Wolfy Swans

Hi-Bye New Zealand

Retro post

We always fight about who has to talk on the radio. "You do it!" "No you do it!" "Fine, we rock paper scissors!" "No! I did it last time!" We both hate talking on the phone and the radio is like an extra worse phone, involving everyone in range listening to you botch some aspect of etiquette. It is the sort of thing we both would rather spend energy arguing about in hopes of passing it off onto the other rather than simply doing it ourselves. So IIII hailed NZ customs, stumbled over my words, said too many "umm"s and met up with an officer at the quarantine dock. It took a while to find, as it was way-the-butt up river and not on our charts. Ryan asked for directions from a nearby kayaker. Close quarter maneuvering is very stressful, everything feels wayyyyy too close after being at sea where there is nothing for days. We scrambled to tidy up the boat while trying to stuff our mouths with fresh buttery flat bread before the kindly customs officers came aboard, opened every compartment possible to sort through our food (ag precautions), checked our surf board for density and potential drug-smuggling spots and took most of our beans.   

It was then my turn (again) to radio the guy in charge of raising the bridge. It was mad rush to make it up-river under the bridge before rush hour and into our slip before the tide messed us up too much.

Ryan is always super nervous when we dock but I nailed it, like (almost) always. 

Exhausted but giddy and wide-eyed, we borrowed some coinage for the showers from our neighbors, a French/American couple, Ryan and Alex. They traveled the same route as us the year before, had a baby, and their departure preparations over the last year included a padded baby cage (think crib with a lid). Their little girl had yet to experience a sail aboard their home (mast was being redone) so she thinks its hilarious to see "houses" moving. What a life! We had every reason to be excited: we had already made friends, ate the most satisfying pizza, had the luxury of real shower, New Zealand's beautiful, and we were going home to see family and friends. All the potential of starting a new chapter in our lives awaited us! Yay! Yay yay yay yay yay!!!

Final sailing post

Retro post

Day 8: we are five miles out

“We are 5 miles out and naturally, my head is full of montages of the trip: people we’ve met, highlights, dramas. And of course, thinking about the day we left, our inexperience and all our fears. I still don’t believe it, we sailed across the Pacific Ocean! Thinking about it still gives me the creeps a little bit. I’ve spent the last eight days wanting to arrive, and even though I am excited to get there, I am a little sad, not because being on a long passage is my favorite but because of what arriving in New Zealand means. The end of this chapter of our lives, now only to be relived when one of us says, ‘Hey remember that time?…”

It has now been eight months since Wolfy and the Swans landed in New Zealand. I was so overwhelmed with writing a final post that I wrote 5 pages but nothing seemed worthy as a conclusion.

Sailing is one of life’s great metaphors, one of the great romances. Pick any song and check the lyrics for sailing metaphors: the tide has turned learn the ropes going overboard in the doldrums take the wind out of his sails sail through life, smooth sailing anchored down give me leeway broadside give them a wide berth batten down the hatches try a different tack (you thought it was “track”) run aground be stranded everything is shipshape leave me high and dry close quarters get underway hard and fast loose canon Bristol fashion shake a leg taken aback the bitter end sink or swim on the rocks on deck, all hands on deck rock the boat flagships mainstay by and large adrift unmoored with flying colors weathering a storm

We turned the great life metaphor into reality. I see little things on Pinterest that are like “Weather the storm by adjusting your sails”… yes, literally. It's ironic needing a metaphor to talk about sailing, because sailing is only a metaphor to most of us. What greater life metaphor is there?? I need a metaphor about a metaphor…that’s so meta!…like the movie, Inception, a dream within a dream! No, literally, a dream within a dream! Let me tell you what I learned about dreams while “living the dream”! Without dreams, we are nothing. But dreams alone are nothing! We chase the romance, the dream, but we must understand that reality is never quite like the dream. Reality is so much better and so much worse than the dream. It’s real. You see why words fail me?

Let me try again. I had an interesting conversation with Ryan about my teenage self: I remember telling a friend that I never felt like I would ever do anything great. I always had this sense that I would instead witness, be privy, be support cast, maybe even stand side by side with greatness. Depending on who you are, and who you think I am, making that statement about oneself can be an expression of realism, an acceptance of the innate self. BUT if it was something I absorbed as a young woman, then it is a sad relinquishing of spirit and vision for myself. If that is who I really am, then I should accept it and live my life accordingly. If it was imposed on me, then I am obliged to fight it and prove otherwise. Classic nature vs. nurture question. So which is it? The trouble is, I will never live in such a vacuum where I could separate the factors of my life to find this out. It’s so obvious, isn’t it? The answer is "mu", the third option, meaning "unask the question" in Japanese. I need not discover the answer. This actually has nothing to do with destiny and everything to do with my choice. Not just “choose your own adventure” stylez. It's write your own freaking book. And try to live a life worth writing about.    

I am fiercely proud of what we did. If I am gloating too much, understand that I definitely had something to prove, both to my nagging self-doubting thoughts and every other person who thought that Ryan did all the captaining, sailing, boat maintenance, and heavy lifting and that I did all the princessing, cooking, and sleeping, an unintended but subtle reminder that I, woman, am a fragile guest at this here yacht club. No, I do belong here and my 6 day stint as captain without Ryan from Tonga to Fiji proved it.   Even so, part of me knows that the seed dream was his. I know it shouldn’t really matter but I ask myself anyways: Why didn’t crossing the ocean ever occur to me on my own? And why doesn’t it occur to many women at all? Back before I knew a lick about sailing I knew it was a man’s tradition. I asked Ryan if, as a man, he feels the need to be “empowered”. He said yes, of course he needs empowerment. For some people, support from their community sees them through their adventure. For others, defiance of the naysayers works as great motivation. For most, a mixture of both is expected. Either way, does being fed from birth, story after story of men summiting mountains, men crossing oceans, men conquering lands, men slaying dragons, men rescuing women, men forging kingdoms, men discovering treasure, men building fortunes, men orchestrating masterpieces… did this nourishment make a difference for the great men in our lives? If nothing else, it couldn’t have hurt, right?   Women, where are our stories? I don’t believe that women lack the toughness to fulfill our dreams… heck we’ve birthed this ungrateful world for millenia while enduring the title "weaker sex"! Perhaps it starts younger, smaller. “Pink, daughter! Pink is the best! Mayyybe purple!”, “Son, all the colors are great. Just not pink or purple.”   When Tanya Aebi was a teenager, her father gave her a challenge: go to college or sail around the world. Laura Dekker’s father helped Dekker prepare her boat and fend off the Dutch government before she claimed the title of "youngest person to sail around the world". Malala Yousafzai’s father said, “Why is my daughter strong? I didn't clip her wings.” As Bree Newsome, the woman of color who climbed the 30-ft flag pole to remove a certain flag, planned her act of civil disobedience, a white male friend was appointed to the symbolic gesture of spotting her as she made her heroic climb.   Let us nourish our daughter’s imaginations from birth, with story after story of women summitting mountains, women crossing oceans, women exploring unknowns, women slaying dragons, women bolstering kingdoms, women discovering treasure, women inventing machines, women building fortunes, women curing diseases, women solving the unsolvable, women orchestrating masterpieces, of women saving themselves, of women being heroes… Lift from where you stand, brethren. Share the stories. Dare us to dream.    

End

Family Bonding with the Government

I watched the movie "Wild" on the plane, and one of the songs is "El Condor Pasa (If I could)” by Simon & Garfunkel. It’s originally an orchestral musical piece by Peruvian composer Daniel Alomia Robles written in 1913 for the zarzuela (musical play) of the same name and based on traditional Andean folk tunes.  I found it quite serendipitous that the world’s most famous Peruvian song played on my first flight to Peru, “Away, I’d rather sail away, Like a swan that’s here and gone”. Get it? I am a half Peruvian Swan that sailed away? Tell me more about my life, Paul Simon.

We were up several flights of stairs at a church. It was 12:01 and the changing of the guard was at noon. I started freaking out because I really really really really really wanted to see it. I wanted to hear the brass band play Simon & Garfunkel!

Turns out I am not the only person who was overly excited about this. We stood behind this family. This kid was like 16, his first stache coming in, a little gamer posture starting to happen, standing there zoned out while his dad was zeroed in on his neck zit. Mom also available for backup. This took a long time but the dad finally got it, then handed his son the extraction. The son was only mildly interested in the findings but Ryan and I were dancing, laughing and barfing, which is why we didn't get any pictures.

That photo of the kid in the green shirt? We came out of a church into a court yard full of pigeons and he rushes up, mumble begging. We awkward smile, shaking our heads as he wanders off. There are a butt ton of pigeons so we start snapping pictures. Eventually, the kid saunters back, "Lemme see?" Ryan warily bends over to show him. "Can I see more?" Ryan starts flipping through them until we land on a photo with him in it. He turns to us, clears his throat, and sticks his palm out. Touche, hijo, touche.  

The Great Thieving

Retro post

Move to Lima

My friend Anna sent me a message the other day, “So, Peru? What? Where? Why? Wolfy?”     So Peru. Why Peru? Reasons: Our visas expired in New Zealand Didn't feel like sailing away  But didn't feel like staying.  Didn't want to go home, Always wanted to go to Peru because my mom is Peruvian, my parents met there, I had never been, my Spanish sucks, and the only reasonable way to improve my Spanish is to move there ;)… Why Lima? Reasons: One of our life goals was to live downtown in a big city, Lima has amazing food and is cheap compared to any big western city. It’s hardly worth cooking when I can get a great lunch that tastes like my mom or grandma made it for $3-$4. In terms of housing, it’s amazing what you can get for the price of a mediocre student housing in Provo. Where's Wolfy? Waiting for us on a pile mooring in NZ Are we done sailing/are you selling Wolfy? No, current plans involve flying back next year, prepping and sailing her back to the Americas before NZ tries to tack on an import fee of 20%. No sir.  

One of my initial impressions upon landing was that people dress much nicer here. I feel underdressed walking around in this city. People have these strange stands next to their beds for their daily suit. Suddenly, all those years of my mom agonizing over my clothes, my siblings’, and even my dad's sloppy clothing expressions make sense. Mami, sorry for all those times you wanted to hang a sign on me saying, "Don't judge my mom, I picked my outfit".

Kennedy Park Cat Park

I am getting reared up to start blogging again about our recent move to Lima, Peru. In the mean time, here are some cats.

We live near a park with 100 cats. I rubbed tuna on my arms and could only attract about 12 at a time, as they are territorial.

These cats get some serious love. They get fed every night, and a FB group keeps track of them and spays/neuters them. On weekends, each cat gets a lap and some Burger King nibbles. No pigeons or dogs live here.

New Caledonia

New Caledonia was the last stop before Australia. But we saw that lots of boats were sailing to NZ from New Cal, even though we were under the impression that we had missed that opportunity back in Tonga or Fiji. 

 But one night, Ryan casually brings up sailing to New Zealand instead of Australia. 

 "Sooooo...should we sail to NZ instead of Aus?" 

I had been thinking about it too but he said it out loud so the possibility now became more real. This is the point where I don't say anything, and just start mentally preparing for it. 

We hemmed and hawed the whole week. Our off-season plans were in NZ, and we found a place to leave Wolfy for $100/month (as opposed to $700/month in Aus), but we were scared of sailing there! We started talking to several boats. Some of whom did swell jobs at making us feel confident, "Aww yeahhhh you'll be fine" and others scaring the crap out of us (one boat got blown all the way back to New Cal). 

 Really, the ONLY reason to not sail to NZ was because fear. Even when we tried to find logical reasons to back up our fears, there were none. 

We stared at the weather, watching the highs and lows marching out of the Tasman up towards where we would eventually cross paths. We were all but guaranteed to get caught in something at least as bad as we have already been in. Just time it so you meet it in the middle and hope you don't get another one.

After Party

While I was all zoomed in on Kim and Lorna, Gwynn from Peregrine got some good shots of the locals (all photos in this post are from Gwynn).

Part of Vanuatan wedding festivities includes the mens leaving the party scene for some traditional kava-ing

Ryan: “Kim, Tom, Trevor and I were led through the dark forest by the LED of a local non-smart cellphone. We came to an opening with several small fires and groups of men surrounding each fire. Everything was hushed and we were told to only communicate in whispers. The only thing that was not very quiet was the very regular hawking-a-loogie sound coming from all the circles of men. They were all chewing chunks off pieces of kava root and then spitting them into big mounds on leaves. From the sound of things they were all getting low on spit. When one of the balls of chewed kava reached grapefruit size, Kim and I were lead over to a fire while water was poured through the ball and strained with fabric into the shell of an empty coconut. We each drank one and returned to our log feeling a bit numb in the face and a bit sick to our stomachs. Awhile later we were called up again for another hit.”

Meanwhile, the kids played music on their cellphones, and we danced while having our way with the cakes from Lorna and Gwynn. Then the locals unwrapped a big pile of chopped up pig, potatos, cassava and herbs inside banana leaves where it had all been cooked underground. Plus there was curry-spring onion potatos and sweet potato stewed in coconut milk. We had just started drooling when the dudes showed up.

"We returned to the feast area feeling pretty relaxed and numb all over. Everyone had gotten a bit tired of waiting for us, the cake had alreadyyy been eaten. Kim laid down in the middle of everything and fell asleep, Tom sat there, Trevor alternated between eating and nibbling his collar, and I pondered my ability to drive the dinghy back to the boat."

——

Ceremony on Mount Yasur

Village Reception

Kim and Lorna’s wedding

It began with a gender-segregated cleansing ritual on the beach. 

With no men in sight (sort of, they were just really far away, appearing to be the size of gummy bears), the ladies gathered on the beach around a seated, mostly naked Lorna. They presented hand-pressed coconut oil wrapped in a leaf parcel, which they first rubbed all over her, her hair, her face and then themselves. They offered to do the same for me, and I would have loved to join in but I was all set to document everything. Couldn’t risk coconutting the camera. 

She was then walked to the water’s edge and whipped with palm fronds-something about transitioning from girlhood to womanhood (and thus, Kim was not whipped). 

After the whipping, one of the ladies took Lorna’s hand and with a happy holler, she and all the ladies charged the waves, leaping, laughing and frolicking.

Lorna beamed, “That was so liberating!!!”

Crap. I should have joined in. 

She had really no idea what the traditional wedding garb would consist of until it was already on. Why wear just one color when you can wear all of them? She looked beautiful.   

Mordor

On the long drive back, we scouted out the volcano. Had to make sure it wasn’t world’s closest proximity to a stupid active volcano.

We peered in, saw the smoke and the lava way down there and after a while, we shrugged. It was alright. Tom, Kim, and Trevor walked to the edge and Stanely hollered after them to come back, it wasn’t safe. 

As they were walking back…

rrrrrrRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHKKKKKKKKkKkKkKkKkKkKkK!!!!!!!

The earth shook and we felt Sauron roar beneath our feet and we all started "hohohohohohohohoho!!!"-ing as heaving chunks of fiery, evil-smelling bile flew over our heads! Landing where the dudes had been standing earlier! Perrrrrrfect. 

Haha! Does your mind run amuck with all the Lord of the Rings possibilities? Ours did. Gollum as ring bearer, throwing rings into lava, dressing up like Orcs, and vows containing affectionate words like "Precious". So much potential! 

Off road

Zissou got engaged back in Tonga with an open-ended, leave-it-to-fate set of non-plans as far as nuptials were concerned. Port Resolution’s friendly village and world’s closest proximity to an active volcano inspired Lorna and Kim to put a ring on it on top of said volcano. 

The only problem was getting two non-optional pigs. No pigs, no wedding. Chief Narua made some calls and a day later, the pigs were on and so was the wedding! 

A small ceremony on the volcano was the intention but the village pulled together to start the party. So Sea Wolf-Zissou-Peregrine ran to town on a long, off-road ride for the day to clear customs and immigration and to stock up on kava and veggies for the roasting pit. 

To Vanuatu

Picking up where I left off: Fiji. Met Peregrine. Cool east-coast American couple who started with an itch to circumnavigate the globe and a $1 boat. After four years of refit and saving, and a year and a half into their voyage, we met in the streets of Laotoka. By now, everyone who had been listening to their radios knew that Zissou and Sea Wolf were an item, and we were way excited to make it a threesome. It will be interesting in future years, when we still refer to each other as Zissou, Sea Wolf and Peregrine, like we’ve formed our own Harry Potter Marauders Club with secret Animagus names.

So our newly expanded fleet pretended to not race for the almost 500 mile sail to Tanna Island, Vanuatu. We (Sea Wolf) got set back 2 hours waiting for access to the fuel dock because somebody cut in line. Ryan seethed, “I will be very mad if we arrive 2 hours after dark.” Two hours after dark on the dot, in annoyingly rainy, stormy conditions. Everything was completely black except for the sinister red glow of the volcano. A perfect vision of hell if there ever was one. And we were hove-to too close to land to get any good sleep. Zissou already made it in and Peregrine did it right by heaving-to 30 miles away for the night. It was poop.

Ocean nights still leave me unabashedly vulnerable to my emotions. Any rational feelings I have during the day, set with the sun. When there is no moon, or cloud cover that hides my moon, I am completely neurotic. Proof: if there is a harmless tiny dark cloud coming for us, I still sit underneath the dodger facing a certain way so that I don’t have to see it. If I try to be brave and peer out at it from underneath the dodger, my eyes involuntarily shoot green lasers into the cloud, parting it and Beelzebub himself looms through the sky and hurls me overboard with his clammy claws, leaving my stomach behind in the cockpit. I retreat back underneath the dodger.

I become exhausted from tension of the empty night and black ocean as we gallop through the howling void. An sinister infinity hoping to swallow me whole. But if night for me means possible terror, luckily, it can also be the opposite. Well after sunset, when I poke my head out, if the moon is out and the sky is clear, the weight of my fear melts away. My heart expands to fill the space in my chest with euphoria and I dance.

How many times can you say you’ve danced knowing no one is watching? And then the void retreats retreats retreats as I…I expand.