Saint Lucia
01-14/12/2011
“14:04N 60:57W”
After receiving encouragement from some of our friends I boldly decided to continue
writing a blog about this year’s sailing adventures in the Caribbean. These notes also
reflect my personal thoughts, strongly influenced by how I, as a scientist, see the world. I
am convinced that our profession is more important in determining our way of thinking
than our ethnic, racial or even religious background. A scientist versed in the Ancient
Greek traditions of science deconstructs any problem into solvable, understandable small
units and from these units then reconstructs any complex subject. Thus while a doctor
notices everyone sick, the plumber all the pipes, the accountant all the wasted
opportunities when I look at a beautiful island with palm trees and sand dunes they
become one huge question mark waiting to be understood and explained.
Back to the Caribbean. Last year we sailed from Barcelona to Saint Lucia and were
delighted with our achievement. Fenix suffered some minor injuries during the crossing
and Steve decided to invite our sailing mate Mark to help him fixing the problems. The
major items were: the broken track from the mast, the rudder that had suffered some
butchering in Turkey by an inexperienced repairman, a broken vang spring and fitting a
new crane to the top of the mast for the asymmetric spinnaker. I stayed in San Francisco
with Anna and I can only describe their first impressions second hand.
The boys arrived in a good mood after a long but problem free flight and dropping their
bags to the nearby hotel walked to the boat-yard to meet the Queen of the Atlantic.
Nothing could have prepared them for what they saw. Fenix on the hard stand got
converted into an object obviously abandoned decades earlier. Two images come to my
mind. One is from the latest sequel of the hugely successful movie: the Pirates of the
Caribbean. Remember the scene, when the ghost ship suddenly rises out of the sea? Fenix
spending a summer in the tropical wet season acquired a similar look. 1
The other is from a book describing the adventures of my favorite sailor, Magellan. His 5
ships that set out to sail to the Spice Islands carried lime and lemon trees in pots and the
usual supplies of live chickens and pigs. After they reached the Caribbean populated by
the combative Caribs the ships were prevented to land. (This was a lucky survival as the
Caribs some years later ate most of the 19 English settlers with only a handful lucky ones
escaping.) Thus, Magellan turned South and sailed along the South American continent
looking for a passage to the West. Again South American Indian tribes did not let the
sailors ashore for months thus the ships sailing South according to Magellan’s description
started to look like floating island where thick greenery covered the dying sailors who
sometimes were not removed from their bunks for days. The islands slowly drifted south
in despair with frequent tropical rain strengthening the trees and the mould growing all
over the ships.
Back to Fenix: the damage of a single wet season seemed to be un-repairable. To cut a
long story short instead of the usual five days to make Fenix ship shape it took more or
less two weeks with Steve and Mark working full time on it, with two days help from a
local “expert” Gibson to clean the hull and the stainless. In the process he spread the
polishing paste all over the deck that took another two days to remove. We had some
friends staying with us in a hotel and their help was also enlisted. Me and my friend spent
at least 3-4 days to clean the inside. Just out of interest the process is simple: wash mould
off with a wet rug, wipe the surface with vinegar or bleach, wipe it again with some wood
repair oil or similar. Of course everything needs to be unpacked cleaned and repacked. It
is a tedious but not impossible task. As far as the teak deck was concerned it was covered
with a thin layer of the blessed fertile volcanic Saint Lucian earth. I am sure that one
more season and nothing would have differentiated it from Magellan’s floating islands.
The deck received a cleaning fit for a surgical theatre with the help of our brain surgeon
friend and we did a short sail on 12th December. It was wonderful to be back on the
water. Before I start feeling really sorry for ourselves I have to admit that we spent the
nights in a beautiful villa of a nearby hotel in the spectacular Rodney Bay where we had
soothing swims in the evenings. One morning we even hired a small Hobby Cat and
happily tacked back and forth in the bay. Rodney Bay is beautiful. It is a fairly large bay
with yellow sand, palm trees. Two steep volcanic hills covered with rain forest like two
navigational marks make the bay easily recognizable from the distance. It is a tropical
paradise.
Saint Lucia became independent in the 70s and I can only guess that the local political
parties exploit racial differences. While the locals were friendly there was a strong
expectation how to respond (ie. buy) and if one did not comply the warm fuzzy feeling
was quickly abandoned.
Saint Lucia has an archaic and incredibly tedious immigration and customs policy for
yachties. This remains in force in spite of the fact that 200 or so ARC yachts had made
Rodney Bay Marina their arrival port for the last 20 years. Without detailing the process I
just give a hint of the intimidating nature of the customs officers.
“The Office” is a small insignificant looking room around 15sqm where there are 3 desks
with an officer behind each surrounded with large number of stamps and piles of paper.
Once one fills out the form given to you by the fellow sailors you shuffle from desk to
desk. At each desk the details are carefully studied before a stamp is graciously applied.
For entertainment the good officers continuously play a comedy on a small TV.
The program on the day I checked-out was a comedy about an English language class at a
secondary school.
Teacher:
Tell me the opposite of wise
Kid:
(scratching his had) white
Teacher:
Common, think! What does wise mean?
Kid:
Someone who knows lots of things
Teacher:
Then how could white be the opposite of wise?
Kid:
Haven’t you heard of the “stupid white man”? The opposite of wise is
white.
I am not sure whether the officers heard of Kafka, but they certainly created a perfect
Kafkaesque situation playing this program to entertain sailors who happened to be mostly
Caucasians. I understand that the footprints of slavery will be hard to or possibly
impossible to rehabilitate but I’m not sure that this is the best way to go about it.
After some provisioning we left St Lucia on 14th December and set out to sail to
Martinique.
The best to describe the departure of any vessel regardless of its size is to remember the
busy scenes in the famous movie, the Titanic. Remember, everyone from the poorest to
the richest and from the captain to the bell boy was running around trying to finish
whatever important task they had in a manic, frantic activity. Fenix is not different,
except that there are only two of us performing the endless activities like running around
collecting stamps from customs, loading drinking water, buying the last loaf of bread,
checking the navigational equipment, engine oil, weather reports and so on and so on.
Nowadays marinas are built to squeeze in the largest number of vessels possible into the
smallest amount of space. Arriving and leaving under sails at best is discouraged but
normally banned. This is partially the result of the lack of space to maneuver relatively
large expensive boats in the confined space of the marina. The other reason is less
obvious. The exponential increase of vessels on the water resulted in an exponential
decrease in maritime skills of their skippers. Thus, marinas in the mornings and
afternoons are filled with the shrieking voices of the skippers, the roar of engines and
bow-thrusters. For us, with a short handed crew of two, moving in or out of a berth under
sail is something we would only consider in an emergency.
Casting off in a busy marina where anyone and everyone, as if they had nothing else to
do, observe your every move is always a somewhat stressful event. You know people will
comment on your every move and discuss any perceived shortcomings for the next half
an hour. Leaving our pontoon in an on-shore wind was not without its challenges, even
with the engine. I picked up the port side bow line and with a careful rhythm jumped
back onto the boat just in time to release the star board bow line and the star board stern
line. Then we were off; satisfied with our maneuver we steadily motored out through the
narrow, shallow entrance of the Marina into the bay. While we were going through the
unpleasant cleaning and repair jobs sometimes I questioned our sanity and the whole
adventure. But now, all my troubles seemed to be fading away in the sparkle of the water.
We quickly unfurled the genoa and the main. Temporarily the squeaking winches and the
murmuring hydraulic added further noise to the sound of the engine as Steve set the sails
then came the long awaited sentence: Engine Off.
With this, the world around us changed. This is the moment when the miracle happens.
The motor noise ceases and suddenly we find ourselves in a new world. It is hard to
describe the immense change. The sails are filled with wind and the smallest change in
the direction or strength of the wind becomes meaningful. You hear and feel the wind,
the boat and you become one living object breathing and moving together in unison. The
small noises of the waves along the hall sound like millions of tiny bells playing the
approving song of the mermaids. The waves and the swell move the boat gently like a
mother rocking her child to asleep. You feel the caressing warmth of the sun shining on
your body and all your real and imagined problems disappear.