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Liveaboard Article
Halloween of 1996, Tom and I sailed north from Trinidad. The next sunny years featured Romance amid Caribbean palms and turquoise waters. A state-side wedding in an ocean-side grove. Total eclipse of the sun seen from an active volcanic island. Perpetual repairs on our home—a 35-year-old, all-teak sailboat. International friendships and intrigue. Woodworking and stained glass in our island workshop. For 3 years, I wrote a column for a Caribbean boating magazine about the trials and wonders of living aboard a small boat. A compilation is in the works--here's Chapter 6. Feedback and referrals to publishers are greatly appreciated.
Girl Talk
Liveaboard Month Two
Well, I found the inverter wouldn’t run my sewing machine—but with so many additional chores to fill my liveaboard days, I’m not too disappointed.
“What chores?” ask the folks back home. I’m sorry to disillusion them. I know they need that picture of me relaxing—blond and tanned in a tiny bikini, papaya and pineapple slices at the starboard hand, rum punch at the port. Reading stacks of books. Doing crosswords in pen. Cooking gourmet meals. Watching the sunset each evening. They need that image to throw mental darts at on cold wintry nights.
Now I admit, I entertained those fantasies too—before. The week in Trinidad scraping and bottom painting the lovely Kehaar seemed fair payment for an island–hopping month up to St. Maarten. Wasn’t life aboard just like this—a glorified vacation? I was a new girlfriend then, fresh from the hectic blizzards of New England; Tom was eager to show me life Caribbean-style. I was carefree in my narrow goal—tanning my skin a yummy teak color to match the boat.
Back in St. Maarten, Kehaar went up on the hard and we settled into Caribbean shoreside living.
A year later, I’m a liveaboard wife feeling like a pioneer woman traveling west in a covered wagon. Did I bring the right tools and supplies? Do I have the fortitude? What in my suburban background could have prepared me for this new lifestyle? Though never a couch potato, I wondered what we’d do at night without a television, far from concert halls and theatres in a working-family anchorage and needing to conserve the solar-rejuvenated boat batteries.
I explained before that Kehaar is sweet to look at, but a challenge for the liveaboard wife. I’m not complaining, mind you. But there’s a learning curve I hadn’t reckoned on. Right off I saw that I wasn’t prepared for how much longer it takes to do everything out here. Like those pioneers—milk the cow, let the cream rise, churn the butter.
Out here, everything can be done with a financial economy never dreamt of before. It all just takes time. Usually lots of time. One neighboring boatwife rarely leaves the boat. What could she be doing, I wondered. I’ve found out.
Instead of waking to the aroma of a timed automatic-drip coffeemaker, my day starts with repeated priming and pumping of the persnickety primus stove. Stow all bedding. Bag and take the trash ashore. Remember to call for water delivery before running out. Foot pump the week’s precious water. Hand- and foot-flush the head. Support the icebox’s bag-a- day habit. Brush my hair in the cockpit to keep the bilge unclogged. Deal with the mentally unbalanced dinghy. (I can just hear the sympathetic groans up there in new England.)
Then there’s the laundry situation. First I lug the bag to and from the Laundromat in our leaky dinghy. Hang them up to dry.
But wait, that’s not so simple. Amidst those howling Christmas winds, I was positive my skivvies would wash up in Mexico. So we spied on our two young cruising neighbors (sisters 5 and 7) to learn the yachtie technique.
First, string lines from mast to backstay through sleeves and crotches, then tie off the lines and pin those items securely with extra pins to keep them in place. For pieces which can’t be strung (like sheets and towels) place a huge number of pegs down the sides of the fabric as well as across the top.
The winning combo of sun and gusting winds not only dries, but crisply irons out the wrinkles.
Without a shower on board, personal hygiene is nearly as much fun as the laundry. First, fill 2 water bottles with fresh “sweet” water and wedge them between the toe rail and winch to warm in the sun. Hook up the swim ladder. Practice fancy dives, get wet and splash about. Climb aboard and lather up with Joy dishwashing detergent. Of course all of you know that Joy is the only “soap” to lather in salt water: Mmmm, squeaky clean, especially my hair! Rinse off, first in the salt, then ration out the precious fresh for the final rinse.
I know you’re pleased to know I’ve come so far so quickly. But I feel sure the burning question on all your minds is, “How is that poor girl dealing with the icebox situation?”
Well, we had dinner with neighbors (20-year liveaboards) and couldn’t believe it when they said they’d never had refrigeration. I was skeptical, but I’d just enjoyed a delicious meal. So we tested it out one stay-at-home weekend and just never got around to buying any more ice. It was hard to toss out the mayonnaise, but many foods do last longer than sterile technology admits.
And in case you were worried about our leisure time without television, we’re practicing for the Caribbean Yachties Backgammon Championships and are writing up our delectable recipes using those odd-shaped local roots, dried soy chucks, cabbage and seeds with plans to submit them to Gourmet magazine.
All this after a day of intense boat chores (scraping, sanding, painting, varnishing, rewiring, repairing…) makes falling asleep in our separate berths fairly easy just after sunset.
So, okay, the daily routine takes at least twice as long. It’s inconvenient, repetitive and often just hard work. But as Tom says, “Might as well do it somewhere nice!”
As time marched on, I added this paragraph to Girl Talk:
Mildew, Mold and Mustiness, the triumvirate of creepiness, can get serious indeed on a boat. Though I’m not the best of housekeepers under ideal conditions, this is one problem that must be addressed with regularity. Periodically, all items must be taken out, hung up to air out, with cupboards washed and well-dried before replacing items. Vinegar/water spray is inexpensive, not as bad as some chemicals for the marine life and works well on everything from windows to countertops to toilets. And proper venting—keeping those dorades facing properly —is a girl’s best friend.
Let me know what you think!
Girl Talk
Liveaboard Month Two
Well, I found the inverter wouldn’t run my sewing machine—but with so many additional chores to fill my liveaboard days, I’m not too disappointed.
“What chores?” ask the folks back home. I’m sorry to disillusion them. I know they need that picture of me relaxing—blond and tanned in a tiny bikini, papaya and pineapple slices at the starboard hand, rum punch at the port. Reading stacks of books. Doing crosswords in pen. Cooking gourmet meals. Watching the sunset each evening. They need that image to throw mental darts at on cold wintry nights.
Now I admit, I entertained those fantasies too—before. The week in Trinidad scraping and bottom painting the lovely Kehaar seemed fair payment for an island–hopping month up to St. Maarten. Wasn’t life aboard just like this—a glorified vacation? I was a new girlfriend then, fresh from the hectic blizzards of New England; Tom was eager to show me life Caribbean-style. I was carefree in my narrow goal—tanning my skin a yummy teak color to match the boat.
Back in St. Maarten, Kehaar went up on the hard and we settled into Caribbean shoreside living.
A year later, I’m a liveaboard wife feeling like a pioneer woman traveling west in a covered wagon. Did I bring the right tools and supplies? Do I have the fortitude? What in my suburban background could have prepared me for this new lifestyle? Though never a couch potato, I wondered what we’d do at night without a television, far from concert halls and theatres in a working-family anchorage and needing to conserve the solar-rejuvenated boat batteries.
I explained before that Kehaar is sweet to look at, but a challenge for the liveaboard wife. I’m not complaining, mind you. But there’s a learning curve I hadn’t reckoned on. Right off I saw that I wasn’t prepared for how much longer it takes to do everything out here. Like those pioneers—milk the cow, let the cream rise, churn the butter.
Out here, everything can be done with a financial economy never dreamt of before. It all just takes time. Usually lots of time. One neighboring boatwife rarely leaves the boat. What could she be doing, I wondered. I’ve found out.
Instead of waking to the aroma of a timed automatic-drip coffeemaker, my day starts with repeated priming and pumping of the persnickety primus stove. Stow all bedding. Bag and take the trash ashore. Remember to call for water delivery before running out. Foot pump the week’s precious water. Hand- and foot-flush the head. Support the icebox’s bag-a- day habit. Brush my hair in the cockpit to keep the bilge unclogged. Deal with the mentally unbalanced dinghy. (I can just hear the sympathetic groans up there in new England.)
Then there’s the laundry situation. First I lug the bag to and from the Laundromat in our leaky dinghy. Hang them up to dry.
But wait, that’s not so simple. Amidst those howling Christmas winds, I was positive my skivvies would wash up in Mexico. So we spied on our two young cruising neighbors (sisters 5 and 7) to learn the yachtie technique.
First, string lines from mast to backstay through sleeves and crotches, then tie off the lines and pin those items securely with extra pins to keep them in place. For pieces which can’t be strung (like sheets and towels) place a huge number of pegs down the sides of the fabric as well as across the top.
The winning combo of sun and gusting winds not only dries, but crisply irons out the wrinkles.
Without a shower on board, personal hygiene is nearly as much fun as the laundry. First, fill 2 water bottles with fresh “sweet” water and wedge them between the toe rail and winch to warm in the sun. Hook up the swim ladder. Practice fancy dives, get wet and splash about. Climb aboard and lather up with Joy dishwashing detergent. Of course all of you know that Joy is the only “soap” to lather in salt water: Mmmm, squeaky clean, especially my hair! Rinse off, first in the salt, then ration out the precious fresh for the final rinse.
I know you’re pleased to know I’ve come so far so quickly. But I feel sure the burning question on all your minds is, “How is that poor girl dealing with the icebox situation?”
Well, we had dinner with neighbors (20-year liveaboards) and couldn’t believe it when they said they’d never had refrigeration. I was skeptical, but I’d just enjoyed a delicious meal. So we tested it out one stay-at-home weekend and just never got around to buying any more ice. It was hard to toss out the mayonnaise, but many foods do last longer than sterile technology admits.
And in case you were worried about our leisure time without television, we’re practicing for the Caribbean Yachties Backgammon Championships and are writing up our delectable recipes using those odd-shaped local roots, dried soy chucks, cabbage and seeds with plans to submit them to Gourmet magazine.
All this after a day of intense boat chores (scraping, sanding, painting, varnishing, rewiring, repairing…) makes falling asleep in our separate berths fairly easy just after sunset.
So, okay, the daily routine takes at least twice as long. It’s inconvenient, repetitive and often just hard work. But as Tom says, “Might as well do it somewhere nice!”
As time marched on, I added this paragraph to Girl Talk:
Mildew, Mold and Mustiness, the triumvirate of creepiness, can get serious indeed on a boat. Though I’m not the best of housekeepers under ideal conditions, this is one problem that must be addressed with regularity. Periodically, all items must be taken out, hung up to air out, with cupboards washed and well-dried before replacing items. Vinegar/water spray is inexpensive, not as bad as some chemicals for the marine life and works well on everything from windows to countertops to toilets. And proper venting—keeping those dorades facing properly —is a girl’s best friend.
Let me know what you think!