April 30, 2003
More of the Bahamas

Curt and I have been cruising the Bahamas now for, what? One- or is it two weeks almost? My first impressions were so enthusiastic - so hopeful for what great stuff we'd find. And I suppose it is - great. Sort of. Maybe if we'd done this trip in reverse? Maybe if we started our experience with these islands fried out from too many hours in front of a computer screen or too many voice mails to return? What I mean to say is that, the beauty here lies in the remoteness. The solitude. But after a year of white sand beach after white sand beach, Evian clear ocean after Evian clear ocean… well, I'm over all this and couldn't be more ready for a wall to wall packed blues club alive with the frenzy of people and something to make my derriere wiggle a heartfelt jig. How awful that must sound to some people. All this beauty around us, and I just want to cut loose on a dance floor stuffed to the gills with bodies. All this solitude can leave one feeling so remote and lonely. It reminds me of what a people person I am, and makes me once again consider if perhaps this life in not well suited for me.

It goes without saying that we have met fellow cruisers from all walks of life: photographers, truck drivers, wallpaper hangers, lifeguards, consultants, salesman after salesman, housewives and moms, EMTs, and more. Those people that I could observe as happiest cruising are, yeah - sorta "people people". But, I suppose for me it goes beyond just that. I love the energy I get from a crowd. I love the buzz of a metropolitan city with honking buses and bustling streets. It charges me up. And I admit with some chagrin that perhaps I've held myself back from developing closer, more rewarding relationships with even the closest of my cruiser friends. I know, for better or worse, that given the impermanence, getting too close will lead to a chain of small heartbreaks with each boat weighing anchor - not unlike the enormous sadness I felt when we first left San Francisco. No reason to set yourself up for that most treacherous goodbye.

And imagine if every day in your world is filled with rain. How does that differ from world where every day is filled with sun? In either case that's all you know. In either case the sureness and unwavering rotations numb the heart to lighting with a change in scenery. If day after day in this world holds no marks of time passing other than a setting sun, wouldn't the sameness numb your senses? No change of seasons. No Christmas. No birthdays. No delineation of a weekday or weekend. Everyday the sun comes up. Everyday the sun goes down... in just the same way as it did the day before.

It seems poignant to consider that the landfalls I've enjoyed the most are those that held the culture most different from our own. Places like the Dominican Republic and Venezuela - where there is a buzz to unravel in the political structure, where the people lead lives so far from what we know. I've come to understand that if I had to pick the one thing that would draw me back to the cruising life, it would be the opportunities in store with other lands and the wonder that comes from becoming part of a world that looks like nothing we know back home.

One night I made a list of all the places I thought I might like to visit, given the right opportunity. I somewhat cautiously shared it with Curt, fearing what can of worms I might be opening. Of course it was him that pointed out that nearly all were places we could sail to. For a moment I was delighted - it could be possible to see these far off mystical lands! But of course, that meant long ocean passages. And weeks at sea are not my cup of tea. Still, it's something to consider. At the moment, sailing along the African coast or along South America sounds like a great adventure. If we could just beam the boat there like a Star Trek scene, it would be a perfect solution.

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