Goodnight, Sweetheart, Well, It's Time To Go

Christmas is over. It's a new year. And I am sitting at a desk in front of a shiny new desktop computer. There's a dishwasher in the kitchen and a washing machine in the back room. I sleep in a bed with covers. And, unlike in years past, this isn't a temporary situation.

We have moved home.

You Never Know What Will Be Difficult

Friends, I'm irked. This post is the cumulative result of six weeks of steady annoyance. So if you are looking for positivity today, I must sadly suggest you look elsewhere. I am going to be cross and crotchety, and I won't have a good word to say about anyone or anything. Okay? Okay. Let's get started.

Every country has its quirks. As a traveller, most of those quirks fall in the "good" column - different food, pace of life, community rhythms. But some quirks are simply irritating. Remember the mysterious liquor sale laws of New Caledonia?

And somehow, I still always tried to buy cider on a Wednesday afternoon.

In Germany, we had to return our milk bottles to a separate facility than all of our other glass bottles. I couldn't make collect calls from New Zealand. And so the list goes. You never know what a place will do differently than everyone else on the planet.

But I admit, I never expected to find that one can't ship personal goods from Malaysia to Canada.

Boatsitting

After sitting in an airplane for twenty-seven hours with two increasingly rangy kids, there was only one thing I wanted when I got back to Noumea.  It wasn't a hot shower (although I needed it.)  It wasn't a good night's sleep on a horizontal surface (although I needed that even more.)  All I wanted as we pulled up to the marina was to see Papillon afloat.  Steal my luggage and cancel my credit cards, but please don't let my boat be resting in the mud.

Not that I left my home unattended: I asked a friend to keep an eye on Papillon.  But the problem with asking other cruisers to watch your boat is that, well, they're cruisers.  They cruise.  And so, a week into my vacation, I got an email that looked something like this:

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.

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?

Bringing Home a New Dinghy

I have never owned a new vehicle.  My first car: used.  Ditto cars two through four.  Papillon is older than I am.  And all three of our dinghies were previously enjoyed.  (Even our former house was in its eighties when we bought it, but since it didn't stand up and walk around à la Howl's Moving Castle, I don't suppose it counts.)

Last year, we did a bit of a dinghy shuffle. We sold the old inflatable, and took on a tinny and a small sailing dinghy.  This was a good move.  The sailing dinghy is fun for the kids - especially Stylish, who loves to row it around the anchorage - and the tinny is perfect for Pacific conditions.  It can handle sharp coral-rubble beaches, and it is just right for longer trips around the lagoon.

But the tinny we bought was old and much-repaired.  We knew that going in, and we got it for a song.  It was the perfect tester; we knew it wouldn't be a long-term solution for us.  Much like the beater car that you can use in-town but not on the freeway, the Ramco will be great for someone sticking close to shore or going fishing up the river.  But the dinghy is our family car, and it needs to perform.  We needed something more.  And since dinghy prices in New Caledonia are surprisingly reasonable, it was time to make the big leap to Buying Something New.

Cruising Talk: A Translation Guide

What is this woman talking about?

I hope everyone has read Michael Robertson's The Complete Guide to Caring for a Cruiser in this month's Sail.  If not, go on; I'll wait.  Back?  Okay.  Michael's article is a timely reminder that cruisers are, to put it kindly, a little different.  But I feel compelled to add on to his fine work.  Communicating with cruisers can be a challenge, whether you are a friend, relative, cruising spouse or simply a normal person.  Below you will find some common points of misunderstanding.  I hope this translation guide helps you to talk to the cruisers in your life.

Cruiser:  "Could you help me out here, Mavis?"
Cruising Spouse:  "Sure thing, Pete."
What the Cruising Spouse hears:  Pete needs some minor assistance for a few minutes.
What the Cruiser hears:  "Pete, it would give me the utmost pleasure to be your assistant/slave for the next eight hours."
Lesson:  Before agreeing to help a cruiser, ask for clarification regarding time, difficulty and dirtiness level expected.  Then triple it.

Hold that flashlight steady for me, would you?