Since I got back to St. Martin a few weeks ago, it’s been a mad dash to get the boat shipshape and to prepare ourselves for the trip south to Trinidad (to find out why we’re doing this trip go to the ‘Welcome’ page on this site).  The day after I arrived, Taka Trois was hauled out of the water and put ‘on the hard’ for her annual ‘beauty treatment’ which entails having her bottom scraped of impurities and blemishes (barnacles and stuff), polished and painted—I guess you could call it a kind of posterior ‘facial’ of sorts… Every inch of her, both inside and out gets cleaned and sorted (most women I know, myself included, would pay good money to get a treatment like that), her gear gets a comprehensive medical check-up and her lockers and bilges are stocked with everything we might need for the upcoming journey, including, bien sûr, ample supplies of vin français!

Our departure date was set for February 8th and our dear, but perhaps over-trusting friends, Cindy and Peter, who were accompanying us on the first leg to Guadeloupe, actually believed (haha) that we would be able to honor that date and booked flights accordingly.  The long list of repairs and things to sort out was far from complete when they arrived, but as they were ‘minor’ and would not stop us from sailing, we planned on finishing everything in the marina in Guadeloupe where there are excellent facilities. That was a good plan and it could’ve worked if it wasn’t for the fact that our transmission broke just as we were slipping back into our berth in the marina after Taka Trois was put back in the water.  Losing the ability to steer is not a minor problem, to say the least…urrggh!

Here’s the amazing thing:  pulling into our very narrow ‘parking spot’ at the marina in Anse Marcel (see the red ‘X’ marking the spot on the photo below) is no easy task on any given day, especially as the winds always seem to gust furiously in random directions whenever we come in.  This is why we always radio in for help from the harbor master’s office just before going through the channel to the marina.  Usually the harbor master sends us one person to give us a hand, but on that particular day (you may call it luck, but we know it was divine intervention), there were THREE people waiting to give us a hand; the harbor master himself on the dock, his assistant in a skiff alongside and a local deck hand on the boat next to ours!  In the two years we have been coming in and out of there, we have never had more than one person helping us get into our berth—thank you God!

Once we were safely berthed with the help of these expert hands, it was determined that the chain on our transmission was broken and would require a part not currently available on the island…of course (sigh).  It took a week for the part to arrive and to be installed (another miracle as this sort of thing usually takes about two weeks) which delayed our eventual departure by four days giving us only four days to make our friends’ flight in Guadeloupe.  We had to shorten the original leisurely plan which included a few stops along the way, but we managed to get them there in time and they even had a day to rest and enjoy one of our favorite anchorages off the village of Deshaies on the northwest coast of the island.  

Aside from being a charming village, a generally peaceful bay and a fabulous place to watch the sunset (it was here we first saw the elusive ‘green flash’--see my blog entry in the archives from 5/21/2104), it is also the home of the most beautiful botanical gardens in the Caribbean.  We had a wonderful afternoon enjoying the fabulous flora and fauna in this delightful place.

Mission accomplished (the made their flight in plenty of time), we sailed the boat down to the marina in Point à Pitre the next day where we have spent a week working and doing some more repairs on Taka Trois (it’s never ending…). We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning to continue our journey south stopping for two nights to anchor in Les Saintes for some much needed rest (see my blog entry in the archives from 31/5/2013 for more information on these little island just south of Guadeloupe) and then on to Le Marin in the south of Martinique, our next big stop, where more work, a few boat parts and hopefully our cruising friends Ann and Steve await us. 

I have been writing about our adventures aboard Taka Trois on this blog for almost two years now and what initially started as an account of our sabbatical year went on to include some of our travels and experiences of this past year while we got back to work setting up Taka Technologies. The business is now ticking along with several deals on both sides of the Atlantic and more due to be signed in the near future.  

While this is a good thing, it means that we no longer live aboard Taka Trois and have less time for sailing and the adventures that provided me with so many interesting topics to write about. Therefore, I have decided to put this blog on 'pause' in the hopes that one day, God willing, I will be inspired to pick up the proverbial 'pen' again.

To say that the past two years have been an incredible ride for Patrice and me is an understatement and being able to share it with you; our family, friends, and friends of friends--many of whom we have never even met--has been such a joy.  It has been truly comforting to know that you were along for the ride, albeit vicariously. 

So au revoir faithful followers.  Please accept my humble thanks for taking the time to read my ramblings and for all your encouragement along the way.  I really appreciate it.

With another two weeks to go before Claire-Elise’s flight out of SXM (St Martin), we took the trip back north from Dominica at a leisurely pace making stops in Guadeloupe for some work and repairs, Les Saintes for a little R&R and finally Antigua for Classic Regatta Week.  It was actually more by chance than design that we wound up in Antigua for this exceptional event, but wow!  We sure were glad we did.  No, Taka Trois does not qualify as a ‘classic,’ and no, Patrice and I did not participate in the race, but thanks to a random conversation, our daughter, Claire-Elise did.

We arrived in Antigua several days before the start of the regatta when the marina was already buzzing with preparation and incredible classic yachts of all sizes arriving hourly from all over the world.  We happily joined the sailors, cruisers, classic enthusiasts, paparazzi and just plain gawkers rambling the docks admiring these beautiful specimens and drinking in the atmosphere as well as the free booze on offer every evening from the sponsors. 

For Patrice, events of this sort are sheer nirvana.  Those of you who have met my husband, know that he is capable of talking to anyone about anything, anywhere! He is not just an extreme extrovert , interacting and conversing with people on a daily/hourly basis is as necessary and natural to him as breathing. 

On the third evening of our stay, he started up a conversation with a gentleman because he was wearing a t-shirt from Guernsey.  Turns out the guy, Paul, was actually from Guernsey and with his wife, Claire, was in Antigua staying aboard Coral of Cowes and crewing for her in the regatta.  Coral is a truly magnificent British 80 foot yawl (a two-masted sailboat similar to a sloop or cutter, but with an additional mast known as a mizzen mast) built in 1902.  

To our astonishment, when Claire-Elise expressed a rather whimsical desire to participate in the race during that conversation, Claire promptly took her off to see the Richard, the owner and captain of Coral, who instantly signed her up as crew for the next day!   Truth be told, youth and sex had everything to do with her appointment, as it turns out that the crew on the foredeck was made up solely of young men and the captain had been told to be on the lookout for a female crew member to join them!  

Although we were sure she would be in good hands with Paul and Claire onboard, we were delighted to discover the next morning that Alex, our old sailing instructor of Blue Water Sailing in Grenada, who we had not seen in ages, was also crewing aboard Coral.  Coincidences like this always make my heart sing.

Claire-Elise not only survived and thoroughly enjoyed that first day, but was thrilled to be asked to come back for the rest of the race.  Needless to say it was the experience of a lifetime, especially the 2nd day of the race when the weather conditions made sure that the entire crew got soaked repeatedly and at times, the crew at the bow were completely dunked in the sea! Patrice and I lived it vicariously with her, avidly watching the preparations and the races from afar.  

Brief history Lesson: Dominca was put on the map in 1493 by Christopher Columbus, of course, who named it after the day of the week on which he spotted it; dominica which is latin for Sunday (I’m guessing at that point he was just running out of names and imagination).  The local Caribs continued to live peacefully there until 100 years later, when France turned up and started a colony with imported African slaves.  About 170 years later, the Brits took over until the island gained its independence on November 3, 1978 and on April 7, 2014, the Orléachs arrived.  

Due to the unfavorable conditions of our anchorage, we only stayed two days in Dominica—not enough time by a long-shot, but sufficient for us to become completely enamored. Honestly, I am at a loss to describe this island; lush, verdant, unspoiled, friendly, unique, colorful, spectacular are just a few adjectives that come to mind, but don't do it justice. So rather than use many more words,  I’m going to lean on the old adage, “a picture is worth a thousand words” and allow my photographs to do most of the talking in the rest of this post by offering you three slideshows—one for each of segment of our stay (just click on 'play' icon in the top left corner of each of the photos below to activate).

On our first morning on land, we cleared customs and walked through the picturesque seaside town of Portsmouth in search of internet, boat parts, produce, cold beverages, lunch and a feel for the town.  We were successful on all accounts.

After lunch, Martin took us on a tour of Indian River in his pirogue.  It is the widest river in Dominica and its claim to fame is that some of the scenes of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest were filmed there.

On our second day we rented a car at daybreak and like crazy tourists set off to see as much of the island as possible driving from Portsmouth across to Marigot, down to Roseau, up to take a dip in the natural springs at Laudat and finally back to Portsmouth by early evening--whew!  It was a magical, yet frustrating trip as we did not see a fraction of what we had hoped, but we did our best to make the most of our short time.  We’ll be back.

Although we would’ve preferred to go directly from Nevis to Dominica, the wind and waves were not kind to us on the way down and we took refuge mid-way, anchoring for the night in Deshaies in northwest Guadeloupe.  We were rewarded with not just with a respite, but a glimpse of the elusive ‘green flash’ at sunset—the first time for Claire-Elise and Patrice and the only time I've ever managed to capture it on film.  

Determined to make Dominica the next day, we persevered under difficult sailing conditions, taking a beating most of the way down and by late afternoon we arrived safely in Prince Rupert Bay welcomed by a rainbow no less!  Wish I could say this was a good omen, but unfortunately the anchorage was quite uncomfortable and unstable with shrieking winds battling down on us.  Nevertheless we were so keen to visit the island and exhausted from our trip down, we decided to put ‘mind over matter’ and do our best to put up with it.

The first time we sailed in these waters 18 years ago, we had been warned that Dominica was not a safe place to anchor.  Since then an enterprising group of young men formed the Portsmouth Association of Yacht Security (PAYS).  They run regular patrols at night in the anchorage area and since this has been active there have been no problems in this area.   

Cruising friends had recommended we contact a certain member of PAYS named Martin by VHF upon arrival and he would take care of us.  Within minutes of the call, he appeared in his trusty pirogue aptly called Providence as he was such a blessing to us.   So that we would not have to put our dinghy in the water (a challenge in that anchorage), he offered to take us into town to clear customs the next day, recommended a place for lunch, arranged a tour of the Indian River for the next afternoon and found us a place to rent a car for the day after.  He even took our garbage and brought us a bunch of ‘banana figs’ a small plump tropical version of the fruit as a gift.  What a guy!

Although we were tempted to go ashore immediately to have look around, we were too tired to make the effort and decided that the 'splendor' of this fair isle could wait until tomorrow.  My last thought before I fall asleep while being jostled in my bunk from the swell is "Dominica, you better be worth it!"

Shortly after the Heineken regatta, we became official landlubbers on St. Martin.  As much as we love living aboard Taka Trois, working on a boat has become increasingly impractical and uncomfortable especially during the rainy season and with a significant mosquito problem on the island, not to mention that we found that it’s hard to be taken seriously when your address is a marina.  

So we found and rented a small one bedroom apartment a stone's throw from the marina and moved in mid-March, furnishing it entirely with a shipment we had organized from IKEA.  After putting together over 30 pieces of furnishings, I felt justified in dubbing myself the Queen of IKEA and Patrice, who helped with the bigger items, my Prince Consort.  It was a lot of work, but for the sake of efficiency, expedience and innovative space solutions for a very small apartment (think rabbit cage), it was perfect.  Her majesty is pleased with the result and needless to say, we are both enjoying the creature comforts of a land-based abode namely air-conditioning, a decent fridge/freezer, a proper shower and a toilet that doesn't need pumping to flush. 

A mere two weeks after we moved off the boat however, we turned around and moved back onboard (no wonder why my mother always asks me where I am every time I talk to her).  Since the beginning of the year we have been talking about sailing down to the island of Dominica, a place we have been longing to visit.  The arrival of our daughter, Claire-Elise, for three weeks from Manhattan gave us the perfect excuse to head off and do some cruising.

Dominica (pronounced dough mee nee ka) is about 210 miles/345 km from St. Martin, which for Taka Trois translates into a two day sail non-stop.   To ease our 'New Yorker' into sailing, we decided to break up our trip with a stop in Nevis, an island we had earmarked last year as a place where we wanted to spend a bit more time (go to this blog’s archive from April 2013 to read about our last stop there). 

Our wish came true as due to weather conditions we ended up spending three nights there moored off Pinney's Beach near Charleston just opposite Sunshine's, one of our favorite beach bars in the Caribbean.  We were delighted that our friends, Ann and Steve of Receta, were also moored there.

Nevis, which was derived from the Spanish, Nuestra Señora de las Nieves by a process of abbreviation and anglicisation. The Spanish name means Our Lady of the Snows in reference to the story of a 4th-century Catholic miracle: a snowfall on the Esquiline Hill in Rome.  Presumably the white clouds that usually cover the top of Nevis Peak reminded someone of this story of a miraculous snowfall in a hot climate. 

I knew that Greenland and Iceland had been misnamed by the original cartographers, but I did not know that Christopher Columbus originally christened Nevis as San Martin.  It appears that in the confusion of numerous poorly-charted small islands in the Leeward Island chain meant that this name ended up being accidentally transferred to another island, Sint Maarten/Saint Martin. 

The indigenous Amerindians (Caribs and Arawaks) were wiped out as it was first conquered by the Spanish and then passed to British hands with the usual blood-letting.  Sugar-cane madness and exploitation of slaves followed before it gained independence together with St. Kitts, her sister island, in 1983.

Today it is a sleepy little island relying mainly on tourism to survive.  Its claim to fame for the Brits is that Admiral Horatio Nelson met and married his wife there and for the Yanks, it's the birthplace of Alexander Hamilton, one of the founding fathers of the USA and chief of staff to George Washington.   

With Ann and Steve as our cohorts we strolled through the charming town of Charleston (the only town on Nevis actually), provisioned our boats with fresh produce from the local market and took a leisurely drive around the island visiting the botanical gardens and and several charming restored plantation inns in the Gingerland district in the south east part of the island.  For highlights of our tour click on the arrow below: 

I must pause here in my narrative to share a serendipitous moment of our day.  Wherever Orléachs and Duerrs gather, conversations are often centered around food and Ann and Steve seem to be cut from a similar mold. During our trip around the island, I randomly mentioned in the car that sticky toffee pudding* is my all time favorite dessert.  Shortly afterwards we arrived at the lovely Golden Rock Inn, a sugar estate carefully restored by its artist owners dating back to 1801 perched in the hills of Gingerland (aka Wonderland as the place has a surreal Alice in Wonderland feel to it--see photos in the slideshow above).   We decided to stop for a cup of tea and were amazed to find that the special of the day was none other than that sinful, but delectable British pudding!  How sublime! 

We would’ve loved to linger in Nevis and climb Nevis peak, but Dominica was calling.  So after a memorable last evening watching the sun set over Taka Trois and Receta while sitting at Sunshine’s Beach Bar sipping killer bees,* we bade farewell to the crew of Receta and continued our journey south early the next morning.

*Killer Bees:  The bartender would not give us the ingredients nor tell us how this libation got its name, but we suspect it probably has honey in it as well as a lethal amount of wicked local bush rum.   It's also a popular way for cruisiers and locals to kill time.

After those fateful words carelessly uttered 10 months ago, I secretly hoped that this would just go away, but what I had set in motion last May was like a runaway train which gained momentum as the date for this year’s Heineken Regatta approached. Patrice and Bert never lost steam and certainly made ‘Ma Bell’ and ‘Mme France Telecom’ wealthier with endless telephone conversations on strategy, wind, weather, currents, sails and of course, crew.  Yes, now that this was happening we needed a full crew.

Patrice managed to lure our good cruising friend Steve of Receta, a soft-spoken Canadian with many regattas under his belt, up from Trinidad for the event.   He also recruited our Rasta friend, Son, an experienced local sailor to join us along with Jean-Paul (JP) of Julina, a gentle Frenchman and dear cruising friend.  With Bert’s wife, Judith, a sweet little lady with a great sense of humor and myself, the 7 member team was complete and the day Patrice officially signed Taka Trois up for the race, the grin on his face rivaled that of a kid on Christmas morning.

10 days before the race:  We begin seeing some serious looking boats with serious looking sails and very serious looking crew practicing their maneuvers around St. Martin.  The fact that the race is billed as Serious Fun doesn’t help my anxiety much.  I suspect that my definition of ‘fun‘ is not exactly the same as that of the people who run this thing or who participate in it.  

One week before: Taka Trois is assessed and measured for her racing handicap by a professional, errr... measurer? I neglect to ask what his official title is.   My anxiety level improves when he assures me that based on what he has seen, we would be put in a group of fairly relaxed, non-professionals like us with only 10-20 boats or so in our class--very reassuring as I have been imagining a racing start with all 200+ entrants jockeying for position--a nightmare!   I just pray he’s right...

6 days before:  Bert and Judith arrive and the excitement aboard Taka Trois is palpable.  Patrice and Bert are like two boys with a huge toy, Taka Trois that is.  Thank heavens I have Judith to talk to, who is as clueless about racing strategy as I am.  

Steve calls to say that he has found a ringer for us; a cruising buddy named George of Wildcat, a highly skilled racer from Texas who got bumped off another boat.  Their loss, our gain, although Steve later warns me that this guy is nuts.  I’m afraid to ask what that means... In any case, as it turns out, we really need him as sadly, Son is forced to desist shortly afterwards due to work obligations.

5 days before :  Receta arrives bringing us Steve and his wife Ann, and we hold our first race conference aboard Taka Trois, a pre-race celebration of sorts with champagne and foie gras. Hey, if I’m going to do this thing, I’m going to do it in style!  

Nevertheless, we have salient issues to discuss and I have put forward my two ‘requests:’  One, there will be no unnecessary shouting and two, if I, or anyone else for that matter, should fall overboard, racing will immediately stop and the person rescued.  This may seem like a no-brainer, but I have had my doubts since hearing the story of a woman in Grenada who fell off a boat during a race and had to wait in the water until the boat wend ahead to clear the racing mark, before coming back to pick her up!  As the Trinnys say, Nah!  That's NOT going to happen, right guys?

We also begin discussing the roles and responsibilities of the crew.  It is agreed that Patrice will remain skipper in name, but is happy to act as crew and leave the racing strategy to Steve who will be the tactician.  Bert will be helmsman (the guy who steers the boat), J.P. will be the maintrimmer (trimming the main sail), George and Patrice will alternate between grinding the winches to manage the headsail, trimming the headsail and being bowman (being at the front of the boat to make sure sails and stuff do what they’re supposed to do up there). 

As for Judith and I, we will simply do as we’re told and make sandwiches--I know, I know, this sounds like a cop-out for womankind, but believe me, we’re really happy to be lowly crew members without much responsibility.  As a wise Trinny once told me, there are times in life when one gets to be a shepherd and times when one has to be a sheep.  

In the end, Judith and I do have active roles during the race including grinding winches (pulling on ropes wound around a winch--kind of like a giant spool--to tighten up a sail), tailing (helping someone who is grinding by pulling on the rope from behind), releasing ropes from winches, keeping an eye out for other boats and sitting on the rail to add weight to the side of the boat (no comments please).  

At the last minute, I am also given the daunting responsibility of counting down the minutes before the shotgun start.  This job involves running two i-phone timers simultaneously (one for back up), while listening intently to the VHF where at any time the race officials can and will delay the start of the race sending me into a frenzy as I re-set the timers.  It's stressful job, but provides the blessing of distracting me from all the boats that are sailing uncomfortably close to us as we all try to get the into the best position before the shot rings out.

4 days before:  The girls go shopping for provisions while the boys go out for a first test sail and play with all the toys, I mean sails and boat stuff.  The major philosophical question of the day is whether to use Fred or not to use Fred.  ‘Fred’ is an enormous, expensive, extremely fragile spinnaker-type sail called a ‘Code 5’.  The rub is that if we declare it and use it, our handicap will be severely punished, so it had better be worth our while if we do use it and we had better know what we’re doing with it.  At the end of the day, the jury is still out.

3 days before:  As the boys need to spend another day getting Taka Trois in race mode and the girls once again leave them to their machinations and go for a hike. Still no verdict on Fred, but the calculators have appeared and the engineers, Bert and Patrice have steam coming out their ears.

2 days before:  Tomorrow we will leave the marina in Anse Marcel, our home in the north of the island and take Taka Trois down to anchor in Simpson Bay where the race will begin.  We finish provisioning the boat, make last minute equipment checks and take a drive down to race headquarters at the Yacht Club in Simpson Bay to check out the action, size up our competition over an ice-cold Heineken, pay our fee, collect our race number and get our bag of goodies.  We also need to inform the committee that after endless discussion, many calculations and much agonizing, we will be not be using Fred. 

1 day before:  George, the much-lauded Texan arrives onboard and promptly shows his colors by dubbing the boat ‘Taco Tres!’  Quirky sense of humor aside, he quickly wins my heart with his sweet-tempered nature and obvious skill.

By mid-morning the entire crew is assembled aboard and ready to for a trial run while moving Taka Trois into position in Simpson Bay.  There will be 4 races over 3 days including one all the way around the island and more importantly 3 parties every evening where copious quantities of rum will be distributed to soothe bruised body parts and egos.

Our ‘dress rehearsal’ goes very well, with not a single cross word, I’m pleased to report and by the end of it, we’re beginning to look, at least from my inexperienced perspective, less like bumbling clowns (I speak soley about myself here and) more like a cohesive racing crew.  We drop anchor in Simpson Bay for the night and hit the sack early.

If some of you have been holding your breath in suspense throughout this long-winded (pun intended) lead-up to the actual race, let me ease your mind right now.  We not only completed all four races of the regatta successfully and without incident, but for a first effort, we finished respectfully well, coming in 6th out of 17.  The competition was made up of largely boats like ourselves, with a half a dozen pro-boats sporting all the bells and whistles and fancy schmancy sails.  We were pleased that we successfully beat all our real competition (the non-pros) even without Fred.

More importantly, while we gave it a serious effort, we did indeed have fun.  Patrice will tell you that crossing the finish line on the last day (Bert insisted he take back the helm during the last leg) was one of the highlights of his life.   Although I could've done without those heart-stopping moments just before the start of the regatta where dozens of boats careened within inches around our precious baby boat while trying to get into perfect position for the shot-gun start, I really enjoyed seeing Taka Trois being put through her paces.  It was thrilling to take part in such an exciting event and to be a member of an exceptional team.  Serious, yes, but worth it and lots and lots of fun indeed!   

PS  Look out!  We'll be back next year....with Fred.  

When I wrote my last post at the beginning of this year, I hoped that I would be regularly writing new ‘takadventures.‘ However, what really happened was not very adventurous; work, work, work, a series of visitors, very little sailing and, as the French say, les petites choses de la vie (the little things in life), none of which make for very interesting reading.    The month of March however, brought an exciting event worth writing about: The Heineken regatta.

This event is is known as one of the “must do” events in the Caribbean and has more than 200 boats from over a dozen countries competing in four days of racing.  Patrice has been dying to participate (he refuses to tell me how long he has been dreaming of this, but I suspect it was around the time we acquired ‘Taka’ our first boat back in the year 2000 or perhaps even farther back to the time of his birth...).  

For a very brief period of time in the early days of our sailing history, Patrice and I tried our hand at racing together with the yacht club in Courseulles, Patrice’s home town in Normandy on Taka (One), a 22 foot Jeanneau.  We came in last in the first regatta we entered (and we have the trophy to prove it) and things went downhill from there.  We rarely finished most races and in one case we didn’t even manage to cross the start line--pathetic!  During the final regatta of our career, when we foolishly tried to use our newly acquired spinnaker--a last ditch attempt to save face--we nearly killed each other. 

Just to clarify, friends and neighbors, this has very little to do with sailing skill, although specific racing experience does help.  Patrice is an accomplished skipper and I’m not totally clueless as a crew member, but this is about competition and there is something about men and boats and competition that very seldom mixes well in a marriage. 

In the midst of that fateful last race, when we had stopped shouting at each other momentarily, I looked around me and noticed something interesting about the participants.  The conversation which followed went something like this: 

Debbie: “Patrice...”
Patrice:  “Yeah.”
Debbie:  “Do you see any other married couples out here racing?”
Patrice: “ .............errrr, no.”
Debbie:  “THERE’S A REASON FOR THAT!”

So, we wisely decided, for the sake of our marriage and sanity, to put an end to the madness.  I encouraged Patrice to continue without me, but his heart wasn’t in it (bless him) and with the exception of a one-off race on Taka Trois many years later in La Rochelle with Mathieu and Ian, our semi-professional sailing friends in charge (see below), we never raced again.  

Last March we watched the Heineken regatta from afar and I could tell that Patrice’s antennae were starting to quiver. I mentally prepared a long list of reasons to squash what I knew was coming (“Remember our racing history?  We become screaming meanies!  Taka Trois is our home!  Those guys look very very serious and scary!”) and launched all of it and more at the first mention of the idea of competing.  

Two months later, our good friends Bert and Judith came to sail with us.  During their stay, it became apparent that Bert is not only an exceptional sailor and helmsman, but has considerable experience racing.  He is also, and here’s the clincher, one of the kindest, calmest people I know, even when sailing in difficult conditions, some of which we encountered during their stay.   Patrice and Bert talked endlessly about the Heineken that week, to the point where I realized how much Patrice was dreaming about it and in a moment of insanity (and there must’ve been rum involved) I said, “well, if Bert does it with us, why not?”

Those words, of course, were like waving the proverbial 'red flag to a bull.'  The end of the story will be in my next post coming shortly.

Bonne Année! is the cry heard throughout French speaking countries, not just at midnight on new year’s eve, but throughout the month of January.  It is customary and expected that you wish ‘a happy new year’ to everyone you meet during the entire month of January, but only once!  If you mistakenly wish someone bonne année twice or do so anytime after the 31st of January, you will be reprimanded!   Here in the French West Indies, the locals are wonderfully exuberant with their new year’s wishes.  The words bonne année are embellished with et bonne santé et toutes bonnes choses et tout et tout et tout (and good health and all good things, etc. etc. etc.) accompanied by much back-slapping and hugging.

Although I love all this good cheer, as well as the French tradition of sending out new year’s wishes rather than Christmas cards,  I am not really a fan of New Year’s Eve itself.  After the Christmas festivities, I’m usually tired and have most probably indulged and imbibed too much and I'm not fond of all the hype and the pressure to make this evening outstanding.   However, I do enjoy the beginning of the year and the idea that we have 365 ‘blank pages’ ahead of us.  I find it’s a good time for me to reflect and take stock of my life  and think about what I would like to accomplish in the new year and which habits I would like to improve or modify or even add to my life.  And no, I’m not going to share my list with you, it will just make me crabbier at the end of the year if I know that you know what I didn’t achieve or follow through with.  Suffice it to say that it’s mainly made up of the usual good intentions and the above-mentioned ‘imbibing’ and ‘indulging’.

We ended 2013 more or less in the same way we ended 2012, just the two of us aboard Taka Trois reminiscing and rejoicing over the past year, enjoying each other’s company over a good meal and some excellent wine and thinking about our loved ones scattered throughout the world.  The big exception this year is that we’re not setting out on any major journeys on Taka Trois in the next few days and quite honestly, we’re both content that this year will start out quietly as we settle into life here in St. Martin.  The rest of the year is firmly in God’s hands.

Along with our sincere wish for a joyful and blessed 2014, our gift to you at the beginning of this new year is to try to make you smile.  The collection of photographs below are a compilation of the some of the things we found amusing during our travels in the last year.  We hope you enjoy our sense of humor.  

On the way to and from Arizona, I stopped in New York and New Jersey to do a bit of Christmas shopping and to revel in the festive delights of the Christmas season in that part of the world. Despite the crowds and the commercialism, it is still one of my favorite times of year in "The Big Apple." I love the jingle of the bells that the Salvation Army volunteers ring on every street corner, the bling and glitz of the shop windows on 5th Avenue and in Herald Square, the skaters in Central Park and especially the big tree at Rockefeller Center and the graceful angels that herald it.  The dusting of snow that fell on my nose and eyelashes on my last night there had me singing carols with gusto as we walked through the streets.

This year however, all of that was eclipsed by a once in a lifetime opportunity.  Every year in the quaint little town of Clinton, New Jersey, where my brother's family resides, there is a Christmas parade.  Their church is represented by a vintage firetruck owned by a certain Mr. Hooper and I was fortunate to be invited to ride on it in the parade.    The town is small, so the journey was blessedly short as it was pouring with freezing rain, but what an experience!  Much to the children's delight onboard, the truck was driven by none other than Batman (not sure why, but then again, why not?) and we were given jingle bells to shake.  At the end we were frozen and wet and our voices were hoarse from shouting 'Merry Christmas' to waving pedestrians, but I relished every moment!   Thank you Mr. Hooper!

That 'dusting of snow' in New York City I mentioned earlier turned into freezing rain by the time I left the city the next morning to catch my flight back to St. Martin, so I was, in fact, quite happy to leave and get back to the tropics.   Taka Trois was still ‘on the hard’ having her annual bottom scraping when I arrived , but she’s now back in the water and we’ve been busy scrubbing the rest of her, inside and out and putting her back together after her enforced 'rest' during hurricane season.  It's like doing a giant puzzle--maddening, but very satisfying when complete,  just in time to welcome ten members of our family who will be joining us here for Christmas week.

Truly blessed are the words that keep coming to mind as I write this final entry in my blog for 2013.   Faith, family and friends are the things I am always most thankful for, but this year, I would add an extra thanks to God for the incredible adventures we have had during the past 12 months, beginning with crossing the Atlantic (no, I can't say it enough!) and for keeping us safe throughout.  I must also say how grateful I am to you, dear readers of this blog.  Thank you for your encouragement and for sticking with me this past year.