The World I See

Let the Decrescendo begin….

2016-05-19T08:00:00.001-07:00

Lowering my chin, I breathed heavily into my Musto jacket collar to warm my nose with steam. Standing several feet from the bow, I stood one hand tucked in my pocket, the other holding a pair of bulky black binoculars as I squinted my eyes to look for fishing buoys. The boat plunged into a wave and I held on as a large splash of sea water, like a timed fountain show, shot straight up into the sky and back down near my feet. Maybe I'll back up a bit, I wisely decided taking a few quick steps back just before another splash descended on the decks. The sun was beginning to set as we headed out of Plymouth and the floating fluorescent fishing balls were becoming more difficult to see. Our eldest crew member, a jolly old fella in his late 60's, had been the one to point out the last one just in time to avoid it. Not to be outdone by my elderly partner, I thought it best to go ahead and take the precautions to avoid the next one. The evening air was a bitter bite, two small patches on my cheeks burning a little from the cold wind. I rubbed my hands together, finally walking back to the cockpit after the sun had set. My eyes would be no use in the dark and we had ventured out far enough now to not need to worry so much about dragging a fishing line. My watch partner and I moved around chatting, pacing, swaying back and forth, shifting from foot to foot to keep warm, hands shoved in pockets wearing several layers of clothing that stiffened our movements in a funny Gumby-like manner. We are definitely not in the Caribbean anymore, I thought.

The crew of 6 guys and myself had just spent the last few days in Plymouth after a few weeks prior at sea. The beginning of this leg began in St. Maarten the end of April and lasted for 10 days. It was a bit of a rough ride that first week with waves crashing hard over the bow from two opposing swells and 30 knot winds banging us abruptly into them. One of our crew had also become quite ill and feverish and I imagine he wasn't enjoying himself so much. Thankfully the crew pitched in to take care of him. Many of those nights I'd stumble to the salon from my demon possessed bunk that seemed hell bent on furiously ejecting me. I'd sleep on the couch where the middle of the boat wasn't so dramatically effected. After a few days of the rough weather and sleepless nights the winds finally died down a bit and the ride became smoother, the evenings cooler, and our crew a little less haggard with a decent nights' sleep. Our stewardess had taken off to see family for the trip so it was just the guys and myself. I must admit I had begrudged the idea at first of being surrounded by all the testosterone and sure I would be pulling my hair out within a week's time but I couldn't have been more wrong. They were great, very helpful, and when we needed it we all gave each other space. There's something to be said about going through crappy weather together in the middle of nowhere and I am sure my fellow seafarers can agree. As much as you could strangle each other at times, it bonds you as well in its odd misery. There are nights on end where you just can't sleep due to the waves and you are each miserably tired and ready for it to be over, your patience hanging on by a thread. The one night you finally get some rest it is like Christmas! Everyone is friendly, eating a bunch of snacks again, listening to music, having positive conversations about future plans. You can finally take a shower without having to wager whether banging into the wall while getting knocked by a wave naked in an unsteady stream of water is worth smelling fresh. All is right with the world again and beautiful sunrises and sunsets are photographed. Soon enough, 10 days flew by and we reached the Azores.

The Azores is a group of Portuguese island once known for its whaling industry and a popular midway stop between continents for yachts. On our arrival there was a huge surge in the bay with howling winds and dark skies. We tied off in perfect timing as our fenders groaned in a rubbery protest to the concrete docks in the Horta marina. A heavy gust of wind blew the cold rain in sheets as our local agent Duncan, a dead ringer for Uncle Ben, complete with yellow rain gear and sporting a thick grey beard, welcomed us with a big smile.

"Heeeyyyy!!! Welcome to the beautiful Azores!" he laughed, spreading his arms out wide as though presenting a paradise of complete opposite weather. Shaking hands with the boys and handing out beers as we tied up, we couldn't help but be giddy and appreciative for his hospitality. It would be nice to be on solid ground for a few days. Bad weather or not, the Azores, like any first stop after being at sea, was a welcome site.

Our first night in town we obeyed the ritual of sailors gone before and got drunk at Peter Sport Cafe, an old cozy pub with a small whale bone museum in the back. A room full of strangers became a room full of long lost friends singing and drinking into the night as the wind and rain howled outside. We ate plates of delicious blood sausage and some of the best local cheeses I have tasted in my life. No surprise, considering that the Azores are well known for their fantastic grazing land and cattle. After too much indulgence, we stumbled back to the safety of the boat for a long night of sleep. On the weekend we rented a car and drove around the island to explore the countryside, volcano, and grab some lunch at a local cafe. Blustery and chilly, we ran from site to site with cameras in hand, the wind strong and dusty. Although the island was fairly a ghost town aside from the inhabitants of the boats in the marina and the occasional leery local, it was a lovely place to take a nice walk or explore by car. After our reprieve from the Atlantic crossing, we were ready after a few days to return to the open water.

On our 6 day journey to Plymouth was when I think we began to feel the burn. It has been a long couple months of non-stop work beforehand and with the addition of the crossing, everyone was tired and ready to get to shore. Short questions on watch with your partner and long gazes out at sea with a warm cup of tea or coffee in hand. "Do you want me to fill in the log book?" "Coffee?" was about the extent of conversation at that point. You've talked everything out by now and you're tired. Not to mention we had just done a crossing coming from Europe just a couple months prior. As my captain rightly put it, "For the last 3 months all we've done is move this boat from city to city. I can't wait to walk around a place I know I will be able to get to know for longer than a week." I couldn't have said it better myself. Soon enough...

After 10 days' stop in England between the beautiful historic towns of Plymouth and Portsmouth visiting crew family and friends, we made our way to The Netherlands. I loaded up on Cornish pasties, English sausage rolls, and hot water bottles for the freezing cold air of the North Sea and for a last minute bit of nostalgia for my English crew mates. Thankfully it was only a 24 hour trip and the boys did all the evening watches (bless their hearts) so it wasn't so bad!

I was so very grateful to wake up the next day and be land based again for a good chunk of time. We were finally in a shipyard in Holland where our journey of the last year would make a 5 month stop. A couple weeks of hard work in wrapping up the boat, putting all the interior and many exterior items in storage, removing sails and masts, and moving into an actual house kept us pretty busy while the beautiful bike trails and many attractions of Amsterdam kept us entertained. Having a nice dinner in a spacious and cozy house with a yard and decent size kitchen was a perfect way to end the season with my crew mates.

I am sitting now in my apartment back in Oregon and marveling as I read back at all that has happened this last year between Spain and now here. One of my favorite crew mates has resigned, new crew have now joined our rotations, and I get to take the next 4 months to explore a new phase off the boat. After all this travel and exciting experiences I have been so blessed to enjoy, I cannot help but be grateful for the time I have been given to rest as well and to reflect on this last year. I take some time off this next month to enjoy being home and catch up with friends. My writing internship begins with Elephant Journal, thus, hopefully, ushering in a new phase of work in my life. I get to ENJOY the amazing hikes around the NW, pet people's dogs, hug friends' children, hug my friends, and not set my alarm for a watch. Ahhhhhhh…I made it. And life is grand.

When You're Starving, You'll Eat Anything...

2016-03-06T20:31:00.002-08:00

Drunken staggering shadows slip out of the anonymity of darkness into recognizability in the pale light of the marina street lamps. A sailing regatta ends as the weekend does on a hot, muggy Sunday in St. Martin. Zombie walkers sporting stereotypical boat clothing and rum laden expressions zig-zaggedly make it back to their boats. Two guys on the boat next door stumble onto the pristine decks of the multi-million dollar yacht they crew on and take turns pissing over the side. A group of young women loudly sing as they stumble through the street, purses swishing and paper cups sloshing liquids over their sides. I sit quietly in the darkness on the aft deck listening to music through headphones slowly sipping my after-work beer in my clean evening uniform. I imagine they are all a part of a dance, moving in time to the haunting music that is making this scenario a drama it is not. There was a time I would have been jealous to spend a night out dancing in a club in the Caribbean. There was a time I would have done it even though I had to be at sea the next day. Time has a funny way of branding unwise decisions into the brains of those willing to listen. I have had to be branded a few times more than the average person, I imagine, getting slapped into listening eventually. Thankfully the last time stuck. For now.

I don't finish my beer. It has no relevance tonight. I am tired, I am at peace, I know I cannot do my job tomorrow if one becomes five. My responsibilities to my future with my job and to my menu take precedence as I get up to head back inside. There is nothing here I haven't seen and I would rather not see it and be peacefully dreaming than mindlessly staggering with a few less twenties in my pocket. I am lonely, though, and that is why I can't really judge and also can't sleep. Because deep down, I understand more than I want to.

Do I sound depressed? I don't know what I am, to be honest, but yeah, maybe a bit depressed. I am something in the "other" category and it has made my hands want to type again. To reach out through my words and send out my flare in the darkness. It has been almost two months since we left Palma and another two until we arrive back in Europe to Holland. We will have had just a couple weekends off in this time and everyday I begin with a cutting board and a knife to prepare food. It is my constant companion, my vice, and my nemesis all in one. I don't know sometimes whether I am getting better at it or if I have become stagnant. I just know that everyday I create, everyday what I make disappears, and everyday I start again. There is a comfort and a loneliness in the cycle. And the loneliness has started to become the comfort because it is safe. Connections with people exist through text messages back home and imagined connections through podcasts and films because connections with people are a lot like my cooking when you travel like I do. You create them, you consume what comfort you need from each other, you disappear, and then you move somewhere else and you start again. When you have been at sea a lot, when you know anyone you meet you will have to leave, when you realize that they also are in the same boat (no pun intended), you know what you can do for each other is very limited. It is the ones back home, the ones who don't understand the lifestyle and its effects that still hope for you, that still believe in your connection. They are the ones who don't let go, whose light is the electricity that can be felt across an ocean in the darkest moments of the watch. Who you miss the most yet spend little to no time with in any given year.

I'm not going to lie, it has been hard for me lately. Hard in a way that is so far into the depths of loneliness that I have talked to my thoughts as though a separate person were in the room with me. I pray all the time, though I don't know that I believe in God. I'm starting to question whether I am just talking to myself and naming it God to feel less insane or if I really believe that someone out there is listening. Have I become Tom Hanks in Castaway, talking to my own version of Wilson? It reads funny but it is sadly true, which may even make that statement funnier. There are a lot of people who do what I do that feel this way often as well. My crew mates and I talk about it from time to time. Often the true connections I have with other crew are when we can talk about it together and open up to someone about it. There is a comfort in speaking the truth and a need for it because what I am writing tonight is more than likely felt by a lot of yacht workers. Oddly and randomly enough, even Jonny Depp has done some research and writing about this! (http://thegeneralalarm.com/2014/08/07/global-study-concludes-yachts-create-prisoner-mentality-in-crew/ )

I am sad but not in a destructive or even bad way and it is ok to be sad if it motivates you to change. Throwing the truth is sometimes the best way to sling the rock at the head of Goliath and kill the giant that has taken over. Letting the truth set you free. I know in my heart that in writing this, I am not alone in feeling this and it isn't maybe exclusive to yachting. There are phases to loneliness and having passed the sadness, I've come to the land of acceptance and realization. I am tired of being alone and battling it alone. I am tired of making connections with strangers and sadly leaving and feeling as though I am an escalator you can have a moment of time to enjoy and then you must depart. I haven't written for my blog in a long time because I didn't know how to deal with the way I was feeling and how to battle my depression and loneliness. I am writing today because it is time that I do and I cannot do it alone anymore.

Thank you for reading.

Fall Days in Palma

2015-10-16T09:49:00.000-07:00

I am sitting on my tiny attic balcony sipping a glass of Rioja and smiling across the street at my attractive young neighbor who is enjoying a beer on his balcony. I look to my right and an elderly woman leans over her iron rails, peaking through hanging yellow sheets at passersby with intent curiosity. I smile as she catches me watching her. She frowns and retreats into her apartment. The bars a couple floors down from the small apartment I'm renting in Santa Catalina have begun to bring tables out to the sidewalk and turn on neon bar names. The sun has begun to set and the terra cotta rooftops along the buildings glow orange against pastel colored apartments, the mom and pop shops, and restaurants below. I am in love with my little place that lies above narrow steep steps with its quaint, cottage-like charm. An A- frame vaulted ceiling, a small balcony, a full kitchen, and a little glass-door enclosed bedroom in one of Palma's hip historic neighborhoods for cheap? What more could I ask for right now?

Palma has begun to cool down from its very hot summer and I am told we will see the death rattle of tourism in a couple more weeks as the weather gets even colder. For now, it remains its boisterous, tourist-driven economy with German, English, French, Italian, and Swedish travelers alike wandering the streets or wobbling on rented basket-boasting bikes through one of the many paths along the waterfront. On my 10 minute bike ride to work it is a roll of the dice lately whether I will be met with a cool crisp morning and clear skies or a torrential downpour, grey and hiding the sunrise…and I love it! I haven't been in a real autumn for a couple years now and I forgot how much I missed it. The early morning rain hits my face in its baptismal life giving energy and, like a true lover of the Northwestern United States…I am at home. I am reborn each morning in the mist, riding my bike through fallen leaves and puddles with a smile, marveling in the silence and wind. I zip up my jacket and coast downhill from my apartment, past ancient cathedrals, early morning sidewalk sweepers, and dozens of quiet yacht crew making their way to the shipyard for work. I wave my STP marina security badge and enter the highly secured shipyard, weaving between white work vans, cranes, crew on skateboards and bikes, and shipping containers, rounding the corner to the beautiful sailboat I work on. A gang of men in white-shirts faithfully stand with coffees in hand outside the marina cafe just in front of my destination, smiles on their faces. I imagine they are telling stories of their previous nights' events or the recent rugby game. Several step out of the way as I get off my bike and lean it against a shipping container, take off my shoes, and walk into work for the day. I take off my jacket as I walk into the warm crew mess and greet my coworker who smiles up at me from her cup of coffee as she almost always does each morning. The boys one by one make their way into the galley and we take turns firing up the Nespresso machine to make each other coffees, each of us aware of how each other likes theirs, as the one at the coffee machine throughout the day ends up filling up everyone else's at some point. Sitting around our crew mess table, it is a collective beginning to the work day, iPhones out and reading messages from the previous night, new podcasts beginning their downloads, and funny Youtube videos being shared. We share gossip from our nights' outings or moan over sore muscles after a nights' gym visit. Eventually we begin our work day and each crew member to their starting rituals.

At my prep station, I plug in my phone and begin to listen to whichever podcast catches my fancy today…WTF, Radiolab, This American Life, The Splendid Table, Criminal, Ted Talks, Snap Judgement…etc..etc…etc. I have an addiction, much to my poor crew mates' chagrin. I love this part of the day. It is when all is new, when I have a clean wooden chopping board and I look around me knowing how much will be broken down, heated, designed, cleaned and then returned to this state again. It is a sense of timelessness, a symbol of the whole. I touch my cutting board, grab my knife, and know the next time this will all be like this again…I will be going home for the day. And in that tempo my day begins with a light of the gas stove, a flick of the oven "on" button, and a rummage through my fridges to see what I need to toss, replenish, and most importantly…what inspires me today. It all goes by so fast, always too fast for us chefs who have a lot to do, and before I know it, the crew has sat down for lunch and I have learned about some new space exploration on my Ted Talk. Plates are cleaned, the clock cycles, it is 3pm, and fresh baked cookies and tea await crew for their end of the day break. Old dayworkers or guests from out of town stop by to say hello, our captain updates us on our itinerary, or someone shares a pervy story that we all pretend to be prude about. Usually the latter. We return to work the rest of our day and wrap up our stations. I set out dinner, pack up my bag, take a last look at my clean kitchen and bicycle back to my apartment after waving goodbye to my boat family. I lay out my yoga mat, stretch a lot, decide I don't feel like doing yoga, pour myself a glass of wine instead and look out my balcony. Today I have a writing assignment due and my Astrobiology course with HarvardX begins in a few minutes. For the moment I am content to sit on my balcony in my own private little space, sip some wine in the sweater-worthy night air, and watch life off a boat in a neighborhood in rare appreciation. Life is good.

In my writing class it has been suggested to me by my instructor that I let people in a bit more. So here's an exercise in vulnerability.

I am weird and hard hearted. I want to be quiet, I am tired of loud voices around me and I get really irritated with them. Ever get to that point in your life where being alone is so much more desirable to being around other people? Where you get home, drink a bottle of wine to yourself, dance to music you listened to when you were in high school (Weezer), and avoid all calls and messages only to send random hellos to friends you haven't seen in a while? I am here. I have been here for a while. I can't get out. I think its called depressed. I read about how yacht life effects its workers and I relate more than I want to admit. I feel a fake smile on my face every time I go out to a bar, dolled up, hair straightened, curves hidden or enhanced. When all my crew mates are laughing over some joke or hanging out together…I am not in it. I don't feel me. I don't feel like making low-eyed gazes and exchanging numbers and witty banter out on the weekend to one-up some guy in conversation so he'll think I stood out amongst the other circus performers. Why go? Because even a fake connection for a little while is better than nothing. Is it sad that a book or an episode of The Mind of a Chef coming out is the most amazing part of my week? I feel like there are people in the world who understand this thing I do….but they are not here. The other day my captain granted me a month off in November to go HOME and see my friends for the first time in a LONG TIME. I can't wait to not have to explain myself to someone, to reintroduce myself to another stranger and explain what I do, who I am, why I seem so crazy…to be around people who find me normal. To be around the chefs that inspired me, the family that loves me and knows me and will have the courtesy to put down their cell phones to look me in the eye and listen to me when I speak, to be with my girls again and laugh so hard my stomach cramps. I can't wait. I have it good, it is no complaint. But having the ones you love nearby and being loved, to be understood and to go home as a professional traveller…that is true bliss.

The Mediterranean Experience

2015-09-07T05:24:00.000-07:00

It is time to rev up this writing engine again and add some updates to this incredibly amazing life I am so fortunate to lead. Sitting on the aft deck onboard the yacht I have called home for the last 9 months now, I am sipping my coffee looking out on Porto Vecchio, a beautiful town on the southern tip of the island of Corsica. I woke up this morning, inflated the kayak, and paddled out along the coastline to seek out my morning meditation. Calm waters lapped at my sides as I glided along, a rueful smile on my face and joy in my spirit to be floating peacefully and alone in the morning light. A small white rock island with outcroppings of cactus and small shrubs was a perfect mid-way stop for me to sit and reflect. I sat on the tiny sandy shore and said a prayer, sat in silence and breathed deep while the rhythm of the water and the cries of the seagulls played background music to my meditation. Breathing long, healing breaths, I let the last week go.

I have been in dire need of a morning like this for a while and this is fairly understandable when considering what I do for a living. It is the same age-old complaint of any yacht crew who are nearing the end of a busy season, who have been in confined spaces with the same people for extended periods of time, who work the crazy hours that we do when guests are onboard, and who haven't seen their loved ones in a long time. My absence from family and friends back home has begun to wear on me and I am long overdue for a visit. It is in moments like today that I can relax, focus on their faces, breathe in the air of my beautiful surroundings, and say a prayer of gratefulness for where I am. Because, in truth…I got it pretty darn good.

As I look back on the past 4 months in the Mediterranean, I am amazed how quickly time has gone by. It has been a busy season that started with an Atlantic crossing and then went straight into guest trips around Mallorca and Ibiza, the Superyacht Cup, and our recent adventures to Malta, Sicily, Naples, Elba, and now Corsica. The experiences have been epic with new and familiar faces along the way. I have been fortunate to have my mother come visit for a week of relaxation and fun in Palma, hiking to hidden bays to swim in the refreshing waters, catching up after a long time apart. I have partied in Pacha with my buddy visiting from New Zealand, snorkeled my way around Mallorca, eaten my way through dozens of tapas and drank my way through bottle after bottle of delicious wine and Cava. I have escaped the scorching summer heat wave with the Maltese in the cool turquoise waters of St. Peter's Pool, jumping from white limestone cliffs with the best local guide (and friend) one can find in the beautiful ancient country of Malta. I stayed in a 110 year old house up in the clouds surrounding the active volcano of Mt. Etna in Sicily with cool mountain breezes and billows of white mist wafting into my hotel window like a friendly ghost beckoning me outside. At sunrise I hiked to the top and looked down over lava fields standing 10,000 feet above the city of Riposto looking down on the boat docked far below. I've stood in the ancient Greek Theatre in Taormina and strolled its stone streets with what felt like half of Europe on holiday. In Naples I marveled at the Capella Sansevero and walked the beautiful streets of Piazza Plebicito, drank an espresso to die for, ate a Pizza Margherita at the restaurant it was invented at, and enjoyed a gelato while strolling along the waterfront. In Bastia, Corsica I shopped at a local farmers' market with rotisserie chickens perfuming the air with herbs de provence, goat cheese crepes sizzling on hot flat griddles, and old farmers smiling as they sold fruits to local customers with church bells chiming through the hills in the distance on a bright Sunday morning. I have been so lucky to be able to provision for my galley in beautiful little towns where homemade cheeses, aged salamis, fresh produce, and fresh caught fish are in abundance and sold by some of the friendliest and outgoing vendors the world has to offer. I imagine to any local my confused, tasered numb expression is amusing as I try to remember what language to respond in…French? Spanish? Italian? I have given up and just say "Si" to everything with a large apologetic smile. Seems to work and I am constantly humbled by the kindness and simplicity of these truly beautiful people. And as much as we can get on each others' frayed nerves and, as my crew mate says, "niggle" over trivial minutia, I wouldn't trade my crew mates for anyone else in the world. My captain has done well in choosing relatively drama free, happy-go-lucky crew that are active, goofy, funny, and strong. Each person takes their turn being quiet and/or moody for a day, but in general, we are a happy bunch. Many days sitting cooped up in the crew mess we can be found reading aloud bits of news from our respective countries in shocked awe, discussing spiritual concepts one has found on Elephant Journal, sharing photos of recent adventures, sharing stories of our families back home, or laughing over one of our absurd private jokes that only we could find funny. (trust me, we've tried them on other people)

My life is full and rich and at the end of this therapy I call writing, I read my words and I know that I mean them. I have amazing friends and family back home that I am aching to see but in the meantime, they have let me know I am loved and missed and I can't ask for more than that. Next week I head back to the homeland and visit my family in Egypt for the first time in 8 years and then hopefully a trip home to the States to deliver some very overdue presents and hugs. For today, I think I'll just sit here with my coffee and continue to enjoy this moment of reflection and gratitude and rest in the beautiful memories I get to carry with me from this very fortunate life.

Round Two...Let's Get This Party Started!

2015-05-11T12:09:00.001-07:00

We left Martinique on a 3 day sail to Antigua with our core 5 crew plus our extra seasonal crew mate. Having all returned from a month off after the boat was delivered from our last home in New Zealand, we were fresh and chatty. Late night watches along the way were peppered with stories of our different vacations and experiences as we glided through the calm waters of the Caribbean to our new neighborhood. I had never been to Antigua before and each of the crew took turns describing their version of what to expect, all pretty much saying the same thing. I got the gist that I was heading into party-ville with a lot of familiar faces and a lot of yachties (yacht workers). One cannot complain to be anywhere in the Caribbean with its kind inhabitants, bountiful tropical fruits, fresh seafood, gorgeous weather, and pristine beaches. However if you've done one Caribbean season, you have seen the depths to which crew can get themselves to. It is a test of one's longevity in this industry at times because the music plays all night, the drugs are plentiful, the drinks are strong and inexpensive, and there are many yachts with many beautiful crew with lots of money to spend having fun. I had not enjoyed my last Caribbean season all that much feeling a bit overwhelmed by all that was around me. I breathed deep before we arrived having just had a lovely relaxing spiritual retreat in Bali and mentally buckled up for the anticipated ride.

Arriving early in the morning I jumped out on deck as the dock guys with big smiles helped secure our lines. It was starting out to be a beautiful sunny day, the weather warm and breezy. I helped with fenders and assisted lowering the gangway, looking around. We were sandwiched between two large yachts and the marina was buzzing with early morning dock traffic as golf carts with dock workers rolled along wooden planks. I smiled at the stewardess who laughed back at me as man after man after man walked down the dock. It was like a scene out of a movie I would pay to be in. Everywhere I turned there was a yacht with several crew hanging over the rail to check out the new arrival. I was giddy to be docked somewhere new for a couple months and I think the crew was giddy to be back somewhere they had fond memories and would be able to see old friends. Like bulls let out of a pen, our very social and lively crew took to the scene quickly and developed our routine. Tuesday nights at Scullduggerys for live music and espresso martinis, Thursday and Friday nights at Mad Mongoose for live music and pool, paddle boarding to Catherine's on Pigeon Beach for rose` wine lunches and then finishing off Sunday evenings at Club Sushi. We went for kite surfing lessons on the weekends and runs around the hills after work each day. For the first time in a long time I also found myself hanging out with a good core of girl friends which made the experience all that much more enjoyable. Yachting seemed, if only for this quick season, like our world with our rules. We'd lay on the beach on the weekends or stroll up the street to the pub for a game of pool and gossip about who on what boat had made out with who and talk about our summer itineraries in Europe and how we could meet up. We laughed over bottles of rose` and danced like fools to the local live music and had good one on one conversations about our futures and where we saw ourselves after getting off boats. Opposite to my apprehensions, life lightened during this awesome time full of get-togethers, dinners, relaxation, and a buzz of constant boats coming and going. Our crew also became good friends with the crew of the yacht next door and spent a lot of time hanging out with them. Being on watch wasn't so bad anymore because you could just lean over the wooden rails at night with a glass of wine and chat up the person on watch next door. They became our kite surfing buddies, gym partners, and dates to almost every event. And though we were very socially active, I truly enjoyed the moments I was able to take to myself and the meditation that I was able to maintain each day. The Goat Trail was one of my favorite after work hikes and/or runs with a beautiful view of the bay and sunset. I would run back down through Nelson's Dockyard, through town, and back to the boat where I sat on the bow in meditation as often as I could after work. So many great memories of this time that I truly have no complaint. I may have left Antigua worn out, but with no regret and with a lot of fond memories. On our departure, the boat horns of our friends echoed in the harbor as we made our bittersweet departure from our little neighborhood and began our journey across the Atlantic to Spain.

We just arrived today to Palma de Mallorca after 17 days at sea and a few in Gibraltar. We begin a busy summer schedule we so desperately need after such spoiling. One's feet much touch the ground of reality at some point, though being in Spain seems a dream all on its own! The trip was calm and as easy as can be expected for an ocean crossing. Lots of book reading, writing, and movie swapping. We were a bit quieter this trip, all of us "sea-toxing" after enjoying the fat of the land that was Antigua. A large majority of the boats that were with us in Antigua will be docked with us again, our community transplanted to a new country. I am looking forward to being based somewhere for more than 6 months and the opportunities ahead to go home to see loved ones and faces that I have waited too long to see. I am also looking forward to this European season ahead and the many exciting trips we have planned this summer. Antigua was an amazing time but I cannot help but think it was just a warm up…Lets get this party started already!

The Gem of Bali

2015-03-17T18:09:00.000-07:00

I woke up early this morning to drive my sick friend Valentine to the taxi station on the back of my scooter. Having seen him off safely, I rode back to my hotel, meandering through the narrow road between the rice paddies glowing green in the morning light. The farmers were slowly plodding thigh deep in muddy waters while plunging long bamboo rods into the mud, tending to the rice fields. The sun rose above ashy black stone temples on street corners as the food vendors threw buckets of water on dirty street roads to start the day fresh. Locals rode in two's on scooters donning blue medical masks and zipping fearlessly in and out of traffic as stray dogs darted out of the way. Old women in produce market stalls, open since 4am, peddled spinach, carrots, galanga root, young coconut, hot peppers, and tropical fruits alongside fried cakes and meats. I debated a morning shop but remembered that Wayan would be at the villa preparing breakfast and I could not pass up the opportunity to drink my coffee while being in the presence of her warm smiling face.

I pulled into the villa, removed my helmet and flip flops and padded into the kitchen. As expected, Wayan was at the sink cleaning guest dishes and turned with her big smile when I walked in. A mother in her late 30's, Wayan was the obvious grounds keeper of the villa with a bubbly personality and always saying something to make the rest of the staff laugh while gently directing them in their duties. I liked to sit in the kitchen in the morning reading the news with my coffee while she trained her teenage daughter in the kitchen.

Seeing me, she stopped her cleaning and turned to smile. "Good morning Sarah! How are you today?"

"Im good Wayan, thank you. How are you?"

She nodded with eyes closing in emphasis, "Always good, Sarah, always good. You have breakfast today?" She asks me this everyday though I almost never do.

"No, just a coffee for now." I laugh at her expression of shock that she gives me when I say this.

"Sarah, why you don't eat?" she asks, turning around to heat up water for my coffee.

"I don't know, maybe with my friend in a bit," I lie, smiling at her guiltily. I don't have the heart to tell her I eat late because I know she'll wait around to feed me because that is the Balinese way. I can barely scoot around her to wash my own coffee mug before she playfully slaps my hand and grabs it. She nods her head and casts me a motherly look of disapproval while still smiling. I grab my seat in the kitchen and check my emails as the rest of the villa staff begins to filter in, smiling and greeting me, each of them remembering my name. Wayan tells a joke and the young ladies giggle, covering their mouth. I can't help but join in their infectious laughter as I look up and ask, "What are you saying over there Wayan?" She explains how she's teasing one of the girls about a boy she likes with that huge smile.

It is my last day here in Bali and I am a bit sad. It has been a long time since I have been in a country like this where I am reminded of how much I have and how little many in the world around me have. Yet, despite what material riches the Balinese lack, they lack for nothing when it comes to what is truly important in life. Anywhere you go in Bali, you will find a hard working person that does not complain. In fact, one of my favorite things I have noticed is how much they love to sing while they work. And they don't just sing…they SING! The other day I watched a fisherman grab a simple fishing rod and head out in his underwear in the early morning, strutting proudly, singing at the top of his lungs to the rising sun. They are content and one smile from another brings a huge smile on their face, one grateful handshake is met with a lingering hand hold that they genuinely mean in unabashed and vulnerable intimacy. They don't get angry, they just put their heads down and work hard. Balinese typically live in tiny homes with electricity that goes in and out, large mosquitos flying to and fro, rains swiping dirt everywhere. Their opportunities to ever see the kind of luxuries we could never live without are minimal to none. Their competition for tourism business is challenging in a place where there are so many taxi drivers, massage therapists, and food stands fighting for business.

Tourists from all over the world come here to exploit the luxury at cheap prices that can be afforded in such a place of poverty. Yoga studios and organic food cafes abound in places like Ubud with thrifty travelers who haggle prices for things that would be 5 times the price in their respective countries. I found myself bargaining over $2 the other day, went home, and felt shame as I looked in the mirror. What have I become that I can come to places where $1 means so much to someone and I argue over it? Where I brag that I was able to eat my meal for $3 and yet I'll buy a beer for the same price? "It is the principle of the thing," I have justified to myself in conversations with my fellow travelers. Words that are hollow as they leave my lips and I marvel that I have fallen so far from the young girl who once traveled to Africa to help the less fortunate. As I left today to the airport, I felt my eyes water as I hugged Wayan goodbye and I thanked her for everything she does out of the beauty and kindness in her heart. She will never know how much it meant to me because she doesn't take herself so seriously and it is how it is done. It has opened my heart, though, and I don't know how, but I am moved to do something about it.

When I look back on my stay in Bali I can recommend good places to stay, places to avoid, and what the cost of things are. In all honesty though, the real treasure of this beautiful land is the people that live here. To be able to be amongst them and to learn the lesson of gratefulness, humility, love, and survival is truly the gem that sits out in the open so easy to find. I encourage anyone that comes here to truly look for that and to appreciate the simplicity with which these people live their lives and the joy they find despite their lack of material riches. You will not have to look far to hear a beautiful morning song or to see one of those beautiful Balinese smiles.

Thank you Bali.

Gili Island Nightmare

2015-02-25T21:38:00.002-08:00

I took a trip to Gili Trawangen after a few days in Ubud. Anxious for a beach, some good scuba diving, and a reprieve from the heat, I booked a trip through a local company to take me. It was a muggy hot day and I waited in the shade in front of my hotel, sitting on my bags. After a half hour wondering if I'd been forgotten, a rickety old van pulled up, tourists sticking arms out windows wiping sweaty brows. A skinny older Indonesian man with a long white pony tail and a dirt smudged wife beater jumped out of the drivers' seat and grabbed my bags, throwing them on top of a mountain of luggage piled to the top of the van's back ceiling. He grunted towards me "Sit" and pointed to the front passenger door. I jumped up next to a pretty smiling, young bohemian woman with short bangs, long blonde hair, and a bag with takeout food on her lap. "Hi," she said smiling. "I'm Katie." I introduced myself and squished in next to her.

"Cozy," I joked. "Looks like we're going to become good friends real quick." She smiled and we both eased into casual conversation for the hour and a half drive to the boat. An American from California, we talked about our travels, mutual love for Indonesia, and what we planned to do once we got to the island. I liked Katie right away and we made plans to meet up again on the island for a drink.

When we finally arrived to the boat we were ushered to a booth to get boarding passes and then to a dock where we waited in the shade amongst a 100+ other people. Balinese women sat peppered amongst the crowd selling sarongs, sunglasses, cold beers, waters, Pringles, and spiced nuts. American, Canadian, Asian, and European tourists fanned themselves in the humid heat with weak smiles, straddling bags and backpacks. A friendly young Korean girl named Mindy sat next to me on the ground and we chatted about her last year living in Australia. A tuba player in her local orchestra, she had taken some time to travel and spoke near perfect English. This was also her first trip to the Gili Islands and she looked around asking a lot of questions I had no answers for. "How long do you think this will take? Are all these people on one boat?" I told her I hoped not, having a brief flashback to news reports of ferries sinking from overcrowding and poor maintenance.

After what seemed like a long wait, we finally started boarding the 80 foot "fast boat," as its called here. The deckhands grabbed our bags and tossed them on the top as we were ushered onto the main deck where rows of seats lined next to each other began to fill up. I sat next to a Malaysian couple that offered me the empty seat on the aisle. A young Indonesian man tried selling me a cold Bintang beer and I declined knowing a possibility of regret if the seas got rough. Groups of loud, young Australians down to party ordered a bunch and opted to sit up top with the luggage in the sunshine. I considered going up there as well but decided against it and kept my seat. It wasn't until we were underway for 10 minutes that the staff informed us that the air conditioning was broken. A hundred hot and miserable tourists groaned, fanning themselves, tried to open windows, complaining some more. The further offshore we traveled, the more clouds gathered, the wind picked up, and the rougher the seas began to get. I passed the time listening to podcasts and chatting to a little Swedish girl who kept popping up over her seat to talk to me and feed me Pez candies. I hadn't seen Katie in a while and I hoped she was okay as the waves seemed to get bigger and the boat tipped from side to side. Having been in rough seas before I assured myself this was normal but after about an hour of gradually higher seas and high winds, I knew we were in a bad situation. Waves crashed up over the sides of the boat and the windows that we were open had water spraying through, causing the staff to come and close them. The heat became stifling and unbearable, the passengers bracing themselves, eyes closed, hands gripping those next to them in fear. A man across the aisle got a sick bag for his girlfriend and held one out for me. I declined and said, "Im ok, I work on a boat so I am used to this." I looked at her and lied, "This is normal, don't worry. We'll be fine." Honestly, I had started to worry. This was not normal and not being able to see out didn't help as the boat crashed into the waves, throwing me from side to side. I gripped my jade necklace Luke had given me for protection and thought to myself, "I really hope this thing works." Unable to stand the heat anymore, one passenger foolishly opened the side door we had boarded through and a wave crashed into it, filling the boat with water. The staff rushed to close it as passengers screamed. A couple feet of water slashed around the bottom of the boat and the deckhands grabbed buckets and cups. The man next to me turned to me and said, "You need to get up now." I jumped out of my seat as he threw up all over the floor. I moved quickly to an open seat across the aisle. I have never seen a human throw up as much or as loudly as this man threw up, continuing for a good 3 minutes. It was as if he didn't know how to do it and though the staff handed him a bucket, he could not hit it to save his life. For what seemed like an eternity he continued to loudly throw up spicy, smelly food all over the floor. I sat next to a French father with his young daughter on his lap and they held their hands over their ears as he shouted, "How much did this man have to eat!?" As if it wasn't bad enough, then the sick man's wife began to throw up as well. This was more than passengers could handle and the lady sitting behind me threw up. Person after person grabbed bags from ahead of us as the smell began to waft through the damp and hot boat, no windows open to help with the escape of smell or sound. One lady threw up all over herself. It was like a scene out of a ridiculous movie, so unbelievable and insane. At least a dozen people were sick and the sounds and smells mixed with the pitching of the boat and crashing of the waves was overwhelming. An Australian man in front of me turned and looked at me yelling, "Fuckin A!" and we both just started laughing. I couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity and I felt terrible but it was all I could do. As the waves continued to get worse, I could hear screaming from the top of the boat and bottles rolling around, grateful I didn't go up there. Finally, after what should have been an hour and a half trip, our 3 hour trip ended at a nearby island. The people who had sat on top came down drenched, some of them with vomit all over their clothes. Their ride had been one of terror, as wave after wave crashed on them as they clung to the sides of the boat. As passengers began to get off the boat, I moved over to a seat by the window to look out and decide what to do. A young man that had been a passenger looked in at me through the glass and motioned for me to come with him. I grabbed my backpack and darted out the door.

"They aren't going any further. You have to figure out your transportation from here," the Englishman said. "I've got a speedboat with the Swedish couple and their kids. There's only room for one more and there aren't that many boats. If you want to come, you can come with us but we have to go now." I nodded and thanked him. I climbed up the boat ladder to get my bag instead of waiting with the rest of the passengers for it to be handed down. Seeing that the dock was full of stranded tourists and that it was a matter of time before options would diminish, I knew I needed to grab this opportunity. The Swedish couple smiled at me, introduced themselves, and I greeted the little girl again that had been feeding me candy during the trip as she reached up for me. Our boat driver hurried us through the crowd and we piled our bags on his small speed boat and jumped on. Other people tried to jump on but the boat driver stopped them as the dock helpers untied the boat explaining he could only safely take the 6 of us. We pulled away quickly and I looked back to see my Korean friend standing there wide-eyed and scared. I felt terrible wishing I could go back and get her but I knew that I couldn't and I felt selfish as I turned away. Meandering through waves, speeding up then slowing down, speeding up and darting forward, I held on and smiled at the little girl sitting on her mother's lap next to me looking scared. Shaking our heads with disbelief, we all looked at each other with incredulousness at what we had just experienced as we approached the island of Gili Trawangan. We passed sunken boats and docks floating off into the ocean as we approached a beach with hundreds of people standing on the waters' edge. I think this was the first moment I truly realized how bad the storm had been. After a short struggle to dock, we finally got to shore, bags in hand. I said goodbye to the Swedish couple and kids and thanked them for their help. Simon, the Englishman, offered for me to come to his hotel to get sorted out and I gladly accepted. The streets were rainy, muddy, trees strewn everywhere. When we finally reached his hotel, I found out that the hotel I had booked had misprinted their location. They were on a different island and now I was on this island with no place to stay. What was worse was all the people who were supposed to leave couldn't because of the storm and so there were no rooms available. Could this get any worse? Simon offered me to stay at his hotel for the night and I thanked him, accepting a place to sit for a bit while I figured out my next step. We sat on his balcony, drank a beer, and watched as locals and tourists struggled to move trees out of the road and the passengers from our boat ride slowly began to make it into town. I saw Katie walking down the street and yelled out to her in relief. She had thankfully caught a boat over and we agreed to meet up later after she found her hotel. The hotel owner helped me find a room at his friends' villa nearby for the night. After 2 days of no electricity or wifi and trying to navigate through drunken tourists down dark sketchy streets at night, I cut my trip short on Gilly. My friend Paul in Bali, knowing about my situation, had a room in a villa in Sanur just near the marina on the mainland and offered me to come rest after the insanity of those three days. I happily joined him, recounting my crazy tale to him over dinner as he shook his head in disbelief. I had found out later that over 30 boats had sunk in that storm. No one on the island could believe we had been out at sea during the worst of it and we were lucky it wasn't any worse and no one died or was badly hurt. I can only look back at that whole situation and think to myself how lucky I was to have had the Swedish people move quickly and get the speed boat. I was lucky to have Simon pull me out of the madness, take care of me, and help me find a hotel. I was lucky that the hotel owner went out of his way to help me find a place to sleep. I was lucky to have Paul to offer me a night of quiet, calm, and safety once I returned to the mainland. This was definitely one of the craziest experiences I've had in a while. It could have been a lot worse. I am so grateful it wasn't and that I can now write about this from my safe and beautiful villa in Canggu where I am peacefully enjoying my last few days in Bali with my new friends.

P.S.

I must warn to anyone that is thinking to go to Gili Trawangan…don't go. The rest of the story is so long and detailed but its extremely unsafe, fairly lawless, drugs everywhere, theft, and dangerous. I got followed home in the dark by drugged up locals wanting money, saw some pretty sketchy things happen, heard some really bad stories that thankfully didn't happen to me. Save your money and enjoy the monkey forest in Ubud or go surfing in Canggu.

New Zealand...New Zeal

2015-01-24T00:05:00.002-08:00

After coming to New Zealand practically limping off my last job with carpal tunnel, a heel spur, an inability to sleep at night, and large dark circles under my eyes, I did NOT see myself getting onto another yacht a few weeks later to work a 2 week charter for the holidays. However in the change over in my travels from the North Island to the South Island, I thought it would be a good idea to check in with my agency in Auckland to see what freelance work might come up in the coming months and put my name in because I go a bit nuts after a few weeks without work. The agency assured me that it would be tough for me to find work for at least another month, as the season was starting off slow. An hour later another agency was calling me with an emergency gig that started the next day on a sailboat nearby subbing in for a chef that walked the day before a boss' family Christmas trip. Having worked with crazy crew and knowing their predicament, I thought, Hey I'll give it a look and see what they are offering. Twenty minutes later, I walked onto the beautiful blue sailboat in the marina and met the captain who was appropriately stressed and in a state of desperation.

"You probably are wondering why our chef walked out and I know that this is such an alarm bell to anyone looking for work but I can promise you we treat our crew great, the owner is an amazing man from the U.S., and our itinerary is going to be a lot of fun. I am not sure why she left but I can assure you it was as much a shock to me as it was to the rest of the crew," he explained, seeming still in a bit of shock running his hands through his hair. "What we need is someone who can jump in and take over in the middle of this mess, " he concluded with a serious and direct look asking for my answer.

My heart went out to this man and I loved his honesty and vulnerability right away. Some crazy thing in me rose out of my vocal chords before I could think it through as I blurted out, "Yeah I can do that."

I shifted uncomfortably at the sound of my words.

" Really?" he asked blinking.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah I can do that. " I nodded gaining confidence in my words.

"Hey, I'm used to cooking for 20 people on a 2 week trip with provisions in crappy countries. I don't see why I can't whip something together for 12 people with a fully stocked grocery store nearby. I got this." I said nodding with an odd calmness of knowing I really did mean my words and that it would be the right thing to do.

With a pat on his knees and a surrender of hands he sighed, "As long as you are not an axe murderer and your resume is true, I am going to go on blind faith and ask if you can join us for this trip then. I mean, I don't even care about your resume at this point. I am just going to take you at your word. Are you sure you are up for this? You can do this?" he asked again.

"I got this. Are you okay? I am more worried for you being stressed," I laughed, trying to break the tension.

He let out a long sigh, "I just don't know how this happened," he laughed, hands in the air, his voice coming up a couple octaves. "I swear we have such a good thing here I can't understand why this chef just left us like this at the last minute."

"Well better now than in the middle of the trip," I pointed out. "This is all going to work out," I assured him. "Don't worry. I am a hard worker and I love a challenge. We're going to have a great trip. I'm excited!" I smiled.

He looked at me with squinted eyes trying to figure out if I was full of shit. After hammering out financial details all was said and done.

"Right. Well, welcome!" he smiled and just like that, I was on another yacht.

I went home, packed my things, told the people I had planned to travel with that I needed to delay my plans, and joined the yacht for the trip the next morning thinking to myself, What have I got myself into? The next two weeks that passed answered my questions and were nothing short of a miracle. I was right where I needed to be. Sometimes you need to be reminded of how you should be treated and how your life can be to truly see what you had settled for and to know there is still hope out there. I worked with a crew that was full of laughs, good words, cheer, and some serious hard work. Everyone pitched in, no one was above helping someone else. The owner of the yacht was a true gentleman of simple lifestyle with a big heart and a kind nature. He treats his staff well and they speak well of him. The fact that he loved my food helped too! I have never enjoyed a holiday trip so much and at the end of it, I was offered one of the best job offers I could ask for…a rotational position as Executive Chef working 4 months on and 2 months off. WHAT!!??? I didn't have to write out my wish list it came to me above and beyond what I could have even thought I deserved. I cannot express enough gratefulness. I was and still am dumbfounded. A couple weeks later now, we are packing up the sailboat to ship it to the Virgin Islands where I will be joining my new home in a month. I can commence my trip south with peace and continue to explore New Zealand and Indonesia!

That being said, it has been an amazing trip so far in New Zealand. After leaving my last job I took a clunky blue van I bought that I outfitted with a bed and camping gear and meandered my way through the green hills of the North Island of New Zealand for a few weeks to explore, relax, and rejuvenate. I had such a beautiful experience meeting other travelers (lots of Germans here) on their own individual quests and sharing banter with the locals who love to tease and joke through friendly smiling eyes. A patient and giving people, New Zealanders are a well-spring of love and acceptance making it easy to see why people from so many countries come here to wander. I took my friend Luke on the second leg of my North Island venture and we made the most of our time. We drove down 90 mile beach with my van getting stuck only once! Dug clams up on the beach to sauté on my camping stove with butter and lemon, hands salty and faces smiling. Travelers walking across the country greeted us and shared travel stories as we shared beers around fires and enjoyed the simple warmth of human connection. We went scuba diving at Poor Knights' Caves, sand sledded down the dunes of Oponone, ate fish and chips in Mangonui, visited a winery on a cloudy day in Opua, went to the northern Cape where the Tasman Sea crashes against the Pacific, hiked to a private beach in Onokawa, did the luge in Rotorua, and walked the historic streets of New Zealands' first capital in Russell. We rolled back into Auckland sandy, smiling, and full of exciting memories. This week I travel alone again through Raglan, a beautiful little town of hippies and surfers on the western coast of New Zealand, kayaking and enjoying the simple life. I have to say that this experience so far in New Zealand has been one of regrowth and relaxation, with healthy challenges and new friends for life. It is like someone hit reset on my life and said, "Its never too late".

In one month I head to Martinique for a couple months and then to cross the Atlantic to the Mediterranean in June for the Superyacht races on the beautiful blue sailboat I now am employed on. I cannot wait for the pages of adventures I will write about to come! But for now….Onward south!!!

Bula from Fiji!

2014-11-05T00:04:00.001-08:00

Ah, Fiji. I must give this a nice write up because it is deserving. I am pleased to say we are finally done with the hardest part of this journey and only have a 5 day trip left at sea to reach the promised land…New Zealand. I am not joking when I say I will probably cry a big bucket of little baby girl relief tears when we arrive, like a kindergardener awaiting their mamma at the end of the day. But for now, I am enjoying my two days off and doing everything I swore I would do once back from our two week guest trip. The first of which is…I will be around Fijians and away from my crew mates for a bit of sanity. I am happy to say my first impression of Fijians sticks and has grown deeper roots with a much more solid foundation of experiences. I am so humbled by the demeanor and kindness of these people. They are simple and laid back carrying big smiles, gentleness, and hospitality. Some of the friendliest I have ever met in my life and that is no exaggeration. Among many interactions of feeling a genuine love, I have to share this kind of funny experience from the grocery store the other day.

Typically when I go to provision for the yacht, I am the asshole with three big overflowing carts of food and most people don't want to wait behind me. The poor cashier usually lets out a patient sigh as they see me wheel up to the counter. I am always so apologetic and feel bad and that is just my personality and typically for good reason because a lot of what I buy is fresh produce and it can take a while to ring up and package. I realized about halfway through checking out a massive amount of items that I had to weigh all my vegetables in a different part of the market before checking out and I had a LOT in my second cart. Embarrassed to hold up the line, I apologized to the growing number of people behind me as the clerk asked them to wait for me to go back, weigh everything, then come back and continue. I look back at the people behind me, apologize and tell the clerk to just ring me up for what she's scanned and I'll go and come back. She laughs and says, "Darling, dis is noooo problem. They can wait." Without missing a beat, the man behind me grabs my produce and disappears smiling. He returns 10 minutes later with all my produce weighed and priced. I apologized and thanked him profusely. He patted me on the back and said, "Don't worry! You worry too much! Its okay, you are on Fiji time now." The clerk laughed, the people in line laughed nodding, and it made me smile and relax. Coming from a country where you have people huffing behind you if you carry 15 items to a 10 item counter, I was amazed. And this is not just one isolated incident. It is the Fijian way. The whole point is to be happy. That is all. A lot of Aussies and Kiwis vacation here and can come off as I am sure Americans must. A bit impatient, entitled, and loud. The response from the Fijians is like throwing a dart at a pillow. It is fairly pointless. Their humility is humbling and admirable but also powerful as if to say, "No no no…This is OUR way." They MAKE you slow down by showing you how to react. Everyone begins to relax, I must think, once in the presence of a Fijian.

When we visited Wasaimo Island on our guest trip I encountered the same sort of spirit amongst the locals of the village we were in. It was magical and very much a spiritual experience for me. I looked up into the trees as my eyes would water with tears. I was emotional as though my soul were overflowing with healing water that I so badly needed to drink of. The healing waters of love. I had been around the demands of guests, the frustrations of my crew mates, the complaints brought on by bored wealth, and finding myself floundering back and forth in waves of negativity. I had bowed my head low for a few months just willing myself to make it through and truly unable to take much more. Thank God for this experience though! I stepped into this village as though stepping into an earthly version of heaven. The children had these beautiful looks of joy and innocence on their faces watching us very closely and curiously and an heir of being taken care of, not wanting anything from us but to give us love and to show us around. They smiled big, they hugged without fear or reserve, the elders smiling down at them with acceptance and approval. They didn't want for anything because their system of taking care of each other and the love and patience they put into each other was sufficient. I spoke with a couple of the school teachers of the village that had trained in the university on the mainland but chose to come back to this small village. When I asked one of the ladies why she chose this life she said, "Because I am free. I don't carry money. I don't carry keys. I have all of this around me that God provides and I do my part. The others do their part. We are all free." Wow. Just…wow. She gave me a hug and all I could say was, "Thank you." We gave coloring books, pencils, paper, and candy to the island Chief for the school. They gave me life and a mountain of love that I desperately needed. We said goodbye and I still cannot stop thinking about that experience.

Fiji is, of course, not perfect. There is a divide at times between the local Fijians and the Indians that are also a prominent culture on the islands. The Indians were brought here in the first place by the English to work the sugar cane fields after the English realized the Fijians weren't going to move very fast out in the fields. They were on island time and valued time with their families and having a peaceful relaxed life. They had no want to change and to adapt to the ways of money, which I find so darn funny. Its just their way and it is amazing. So then came the Indians with their frugal money tendencies and their hard work ethic. They are financially powerful here due to their savvy with money and own a lot of the real estate and profitable businesses. Both complain about the other's way but at the end of the day, they co-exist without too much drama. The Fijians are almost all Christians and the Indians are Hindus. They both seem to embrace the peaceful sides of their beliefs and I find this interesting how this works in almost a symbiotic manner with one group being the worker bees and the other being the social personalities. They both also have AMAZING food and as a chef, it is a dream come true. They are very different in their styles but both very rich and full of flavor. Fijians cook with coconut, pineapple, fresh fish, fire, taro root, cassava, and love their pork. Somewhat similar to Hawaiian food. The Indians have amazing curries, samosas, braised goat, roti, and tamarind based dips. Each morning myself or one of my crew mates will go to this tiny old Indian lady at the end of the marina to buy tuna and chicken roti to take back and share with the crew for breakfast. They are less than a dollar each but they are worth gold to us. I think if I could start my day off with one of these roti everyday, I would never have a bad day!

I end my time in Fiji with a couple days off and have begun my day catching up on family business and relaxing with a much needed massage. My massage therapist (a Fijian) gave me a big hug after my massage and told me I needed it because my back was so tense. Little baby girl cried again. What can I say? Love has a way of opening the floodgates within me. It has been a very difficult last few months and I would be lying to say it has all been exciting adventures and privilege. I will admit I have it good and that I don't feel it right to complain too much when I put my life into perspective. But every now and then, I am down on myself, I am needing my cup to be filled, and I am not ashamed to say I need to lean on someone to hold me and to tell me to not worry so much, to feel their love, and to relax. I must say "Vanaka!" (thank you) to the people that I have found in this beautiful land of Fiji who have been a direct answer to my prayers. My cup surely runneth over. Bula Bula!

The Stars That Shine The Brightest

2014-10-13T14:11:00.000-07:00

In the early sunrise of Sunday morning, I prepared food and the galley for our arrival. We had just entered the waters of Fiji as the sun came out from its slumber highlighting small islands, their black half moon orbs dotting the horizon. With the exception of our quick stop in Tahiti, we had been out at sea for a month. A shower of relief ran down me from head to toe as I saw the end of the journey coming closer into sight. The rest of the crew began to move around the boat throughout the next couple hours in preparation for our arrival. Stewardesses put restocked stowed items to their stations and gave the boat's interior a cleaning. The deck crew sprayed the sticky humid salt off the three decks starting on the sun deck and working their way down to the main. The captain made a call to the port to confirm our arrival. Everyone moved with a little more juice in their step. The drudgery and tired expressions of the last month had turned into smiles and hugs as we started talking about what we would do with our day on land. I read through the immigration paperwork again to begin setting aside the items (such as produce and unsealed grains) that the officers would be likely to confiscate. I laughed to myself as I read that Fiji also will throw away all pornographic material or Holy Water found onboard. Interesting. "Every country is different in their own weird ways," I thought to myself as I remembered the ridiculously old labrador Mexican immigration brought onboard as their "drug dog". Smelling our lunch in the crew mess he'd led the police in a hurried chase down the crew stairs to a plate of sandwiches and then proceeded to roll around on his back for belly rubs, his handler blushing and smiling. I wondered if we'd get a furry little friend to play with in Fiji.

I stood on the swim platform with a fender in hand as we backed into our slip on the dock in case we came too close to one of the large steel pillions we needed to maneuver between. Our starboard bow thruster was on the fritz and we were in a strong current so it took us a bit of time to dock. Calm as always under pressure, our captain joked on the radio, "You guy having fun yet?" Relaxing from our tension we laughed at his greatly timed joke and cheered causing claps from the dock hands who had come to help us with our lines and had now sat down to wait patiently for us to dock. "Bula!" they yelled out to us in greeting waving us in. "Bula!" we yelled back. Ryan released our starboard anchor, Jake pulled me back up to the main deck, and I threw one of the stern lines to the dock helper as we tied off, aft facing the dock. As I looked around the neighborhood of yachts, every single boat around us was an expedition style yacht like us. I guess they are the ones best fit for these long trips! The yacht next door had also just come in from the United States a few weeks prior and greeted us warmly making plans with the guys to go for drinks later. Overwhelmed and heart racing, I checked with Jake to see if I was needed on deck anymore and then retreated back to the galley to finish cooking brunch with what I imagine was a huge smile on my face.

We passed immigration quickly with the same welcoming and friendly warmth from the officers that we'd received from the dock crew. They took none of our produce or food off the boat and gave us advice on places to eat and drink in town before hugging us goodbye. Hands down the easiest and kindest entry into any country we have yet to experience. When they left, we danced around the boat excited to officially be on land and had a champagne toast with brunch. The crew cleaned up afterward and I left with the captain to check us in and to grab a few food items for the weekend from the local grocery store. I floated on land as I half walked, half skipped smiling and saying "Bula" to anyone who should walk by. Thank God…we were finally in Fiji.

I have been learning so much through these travels in particular, like a crash course in understanding one's limits. I have had to come to terms with a lot that lies within me. Maintaining calm and holding opinions, learning to sit in silence in the dark and be at peace without the need to fill the void with my words or to shut off. There is an ever present energy that surrounds the boat underway with waves crashing our portholes at night, the gentle and sometimes intrusive rocking of the moving water below, and the wind that is constantly moving in the sky. Constellations above become bright in the darkness and fade in the bright moonlight that brightens the ocean below. Sun rises as moon sets, blue light becomes golden, and new days are born out of lapsed time. We listen to news broadcasts on the radio and comment to each other about the state of the world, the conflicts in each of our countries, our distance from these things. It is hard to not let your imagination go wild when you are left to your thoughts so much but it is also hard to relate when you are so far from civilization and any other people. I watch Facebook posts and feel so remote and unable to connect to my friends' lives and yet I keep on watching because I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be forgotten or to forget. I post thoughts and photos on a more regular basis than I would to drop a line out into the universe saying, " I'm still here!" I daydream about walking to my favorite coffee shop down my old street with my dog and sitting with my girlfriends after work enjoying a beer amongst locals that recognize me. I have sleepless nights where I am haunted by all the poor decisions I have made in my past, the people I have hurt, shake my head to try to think about something else. My mind constantly entertains the question of how much longer I see myself working on a boat and if all these experiences are worth the loneliness. I don't want to be out in the middle of the ocean anymore. I don't want to have this be my end. I miss the little things I didn't appreciate before and I am seeing how small and insignificant I am in this world surrounded by nobody that loves me. My watch partner said to me yesterday, " I am so ready to get to land already that I don't even care that we are going to Fiji. Can you believe that?" he laughed self consciously. I laughed with him in agreement. I couldn't have worded it better. It may sound like such an ungrateful thing to write but I really don't care. Its the truth. My happiest thoughts are of home. My joy to just be free of the confines of the boat and my sleepless schedule has no preference for the piece of land that will furnish that.

I am having breakfast in bed watching CNN now in my hotel room catching up on my world news. I have been here the last two days enjoying the large bed, the nights full of sleep, and the beautiful Fiji sunsets by the pool. The Myna birds have been chirping loudly outside my window since sunrise and I can hear hotel staff dropping off newspapers and trays to rooms around. I took a stroll early this morning wishing I had brought a sweater. Mornings and evenings are chilly and overcast. It is not as warm here as I had thought it would be and that is a pleasant surprise. Returning to my room, I set myself to write this blog that I am just now able to write. My whole reason in beginning this blog was to go out into the world and to write about what truths I experience as well as to learn through other people and their view of truth. I have hesitated because it has not been the most positive of experiences getting here. It has been hard and I have learned that my sanity is perhaps more fragile than I had previously thought. I have to be okay with the fact that not all truth is some beautiful story wrapped up with a line of gratefulness at the end. Sometimes it is an open-ended story with no resolution or maybe one that may not come for a long time. It is, however, better that I wrote this blog now and did not send out the myriad of depressing writings that dotted my trip and just say that they were there and leave it at that.

I am so very very grateful to all my friends and family who have posted funny videos and musings on Facebook. I know you didn't do it for me but let me say, it was these little things that helped me or gave me a nice chuckle. I am proud of myself for getting to where I am but mostly for the clarity this trip has given me in realizing the people and the things that truly matter to me the most in this world. The money and the destination has faded from importance and I hope I can always see this as clearly in my life as I do right now. I am desperately looking forward to returning home for a couple weeks in December and hugging my dear loved ones who were next to me each dark night of this journey. In the darkness, they are the stars that truly shine the brightest.

From a Pollywog to a Shellback

2014-09-18T17:23:00.000-07:00

Day 1 began with a bit of hoopla, the crew up early and excited, anxious for the day to begin and the trip to commence. Sandra and I skipped around the main salon singing, "We're leaving today, we're leaving today!" I cooked breakfast sandwiches, stowed dry goods, and made lunch amidst fire drills, abandon ship drills and the rest of the crew stowing away all loose furniture and equipment. The energy was high, the crew in a tizzy moving around quickly as we waited like children for Santa for our last UPS shipments before we could take off. After several hours of waiting, time lapsed and we became deflated and impatient eating our lunch sighing. Not too much later, however, we finally took off for the 2 1/2 week first leg of our trip across the Pacific en route to Tahiti. The crew of Oberon, a yacht full of crew we had become friends with and enjoyed a weekly game or two of rugby with, threw us our lines and waved goodbye. We were finally off! Not wanting to miss a memory of the event, I photographed something fierce and recorded video of my crew mates to the point of annoyance. Anxious and slightly apprehensive of what the seas would bring on our venture, we talked about what we thought the following weeks would do to our psyche and if we might encounter an unforeseen storm. After a long day of rising and falling emotions, packing away and stowing of breakables, and goodbye phone calls while still in range, we finally nestled cozily into the forward guest cabins we would reside in while underway. Since our normal crew cabins are situated at the bow of the boat, we move further back into the less tumultuous cabins when we do long crossings, which makes it all that much easier for the voyage ahead and lessens the chance of getting tossed out of bed by a large wave. Finally…we were underway.

We spent a little less than a month in the States, too short in my opinion. The crew however were itching to get out to sea again and the truth of it is, a little part of me was as well. After so much time in simple lifestyles outside the U.S. without the spoilings of wifi, shopping malls, and coffee shops on every corner, we learned to appreciate more and to bond with each other better. It seemed the more convenient life became and the easier to acquire what we wanted, the more independent of each other and the more we indulged. I cannot leave the U.S. with ungratefulness though. We were sustained and able to fuel up in many ways, seeing family and friends. I also cannot complain about being in San Diego. Being one of my favorite cities in the U.S., it did not disappoint with its predictably great weather and laid back ease. I know I will be back there, though, as I always somehow end up.

Now it is nine days in and we are starting to become a little restless. Though the days go by quick, it is a fog of a life to live in constant physical motion, waking up at odd hours each day as our watch schedules shift, yet eating at the same times. Sometimes it feels like you get up to eat and have watch and the rest is in bed. I finished my watch yesterday morning at 7am, went back to bed for a few hours, woke back up to prepare meals for the day, then went back to bed for another few hours. I try to do a workout everyday but sometimes when the seas are rough, there is no way to maintain balance. And to be quite honest…motivation takes a back seat after a while. Mostly we lie in our cabins reading books or watching movies. Everyone stocked up on their favorites so the boat has become a dvd exchange community this last week. Late at night on watches my partner and I sit listening to audiobooks we chose together at the start of the trip. We are currently listening to The Travels of a T-Shirt in a Global Economy and just finished The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari. It helps to pass the time and allows the mind to wander, which is imperative right now. I also downloaded a constellation app on my phone and spend many nights figuring out what group of stars I am looking at while listening to French language lessons. Two more months at sea and I could be a scholar! A crazy one…

My bunkmate Kate rooms with me and it is kind of like camping out. We arrive at different times to our bunks but each day there is always a time where we reminisce over our boredom and talk about what we will do when we reach land. She is positive and funny and it is personalities like hers and my watch partner Chris that make an ocean crossing easier. I certainly offer no complaint of the trip except for the boredom and anxiousness to see land but that is a given. We have been so ridiculously lucky on this crossing and I dare say the smoothest ride I have ever had on any boat underway. Each day has gone by smoother than the last and this is unheard of for a Pacific crossing. Nightmares and conversations of what may happen weeks before of high seas, waves crashing over the beam, and unbearable seasickness are only nightmares. They are forgotten and replaced with a calm, a serenity, and a smooth sail across small ripples and brightly lit starry skies. We have caught a few Mahi Mahi which have made for some delicious fish tacos, fried fish dishes, and fresh grilled lunches. The crew are in good spirits and we are experiencing no personality conflicts, no drama, and lots of laughter. As I have written in earlier blogs, you really know the metal your crew mates are made of by how they handle situations like this. And I am honored to be amongst so many strong and determined souls. I learn so much from each of them everyday and I hope they can say the same of me. Each of the boys have taken a night to cook a meal to allow me to do my watch or to give me a break, which I find so darn sweet. Tomorrow night we are having an "appetizer night" and each person will come up with their own personal favorite.

In two days we will be crossing the equator and since Kate and I have never crossed the equator at sea, we are going to take part in an old British and American Navy and Marines ritual called the Pollywog Ceremony. It is a bit of a silly tradition but a long standing one that initiates the "pollywogs" into Neptune's protection. In order to receive our certificate, (yes, there are real certificates for this) the captain and first mate pour fish guts and all sorts of stinky garbage on us. Then we will have to kiss a dead fish, do some embarrassing relays, and pour a bottle of champagne out in honor of Neptune. Once this is complete we swim across the equator and we are initiated into Neptune's protection. We then get to lose the title of "pollywog" and become "shellbacks." I think the boys are overly excited to pour garbage on us and I am just excited to get off the boat for a swim. Kate is terrified of swimming in the middle of the ocean so it may just be me. But I don't care. All in all, it will be a fun day and one I am sure I will remember for the rest of my life.

And so we move forward and once we reach Tahiti we will be halfway to New Zealand. Only a couple days ago the swell has picked up and we are a little more tired from having to balance as we walk as well as the watch schedules getting to us. I can see that by next week when we arrive in Tahiti, we will all be jumping off the boat and ready for a much needed break before we continue on for another 10 days to Fiji. Thankfully, our captain is giving us a few days off to stretch our legs, lay on a beach, and take some necessary alone time beforehand, as well as fuel up the boat and restock some fresh produce. I realize that as I am writing about these adventures and that I am going to Tahiti and Fiji I sound incredibly spoiled and lucky. I cannot deny those accusations. I truly am.

The Importance of Home

2014-08-01T20:08:00.002-07:00

My room is full of fading sunlight and I lay in bed attempting to sleep. I just finished cooking dinner for the crew after a 4 hour watch and I will be on watch again at 1am till 5am. My sleep schedule is off and yet so onto the circadian rhythm that it won't allow me to sleep with this light. We drag ourselves up and down the stairs in opposing schedules and shifts in two's to sit in the bridge for 4 hours at a time to watch out for other boats, check the radar, and keep each other awake. Passing the crew mate whom I am replacing, I nod and take their seat as they update me on what they have seen and I sit in their spot to continue to babysit the darkness.

It may not seem like a lot of work but it messes up a sleep pattern something fierce coupled with the boats' rocking and constant motion. An insatiable hunger and desire to snack is always there as my body is constantly expelling energy overcompensating to maintain balance in the sway of the boat. Thankfully this is just moving the boat from one country to another and not another 2 week trip at sea with 12 guests and 17 hour work days. We arrive to the U.S.A finally after 9 of the busiest months I have yet experienced on a yacht and I think I may cry when the immigration agent says, "Welcome home." I have been looking out my window to this day like a dog awaiting the rain to stop. As much knowledge and priceless education I have received from provisioning as a chef in remote parts of jungles and small Central American towns, I can't help but have a sigh of relief at the convenience that lie ahead.

There is no doubt I live a privileged life and that I am experiencing things that I don't have to look back and appreciate…I DO already. Just today a humpback whale almost ran into our bow, I suppose thinking we were another whale. It dove down just before running into us, its large tale swatting the side of our bow as it submerged below. My crew mate and I nearly shit ourselves screaming "Oh my God, we're going to run into it!" We hugged each other, hands running through hair nervously, laughing and gasping at our near miss and the amazing site we just witnessed. Each day we are out at sea some new phenomenon happens that I am pinching myself over from watching lazy sea lions floating on their backs in the currents waving a flipper up at us to marlin leaping out of the water, elegant and majestic. In the evenings, the breezes we have missed for so long whisper through our hair as we put on dusty forgotten jackets in our approach north. Millions of stars dotted a black, moonless sky last night as we quietly sloshed through calm seas up the Mexican coast. I smile through puffy tired eyes as I sip my tea and marvel at how beautiful this world is. No lack of sleep can take the wonder from my eyes, regardless how tired they may be.

And so our schedule will continue but a little easier for me and I will take it! After a couple days we will suit up for another 2 week trip packed with A-listers, dive exploration, shark experts, and scientists. I will get to cook for a culinary icon, a musical idol, and a ridiculously accomplished film producer. Breathe in…breathe out. You can do this, I tell myself. But I have to be honest…even with the wealth, privilege, and ease of the U.S…I am exhausted. Exhausted in a way that is soul deep and brings longings and sadnesses up in dreams of things that I left behind to forget when I began this journey. I return with a question of where those things are now and where they will go. At the end of it all, I want to crawl to my mother's door. lay in her lap, fall asleep, and not wake up for a very long time. To have a night of un-tossed sleep, to inhale fully the love and acceptance that I know lies there. To somehow know I am in the arms of someone who doesn't' judge me by my looks, bank account, my age, my weight, how many calories I eat, or if the food I cook tastes good. Just to be loved regardless and to rest in that. To be home. It is in this return again that I miss my family so much, even though I just saw them a month ago. It wasn't enough. I miss my dog Tilly still. We didn't have enough time either and I am still not over that. I want to rest and I want to be home. I want to rewind time and I want to fast forward it. Maybe that's what all this travel was meant to teach me the importance of…the importance of home. The importance of letting go as well.

La Paz...A Dream Come True

2014-06-21T18:24:00.001-07:00

Contentment thy name is Tecolote Beach. Sunshine is bursting out of every pore of the earth here in this dream-like heaven that lies gently and white sanded on tranquil blue waters. Except for my obvious self, the owner of this small tiki bar and his affectionate and adorable Pete-y look alike of a dog are the only other ones here. I grab a $3 22oz beer and go to sit under one of several thatch umbrellas and enjoy the absolute human silence and plug into the sounds of nature. It is hypnotic and unreal here. This place is everything that hurting, stressed, worried, and under slept people should go to cure their ills because it is everything that is opposite. The sea is a calming background symphony that's variation of pale green, to light turquoise, to deep blue sets all fires inside to cool. A small cliff juts out at the end of the beach creating a cove-like privacy. Seagulls hover above shallow fish and I motion my new canine friend to come over so I can pet him. He has a dog grin on his face and rests at my feet licking them and sprawling out in the shade while I scratch his belly. Warming up in the rising sun, I decide it is a good idea to go for a swim. Several people have warned me of sting rays in the area so I carefully walk into the surprisingly cold water and submerse myself in the refreshing baptism. Life is good. This is good and all that is right with the world. I cannot imagine why anyone would try to venture to anywhere else knowing this existed. I am sad I am just discovering this but all the more motivated to make my way back.

Today I began my day on Alvaro Obregon, which is the main street on the waterfront in La Paz. It is another bright and sun soaked experience, the waters of the ocean aqua and moving slight waves not too far from the store fronts. The morning breezes were still cool in their breath before the impending doom of the rising heat. Shop owners twisted keys into locked doors and aluminum gates swung open for visitors. The local street merchants hung colorfully woven woolen blankets for tourists to buy for their imaginary donkeys back home. Fake silver bangles clanged in the last of the morning breezes while tiny taco stands sold delicious corn tortillas with seasoned beef and fresh salsas for a dollar. An old man with a large fanny pack walked by me with two racks of bracelets and necklaces for sale and I politely declined his lifted display. I gathered my things after my morning coffee to drive up the coast in La Paz for some rest and relaxation alone. I made the right decision and so fortunate to not only see this beautiful landscape but to meet its very friendly inhabitants.

The Sierra De La Laguna Mountain range is the only mountain range to speak of, though desert cliffs and dramatic clay-like ledges rise out of the beautiful waters in stark red and sand colored contrast to the clear cobalt hue of the ocean. I cannot help but compare it to the geography of the coast of Egypt and maybe that is why I feel so much at home here, reminded of my childhood on the Red Sea. The ocean life is spectacular with seasonal visits from a variety of whale species, whale sharks, seals, and a vast spectrum of fish and dolphins. Due to the local school for marine biology, so many of the people I have had the pleasure to talk to have a passion for these creatures and for their conservation. It is sadly being threatened by human impact, commercial fishing, and pollution due to the dewatering of freshwater sources like the Colorado River. However, it is still bursting with life in a way I haven't seen since my childhood with rays sticking wings in the air and jumping out of the water, sea lions galore spawning new baby pups each season, bull sharks returning to the protected waters of Espiritu Santo, and schools of colorful Jacks and fat Parrot Fish munching away on corral. I have never felt so moved towards a cause of conservation as I have in working here. I imagine it would be very difficult for anyone to feel otherwise once experiencing this beauty.

Finally in my travels I am truly feeling content and satiated. The term "save the best for last" could not be truer . Of all the places in Latin America…and possibly the world…this is the one I like best. I find myself entertaining thoughts of a future life here. I picture myself joining the locals walking to work each day and resting in the cooling evening sunsets. La Paz…The Peace…could not be more appropriately named. It is a beautiful coastal town with raging hot days and beautifully breezy cool nights. It is dry and quiet, simple but special in a spiritual and secret way I struggle to name, almost as if I am not meant to. It just is. To be here is to feel that something magical and comforting walks beside you. It is the simple and pure life. Once again…man…I have SO MUCH to be grateful for.

A much needed nap.

2014-06-06T09:41:00.000-07:00

Our guests left early a few days ago. Tired crew drug tired feet in covering the boat back up in its protective tarps, saran wrapping of trays and glassware, and an emptying of garbage and remnants to conclude work. I prepared my last lunch for the week. Sighing heavy exagerated sighs we gathered in the crew mess to toast a beer to the end of our long line of trips in Central America. We vented, we laughed, we enjoyed a few more beers, said a few more cheers, then climbed back into our beds for the long awaited after-trip nap. The boat was finally silent again except for the sounds of heavy breathing and snoring. I slept 4 hours, got up and ate some snacks, caught up on Game of Thrones, went back to bed for 3 more hours and would have gladly slept through the rest of the night if Jacob hadn't made me get up to eat dinner. We shuffled along the marina restaurant line to a small table, sat down, and quietly sipped our beers. The sun sets around 8 pm in La Paz taking the days' heat with it. I sat in the cooling evening breeze with my friend and we had our unwinding and usual after-trip conversation. Crew need to vent to each other about guests. And then crew need a crew mate to vent to about crew. Jacob is always my safety for that. With a little more weight off our shoulders, weary smiles, and a bag of take-away food, we made our way back to the boat, ate our dinners, then headed off to separate beds for more sleep.

This last trip was the end of a long line of trips and the first time we have been able to truly rest in a while. After recovering from our first Cocos Island trip, we prepared and planned our second venture back to bury treasure. A fun and physically challenging trip, the treasure was finally buried after a couple weeks and we said goodbye to our guests for a second time. We got the boat ready again, provisioned for our week, and buckled down for sea. Saying goodbye to our almost year long stay in Costa Rica, we then made a 6 day trip to Puerto Vallarta in rough weather. It was a sleepless, physically exhausting trip rocking our bodies back and forth in our attempted sleep. My poor crew mate who has the unfortunate issue of seasickness, lay pale faced and moaning for the majority of the time. We changed course closer to the coast a couple days in and the waves, which were around 4 meters at this time, hit us on our starboard side. I remember waking up that morning for my watch and falling immediately over on my face. Sometimes you learn the change of direction the hard way! Shaking it off, I walked uphill out of my cabin and climbed on hands and knees up the stairs to my seat in front of the radar to join my crew mate for the morning watch. Afterward, I spent a good portion of the day in the galley preparing desserts, appetizers, and sauces for the upcoming trip, while avoiding clanging and banging cupboards that came to life with each large swell rolling beneath us. The camera equipment and books on shelves were thrown into the salon as the wave height increased and I hurried to finish crew dinner amidst sloshing boiling water pots. As tired as a person can be in these conditions with their body in constant movement and overcompensation, I must oddly admit I live for these moments at sea. I never feel more alive than when I am at a loss for control in this way. However, the amount of exhaustion it added to an already exhausted crew was too much for what lie ahead. We needed more time.

Upon arrival we provisioned for 1 day, ran around town finding fish markets, produce provisions, a mariachi band and decorations for our new guests' arrival, prayed for a miracle to get our internet up again after a lightning storm at sea, and then welcomed new guests onboard for another trip. As excited as we were to be in Mexico finally, we welcomed guests on a half tank of gas…maybe less. As my crew mate Sandra so eloquently put it, "Oh my God Sarah. No one is young enough for this shit. I am beginning this next trip feeling worse than the end of the last trip!" And I couldn't have agreed more. I knew we would be exhausted for this last trip but truly had no idea how much. To think a couple months ago we stared down the barrel of the buried treasure expeditions, the preparations to move the boats' 1 year in Costa Rica and Panama north, to begin new steps out of the jungle and closer to U.S. soil. And now this journey is over.

Like a climber at the base of steep plans, we looked up the mountain fearing the exhaustion and insanity of the schedule that was ahead of us. And as much as it was to get through, I am proud to say we are stronger than we thought we would be and we are closer than ever before because of it. My heart went out to the boys because we had to change our trip itinerary last minute due to Hurricane Amanda. So planning down the drain, they scrambled to reroute our trip and Soccoro Island became the Sea of Cortez. Each day the strongest person was a role carried by someone new and the weakest leaned heavily. However, despite it all, they pulled through and we are here on this day now. We are finally in La Paz and have the next couple months to recharge our batteries, to enjoy the convenience of supermarkets, to take some much needed time off, and to breathe a little easier.

There is so much I can say about my experiences, so much that runs through my mind when I am in the middle of cooking, and of course a lot of questions asked by friends about what the people are like that I serve. Really at the end of the day, it can be summed up by saying I am blessed to meet some amazing and talented people. We work hard to be given the opportunity to celebrate the life we are lucky to live. Our guests are always interesting people with unique passions that drive them in life. I learn so much each trip. Even as tired as we were, we had some real connections despite it. There is never a dull day and we are lucky to continue these relationships and friendships beyond our job. I am proud of myself and my crew mates. I am grateful for my job and I look forward to the next round of adventures ahead. For now though…this chick is dead on her feet. Adventure can wait. I'm going back to sleep!

Onward North

2014-04-30T14:09:00.002-07:00

Santa Semana (Holy Week) has ended and the city tourists from San Jose and Liberia have left back to their homes after their last day of summer vacation. The dry season has come to its end and almost in perfect timing the dark storm clouds began their loom Monday after Easter, new fish making their way into the marina bay and grumbling echoing from the new skies. We are making our final touch ups on the yacht and provisions for our second trip to Cocos Islands. Today is Thursday and my last day off to enjoy the city and its attractions before we slowly make our way up to Mexico. It is always sad saying goodbye to a place you have been a few months and have come to get used to. The season has begun to get into something I am truly excited about…RAIN!!!! QUIET!!!…and thus we have to leave. Yachts don't chase rain…we chase sunshine. So a sad goodbye to the next journey I could have taken here and onto a new sunny journey in another sunny land with more tourists, pina coladas, and sweaty walks up dusty hills to the fruit market. YAY!

I decided to take it easy today and take the bus up the hill to Manuel Antonio to have lunch overlooking the jungle and the ocean. Manuel Antonio is the local national park that is separated by the city of Quepos by a hill. Two cities…one hill. Tourists are scarce and restaurants are already running specials, a skeleton to the fat consumerism of last week. I take my table for 1 and sit on the patio drinking a sangria and reading my George Carlin biography, erupting in belly laughs every few minutes. Breezes are refreshing in the overcast brightness and the swells down in the ocean below rolling into perfect sets. I decide against telling my crew mates later how perfect the surf was. No one wants salt rubbed in their wound and truly it is one of the few outdoor things we addictivly look forward to every day, as it is too screaming hot to do much else and bars get old. I was explaining to my friend Amy today how selfish I feel in my laziness to embrace the things most tourists are jumping to do in Quepos. After a while you find yourself trying to escape the heat in some local cafe drinking frozen blended juices and reading just like the locals. Sweating and struggling through the heat to try to find a "tranquil" spot on the crowded beach that has sand fleas or to wait behind 50 people trying to glance a monkey in a tree at the park just isn't my idea of a day of peace. I have spent many a day struggling for that experience that would grant me some amazing photo to prove that "I'VE DONE IT!!!" and ended up back on the boat exhausted and finding my weekend over quicker than I had anticipated with no peace. I prefer today. I prefer this. Sometimes a sweaty walk up a quiet hill ending with a deliciously blended pineapple juice is a paradise worth more.

Our departure looms a week away and we are closing in on our distance to the United States. At this point, after 6 months of provisioning in Central America, my spoiled ass has to say she is glad to be headed to the land of easy. No more huffing sweatily between butcher, fruit market, fish market, and dry goods market. No more haggling with taxi drivers over a couple bucks and sweating on vinyl seats with Celine Dion blasting "My Heart Will Go On." (Seriously, what is up with Central America and this song?!! I cant' count the times. I can't. Too many.) No more being undressed by every male eye I pass. I can't wait to be invisible to men again and to be able to wear my hair down without looking like a Chia Pet, to be able to buy a bra without 2 pounds of padding in it, a pair of jeans without a leopard print strip up the side, or to be able to wear an outfit outside without pit stains in 5 minutes. I have realized more and more how much I am so ungrateful and dependent on in the land I call home. To be able to afford a car is a luxury. To be able to have decent wi-fi, to be able to eat a variety of cuisines from a variety of countries, to have a change of seasons that we continue to have business and commerce through, to know that the price you are given is unilateral and not because you are white…I am excited. I know I sound like a spoiled brat and I truly don't mean to. But what can I say? In Central America coming from the United States…I am. And that is the truth. Homeward bound and I hope to take home with me all this and remain as I always strive to be…grateful.

Quiet in Quepos

2014-04-13T07:26:00.000-07:00

My alarm rings and I reach under my pillow to squash the yell of the rooster cry I have chosen as a ring tone. It's 7am and time for me to get up and dress for my run before it becomes unbearably hot. If I don't jump out of bed right when my alarm crows I will never jump out. It is a thing I know about myself. Choosing the wiser, I jump off my top bunk and grab my running clothes off the end of the bed to change in the bathroom quietly while my roommate sleeps. I brush teeth, splash cold water on my face, pull my hair up, and change my clothes. Stepping out of the bathroom, I am quiet and do my best to keep the morning light out of our bat cave of a room so as not to wake Stacey who is still breathing sleepy breaths. Close bedroom door and walk through the crew mess to the main deck where the exit stairway bobs gently in the early morning tide. Half asleep set mechanical instincts move my limbs this morning as I pull my Smiths down over my eyes and set my iPod to my jogging playlist. I tie my shoes, do a few stretches, and start to jog down the dock. My eyes start to enliven a bit and legs groan in defiance to their early use. Ignoring I run past Mario who waves hello with a pervy smile. Run past the new sailboat that looks like it belongs to Swiss Family Robinson, chocked full of early rising hippies and Captain Ron look-alikes. The marina is swimming with mullet fish, box fish, and beautiful jellyfish batting themselves against the walls like blind patients in a mental ward. I run past the security guard with a nod onto the long dirt road that leads to the marina exit. Tails exit the road in a flurry as iguana after iguana leave their early morning sunshine perch to a location on the edge of the road. Raising mohawked heads to the sunshine, they appear a not very friendly lot, snobily looking aside with tails twitching. I snap a couple photos and run slowly, creating dust and sweat. Every morning this is how it goes down. I run the dusty reptiled road across the city of Quepos avoiding drug offers and too early morning male looks of lecherousness, lower lips sucked and oily eyes marinating in dark desire. Old men sit on rocks looking out at the waves gathering on the shore in the early morning wind. My favorite stray dog sits perched on a rock chewing on a stick with no care for my attentions without treats. I jog past over a small bridge and into a small neighborhood of brightly colored stucco homes. Bags of garbage sag in front of iron gates as I realize ignorantly that it is trash day. This means it is also stray dog day. I dodge fur and plastic to the sounds of "Outkast", bring a bottle of water to my mouth for a gulp and continue on. The morning is hot already and salty sweat streams into my eyes. I am loosened up, my heart rate pumping to the music, my lungs open and asking for air. It is another beautiful day.

We have been here in Quepos now for a couple months and relaxed into our Costa Rican life on Dardanella. The quietness of this small town, the developed relationships with the local businesses, and the ease with which one can enjoy the simple beauties of nature routinely have made it feel like a home and less like a resort or city to try to maneuver a normal life through. The fishing boat next door has travelled near us from Panama City, the crew a couple nice fellas who share the occasional barbecue or surf break. The World Championship Billfish Tournament just ran its course and ended yesterday bringing a festival-like atmosphere with men from all over the world parading out in the early morning for their catches and back at sunset with flags raised as trophies. I was able to finagle Mahi Mahi and Snook catches from some of the boats for which I exchanged cooked dinners for their return. It was a fun way to make friends, get some free fish, and have a hot meal ready for grateful hungry men. I look at this life here, this simple and pure life and I see I can be good at multiple ways of making a living as long as I am happy where I am. I know I will be sad when we leave here.

Today I will pack my beach bag and cooler with snacks and drinks. An ex-pat friend Jonny is picking me up and we are picking up our friend Sheree to head down to the beach. Our spot is a windy, bumpy, seemingly endless rock filled path down the hill to a private, untouched beach near Manuel Antonio Park. We will unpack the Jeep, lay under palm trees, listen to music, surf all day in the turquoise wash of waves. At dusk we will pack up the jeep and head back up the hill to watch sunset from Emilio's while a local jazz artist sings in the background. It is a $10 day and a priceless one at that. I know I say it all the time…but truth is truth…I am one lucky girl.

Title-less

2014-03-27T21:04:00.002-07:00

The stern lines groan in agony, stretching and releasing in the evening tide, the boat being corralled back to the dock by their faithful guidance. It is a hot and muggy night but I have spent all day inside cooking and have become unappreciative of the air conditioning and the hotel-like comfort of the yachts' interior. I need a little discomfort, a little reality. My crew mates are in the crew mess watching "Sin City" which is oddly gorier than I remember. It is not my preferred cup of wine for tonight and we have been so close this last trip that I need my space. I grab my laptop and walk my tired legs slowly to the aft deck table to enjoy the sounds of the marina and write alone beneath the privacy of the yacht security cameras. I debate going for an evening walk but decide better. We are at the very end of a horseshoe shaped marina, our walk to the end of the dock a trek of about 15 minutes in scorching heat that makes you question the importance of what you needed at the end of it. I didn't need anything worth leaving for.

These last couple weeks have been hard. I know it is the beginning of a long chain of a lot of hard. I liken it to the beginning of the Spartan Race when I thought after the first 10 minutes, How will I make it? I am already exhausted!. But I made it to the end and I was better for it. I hope I can say the same of this. I must decide that I will and let it be so. 120 hours on your feet in one week can be a bit much bringing with it a small varicose vein each time and hardening the balls of ones' feet to shallaq. My emotions are high and my body fragile after these last two weeks still unable to sleep through the night without my legs twitching and knowing that in another two weeks I dive back into another month of it. I know that this is one of those times I will look back on and be proud of myself for having achieved. My job is one people dream to have. One I have dreamed to have. There is so much to be grateful for from the amazing itinerary, crew that I genuinely get along with and laugh with, and a great leader who pulls us through it. To be able to live this close to people, closer than any family member spends time together, through grueling hours and impossible demands….and to still love each other and care for each other. It truly helps and has grown me towards love in a new way. I feel like a jerk to complain. This is the beauty of the therapy of writing. Even as I am writing this my ungrateful and defeatist attitude is starting to lose the war. I know I will be alright I just got to muster through. I think in these moments when my soul needs to say something…What is it? What will be solved in saying or writing this? What are you looking for Sarah? Understanding? To be heard and know you are not alone? All of the above and also peace in these writings. I long for answers. I long to vent and to whine. I want to know I am doing this for some reason and that there is some sort of carrot in front of this horse edging her to the ends of this world for something greater. I think about what I do and why I should be grateful and it helps a lot but something is missing. Our journey on this boat takes us from Latin America upward north to the U.S. and then to the far east of the South Pacific. At this time next year, we will be in Antarctica and I will truly be standing on the edge of civilization. And what will I say then? What will my gratitude or gripe be then? I am between myself, if that is even a way to describe it. I can't filter today. I just can't.

The weeks before my boss comes onboard are a lesson in preparation and humility that I consider priceless and nuts, even to my years of experience in this industry. It is a hustler-type finagling of prices with local vendors. A sweaty walk down a dirt road to an amazing Carniceria where the butcher offers his own cuts and cured meats that only the locals know about. It is a visit to the local spice farms to buy monstrous and fragrant vanilla beans at a price worth killing over. A moment of being humbled by the loyalty of a hard working old farmer who drives 2 hours out of town so we can get bananas on a stalk that my boss has demanded. I sweat, I exercise for my work, I rest when I am in the galley washing off the hundreds of bugs from my farm fresh produce. But what I do is nothing compared to what those who provide for me do. I appreciate the work that goes into what I make because I know that so much more work came before me. I have never worked on a yacht that required and also allowed this life of me. My efforts from beginning to end come down to one dish that is a blink to the hand that raises it to the mouth. They gulp down wine, they have a conversation, and all that happened before is a vapor that has passed. It can crush or raise your spirit to climb up a mountain to this one moment of accomplishment to have it loved or unloved. I get through it in remembering what I have gained in the journey that bringing food to the table brings. It is that journey that makes me feel like a chef and not the luxury of the cooking afterward. I know what each piece means to each person who brought it there and it is as priceless as gold to me at times.

I sound like a sad puppeteer to myself when I re-read that last paragraph yet I am proud. I have been nothing but me and my work for this time in such a way that I almost feel lost in it. Like it is all I am anymore. This life on the boat, this fulfillment of experience is rare and is unique. I miss home so much though. I want to be selfish and go home. The plethora of photos of me in places that I can only dream to be cannot replace the beauty of the embrace of a dear friend or watching a movie with my dad on the couch with my dog sitting in between. I question myself all the time in why this worked out how it did. It was timely, it was a prayer answered, and now I wonder if the answered prayer was one that I never made...to be taught that I had it all in my hands already and was just too damn blind and ungrateful to see it.

Peace and Gratefulness in Quepos

2014-02-27T05:32:00.002-08:00

We left Panama City on the 11th of February. Our captain drove us to a beautiful, remote, surf resort several hours outside of Panama City for a couple days off. It was a gorgeous location, nestled in the middle of a long stretch of beach, untouched by cities or stores, with beautiful waves that curled into sleek barrels consistently throughout the day. We arrived in the early evening and took the tender to the beach for a delicious dinner under the moonlight. During the days, we kayaked to the beach from our anchorage or rode the small tender in. Since the waves were a decent size, we would be dropped off as close as the boat could get and then jump off with surfboards and dry bags to surf in to the resort. When we arrived we were nothing short of amazed. A bohemian, modern-day hippie surf retreat in Playa Venao, it is owned by a beautiful young Israeli couple whose 5 kids bounce around their outdoor shaded paradise in the middle of nowhere. Their resort offers 3 different hotels for low, mid, and high income travelers, which brings a nice mix of people to interact with. The cost is fairly inexpensive, a decent room costing around $80 a night. All get to enjoy the bamboo outdoor living room and restaurant on the water, which are connected in a very home-like setting. Surfers and families lay on couches reading, ambient-massage parlor-ethnic music plays in the background, lunches arriving to hungry guests in the restaurant. A small circular thatch covered bar hangs off of the end of the living room, patrons tipping back cold beers and looking out at the set of waves rolling in. Little boys skateboard through the restaurant, mops of curly uncut hair. We sat outside in peace each day, quietly reading our books in the outdoor living room, drinking freshly blended fruit juices. I walked up and down the beach looking for shells and taking pictures. The surf was perfect and glass-like with gentle breezes. We would return to the boat for dinner and have barbecues on the swim platform every night and enjoy sunset together. After our three months in Panama City where our activities were limited in the big city to movies, malls, restaurants, bars, and casinos…it was nice to be out of the rat race and back into the breathing world. I had begun to forget again what it was like to be in the outdoors and to be quiet in nature. After our 3 days in one of the most amazing places I have been to, we made our way through perfect, calm waters to Costa Rica. We caught two large Mahi Mahi on our first afternoon out and sailed quietly for another day before reaching Quepos. After a couple days, we arrived.

Quepos is a quiet town known for its sports fishing and for Manuel Antonio National Park. It is one of the top destinations in Costa Rica for tourists from the U.S. but still a quiet and peaceful town with beautiful beaches, mountains in the backdrop with unreal jungle mist, and an occasional monkey hanging around. HOT as hell. So much hotter than Panama but I am happy for the exchange to be able to be on the water and to actually be docked at a marina and not anchored outside of the city. We re-provision here for our next trip, relax a bit, and then the madness begins as we slowly make our way up the Pacific Coast amidst 3 long guest visits with lots of hours of work ahead.

I have only to pinch myself every day to realize this life is not a dream. It has been such a blessing, such a healing, and necessary place for my heart to grow again. I am in the best shape of my life and able to help our crew to make healthy eating choices and to encourage exercise. Some people describe it as a lonely life and perhaps that is partly true. I consider it to be a quiet, reflective time for me and a gift at this time when I needed it so much. It is STILL hard for me to think about my dear Tilly, though I try to let it go more and more each day. I see her face in every stray dog that runs the streets and long for her energy and warmth in the mornings when I am not motivated to go on runs. It seems unbelievable that anyone could have been so attached to a dog but I guess I am starting to see now how lonely I really was when I was in Vancouver and hurting still so deeply after losing my relationship with Brian. She was the only living being I felt safe opening up all my love and care to, though I know I had people in my life I could have shared that with. The crutches that have been removed have been replaced with warm hearted and loving people that I live with and a career that allows me to open up my creativity and share it with others. It's funny how life turns out sometimes when we surrender to the leap of faith. I thank God for this opportunity. It has not only made me so grateful for all that is around me, but for all of those who stood beside and behind me to help me to get to this amazing place in my life. I am one very blessed lady.

Taxis and Hookers

2014-02-01T14:21:00.002-08:00

I am in the restroom of the Veneto Casino washing my hands when two tall and beautiful Latinas flank me on either side, applying exaggerated lines to their eyelids and plumping up their bras. One is darker skinned with a leopard-print bustier, long silky black hair resting down over a pair of skin-tight black pants, long legs standing in gold 6-inch heels. The other is a little more European looking wearing a sparkling sequin silver pantsuit boasting one of the largest fake asses I have ever seen. Her feet are squished into tall heels, hair cut into a black straight bob. There is a lot of upkeep to this kind of beauty and it is a deliberate exaggeration of appeal.

Hookers. I am standing in between two hookers. I finish up my hand drying, try real hard not to stare, and scuttle out of the restroom to the roulette table my crew mate is saddled up to, feeling as inadequate as a 12 year old girl. As I sit down and take a look around, I realize that the bar top is lined with sex workers awaiting the evening traffic, lipstick applications occupying small hand mirrors, leaning bangled wrists on the bar ledges lazily. Men smarm around the casino slowly sucking on toothpicks, eyes lazy and pervy checking out the menu for the evening. A young woman close to me in age and a little more casually dressed sits down and smiles. I scoot over graciously. She orders a drink from the waitress and orders Jake and I another. We thank her, raise our eyebrows to each other impressed with our luck in meeting such a nice person and go back to playing. She asks if I am having a good night. I tell her it isn't bad so far. She points to my chips and squishes her bosom on the table closely. "Can I have some of your chips?"

I greedily hug my pile in realization and shake my head with a smile. "Sorry hon. I don't think so." Her candy sweet smile melts into a disinterested line and she turns to my crew mate. Giving up, she moves to the blackjack table where two young men hand her a couple chips. She's smiling and on her game again. The waitress returns with our drinks (which are free at the casino), we shrug to each other and continue on.

To learn a lesson from a good hustler one need not go much further than Panama City. Taxis and hookers are where I would look first. They await you patiently in dimly lit corners of slot machines in casinos and in the dark alley you stammer down in the late hours when the bars let out. Bass blasting in the background, drinks sloshing the movement of your legs, hand up, they arrive. The fare for American travelers is what is called the "Gringo Tax" here amongst ex-pats. Five to even 10 times the price for cabs but still so much cheaper than we can experience back home which is why most don't complain too much. Hookers cost around $80 for an hour of their time. A very hurried time, a cab driver once complained to me, but still not as expensive as in the States. They spend an hour at a time with several different men a night, turning each quickly. I have never thought to know this much about the sex industry here but you really can't help it. It is everywhere and fascinating with its allure and manipulations to more than I would care to have known about. Taxis and hookers work hand in hand, taxi drivers offering young men places to get special massages and pretty women to keep them company for the evening. The working girls shuffle their business back into the waiting cab drivers who carry the buyer back to their expensive hotel room downtown. Overweight Tommy Bahama-wearing old white captains on our dock almost always eventually end up sporting a young twenty-something beauty as a girlfriend for their stay in Panama City with no shame.

A month ago I was invited to a dinner by a young guy on the dock I am friends with. Crashing our lovely outdoor evening dinner came 2 of these captains and one yacht owner from a few boats down. Snapping their fingers at our waitress, they drank their rums and quickly delved into the subject of fun for the night. I listened quietly while evil-eyeing my friend as they discussed the kind of fun they would like to have. Classier or younger? Venetto or call up Manuel for his contacts? One of the captains looks me up and down and asks me what I do for a living. I told him I was the chef on the yacht next door. He smiled at me sheepishly, pointing to his admittedly large man boobs. "Hey would you date this? I can't get a pretty girl to look at me or smile at me unless I got a $100 bill attached to my forehead." I smile and look him in the eye, put some food in my mouth and try to eat my meal and listen. I wanted to ask... Why do you have so little respect for yourself? I am almost embarrassed to admit I wanted to hear more of this conversation and to see truly what these guys would end up talking about. They were pretty comfortable talking about their sexual options for the night. I listen to the yacht owner beg the guys to stay out with him. His wife is asleep on the boat and he is looking for "young ass." I have passed this yacht owner and his dear wife everyday as they tool around their retirement home of a fishing boat, traveling the world for their golden years. I shake my head in disbelief. My friend looks at me and says, Let's go. I am relieved. I feel as though my eyes are darkened inside somehow. Tinted from this. I cannot explain it in any better way. I am becoming numb to it now.

That being said, this conversation is not uncommon. It is almost like a sport, talked about with ease, something I am not used to. Many young and old men from the United States let their inhibitions down and buy a woman for the night or simply entertain her with drinks at the blackjack or dinner table to have the attention. For a lot I naturally assume it is their shot at having a beautiful woman by their side that perhaps they may not be able to otherwise attain. For all it is some sexual issue. For some, something to try. Some things I wish I could unsee, it is so unbelievable to me how common it truly is. I know it is not just a Panama City thing too. It is a Jaco, Costa Rica thing…it is a Dominican Republic thing…It is a Las Vegas thing. It is an everywhere thing, especially in Central America.

As for these women, a lot of them are truly stunning. I can understand the allure handed so deliciously on a cheap platter of ease. A lot of the women come from Colombia. One of my regular cab drivers, Diose, tells me that this is due to a corruption in Colombia where a lot of these women are forced into this line of work at a young age. Often voluptuous, often with plastic surgery, of which the butt implant seems to be the fad to a point of ridiculousness. They are given these surgeries and makeovers, brought to Panama, and required to bring in a certain amount of income a day towards their debt for all their "upgrades." Some have their families threatened. They need to do a lot of business in one day and there is a lot of competition. The reason they are brought here, naturally, is because Panama boasts the U.S. dollar with a much better economy. Although this is new to me, this is a business transaction that has been in action for many years with our military and the settlement of U.S. and European citizens. It is obviously a huge part of Panama's draw for travelers here, foreign business men from all over the world partaking regularly. The government turns a huge blind eye to it, requiring these women to have health check-ins, yet maintaining their hypocritical stance that it is still illegal. As with many areas of the law in Panama, the police seem nonexistent. This is, after all, a huge money maker and what government can be upset about that?

Taxis are like hookers in that they are also everywhere and they are typically there to scam an unknowing traveler. It costs the average Panamanian a couple bucks to ride across town. The average tourist will pay $10-15. I have gotten my cabs lowered to $5, sometimes paying a couple bucks more if I am impatient and it's hot out. They don't operate on metres, so you can be stuck in traffic for an hour like I was yesterday and the agreed-on price remains the fare. Due to the amount of business we give to cab drivers with provisioning for the yacht, we have 3-4 taxi drivers daily that will call trying to outbid the others. It works in our favor for this sort of thing and I have come to really care for and enjoy talking to the drivers that I have gotten to know over the last few months here. Taxi cab drivers that work for us also are still relatively inexpensive, charging us around $10 an hour and offering butler-esque service. My regular guys escort me through the fish market carrying my cooler and helping me through watery walkways. In the grocery store they help to carry bags and through the cat-calls of the produce market, they are escorts of security. Taxi drivers are as diverse as people normally are. Some are good, some are sly, some will try to drive you to their house at the end of the night and drag you out of the car (true story, though I obviously got out alright), and almost all are hustlers in some way or another. Their eyes are guarded, they don't talk a lot, they don't ask a lot of questions, and they seem to understand more English than they lead on. I have yet to meet one who obeys any traffic laws and rightfully so. Nobody here does. No one is above cutting into any corner, to get an edge, to pass miles of traffic to the front of the line and force their way in. It is a survival of the pushiest and an inability to care about anything but the destination and the dollar being acquired quickly that allows these men to continue to raise the small funds that they do to support theirs.

I want to wrap this blog up with something safe and explain. But sometimes things just are what they are and there is no making them anything else. Certainly there are other wonderful and beautiful parts of Panama and I will write about those too. For now…Taxis and Hookers.

From Costa Rica to Panama City...

2014-01-18T08:34:00.006-08:00

Small wakes from the local ferry jostle Dardanella on this early Saturday morning. The motion rolls me around in my bunk, as though the boat were telling me to wake up and join the day. Try to go back to sleep and get rolled again. I give up and swing myself into a sitting position. This isn’t going to get any better today. Ferries and fishing boats zip closely by Dardanella’s side several times a day, so we have become used to the occasional sway or unexpected wave that sends you stumbling into the nearest corner. I can only battle it so long in the mornings, and reluctantly dangle my feet over the bottom bunk waiting for my eyes to adjust. My roommate is on a month long trip to South Africa. I have the room to myself and it is a luxury looking down and not having to step over someone to hit the ground. Several of my crewmates have taken the weekend to get out of Panama City, so I am not only enjoying the freedom of a room and bathroom to myself this weekend, but a boat with only a couple people on it, quiet and home. I jump out into the crew mess and no one is up yet. I have the television to myself to watch the morning news without a running crew commentary, the toastie machine all for me and the coffee pot. Today is going to be great. Now I just have to figure out what to do with it. There are a lot of options.

Panama City is a book all on its own. It is a city that wakes up with hot mornings and lately ends with a breezy cool night. Cab drivers drive locals and tourists through the alleyways and highways for a fair price that must be haggled, roads lit up with yellow and black vehicles. American and European tourists walk in the old town of Casco Viejo with Panama hats and cameras flickering at the colonial ruins and churches. The women from the local Kuna Indian tribe sell their wares and woven baskets while cradling a small child swaddled in bright colors and wraps. The evenings are littered with foreign backpackers drinking rum at the local bar with a bowl of ceviche and casinos full of old white men picking out a Colombian prostitute for their hour. Lots of locals come to the Causeway de Amador where we are staying to get out of the city for the day and ride a bike down the long peninsula to the small island of shops, tiki bars, and marinas. Sloths and iguanas move around in the trees that line the marina, while raccoons and cats play together near the entrance. Fishermen come home from their sun soaked day with Tuna and Dorado. Cabs take people up and down the Causeway and the sun sets over the Canal where I usually take an evening walk.

Today I will probably enjoy the city, however, in Casco Viejo, my favorite part. It is beautiful, feels safe, clean-ish, with alcoves and doorways, garden bars hidden in hostels, top notch restaurants nestled in refurbished historical colonial buildings, breweries, and water-front walkways with artists everywhere selling and creating. There are bright murals and graffiti splashing color on the white washed walls that line many of the narrow streets in Casco, large dark wooden doors with heavy brass knocks, an occasional stray dog or cat, and brick ruins of buildings soon to be refurbished in this small piece of progress. It is very tourist friendly and reminds me a lot of Taicang Lu in Shanghai. It is an easy place to get lost in with a camera and an appetite. I will miss this old town when we leave in a month.

Coming here from Costa Rica was a welcome change. The two locations couldn’t be more different so there is a definite “grass is always greener” effect going on. Costa Rica is lush, green, beautiful beaches, local surf spots, small cities and towns, remote and quiet. Though Panama certainly offers the same experience outside the city we don’t really get that here. Panama City is a big city, dirty, noisy, lots of people to meet, lots of restaurants to try, shopping, and history with malls and skyscrapers. When we left Golfito in Costa Rica we were waking up to glass-like waters, morning kayaks, rain in the afternoon that didn’t let up till the evening. We would walk up the wooden dock in rain jackets to the marina restaurant the Banana Bay, and use their Wi-Fi while sipping a beer for a couple dollars. Weekends we would go to the local surf spot or nearby beach and play outside all day. There weren’t a lot of people to meet, there wasn’t much to do after dark, and provisioning was a joke. But it was amazing, nonetheless. Panama City is a welcome change for the crew to be somewhere to send packages home, buy a new set of headphones, go out to a movie theater, eat and stock up on foods so hard to find in Costa Rica, or to enjoy the nightlife and meet other people. I personally have met a lot of nice people in the city and know that returning here is a possibility in my future. Provisioning for me as a chef is also preferable here. Panama offers what I need, as they are on the U.S. dollar and have a strong international draw. The fish market here is amazing, with a ceviche market adjacent to enjoy with a nice cold beer in hand. It has been a welcome break for me to get everything I need and a time of appreciation, both for what I had in Costa Rica and for the friends I have met here and gotten to enjoy while I can.

As for the yacht life, I am wiggling my way back into it like a duck to water. We do live such an unusual life, even for yachties, and one of a lot of privilege for our hard work and trade of freedom. As a yacht chef, I couldn’t be more grateful. I get to travel the world and learn other cuisines, learn to provision and negotiate with all sorts of vendors from fishing boats, to trading with neighbors and asking local restaurant owners for advice. I walk through the local fish market during my workday and pick fresh local produce from the fresh produce outdoor market. I’ve gotten to know several of the fishermen on the dock and a couple of them have given me some of their catches in exchange for fresh baked cookies and fish tacos. My crewmates catch fish for sport, and I get to cook it for sport.

No complaints there! We do work hard, 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and non-stop 17-hour days when the boss is onboard. But we are greatly rewarded for our efforts. The only other downside is living in such close quarters with people you don’t choose who are from all over the world…but it sometimes lends for amazing friendships…which we have…and for interesting debates and growth of open mindedness. We sometimes want to strangle each other but we mostly get along great and live very close lives to each other.

And of course…the life on a boat is the best part. We got to stop at small deserted islands for several days on the way from Costa Rica in order to do scuba diving and surfing “research” for our boss’ recent trip. Late night watches at sea sitting up at the wheel in the bridge watching the boat dip in the waves, coffee in hand, a comedy recording playing in the background as my crewmate and I giggle into the darkness looking out for other boats. Next morning we are anchored somewhere else and exploring the reefs and surf breaks there. After our Christmas charter, we anchored out into the bay of this small deserted island near the city of David, full moon hanging above, no other boats around. I paddle boarded out to the small island, about ¼ mile in circumference, with a dry bag, a tent, and a couple beers and snacks. I lit myself a small fire and slept the night under the stars listening to the waves crash on both sides of the island and the occasional hermit crab trying to get into the tent. Not a bad way to spend Christmas day.

I know I sound like an asshole when I say this, but it is easy to take this for granted because it becomes such a closeted and unique experience. More and more so these days when we are in the city and living closer to a normal life than when we were in Costa Rica. When I step outside of it and spend time with my friends in Panama City, I realize how rare and special this experience is. I get to live a life that not a lot of other people get to live. When my day ends on land, I walk down to the end of the marina, radio the boat, and the small tender departs from the side of the big boat to come pick me up. One of the boys arrives shirtless in a pair of board shorts, sunglasses, music blasting, and a relaxed smile. I jump in the boat, he hands me a beer, and we drive out into the bay back to the boat swaying in the waves with the sun setting in the distance.

Finding Somewhere

2013-11-07T22:54:00.001-08:00

I stepped onto the plane in Portland, Oregon in the early morning, a sheen of sweat on my upper lip from the night of Halloween partying and regret the night before. My tired eyes searched the plane for my row number and I sat with relief to see I would be able to rest my head against the window for the few hours to Dallas. My last few days were a blur of packing, throwing away long-kept unnecessary items, saying goodbye to new and old friends, and what seemed like an endless amount of drinks and social activities. I had joked that I would be crawling to the plane but truly, the joke felt more reality than jest. My head throbbed with so many emotions, undealt with feelings about Tilly and the last year I had held at bay till I crossed this imaginary border, my heart swelling and shrinking in a manic frenzy to make sense of everything inside of me and to also hold back the flood I knew was coming. I was not right and close to breaking. Thank God for Devon.

A young attractive man around my age with a big red beard and kind brown eyes sat next to me. He looked at me as if to say he had an idea I was struggling. "So are we drinking blood mary's this morning? Cause you look about how I feel."

I laughed out loud. Judging by the nearby passenger reaction maybe a bit too loud.

"Probably not a good idea," I confessed pathetically. It took me a microsecond to look at him again and say, "Oh what the hell."

"Atta girl," he laughed.

Devon is an Oregonian headed back to military base in North Carolina. We talked boats, travel, family, and future aspirations…all before takeoff. I must have said a dozen times, "Where the hell have you been?" We laughed and laughed with ease and I thank God I didn't sink into the window just yet. He was a welcome caffeine to my drudgery.

After the plane took off, he hailed down our flight attendant for a drink. Scott, as we came to know him, was an older male flight attendant who had obviously seen a few too many flights and was over it. He was more than happy to have some morning drinkers on his route this morning. He came back with an extra beverage for us and wished us a good day. We said a cheers to him and had an amazing flight to Dallas. After a warm hug goodbye and a promise to write, I said good bye to Devon. I slept in the airport there for the entirety of my 4 hour layover until I heard my name being called over the intercom for the final boarding call to Costa Rica. Rushing up to make my flight, I was the last one on the plane, I am embarrassed to say. But hell, I made it.

Continuing my forage into the world of sleep, I drifted in and out of sweaty consciousness the rest of the flight, waking occasionally for a drink of water or to the sound of someone laughing nearby. In all honesty, it was a blur. I woke up as the plane made a ridiculously rough landing, gasps erupting from startled passengers as we bounced onto the runway, the plane as drunk as I was the night before. I didn't care so much about the landing…I was in Costa Rica finally. No more explaining where I was going. No more waiting to get there to let go. I was here. The moment had arrived. I wanted to cry and I still couldn't quite put a finger on why or what the emotion was or if it was just exhaustion. I just knew I needed to get off the plane and get to my hotel and deal with it later. Suck it up for now Sarah.

My elation was quickly sated by the reality that I was in Costa Rica and I am a gringa, which in simple terms means I am easy to over-charge and easy to take advantage of. After an hour and a half of cab drivers taking me to the wrong Marriots, (there are 4 in town) despite having handed them the correct address, I finally made it to my hotel at 1am in time to sleep a few hours before my 5 am flight to Golfito. And true to Murphy's Law, I couldn't sleep a wink, though the bed was as comfortable as a cloud. Dragging my bags in the early morning, I wearily took a cab to the tiny airport where my flight to Golfito departed from. A tiny establishment, the size of a small house, I wasn't sure I was in the right place. Knocking on the front door and peering in, hand over my forehead leaning on the glass, I gazed into what seemed to be an empty airline check-in, unlit with no-one in view. I knocked and called out, "Hello!" and a young man peered around the corner of the building.

"Buenos Dias!" He was friendly and smiley, a welcome sight. Through hand signals and broken English and Spanish, I realized I was the first passenger to arrive. They hadn't even opened yet, thus the reason the employees hadn't turned on the lights. In fact…I was the only passenger until noon. However, they opened the doors, turned on the lights, brewed some coffee, and were as kind as I have ever seen for any airline. I was greatly impressed and relieved for a friendly face. Two very happy, charming captains escorted me out to the 12 passenger Sesna, joking that I could brag I had my own private plane to my friends. I smiled feeling at ease and sat right behind them for one of the most beautiful flights I have been privileged to have down the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica during sunrise.

I can only describe what I saw as breathtaking. Clouds rested in pockets of lush green hills, mist steaming off the mountains as the sun parted the evening into the day. The plane dipped in and out of clouds as the two captains chattered in Spanish about this and that. I watched the city dissipate into jungle and wilderness, orange sunrise bathing the green in its warmth. Undisturbed coastline with inlets leading into marsh cleared into deep blue water as we made our way over land and out over ocean. Memories of how small I used to feel out at sea, my respect for this world so unknown and so untapped began to wash over me in a familiar and old way.

We circled a small gulf surrounded by green jungle and mountains, a sprinkle of buildings and fishing boats began to emerge. In a matter of minutes, the plane lowered itself onto one small runway. A handful of people awaited the plane. My fraction of working brain couldn't conceive of why so many people would be waiting for me, as I was the only passenger. However, they weren't. One man waved at me, a large smile on his face and a rain jacket covering him appropriately for the changing weather. A young white guy with freckles, blue eyes, and a stocky build, he wore surf shorts and a pair of sandals. I knew he was from the yacht.

"Hey there! I'm Brady," he smiled, hand out with a firm shake. He grabbed my bags and spoke perfect Spanish to our cab driver telling him to wait. We went into the small terminal, a shack with a tin roof, and waited for a package he was also waiting for.

"Sorry to make you wait, I'm sure you're tired. Getting mail here is ridiculous. You have to pay nearly $500 to mail something back home or wait for the random flight that comes to town. Those other five people are pretty glad you flew in today," he laughed, a look of sheepishness on his face. I smiled and let him know I was not bothered at all.

"Oh, you'll get bored here quick. There really isn't much to do here but surf and sweat out in this damn humid rain. It's beautiful but it gets old quick."

"I think I"ll be just fine," I laughed assuring him. At that moment I knew I would. This was heaven to me. After my new captain grabbed his parcels, we loaded my luggage into the cab and rode the bumpy streets to the tiny Banana Bay Marina where my new residence would be. This town was truly tiny with one small road that ran through it and very little to speak of aside from an occasional restaurant or fishing boat. In my exhaustion I grinned as I stepped out of the cab and wheeled my bags up to the sole vessel in the tiny marina. Smiling to myself I realized I truly was in the middle of nowhere. Thank God. I was finally home.

Last Walk With Tilly

2013-09-22T21:07:00.001-07:00

My last walk with Tilly was 4 days ago before she got sick…before she mysteriously lost the use of her muscles and slipped into paralysis…before I wept holding her as the doctor euthanized her. In these dark dark moments of life when your heart is drenched in tears and sinking to the bottom of your empty gut your friends pop up, each an individual burst of light to help you find your way through it. They tell you the things you need to heal and often the right things to get you through each step of the cavern of grief. In one of my many recent moments of deep belly cries this afternoon I received a text from a friend telling me to try not to cry that it is over, but to smile because it happened. As I pulled myself up off Tilly's dog bed and wiped my face for the hundredth time in 3 days, I smiled at the thoughts of my favorite memories of my beloved little girl and our many walks. It led me to want to share with my friends as I try to forget the final memories that cause so much grief.

It is only fitting that a walk with Tilly would be a part of todays' writing, not only because it has been the opener for many of my blogs, but also because it is Sunday. Or as I used to and always will call it "Sarah and Tilly Day". This was the day of the week I would set aside to go on an adventure with Tilly on foot downtown. Sundays would begin early like any other day with Tilly pounding my back with her front paws to wake me up. As small as her 35 pound frame was, she could pack a decent kidney shot. I would grumble for her to leave me alone and try to go back to sleep. She would jump off and sit on the floor, tail twitching expectantly for me to acknowledge her. If I didn't, she would whine and jump back up on my back and then quickly jump off back into position before I could swat at her. She would pound her paws on the floor till I would look at her. At this point I would roll over and acknowledge her complaining, "What do you want?" She would whinny like a little horse and motion her head to the door, taking a couple paces to it as if to say, "Let's go already!" I would teasingly pretend to go back to sleep knowing full well I was about to get another forceful pounce on my back. When I would finally sit up and give in, hands up in surrender, she would jump up on the bed and roll around on her back kicking her feet to the sky and making weird dog noises of joy. I can't describe them but they were pretty funny. After our breakfast, a coffee, and a download of NPR podcasts, I was ready to take Tilly on our Sunday adventure. I would pack a backpack with water, treats, a book, and my radio shows and take off on foot towards the river with Tilly leading the way. We would walk down to the waterfront and walk along the waters' edge away from Sunday strollers and near the small wakes that Tilly loved to jump into. We'd walk downtown and get her a bone at Canine Utopia, find a patio to sit at for lunch, and I would read while she went to town on her bone. We'd spend a few hours out together exploring our neighborhood each week. Sometimes we would be on the Burnt Bridge Trail, sometimes downtown, sometimes out to Frenchmans' Bar. But we always spent Sundays outside and having fun, her sniffing around and me listening to radio podcasts off somewhere adventurous in my mind. I think I loved these days so much because it is in these days that I see so clearly the wonderful influence she was on my life. She made me exercise, even when it was pouring rain. I did a lot of thinking and working out of my life, a lot of question answering, and a lot of soul searching on these walks. I would never have done that if not for her. She was a very special influence on my life in this way.

When I first saw Tilly I knew she was very special. Brian and I had been talking for a couple months about getting a dog to keep me company while he traveled for work. We had both always loved Pitbulls and so we decided to go check out the Humane Societies in Portland and Vancouver to look around. One day after several prior attempts to find a dog we decided to check out the Humane Society in Vancouver. In the first hallway we went down, 4 cages in, I saw this little tiger-striped dog sleeping on a bed. She looked up at me sadly, curled into a little ball, tail wrapped around her. I put my fingers in the front of her cage and called for her to come over. She didn't get up but her tail wagged furiously. I looked into her eyes and saw a sweet soul. I asked Brian if we could take her. He wasn't convinced yet so we had a tech bring her to play with us outside. On her paperwork it said that she loved to play ball and frisbee. Brian tossed a ball around and she jumped around after it. When she brought it back she reached up her paws to him and licked his face. He was sold. We would high-five each other every day from then on how lucky we were to find her. She proved to be a snuggly, silly, amazingly athletic dog with a huge heart and an energetic personality. She was also a great companion. When Brian and I ended our relationship and I moved home, she was an amazing comfort and a healing presence. She always knew when I needed her and she had an amazing ability to understand what was going on with my life.

True to her pitbull breed, Tilly was an alpha. She wanted to lead the way, she wanted to protect me, always pulling and on alert. Stubborn as a mule, I always joked I couldn't break her but I never wanted to. She had such a loving and curious spirit, such a joy and excitement around people, and such an athletic nature. I found her stubborn morning alarm routine to be funny. I loved that she would roll in the grass when I would yell at her to come inside from playing, knowing I would think it was cute and buying herself more time with her rebelliousness. I enjoyed the keen hunter she was, even when she brought a live 20 pound possum into my living room and it walked out the door after playing dead. When we would leave the house, she would walk with a hop in her step, ears bouncing with curiosity. A random squirrel would pop out and she would turn into a jungle cat and try to pounce on it. I remember on one of our daily walks when she caught a squirrel several feet in front of us and shook it to death in her jaws. Not one of my favorite walks, but amazing, nonetheless. That was Tilly…amazing. She stood up to big dogs and hid behind my back scared of cats. She loved to chase butterflies, jump into water and swim, and bury her bones in the yard. She was funny and a character all her own. And that was how she changed my life. Because she challenged me to try to be like her adventurous spirit.

As I look back on my last walk with Tilly I wish I had known it would be our last. I would have walked her further, fed her more treats, given her the best day of her life. But most of all, I would have let her know what an amazing friend she was to me. She may have only been a dog to most people that looked at her but she was my family. I was always met with her unconditional love and her sweet snuggly disposition. She would walk in sunshine or rain with the same happy gait. Her loyalty had no end and her love through even her own pain was constant until the moment her eyes closed in death. The doctors and the nurses that cared for her said that even when she was paralyzed in the oxygen cage with IV's stuck in her arms and trying to breathe through her closing esophagus, she would still wag her tail anytime someone would walk by. Even in these last moments she was teaching me that no matter how bad the situation may be, there was something to be happy about. I may have lost her and may not be able to take her on walks anymore like we used to, but I will always walk with the lessons she taught me and the love she gave me in my heart. She will still walk with me everyday.

My gratitude...

2013-07-23T14:50:00.002-07:00

It is hard to remember in full all of the special memories of my childhood but one that is blazingly memorable was my introduction to my first friends in the United States and who would later become sisters to me. True to my routine, I was inspired today on one of my walks with Tilly to remember these special people who, for a short time in my life, made an impact that sends ripples through my life today. In truth…there are really so many people if I were to focus on this time, but today I choose these. If not for their intervention and love for me, I would not be where I am today.

My family moved to the United States when I was in the second grade to a suburb of Detroit, Michigan where my mothers' sister Wendy, my Uncle Tom, and their three kids lived. I will never forget walking through the airport and seeing a t-shirt with a big yellow smily face with a bullet hole in the head and blood trickling down. The writing on the shirt said, "Welcome to Detroit." I often joke about this first impression of Detroit today and how I had no idea what I was getting myself into. It is one of those funny childhood things whose punchline didn't grasp me till years later, but freaked me out enough to have some hesitation as to where we had just moved. Little did I know I the love, the acceptance, and the warmth I would be walking into in this new life.

My first introduction to TBC was in our girls' church group of Missionettes on a Wednesday night. A Christian version of Girl Scouts, they would meet every Wednesday night and you would move through the ranks through badges, activities, volunteering, and memorization of chapters of the Bible, including reading the entire thing all the way through. Once all the hurdles were hurdled, you would receive the recognition of Honor Star, in which you were paraded in front of the church in a pretty white dress and a crown was put on your head to applaud your 4 year accomplishment. (Which I did) When I first I walked into the younger class of Prims (kind of like Brownies) I was terrified and alone. Not having started school yet and knowing nobody outside of my family in the United States, I felt I would stick out like a sore thumb, with my ugly K-Mart corduroy pants and oversized knit sweater. And I did. The MIssionettes leader Mrs. Sanchez paired me up with a young girl with an equally awful fluffy knit dragon sweater and corduroy pants named Brianne, asking her to be my friend and show me around. With a reluctant huff and roll of the eyes she ushered me to the small band of girls, wiggling impatiently for the meeting to begin. Tall, awkward, and spunky, the last thing I am sure she wanted was this mousy little shy thing clinging to her side. But she took me under her wing, nonetheless, patting the carpet next to her on the floor where she sat for me to join her. The girls started into their chorus of mottos and pledges and were each prompted to introduce themselves. When it came my turn Mrs. Sanchez introduced me and enthusiastically said, "Sarah is from EGYPT, like from the Bible. Welcome her, girls." And much to my surprise…They did. In any other group my foreign upbringing may have been a nail in the coffin to coolness, but in this group, it was my acceptance. "Wow, you're from EGYPT?!" "Oh cool." A round of gasps and smiles and "sit with me" were to follow. Being from Egypt had never been cool to me but I wasn't about to correct them. Brianne quickly grabbed me to sit next to her again, "I met her first. She was my friend first." And so a spark to ignite the beginning of my friendships with some of the most amazing girls I have been privileged to know.

From Left: Me, Christy, Sarah R. and Brianne (Her face has an arrow because I wrote an arrow to her as My Best Friend in my childhood scrapbook. Sorry B.)

I had a unique school experience in that, I went to school where I went to church and led a fairly protected life for a time. The girls in my Wednesday classes became my school classmates, my fellow Sunday school attendees, my pew partners for Sunday night church, and the members of every sports team I played in. We played kickball together at recess, went to ski classes on Monday nights, played truth or dare in our circle of sleeping bags for one of our many many sleepovers, and often regarded each others' parents as an extension of our own. It was very rare we were apart. We idolized the awkward characters of Anne of Green Gables and Calamity Jane, who were quirky tomboys that would eventually blossom into strong beautiful women. In an effort to emulate our idols we formed a girls' club called TBC…or The Tomboy Club…refusing to ever become a prissy girl who didn't love running around in the mud and could beat any man at any sport. How naive we were! We traded Baby Sitters' Club books and gawked with blushing faces as we read the inevitable future we would have in puberty after reading Judy Blume books. Not too long after, reality hit and we went through that lovely monster truck of puberty together, discovering cramps, pimples, and who would and wouldn't get their boobs for Christmas. (I didn't) Kept in a world of innocence with strong encouragement towards sports and spirituality , we were very fortunate to be able to truly enjoy being girls and to slowly grow into women. We were encouraged towards kindness and music, giving and achievement. Even more lucky…we got to come into our own together and though we DID become prissy girls who sprayed their bangs to unimaginable heights, we still kicked ass in sports.

Around late junior high, my parents had decided to end their marriage and my mom moved my sisters and I to Arizona. I quickly declined. We moved to a rough part of town and my mom had to work very hard to provide for us 3 girls. I remember being terrified my first day of school in 8th grade. There was a riot and one of my classmates had knocked one of my teachers unconscious and beaten two others into an ambulance. Gangs were feared by our neighborhood and our teachers. Bullying was extreme enough that I remember a couple classmates carrying guns in their lockers for fear of a rival gang jumping them on their way home and a couple knife fights in the hallways. I befriended two Hispanic girls at this time who were well-respected amongst some of the more powerful gangs in the school and therefore protected from being bullied, as I undoubtedly would have been. They used to giggle at my innocence and my preppy clothes. Once again, I was a foreigner in a strange land. And once again, wanting to fit in, I adapted. This is where my decline began and fast. Over the next couple years and into my teens I cringe for the terror I was to my mother and the things I did. I think she was at a loss for what to do to help me and I can't say I would have known myself what to do even now. Having experimented with all sorts of drugs and skipping school, sex and drug houses with all sorts of experimentation at my fingertips, my weight declined and I sunk into a deep depression. My one salvation through this time was my good friend back home who continued to write me and to call. Just like the first day of Missionettes, Brianne kept me close to her side and wouldn't let go.

In what seemed like the darkest hour and a time I was very close to taking my own life for what I had seen myself become, Brianne's parents called my mother early one morning and asked her if I could come to stay with them for a year. My mother was (and still is!) a great mother but had to work very hard to put food on the table and a roof over our heads, while dealing with us older two becoming completely unmanageable. Supporting my two sisters and I and our grandmother, it was probably one of the hardest things she had to agree to do. It takes a strong person to be able to let go and to ask for help and I can never thank her enough that she did. In a couple weeks' time and after many tears, I left my home to live with the Christmas family back in Detroit. I look back now at how nuts these people were, with 3 teenagers of their own, to take on a 4th. To give me my own room, to feed me, to take me to counseling weekly, to pay for me to attend the same private school I had gone to as a child, and to nourish my body and soul back to health. Many nights of me shouting and rebelling at the new rules put upon me, crying in the arms of Mrs. C in her car after church, being brought to family functions and being treated as one of their own children. Mr. C, who is the kindest and dearest man I may ever know, arm around me, treating me as one of his daughters. I lived with them for a year and they helped me to raise funds through hard work and fundraising to complete a life dream of a trip to Africa to work with missions. What a difference one year can make! I can only imagine what else I would have been doing with that summer, if not for their intervention in my life. I cannot imagine the woman I would have become if not for their love and protection of me and if not for my mother's hard decision to let go for that year. I cannot imagine my life without the friendship and sisterhood of the girls of TBC, how they held me and brought me back into the fold. I cannot be more grateful for the love Brianne had for me to take a strangers' hand at that young age and to never have let go.

I had tears in my eyes today on my walk thinking of how grateful I will always be for all I have been given. Thank you Mom, Mr. and Mrs. C, Brianne, Brandon, Colette, Heather, Sarah, and Christy…and all the names that would take up two more pages. You know who you are and I thank you for the wonderful memories that are able to take over my thoughts today because of your love for me.

From left: Brianne (pregnant), Sarah R., Me, Christy (we are missing Heather here...)

Alone

2013-06-25T13:31:00.001-07:00

A turn of keys and I am home from work. I let the dog out the front door to romp around in her newly found freedom as I return to the confines of my lonely castle. It has been a long day and my mind needs to sigh some relief. Drop keys on my entryway stand and remove sunglasses, nudge work shoes off socked, sweaty feet, and pad my way to the bathroom to gaze at the small wearings a day at work has given my face. Take a quick wash, remove my firewood and smoke fumed uniform, and adorn my limbs with soft, clean comfort. Shuffle my feet, cell-phone in hand searching for messages of validation, and relent to sit on the front porch watching Tilly chase butterflies, wings floating bug-like towards her chomping anxious hop. My desire to not be alone is overcome by my desire to be lazy and I cancel a couple tentative plans for the evening because…well…sometimes that is lonelier when your mind is somewhere else. I opt, instead, to grab Tilly's frisbees and watch her charge at them over and over, my feet running through fresh cut grass, my ears listening to my latest npr show. I let my mind get engrossed in the stories on the radio and laugh out loud as Tilly makes a powerful leap too high and almost trips herself on the landing. Funny dog. Stories of humility. My breathing slows into an attitude of gratefulness and my focus is blurred into relaxation as I realize that all the dumb little things that have built up on my shoulders throughout the day are really not that heavy. And suddenly…I don't mind being alone in my little castle.

I have been in a slump lately with my attitude towards life and I believe it is probably part product of my age and part observance of my financial accomplishments topped off with a dollop of relationship failures. If I were to look forward into my life at 25, I never would have seen myself living with a dog at 34 in a duplex in Vancouver, Washington. I certainly wouldn't have seen myself alone. Life doesn't always turn out how you plan and often as the result of the small choices made along the way. It is the listening (or in some cases ignoring) of that inner voice, that turn to the path less traveled, that "Don't do this" that we do or that "Don't stay in this" that we stay in that brings us to a clearing with a view that we did not expect to end up at.

A lot of these decisions in my life have been made in respect to the men in my life. In fact, almost ALL my major moves have been based on men. Move to the U.S….my dad. Move to Arizona…mom leaving my dad. Move to Colorado…me leaving my husband. Move back to Arizona…not a man. Move to Oregon…first move with boyfriend. Continued travel on yachts…moving around with boyfriend in the business. Move back to Oregon…lack of man in life and breakup from previously mentioned boyfriend. Move to Vancouver…boyfriend. Move to China…same boyfriend. Move back to Oregon…same boyfriend broke up with me. At some point the madness came to an all out dizzy spin and I collapsed to the ground. I have been on the ground for the last year and a half trying desperately to avoid the low flying planes of more bad choices. And as sad as that may sound and lonely as it has become, it has been the best thing that could have happened to me and something I need to remind myself of. I have become safe and cautious, closed in and protective, gained girlfriends and weird guy friends, and sat still in one place by myself ON MY OWN for the first time in my life. There are no boats to jump onto, no surprise trips to Brazil from my boyfriend to brag about, no one to tell me that I should be doing this or that with my life, no one to help me manage my money. The need to have someone there just to fill the void diminishes more and more as time alone is more wholesome than time with the wrong person. Waiting feels better…silence sounds clearer…budgeting is an accomplishment. Why it takes some people longer to truly discover themselves, I don't know. But it is a happening so important and necessary and one that makes me thank every path beforehand that brought me to here FINALLY. I have to remember these moments when I am down on myself for what I haven't accomplished. Because if accomplishing joy and a knowledge of oneself had been my original goal, I never would have taken such lengthy paths to get here. But I am here, nonetheless and the growth doesn't end here.

I take a quiet stroll with Tilly, enjoying Zac Brown in my ears. It unravels the day and brings on the setting sun. I walk back into my home, turn the oven on, prepare my dinner for one. Tilly wiggles anxiously at my feet, tail twitching in expectation of fallen food. Okay…dinner for two. Amy calls and we chat about our odd weekends, how we will get through the next week's stresses, and why men are so strange. Comfort and acceptance, love and sisterhood, see you later, and goodbye. I grab Tilly, snuggle into my couch with a book, softly pet her head till her eyes droop, and the day ends one more time. I am home and home is me as I should be in my cozy castle safe and sound. I am content. Alone.

Home

2013-05-12T14:28:00.002-07:00

My mind wanders back today to a very special place that holds a little piece of heaven I remember when I am missing home….Hurghada…

When I was a child my family and I lived in Egypt in a rural town on the Red Sea coast named Hurghada. We enjoyed the innocent beginnings, unobstructed landscape, and quietness that would later drive others to follow my parents' footsteps and bring this sleepy village to what is now a bustling tourist trap of city life. Desert cliffs stand behind this small gem that runs a 22 mile stretch of sandy shores. The calm crystal waters that are home to colorful tropical fish, dozens of uninhabited small islands perfect for weekend camping, subtropical climate, and hundreds of government protected coral reefs provided our family the majesty in which to share with others and to live an amazing life.

My mom and dad owned an international diving and adventure company which ranged from teaching a carousel of interns how to scuba dive and teach, to Europeans on holiday taken camping on a small private island. There was always someone new to meet in our home and always work to be done. Many long days were spent packing up generators, tents, kitchen supplies, and diving equipment in preparation. We'd gather the vacationing group from their hotel and head out to sea. My dad's team of fishing boats swayed back and forth in the waves, my sister Maryam and I climbed around in the wobbly dip and plunge to stare at the new faces. We'd ask them questions, bring seasick travelers water, and jump into the laps of attractive young men, smiling up as only a 5 year old is allowed to do. My father would tell one of his many loud and boisterous stories, my mom would smile quietly in the background holding onto the boat rail. We would arrive and set up camp as the guests would take a stroll around the 1 mile radius island, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the tiny paradise they would call home for the week. My mother would take to the arduous task of setting up the kitchen tent, where she'd spend many a hot day preparing lunches and dinners for 10-15 people at a time over bunsen burners and small fold out tables. Dad and the fishermen would haul out the diving tanks and scuba gear, engaging the tourists in friendly conversation. My sister and I would gather shells, play in the water, snorkel the nearby reef to check out the fish dad had taught us the names of, and giggle at the naked Binaca-nosed Germans sunbathing on the beach. Hot days became cool nights and the buzz of the generator allowed for evening festivities of music and lights. When all was finally still and guests asleep, we would sit under a blanket of stars and watch the hermit crabs crawl up the shore, listen to the waves in their faithful rhythm, and lay our heads in mom's lap while dad drank tea and smoked the sheesha with the fishermen.

On other occasions my parents taught scuba diving at the local Sheraton Resort. The amount of business exchange between both entities allowed for very friendly relations and almost a feel of a second family for my sister and I. Many of our friends were the children whose parents docked their boats in the hotel marina or the random guests my parents would befriend. My sister and I spent a lot of time swimming in the chlorinated shallow waters of the heart-shaped outdoor pool while mom and dad instructed scuba classes in the deep end. These days are amongst my favorite to recall, eating French fries by the pool or running into the hotel kitchen to beg the head chef for a ball of dough so my sister and I could use it as bait for fishing. He would smile down and place a small perfectly formed ball in each of our hands and we'd run off, spools of fishing wire unraveling behind our skipping bare feet. Dangling legs over the wooden planked ledge, hair tangled and salty, skin dark and dry, we would catch a couple little fish and felt like we had found gold. Other times at the resort we would run in terror from the oddly kept hotel "pet" goat that some employee would let out of its cage, angry with horns down, chasing us into jumping into the safety of the pool waters. We often fell asleep late at night beside the same pool on its plastic chairs, the breeze cool, the discotheque playing the BeeGees in the background. Mom and Dad would come carry us back to the car after a long night of socializing with guests that were heading back to their European homes. And we would finally make our way through the winding cliffs along the seashore to our little home off the resort line.

We lived in a stucco duplex which was half dad's scuba diving office and a home for interns who temporarily stayed with us. The other half was where we lived. Electricity was spotty at the time, and many a night was lit with candles and the luminescence of the moon. We would sit on our raised balcony and drink tea, watching the stray dogs and foxes roam the streets, the occasional police officer strolling with rifle in hand. On evenings when we had electricity we would watch American television shows on one of our 2 channels and eat one of my mom's amazing pizzas she was well known for. The Russian ballet would perform on certain evenings and my sister and I would dance in front of the screen, imagining ourselves into the scene. Days we would play outside with the neighbor kids and kick a soccer ball in the sand, the local mosque blaring the daily prayers over the city.

Our neighbors lived right next door and were a simple and hard working Egyptian couple with 6 children…3 boys and 3 girls. The father was a quiet and small older man who was a lawyer in town and smoked like a chimney leaving a confetti of discarded cigarettes in the front yard. His wife was a large woman with a loud voice, a hand that always seemed to be slapping one of her children on the back of their heads, and a kitchen that was constantly cooking something tasty that she had slaughtered from their backyard pen. I would often linger on their front porch around lunch time, kicking rocks and looking up longingly like a little beggar waiting to be asked in to eat. Reluctantly and eventually she would appear in the doorway, wipe her hands on her thin cotton dress, sigh, and then wave me in. I would run in and sit next to my two best friends Noosa and Hibba. Cross legged sitting in a circle on the floor, we would each grab a piece of pita bread and begin dipping into the bowls of food she would lay out on a table of newspaper. Rice, black eyed peas cooked in garlic and eggs, tahini, roasted eggplant, boiled chicken, tomato stewed okra, lentils, and parsley salads would be gone within minutes. The siblings would fight over who would get to eat the chicken head and I would squirm impatiently as honey soaked baklava and dates replaced the lunch fare. I often look back at these times in gratefulness at the hospitality of this poor family to feed another mouth with so many to already feed. My mother, upon discovering I had snuck off, would run over, embarrassed and red faced. She would be waved off with an "it's okay" and out of respect would thank profusely, exiting with a glare at me that let me know I would hear it later. I think she understood, though, and never gave me too much grief over it.

A few years went by, my little sister Hannah was born, and my parents knew that it was time to bring us to a more formal education and structured life. As a child you don't always see the reality of the memories you hold dear…the state of the country after the President's assassination, the arguments with the neighbors over their children stealing from our home, the growing tourism industry in Hurghada that was choking my parent's business, the loneliness and rough comments my American mother had endured in this foreign place for 11 years, and the tragic drowning of one of our beloved interns at sea on one of our trips. One day we packed up our home and said goodbye to our neighbor friends, promising to see them next year. I hugged Noosa and Hibba in tears and climbed into the van that would take us to the airport, unaware this was the last time I would see this life again. I remember the winding drive up into the hills along the water, the breeze through the open windows, resting my chin in my hand and looking out, excited to go to America. I wish now I had paid more attention, had appreciated it more. These memories, as fresh today as they were then, are locked in time back in a special place, like a forgotten treasure at the bottom of the sea. It is on cloudy quiet days like today that I close my eyes and they resurface. I hear the faithful rhythm of the shores again, I feel the gentle salty breeze lulling my mind quiet, and the moon bright and full illuminating the paradise I once called home.