Anaconda Island

Jan 6

I am deterred from swimming in the rio by the realization that the massive camalote which, in the strong current of the Rio Paraguay, has firmly planted itself to our anchor chain -- a dense green island of shiny leaves and grasses and tubers and prickly red flowers, spanning the full width of the catamaran -- is also habitat for poisonous snakes.

Yes our own ‘Anaconda Island’ has put down roots, in a rootless way, beneath DOMINO: draping half the length of her hulls, and precariously close to the swim ladder astern. There’s no way in hell I’m getting in the water, just 15 feet from Club Med for snakes and lizards, no matter how hot it gets …

I know we don’t get to choose how, or when, or where we kick the bucket …. But this is just too unglamorous for me: the thought of being crushed by a giant anaconda that went undetected in the muddy mire; my last startled breath gasping in the polluted water of the Rio Paraguay. If they ever found my remains in this opacity it would be a miracle: twisted in the trash along the river’s edge.

(Still, I cannot count the immeasurable number of camalotes that have drifted by on the endless current of the Rio to the ocean 1300k beyond … and wish to be one of these floating islands of foliage and snakes; instead of anchored abreast the dump and astillero!)

Later a storm blows in briskly. We barely have time to close the hatches when the first blast hits – the remains of our lunch, tools, garbage – all strewn everywhere. DOMINO spins and tugs against the massive bow anchor until the storm dims enough for us to put out a stern anchor too. In the process Anaconda Island has dislodged and is on its merry way down the rio. Swimming is once again hopeful.

… until today (Jan 8) when I go for a dip, and something hidden in the muddy water nibbles and scratches at my left arm. A cool shower will do!

DOMINO HAS LEFT THE BUILDING!

Jan 9 - UPDATE

Seriously! We have left the astillero (this is Spanish for ‘shipyard’, if you are wondering) and headed south for good, leaving amidst a small rain storm and gunning the engines to give the John Deeres a workout, back to the YC from whence we will leave Friday Jan 15. God willing!

It’s cool and the mosquitoes seem to be at bay (even so I’m slicked up with OFF) … our little croc seems quite vociferous tonight so I go on deck to listen and see if I can spot him; I’m in a sarong, eating a peach Marie got from a street vendor, looking at the rare starry sky. There are several dogs barking idiotically in the dark and I half wish our resident caiman would quiet them once and for all …

THANKSGIVING 2009

(When we last left Betsy, she was living in Paraguay with Marie and JP Dufour in a flat overlooking a casket factory adjacent the gigantic hangar where these industrious friends have built a state-of-the-art catamaran … Having left the south after discovering she is horrifically inept in absolutely all and every capacity, Betsy returned to a place where people love her despite her tremendous inadequacies, and she can live blissfully ignorant of her many faults, happily ever after… )

Any one of our adventures in the week leading up to Thanksgiving is worthy of a whole blog … here’s a synopsis:

Skinny dipping in Antarctica (or not)

Late Saturday night we loaded SCRAPPY – a dinghy made (lovingly) of leftovers from the construction of DOMINO – onto the trailer and early the next morning, before the sun had a chance to fire up the furnace full blast, we set off for her maiden voyage. JP drove the truck along the rutted mud path to the river, while Marie and I jogged along beside (allegedly making sure she didn’t slide off her trailer) and the dogs followed suit. SCRAPPY is about three meters long, designed by JP himself; so it was with eager trepidation that we slipped her into the Rio Paraguay and … she floated! Yes!! We fired up the outboard and all clambered in … zipping up the river, with the dogs swimming fervently along until they couldn’t keep up any more.

The river is muddy and swift – feeding into the greater Parana River system / Rio de La Plata which is the world’s fourth largest (by volume) – with a great deal of chop, so we veered off onto the smaller Rio San Francisquito, and took a leisurely ride up this lazy tributary. A few shanties lined the river, and the aroma hinted of cattle nearby. Murky brown water swept past dense greenery thick with birds, and the occasional illicit fishing trap that jerked in the current. Soon we were all swimming in the river – having tied up the boat along the shore – basking in the refreshing water. Would I be skinny dipping in Antarctica? I doubt it! We had loads of fun and the strong current provided a good workout ... but the sun was getting high, so eventually we jumped back on SCRAPPY and sped home to the astillero. Later we drove to a palapa where a guitar and harp duet serenaded us while we enjoyed a local fish stew (oh, and the guitar player asked me for my telephone numero, ha!). ‘A five-star Sunday! ;-)

Claudio the Italiano

Who knew land-locked Paraguay was such a hotbed for boat building?? For several years Claudio has been building his boat – a 30-some foot ferro cement double-ender - in a patch of woods across the rio from the city of Asuncion.

Claudio warned us of mosquitos and thorns as we picked our way to his boat tucked in the woods, on humble scaffolding, surrounded with barbed wire, awaiting the next infusion of funds that will allow him more progress. (Already he has the masts on hand: two telephone poles.) Waving his arm at, first, the city in the distance, and then, the rotting remains of an old wooden barge at his feet, he said, ‘Where else can you see the 21^st century alongside the 18^th century?’

Claudio is charming and intense, and tells us about all his tattoos: "This one I got when I met that rock star ‘Mike Yager’ (Mick Jagger) …" and enthralls us with tales. Back in the day methinks Claudio was quite the lady’s man …

Field Trip: Yerba Mate

To be continued …

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!! May your list of gratitude be never-ending ...

PHOTOS: getting SCRAPPY poised for launch (photo by Marie); going into the rio - with Asuncion in the background; Claudio's workshop; mast & mizzen; Marie and Claudio share a laugh

Harp On!

Can you imagine listening to a bunch of harps for three and a half hours (other than at the spa or shrink) and not lapsing into a coma? Marie, JP and I just got back from a night of on-the-edge-of-your-seat performances at the third annual world harp festival here in Asuncion – the “Festival Mundial del Arpa en el Paraguay”.

Yes: harps! And I’m not talking about pale women in gauzy dresses playing sleepy angelic tunes …. (although there WAS one of those in the mix …). I’m talking crazy, lively musicians pounding out LA BAMBA, BONANZA, national folk anthems and cosmic synthesized songs … with fingers flying (over 40 strings) toes tapping, audience clapping, and lots of “Viva Paraguay” tossed around.

The Paraguayan harp is the national instrument and an emblem of tradition and tremendous pride. The festival hosted a truly diverse mix of artists (and equally eclectic audience) performing an outrageous selection of music on a cumbersome instrument that sounded, alternately, like a banjo, player piano, harp, or slack key guitar ... There were old-time mariachis from Mexico; local kids plucking through folk tunes; a French harpist dressed in what looked like her gym clothes, with an electric harp strapped to her torso uzi-style; and an elderly Spanish woman seated behind a massive harp (Marie described as a ‘galleon’) playing classical pieces. The master Nicolas Caballero played (‘Oh Suzanna’ and other Americano themes); and Papi Basaldua attacked his harp (I’d like to have the string concession next door), while Christian Gonzalez made love to his, as it nestled against his chest and he swayed to ‘The Girl from Ipanema’. It was magic.(See Martin Portillo on YOUTUBE )

The small Teatro Municipal in downtown Asuncion was the setting this Friday night. The U-shaped performance hall has tiers of balconies, so we sat comfortably in a box on the first level of the mezzanine, and enjoyed our $5 seats. No intermission, no food court, no t-shirts for sale ... just harp music and an enthusiastic audience.

Okay ... five hour time differerence so ... manana!

More music on Amazon

@ Betsy Crowfoot

Norte to Paraguay

I have made another soft landing, in a small town on the outskirts of Asuncion: delighted to be at ‘Casa Dufour’ catching up with Marie and JP, admiring DOMINO, enjoying the greenery and racket of birds and frogs along the River Paraguay …

Nov 11 9PM

“Whiskey?” José asked, as he stood in the aisle with a tray of plastic cups and a fire-hydrant sized bottle of Southern Comfort. I was pretty shocked; but the trip to Paraguay is proving to be probably the best bus ride of my life; comfortable, smooth, clean; with friendly and excellent service! (perhaps excluding the dodgy 10-20 year old music videos …)

My final day in BA was spent with a long walk, lunch in Chinatown (funny, huh?) then back to Aurora’s where I crammed the last of my stuff (a few hand-washables that dried swiftly in today’s searing heat) into my Pigbag. Truly, I don’t need all five pairs of long johns and two wool sweaters in (80°) Asuncion; but I’m not keen to ditch any more gear - so my bag is the size of a pygmy hippo and thankfully Willy, Viviana’s husband, picked me up, brought me to the station, then stayed until I was securely situated on the bus in my comfy recliner seat; he having given the driver unforgettable instructions on exactly where to drop me off. For the one-millionth time: I have been so spoiled here … it is so nice to be loved!!!

Leaving Buenos Aires the land spread out and breathed a sigh of relief. Gone from the clamor of the city, the green hills stretched out: miles of verdant brush and pasture, dotted with simple homes, and livestock, along a highway so nondescript -- it could be the New Jersey Turnpike.

8:00AM – Nearly 12 hours later … the scenery is much the same. Green. Green. Green. But the pastoral landscape starts to look a bit more tropical, with palmettos, the occasional flowering tree, and clusters of what look like yellow irises, as best I can tell at the speed we zip by. There are humble casitas, and proud roosters. Cows. Dogs. Rubbermaid chairs. And mud. Lots of mud. This looks like a place where the laundry never dries.

The sky is cluttered with clouds, but not so much that you can’t feel the warmth of the sun, even through the windows. Chutes of dark rain streak down at angles. José serves breakfast: sweet coffee, and a tray of cookies and sweet crackers.

It’s so posh, I forget I’m on a bus ... until we have to stop and get off at the border, where my US passport gets a lot of attention. We wait for clearance, dodging a downpour amongst the beggars and peddlers and colorful stalls of hammocks and knick knacks. Shortly afterwards, we stop at the Mariano Roque Alonso pull-off where Marie is waiting outside, despite the light rain. I tell José the bus driver/attendant (he has shared the driving and serving duties with another man) that if he weren’t married with two children I just might fall in love and ride the buses to Paraguay for all eternity. But instead I get off, and start the next leg of my wayward journey.

Nov. 13 9AM – No wonder the internet’s not working: it’s Friday the 13^th!! While Marie makes protracted phone calls to set up yet another new modem, I fiddle with her groovy coffee-maker, trying to figure out how to make a large cup of strong coffee ;-) I’m on cup number three right about now and I think, whether I got it right or not, I’d better quit for today! Their home – an upstairs flat surveying the marsh, river, and city of Asuncion beyond, is comfortable, spacious … and has a/c.

The internet is ON! So I will wrap up fast before it craps out … Once again I’ve had a warm and loving welcome; comfortable place to stay; great conversation and humor; and the boat is REMARKABLE! Check out Domino! XXOO Love to all – Betsy

It's only hair ... !

Verging on insanity ... I decided to get my hair cut here in Buenos Aires, where I have absolutely no command of the native tongue (other than to order wine and ask for the bathroom).

Actually many fellow gringos/gringas had planted the seed, taunting me that I was going to get kidnapped by some sweaty gaucho because of my blonde hair and blue eyes ( ... and won't they be disappointed when they realize they got an old broad with no $$$!!). Dying my locks brown seemed an option - if not for the poor Espanol and towering height I could masquerade for a local; but as it was, I truly just needed a haircut.

Aurora (Viviana's mom) marched me to a salon around the corner where an impressive, sturdy woman (she looked like one of those Easter island Tikis) with straw-like ochre hair looked me up and down and up and down. 'Why did you bring her here?' she spat in Spanish. I felt like she was sizing me up to feed to her dogs. So Aurora and I left ... We went to another nearby salon where they offered to cut my hair right then and there ... but I stalled. They were all on the verge of antiquity (Shhh, Mora! Don't tell your Grandmother I said this!!!) and I just couldn't do the blue-hair-bob. I said I'd be back in the morning.

When I ventured out later (for a bottle of wine, and some awesome seafood empenadas for my trip to Paraguay) I came across a modern-looking salon with a chic young gal behind the counter. She buzzed me in and quickly we ascertained that neither she nor the proprietor Tony Ruiz spoke English, but they were game if I was.

Mariana washed my hair while I flipped through a dog-eared magazine with a mix of bizarre hairdos. 'No .... no ... no ... 'I said, pointing at styles that looked something like 'My Little Pony' meets 'Wizard of Oz' ... and then I pointed out a few I liked. Then Tony took over, and worked his magic.

The first few snips in the back were dramatic. My heart raced as I felt the hair coming off in huge clumps as he snip-snip-snipped feverishly, and I intoned my mantra: "It's only hair ... it's only hair ... " It was one of the quickest, and least expensive ($15US) cut & dries I'd had in a long time and I love it!! Okay so, I still look like the Queen of the Gringas but ... it looks good ;-) (No comments about the nose please!)

So tonight I'm in Buenos Aires, sitting on the patio of the penthouse condo in Belgrano, a nice neighborhood downtown. I have been absolutely saturated with love and attention since arriving in BA and having wonderful digs to relax in and enjoy is just part of it. Viviana's family is AWESOME and I have sworn if any of them ever need anything: money, a place to stay, a kidney - I am IN!

The world is a wonderful place: if you just let it ... XXOO Betsy

before & after


@ Betsy Crowfoot

A Sunday in Buenos Aires

12:00 - Sitting outside the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, enjoying the sunshine, jacarandas in bloom, a drum corp playing in the park nearby; trying to ignore the rush of traffic.

The appreciation of art crosses all boundaries, and I find in any city or country, you are never a 'stranger' or 'foreigner' in a museum. The MNBA is a classic, with the traditional masters (Monet, Renoir, Picasso, etc.) as well as a one full floor of Argentinian and Rioplatense art - stretching from the pre-Columbian era to modern, whimsical art. The work is eclectic: the atmosphere serene - and safe: there are guards everywhere.

amazing architecture and art at Recoleta

3:00 - At a cafe across from Cementerio de la Recoleta: the relief of a cold beer (Quilmes) which is included in my $30Peso ($7US) chicken burger special (along with salad, fries and coffee). I'm at one of the many identical bistros lining the park, with matching umbrellas, Rubbermaid chairs and tables, snappy waiters in white dress shirts and black slacks; and flocks of pigeons. An accordion plays "La Cucaracha". Cars honk.

The cemetery is magnificent. A full city block of masoleums, statuary, marble, brick ... here famous (and not so famous) Argentinians rest eternal in a style most people fail to enjoy during their mortal lives. Some memorials are impeccably kept: silver polished, flowers fresh; others are stuffed with caskets willy-nilly, and strewn with cobwebs. Eva Peron (Evita) Duarte's modest tomb is perenially clustered with tourists; and shaggy stray cats slink in and out of the shadows.

crowds cluster right before closing time, at the tomb of Evita

@ Betsy Crowfoot

The Kindness of Strangers

Yesterday morning I watched the snow flurry in big fat flakes that tumbled down on the streets of Ushuaia … today I awoke to birds twittering cheerfully in the balmy morning air of Buenos Aires.

How I would have loved to arrive in this cosmopolitan city looking chic and alluring (or at least clean) instead of in the jeans I bought four weeks ago, which hadn’t yet been washed, along with the layers of well-worn thermals and woolens. I am looking a bit savage these days, with broken nails, soiled clothes, work boots, sparse makeup, and my hair wildly unkempt. UGH!

Nov. 5 - I have been living on a moored boat in the scenic anchorage fronting Ushuaia, where I enjoy a spectacular view but also a very splashy RIB ride between the yacht and the dock. Hence my standard attire (two pairs of socks, long johns, jeans, three or four shirts, vest, hat, gloves) is complimented by my red foulie jacket, to ward off the icy spray. Whenever we go to a café or parrilla, I have to find a spot in the corner to strip down to a maneuverable number of layers; then pile them all back on before we head back out.

Besides being most generously free, my accommodations aboard the 37' sailboat are sturdy and humble: sort of ‘floating bachelor pad’ meets ‘automotive shop’ with a dab of ‘grocery store’ thrown in (as the captain is provisioning for his trip to Yendegaia). I’ve been sleeping in the v-berth on a very firm but comfy cushion where I can stretch out beneath an old sleeping bag he unearthed, which I believe belonged to his dog Jack (deceased three years ago) based on the aroma.

The boat has the most awesome heater – in the head (and I can only spend so much time there!) However the shower isn’t set up in the tiny bathroom, but instead in the small ‘pilothouse’ in between the companionway / galley and the cockpit / outside. I have yet to endeavor standing in my birthday suit in this frigid cuddy while providing a full view of my increasing pallor to 1) any occupants of the boat and 2) the entire population of Ushuaia …

Nov. 6 - Despite the hour (2AM), my appearance, and my personal ‘bouquet’ Viviana and Willy greet me warmly at the regional airport and bring me to their home in the north of Buenos Aires. I am once again overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of strangers … Viviana and her family became friends’ of Holly’s over 40 years ago, in Seal Beach, and fortunately for me these ties have remained strong. They are the most delightful family, with a daughter Mora (23) and son Juan (18) both in college, and three dogs – including a two month old Rottweiler puppy! This has truly been a soft landing: to stay with such a bright, interesting and loving family ;-) If nothing else, this journey has reinforced my priorities: a reminder that appreciating what you already have is just as important as discovering and falling in love with something new.

Much love to you all!

PHOTOS: downtown Ushuaia; local YC and anchorage

Sh**fight in the Straits of Magellan

Where do I begin? It was a good trip south – mixed conditions, a good chance to get familiar with the boat and the way things are done onboard … We hove to for nearly 1 ½ days for what we thought was our ‘big blow’ of the voyage; then spent a couple of days battling our way against winds from the wrong direction to get to the Straits, and thought we had a good window to arrive (timing things to have favorable currents). I will write more on this, once the reality sinks in.

Serge says you can experience all four seasons in one day in Tierra Del Fuego. We had snow, and sunshine, dolphins, and fog. And then, about 36nm from our destination – after 10 days at sea – we got hit with a 30k blast. No biggie … Then sleet. And then, the wind started to climb. Hi 30s … low 40s … high 40s … low 50s … 60s … Serge was on lookout in the cuddy (enclosed – thank God) and called Stephen up. ‘There’s something strange …’ he said (although in his French accent it sounded more like ‘Zere’z sumzing stuh-range ahed … ‘ J ). A white squall. Legendary. Stephen says he’s never seen one before … well we got a lifetime’s experience with white squalls on this one and I hope to never see this again as long as I live.

The wind blowing so hard (70k) the water was smoking (and earlier, I discovered, so cold that it froze before it hit you), The seas grew to into rolling mountains of blue green, with so much spray, there was a halo of white across the horizon. A white squall anywhere is a sh**fight … in the narrows of the Straits of Magellan, it was a nightmare. But one thing I noticed … in the spray flying off our leeward side, was a constant rainbow. My Bible-reading friends will recognize this as a symbol of God’s promise … as I did. The failure of any one thing could have screwed us up – had the staysail (furled to the size of a string bikini) or main (reefed down 4X) blown, any sheets or halyards parted, ‘Mr Perkins’ (the engine) stopped, etc -- we would have been up a creek without a paddle. However: kudos to Stephen and the rest of my mates, not only for keeping their heads on, a close watch on all systems, and excellent crew-work; but ALSO for having worked so darned hard to prepare this boat, ‘The Fat English Girl’, so she held strong. So we are very fortunate, and thankful !!!

The white-out conditions finally paled to gray, to clouds, to patches of blue sky, and the wind tamed down into the 20s. We made it to Barranco Amarillo, a small fishing port just north of Punta Arenas, just before dark (long days here in the south). Docking the boat was a work of art – we half expected an audience on the docks, applauding our arrival. We were very content with hot showers, steaks and wine aboard, and a good, long sleep.

More soon, but for now: we are safe & sound, at the bottom of South America. Probably in port longer than expected as the entire boat will have to go through checks – rig, lines, sails, etc – before leaving P.A., which is a pretty neat town (with an internet café – YES!!) Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers, sending much love to you all.

PS Sorry about the dodgy photo display I cannot get FB to take my downloads

GOOD THINGS ABOUT LIFE IN PIRIAPOLIS

1.

2.

3.

4.

To be continued …

(Just kidding)

I think if you’re going to ‘hit the reset button*’ in life, then the best way to do it is to really go for it. Ctrl-Alt-Delete. Erase the parameters: the culture, the comforts, status, familiarity … and just get on with it. So Piriapolis has been a good starting (over) point, for many aforementioned reasons. But (having been chided for whining too much) I decided today to list the many Good Things about Life in Piriapolis:

I’m with two wonderful companions, Stephen and Audrey, who are hard-working, excellent cooks and have good sense of humor!

And the wine is cheap.

I have a place to live and don’t have to pay rent.

Ample hot water.

Two duvets.

Another good thing about the Casa: there are no large insects, lizards or geckos, frogs splashing in the toilet, mice, or marauding monkeys -- as in some places I’ve been known to go.

I don’t have a car so I don’t have to worry about the price of gas. Or DUI.

And I never need to fuss about what to wear. Fleece, fleece, more fleece … and I’m ready to go!

The internet is free and I continue to lap up warm messages from friends and family all around the world.

Lots of exercise and no monthly fees!

The opportunity to try strange new vegetables and menu items … and play games like ‘guess the meat’ …

Beautiful scenery, with the greens of springtime and the Atlantic Ocean in the distance.

Really good books.

Awesome laptop and gadgets.

Exciting future plans.

The gorgeous yacht XPLORE:

[For the past two days we’ve had a fantastic storm: the wind howling through the tree tops; shrieking through the rigging. Rain blowing sideways. The muddy waters of the Rio de la Plata splashing up over the stone wall of the embarcadero. By law we cannot sleep on the boat on the hard, so we trek to La Casa Muy Frio for the night; but have been holed up on XPLORE during the days. The boat shudders with the gusts but is incredibly comfortable, warm and dry. We have a fully stocked galley (and library), snuggly bunks, heaps of duvets; electricity to power the stereo, lights and computers; water, wine, real coffee … she’s cozy and solid and even in her ‘undressed’ state (not yet repainted) she’s by far the most beautiful and powerful yacht in Puerto Piriapolis … and I take more than a small amount of pride in being onboard as part of her crew. ]

I have a LOT (alot alot) more to be thankful for on the whole, but this today is what’s good about life in Piriapolis, Uruguay. ~ Betsy

Sept. 19, 2009

(*I do need to point out that I’m not, like, on-the-lam or anything, I’ve embarked on this journey not because I have to, but because I can. But more on that later.)

THE FREEZING POINT OF MASCARA

Before I left California I stopped at the drugstore for some last minute necessities. ‘Like mascara, razors, and Bonine – for seasickness; although taking Bonine in the Southern Ocean is akin to fighting a forest fire with a squirt gun. ‘Full of Jello.

I dawdled over the selection of mascaras. So many kinds, colors, brands …  Did I want ‘fuller’ lashes, ‘thicker’ lashes,  or ‘longer’ lashes? ‘Clump free?’ And as I wandered a whole wall of cosmetics, the question that seemed to arise – much less than ‘Who needs mascara in Antarctica?’ – was instead, ‘What IS the freezing point of mascara?’

I entertained the thought of calling my blog “The Freezing Point of Mascara” … either that, or ‘The Freezing Point of Dish Detergent” (do you know that dishwashing soap congeals at low temperatures??) but both are ever-so-unglamorous and sexist at that, so I stick to the Upside Down Summer.

"OH SHIT!"

Sept 11 2009

Stephen has offered me these first few days off anticipating what he SAID was jet lag, but what he really knew would be this “OH SHIT!” disoriented state I am in.

I awoke not with the expected thoughts of, “Where am I?” or “What time is it?” – but with absolute doom, wondering, “What the hell am I doing here and why is it so damned cold?!” I am thousands of miles from home, in a %#&$! freezing stone shack, working full time on a boat, about to embark on an utterly insane venture of sailing to Antarctica. I must have lost my fucking mind.

So Thursday morning I slept in with the covers over my head to block out the sun, the whitewashed stone walls, the thatched roof, the smell of gasoline that permeates the piles of junk stored in the loft. Finally I surrendered and got up, and hung out all my clothes (contemplating whether I have to worry about poisonous Uruguayan snakes, as I plod across the yard to the wobbly clothes line …) The day is brisk but sunny, so I expect everything will be dry by the time I get back from the marina. Stephen came to fetch me (see if I was still here?) and walk with me down to the boat.

At the shipyard, XPLORE (AKA “The Fat English Girl”) is propped up on her keel and a cradle made of logs. To get to her deck you climb up a ladder made of planks pretty firmly nailed across two long tree trunks. Considering how much I enjoy heights (NOT!) this alone is a challenge for me, and visions of my twisted body lying in a heap amidst the paint tins and scraps of wood haunt me for days. I hold on tight.

But the boat is in excellent condition, and extremely comfortable down below. I have my own cabin all cleaned and ready for my move-in, although we are not allowed to live on board until the boat is back in the water. (Hence our stay at La Casa Muy Frio.) My cabin is on the port side forward, just behind one of two large and commodious heads (but we do NOT have a holding tank, I am pleased to hear, so nothing stinky below) and I have two bunks: one for me, and the other for storage or as our guest list demands. I decide I will sleep on the top bunk, which is a very cozy looking pipe berth with extra padding, a duvet and pillow. I figure sleeping as high as possible above the water line will be less refrigerator-like when we are in glacier strewn ice water. In addition to the bunks I’ve got four milk crates on some shelving, which will house all my worldly possessions. I ponder the need for a mirror on the wall …

There’s a carbon copy of my cabin across the hall, and two more just aft, that sleep two or three. Then the nav station, companionway; galley and main salon; and two cabins all the way back for the skipper (Stephen) and the first mate (Audrey). XPLORE really is a gorgeous boat, and I am eager for the day we can move aboard and I can consider her my home, as I think this will ease my transition. I’m approaching the coming days with optimism – not quite excitement yet, but that will come.