Dreams unfolded

Jan 1 2010

I remember last New Year's Eve – not so much the logistics of where I was or what I wore, but the feeling: so full of hope! Expectation! Pregnant dreams, ready to burst into reality.

2009 was MY year: a year full of accomplishment and adventure. Coco and Lani were full-steam-ahead on graduating, with hopeful prospects. We were on the home stretch -- I had pulled off what I set out to achieve: a happy home, busy with the girls' activities, full of love and laughter. Jan 1 2009 I went over-drive on a health and fitness program in preparation for Transpac and my venture south. (I even quit drinking!) Between projects I sailed, joined the outrigger canoe club, taught water aerobics, walked endless hours on my bucolic beach. Life was sweeter than honey.

And then: the first of many hiccups. Urgent surgery: blessedly benign. Transpac campaign: canceled ... but I got a job delivering a boat home. And on and on …. 'Not to dwell on details: but my whole world was like a roller coaster, with the highest highs, the lowest lows, and a lot of loop-de-loos in the middle. Along the way I encountered many great people: and a few real shitheads. It was truly an Upside Down Summer (and year).

So here it is: New Year's Eve 2009 … actually 1:21AM local Paraguayan time now: a full hour and a half into 2010 – and the fireworks have not ceased. The crackling and booming reverberate off buildings and hillsides and join into one massive din of artillery. (And thankfully the smoke is keeping the mosquitos at bay.)

We started the evening (after my nightly mango-thieving walk) with a fantastic dinner at the club, which was decked out as if for a wedding. In Latin America they wear white for New Year's, and all the ladies were ooh la la in teensy white chiffons and sky-scraping heels. Marie, JP and I enjoyed the fantastic buffet – where I bee-lined directly to the giant shrimp (and only the giant shrimp - 'til the waiter knew my name, and the head chef ushered me to the ice cream counter). Held in a massive ballroom, the hotel hosted mostly ex-pats and tourists: confirmed when the Brasilian music boomed and scores of dinner guests -- like a huge amoeba -- amassed on the dance floor into one big white gyrating, throbbing being.

At midnight though JP, Marie and I rushed back to Domino: the fireworks were being lit right across the river so we wanted to stand by with buckets of water (and champagne) in case a roman candle went awry and set the boat afire. No worries: the wind had shifted and we were safe, so we simply enjoyed our front row seats, tooting the horn heartily as the fireworks went off.

I am not someone to take New Year's lightly … even now it is 1:30 AM and I am contemplating my plan for the coming year. As Susan sent me, in a quote from Arnold Glasow:

"Success isn't a result of spontaneous combustion.You must set yourself on fire."

This is my mantra for 2010. I am ready to set myself of fire!

Burn baby burn!

Crocodile Rock

Dec 30

Today marked Domino's second outing: back up the river to Mariano Roqué Alonso, where we anchored and had sandwiches, in between more sea trials and maneuvers, before returning to our side-tie at the Asuncion YC. (Catching the eye of all the top Navy brass along the way, who waved and cooed 'Hi Marie' as we zipped by ... )

The boat is amazing and I continue to be in awe of JP and Marie: they never intended to build a boat themselves, but they did; they never intended to move to Paraguay for three years, but they have; and they embraced it all -- with tenacity, skill and mighty fine humor; and now they have an incredibly classy, fast, comfy catamaran to play with for years to come.

No-one loves Domino more than our little crocodile, who seems to have taken up residence beneath the double-wide hull.

Last night, as I finally put my head on my pillow in my subterranean bunk (swathed in mosquito netting) I heard a strange buzzing noise I took, at first, for some sort of pump. But it kept moving: to port … aft … louder … softer … until I realized: it was the crocodile love song, right beneath Domino's hulls.

Our little caiman ( "yacare" - pron. jah-ka-ray ) isn't too handsome: his bulgy eyes and crusty snout are all we can see as he paddles around the basin. But he ceaselessly calls his mate to courtship, with a vibrating bellow that rumbles his scales so vigorously, the surface of the water dances with excitement.

PHOTOS: Little croc; Marie checks documents while Norman and Danny cruise; the Rio Paraguay -- amazing juxtaposition of beauty and filth

Pocketful of mangoes

Dec 29

My pockets bulge oddly, stuffed with small, flavorful native mangoes, as I strut the final quarter mile of my walk. I’m enjoying the more civilized existence here at the Asuncion Yacht and Golf Club and Hotel. Granted, the water here, downstream of the capital city of four-million, is filthy (although not so bad as to discourage the wee crock who paddles in the basin humming his crocodile-love-song at night, in hopes of finding a mate). But there is a huge pool where at 9:00 in the morning I’m the only one swimming; and the adjacent golf course, where I can walk – alternately dodging or dissecting the sprinklers, depending on the time of day and associated heat – as well as a gated community, where I thieve fruit from trees dripping with mangoes (as if anyone would care).

So here it is December 29. Still in Paraguay, not sailing to Antarctica, hoping to voyage to Punta del Este and up to Brazil, before a little stopover in the San Blas islands, on my way to Puerto Vallarta, to deliver a sailboat back to LA.

2009 ends then, much as it began: waiting for a boat.

In January, it was the hopeful launch of Yippee Kai Yay. Patiently we waited … until July, for her launch (abandoning the Cabo Race, Ensenada Race, and ultimately -- last-minute -- Transpac); in September I arrived in Uruguay to find Xplore still on the hard, and instead of cruising down the coast and throughout Tierra del Fuego – spent a month-and-a-half laboring to get her ready.

Then I arrived here, in Paraguay, to find Domino, practically champing at the bit to get in the water, which happened a month after my arrival -- although we are at present, still anticipating clearance from Customs and the Prefectura before we can actually go anywhere …

Let me point out: I have stayed the course. I have hung in there – with some sweat equity and a lot of ‘RAH RAH SIS BOOM BAH’ support -- ‘til each boat got in the water. But I never got to sail on Yippee Kai Yay … got only a 10-day delivery on Xplore … and hence, I will be damned if I leave Domino before I get to ride down the rio to Punta de Este and the sea!

I’m not sure if there’s a lesson in this ‘year of waiting’: patience is a virtue; happiness is the voyage, not the destination; all things come to those who wait; blah blah blah … There are all sorts of clichés, but the fact is: I have surely spent 2009 ‘waiting for my ship to come in – or more accurately – to go out!

PHOTOS top to bottom: YIppee Kai Yay gets launched! Xplore on the hard in Piriapolis. Domino's first voyage, with James' harmonica serenade.

The Un-Christmas

Dec 24

It's Christmas Eve, and I know what you're doing: last-minute shopping … circling for parking spaces … baking … plotting out your circuit of parties (and what to wear) … wrapping gifts (and worrying that you've forgotten someone) … posting late Christmas cards … putting the last few ornaments on your Christmas tree …

Here there is none of that. It's green and tropical and steamy hot -- not a spec of 'white' to this Christmas. In hopeful anticipation of our departure from the flat overlooking the casket factory at the swamp-dump (deceptively named 'Puerto Ecological') adjacent the astillero we refused to decorate (abhorring the thought we might still be there for Christmas!) and instead wrapped red ribbons, like candy canes, on DOMINO's two aft pillars. At Rafa and Estella's house we ate and sang and enjoyed their holiday decorations, and at various stores and business establishments we admired the fake Christmas trees and plastic poinsettias (neither being native to Paraguay) and sang along to the occasional carol on the radio, but otherwise – it has been an undeniably un-Christmas in the Upside Down Summer.

And then …. Dec 22 DOMINO made it the last five meters into the water (with the help of 6000HP from a tugboat capable of towing 12 barges up the river) … Dec 23 we packed and provisioned and loaded the camioneta (SUV) shuttling things back and forth in SCRAPPY (the dinghy) … Dec 24 we awoke aboard DOMINO – at anchor, still in Mariono Roqué Alonso - finished packing and stowing and equipment trials and tests and on the water maneuvers … and at 3PM bid a final, blissful, hope-to-never-see-you-again farewell to the Puerto (non-)Ecological and proceeded down the rio at a sweet 15-22k as James played the harmonica; honking at Claudio in Chaco-I along the way; past the skyscrapers of Asuncion, a shanty town clutched to the red clay cliffs, and children swimming alongside cows, to the yacht club – and side-tied to a hulking powerboat (after nixing the gnarly end tie) in the small basin, where we later spotted a tiny but serious looking crocodile swimming alongside the boat!

Suddenly it was Christmas. We enjoyed champagne amidst our meager decorations, exchanged small gifts (for me: my own cooler and gaumpa) and at 9:00 hopscotched to the neighboring boat, the rickety float, the wobbly plank, up the pyramid-of-stone jetty, to the restaurant at the YC/hotel complex for a Christmas buffet (where I refused to eat anything but seafood – even though it was grossly overcooked – having been in the meat-lovers paradise of South America for three months now). A chamber orchestra played carols and hymns, dinner was lovely, the wine good, and we were all dressed up and feeling awfully happy and smug at DOMINO's first port of call. At midnight Papa Noel arrived, while friends and strangers alike shared besos and 'felicidads' all around.

Now it's Christmas morning. The most delicious (and I will add 'uncharacteristic') breeze is blowing through the basin (it is only 85F) and I am feeling very content. 'MISSING COCO and all my family and other friends more than I can put into words (because it will no doubt make me cry to dwell too long on that thought) but delighted to be here, now, with Marie, JP and James – and having shared their epic and well-deserved first voyage on DOMINO, and looking forward to more adventures together now that we are finally rollin' on the rio Paraguay.

Merry Christmas with so much love. You are all in my thoughts this happy holiday. ~ xxoo Betsy

PHOTO: A beautiful manger scene in an otherwise useless (in 90 degree weather) fireplace

A Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah Day

As if to set the pace for our expedition to the Mbatovi eco-reserve, Marie whips around la Curva de la Muerte (the curve of death) – a four-road intersection on a blind curve where only recently a traffic light has been installed. She is, generally speaking, driving like a lunatic along the streets of Asuncion: passing on the left, passing on the right, rounding buses, cutting off horse carts, terrorizing motorcyclists as we scrunch into the bike lane, creating her own lane … so as not to be late for our excursion to the zip lines and suspension bridges at the reserve in southeastern Paraguay.

The last few days (weeks) have been cluttered with chores for getting the boat launched ( picking up parts and equipment, supplies; house wares; visits to the accountant, customs, the prefectura ) so we are eager to make the most of our wee getaway on Saturday.

But it’s the weekend before Christmas and the streets are jammed. One and a half hours later we’re only at Yaguaron, where little cerros (hills) hiccup out of the flat green countryside, and stacks of mangoes are displayed for sale along the roadside: dangerously close considering Marie “Death Wish” Dufour is at the wheel. James sings “Highway through the Mango Zone” bastardizing Kenny Loggin’s song from TOP GUN and we talk about Castellano pickup lines, to ease the tension (…suggesting my Lonely Planet Guide should be changed to the 'I Don’t Want to Be Lonely Anymore Planet Guide' because of the blunt and provocative chapter on dating).

Finally we arrive. No worries, they haven’t left – we just missed the half-hour safety talk, so we strut right up to the guides who snug us into climbing harnesses, adjust our helmets, dole out gloves and water bottles and shove us off into the jungle.

It is difficult to aptly describe the joy and excitement felt by someone who might have a teeny fear of heights, as they slide sideways across a lethal precipice on a rope holding onto only one other rope above their heads … or another (with two handholds) … or a wobbly suspension bridge made of slats that are practically popsicle sticks … or second even more suspicious-looking bridge … Let’s just say my mantra becomes ‘don’t look down’ … and I have an awesome time ;-) Thick green vegetation surrounds us as we skirt waterfalls and streams, climb up and down trails carved in the rock, through caves trickling with water, where mysterious birds call, and the squeals of our group (including six girls who are all cousins) boom through the jungle -- even though you can’t see them, in the impenetrable greenery.

We hike to the zip line: 350 ft long and 130 feet above ground which you also cannot see through the treetops. Gravity is, for once, my friend, and I ‘Wheeeeeeeeeeee!’ rapidly down the line. It’s over much too soon. But wait – we still have another 75 foot cliff to rappel down, before the l-o-n-g hike uphill (funny about that) back to the lodge.

Cost for this adventure: about $20 US – plus the case of mangos ($4.50) we pick up along the way. We find out that while we were gone DOMINO has been moved on her new sled to within 10-15 feet of water’s edge, so we rush home. After the crush of friends, neighbors, spectators and workers depart, we ravenously eat a dinner of roasted chicken, fresh mangos and beer on the foredeck of the boat, watching the sunset (and the bats), counting our mosquito bites; listening to JP's account of the day at the astillero, and talking about the day -- SOON -- that DOMINO will be afloat.

Screaming into the night

Monday night, in the black of night, at the shadowy squishy edge of a lake in the middle of Paraguay, we shoved our Hobie cat into the inky warm water and screamed off into the darkness.

It was the irregular ‘whenever-we-have-enough-boatloads-on-holidays-or-summer-weekends-twilight-sailing-regatta’ at Ypacarai Yate Club and this night, the occasion was a national holiday (Paraguay is 99% Roman Catholic … with coincidentally the highest per capita number of rent ‘em by the hour motels imagined) – celebrating Nuestra Senora de los Milagros.

The legend, in a nutshell, tells of a native Guarani man pursued by enemies, and in really deep doodoo until the Virgin Mary appears and hides him behind a big tree. In thanksgiving, the Indian cuts down the tree and carves a statue of the Virgin which, for over three centuries, the devout have worshiped every year on this day, at a basilica in Caacupé.

Leaving Asuncion Monday evening we had passed thousands of the pilgrims, swinging their coolers and guampas, laden with knapsacks, as they hoofed it toward their destination some 30-miles (as the karakara flies) east of the capital city. Rickety stands covered with tarps dotted the highway (again – this is taking liberty with the term 'highway') selling food and drinks for the travelers; some of whom would walk all night to pray for jobs and good health at the foot of the statue, then turn around and head home. Others would spend the night -- a flock of some 300,000 ‘camping out’ on the cobblestone plaza and streets, sidewalks or grass (and this being a developing country: without the benefit of porta-potties … ).

But for us, it was the lure of a nighttime sail and asado at the clubhouse with friends, that brought us out of our enclave in Mariano Roque Alonso, to a rendezvous point in Luque, past the camino of the gaudy ceramics -- with miles of brightly painted Baby Jesuses and wise men displayed alongside Porky-the-Pig, spotty Dalmatians, and the omnipresent frogs (what the pink flamingo is to Florida, the frog is to Paraguay) -- to Areguá, and the shores of Lago Ypacarai.

The regatta goes something like this: meet at the stately lodge at the end of the rutted dirt road, kiss everyone twice while you stumble through greetings in Castellano, French or English, stand around slapping mosquitoes for two hours waiting for enough people to make a regatta (by this time it is nearly 10PM), spend 20 minutes getting the boat ready (there are no lights), 15 minutes whooping your head off as you race across the blackened lake (there is no moon) towards two specks of light on the other side, search (and search … and search …) for the buoy to round, then scream back, soaking wet, to the swampy shore, debark, shower, and barbecue. Insane but wildly fun and even Luiz – who had bravely invited me to crew despite my short but statistically discouraging history with small-boats -- said it was one of his best nights sails ever. Ta da! Hence I have become one of few people to actually go sailing in Paraguay, the land-locked nation in the middle of South America.

OBSERVATIONS

The wind drowns out all else ... the a/c, my online meditation, the buzz and hum of the casket factory. A huge dust storm is approaching, obliterating the city in a red haze. I sleep to the music of the rustling leaves and awake as an eggplant colored cloud lumbers in from the north. How nice -- the rain will wash away the filthy dust residue. (Of course, the internet craps out.)

There is a fine line between meditating and napp .... snnzzzz

A battalion of dragonflies appears: great slayers of the mosquito; while the giant toads get giant-er (leaving giant piles of giant-toad-shit) no doubt fed by the nasty bastards as well.

In The O.C. it's the wealthy people who have the horses and acreage and dosh to put them up. Here, the people who can't afford cars ride horses, and we hear them clop-clop-clop to work in the morning.

-->MARIE: "You can’t stew in your own shit all your life.It’s good to do some introspection but then it’s time to move onto something prettier." Indeed.

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Caipirina. Caipiroska. Caipirisma. Who can really tell the difference, after one or two or ???