinkle some salt on a piece of paper and wait. It's 9:30 in the morning and I want to write out the events of the pat 24 hours before I go to sleep. I slept about 1 hour last night. When I went to bed, soaked from head to toe even in all of my waterproof gear, the wind at around 40knots had just ripped off one of the fan blades of the wind generator. It made a horrible noise but the other blades flew off a few minutes after Jessica's watch started. It stands motionless. I couldn't sleep. The howling of the wind, crashing of the waves, the dampness, the movement of the boat... all of it kept me awake for the 3 hours Jessica was on watch. No sooner than 10 min after Peter came to relieve her I knew any chance of sleep tonight would be destroyed. Before she had even dried off and gone to bed I heard the whiiiiiine CRACK flutter flutter and knew I would be getting no sleep tonight. Right before Peter called me to help him Jessica informed me that the wind hit 60 knots on her watch. For reference 64knots is the threshold for a hurricane. Peter decided that with the great power of the electric winch he would fight this wind and tighten the sails. To his great surprise he did not win that battle. I had recognized the sound from an earlier experiment. While on a dock we tried to change the sail and when the new sail got stuck Peter just put more force into it until a pulley was ripped from the mast. When Peter yelled to me that the main sail is stuck for some reason, over the howl of 40knot winds I pointed to the same exact pulley that had broken before that was now jammed between the lines and the mast. “We need to fix it” he said. So throwing on only a jacket and the pants still wet from my watch, and keeping it mostly closed with the harness, bare chested I ventured out onto the front of the boat in killer winds and spent well over an hour fixing the mistake it took only seconds to make. High tension lines, crashing waves, crazy winds, my kind of morning. When all was fixed I took my 1 hour of damp sleep to find the weather calmer for my watch. The winds had subsided to 30knots (the fastest they had been outside this instance with only 1 brief exception). The waves picked up a little and the ensuing roller coaster had shown its effects on the boat. The carpets were soaked, things were scattered all over the living room. A solar panel had ripped off and rested in the dingy. Fish the size of my arm jump from the waves and jiggle in the air as if to see the the ship that survived the storm. We have 800 miles left to go. Peter, seeing me tells me “there is good news and bad news” I save the good news for last. The bad news is the auto pilot has stopped working and we may have to steer the rest of the 800 miles by hand. Awesome. The good news? We're actually on course as for the past 2 days we've been about 60 degrees off. For reference this is like driving from NYC to Boston via Albany. Yesterday we hit halfway point. So far this trip has not been a disappointment.
First Thrid
7/7/09
I met a guy once at a party who, some said, had some amount of psychic ability. He was my cousin's room mate for a while and said that he is glad to do readings but he never answers his friends on the subject of love or money. Someone at the party he did not know however wanted some insight into his current relationship. “Is she the one?” was the first question. “No.” Was the certain answer. Then came a series of follow-up questions. “how long will it last” “how may more till I find the one” etc. The answer was 2. 2 years, 2 more. “look” the psychic said “ I'm getting a lot of twos when it comes to your love life.”
I wonder if a subject can be connected to a number.
As I ready to tell the trip so far I have come up with many twos as well. Two days before the Atlantic crossing started we had 5 people planning on making the voyage. Two days after the trip started we lost two people. The first, dropped out the day before, he had a scheduling conflict and couldn't make it though he wanted to. The second, I felt never wanted to to begin with but being 16 and not being in full control of his life he was onboard when we departed only to succumb to sea sickness for two straight days and be taken off the boat via emergency medical helicopter. He felt like there was something seriously wrong with him, while the 3 of us knew it to only be sea sickness. However as we were not capable of making decisions for him we called up his father who summoned the coast guard to get him off the boat. We stood around and snickered as an airplane and a helicopter and a rescue crew boarded the boat, put him in a survival suit and evacuated him to the nearest hospital. To be honest it was good to be rid of his constant whining. Two days later the diagnosis came back: seasickness and dehydration... caused by seasickness. We had 2 days of the wind in the wrong direction. Followed by two days of no wind and fog so thick that at mid day I could not see more than 20 meters in any direction. Then two days of good wind with no fog and two days of low wind behind us. One particular night between one of these shifts we had winds behind us with gusts of 30+ knots and waves easily 20something feet high (that was a fun night). So far I have seen 2 large ships pass us. We have had 2 important devices stop functioning. The first, the radar that warns us of large ships in our area, the second, the generator that charges up our batteries in the most gas efficient way possible. The boat is powered by 2 engines which we can run individually for maximum efficiency. Only one has a working fuel meter but as I write this, 1/3rd of the way to our nearest destination that meter reads '½'. We have enough fuel onboard to refill both engines once. All of our limitations are in some way connected to fuel. The solar panels and wind generators don't make enough energy on a good day to power all the electronics and the extra freezer we have which is filled to the brim with frozen meat. There is no chance of us going hungry on this boat. Water however, is a limiting factor. Luckily we can generate water if we have spare power. And our only way of getting spare power is to run the engines. Everything boils down to fuel. The three man watch is hard but you get used to it. 3 hours on 6 hours off. At best if you're great at falling asleep you can get 5.5 hours in a single span. I'm not too good at falling asleep on command so I usually take a nap sometime during the day. We all do. At this point, day 8, we've run out of most of the fresh vegetables but we have plenty of cans and enough meat to feed a village. The fact that outer space is closer to me at the moment than dry land is, by a few hundred miles, hasn't caused any anxiety in any of us as far as I can tell. Peter reads books like a machine but spends an hour on occasion staring at the sat phone. Not sure what he does with it. I'm surprised to see how many birds there are this far from land. More than one type too. Most prominent though are black ones with white undersides and a 2ft wingspan. They are very sleek and fly around with their wings inches above the waves. I've seen dolphins following the boat and jumping in the moonlight, some sharks, flying fish, but mostly birds. One day Peter declared that it was Sunday and that he's making himself Sunday brunch with eggs and all that. I found the whole thing a little surreal. I haven't known what day of the week it was since my last sea shanties.
I think I can easily take at least another week of this without feeling any toll. I do hear that after a while you start to hallucinate. I'm excited about it. Two thirds left to go.
I met a guy once at a party who, some said, had some amount of psychic ability. He was my cousin's room mate for a while and said that he is glad to do readings but he never answers his friends on the subject of love or money. Someone at the party he did not know however wanted some insight into his current relationship. “Is she the one?” was the first question. “No.” Was the certain answer. Then came a series of follow-up questions. “how long will it last” “how may more till I find the one” etc. The answer was 2. 2 years, 2 more. “look” the psychic said “ I'm getting a lot of twos when it comes to your love life.”
I wonder if a subject can be connected to a number.
As I ready to tell the trip so far I have come up with many twos as well. Two days before the Atlantic crossing started we had 5 people planning on making the voyage. Two days after the trip started we lost two people. The first, dropped out the day before, he had a scheduling conflict and couldn't make it though he wanted to. The second, I felt never wanted to to begin with but being 16 and not being in full control of his life he was onboard when we departed only to succumb to sea sickness for two straight days and be taken off the boat via emergency medical helicopter. He felt like there was something seriously wrong with him, while the 3 of us knew it to only be sea sickness. However as we were not capable of making decisions for him we called up his father who summoned the coast guard to get him off the boat. We stood around and snickered as an airplane and a helicopter and a rescue crew boarded the boat, put him in a survival suit and evacuated him to the nearest hospital. To be honest it was good to be rid of his constant whining. Two days later the diagnosis came back: seasickness and dehydration... caused by seasickness. We had 2 days of the wind in the wrong direction. Followed by two days of no wind and fog so thick that at mid day I could not see more than 20 meters in any direction. Then two days of good wind with no fog and two days of low wind behind us. One particular night between one of these shifts we had winds behind us with gusts of 30+ knots and waves easily 20something feet high (that was a fun night). So far I have seen 2 large ships pass us. We have had 2 important devices stop functioning. The first, the radar that warns us of large ships in our area, the second, the generator that charges up our batteries in the most gas efficient way possible. The boat is powered by 2 engines which we can run individually for maximum efficiency. Only one has a working fuel meter but as I write this, 1/3rd of the way to our nearest destination that meter reads '½'. We have enough fuel onboard to refill both engines once. All of our limitations are in some way connected to fuel. The solar panels and wind generators don't make enough energy on a good day to power all the electronics and the extra freezer we have which is filled to the brim with frozen meat. There is no chance of us going hungry on this boat. Water however, is a limiting factor. Luckily we can generate water if we have spare power. And our only way of getting spare power is to run the engines. Everything boils down to fuel. The three man watch is hard but you get used to it. 3 hours on 6 hours off. At best if you're great at falling asleep you can get 5.5 hours in a single span. I'm not too good at falling asleep on command so I usually take a nap sometime during the day. We all do. At this point, day 8, we've run out of most of the fresh vegetables but we have plenty of cans and enough meat to feed a village. The fact that outer space is closer to me at the moment than dry land is, by a few hundred miles, hasn't caused any anxiety in any of us as far as I can tell. Peter reads books like a machine but spends an hour on occasion staring at the sat phone. Not sure what he does with it. I'm surprised to see how many birds there are this far from land. More than one type too. Most prominent though are black ones with white undersides and a 2ft wingspan. They are very sleek and fly around with their wings inches above the waves. I've seen dolphins following the boat and jumping in the moonlight, some sharks, flying fish, but mostly birds. One day Peter declared that it was Sunday and that he's making himself Sunday brunch with eggs and all that. I found the whole thing a little surreal. I haven't known what day of the week it was since my last sea shanties.
I think I can easily take at least another week of this without feeling any toll. I do hear that after a while you start to hallucinate. I'm excited about it. Two thirds left to go.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Peter and Ita
I just got off my watch shift. The wind is peaking at 35knots (knot~mph). We're cruising between 6 and 8 knots. The sky is lightly cloudy and the sun peeks out on occasion. We just tacked and are getting the wind from the other side as we go up a river. While I'm disappointed that we're not heading out into open ocean this is fucking awesome. I think we can get this baby pushing almost 10knots if we get the sails all the way out. Peter likes to play it safe. Can't blame him.
When I first talked to him on the phone and even when I met him I thought he would be a bit difficult to get along with. He's in his 70s, he has a grandson 10 years younger than me, his hearing isn't that great and we have to repeat ourselves on occasion, he's also the exact right amount of chill. Things he should be worried about he worries about, when things need to get done now he says they need to get done now, when something needs to be said he says it and I've never seen him make a mountain out of a molehill. Peter is incredibly easy to get along with. He's living off his pension working at proctor and gamble. I'm not sure what he did but it involved a lot of traveling and he has a vast knowledge of the politics of soap. This is his third boat. He tried a 1 hull boat once and immediately went back to a catamaran. In the end all that matters is that I trust him, and he makes a good captain.
Ita is a lot more outgoing. She does most of the talking at the dinner table. She is much more friendly, she, I assume, is a good bit younger. Ita has been sailing for quite a number of years on this boat trip alone the two of them, with help from random crew, have been to the east Indies, crossed the Atlantic, been around the Caribbean. She makes great sandwiches though Dinners are in a very English/Irish style: potatoes and mayo are the staples of dinner. She has two modes, as far as I have seen. She is either friendly and conversational or insanely overconcerned about everything. Her worrying spans from things that are clearly overly obvious, and therefore need to be pointed out loudly, to things that can not possibly be a problem unless the rules of physics suddenly change and everything we know about everything is wrong. These things also need to be pointed out loudly. This makes following instructions a little difficult. When docking for instance, Peter will sit at the helm and tell me to do what actually needs to be done, he'll say it once and wait for me to tell him I have done it. Before I can follow these instructions however Ita has already given me a different, set of instructions three times from 5 feet away. When Peter realizes this is going on he will calmly restate the correct instruction and only at this point will I be able to ignore whatever inconsequential thing Ita has me doing. This has a number of side effects. 1) I look incompetent, 2) Ita feels like the world is against her, 3) Peter needs to deal with her at night when we're out of earshot (though our hearing is a bit better than his). She hasn't said anything to Jessica or me personally but I get the feeling he is unsatisfied with crew who don't know how to do everything already, as this is what she is accustomed to. I would say that I am concerned about getting kicked off the boat but this morning she was looking into plane tickets from DC to Ireland. We haven't been officially told anything but I think that she won't be making the trip across the Atlantic with us. To an extent I'm not sure it has to do with the boat or us but rather it sounds like she has been stressing about some happenings at home and it's possible that she's just overly tense because of this. However it is equally as likely that she is merely bluffing. I guess we will find out when the time comes. I don't however foresee it just blowing over and everyone just pretending that nothing happened.
Due to the weather we're following the inner-coastal for what looks like 3 more days until we hit the Chesapeake Bay. Then, it is no longer an option and after we leave it I think the plan is a relatively straight shot to Long Island.
When I first talked to him on the phone and even when I met him I thought he would be a bit difficult to get along with. He's in his 70s, he has a grandson 10 years younger than me, his hearing isn't that great and we have to repeat ourselves on occasion, he's also the exact right amount of chill. Things he should be worried about he worries about, when things need to get done now he says they need to get done now, when something needs to be said he says it and I've never seen him make a mountain out of a molehill. Peter is incredibly easy to get along with. He's living off his pension working at proctor and gamble. I'm not sure what he did but it involved a lot of traveling and he has a vast knowledge of the politics of soap. This is his third boat. He tried a 1 hull boat once and immediately went back to a catamaran. In the end all that matters is that I trust him, and he makes a good captain.
Ita is a lot more outgoing. She does most of the talking at the dinner table. She is much more friendly, she, I assume, is a good bit younger. Ita has been sailing for quite a number of years on this boat trip alone the two of them, with help from random crew, have been to the east Indies, crossed the Atlantic, been around the Caribbean. She makes great sandwiches though Dinners are in a very English/Irish style: potatoes and mayo are the staples of dinner. She has two modes, as far as I have seen. She is either friendly and conversational or insanely overconcerned about everything. Her worrying spans from things that are clearly overly obvious, and therefore need to be pointed out loudly, to things that can not possibly be a problem unless the rules of physics suddenly change and everything we know about everything is wrong. These things also need to be pointed out loudly. This makes following instructions a little difficult. When docking for instance, Peter will sit at the helm and tell me to do what actually needs to be done, he'll say it once and wait for me to tell him I have done it. Before I can follow these instructions however Ita has already given me a different, set of instructions three times from 5 feet away. When Peter realizes this is going on he will calmly restate the correct instruction and only at this point will I be able to ignore whatever inconsequential thing Ita has me doing. This has a number of side effects. 1) I look incompetent, 2) Ita feels like the world is against her, 3) Peter needs to deal with her at night when we're out of earshot (though our hearing is a bit better than his). She hasn't said anything to Jessica or me personally but I get the feeling he is unsatisfied with crew who don't know how to do everything already, as this is what she is accustomed to. I would say that I am concerned about getting kicked off the boat but this morning she was looking into plane tickets from DC to Ireland. We haven't been officially told anything but I think that she won't be making the trip across the Atlantic with us. To an extent I'm not sure it has to do with the boat or us but rather it sounds like she has been stressing about some happenings at home and it's possible that she's just overly tense because of this. However it is equally as likely that she is merely bluffing. I guess we will find out when the time comes. I don't however foresee it just blowing over and everyone just pretending that nothing happened.
Due to the weather we're following the inner-coastal for what looks like 3 more days until we hit the Chesapeake Bay. Then, it is no longer an option and after we leave it I think the plan is a relatively straight shot to Long Island.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Inner-coastal
Even when I was still in St Augustine I heard people talking about the inner-coastal and the outer-coastal. I initially assumed these were terms that talked about how far off coast the boat was sailing. Either following the coast close to land or going well out to sea. This is not entirely correct. The inner-coastal actually refers to a very thin and relatively shallow channel of water that runs along the coast but is actually inland. If you go to google maps and look at the eastern shore of NC you will see what I'm talking about. This is what we have been following since we left Southport. The wind has been coming from the north the past 2 days and while it brings a cold breeze that is almost unwelcome it also relinquishes us to motors only. We have not opened a sail since that first night.
The thousand mosquito bites that cover my body are slowly fading away. A new menace has come around to be annoying. Biting gnats, they dont bother with any anesthetic nor are they fast or efficient or stealthy, their power is in their numbers. After a while, once thousands lie dead, mashed into your skin, you just don't care about stopping them and just let them bite you.
Peter is in no rush. When we were sailing we just had a jib out. The wind is blowing at 25 knots from right behind us and we're cruising along at 6. He wasn't expecting to be going that fast and was surprised to see us get to our destination so early. I am anxious to unfurl the sails and see what this baby can do, but maybe not on the first day.
As I write we make our way up to Swansboro NC. Ita (I spelled her name wrong last time) is getting frustrated as the depth here is not what it should be and we have just hit the 2nd sand bank today. I hope today marks the end of our inner coastal adventures. I'd rather be nauseous but at sea, I'm stocking a stack of pills anyway and want to get accustomed to it already. The ship is decked out with all the gear. All I have to do during watch is adjust the course a couple degrees to the right or left. I don't even touch the wheel.
The thousand mosquito bites that cover my body are slowly fading away. A new menace has come around to be annoying. Biting gnats, they dont bother with any anesthetic nor are they fast or efficient or stealthy, their power is in their numbers. After a while, once thousands lie dead, mashed into your skin, you just don't care about stopping them and just let them bite you.
Peter is in no rush. When we were sailing we just had a jib out. The wind is blowing at 25 knots from right behind us and we're cruising along at 6. He wasn't expecting to be going that fast and was surprised to see us get to our destination so early. I am anxious to unfurl the sails and see what this baby can do, but maybe not on the first day.
As I write we make our way up to Swansboro NC. Ita (I spelled her name wrong last time) is getting frustrated as the depth here is not what it should be and we have just hit the 2nd sand bank today. I hope today marks the end of our inner coastal adventures. I'd rather be nauseous but at sea, I'm stocking a stack of pills anyway and want to get accustomed to it already. The ship is decked out with all the gear. All I have to do during watch is adjust the course a couple degrees to the right or left. I don't even touch the wheel.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
A change of pace: May 9th
It's 4pm and I'm watching land disappear on the horizon. Peter, the captain reads a news paper while Jessica chats up Eta as they watch the helm. I am pretending not to be a little sea sick. There has been a quick change of pace between these last few days and it is most welcome.
It all happened rather quickly. I had talked to Peter on the phone a few times though always briefly and I was never sure exactly what to make of our interactions. He was always brief and to the point “we'll be here on this day come down and we'll see if we get along.” We met in Georgetown SC. “We'll be the only catamaran on the dock.” They were. We shared a brief introduction. We were informed of the rules we needed to follow, nothing I have not heard before, and the departure time was set for 2:30 the next morning. The boat had to leave the dock at noon and we anchored ¼ mile away from the dock in some muddy water. Eta prepared a nice dinner consisting of roast beef, potatoes, and some other things. No complaints. In the morning we wandered around Georgetown for an hour and then we were off come 1:30, learning to do what we needed to as we went. Peter and Eta are both full of patience. I was fine about 2 hours into the trip and then I made the mistake of going down to the berth. It was hot and muggy and in about 15 min I went from completely fine to “I need to get out of here fast” I popped an anti-motion sickness pill and managed to get some air and some sleep up top and was ok until after dinner, which consisted of shrimp in a cocktail sauce and some bread and salad. It looked like a sangria off the side of the boat a few hours later. I made the same mistake in an effort to get warm clothes. Lessons learned. I felt much better for the duration of my watch, which lasted until 10pm. I slept well.
In the morning, before the sun was up, I was woken up to help dock the boat. I went back to sleep after.
It has been mentioned to me that I should keep a sailing log. I'll start on it after I finish this. I'm at the Southport NC marina today. I'm not sure where I'll be 2 days from now. :D
It all happened rather quickly. I had talked to Peter on the phone a few times though always briefly and I was never sure exactly what to make of our interactions. He was always brief and to the point “we'll be here on this day come down and we'll see if we get along.” We met in Georgetown SC. “We'll be the only catamaran on the dock.”
In the morning, before the sun was up, I was woken up to help dock the boat. I went back to sleep after.
It has been mentioned to me that I should keep a sailing log. I'll start on it after I finish this. I'm at the Southport NC marina today. I'm not sure where I'll be 2 days from now. :D
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
St. Augustine
As I've mentioned in most e-mails I'm not taking the trip on this boat. We also convinced the captain that he and the boat are just not ready to go right now. I have some promising prospects that I will mention next time as far as other trips go. But first I'd like to write a little about St. Augustine.
It is a tourist town as one of the oldest in the US. This, as I understand, is the only reason people come here. But they come in huge numbers to the tourist area that the dock we're staying on is very close to. Jessica and I have spent many days walking around it trying to figure out what is so exciting and all I can say is don't come here for any reason.
Dock life is very interesting. The people on the dock are awesome. The most awesome of whom know everything they can about their boat, have done most of the work on their boats themselves. They are a wealth of skill and information and interesting lifestyles. On the boat across from mine is a young couple with a kid who live on their boat because it's cheaper than living anywhere else. They have also made a commitment to never stop traveling and don't believe having a kid should stop them from living life. Talking to them is a sheer joy. I take every opportunity to hang out with them.
Docked adjacent to my boat is an older guy with longer thicker hair than me. He knows a lot about everything. Used to be in a biker club has interesting stories an wise insights. He cleans the bottoms of the boats for spare cash. It seems like incredibly difficult labor. Owns a cat.
Farther down is a former finance guy who lost everything but his boat. He's happy every day I talk to him.
Down some more is a guy who has his own company and a strange life story. One day he decided he wasn't happy and got rid of everything he didn't need, moved to a boat, got a new phone and didn't tell anyone the number. Now he has couch surfers stay on his boat all the time.
A number of people on the dock own dogs. One guy drives trucks when he's not on his boat. Every boat on the dock is in a constant state of improvement and repair. It's like a house, there is always something to do.
At most times of the evening you can find people either gathering together for some smokes or some drinks in one of the open areas of the dock or on top of someone's boat. Everyone is always invited.
A little bit about my travel companion, Jessica. She's a professional photographer. A large surprise as everyone I travel with seems to think they are but she actually is. Was one in the navy, worked as a freelance photographer at home. She has the same future plans as I. No bills to pay, no job to come home to, just as desire to travel and explore and become a kickass sailor. We get along at least as well as I expected on day one. Whatever comes next we're hoping to do it together.
Early next week I will know a lot more about my plans than I do now. Friday I go up to Georgetown SC to meet a potential captain. If it goes well I'll be sailing toward home soon enough, and then across the pond.
It is a tourist town as one of the oldest in the US. This, as I understand, is the only reason people come here. But they come in huge numbers to the tourist area that the dock we're staying on is very close to. Jessica and I have spent many days walking around it trying to figure out what is so exciting and all I can say is don't come here for any reason.
Dock life is very interesting. The people on the dock are awesome. The most awesome of whom know everything they can about their boat, have done most of the work on their boats themselves. They are a wealth of skill and information and interesting lifestyles. On the boat across from mine is a young couple with a kid who live on their boat because it's cheaper than living anywhere else. They have also made a commitment to never stop traveling and don't believe having a kid should stop them from living life. Talking to them is a sheer joy. I take every opportunity to hang out with them.
Docked adjacent to my boat is an older guy with longer thicker hair than me. He knows a lot about everything. Used to be in a biker club has interesting stories an wise insights. He cleans the bottoms of the boats for spare cash. It seems like incredibly difficult labor. Owns a cat.
Farther down is a former finance guy who lost everything but his boat. He's happy every day I talk to him.
Down some more is a guy who has his own company and a strange life story. One day he decided he wasn't happy and got rid of everything he didn't need, moved to a boat, got a new phone and didn't tell anyone the number. Now he has couch surfers stay on his boat all the time.
A number of people on the dock own dogs. One guy drives trucks when he's not on his boat. Every boat on the dock is in a constant state of improvement and repair. It's like a house, there is always something to do.
At most times of the evening you can find people either gathering together for some smokes or some drinks in one of the open areas of the dock or on top of someone's boat. Everyone is always invited.
A little bit about my travel companion, Jessica. She's a professional photographer. A large surprise as everyone I travel with seems to think they are but she actually is. Was one in the navy, worked as a freelance photographer at home. She has the same future plans as I. No bills to pay, no job to come home to, just as desire to travel and explore and become a kickass sailor. We get along at least as well as I expected on day one. Whatever comes next we're hoping to do it together.
Early next week I will know a lot more about my plans than I do now. Friday I go up to Georgetown SC to meet a potential captain. If it goes well I'll be sailing toward home soon enough, and then across the pond.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Arrival in Florida
The next stage of my journey has begun. The plan is to sail around the world, for me anyway. Here is how it looks so far
The Boat:
A large boat that can easily sleep 5 or 6. It's old and not in the best conditions. It has taken on water in the past. all the metal handles everywhere are kinda nasty, a lot of the varnish is coming off the wood. many broken fans and lights the sink leaks a drop every min or two. Nothing that can't be fixed but it's not ready to go out yet. The owners are pack rats. A lot of the stuff needs to be moved off before we go anywhere. We've started. I'm doing a lot of bend bars/lift gates today.
The Captain:
I knew from pictures that he was fat and I was ok with this. Sadly fat is a gross underestimation, the man is morbidly obese. He can barely walk. He knows a lot about boats and all that good stuff, but he is not exactly seaworthy. in about 25 days he can go out to sea, says his doctor.
His Wife:
A wonderful woman. Rebecca. She does a lot of taking care of him, she's with him all the way, whatever happens. She's lively and active and understanding she is used to doing all the work that he can't.
The Crew:
So far I've met 1, Jessica. We got along instantly, she is a lot of awesome. She's a navy girl, can drink me under the table, walks around covered in cuts and scrapes from learning how to ride a bicycle on gravel. We've already had the "we totally shouldn't sleep together" discussion. We'll be good friends.
The Dilemma:
The captain asks that we tell him within a week, staying or going. Jessica is talking to other boats, I'm not sure if I'll stay without her. Any boat problems can be fixed but the captain's condition is worrisome. At his weight the health problems will be never ending, Rebecca doesn't know how to sail. Jessica doesn't feel too comfortable. I'm a noob. We'll have a discussion about it tonight sober. I just got over the hang over from last night.
The Boat:
A large boat that can easily sleep 5 or 6. It's old and not in the best conditions. It has taken on water in the past. all the metal handles everywhere are kinda nasty, a lot of the varnish is coming off the wood. many broken fans and lights the sink leaks a drop every min or two. Nothing that can't be fixed but it's not ready to go out yet. The owners are pack rats. A lot of the stuff needs to be moved off before we go anywhere. We've started. I'm doing a lot of bend bars/lift gates today.
The Captain:
I knew from pictures that he was fat and I was ok with this. Sadly fat is a gross underestimation, the man is morbidly obese. He can barely walk. He knows a lot about boats and all that good stuff, but he is not exactly seaworthy. in about 25 days he can go out to sea, says his doctor.
His Wife:
A wonderful woman. Rebecca. She does a lot of taking care of him, she's with him all the way, whatever happens. She's lively and active and understanding she is used to doing all the work that he can't.
The Crew:
So far I've met 1, Jessica. We got along instantly, she is a lot of awesome. She's a navy girl, can drink me under the table, walks around covered in cuts and scrapes from learning how to ride a bicycle on gravel. We've already had the "we totally shouldn't sleep together" discussion. We'll be good friends.
The Dilemma:
The captain asks that we tell him within a week, staying or going. Jessica is talking to other boats, I'm not sure if I'll stay without her. Any boat problems can be fixed but the captain's condition is worrisome. At his weight the health problems will be never ending, Rebecca doesn't know how to sail. Jessica doesn't feel too comfortable. I'm a noob. We'll have a discussion about it tonight sober. I just got over the hang over from last night.
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