Keep It Accessible

What is wrong with this picture? Take a good look. We see a hose run above, a seacock below... wait a minute. What about that hose in the middle?  The part someone built into a wall and then painted over? Gee, I hope that never fails, because someone is going to have a hard time getting at it.

Exactly.

That hose did fail,and that person is me.  And if there is one thing I resent, it is making an easy job hard.  I have enough to do without battling this sort of nonsense.  So today, dear readers, we are going to take a refresher course on Things I Promise Never To Do On My Own Boat Or Amy Will Track Me Down And Beat Me Senseless With My Vicegrips And I'll Deserve It, Too.

Shoe Destruction

On Sunday evening, Indy buried her head in my leg and cried, "I don't want to go back to school!"
I patted her head.  I was surprised, I had to admit it.  Indy was always keen on school; she had been so pleased that the new school year would begin the next day.
But before I could say anything comforting, she went on: "I can't stand wearing shoes all day!  My feet get so hot!"
Oh.
"But your new shoes are so comfy," I said, certain I was the only parent in Noumea trying to reassure her child that her feet wouldn't catch fire from wearing shoes all day.  "And I'm sure they will breathe well.  You can take them off the moment you get home."
"How about the moment school is over?"
"Nope.  At home."
"Fine.  I'm going into the hammock."

We have a troubled relationship with shoes on this vessel.  Most of the time, we go barefoot.  It is comfortable, it is breezy, and everyone likes it.  But that isn't possible on shore.  Aside from the issues of broken glass and ubiquitous dog poo, one is expected, as a civilized person, to hide one's ugly hobbit feet in a more pleasing wrapper when gadding about town.

Here Be Dragons

Here were are in the Rio Dulce.  We've had a nice time in El Golfete, but it is time to visit town and reprovision.  Let's sail on to Fronteras.

First, we turn on the GPS.

Don't fall off!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh.  Well.  Our boat appears to be on land, which is a little worrisome.  And the world sort of ends there, doesn't it.  I guess those special Caribbean charts we bought weren't all they were cracked up to be.

No matter.  We still have our fancy computer navigation software.  First, let's take a look at google maps to see where we are going.

I know where Guatemala is!

Excellent.  Top right arrow to bottom left arrow.  Got it.  Let's open Coastal Explorer.

I can haz map?

And... oh.  No.  So, hmm.  It looks like we have to cross the Universal Transverse Mercator Grid, cut the corner of the Caution: Inadequately Surveyed Areas box, then emerge back onto the overly-zoomed river near the "M" in Guatemala.  Brilliant.

It may seem that we could get from one place on the river to another just by, you know, pointing the boat the right way, but as in all things, it isn't that easy.  Shoals and submerged pilings are our deadly enemies.  Luckily, our guidebook gave two GPS coordinates to navigate by; without those, we might have been in trouble.

And, just for comparison's sake, here is the map of Key West we used back in the day (at higher magnification, I might add):

Look at me!  I'm well-defined!

See all those little numbers?  Those are depths.  Go back and note the total absence of depth numbers on the Guatemala chart.  And when we get closer?

Any closer and you could see individual houses.

Buoys, depths, even buildings.  Is this all a plot to remind us how easy everything is back in civilization?  A vast conspiracy to make us run for home?  Oh, what dark days are these?

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, Where Does Your Power Go?

I miss cheese.

Back in the days of land-livin', we were quite the dairy consumers. Milk at lunch and dinner, and cheese whenever, the sharper the better. Erik and I spent many an anniversary sharing Roquefort on Melba toast, accompanied by a cold Sauterne. I slowly increased our household Cheddar sharpness until Stylish was quite happy to consume old cheddar that smelled like gym socks. And I was a sucker for anything on sale on the store that was green-veined and looked like it might bite back.

Alas, our cheese days are behind us now. In the first place, it is unavailable here. Mexico offered only the blandest cheese-approximate substances, which were good for making quesadillas and not much else. Guatemala hasn't even got that. And so I make my sad face, and strike grilled-cheese off my list of lunches.

In the second place, even if I could find stinky cheese, I couldn't necessarily keep it cold.

Now. I am sure that you at home have never had cause to question the energy requirements of your fridge. At most, maybe you bought a new appliance, looked at the yellow energystar tag that came with it, congratulated yourself on being a responsible consumer, and instantly forgot the experience.

My friends, I was once like you! No longer. As we have moved into hotter and hotter weather, our fridge has struggled to keep up. Which means it runs more often. Which means the 12 V batteries run down. Which means we have to run the generator more often. Which means we are burning diesel just to keep our mayonnaise cold. Not good, not good.

We lucked into finding a boat refrigeration expert here in the Rio Dulce. He looked over the system, and gave us the sad verdict that our system is fine; we are simply under-insulated. This is bad news because it means we don't have an easy fix for our power-guzzling fridge. We have to rip the whole thing out and start again.

Once again; at home, no problem. Unplug old fridge. Wheel out old fridge. Recycle responsibly. Wheel in new fridge. Plug in. Smile happy smile. For us, our top-loading fridge and freezer are built right into the kitchen counter. We'll have to gently remove the teak counters that cover the lid, somehow pull the massive stainless-steel liner that form the body, rip out the likely-saturated insulation beneath, put in new insulation 3-4 inches thick, build a new liner to fit the new space, possibly in situ, and put it all back together again.

Does that sound fun and mess-free? No, I didn't think so. We've decided to put the job off until we reach Cartagena, but we can't push it much beyond that. I am not looking forward to Erik ripping up the kitchen, blocking the stove and the microwave, so that not only won't we have any means of keeping things cold, aside from a cooler and a block of ice, but I also won't be able to cook anything we do have. It sounds like ten days of peanut butter sandwiches to me.

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