When Are You Coming Home? Lies Cruisers Tell

Q: Do you have a planned end to your cruise? When you get to a particular place? After a set number of years?  When you (or the girls) get to be a particular age?

A:  It is barely mid-November, and already I am getting reports from home about snow.  I sit in the cockpit reading my email, and when a chill wind blows and the temperature plummets to 24 C, I put on a fleece.  I can't even handle the suggestion of snow anymore, much less the reality.  Perhaps these notes are my family's passive-aggressive way of keeping us out at sea.  So if you ask me today when I'm going home, I'll shout out, "Never!  Not in a million years!"

Which is a lie.  Of course we're going home again.  But the problem with asking about The End is simple.  It is the absolute, number one, gold medal, top-ranked worst question to ask a cruiser because the answer you get will be worthless.  Because nobody really knows.

Which Passage Were You On?

It is a banner day here on Papillon - we have completed our first passage since last January when the forestay parted and we made an unscheduled six-month stop in Whangarei.  This was only an overnight hop, but we were out at sea! and we got from there to here with barely a hiccup.

It has been a long time since I have been able to write to you, dear readers, about actual sailing stuff.  You have kindly put up with my posts about fixing the rigging, and living in the yard, and all of the cruising-related activities that have nothing to do with boat-on-water + wind = fun.  So now that we are back in motion, the natural thing would be for me to write about our passage.

But we didn't just have one passage, did we?  We had four.

Up In The Air

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen; this is your captain speaking.  We have turned on the seat belt sign as we are experiencing light turbulence at the moment. We currently have a 101 knot tailwind up here in the jetstream...

I nearly fell out of my seat.  One hundred and one knots?  What!?  And this sleek bit of aluminum we were riding hadn't crumpled into a useless ball?  And I used to think that picking up an extra knot or two of current was a pretty big achievement.

Fish Out Of Water

Wait a minute...

Don’t be alarmed.  I know that is Papillon on the hard.  And you must be concerned.  Why are we out of the water?  Sure, we have no mizzen and lost our forestay, but that is no reason to haul out.  What could have possibly brought about this unwelcome change?  Because, as we all know, the hard is not one of your correspondent’s favorite places.  No running water.  No toilet.  Just grinder dust and painty elbows.

The fact of the matter is, into every life a little work must fall.  Cruising isn’t that expensive, aside from the repairs.  But one does need money in the bank account in order to eat regularly.  And call me an over-indulged first-worlder, but I like eating regularly.  And so, in order to keep eating and carry out all of those repairs we talked about, it is working time.

Long story short, we are in Adelaide for a couple of months.  Erik took the project on Tuesday, and by Saturday night we were in Australia.  I don’t think we’ve had to move that fast since we left Canada.  But here we are, in a sunny apartment in a lovely town, and I’m getting used to the ground staying still beneath my feet.  Erik starts work on Tuesday.  The girls start school a day or two later.  And poor Amy will be left at home, all alone, wondering what to do with her time.

Hee hee hee!

But in all seriousness, I have mixed feelings.  This is the first time we have been off the boat for any length of time since we moved aboard in October 2010.  I fear I have lost all of my land skills.  Can I readapt?  Do I want to readapt?  As much as I love having a fridge with a door in the front, is this really what I want long term?

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be examining the land life from a cruiser’s perspective.  The good, the bad and the ugly.  Then we’ll be back on our beloved Papillon, and we’ll see how that feels after a break on land.  I hope you’ll stick with me, and wish me luck during my time on an alien planet.

Man Down

Greetings, friends, from 18 23.62 S, 162 36.77 W. We are just starting Day 7 of our Tahiti-to-Tonga run. The winds are dying and poor Papillon is suffering the whack-and-smack of sails that every sailor dreads. But, this morning, I look out upon the ridiculous swell and our unraveling sunbrella with a song in my heart. For I, good people, am once again amongst the living.

We all know that I have trouble with seasickness. (Goodness knows, I haven't kept it a secret.) But normally it is four days of unpleasantness, then I'm back on my feet again. This is why our family likes long passages - as soon as we pass the magic four-day mark, I can actually enjoy myself, help sail, teach school, cook dinner, and be the generally pleasant human being we all know and love.

This passage, I was sick as a dog for six full days.

This is a problem. All of my seasickness coping mechanisms are based on a four-day illness. I cook ahead for four days. I get some little treats and activities ready for the girls for four days. Erik knows he only has to single hand for four days. The entire crew knows that Mom is going to be glued to a bench in the cockpit, head down, eyes closed for four days. Everyone knows the score.

Although they don't really understand it; my prolonged sickness is a bit of a puzzler for the rest of the crew. Indy has never had a seasick moment in her life. Erik confines his illness to inhaling diesel fumes in 16-foot seas. Stylish is the closest to understanding, but she outgrew her (very mild) seasickness about a year ago. To them, seasickness is brief nausea that goes away again. It isn't hot knives carving your eyeballs out from the inside. (Migraine sufferers of the world, my heart goes out to you.)

When Day 5 rolled around and I was still a mess, puzzlement soon turned to irritation. Crisis #1: the fridge was empty. The spaghetti, the stir-fry, the carrot sticks - gone. And while the girls take after my side of the family and could happily subsist on Sao crackers and jam from now until the end of time, Erik cannot. I could blame this on his mother being far too nice to him growing up, or the endless good meals served to him during his working life to allow him to work twenty hours a day. I could, but the truth is, the man just wants a decent meal, and how can I argue with that? I just wish the Good Fairy would show up to cook while I feel rotten.

Reluctantly, ungraciously, I peeled myself off the bench and went down to the galley. As I descended the five steps of the companionway, I transformed from Smeagol to Gollum. During my bad days, I am almost reasonable to talk to while I am in the cockpit lying down. Sitting up makes me cranky. Standing up will certainly generate (unreasonable) complaints against anyone in the vicinity. But sending me downstairs? Look out. I'll kill you as soon as look at you.

During these times, I try very hard to remind myself that I am not processing information normally. That when Erik makes suggestions, such as telling me that he always feels better after he throws up, he is really trying to help, and there are neither grounds nor need for me to tear him a new one. I try to remember, but sometimes it is hard when your brain is telling you that everyone else is an unreasonable jerk, and why can't they just leave me alone to die, gollum?

Day 6 dawned, and things were, if anything, worse. My head felt like someone was energetically scooping out my brains with a rusty spoon. The girls planned a halfway-there party, which meant I had to make a cake. Weep. I managed to make the wrong cake (even though I've made the requested chocolate cake dozens of times). The roast chicken was nearly a similar disaster. Erik, my hero, made potatoes, which, aside from being delicious, were the only things I managed to eat all day.

The girls were a dream. I dug out a package of balloons for them, and they quickly invented a game that kept them shrieking with laughter all afternoon.

When I finally crawled off to bed, I repeated a quiet chant in my head. I feel better. I feel fine. I am going to have a great day. Around and around it went, all through my midnight watch. And whether it helped or not, I woke up this morning feeling relatively human again. Oh, I still won't set foot down below unless I absolutely have to. But I've been out of bed for more than an hour now, have made breakfast, played puppies and help construct two Sailormoon bracelets, and I haven't snapped at anybody yet.

Mom is back in the game.

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One Year On

Home, sweet home.

Can it be true?  The Papillon crew has been living aboard for one full year.  And no one has murdered anyone else!  We've done so many things and visited so many places, it is hard even to remember those early days: adjusting to 15.5 square feet of floor space down from 2,000; running young Indy down the dock to the loo as we fought to free ourselves from diapers; learning to hear small noises and react to them immediately.  Where did the time go?

I refuse to let this post become a sappy reminiscence - well, okay, I’m likely temperamentally incapable of it - but I think I can manage a brief recap without going all gooey, don’t you?

Some Lessons I’ve Learned From A Year Aboard

• Once you reach the tropics, you cannot buy any food product packaged in cardboard.  No, really.  Don’t do it.
• Modesty and hot weather are almost wholly incompatible.
• If you give them the chance, people are delightfully nice anywhere you go, up to and including riot police waving and blowing kisses to our grinning girls in Cartagena.
• Markers are just as bad an idea with the under-6 set on a boat as they are in a house.

Nicest surprise 

• Guatemala.  We almost didn’t go, and I’m so glad we did.

Biggest regret

• Not getting a photo of the world's best perfume box.  This gem was sitting in a corner store display case in Guanaja: an oversized box with a dreamy, 70s-style airbrushed photo of a woman in purples and blues, and the words JUICE OF LOVE flowing across the front.  I curse leaving my camera behind that day.  Google Images was no help, so it looks like this bit of excellence will remain hidden from the world a while longer.

Papillon Trivia

• We have travelled more than 6,000 km so far, visiting the USA, Bahamas, Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras and Colombia.
• The Best Visitor Award goes to my mother, bunny9, who as of Monday will have visited Papillon a record four times.
• Indy has named her feet.  Formerly Bagel and English Muffin, they are both now named Rubber Biscuit.  I swear she came up with this on her own.  She has reluctantly allowed us to distinguish them, but I remain glad for the language barrier here when I say, “Indy, give me your starboard rubber biscuit.”  I am considering producing a translation guide for future teachers. 

I am a red race-car-loving, loud-opinion-having, literal-minded original.

• Erik sunburns faster and more regularly than anyone else on board. [insert joke about Erik’s hot temper here.]

I can fix anything and my head makes an excellent pillow.

• Stylish likes to deliver notes via Zhu Zhu pet.  She ties paper and pencil to the back of these hamster-like electronic pets using an endless supply of purple wool (provenance unknown).  I’ll hear whirring gears and frantic animal sounds , then feel the thing bounce off my foot.  Replies are expected to be returned in the same manner.

I am a book-reading, princess-drawing, mermaid-aspiring delight.

• Despite your kind words, I am singularly unfunny.  Your correspondent is the straight man in this operation, a dour, suspicious personage better suited to a drizzly moor than a palm-laden isle.

I am a crabby person who likes to write.  And yes, that is a cut on my hand.

I’d go on, but I am making pizza dough and the timer is about to go off.  Later, maybe we’ll kick back, have a beer, and peer at the USS Spruance anchored off to port.  Nothing says happy anniversary like a guided missile destroyer parked next door.

All the best to you all on this fine occasion!  I hope you'll join us to see what Year Two will bring.

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?

Q & A, part II

We're back!  Let's see what the mailbag has for us today.

Question: hindsight

What would you have done differently, or better, so far?  Would you have kept the same route and timing?

This is a tough question.  Although it was no picnic coming down the Chesapeake in fall (so, so cold), we did get a lot of practice in fairly calm conditions.  It also gave us time to discover some issues before we hit Fort Lauderdale in December.  There are places I would have liked more time in and place I could have skipped, but all in all, I’m pretty happy.

Question: togetherness

I love my spouse, but that sounds like pretty constant close quarters.  Should we be worried about you two?  Do you ever wish there were other adults to talk with besides each other?

First, let’s take a step back and see who we are dealing with.

This is Erik:

Look at me!  Look at me!  Look at me now!

As you can see, he is fun, happy, and likes to juggle many projects.  Erik is a classic over-achieving extrovert.

On the other hand, here I am:

One was Johnny who lived by himself, and liked it like that!

I am quiet.  I like to read, I like to write.  I am about as big an introvert as you’ll find outside a hermitage.

The girls take strongly after their father.

The wonderful thing about Tiggers is Tiggers are wonderful things

This is a boisterous and noisy boat.  There is no lack of company, even though there are only four of us.  I certainly had to adjust when we moved aboard, as there is no place to hide.  But now it all feels pretty normal, and we have all gotten good at respecting each other’s space, both physical and psychological.

But I’m not going to lie to you.  There have been days when I could have quietly sidled up to Erik on deck, given him a sharp shove overboard, and then practiced my crying face for when we encountered the authorities.  He has felt the same way about me.  This is normal, and neither of us takes it personally.  For many years we have followed a strategy of, “vent early and don’t stew.”  This means we get grievances out while they are still small, and nothing grows into A Big Issue.  In general, we get annoyed, bicker, glare, then forget the whole thing.  It works for us.

As for talking to other people, that is no problem.  We are always anchored out with tons of other boats, or in the marina with neighbours right beside us.  Any time we want to talk to retired white men, we can throw a stone and hit one.  (Do you see how I subtly gave you some information there?  I’m tricky some days.)

Not to digress too far, but this does bring up a point about cruising.  The people we have met are kind, generous, delightful company and generally all-around Good People.  We’ve had people show up with banana bread, lend us apartments, and watch the girls.  Strangers ran to get ice for Indy when she took a nasty spill.  Cruisers are made of awesome, in my opinion.  Anyone is doubt as to the inherent worth of their fellow man should live on a boat for a while.

However – and you knew there would be a “however” – cruisers are homogeneous.  This is what the cruising community looks like:

The Cruising Community: very nice, but very the same

It is white.  It is older.  It is mostly male.  In short, it lacks diversity.  Delightful people, but there it is.

Question: adversity

What has been the hardest thing to overcome?

There has been less to overcome than one might expect.  We’ve had to learn to be sparing with our fresh water.  I miss having laundry handy, and this whole top-lid fridge nonsense gets to me some days.  Even the seasickness isn’t so bad; Dramamine turned me into a zombie, and I developed an allergy to the scopolamine patch, but a friend put us on to some Mexican medication that I’m sure will do the trick.  Eternal optimism!

If I had to choose, I’d say our toughest problem is finding other kids, but that is improving.

Question: joys

What good things have you done?  What is the coolest thing you have seen on land and on water during the trip thus far?

We toured the Kennedy Space Center, met an astronaut and saw a rocket launch.  I did a night watch on a calm, cloudless, moonless night, and saw what the night sky should really look like.  We’ve seen dolphins and manatees, caught a tuna, and seen flying fish zoom hundreds of meters over the waves.  We climbed a Mayan pyramid and saw ruins still hidden in the jungle.  We’ve played in parks all over the US and Mexico.  We saw a baby goat minutes after it was born.  I get to read to my girls whenever the mood strikes us.  And we’ve done it as a family.  Even when we are driving each other bananas, I wouldn’t trade it.

Question: leaving civilization behind:

What do you miss most from home, after us of course?

When we moved, we got rid of many carloads of stuff to charity.  I am still waiting for the day when one of the girls asks about something that has been given away.  I know I haven’t missed our things.

I miss the Miele – the world’s greatest washing machine.  I miss my neighbourhood.  I’m hard-pressed to think of anything else, aside from friends and family.  I do not miss my car.  I do not miss having the haul the kids out of bed at an ungodly hour, stuff them full of breakfast and hustle them out the door and onto the school bus.  I don’t miss TV, newspapers or advertising of any description.  I don’t miss feeling I need to acquire things.  At all.

Question: food, glorious food

What is your favourite meal on the boat?  Do you eat ice cream and treats on the boat?

I polled the crew for favourite meals.  Stylish: lasagne.  Erik: hot dogs (or le ‘ot dog, as he calls it).  Indy: gummy worms.  Amy: anything I don’t have to prepare myself.  (Boy, I think I am going to have to monitor our eating habits.)  Yes, we have occasional treats.  Gelato is a favourite, as it is so hot down here. 

Question: gettin’ educated
How long does Stylish spend in school?  What days and times?  What does Indy do during school? Does Indy go to school too?  What are they learning?

We do school most mornings, weekends, too, unless we have something else going on.  We tend to slow down or stop when we have visitors.  I intend to continue school through the summer, so there is no need to race ahead.  I have Stylish’s books for next year already, so one day we will discover we have started grade two.  We follow the curriculum from Stylish’s school back home in terms of math, reading and so forth, and supplement with our own projects.  We’ve done Leonardo DaVinci and Space, for example.  Right now we are doing the Mayas, since there are lots of ruins in the area.

Indy insists on attending school, too.  Her letters and numbers are quite good, and now she is starting to identify words.  She looks for “a” and “the” in magazines and writable books, and circles them.  She is keen to read like her sister.

Question: houseguests

When can we visit?

We love visitors.  Reading this blog, it may seem like we are all alone all the time, but that it not the case.  We have met friends and family along the way since the early days of our trip.  I don’t tend to write about them because, well, I like my friends and family, and they deserve their privacy.  I tend to write humourous stories about our experiences, and I don’t want to use my people as story-fodder.  They didn’t sign up for that.  This is a failure on my part – a writer should serve the story at all costs – but I am willing to take that hit.  Our visitors are part of the hidden life of Papillon.

Question: time
What time do you get up in the morning?  When do you go to bed?

All too early on both counts.  Indy is a morning person, and arrives in bed with us by 0630 demanding juice and breakfast.  Stylish and Erik would stay up all night if they could.  Some nights, I’m so tired by the time I get the young people to bed that I am asleep myself ten minutes later.  Other nights I do better.

Question: flora and fauna

Do you have any pets or plants on the boat?

Afraid not.  Papillon is critter-free.  We have encountered a lot of boats that have a dog or cat, though.  Plants are a bigger problem, as countries don’t like you taking that stuff across borders, so not many people have plants.

Question: girls just wanna have fun

Do you ever get to go to the movies?  What games do you play on the boat?

We haven’t been out to the movies, but we do have a little DVD player on board which gets occasional use.  We have board games like Monopoly jr, snakes & ladders, and Sorry!  Stylish and I play modified Scrabble.  Mainly, the girls like playing with Duplo, bristle blocks, Little People, race cars and Barbies.  We make up more games than anything.  They also love drawing and writing in notebooks.

Whew!  That was a big list.  I hope that gives you all a bit of insight into Papillon.  And feel free to send further questions; I’ll do this again sometime.

Q & A, part I

Eliciting questions from you, dear readers, was an interesting exercise.  Most people want to know about the same things: our route planning, our kids, and above all, our safety.  Oh, boy, did I get questions about safety.  In contrast, Stylish’s best friend, a girl we will call Gemini as the two are practically twins, asked the best question of the crop: What good things have you done on your trip?  I leave it you to decide who is focused on the right things in this scenario.  I know where my vote goes.

I am going to split this into two posts.  First, we will deal with some nuts-and-bolts practical issues.  In a couple of days, we’ll look at the touchy-feely aspects of our trip.

Well, then.  On with the show!

Question the first: destinations

Are your plans secret?  Where are you going?  When are you going to get there?  How precise is your route?  Where do you cruise to stay comfortable? 

As a reminder, here is a quick look at where we have been:

Follow the red line.

Cool, right?  We’ve gone pretty far, considering we max out at about 8 knots.  (That is about 9 mph, or 15 kph, to you land-based types.)  But that is the past.  What is our future?

First of all, we do not have secret plans.  I find it difficult to believe that anyone is trolling the internet looking for sailing blogs so they can accost said sailors.  Seriously.  Desperate people are either a) too busy trying feed themselves or b) just generally have bigger fish to fry.  If we have trouble, it will be a crime of opportunity.  So, no secrets.  We just kind of don't know.

Some of the first advice we received when researching this trip was: when people want to visit, give them a place or a date, but not both.  Sailing is too uncertain.  I’ve repeated this so many times to so many people.  And everyone nods sagely, says they understand completely, and then asks where we are going to be on such-and-such a date.

I understand this is a difficult concept.  I clearly remember speaking to a woman last summer about our upcoming trip.  She shook her head and said, “I couldn’t deal with that much uncertainty.”  And she nailed it: cruising is all about uncertainty.  Sometimes we don’t know where we are going tomorrow, much less next week or next month.

That said, we have ideas.  When we leave Isla Mujeres, we will continue south along the coast.  Belize has beautiful reefs, so we’ll likely do a lot of daysailing with diving/snorkelling in between.  After that, we may go to Rio Dulce (Guatemala).  Or maybe not.  We are aiming for Cartagena in the medium term.  Long term, we want to hit the San Blas islands, and the Galapagos.  Maybe a Pacific crossing waits for us next spring.  In truth, all of that is so far away as to be almost imaginary.  In reality, when we wake up in the morning, we have a direction we want to go and we have the weather we’re given.  We work from there.

As for comfort, I'm not going to lie to you.  It's hot.  We deal with comfort by both toughening up, and swimming a lot.  We have a tiny a/c on board, but we don't use it as it is a power hog.  I'm more worried about the bugs that are to come.  In the end, I think we'll manage by leaving places that are too uncomfortable.

Question the second: kids

Do the girls spend much time with other kids?  Is the age gap an issue?  Has the boat become normal for the girls?  More normal than a house?

One of the tough things about this trip has been the lack of small fry.  Certainly, Stylish and Indy have made friends along the way.  But no one has been around for more than a week, which is tough.  We keep hoping to see more kids as we head further south.  Keep your fingers crossed for us.

The age gap is there, but isn’t too terrible.  The girls can play together, and although it isn’t the same as having a peer, a sibling is a pretty good substitute.  I feel for the solitary kids on boats; I don’t know how they manage.

As for “normal”, that is the big question.  Stylish is starting to forget what our house looked like.  I doubt Indy remembers much pre-boat; she was barely two when we moved aboard.  There are days when I worry the kids are becoming feral, but then again, mainly they seem happy and curious and interested in life.

Just to show how disgustingly wholesome and happy they are, here is a video Stylish riding a horse last week at the ranch we visited:

Question the third: the boat

Does the boat and its systems meet your needs?  Some systems must have performed flawlessly; the hull, for example.

As I feel underqualified to answer this question, we have a guest comment from His Nibs: “Based on the horror stories we have heard, Papillon is above average system-wise.  Happily, we managed to identify and rectify many of the flaws before leaving.  Currently we continue to be plagued by the complexity of a legacy electrical system.  But time and patience will surely get us there as well.”

Doesn’t that sound optimistic?  I know I feel better.

Question the fourth: safety

There are pirates out there!  There are so many pirates in the Caribbean, they made them into a Disney ride and series of terribly boring movies!  What are you doing about the pirates?  Ahhhhhh!

Lookity.  Pirates are no joke.  They are desperate people.  I know that.  But we are not going to the Gulf of Aden.  We talk to other cruisers to get local information.  Trust me, we don’t want to see Bad Guys either.  Seriously, people.  If you are choosy about where you go and use some common sense, the risk is low.  You don’t see me giving you grief about commuting to work along the 401, do you?  Your risk of a car accident is much higher than my risk of encountering pirates.  But cars feel familiar.  They are part of the background of urban life, so you just file Car Accidents in your brain in the Normal & Mundane Acceptable Risk box.  As you never have to think about pirates in your daily life, they get slotted into the Scary & Unfamiliar Excessive Risk box.  But that doesn’t mean they belong there.

But do you know what no one is talking about?  Whale attacks.  Check it out:

This whale attack occurred last summer near South Africa.  And only a few days ago some poor sods were attacked in Oregon.  But is anyone writing to me in a  panic about that?  No, sir.  Because whales are all cute and endangered.  And they didn’t mean to do it.  Ri-iiiiight.  Sure they didn’t.  You keep telling yourself that.

Question the fifth: medical roundup

So, how's about that broken finger?

Why, thank you for asking.  It has finally healed.  The new nail is almost fully grown in, and it looks pretty normal.  I still have a lump of scar tissue inside the finger; it feels like I have a pearl stuck in there when I press on it.  I notice that I don't type with it any longer.  But it works, and that is all that matters.

That about does it for today.  More is forthcoming!

Home again

Did you miss me?  Of course you did.  Well, those of you who sent in questions did.  To the rest of you lurkers - and I know you're there - shame on you.  You people could have come up with something.  I'm looking at you, relatives.  (Except CLL, who is made of win).

Our trip was a great success. I'm tired, so I am going to leave the questions for another day.  Instead I present you with a brief account of the day of our departure.

0424  Wake up.

0500  Unload small people from the boat in the dark and high winds.  Depart marina and find taxi.

0530  Ferry to Puerto Juarez

0600  Taxi to Cancun airport

0630  Arrive at terminal in plenty of time for 0800 flight. Stare bleary-eyed at screen and wonder what FBO means under the gate assignment.  Information stand is closed.  Decide to eat breakfast.

0705  Aided by a passel of waiters, determine FBO is another terminal.

0720  Board shuttle.  Beg driver to take us to FBO, which is a request-only, unscheduled stop.

0742  Check in with blasé girl, totally unconcerned that we leave in 18 minutes.  Wait in living room-sized area.

0758  Follow flight attendant with other 15 passengers through miniature security and out to plane.

0759  Discover flight attendant is actually co-pilot.

0800  Depart Cancun in very noisy turbo prop plane.

0810  Circle airport and land again.

0811  Listen to lengthy announcement in Spanish.  Full English announcement: "We have mechanical."  Return to living room waiting area.

0945  Once again pass through mini-security.  No boarding pass or documents requested this time through. 

0946  Reassure Stylish that the plane is fixed, the noise is normal, and we really, really, I swear really are going to be fine.  Depart Cancun.

0955  Watch pilots navigate via handheld garmin gps.

"At the intersection in 400 meters, turn right."

0958  Indy needs the restroom.  There is no restroom. Tell Indy every three minutes that she is going to have to "be a big girl and hold it in."

1045  Land in Merida.  Rush inside to use restroom.

1051  At urging of co-pilot, rush back outside with restroom group to reboard plane to continue on to our desination, Villahermosa.  No boarding pass or security this time – just a door to the runway.

1245  Arrive at Villahermosa.  Starving.  (Meal times of 0730, 1200 and 1800 are strictly observed on Papillon).  Climb in car and head out to ranch.

1500  Lunch (hungry).

2200  Dinner (oh so hungry.  And sleepy.)

0000  Bed.  Vague feeling that sentience fled body about three hours previous.  Mental shrug.  Sleep.