Underwater They can't hear you Scream either...

Underwater.

There are a wide variety of things in the water under a sailboat.

The keel – which helps stablize the boat.

The rudder – which helps steer the boat.

The ridiculously huge manatee who comes up to snort at you as you try to not crash the rental boat into the dock.

Before I continue, I must let you know, there are NO beautiful pictures of beautiful fish as I was too busy being simultaneously terrified and in awe.

A few years back, we took our 10 foot bathtub with a sail to Destin and piddled around in Destin harbor. We had many offers to 'help' get us back to shore, when we thought we were doing just fine.

We managed to avoid the gross of jellyfish along the shore where we put in, so we were feeling pretty smug.

Then the sea turtle showed up.

Rob noticed a shape under the water. We were hoping it was a dolphin.

Instead, a shell, the size of our boat, I swear!, came closer to the surface. His head popped up and snorted, decided we weren't some visiting turtle and took off.

In retrospect, a lot of sea life likes to snort at us.

Naturally, on our trip to Tortola, we knew we would snorkel. The sea is so clear. It was just inviting us to come in and maybe snort back at some of its inhabitants.

(This was a couple years before my ill-fated attempt at SCUBA.)

We caught the excursion boat from Fort Recovery with our borrowed snorkel equipment from the questionably clean storage trunk. The boat captain seemed less than confident in the motor on the powerboat, what with its sputtering and hesitation. Eventually the boat mangaged to cut through the beautiful blue water and we arrived at The Caves.

seriously. beautiful. as they say, #NoFilter. also, note the other boats in the picture.
They are not giving chase, only following to the Caves for some diving.

I should mention here that I am a decent swimmer. I am not afraid of the water, but carry a healthy respect. I have splashed around in the ocean before, generally along the shore. Our lake swimming was done off a dock. Occasionally with a life vest, if the goal was to just lazily float around. I had never swam with flippers and the only mask was a kiddie one borrowed from our kids.

One of  The Caves

So with much assistance, I managed to pull on my flippers, slip my mask over my eyes and place the snorkel in my mouth.

As I slid off the swim dock of the boat it occurred to me that I had NO life vest and was now past the point of stopping my decent into water reported to be MILLIONS OF FEET, or possibly twenty feet, deep.

It was so clear it was impossible to know for sure.

And here is where I learned a fundamental truth.

You can scream as loud as you want, but with a snorkel in your mouth, no one can here you.

Consequently, I exhaled in a variety of 'OH!!' 'HEY!''WOW!'

And then the pretties bright blue and yellow fish swam by....

I continued to yell – but now the Oooos and Aawwwws had an appropriate direction.

Later we powered over to The Indians, another formation jutting around 45 feet from the ocean floor. I was feeling pretty brave by now, until I swam close to one of these giant monoliths.

All I learned from earlier in the day went right out the snorkel tube.

The Indians. 

Once again I felt several screams coming on– directed at my husband, whose arm or maybe leg – I had grabbed onto.

We managed to snorkel several more times on the trip. 

Beware fish. I am not to be trifled with...

But rather than heading out on a boat, we waded out into the waters just off our beach at Fort Recovery where we were treated to a guided tour of sea life from Dominic.

Dominic, the 10 year old son of one of the resort workers, swam with no flippers, held his breath forever and could only get in the water if there was an adult around who knew he was there.

The large floating head is Rob. The smaller floating head is Dominic.

It was a win-win.

He pointed out the fire coral, which you should never touch. And tried to show Rob how to pick up a sea urchin, although that demo did not go as well as hoped.

This is really the best place for an urchin.

During our afternoons in the water we saw a wide variety of colorful fish, including a puffer fish whose bright blue eye looked more like a rock until he blinked at us. And that big 'leaf' on the sand floor was actually a pretty irritated sand shark who WAS sleeping but is now looking for a better nap spot.

Which leads me to that other fundamental truth.

ALWAYS reapply sunscreen to your back when your plan for the day is to float face down in beautiful blue water under a bright yellow Caribbean sun.

This has been part of the A to Z Challenge. For more entries click here: a-to-zchallenge.com

A-Ahoy

B-Bells

C-Catamaran

D-Dramamine

E-Escape

F-Flags

G-Galley

H-Head to Heel

I-IC24

J-Jib/Jibe

K-Keys

L-Lakes

M-Motor

N-Navigation

O-Oceans

P-Points of Sail

Q-Quote

R-Reef

S-Sailbags

T-Trade Winds

Ingenious...

Cheating....

Pirate!

Today is brought to you by the letter I.

Which, I have, of course, not written yet but discovered that last year's post was also about 

Islands...

Click here to return to 

Tales of the Caribbean!

http://www.coastofillinois.com/2016/04/islandtales-of-caribean.html

Coast of Illinois's SECRETS to a Landlocked Beach Life***

I - Ingenious, find a solution...

G and H - Life Happens...and keeps on happening...

F- F-Flip Flops. Love them, wear them, don't call them Thongs. 
E - Extravagance, everyday should be so

D - Drinks, may all your responsibly enjoyed drinks be boat/beach drinks*

C - Coppertone,or any other sunscreen. Use IT!

B - Books. Read Them!

 A - Attitude is everything!

This post is part of the A to Z Challenge. Click on the link, page down to the comments and check out some of the other posts from participants!  (So, I was a little late this time, Friday became my day off, rather than this coming Sunday. It took awhile to dig the Flip flops out of the closet...)

http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/

Island...Tales of the Caribean

Time for 'I'.

And of course, 'I' must be Island.

Which means it's time for another Tale of the Caribbean...Island...

Most people experience the Caribbean on a cruise or an all-inclusive resort. Rob and I have never done anything the easy way.

 

Our destination on the first trip to the Caribbean was Tortola in the British Virgin Islands. The trip included in a small condo where we could cook breakfast and probably lunch or dinner each day, with a plan to rent a car to explore the island. Never mind that they drive American cars (steering wheel on the left) on the opposite side of the road from what we are accustomed.

That particular detail of the trip was parked after the open-air taxi ride to the rental place- on the WRONG side of the road, which was barely two lane in places and shouldered on one side by steep walls of dirt and vegetation and shouldered on the other by the ocean.

Literally.

Ocean spray would on occasion splash the front window and the passenger on the water side should you be in an open-air vehicle. 

This is an oil tanker. Taken from the passenger window as we sped 50kph around the island.

Oh, and the rental place was closed on Sunday afternoon.

As our drive said, "Welcome to the Caribbean!" He graciously drove us the rest of the way to our condo at Fort Recovery.

Now you would assume, being a taxi, that there would be no hesitation. However, Fort Recovery sits near the West end of the island which means chances of a fair back to the airport was slightly slim.

We figured out the nuances of cabs quickly.

As foreign cell phones can get sketchy coverage on the island, Fort Recovery provides local cell phones with around $5 worth of minutes available, renewable in the office. The phone is loaded with about two dozen taxi services. It took three calls to arrange a cab – the service on the West end really didn't want to drive all the way to the East end. The East end didn't really want to come West. The third dispatcher I spoke too, at a different number but sounding suspiciously like the first dispatcher I spoke with, finally agreed to send a car.

I got the distinct feeling these services are family run. More than once we were picked up in unmarked sedans.

Sounds safe, right?

Actually, it couldn't have been nicer.

Every driver, with the exception of one, was pleasant and helpful and told us all about the beautiful island. Even the cranky one warmed up when we asked his favorite local place for dinner – Fish and Lime at Soper's Hole.

Sunset at Fish and Lime. More on this in another post.

He was right – dinner was inexpensive and delicious.

Good thing. The taxi rides averaged around $20 - $30 one way.

Which brings me to the original idea of this story.

We have stayed in several condos on other vacations. They are economical, given that a kitchen – no matter how small – offers the opportunity to save money on meals. I generally plan to cook breakfast and stock the fridge with a fruit plate, veggie plate and some lunch meat from the local grocery. My vacation pantry includes coffee, tea, crackers, chips and something sweet.

Exactly how I intended to stock our kitchen in Tortola.

Our tiny, but well equipped kitchen. Of course the stove is on the WRONG side of the kitchen.

This was before I began to take an actual interest in island life. Had I read even one article on cooking on a sailboat I would have realized that grocery shopping on an island is...different.

Road Town, the largest town on Tortola, offers a couple of actual grocery stores.

Of course this would have meant another taxi ride to and from.

The kind folks at Fort Recovery told us there was a small grocery just down the road, about half a mile. Well within walking distance.

So we figured, on our first afternoon on the island, what better way to discover our new neighborhood than to walk to the store...on that narrow, two-lane road where everyone insists on driving on the WRONG side.

Or perhaps we were WALKING on the wrong side.

Either way, I never did get use to hearing a car approach only to be facing the approaching vehicle rather than having it come up from behind. We side stepped several times into driveways, dirt paths and once an honest to goodness palm tree jungle. 

You thought I was kidding, didn't you.

But as death defying walks go, it couldn't have been prettier or more interesting.

We listened to children at a day school singing songs.

We spied into the courtyard of a lovely, albeit forgotten, home. 

part of the gate

 

so inviting

And then we arrived at the grocery...

Or more specifically, the Tortola version of a QT.

Part gas station, part cell phone provider, part grocer.

All neighborhood hang-out.

Yes Big Ben. You are indeed a Super-ette!!

I could not have felt more like an outsider that Sunday afternoon as we wandered cautiously onto the parking lot. A couple of men sat on the concrete steps talking, a dog at their feet. A family, I assumed heading home from church, were piling back into their car. Each child with a treat in hand.

The interior of the small store felt a little more familiar. Dry goods on shelves. Produce in an open cooler at the back. A large freezer in the other corner.

There were a few familiar brands – Coke, Pepsi, Oreo, Campbells. But most everything had a slightly exotic tweak. The carrots were the size of watermelons. The juice and milk were un-refridgerated in vacuum sealed cartons.

And the meat?

All unlabeled and frozen.

And Unlabeled...

I was very cautious on our first trip to Big Ben's. I was also slightly travel shocked. We had to carry our purchases back to the condo and we didn't want to waste money or supplies so we tried to buy things that could do double duty. It seems like we wound up with some juice, a couple of apples, some lemons and limes, a zucchini, a 6-pack of soda, a bag of coffee, a stick of butter and a rice pilaf kit. And some sort of fish.

I am still not sure what sort, I think it may have been a red snapper. Given that whole 'unlabeled' issue I really just guessed according to color, thickness and smell. Or in this case, lack there of.

I also grabbed a package of locally baked raisin buns at the checkout.

The buns were great for breakfast, sliced and slightly toasted in a skillet with some melted butter.

The fish, sauteed in butter with salt and pepper and a little lemon tasted quite exotic.

As it turns out, unlabeled meat became a fun challenge.

By our last trip to the market, I was a pro at rummaging through the freezer. Tossing aside boring chicken and what looked to be pork, or goat, to score the coveted 'some sort of beef'.

Turns out it was a skirt steak.

And it was delicious, not just because of the Caribbean pepper blend sprinkled on top or the lime juice marinate.

It was most delicious because the clerk recognized us as the goofy couple who held a guessing game outside the meat freezer and debated over which ice cream treat to eat on the walk home. And she greeted us that day with a familiar 'hello'.

(Visiting local markets is one of my absolute favorite things to do when traveling – whether it is the SafeCo in Colorado, the Piggly Wiggly in Florida or the Mexican Walmart in Cabo. Big Ben's was my most challenging to date. And so worth the push past my comfort zone. Which is really the point of travel, in my opinion. As always, come back again. There will be many more Tales from the Caribbean.) 

For more info on Fort Recovery click here: http://fortrecoverytortola.com/

For more info on Fish and Lime click here: http://fishnlime.com/index-1.html

And Soper's Hole: http://www.b-v-i.com/sopers.htm

 

This post is part of the A-Z blogging challenge, where Monday -Saturday in April is dedicated to running the alphabet, using each day's letter as the inspiration. 

The First Rule of Sailing School...

For those of you who are new here, a little background info:

We own a small, hand built sailboat.

If you aren't new here, well, deal with it. I still can't believe we built it.

My husband and I have similar vacation tastes – nature-y, minimal tourists, mountains, oceans – with one tiny difference. I prefer lounging at the beach or pool, a little shopping, some reading, sightseeing, a nice dinner. He prefers, and I am very loosely quoting, "being as uncomfortable as I can possibly be without dying".

This is why I found myself at sailing school in one of the most beautiful places in the world.

These are tiny little boats with tiny little children, all sailing. Not puking.

Oh, I also have a serious issue with motion sickness.

There will be vomit.

Now, on with the story...

Our decision to go official and attend sailing school met both of our needs. Rob wanted some concrete assurance that he was doing things right while gaining a more thorough knowledge of sailing. I felt my duty as first mate was to be able to safely maneuver him back to shore should he succumb to a tragic bikini ogling accident.

The fact that the school we chose was in Tortola, British Virgin Islands was a compromise we were willing to make. Especially in November on the Coast of Illinois. 

How do you find Tortola? Fly south to Puerto Rico and hang a left. (Although it is not actually that simple and will be another story.)

(Eventually).

Rob took care of the research and settled on Rob Swain Sailing School. (They also have classes in Rhode Island but, seriously?) We signed up for the two day Basic Keelboat class. Passing the class promised certification by the US Sailing Association.

Provided you study. 

This is a page from my lesson book. Looks super technical, doesn't it.

 We booked the trip in March. This allowed me a good five and one half months to stare at the text book, move it to various tables, dust around it and then another two weeks to actually open the book and read it. By the time we arrived at Nanny Cay Marina on the morning of day one I felt regretful that I had not studied more and fairly confident that I would be the oldest woman in the class.

Day One dawned pleasantly warm and sunny.

Then it rained for ten minutes.

Day One became ridiculously humid.

Class is held in the Rob Swain office and our lessons were taught by an adorable Irishman- Rory and a crusty Englishman - Toddy. (I would also describe him as adorable but he would probably sail up the Mississippi and kick my ass were I to do so.) Both these men are accomplished sailors yet taught with the understanding that we were all new. Our class was small – Rob and myself, a cute, young English couple- Jason and Jasmine- who were hoping to learn enough to not destroy any boat they might rent and a Canadian woman - Monique- close to my age, whose husband was buying a gigantic sailboat and was hoping she would learn enough to not run over the smaller sailboats and people in the ocean.

It should be noted here that in the course of one morning I had listened to no fewer than six different accents, all claiming to be speaking English.

My husband would also like me to point out that I seem to learn things better from teachers with accents.

I would then argue that it was only one German ski instructor and I didn't so much learn anything as much as I was afraid Klaus would just leave me on the mountain.

Anyway...

After a couple of hours discussing the points of sail, knot tying and basic parts of a boat we took a dinghy across the bay to continue Day One on the water. Our lesson boat was 24 foot IC24, Bermuda rig sloop. There is no motor. We were not there to learn motoring. We were there to learn sailing.

Der.

Toddy took Monique, Rob and myself as his crew. Rory, Jason and Jasmine banded together in the under 40 boat.

We spent the first forty minutes on the water sorting out equipment and rigging sails.

I feel the need to again point out that we were on the water, bobbing. It was humid. I have motion sickness. Oh, and I was now beginning to ramp up the anxiety over not studying more.

Rory and his crew set sail through the harbor. I never saw them again.

(Well, until the next day.)

Toddy gave Rob the tiller and very carefully we maneuvered into open water. Rob is very proud to announce that no ridiculously expensive boats were harmed in the maneuvering. 

Seriously. Expensive. And the rainbow? I swear, it was always there.

Once on open water we began our instruction in earnest. Everyone had a job and every job was rotated to insure we each understood just how a boat works. The beauty of learning to sail in Tortola is the dependable wind. The wind is almost always a steady 8-10mph from the East. This constant, consistent wind makes all the physics of sailing work. For example – to sail upwind the sails are on the right with the wind coming over the left or port side. This is a close haul. To stop the boat you simply turn into the wind. And in Tortola the boat stops.

Move the tiller to the left, the wind returns and the boat moves.

It's like magic.Or at least it is like sailing somewhere with consistent wind, unlike our inland bodies of water where the wind is affected by land.

I started on the starboard jib sheet, shifted to the tiller then to the port jib sheet. This involved a great deal of sliding starboard to port, looking up to check the wind, looking down to secure the sheets, sliding back to take a turn on the tiller and then repeating.

About the time we started making headway Toddy would call for us to stop then resume. It was intense and busy and so much fun.

It was also disorienting, dizzying and oh so nauseating. Because that beautiful Tortola breeze was blowing more like 10-15 knots. Or nearly 17mph. In a boat which is tilting heeling nearly into the water.

And this is where the motion sickness and the nerves come into play.

I was beating the nausea down from my first switch. It would ebb while I was busy then slam back to remind me who was actually in charge. I kept praying for Toddy to get a sudden yearning for rum and demand that we just continue on our close haul towards Norman Island and Pirate's Bight Beach Bar and Grill. 

I can smell the rum from here...

That did not happen.

Instead, Monique steered us directly into the path of an huge oncoming WAVE. Toddy shouted 'WAVE' in time for me to look directly into it. The salty water washed over all of us, leaving us laughing and refreshed.

Until I swallowed the mouthful of Caribbean salt water and Rob turned us to a close reach starboard tack. The boat heeled as we changed direction and my nausea went into a beam reach of regurgitation. I was no longer in the no-go zone of vomit. I was on a full on run.

And here is where we all learned the MOST IMPORTANT RULE OF SAILING SCHOOL: 

You always puke on the leeward side.

Rob, being the ever caring husband that he is, and Toddy being the guy who would have to clean the boat, both shouted – as the voice in my head chimed in – GO TO THE LEEWARD SIDE!

(For you non-sailing people, this is the side away from the wind.)

I promptly slid to the leeward side, grabbed my sunglasses so as not to throw them over the side of the boat and puked.

For the next fifteen minutes.

Seriously.

It was ridiculous. I was hot, cold, sweaty and praying to die, hoping no one had seen me but positive the everyone in the British and US Virgin Islands had been in full view. The voice in my head chided my poor constitution then attempted a pep-talk and finally just gave up with the final thought that here I was puking in the Caribbean and I had yet to have even had a single drink of rum.

Then Toddy said, "It's okay poppet. We can take you back."

And in my completely crumbled state my inner voice rejoiced that I had been called 'poppet' by a real Englishman.

I can not explain this.

I am going with salt-water toxicity.

I have no idea who got us back to the dock.

I have no idea how I actually managed to get out of the boat. If I hadn't felt so much like dying I would have been dying of embarrassment.

I do remember Rob practically carrying me to a bench and bringing me a coke.

I can't even say if I spoke with anyone else from the class that day.

I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that I was bound and determined to get back in that damn boat on 

Day Two...

dadadummm....

As they say, the morning is a brand new day. I was well rested, drugged up with both drowsy and non-drowsy Dramamine and ready.

Class time covered the very important channel markers and even more important man overboard procedures, which we would be practicing in open water.

We took a break to prep for actual boat time. I drank more water, pulled on my brand new sailing gloves and dashed to the bathroom where once again my intestinal tract betrayed me.

There are no bathrooms on the lesson boats. So...

I bowed out of boat time.

Even though Rob, Monique and Toddy did their very best to convince me I would be fine and if I wasn't they would bring me back, no questions asked.

I just couldn't do it.There may not have been any questions but there would have been some exclamations.

My disgust with my lack of constitution was not strong enough to beat down my fear of being asked to leave the entire Lesser Antilles. So, while our school boat sailed from the harbor, I talked with Rehanna, the secretary of the school.

We talked for over an hour about the islands, island life, the school. I learned just as much on that bench as I could have learned from any book. Rehanna returned to work and I wandered off to explore Nanny Cay with the distinct feeling that I would never be a stranger on Tortola.

Eventually the school boats made their way back into the harbor. 

Rob at the tiller. Notice him NOT hitting the other boats.

Rob, Monique and Toddy all comforted me with the fact that they considered coming back to shanghai me back onto the boat and I comforted them with the fact that if anyone would need the benefit of a man overboard drill it would be me as I was clearly most likely to fall in the water.

After a final debriefing, it was test time.

I can not tell you how terrified I was of failing.

Suffice it to say, the UNWRITTEN RULE OF SAILING SCHOOL is this: 

Never take a tested class with your husband.

But if you must take a test with your husband then you must:

PASS IT WITH ONLY TWO INCORRECT ANSWERS!!! 

(okay, maybe three...)

Toddy, being the great teacher that he is, went over the test with us and allowed me time to defend my incorrect answers which turned out were only correct, but not 'the most' correct.

I promised to keep practicing and left the school with my US sailing book in hand and while it contained the notation that 'unfortunate to be ill but good overall otherwise' I had passed my test.

We celebrated with the 'best roti on the island' served by the 'best waiter on the island' at the GenakerCafe.

The Best Waiter on the Island with the Most Relieved Student on the Island.

We then retired to the Peg Leg for a Painkiller on the beach.

All classes should end this way. 

As usual, this is not a paid post. And as usual, please click on the links throughout. I must mention that Rob Swain Sailing School was wonderful. While I tend to poke fun at the experience, our instructors were very professional and obviously love, not only sailing but teaching new sailors the ropes. I mean sheets. 

Oh, and come back next week for more life on the Coast of Illinois...or wherever I might be!