Countdown to Departure

Our beautiful home--for one more month

It’s official, our time in Brisbane is coming to an end. In four short weeks we’ll be untying the lines for the last time and motoring our way down the Brisbane River into Moreton Bay. Or plan is to sail north to the Whitsundays and skirt along inside the reef to Cairns and then on to Darwin. If all goes as planned we’ll make it to Darwin before August 23 and join the Darwin to Ambon, Indonesia rally. If not we’ll get to Ambon on our own time.

Sail maintenance--and Charlie doing his bit

Getting ready has gradually become more real. We’ve been to the travel clinic to update our typhoid shots and to get jabs for rabies. We’ve bought Permethrin for treating our mossie screens and updated our safety equipment and medical kit. Evan’s to-do list is down to its final few items and his job is wrapping up in two weeks. Meanwhile Maia is in her last term of circus and school; she’s got new shoes (to grow into) and a stack of new school text books. I’ve been downloading podcasts, comparison shopping for maple syrup, buying tinned butter and trying to decide how much kitty litter we’ll need.

And that’s the easy part.

Taking a couple of Maia's friends for a weekend sail

The tough part is saying goodbye. Over the past 2.5 years we’ve fallen in love with our little city and it’s sad to think our time here is coming to an end. We’ve made friends we hope to keep—even when we’re far away. We’ve added Aussie lingo to our speech and Aussie memories to our ‘best moments’. We watched Maia and her friends grow from young girls to young teens.

Saying goodbye is the hardest part of cruising. It’s more difficult than all the bad weather and bad moments put together. In the weeks to come we’ll start to look forward and dream about what’s next. But for a while longer we’ll soak up the things we love about this place we landed by chance: the little school that made us feel at home, the circus that fed Maia’s dreams, our river community where there’s always a friendly smile, our neighbourhood park which is filled with wondrous creatures.

We’ve been lucky to call many places home and many people friends. And as we break our hearts a little with this goodbye, I have to recall that taking the time to ‘get to know and be part of’ was the whole point of our slow journey around the globe.

Sailing into Spring

I checked the blog the other morning (after a few ‘where are you?’ emails landed in my inbox) and realized it had been a while. I guess that’s what happens when life is just ordinary (in its own extraordinary way). The blooming jacarandas are reminding us we’ve been here almost two years. The crews crossing the Pacific this season are for the most part strangers to us. And the crews we crossed with? Well, their lives have moved on too.

 

Jacarandas-a sure sign of spring

New and old friends squeezed aboard as Maia turns 12

 September started off at full speed. After arriving back from a three week trip home I was greeted by our friends from Piko and Britannia. Both boats are up for sale and both of the crews are planning to expand their crews and rebuild their kitties stateside then set off on bigger boats again someday.

 

Buddy boat reunion was sweet as

watching them sail away for the last time was not

Saying goodbye to the friends we meet is the toughest part of cruising. In an ideal world we’d gather up all our favourites, synchronize our budgets and life schedules, and sail the world in company. But we can’t. So we take heart in the fact goodbyes will be followed by reunions.

 

Cake with schoolmates

Skating with her besties for her b-day

Maia also turned 12 this month, and surrounded by love, I’m reassured that this life is a good one for her. Looking back over her four + years aboard I’m able to let go of some of the fears I had. She’s made friends, she’s found a place for herself, she’s strong and capable and she’s happy…

September is spring for us—a time of beginning and renewal. A time to plan for what’s next.

Hello, Goodbye

last, for now, dinghy ride home from our boat

It was a week of final moments: C4’s as they said goodbye to the boat that carried them safely from Turkey, ours as we squeezed in one last outing, one last dinner, one last moment with this family we’ve grown to love so much.

None of it was easy. And as I held my sad daughter tight she explained that all the goodbyes were just too hard—and I wondered again what kind of life we’ve set her up for--where friendships grow strong, and deep, and integral only to abruptly change as we all move on.

Goodbyes are hard, I whispered into her hair as I held her, searching for words of comfort. Telling her we’ll meet again, wouldn’t really help fill the gap that is left when you spend everyday, for months on end with someone. Reminding her we have memories and photos, can’t replace the voice on the other side of the radio when you call for someone to play with.

It’s okay to be sad, was all I could tell her. I’m sad too. And I’m really, really tired of saying goodbye.

On our first trip I abruptly realized something one day. We had been lucky enough to meet a couple we just knew would always be our friends. There was that sense of sureness and depth that made it clear there was no other option—but the day came when we needed to say goodbye. And we didn’t know when, or how, or where we’d see each other again. And my heart ached in a way I didn’t want to feel.

I knew then that when we stopped cruising it wouldn’t be because of money running out, or my fear running over, it would be because the pain of ‘goodbye’ had finally outweighed the excitement of ‘what’s next?’.

We’re tired of endings.

Tired of counting down days until planes fly away.

Tired of trying to fit every moment in –because that last moment is too close.

Tired of the heartbreak of goodbye.

 We needed a hello. And as C4’s plane was touching down in Adelaide and they returned to their old life, we were saying hello to Totem—and tying up their dock lines. Looking at each other in disbelief.

 22 months ago we cast Behan, Jamie, Niall, Mairen and Siobhan off from Mexico. We promised to catch up with them and meet here—so we could be neighbours again.

the last time the girls played together they were 5, 7 and 8--and they haven't missed a beat

nor have the grown-ups...

  There are friends who you just know will always be your friends. People who months or years after you say goodbye can sit in your home and pick-up a conversation like it was yesterday. Friends where it all seems easy—where they know you, and you know them, and being together feels like you’ve come home.

exploring our new home together

 We’re done with goodbyes for a while. We’re ready to build a community—with potlucks and quiet dinners, long walks and new adventures.

“Hello is a beautiful word,” Maia told me.

That it is.

An Upside Down Christmas

 I blame it on the fact we lost a day out of the year somewhere back around Tonga. Christmas always seems to sneak up on me—but somehow between settling in (we now have a spot in the pile moorings to call home), sorting it out (I have no idea what that weird sounding English meant--but just pay the man…), saying goodbye (sniff), saying hello (Behan!!), getting up too early, and staying up too late this Christmas arrived and passed with a whoosh.

 Blog posts were composed and never written, vistas were enjoyed but not photographed—in short life was simply lived over here on Ceilydh.

 We’ve been doing our best to enjoy Aussie Christmas traditions. For Christmas Eve we decided to check out the public BBQ’s that are found in many of the city’s parks. These large electric BBQ’s are free to use and make big gatherings a breeze—as we discovered when 14 of us got together for a final, final goodbye with the WGD clan.

 With the promise of rain we found a barbie beside a shelter next to a big adventure playground and spent the afternoon trying hard not to imagine what comes next (living in the moment becomes a true effort when the next moment includes such a change…). Then we headed home for a quiet Night Before Christmas only to discover that our normal tradition of following Norad Tracks Santa—doesn’t work as well when you’re at the beginning of his route.

 Then it was Christmas--and time for stockings and presents followed quickly by an Aussie lunch of turkey and trimmings, and laughter and warmth.

Our plan had been to head out of Brisbane after Christmas and sail down the Gold Coast with Connect 4—their final outing before turning over the boat to its new owner and flying home to Adelaide, and my chance to see the ocean (it’s shocking how much I miss it). But 5 metre swell and a brewing storm have kept us up the river and on our moorings.

Instead we have planned local outings—a Boxing Day picnic with Bocce Ball in the park, a movie followed by my first take-out pizza in 2.5 years (gotta love a delivery guy who’ll deliver to an intersection), there are hikes planned and adventures to have and then it will be a New Year.

 Our Aussie Year. What a wonder that should be.

The World is Round—we’ll meet again

 Danielle started the song to welcome the Sabbath. Watching her I marvelled at how she’s grown into such an incredibly thoughtful and empathetic young woman in the past year. Then I looked to Harrison—who is always ready with a question and makes me think about all sorts of things I never expected to ponder. And then to Michael and Barb, who have brought us so much warmth and laughter—and when they said their blessings for Shabbat dinner, I added silent thanks of my own.

The WGDs have genersously shared their Shabbat dinners with various cruising friends all accross the Pacific--this may have been the first they've done with Christmas decorations...

 

When you cross an ocean with someone; when you plan all the details and cast off within an hour of each other; when you can start sentences with things like, “how awesome was it to cross the equator?”, or “when we did that shark dive in the Tuamotus…”, or "will there ever be a view to match the one from high up on Nuku Hiva", or “Dude! We’re in Australia!”; that next sentence, the one that starts and ends with, “goodbye” is almost unbearable.

Can I brag about our wonderful buddy boat? The WGD family is awesome. I’ve never met a more animated, more eager to explore, more fun combination of people. And we got to sail across an ocean with them.

You meet a lot of people cruising. Some kind of drift through your life—sharing an anchorage, a dinner, a few experiences. While others change you—they imprint themselves indelibly on your heart. And after a while, after enough inside jokes, sublime experiences, and tearful or terrifying moments, it becomes impossible to imagine continuing on without each other.

But for the past couple of weeks, I’ve been waking up each day, and WGD hasn’t been anchored anywhere near us. And while we’ve explored Brisbane a bit and shared a final Shabbat dinner, they were here as land-based visitors. Our trip together has truly ended. And each day that passes is a day closer to the one where they fly home.

 Last year—when we were steeped in plans, when we we’re comparing provisioning lists, going over charts and guide books, and cajoling each other through cold feet, I had no idea we’d grow to love them so much.

But we have.

And we’ll miss them.

Goodbye Guaymas-maybe

Our work is done. The cruising kitty is fed. The weather report looks optimistic for the 100 mile passage to San Jaunico tomorrow. So now we need to fill the fuel tanks and the pantry, do some laundry and say our goodbyes to Guaymas.

 evening on the malecon (Ceilydh is in the lower right corner)

Ah, Guaymas…

More ruined than beautiful; more loud than musical—our affection for this overlooked little coastal city caught us off guard. We’ll miss the nightly celebrations, the giggling children and the warm welcomes we receive everywhere we go. And we’ll miss the calm protected anchorage. How nice it’s been to sleep soundly on smooth seas every night. Albeit serenaded by brass bands and bad karaoke…

 We’ll also miss our dear new friends—especially Paula, Matt, Sammy and Trinidad on Endurance. We celebrated our week-iversary but swore it must have been longer that we’ve been friends. We’ve packed so much into such a short time, and now we hate the idea of leaving them behind. Paula keeps telling us the weather is terrible and we’ll have to stay. I keep telling them they don’t really need money to live on and they should just keep sailing and not go home.

 But sailboats need to sail, and seasons need to be respected. And sometimes journeys need to end.

We’ll leave when the weather window opens. And they’ll head home soon after.

 But don’t tell Paula that secretly we also hope it won’t be tomorrow…

A Sort of Homecoming

We're home.

Yesterday our arrival back to the boat in Peurto Escondido just felt like a relief. After one ferry ride, two flights, two bus rides (totalling 20 hours) and several cab rides, we were just glad to be back home with the majority of our stuff (Evan had two screw driver bits seized at the airport).

Today though--as we adjust to the heat (was it really this hot when we left? why didn't we notice?), sort through the stuff we brought back (the boat needs to go back on a diet), clean up the mess the cat made while we were gone (uhh, thanks for all the dead stuff, Charlie), and clean up the wasp nest that materialized inside--being home kind of feels like a lot of work...

But it also feels like we're home. The boat may be dirty and chaotic. We may have no fresh food. The temperatures might be causing us to wilt. But there are soaring mountains behind us, blue water beneath us and friends anchored around us.
In a day, or so, I'm sure we'll all being saying how good it is to be back.

Leaving La Paz

 We left La Paz today. After stocking up with everything we thought we might need and finishing as many projects as we could before the heat makes them too difficult, we spent a final couple of days just enjoying the town and getting to know a few more people. Then we hauled up an anchor rode that was growing mussels, filled our fuel tanks and set out.

  The Dockwise boat, loaded up with vessels not making the 'bash' back up to Washington and BC. These boats are going home after months or years of cruising.

We’ve hit the point in the cruising season where those who are going elsewhere have gone, those who are heading home are on there way and those who are leaving their boats and heading to cooler climes are packing up. The heat is rising, hurricane season is beginning to seem more real, and our numbers are dwindling.

 The goo on our anchor chain tells us it's time to go

The good part is we’re almost done with goodbyes for the summer. Pretty much from here on out, the boats we hang out with will be the ones who are summering up in Camp Cortez.

I remember the last time we summered in the Sea as one of the most relaxing and magical periods in my adult life. So tonight as we watch the light change on the red desert rocks, and let the red wine seep in, it’s hard not to feel just a little excited.

The fact that a manta ray just came by to greet us only adds to the pleasure.