A New Adventure

There comes a time in every person's life when she must ask herself, "do I want to move to Papua New Guinea?"

It isn't always "Papua New Guinea." Sometimes it is "a new town." Or "take a different job." Or "go back to school." It just happens to be Papua New Guinea in my case, because that is the way my life seems to work. Like Belle, I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. I'll just never be the one with the big house, the minivan, the soy latte and the lululemons. I'd rather learn Tok Pisin.

Moving aboard was a big DIWTMTPNG moment for me. I had no sailing experience. I had a comfortable life. I had friends and family nearby. Why give all that up? To have an adventure with my husband and kids. To do something new. To experience a different slice of life and travel the world. And when I viewed it in those terms, going cruising changed from being an idea to an opportunity. So, of course, I said yes.

Through the Panama Canal

I'm not going to lie to you: crossing the Panama Canal is exciting.  Massive cargo ships, other sailboats, the prospect of getting dashed against the walls and sinking in the lock - the Canal has it all.  Lucky for me, my computer-savvy family was able to capture part of the journey via the webcams set up at each lock - be sure to watch the flipbook at the end of the post!

Originally appeared in Canal Win! on May 5, 2012
Waiting for your canal date is a lot like waiting for Christmas when you are six years old.  Time moves unendurably slowly, and at some point you are convinced the big day is never going to arrive.  And then it does.  And then you are so excited and jumpy and full of sugar that you can hardly focus long enough to enjoy the experience.  But, since I'm a grown-up and all mature and stuff, I was able to calmly record my observations.  When I wasn't busy being excited and jumpy and full of sugar.

Onboard Haircuts: A Necessary Evil

Although I can't claim we spend our days in yachting whites, we aboard Papillon do make an effort to meet a minimum standard of grooming.  This isn't always easy when your choice is between sufficient drinking water and a nice shower, but we do our best. One of our persistent problems has to do with hair. Let's face it: we're a hairy boat.  So how do we manage those strands of waste protein that just won't stop growing?

Originally appeared as Long, Beautiful Hair on November 12, 2012
When I was little, Saturday morning was not complete without cartoons on channel 29 out of Buffalo. One of the staple commercials breaking up He-Man and Scooby Doo was The Hair Club For Men. Happy clients shook their newly-thickened locks as they cavorted in hot tubs with young models in blue eyeshadow and grinned knowingly at us, the viewers, around their Burt Reynolds mustaches. I never understood why men would want those elaborate, shiny perms, and I put it down to Strange Things Grown-Ups Do.

Maybe the problem was that I didn´t identify with the untamed styles of the late 70s. In my family, hair was neatly cut, no matter whether you tended to the thinner end of the hair continuum, or you fell on the hairy end of the curve. When my brothers were about seven and ten, a movie was filmed at their summer camp. My brothers were instantly cast to wrestle in the background of a certain shot. Why? Because the movie was set in the 50s, and their crewcuts were perfect.

As Everyone Else Heads Out to Sea

Cyclone season is officially over in the South Pacific.  The weather has shifted from "unbearably hot" to"uncomfortably hot". I am no longer glued to my gribs. We made it through cyclone season in one piece.

Time to sit back and relax a little. But, a couple of days ago, something strange started happening. People started leaving. I knew that some of my neighbours were only in the marina for cyclone season, but I didn't realize just how many were going to be booted out come May 1st. Here we are, on the Fête du Travail, and the boats are leaving in a steady stream.

Empty docks, waiting for new arrivals.

Frozen

One of the much-vaunted benefits of travel is that it makes you open to new things.  It is supposed to be a growth experience.  Spending time with new people, living life in different ways, seeing the beautiful places of the world as well as the desperately sad ones - all of these things are supposed to make me into a wise old crone.  By the time I move home, I should be so full of the Wisdom of the Earth that people will run from my smug face at a hundred paces.  But today, I have learned a different lesson.  Hold on - let me adjust my flowing robes, put on a mysterious smile and gaze into the distance.  Ready?  I have learned... that I can longer tolerate the cold.  Not even a little bit.  I know this because I am sitting bundled up in a long-sleeved shirt, blowing on my fingers in Brisbane, Australia.  A place that will climb to 30 C today.  But, compared to Noumea?  I feel like someone has set me out to drift on an ice floe.

I've never been a cold weather fan.  This is no secret.  But this new development does worry me just a little.  It is not a good idea for my body to turn tropical.  For one thing, my home is back at 43 N.  I remember the scritch-scritch of snowpants and wearing two layers of grandma's knitted mitts.  I dread and respect black ice.  I know that when half a meter of snow falls overnight, you don't call in the army - you just trade head-shakes with your neighbours, send someone to Tim Horton's for a round of double-doubles, and get shovelling.

Am I Still A Cruiser When I'm Not Sailing?

I spent Wednesday evening packed into a small cafeteria with two hundred other parents.  As we listened to Stylish's principal talk about school rules and signing homework planners, I smiled to myself as I thought of how many similar "welcome to the new school year" talks I'd been to in years gone by.  French or English, here or there, every primary school seems to follow the same script.  Just the like the birthday party Indy attended the weekend before.  Same kids, same moms, same presents, same activities.  Except for the language, it was just like home.

A chill ran down my spine as the realization hit me.  I am living my old, pre-boat life: staying in one place, husband away working, kids in school, me running the household.  Am I even a cruiser anymore?