Teaching a 10 Year Old About Love, Heroes and Yacht Design

overlooking Lion New Zealand

The tack would have been unremarkable: We shifted through about 90 degrees and ended up plowing toward a pretty cove in the Bay of Islands. What made it notable was the skipper was Maia and the yacht was a legendary 80' maxi called Lion New Zealand.

“Did I do it?” Maia asked.

“You rocked the tack. Let's do it again.” Was the response.

26-years ago, when I first met Evan, he and I were hooked on the progress of this very yacht. It was speeding round the world as part of the Whitbread race (which is now the Volvo Around the World Race)—losing a leg here, gaining a leg there and all the while it's skipper, Peter Blake was becoming a hero. Our hero.

The yacht came in second. The design was too heavy. But a few years later Blake had another boat designed—this time by Bruce Farr. And this time he won. Then he went on to sail America's Cup boats—and when his team NZ won the cup in 1995, Evan I decided we needed to see the next race: in New Zealand. But then went sailing and turned left rather than right, and Evan got a job with Bruce Farr and started designing Volvo boats and the competition's America's Cup boats. And Blake and team NZ won again in 2000, becoming the first non-American team to successfully defend the Americas Cup . And then in 2001, just after he retired to work full time on environmental issues, he was tragically killed by pirates in Brazil.

We told Maia the story. And as she giggled about descriptions of a young Evan and I falling in love over a race and building a life's dream over another—I wondered if kids ever understand or appreciate love stories when their parents are involved.

But then there was Lion, and as she held the wheel of the glorious old boat I wondered how much of a boat's magic comes from say the designer, or builder, or people who urge her across a finish line. And how much of this, I'll call it spirit, might flow through the wheel into her hands.

Would she even understand what it was if it did make her finger tips tingle?

Or would she just think the tugging on the wheel was just the great boat feeling the wind and surging in the gusts...

“The boat is so overbuilt.” Evan told me as he wandered around, marveling at how far yacht design has come. But I could see something else in his eyes as he shook his head over the winches and gazed up at the rig. I think because my mind went there too—to us; 26 years ago when we were entranced by a race, a skipper, and a dream, and we fell in love.

It's a dream we've followed haphazardly through the years as we've followed races, and design changes, and watched women and men chase their goals ever more rapidly around the globe. And if Maia didn't feel the magic when she held that wheel, and tacked a huge boat she could barely see over the bow of--I did.

*pictures to come on this--when we get home. can't wait to share these...

Exile-New Zealand Week One

driving the AC boat NZ41

It is possible to plan, pack and begin and international trip of no set duration within a four day window. But to pull it off you need friends. Really kind friends.

You need the kind of people who will take on your cat and your paperwork, look out for your home and offer you beds. And meals. And the stuff you forgot (didn't have time) to pack. And a travel itinerary to make up for the one you haven't got around to organizing.

You also need the ability to let stuff go. To realize that that long dreamed of trip to New Zealand is happening and you haven't got a clue where to go, what to do, or how long you're going to be doing it for.

So really, so far, our trip to New Zealand has been about showing up and letting it unfold—and, of course, filing our visa documents. Which went moderately smoothly. Sort of. Which brings us to our current predicament.

It is E-NZ Day 6. We've toured Auckland (lovely), tasted wine (delish), seen sheep (fluffy), enjoyed the company of good friends, and tramped trails, we've sailed an America's Cup boat (exciting) and now we're headed to Bay of Islands to sail a Whitbread boat. Well, actually, right now, we're stranded on the side of the road with a broken down rental car sort of hoping the company will actually come through with a replacement car. It's nearly 8pm. The car broke down at 2pm—but it was almost 5pm before we had been towed to civilization, checked by a mechanic and the rental company agreed, that indeed, an exploding radiator was most likely not our fault. Then they needed convincing that it was actually their job to bring us a new car.--despite the inconvenience

The good news is we've discovered Kiwi's who don't work for car rental agencies are awfully nice, and rather helpful. The bad news is we are definitely not making our destination tonight. We're not quite sure what our plan 'b' is—we've decided to wait and see what comes from the rental company first.

E-NZ day 7

Plan 'b' shifted to 'c' then 'd' before our new car arrived. Actually it didn't arrive—we saw it blow past on a flatbed at high speed while we sat parked on a side road a few blocks away. So by the time we chased it down, transferred our belongings, filled out paperwork it was far too late to continue north and definitely too late to back track and stay with our friends Rob and Jo on Blue Moon—so we headed to a nearby holiday camp (sort of a cross between an RV park and a 50's style cottage park—but in suburbia) pitched our tent and fell asleep. Giddy, happy and content.

It's pouring with rain this morning. We missed our boat in Bay of Plenty. But we're in New Zealand, man...

Running with Scissors, Flying Without a Net, Steering Without a Compass,

Immigrating to Australia... 
Our bank account is on life support, our boat is in temporary moorage (our regular slip is having last year’s flood damage repaired), our current Aussie visas come with a condition that don’t allow us to change visas whilst in Oz, Ev's job is waiting for him to show up and it rains every day (which isn’t actually relevant, but seemed to flow with the sentence).

So we’re going to New Zealand for a holiday.

That is if you call leaving the country on a few days notice, with no clear travel plan, no set duration and no actual guarantee we can even get back in to Oz a holiday…

okay--so these pictures really have nothing to do with the post, other than they fit the theme and show off another version of Australia's famous jumpsuits

 Our twelve-month tourist visa comes with an 8503 condition called ‘no further stay’ which beyond the obvious also means we can neither apply, nor be granted another visa while in Australia. From what we’ve read it seems this condition is placed on almost all 12-mos visas, about half the six-mos visas and a small fraction of the three-mos visas. And it means we need to leave the country and stay out while our next visa is being assessed and processed—in the case of a work visa this is a period of one-week to two-months. And there is no guarantee we’ll even get the visa—but in the process of applying for the new ones, we've voided the old ones. Following this?

So we’re headed on holiday to New Zealand—with open ended plane tickets and a significant lack of a plan other than we'll go through the final steps of our visa application as soon as we touch down. We’re gambling that Evan’s work visa will go through without a hitch and that in a few short weeks we will be back in Oz as fully functioning (legal) members of society.

Refreshed and energized from our stress-free holiday.

If not, we’ll be broke and homeless, and Charlie the cat will be responsible for sailing the boat to retrieve us.

Growing Things

kids grow nicely on boats--plants, not so much...

Maia asked for two dollars to buy a basil plant. Yes, a basil plant. It’s not that she particularly likes basil--she actually isn’t that keen on anybody eating ‘Oliver’. It’s that she likes growing green things. Any green thing. And she assumed we’d be more open to onboard herbs, than say, flowers.

I get this. I’ve had gardens in some pretty unlikely places. We once got in trouble with a building manager for growing corn on our small balcony. When we moved out, dirt (including a large worm compost) made up about half our belongings.

When we moved into our condo in Vancouver, Maia and I quickly took over a neglected section of the property and installed a garden. Toddler Maia got a particular joy out of planting seeds (and digging them back up when I wasn’t looking to see how they were growing…), and deep happiness out of caring for the plants as they grew. Eating the rhubarb, peas, beans, lettuce, tomatoes and strawberries was truly secondary for her.

Maia had the original Oliver when we were in Mexico. She had bought him at a market and nurtured him through seasickness (we don’t think he liked the salty air) and heatstroke. She finally gave him up for adoption when we were getting ready to cross.

Since then, at every Pacific market, she's wistfully eyed plants, stroking the green leaves, knowing that we couldn’t have one aboard because we’d lose it when we got to Australia. But when she showed me Oliver II, I realized it was time to grow something new.

 I'm worried corn may be next.

Structure and Routine

Our weeks are beginning to develop structure and routine—a schedule, if you like. A path of activity that takes us from Monday (library), to Wednesday (circus), to Friday (community potluck) and on to Saturday’s farmer’s market and Sunday’s yoga. Not much (we’re waiting on visas to add work and school to the mix) but enough to make it clear we’ve made the transition from cruiser to live aboard.

Maia back at circus--Mairen and Siobhan are joining her

 

Part of what makes me love cruising for years on end is the chance to chuck the schedule and ditch the expectation of being somewhere specific—barring, you know, getting to a continent in time for cyclone season. And when I’m out there I don’t miss the schedule. We actively avoid the summer-camp-like ex-pat communities that try to re-impose order by setting up activities (coffee at 9am, followed by Mexican train and a Walmart run, and then beading at 2pm…) Instead our days are shaped by necessity (the engine needs attention) and whim (that reef looks perfect for snorkelling).

Friday potluck

 But after a few years, or maybe when we are in one place for more than a month or two, that changes. “I need something solid,” Maia told me the other day. “A life I can predict.”

heading to the Saturday market

 

 Maia hears, “we don’t know” as often as most kids hear, “no”.

“When will I go to school?”

“Where will I spend my birthday?”

“Where are we going next?”

“We don’t know—how awesome is that?”  We tell her.

But after a while, ‘we don’t know’ stopped sounding like a magical phrase that opened up a world of possibility, and began to echo a bit with emptiness. ‘We don’t know’ suddenly wasn’t the catch-phrase of our intrepid family on an adventure but a sign that we were drifting a bit. Not lost, just no longer sure where we were headed.

“I just want to know something for certain,” Maia explained. And as she said it, I realized I want the same thing. That maybe I’m a 2.5-3 year cruiser. And that after a few years I just need to stop, take stock and get my bearings. So we’re taking some time out for certainty; for the sureness of waking in the same place; for the solidity of routine.

Today it is yoga. Tomorrow is the library. And soon enough the magic of the unknown will be replaced by another kind of magic.

Into the Wild

 Old friends Don and Allison arrived for a visit this week—but rather than taking them sailing we loaded up a car and headed into the hinterlands. The region of Queensland we’re in offers pastoral mountains, great beaches and loads of wildlife. We’re still busy with friends—but here’s a few shots of the creatures we’ve encountered. I'm posting them mainly for my mum, but hopefully the rest of you will enjoy them. 

Except for the koala everything else was encountered in the wild.

Gorgeous Galah Cockatoos

Kookaburra

Rainbow Lorikeet

Grey Kangaroo

Echidna crossing

Monitor lizard

flying fox

Gung Haggis Fat Australia Day

The cockroach that won the race was accused of being on steroids: An accusation that didn’t seem to go against any of the event’s rules. Flying is a no-no (and as anyone who lives on a boat can tell you, these buggers can really get some air) but steroids, apparently, are cool.

pipers piping in the roaches

random Aussie teaching us the rules

  After two cockroach races, a go at dunking a random Aussie in the dunk tank, and leaving a few dollars at the bar it was time to head back to Totem and continue with our day’s events. For Australians—it was Australia Day. But for our wandering band of nomads it was Gung Haggis Fat Australia Day—a combination of Australia Day, the Chinese Lunar New Year and Robbie Burns Day (Lord Selkirk entertained Robbie Burns at his mansion back in the day and when Burns was asked to say grace before a meal, he composed the Selkirk Grace, which is recited to this day at Burns suppers. This, for us, has always been reason enough to celebrate. Well that and Scotch.)

So the kids decorated, and Behan and I cooked, and Jamie and Evan kept our glasses filled. And our makeshift holiday of poetry reading, fortune cookies and steroid-pumped cockroaches began to feel like something meaningful and real. Instead of Haggis we had Kanga Bangers. And rather than a Tipsy Laird for dessert (trifle) we opted for Pavlova. And we made plans to celebrate again next year—yes, next year. Evan has accepted a job and it seems Australia will be home for a while.

Jamie and Emanuelle from Merlin

 As we dinghied home from Totem--rounding Kangaroo point and then watching the necklace of lights on the Story Bridge give way to the cityscape--I realized this will be the forth country the three of us have lived in.

I’m not sure when you make the transition from visitor to living in a place—especially in a foreign country, where every time you feel like you start to understand it, something weird happens—like cockroach races. But as we made our way up the river toward our boat, the realization that I live here sort of snuck up on me. 

I’m coming to see the idea of home as a mosaic—a montage of inspiration, and people you love, and celebrations you adopt that goes beyond place. It’s the life you create when the sum of its parts are greater than the place you are. Home is also everything you bring with you and all you’ve ever been—except cockroaches.

Happy Gung Haggis Fat Australia Day.

Safety at City

“So you’re giving it up.” The comment came from someone we know and seemed to be heavily laden with relief.

The topic was cruising.

I explained that no—we’re not quitting, but if the chance came for us to stay in Oz and work for a while we’d take it.

“But you’ll move ashore and Maia will go to school?”

Not exactly.

I can tell many people are sceptical about our ability to childproof our chosen lifestyle. Hurricanes, tidal waves, mosquito borne viruses, stinging jellyfish, third world sanitation, uncertain medical care and horror of horrors, home schooling. The list of perils seems endless and, the inference is, it’s irresponsible to expose an innocent child to them.

I pretty sure it’s not really that dangerous to cruise, it’s simply the exotic nature of the risks that accentuates them. Hurricanes, for example, are pretty predictable and sailors have a far better chance of avoiding them than a Floridian homeowner does. We protect against jellyfish stings by wearing a rash guard. And by not eating unwashed fruit and veggies, practicing good hygiene and drinking our own water we can avoid a whole range of ills.

And then there are benefits of life aboard. Nothing can beat the education that comes from in depth exposure to different cultures, or match the level of self-confidence that Maia has developed by working beside us to accomplish various tasks. And I’ve tried to explain the connection that Maia has to the natural world; that she understands the role she plays in the greater ecosystem and can also identify a whole bunch of weird creatures.

But each point can be countered. Endless travel through new cultures could leave her unrooted and friendless. Too much time with her parents might make her weird. Too many hours outside will leave her unprepared to navigate the wilds of a mall. And she could fall overboard during a storm.

Occasionally, I do try to describe the beauty of it all: Slipping into a foreign country at first light; Arriving as ancient seafarers did, the land slowly revealing her secrets as the boat ghosts unnoticed into a silent harbour. Will children rush down to the beach and welcome us warmly? Will a stroll through the village market expose us to foods we’ve never seen before? Will hiking the trails in the hills behind town lead to hidden ruins, friendly locals, or awesome vistas?

Until now all I’ve been able to do is tell those who ask that this life is the best gift I know to give my daughter. And try not to absorb their doubts and fears.

But then we rejoined civilization.

 Charlie the Cat fell overboard within 48 hours of being back aboard.

We don’t know what he was doing or how he did it—he just startled Evan by coming through the hatch sopping wet late one night. Lucky for him (and us) he made his discovery that the boat has a moat around it while the current was near slack. If it had been running at it peak (upward of 4 knots), his swim may have been a much bigger adventure…

Charlie falling in made me think what could happen if Maia fell in.

swinging over the river is a favourite activity

 She’s a strong swimmer but living on pile moorings on a fast moving, murky river that has loads of traffic, and more than a few underwater hazards means we have a few new safety considerations to take into account.

And it’s not just the river. Somehow two and a half years of sailing have turned my urban child into one of those clueless kids who is oblivious to cars. And when she does think to look, it’s inevitable that she looks the wrong way. Then there are the bike paths, where--like cars on the street--the bikes go the wrong direction and Maia is forever darting in front of them. And cars—do you know how unsafe those things are to ride in?

It’s now occurred to me that sailing across an ocean might actually have been the safest part of this trip. And as we settle into Brisbane, and have to make an active effort to keep our kid from doing herself in, I realize it’s this civilization that thing comes with the biggest risks…

Gung Hay Fat Choy—Aussie Style

I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way the Chinese New Year supplanted the regular New Year in terms of significance for Maia. Obviously we’re not an Asian family, but life in Vancouver exposed our daughter to bubble tea, Buddhist Temples and lion dances with the same frequency she experienced the Easter Bunny and Valentines.

By the time she was in school she had learned many different Lunar New Year traditions, and it never occurred to her not to adopt them as her own. When her friends were getting new brocade Cheongsam dresses for New Years Maia wanted one too. When the red envelopes were handed out she accepted them with joy.

And because I live with her, I was the recipient of many detailed directions on how to properly celebrate. I learned to clean my house before New Years (to sweep away bad luck), and to plan a big dinner (although we have been known to throw in a bit of Robbie Burns poetry with our egg rolls…), and to give out Lai See--red envelopes with chocolate to the children of friends.

The Year of the Dragon starts on Monday. And while the Year of the Rabbit went quite nicely for us—it’s intriguing to contemplate heading into a powerful year that is marked by excitement, exhilaration and intensity, while being unpredictable and having a strong water focus.

To celebrate the start of the two week festival of Spring (well at least it'll be Spring somewhere) we headed to Brisbane’s Chinatown Mall--which really did turn out to be just an outdoor mall with a few Asian restaurants and a couple of discount shops. We did find a tasty Dim Sum/ Yum Cha and a lion dance though, and stocked up on a few necessities for our upcoming Gung Haggis Fat Choy dinner.

 So bring on the Dragon.

Under 30 Cruising Club Reunion

We were right there. I point out to sea for Maia—showing her where our boat sailed down the coast just six weeks ago. Do you remember what a nice spinnaker run that was…

Evan looked at me oddly—waxing nostalgically for a sail that was less than two months ago was odd—even for me.

 But we were walking on the beach with friends from a boat called Mangoe who we hadn’t seen in 15-years. The last time we saw them was… Well that was the thing. None of us could exactly recall the last time we were together. Maybe La Cruz, maybe Barra, maybe somewhere else. And as we reminisced over our escapades we realized we couldn’t really come up with any shared memories.

“We formed the under 30 cruising club—I remember that one night, it was on your boat,” Stephanie said. And we had. The handful of us that were under 30 on under 30’ boats formed a club—we had to stay up past midnight at least twice a month, couldn’t play dominos and I’m guessing we might have imbibed in alcohol—thus the fuzzy dream-like memories.

 But they are good fuzzy. Stephanie, who is a vet, helped save our cat Travis’s life—twice. And Todd played the guitar—or maybe it was drums. And I remember beach bonfires, and potlucks, and bus trips, and dinners—or maybe I just recall looking at the photos of those activities in the years that followed.

And then they sailed to the South Pacific, and we went through the Canal. And letters were mailed that told about the first three of four babies born in New Zealand (theirs), and one born in Annapolis (ours) and gradually we lost touch.

Then two years ago we found each other again. And we discovered that all though we might not recall specifics we recalled the pleasure of knowing each other.

 Mangoe has always been part of the story of our first cruise. And Ceilydh stayed such a nice part of their life that there is now a little Ceilyh in their family, who is three, and who Maia adores (the older three were at camp).

 Those early adventures together may feel more like dreams than something real now, but as we sat on the beach (now part of the under 50 cruising club—thanks for that observation Todd!!) and watched the kids play I realized that maybe it’s okay when memories merge and then slip away. There is a knowing that comes from having shared something special: A sureness that is more tangible and has even more depth than a dreamy memory.