Friday, December 30, 2011
A sea axe, A Sunseeker, and some very angry yoga.
It is easy now to forget the astonishingly large effort required to be placed as an inexperienced couple aboard a yacht. By the turn of the new year the world's superyacht fraternity had deserted southern Florida for the azure waters of the Caribbean. Now, financially treading water, we were presented with a temporary opportunity aboard a 164ft Damon built Sea Axe. Jess made a compelling argument, when sighting the need for nourishment superior to noodle based cuisine from the Dollar Tree, we were to accept any positions offered. So despite hearing fantastical stories of charter guests turning to gold and faraway islands with rivers of rum and ginger beer, we spent the next three months in a shipyard in Ft Lauderdale...
|
...With some of the finest and friendliest misfits we've had the pleasure of meeting. Accepting from our first day, every crew member willingly shared their knowledge, advice and beer - for all of which we are eternally grateful. In hindsight, the list of tasks we set about on 50 metres of perpetually deteriorating steel could be considered cumbersome by those already accustomed to the intricacies of doodlebug rust removal and lead based paint. With a noteworthy amount of pluck, Jess personally spent a month resurfacing the bilge - toiling in places tighter and dimmer than a Chilean mine. Undoubtedly, it was valuable experience that helped us secure permanent employment.
Our apartment in Toronto was small. Though instant in it's appeal as a well lit, well priced abode in a fantastic neighbourhood, we quickly came to appreciate extended living areas, notably, the rooftop patio and the pub, the Rose and Crown. Frequent visitors were asked to excuse the fact the bathroom was also an entertaining area and that the floor was an accepted place for a dinner party. Even on the rare occasions where I had deemed Jess's hours at the pub to be excessive, we made do; Jess asleep on the couch whilst I enjoyed a peaceful sleep, without her snoring seven metres away at the other end of the house.
Having failed in our attempt to look after a pet responsibly (it involved latex, an emergency vet trip and laxatives) we accepted we needn't have the room to swing a cat anyway.
Now enduring the affliction of an ever present swaying and rolling 120ft Sunseeker, living space is fiercely contested. At first, riding high on the opportunity to make a real start in the industry, the novelty of two square metres of actual cabin floor was a challenge we'd embraced with good humour. In total; a cosy two bunks and a shower/toilet/sink combined (time saving if you've slept in, and indispensable if you've been poisoned by the chef.) Jess admirably continues her fitness routine whilst we are underway, (I've learnt during which positions I can exit the cabin lest she turn yoga into an angry game of twister.)
Cruising the eastern seaboard of the US and the Caribbean we have been aboard now for near 8 months. Having spent winter in Miami, we embarked on an eventful trip north for the summer season in Newport, Rhode Island.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Wrapping, water taxi and wonton's.
"And anyway, who doesn't love bubble wrap?" It was a cheap shot, he knew it, but we couldn't disagree.
Christmas 1987 - Once again the extended family circled the base of a recently harvested and splendidly decorated pine - the stage was set. The ring announcer; a scantily bearded Santa-stand-in, smelling distinctly like my grandfather's Old Spice, determined that I was to receive the first gift - the opening blow, evidently felt hard by my cousin. A battle for the best-gift-received was always hard fought. Previous years had provided yours truly painful losses; A single lion outmatched by a full-set Voltron. He-Man defeated by the GI Joe. Hardest to swallow was the etch-a-sketch and the pogo ball trumped by that formidable, and forever despised, Teddy Ruxpin. The "original animated story telling bear." Damn him and his "grand adventure friends!" This year, present receiving vengeance was mine.
With confidence mounting I tore at shiny wrapping, blow after blow revealing what would surely be the well timed uppercut cleanly knocking my smug looking cousin into the arms of the piano accordion playing uncle. When colourful corners were revealed the family leaned forward, hungry for a result. My cousin feigned disinterest. With a final flourish the onlookers cheered. Being both an educational product and a board game in one, they knew the result. His tucked head extended upward, eyes wide he begun to smile with his realisation - he released an audible sigh. His confidence exploded immediately, countering with precision accuracy, jab after contented jab, forcing me into retreat. Then, on the ropes, I could only spectate as he clinched victory. It was over humiliatingly soon. The "Sega Master System" Vs "Alf!" the board game bout was all but over. The last laugh, I would reminisce years later, belonged to the owner of the least popular "Alf" product of all time.
In his haste to commandeer the TV remote he discarded the curious looking packaging that housed the console. I snatched at it and twisted with anguish. Accordions were silenced and the family delighted at the revelation in gaming technology. I sat transfixed by a plastic sheet spotted with pockets of air. For years I would harbour a guilty desire to purchase the latest electronics. Not for the Compact Disc's triumph over cassette, nor for DVD's over VHS. Having brought immense joy into my childhood...I love bubble wrap...
Jess does too.
When offered a chance for both of us to be surrounded by it, all day, every day, until christmas, we could not refuse. His words hung in the air, "Who doesn't love bubble wrap?" There is every chance you now know two people toiling away in an previously mentioned warehouse, surrounded by mountainous amounts of plastic and the roaring of jet engine's. Dreams are made of this. Our adventure continues... Albeit slower than we had anticipated.
Captain Tim is a nice guy. Though you get the impression he has spent many months at sea, alone, you can't help but be charmed by his attitude to life. Cruising around Miami waterways on a Saturday night, cold beer in hand, I remind myself this is not a typical day in the life of a yacht employee. Tim spends a great deal of time ensuring I catch as much as I can - "You always want to be careful who sees you drinking," and, "Listen to this idiot on the radio." Charitable to a fault, it becomes apparent he appreciates the company more than the help. We form a cautious friendship between the blurry lines of a sole Captain and his, "First mate." Months could pass and I would still be content on a day charter aboard the relatively small, but still phenomenally expensive party boat. Clientele are easygoing, requiring little constant supervision, perhaps the skipper's relaxed personality permeates the vessel, those climbing on deck lulled into an inclination (having been customarily waited upon) to be decidedly self sufficient. I assure them that, should they require anything at all, to let me know. Boats i'm still learning, persuading folks to over indulge in alcohol I can do in my sleep.
Jess's birthday fell on a Tuesday. On the same day in 2009 we were on the mountain in Beaver Creek, Colorado. Lunch was a bottle of champagne and a sour dough chilli bowl. Aware that it could easily overshadow this year's blowout, I had deftly planned a day of surprise and delight...on a smaller budget.
They call it the, "Venice of South!" We had just begun our Water Taxi ride to kick it off. I gestured with a big wide swinging arc of an arm, hoping to over exaggerate the fact that despite what "they" call it we were still on the New River in Ft Lauderdale, in temperatures Colorado-esque. The Captain narrates a tour past some of most expensive property in The South. "That there is the most expensive dog in the USA," he states, signalling towards a terrier perched on the stern of a passing kayak. "With bit parts on hundreds of sitcoms, he is now the face of Milk-Bone treats, and boy, what a treat!" Instantly recognisable, Captain Doug from our training school and his canine companion "Gatsby," offer a wave as they hear the commentary. To confuse further he continues, "That gentleman paddling there is blind, if you can believe it!" I can't. Two weeks prior he was teaching chartwork incredibly well for someone with poor vision. Catching on, Doug is quick to shout, "one bark for port, two to starboard!" Gatsby remains quiet, the tour party unaware of what to believe smile and clap politely, but watch the kayak as we disappear around the river's bend.
Jess knew what she was getting as a gift. Despite my best attempts to pretend I hadn't noticed the hints she had been dropping, the afternoon was spent at a Day Spa. Briefly I tried to convince her, that the taxi ride was her present. I fear I have become predictable. Free Happy Hour followed in a hotel lobby. Food was then the obvious choice after three very happy hours. "Coco's" Serves up the best wonton soup in town and the Philippino server's do a surprisingly good, (though not of the same caliber as the soup) version of Happy Birthday.
I look forward to Jess's birthday often more than mine, I ask, "Colorado one year, Florida the next, where to next year?" She is quick to respond, "On a boat."
Ten, very busy days, and it will be christmas. If asked last year whether we would have been living in Florida, gaining experience in the provisioning industry I would have been sceptical. But alas, look how far we have come. Predictable as my gift giving can be, you are assured that it will be wrapped in an over abundance of everyone's favourite form of plastic - a gift in itself.
Christmas 1987 - Once again the extended family circled the base of a recently harvested and splendidly decorated pine - the stage was set. The ring announcer; a scantily bearded Santa-stand-in, smelling distinctly like my grandfather's Old Spice, determined that I was to receive the first gift - the opening blow, evidently felt hard by my cousin. A battle for the best-gift-received was always hard fought. Previous years had provided yours truly painful losses; A single lion outmatched by a full-set Voltron. He-Man defeated by the GI Joe. Hardest to swallow was the etch-a-sketch and the pogo ball trumped by that formidable, and forever despised, Teddy Ruxpin. The "original animated story telling bear." Damn him and his "grand adventure friends!" This year, present receiving vengeance was mine.
With confidence mounting I tore at shiny wrapping, blow after blow revealing what would surely be the well timed uppercut cleanly knocking my smug looking cousin into the arms of the piano accordion playing uncle. When colourful corners were revealed the family leaned forward, hungry for a result. My cousin feigned disinterest. With a final flourish the onlookers cheered. Being both an educational product and a board game in one, they knew the result. His tucked head extended upward, eyes wide he begun to smile with his realisation - he released an audible sigh. His confidence exploded immediately, countering with precision accuracy, jab after contented jab, forcing me into retreat. Then, on the ropes, I could only spectate as he clinched victory. It was over humiliatingly soon. The "Sega Master System" Vs "Alf!" the board game bout was all but over. The last laugh, I would reminisce years later, belonged to the owner of the least popular "Alf" product of all time.
In his haste to commandeer the TV remote he discarded the curious looking packaging that housed the console. I snatched at it and twisted with anguish. Accordions were silenced and the family delighted at the revelation in gaming technology. I sat transfixed by a plastic sheet spotted with pockets of air. For years I would harbour a guilty desire to purchase the latest electronics. Not for the Compact Disc's triumph over cassette, nor for DVD's over VHS. Having brought immense joy into my childhood...I love bubble wrap...
Jess does too.
When offered a chance for both of us to be surrounded by it, all day, every day, until christmas, we could not refuse. His words hung in the air, "Who doesn't love bubble wrap?" There is every chance you now know two people toiling away in an previously mentioned warehouse, surrounded by mountainous amounts of plastic and the roaring of jet engine's. Dreams are made of this. Our adventure continues... Albeit slower than we had anticipated.
Captain Tim is a nice guy. Though you get the impression he has spent many months at sea, alone, you can't help but be charmed by his attitude to life. Cruising around Miami waterways on a Saturday night, cold beer in hand, I remind myself this is not a typical day in the life of a yacht employee. Tim spends a great deal of time ensuring I catch as much as I can - "You always want to be careful who sees you drinking," and, "Listen to this idiot on the radio." Charitable to a fault, it becomes apparent he appreciates the company more than the help. We form a cautious friendship between the blurry lines of a sole Captain and his, "First mate." Months could pass and I would still be content on a day charter aboard the relatively small, but still phenomenally expensive party boat. Clientele are easygoing, requiring little constant supervision, perhaps the skipper's relaxed personality permeates the vessel, those climbing on deck lulled into an inclination (having been customarily waited upon) to be decidedly self sufficient. I assure them that, should they require anything at all, to let me know. Boats i'm still learning, persuading folks to over indulge in alcohol I can do in my sleep.
Jess's birthday fell on a Tuesday. On the same day in 2009 we were on the mountain in Beaver Creek, Colorado. Lunch was a bottle of champagne and a sour dough chilli bowl. Aware that it could easily overshadow this year's blowout, I had deftly planned a day of surprise and delight...on a smaller budget.
They call it the, "Venice of South!" We had just begun our Water Taxi ride to kick it off. I gestured with a big wide swinging arc of an arm, hoping to over exaggerate the fact that despite what "they" call it we were still on the New River in Ft Lauderdale, in temperatures Colorado-esque. The Captain narrates a tour past some of most expensive property in The South. "That there is the most expensive dog in the USA," he states, signalling towards a terrier perched on the stern of a passing kayak. "With bit parts on hundreds of sitcoms, he is now the face of Milk-Bone treats, and boy, what a treat!" Instantly recognisable, Captain Doug from our training school and his canine companion "Gatsby," offer a wave as they hear the commentary. To confuse further he continues, "That gentleman paddling there is blind, if you can believe it!" I can't. Two weeks prior he was teaching chartwork incredibly well for someone with poor vision. Catching on, Doug is quick to shout, "one bark for port, two to starboard!" Gatsby remains quiet, the tour party unaware of what to believe smile and clap politely, but watch the kayak as we disappear around the river's bend.
Jess knew what she was getting as a gift. Despite my best attempts to pretend I hadn't noticed the hints she had been dropping, the afternoon was spent at a Day Spa. Briefly I tried to convince her, that the taxi ride was her present. I fear I have become predictable. Free Happy Hour followed in a hotel lobby. Food was then the obvious choice after three very happy hours. "Coco's" Serves up the best wonton soup in town and the Philippino server's do a surprisingly good, (though not of the same caliber as the soup) version of Happy Birthday.
I look forward to Jess's birthday often more than mine, I ask, "Colorado one year, Florida the next, where to next year?" She is quick to respond, "On a boat."
Ten, very busy days, and it will be christmas. If asked last year whether we would have been living in Florida, gaining experience in the provisioning industry I would have been sceptical. But alas, look how far we have come. Predictable as my gift giving can be, you are assured that it will be wrapped in an over abundance of everyone's favourite form of plastic - a gift in itself.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Miami Vice, Marina's and Meat.
I have no idea what Haeundae beach in the southeast corner of Korea looks or feels like. If asked, I could not picture it. If asked, I would not be able to adequately provision for an excursion there. If informed it is widely considered to be the finest beach in Korea I would, rather presumptuously, pack quintessential fun-in-the-sun paraphernalia; my well worn budgie smugglers, a towel and a cricket bat - armed only with the knowledge that it's a beach. And beaches are warm.
Ten degrees closer to the equator, a world away, in the southeast corner of the Sunshine State of Florida, is Miami. Unlike attempts to imagine a stay in Korea's holiday hotspots, visions are instantly conjured up in the mind's eye, cultivated through the Don Johnson years and more recently David Caruso's contemplative, yet painful, Horatio. It's a place, you could guess, you'd safely sport the budgie's and drip dry at an art deco bar on Ocean Blvd. Where the population is bred to bolster the USA's chances of a beach volleyball championship. Where the country's plastic elite can go unabashedly disregarding decent exposure laws with, well, less than decent exposures. All. Year. Round. Right?
Maybe as an Queenslander I have a predisposition to the notion that most places, most often, are warm places. Less than temperate climes startle me with their severity. Jess mentions now I assumed Canadian winters, though able to yield more snow, were no less agreeable than a cold night in Port Douglas. Surprised was an understatement - Ice an inch thick formed and sealed our windows closed from the humidity inside our apartment - not to be opened until spring. Knuckles cracked and bled when exposed to the elements for a period greater than the time it took to run to the pub. It gets cold in Canada.
Never did I witness Detective Crockett wearing anything warmer than an Italo-casual cool white sport jacket.
So, past predictions aside, would I ever have considered packing anything warmer, enroute to Miami, than a flouro pink wife beater and a strategically placed sock. No one will tell you - It gets cold in the Sunshine State!
Something that may also surprise you; the illegal immigrant population of the United States in 2008 was estimated by the "Centre for Immigration Studies" to be about 11 million people. Other estimates range from 7 to up to 20 million people. At the top end that is five times the population of New Zealand, living and working illegally in the US. You yourself may know of someone that is working illegally in the United States - In a packing warehouse, in the flight path of a local airport perhaps, cautiously ensuring every box to leave on a pallet is of correct dimension and weight. Debate rages as to whether this type of work should be reserved for the native population - I for one except, that in any economy, there is a small minority of fringe people prepared to work harder for a smaller wage determined by his/her ability to endure below freezing temperatures and the roar of jet engine.
We are informed that there are other avenues to be exhausted outside of the aforementioned line of work. If one was wishing to announce a propensity to be employed aboard private yachts within the US, they would be well advised to do so with a gentle whisper, not a holler, unless you hold a green card. A typical (though not legal), accepted (though not openly discussed) opportunity for those wishing to gain experience within the super yacht community is the ephemeral chance at something seldom offered; "Daywork."
Ribovich Marina is in West Palm Beach. It's heavily fortified. Potential crew scour it's surrounds in the early hours of the morning for a way in. They hope that a day's work will be the key to a door that grants them the key to eventual super-yacht captaincy. Literally, to pass through this door on any given morning, newly employed security chief "Dennis" would have to be completely convinced of your legitimacy for being there.
Ribovich, at present, is home to some of the world's best yachts. Dennis's position would be in jeopardy if he was found to lack diligence in ensuring only the super-yacht-super-elite passed before him. Opportunities abound once you've negated the sophisticated systems Dennis has employed to guard his yard. Those who make it can expect, at worst, a substantial contribution towards next weeks rent. At best, it is a precursory step towards super-yacht-super-stardom. Be assured, you do know someone who is yet to outwit Dennis.
Unaware or unconcerned of the barrage of pretenders, the lobby staff at a local hotel have created the happiest hour in all of Ft Lauderdale. Daily, for two hours in the afternoon, they offer a Cuban's ransom in rum - for free - If you can convince them that you; a) have a room key in your wallet, Or b) have enough money to tip, and even the leanest wallet can provide enough gratuity to ensure they'll suggest some pretzels or fresh popcorn with your beverages. We are told that the breakfast, made-to-order,
is also [small] noteworthy.
Three birthday celebrations kicked off in earnest on Sunday. Jess's was the largest, anticipated by the local population due to an increase of invitations issued the night before - during Happy Hour. Planned all week, the BBQ put the housemates to work in the usual fashion - focused, but not without a headache from the previous night's exploits. We have two chef's (yes, I counted myself) three Deckhands, three Stewardess' and a fellow who seems to be willing to offer services for almost any task, with an inability to complete one. By three PM, nearly all of the 6 kilograms of meat and potato salad were laid out. Four Loko pong made an appearance (ensuring that this post was much later this week than anticipated,) and all of the invitees made an appearance, which was a surprise to everyone, Jess included. Only one guest made it into the pool. It laid to rest the questions of whether it really was as cold as the thermometer suggested, and whether Iphones can swim. "Aaaaarrggh!! F*&K! yes!" And sadly, "no, they cannot."
Ten degrees closer to the equator, a world away, in the southeast corner of the Sunshine State of Florida, is Miami. Unlike attempts to imagine a stay in Korea's holiday hotspots, visions are instantly conjured up in the mind's eye, cultivated through the Don Johnson years and more recently David Caruso's contemplative, yet painful, Horatio. It's a place, you could guess, you'd safely sport the budgie's and drip dry at an art deco bar on Ocean Blvd. Where the population is bred to bolster the USA's chances of a beach volleyball championship. Where the country's plastic elite can go unabashedly disregarding decent exposure laws with, well, less than decent exposures. All. Year. Round. Right?
Maybe as an Queenslander I have a predisposition to the notion that most places, most often, are warm places. Less than temperate climes startle me with their severity. Jess mentions now I assumed Canadian winters, though able to yield more snow, were no less agreeable than a cold night in Port Douglas. Surprised was an understatement - Ice an inch thick formed and sealed our windows closed from the humidity inside our apartment - not to be opened until spring. Knuckles cracked and bled when exposed to the elements for a period greater than the time it took to run to the pub. It gets cold in Canada.
Never did I witness Detective Crockett wearing anything warmer than an Italo-casual cool white sport jacket.
So, past predictions aside, would I ever have considered packing anything warmer, enroute to Miami, than a flouro pink wife beater and a strategically placed sock. No one will tell you - It gets cold in the Sunshine State!
Something that may also surprise you; the illegal immigrant population of the United States in 2008 was estimated by the "Centre for Immigration Studies" to be about 11 million people. Other estimates range from 7 to up to 20 million people. At the top end that is five times the population of New Zealand, living and working illegally in the US. You yourself may know of someone that is working illegally in the United States - In a packing warehouse, in the flight path of a local airport perhaps, cautiously ensuring every box to leave on a pallet is of correct dimension and weight. Debate rages as to whether this type of work should be reserved for the native population - I for one except, that in any economy, there is a small minority of fringe people prepared to work harder for a smaller wage determined by his/her ability to endure below freezing temperatures and the roar of jet engine.
We are informed that there are other avenues to be exhausted outside of the aforementioned line of work. If one was wishing to announce a propensity to be employed aboard private yachts within the US, they would be well advised to do so with a gentle whisper, not a holler, unless you hold a green card. A typical (though not legal), accepted (though not openly discussed) opportunity for those wishing to gain experience within the super yacht community is the ephemeral chance at something seldom offered; "Daywork."
Ribovich Marina is in West Palm Beach. It's heavily fortified. Potential crew scour it's surrounds in the early hours of the morning for a way in. They hope that a day's work will be the key to a door that grants them the key to eventual super-yacht captaincy. Literally, to pass through this door on any given morning, newly employed security chief "Dennis" would have to be completely convinced of your legitimacy for being there.
Ribovich, at present, is home to some of the world's best yachts. Dennis's position would be in jeopardy if he was found to lack diligence in ensuring only the super-yacht-super-elite passed before him. Opportunities abound once you've negated the sophisticated systems Dennis has employed to guard his yard. Those who make it can expect, at worst, a substantial contribution towards next weeks rent. At best, it is a precursory step towards super-yacht-super-stardom. Be assured, you do know someone who is yet to outwit Dennis.
Unaware or unconcerned of the barrage of pretenders, the lobby staff at a local hotel have created the happiest hour in all of Ft Lauderdale. Daily, for two hours in the afternoon, they offer a Cuban's ransom in rum - for free - If you can convince them that you; a) have a room key in your wallet, Or b) have enough money to tip, and even the leanest wallet can provide enough gratuity to ensure they'll suggest some pretzels or fresh popcorn with your beverages. We are told that the breakfast, made-to-order,
is also [small] noteworthy.
Three birthday celebrations kicked off in earnest on Sunday. Jess's was the largest, anticipated by the local population due to an increase of invitations issued the night before - during Happy Hour. Planned all week, the BBQ put the housemates to work in the usual fashion - focused, but not without a headache from the previous night's exploits. We have two chef's (yes, I counted myself) three Deckhands, three Stewardess' and a fellow who seems to be willing to offer services for almost any task, with an inability to complete one. By three PM, nearly all of the 6 kilograms of meat and potato salad were laid out. Four Loko pong made an appearance (ensuring that this post was much later this week than anticipated,) and all of the invitees made an appearance, which was a surprise to everyone, Jess included. Only one guest made it into the pool. It laid to rest the questions of whether it really was as cold as the thermometer suggested, and whether Iphones can swim. "Aaaaarrggh!! F*&K! yes!" And sadly, "no, they cannot."
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Flamingo, the goonies cave and SW15th
 |
| Flamingo at the resort - oddly after Thanksgiving there was one less. |
 |
| About 150m underground it was crystal clear - with turtles! |
 |
| I didn't want to put this in, but i caved. |
 |
| Columbus square. Ciudad Colonial. |
 |
| next to the Hostel Dominico Mundial |
 |
| 12% - about 8% more than you need when you're playing beer pong. |
 |
| The end of a big night! |
 |
| View from the backyard. |
 |
| "It's not enough just to sit and socialise." |
 |
| Who's says you can't wear a toque and hula hoop in a bar. |
Bananas in pyjamas, pesos and pat-downs.
"Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas" It means, "My hovercraft is full of eels!" A phrase curiously retained from hundreds read on spanish language websites. Pronunciation is not perfect but I'm sure it wouldn't have mattered. There are 3.8 million people living in the oldest european city in the Americas, Santo Domingo. There are handful of those that speak english, I only met one.
To work on private yachts in the Caribbean you must be American, Canadian or hold a B1/B2 visa. Though I look forward to the obligatory recklessness with fireworks on the 4th of July, and have a fond regard for the sentence suffix "eh," none qualifies me to gain entry into US waters aboard a yacht. Unaware of this fact before embarking on the search for work, it seemed that I must discover the process involved in obtaining the ol' B1/B2. It also became apparent that without a trip to Australia, or a lengthy stay in the Great White North, I also must familiarise myself with the astonishingly surreal experience of applying for it in a third world country.
The sun was not up yet. Ordinarily, by this time, I have run for an hour, swam for a couple more and arranged a continental breakfast-in-bed for Jess. On Monday morning I was on the phone to the airline to arrange a flight leaving within two hours. Jess says I looked like it was my first day at school. Unaccustomed to leaving on such an adventure without her, I was concerned there might be important items forgotten, misplaced, or neglected. Rightfully so.
A day later and the sun is not up yet. In the colonial part of the city, under the suspicious gaze of three hundred or more hopeful (and well dressed) Dominicans already in cue, I was thankful Jess had snuck in a decent outfit (and a toothbrush). At a glance, the US consulate herds through a thousand visa applicants per day. The only one fair in complexion, and unable to comprehend the process towards a successful branding I was driven through security chutes, vigorous pat-downs, waiting rooms filled with incomprehensible instructions and many more natives, followed by more vigorous pat-downs. The latter of which I secretly began to enjoy as it afforded human contact I was now becoming familiar with. To continue the analogy; I was the foreign domesticated dairy variety lost amongst the bulls all the while lowing at the ranchers unsympathetic towards my inability to annunciate how I came to be there.
Nine hours sleep in three days. Coffee came at the worst moment. As good as Dominican coffee can be, my alertness was nearing an end. Having consumed only a burrito the night before and without breakfast, a well timed triple-espresso was to deliver a bitter hit of attentiveness allowing me to plead my case confidently and succinctly. Instead, the charge reduced me to a largely quivering and apprehensive aspirant, profusely sweating through Jess's well selected blue polo. At the front of the line, I was acutely aware it was not the time to look like I had run low on methadone.
"Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas" It was all I found to draw on. He frowned, looked intensely back through the glass, shuffled my passport and papers, and began questioning... in perfect english.
Having nothing to hide, and with enough evidence to substantiate that I was legitimately looking to work aboard private yachts it was over quickly. Personable enough to enjoy conversation about my travels thus far he ended the eight hour ordeal by issuing the required documents - the prerequisite to employment in the Caribbean - with a smile and a "good luck."
Modest in it's appearance, but thankfully free from bedbugs, the hostel provided great access to most of the attractions within a short distance."It is my passion, I like to do it." Roger states plainly. As the proprietor of the Hostel Dominico Mundial, he is helpful, but a little peculiar. "People will see you as a source of income, you will be well advised to haggle and keep your possessions safe." He continues, "I guess some things can be expected in any country without great wealth." "Like a distinct lack of seat belts...and cholera vaccine" I muse, attempting to keep him talking. He ignores me but continues, "I can arrange many things, if you feel as though you've been taken advantage of... you have." I wondered why he put the two together.
Keeping busy for the remainder of the week was not difficult. I managed to visit the Catedral Primada de Americas - the first cathedral in the Americas - built in the late 15th century and the home to Christopher Columbus' first resting place (he know resides in a formidable structure on the way to the airport.) La Tres Ojas "the three eyes," is a stunningly beautiful system of caves just out of town. Picture "the Goonies," then picture me asking the tour guide for the truffle shuffle. Boca Chica, and further, Juan Dolio are the closest areas with beaches and are also home to some of the poorest people in the country. Driving past them is humbling and pulling into the resort compound where I spent the last night, I couldn't help but wince at the contrast. Within the all-inclusive my biggest concern was staying sober long enough to take down that shuffle-board champion seen fleecing the younger generation with his well balanced puck pushing. Across the street at the same time, Dominicans hope to sell Cuban made cigars at grossly inflated prices to feed the family. I buy two Cohibas in the hope I can assuage my guilt.
Jess's week, she assures me, was riddled with good fortune and the feeling we are in the right place at the moment. On returning from a crew agent she stopped her bike above a crisp note in the gutter. "A can of coke costs 90 cents and I got a dime change!" She enjoyed a furkey dinner, on the Thanksgiving that I sadly missed, at a local hotel. She tells me it was the second best feast she has had - kind enough to keep my Canadian Thanksgiving spread in higher esteem. She also went barefoot into a 7/11 later that night, in a less-than-friendly part of town, and walked out on a first name basis with some of the rapping gentry on the front stoop. Thankfully she was waiting and smiling at the airport when I finally arrived...
...my flight had been cancelled. Spending the last of my money on a $3 paperback I sat in the most empty departures lounge and read it cover to cover before handing it back to the bemused newsagent. A very sweet Dominican girl who had seen me sitting in the same place for eight hours came from quite the distance to ensure my well being. Noticing I had not eaten or had anything to drink she began, "Buenas noches. ¿Hablas español?"
"No senorita, pokito español. Lo siento" She continues in Spanish anyway indicating with gestures; it is cold where I am sitting and I hadn't eaten. "Si Senorita," I understand. I indicate I have no pesos left. She smiles, leaves then returns with a bottle of coke and a cup of ice. Grateful as I am, I have exhausted all my spanish phrases. I open my palms, and announce proudly, "Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas!" She doesn't laugh.
To work on private yachts in the Caribbean you must be American, Canadian or hold a B1/B2 visa. Though I look forward to the obligatory recklessness with fireworks on the 4th of July, and have a fond regard for the sentence suffix "eh," none qualifies me to gain entry into US waters aboard a yacht. Unaware of this fact before embarking on the search for work, it seemed that I must discover the process involved in obtaining the ol' B1/B2. It also became apparent that without a trip to Australia, or a lengthy stay in the Great White North, I also must familiarise myself with the astonishingly surreal experience of applying for it in a third world country.
The sun was not up yet. Ordinarily, by this time, I have run for an hour, swam for a couple more and arranged a continental breakfast-in-bed for Jess. On Monday morning I was on the phone to the airline to arrange a flight leaving within two hours. Jess says I looked like it was my first day at school. Unaccustomed to leaving on such an adventure without her, I was concerned there might be important items forgotten, misplaced, or neglected. Rightfully so.
A day later and the sun is not up yet. In the colonial part of the city, under the suspicious gaze of three hundred or more hopeful (and well dressed) Dominicans already in cue, I was thankful Jess had snuck in a decent outfit (and a toothbrush). At a glance, the US consulate herds through a thousand visa applicants per day. The only one fair in complexion, and unable to comprehend the process towards a successful branding I was driven through security chutes, vigorous pat-downs, waiting rooms filled with incomprehensible instructions and many more natives, followed by more vigorous pat-downs. The latter of which I secretly began to enjoy as it afforded human contact I was now becoming familiar with. To continue the analogy; I was the foreign domesticated dairy variety lost amongst the bulls all the while lowing at the ranchers unsympathetic towards my inability to annunciate how I came to be there.
Nine hours sleep in three days. Coffee came at the worst moment. As good as Dominican coffee can be, my alertness was nearing an end. Having consumed only a burrito the night before and without breakfast, a well timed triple-espresso was to deliver a bitter hit of attentiveness allowing me to plead my case confidently and succinctly. Instead, the charge reduced me to a largely quivering and apprehensive aspirant, profusely sweating through Jess's well selected blue polo. At the front of the line, I was acutely aware it was not the time to look like I had run low on methadone.
"Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas" It was all I found to draw on. He frowned, looked intensely back through the glass, shuffled my passport and papers, and began questioning... in perfect english.
Having nothing to hide, and with enough evidence to substantiate that I was legitimately looking to work aboard private yachts it was over quickly. Personable enough to enjoy conversation about my travels thus far he ended the eight hour ordeal by issuing the required documents - the prerequisite to employment in the Caribbean - with a smile and a "good luck."
Modest in it's appearance, but thankfully free from bedbugs, the hostel provided great access to most of the attractions within a short distance."It is my passion, I like to do it." Roger states plainly. As the proprietor of the Hostel Dominico Mundial, he is helpful, but a little peculiar. "People will see you as a source of income, you will be well advised to haggle and keep your possessions safe." He continues, "I guess some things can be expected in any country without great wealth." "Like a distinct lack of seat belts...and cholera vaccine" I muse, attempting to keep him talking. He ignores me but continues, "I can arrange many things, if you feel as though you've been taken advantage of... you have." I wondered why he put the two together.
Keeping busy for the remainder of the week was not difficult. I managed to visit the Catedral Primada de Americas - the first cathedral in the Americas - built in the late 15th century and the home to Christopher Columbus' first resting place (he know resides in a formidable structure on the way to the airport.) La Tres Ojas "the three eyes," is a stunningly beautiful system of caves just out of town. Picture "the Goonies," then picture me asking the tour guide for the truffle shuffle. Boca Chica, and further, Juan Dolio are the closest areas with beaches and are also home to some of the poorest people in the country. Driving past them is humbling and pulling into the resort compound where I spent the last night, I couldn't help but wince at the contrast. Within the all-inclusive my biggest concern was staying sober long enough to take down that shuffle-board champion seen fleecing the younger generation with his well balanced puck pushing. Across the street at the same time, Dominicans hope to sell Cuban made cigars at grossly inflated prices to feed the family. I buy two Cohibas in the hope I can assuage my guilt.
Jess's week, she assures me, was riddled with good fortune and the feeling we are in the right place at the moment. On returning from a crew agent she stopped her bike above a crisp note in the gutter. "A can of coke costs 90 cents and I got a dime change!" She enjoyed a furkey dinner, on the Thanksgiving that I sadly missed, at a local hotel. She tells me it was the second best feast she has had - kind enough to keep my Canadian Thanksgiving spread in higher esteem. She also went barefoot into a 7/11 later that night, in a less-than-friendly part of town, and walked out on a first name basis with some of the rapping gentry on the front stoop. Thankfully she was waiting and smiling at the airport when I finally arrived...
...my flight had been cancelled. Spending the last of my money on a $3 paperback I sat in the most empty departures lounge and read it cover to cover before handing it back to the bemused newsagent. A very sweet Dominican girl who had seen me sitting in the same place for eight hours came from quite the distance to ensure my well being. Noticing I had not eaten or had anything to drink she began, "Buenas noches. ¿Hablas español?"
"No senorita, pokito español. Lo siento" She continues in Spanish anyway indicating with gestures; it is cold where I am sitting and I hadn't eaten. "Si Senorita," I understand. I indicate I have no pesos left. She smiles, leaves then returns with a bottle of coke and a cup of ice. Grateful as I am, I have exhausted all my spanish phrases. I open my palms, and announce proudly, "Mi aerodeslizador está lleno de anguilas!" She doesn't laugh.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Canned hams, malt liquor and memory loss
Jess, bless her, is always happy to humour me. The Afro-american girl behind the counter is less inclined and looks ready to do away with perfunctory niceties - I wonder if she remembers me. "So you are telling me everything in the store, everything, one dollar?!" It astounds me.
In vain, I continue my survey hoping to discover a Dollar Tree employee aware of a hidden product in store, holding a greater sale price than a single dollar, without success. We have been here many times. Apart from an amazing array of "our version" perfumes and cosmetics we found one selling frozen goods as well as floor to ceiling canned goods. If we had the fortitude to survive canned ham, fish and frozen chicken dinners daily, we would be a great deal less inclined to search for employment. Plagued by recalls, I am cautioned against the "hot melt mini glue gun" - prone to short circuiting causing burns, and a particular candle set - often producing excessive flame. Still, the allure of a spice rack and dry goods cabinet stocked for less than a twenty has meant we are comfortable investing with a blind eye towards lead paint, sharp edges and shorter circuits. "And how much is this one?" I enquire expectantly. She is now, unpleasantly, not smiling. Jess is walking away. "A dollar! Ha! You couldn't even buy the materials!"
Days go by fast here. We have been nearly a month in Florida. We spent this last week scanning web pages, newspapers and crew agency window fronts. Whenever we leave the house, finding work is paramount. Opportunities exist everywhere - Stories abound of potential yachties being plucked from the pub, the beach, even the grocery store (sadly not at the Dollar Tree). Jess is now a finely tuned job seeking machine. Casual conversations are scanned for any indication they may prove to be our ticket aboard. Banks, bathroom's, and bar stools are fair game. I can't speak to the Indian gentleman who owns the Stop & Shop without thinking he is only an Ice-T sale away from leaning over the counter and offering us ascension to employment nirvana.
We routinely revisit the places we have deposited our photo bearing resumes ensuring we remain ahead of the competition. A newcomer opens the binder and pins her offering on top before glancing knowingly at us before retreating - the door closes and she is relegated in the hope that the next person to visit will be our new boss, or within hours, we too will be swallowed up in a sea of hopeful faces. Jess works hard at following up with agencies and updating web pages - I run to the store for more Ice-T.
Sunburn comes quickly with my complexion. Barely awake when our flatmate offered a day of work washing down a beautiful 105 ft Hatteras M/Y, I neglected to take any measure to combat a scorching hot Florida sun. The battle was over before lunch. Kept busy with the chamois and attempting to manoeuvre about the deck, the sizzling was inevident until the captain gasped and asked if my lady-friend was heavy handed. Surprised at his mock concern and now starting to feel the tingle, I couldn't help wondering - had he met Jess? First aid instructors ensured we are now versed in the treating of sunburn and burning humiliation - with cold beer. I had only one day of work but was looking forward to the weekend.
"Four Loko. Banned in five states and soon to be off the shelves in the Sunshine state - One can is equivalent to four beers, two Redbulls and a shot of espresso. You keen?"
We have difficulty deciding what is a good idea once we've committed to having a good time. Generally this leads to adventure. At Sunrise Marina we found a very accommodating group of revellers - A Mad Hatter theme with crazy hats, jello shots, and a fantastic pasta salad. Unsure of the events that followed, extensive photographic evidence indicates we spent some time downtown in America's Backyard (cheap and cheesy) where Jess again embarked on her quest to master the hula hoop - with much more success than our last public attempt. In the Irish bar there's a particularly odd snap of me sporting a bright pink hat with breasts - inevitably traded for the mistletoe hat I'd left home with. Having planned a BBQ the next day my phone was littered with texts from people I have no recollection of meeting, kindly assuring me they'll bring some sausages. The local cab driver, quick to realise the stench of intoxication, ensured the trip home went from 5 minutes and $8, to 45 minutes and whatever was left in our wallets.
"Four Loko?"
"Again? really?"
Assuming that one should try everything twice it should be no surprise that Saturday's BBQ was a big event. Jess made up a pasta salad surpassing the one tasted the night before - her vegetarian cooking skills boosted by a short stay from a vegan chef. Many of the sausage bearing unknowns turned out to be great people - we listened keenly as they offered stories of sea cows, crossings and commercial diving. Later, Jess began a decent rendition of a lisa loeb track, the Four Loko beer pong tournament had ended with me clearly in need of practice and something to hold onto, the sausage bearing guests slipped away with the promise of contact should they hear of work opportunities.
Rain washed the empty plastic cups into the pool, we watched from inside, happy not to have to spend Sunday cleaning the yard. Little was done today as the remaining house mates recovered from the highly-caffeinated-super-strong-malt-liquor binge. There is reason college kids around the country are ensuring the giant cans are being pulled off the shelves faster than you can say..."Where's my boobies hat?"
In vain, I continue my survey hoping to discover a Dollar Tree employee aware of a hidden product in store, holding a greater sale price than a single dollar, without success. We have been here many times. Apart from an amazing array of "our version" perfumes and cosmetics we found one selling frozen goods as well as floor to ceiling canned goods. If we had the fortitude to survive canned ham, fish and frozen chicken dinners daily, we would be a great deal less inclined to search for employment. Plagued by recalls, I am cautioned against the "hot melt mini glue gun" - prone to short circuiting causing burns, and a particular candle set - often producing excessive flame. Still, the allure of a spice rack and dry goods cabinet stocked for less than a twenty has meant we are comfortable investing with a blind eye towards lead paint, sharp edges and shorter circuits. "And how much is this one?" I enquire expectantly. She is now, unpleasantly, not smiling. Jess is walking away. "A dollar! Ha! You couldn't even buy the materials!"
Days go by fast here. We have been nearly a month in Florida. We spent this last week scanning web pages, newspapers and crew agency window fronts. Whenever we leave the house, finding work is paramount. Opportunities exist everywhere - Stories abound of potential yachties being plucked from the pub, the beach, even the grocery store (sadly not at the Dollar Tree). Jess is now a finely tuned job seeking machine. Casual conversations are scanned for any indication they may prove to be our ticket aboard. Banks, bathroom's, and bar stools are fair game. I can't speak to the Indian gentleman who owns the Stop & Shop without thinking he is only an Ice-T sale away from leaning over the counter and offering us ascension to employment nirvana.
We routinely revisit the places we have deposited our photo bearing resumes ensuring we remain ahead of the competition. A newcomer opens the binder and pins her offering on top before glancing knowingly at us before retreating - the door closes and she is relegated in the hope that the next person to visit will be our new boss, or within hours, we too will be swallowed up in a sea of hopeful faces. Jess works hard at following up with agencies and updating web pages - I run to the store for more Ice-T.
Sunburn comes quickly with my complexion. Barely awake when our flatmate offered a day of work washing down a beautiful 105 ft Hatteras M/Y, I neglected to take any measure to combat a scorching hot Florida sun. The battle was over before lunch. Kept busy with the chamois and attempting to manoeuvre about the deck, the sizzling was inevident until the captain gasped and asked if my lady-friend was heavy handed. Surprised at his mock concern and now starting to feel the tingle, I couldn't help wondering - had he met Jess? First aid instructors ensured we are now versed in the treating of sunburn and burning humiliation - with cold beer. I had only one day of work but was looking forward to the weekend.
"Four Loko. Banned in five states and soon to be off the shelves in the Sunshine state - One can is equivalent to four beers, two Redbulls and a shot of espresso. You keen?"
We have difficulty deciding what is a good idea once we've committed to having a good time. Generally this leads to adventure. At Sunrise Marina we found a very accommodating group of revellers - A Mad Hatter theme with crazy hats, jello shots, and a fantastic pasta salad. Unsure of the events that followed, extensive photographic evidence indicates we spent some time downtown in America's Backyard (cheap and cheesy) where Jess again embarked on her quest to master the hula hoop - with much more success than our last public attempt. In the Irish bar there's a particularly odd snap of me sporting a bright pink hat with breasts - inevitably traded for the mistletoe hat I'd left home with. Having planned a BBQ the next day my phone was littered with texts from people I have no recollection of meeting, kindly assuring me they'll bring some sausages. The local cab driver, quick to realise the stench of intoxication, ensured the trip home went from 5 minutes and $8, to 45 minutes and whatever was left in our wallets.
"Four Loko?"
"Again? really?"
Assuming that one should try everything twice it should be no surprise that Saturday's BBQ was a big event. Jess made up a pasta salad surpassing the one tasted the night before - her vegetarian cooking skills boosted by a short stay from a vegan chef. Many of the sausage bearing unknowns turned out to be great people - we listened keenly as they offered stories of sea cows, crossings and commercial diving. Later, Jess began a decent rendition of a lisa loeb track, the Four Loko beer pong tournament had ended with me clearly in need of practice and something to hold onto, the sausage bearing guests slipped away with the promise of contact should they hear of work opportunities.
Rain washed the empty plastic cups into the pool, we watched from inside, happy not to have to spend Sunday cleaning the yard. Little was done today as the remaining house mates recovered from the highly-caffeinated-super-strong-malt-liquor binge. There is reason college kids around the country are ensuring the giant cans are being pulled off the shelves faster than you can say..."Where's my boobies hat?"
Sunday, November 14, 2010
 |
| Swim Drill, Dan waving |
 |
| "They don't make fisher price sizes" |
 |
| The search for the missing earring |
 |
| Fully decked out in our gear |
 |
| "Fire! Fire! Fire in the Galley!" Jess |
 |
| Us in the front - that's Dan behind me with his hand on his hose. ( Dan made me write it) |
 |
| Peace & Love Baby |
 |
| Mr. December - he can handle the heat, and chemical warfare. |
 |
| Pete says - "Fight the Fire" |
 |
| Fighting fires and saving lives, just another day at the office. |
 |
| "Miami Bitches" its a gangster thing |
 |
| Doing it like Jersey Shores |
 |
| Ocean Drive |
 |
| $9.99 Lunch with a free Margarita..STEAL |
Soup kitchens, Margaritas and sadly, Addiction.
In 1621 the modern tradition began, Pilgrims gave thanks for a successful season's harvest and for making it through a New England winter. It was nearly a year ago that we began our drive across the states in the now infamous "traveler" van (spelt with a single L). Though we often lament the inevitable sale of the best van to ever drive cross continent, we can neatly mark the anniversary of the expedition knowing that in less than two weeks it will be Thanksgiving. We were in New York for the Macy's parade and, having spent the morning witnessing the carnival atmosphere, rushed back to the hotel, threw on our sunday best and ran to the concierge to ask him his recommendations for the best feast in town. "No need to go far!" He stated, whilst stuffing a flyer into Jess's hand, "right around the corner, best one in town!" We were worried it was getting late and we might have missed it. Imagine our excitement when we were beckoned in by a row of apron wearing asian ladies stationed behind a mountainous buffet of all the festive offerings. Plates piled high we found a seat at the front and toasted our good fortune - with a very quickly provided green tea.
It was when the trolley pushing, slightly dishevelled gentleman (who had an enviable soda can collection) was also rushed in off the street, did we have time to look around and understand the predicament we were now in. Soup kitchens in the city of New York will make sure that everyone is able to give thanks - for free. I was thankful to be sitting at the front. Any further back and it would have been difficult to push past the gathering unfortunates that had decided we ought to be enjoying our turkey dinner in an establishment more becoming of our fresh scents and leather jackets. I tried for seconds while Jess made sure we could leave, we nodded towards the broadly grinning ladies and escaped under the disapproving gaze of the other diners in less than seven minutes. "Fantastic!" I said, "now we have more money for mojitos!"
"We have tried to roast a turkey in here," Pete the marine fire fighting instructor announced, "It burnt and the fumes made it taste like chemical." It runs hotter than 1200F in the box that the USCG says you have to survive through to ascertain a certificate in basic marine fire fighting. After a quick and thorough explanation of breathing apparatus, fully equipped with head-to-toe fire retardant suits, we followed Pete into the 12' x 25' room filled with thick white smoke. Keeping low, the door was pushed closed behind us. We were on our knees in 650 degrees celsius trying desperately not to breathe abnormally fast to ensure the tank lasts, to illustrate; firstly, the suits work - happily I can announce they do, and secondly, that we can hold it together long enough to learn the patterns required to extinguish a very large,
very hot stack of combustable materials - in a very small space.
"Excuse me Pete," my level voice belying my rising anxiety, "my face mask is vibrating." Not wanting to interrupt the fifteen minute demonstration, I meekly tugged on his sleeve while he fought with the monster now rolling over the ceiling above us. Do not stand up, do not take off your mask - the specific instructions issued at the start. Attempting to distract him to indicate I was certain my tank was getting dangerously low, was difficult in the circumstances. Grateful is not the right word - I could have hugged the big guy when the flames where reduced to a steamy mass. "You okay? That. Was. Cool." Jess puffed outside. "Jeeze it was awesome," I offered in response.
We are now both certified basic marine fire fighters and CPR administers. We know how to use a defibrillator and how to right an upturned life raft whilst abandoning ship in rough seas.
Miami is cool. Ocean Drive along South Beach is heavily populated with well preserved art deco buildings. Housing mostly bars and restaurants, the hosts will offer you free drinks in exchange for choosing their establishment for lunch. I didn't care much for sightseeing when the first place that we passed had a signature frozen margarita fishbowl with two coronas upside down in it. "No need to view the menu, with that sort of ingenuity i'm sure the food will dazzle." It didn't, but it was surprisingly cheap and I barely remember the drive home. We'll spend more time there.
I can safely speak for both of us, we are ashamed and not just a little embarrassed. Never having thought that it would lead to addiction, we were introduced late one night, during a period of diminished decision making capacity, to the best pizza joint in Ft Lauderdale. Spiralling into lacklustre cooking through demotivation, our fridge is nearly always empty. In a "these-pants-need-to-fit-me" display of depravity I was found, in the early hours of one morning in the walk-in closet, with a slice of pepperoni and sausage in one hand and a knife in the other. Leather is tough to punch holes through with greasy fingers. "Don't look at me!" It was a low point in which we decided that for one week it would be food from home - kebabs are a last resort. I will keep those of you obviously concerned up to date.
Jess has the shakes and I used the cord to the stereo as a belt...
It was when the trolley pushing, slightly dishevelled gentleman (who had an enviable soda can collection) was also rushed in off the street, did we have time to look around and understand the predicament we were now in. Soup kitchens in the city of New York will make sure that everyone is able to give thanks - for free. I was thankful to be sitting at the front. Any further back and it would have been difficult to push past the gathering unfortunates that had decided we ought to be enjoying our turkey dinner in an establishment more becoming of our fresh scents and leather jackets. I tried for seconds while Jess made sure we could leave, we nodded towards the broadly grinning ladies and escaped under the disapproving gaze of the other diners in less than seven minutes. "Fantastic!" I said, "now we have more money for mojitos!"
"We have tried to roast a turkey in here," Pete the marine fire fighting instructor announced, "It burnt and the fumes made it taste like chemical." It runs hotter than 1200F in the box that the USCG says you have to survive through to ascertain a certificate in basic marine fire fighting. After a quick and thorough explanation of breathing apparatus, fully equipped with head-to-toe fire retardant suits, we followed Pete into the 12' x 25' room filled with thick white smoke. Keeping low, the door was pushed closed behind us. We were on our knees in 650 degrees celsius trying desperately not to breathe abnormally fast to ensure the tank lasts, to illustrate; firstly, the suits work - happily I can announce they do, and secondly, that we can hold it together long enough to learn the patterns required to extinguish a very large,
very hot stack of combustable materials - in a very small space.
"Excuse me Pete," my level voice belying my rising anxiety, "my face mask is vibrating." Not wanting to interrupt the fifteen minute demonstration, I meekly tugged on his sleeve while he fought with the monster now rolling over the ceiling above us. Do not stand up, do not take off your mask - the specific instructions issued at the start. Attempting to distract him to indicate I was certain my tank was getting dangerously low, was difficult in the circumstances. Grateful is not the right word - I could have hugged the big guy when the flames where reduced to a steamy mass. "You okay? That. Was. Cool." Jess puffed outside. "Jeeze it was awesome," I offered in response.
We are now both certified basic marine fire fighters and CPR administers. We know how to use a defibrillator and how to right an upturned life raft whilst abandoning ship in rough seas.
Miami is cool. Ocean Drive along South Beach is heavily populated with well preserved art deco buildings. Housing mostly bars and restaurants, the hosts will offer you free drinks in exchange for choosing their establishment for lunch. I didn't care much for sightseeing when the first place that we passed had a signature frozen margarita fishbowl with two coronas upside down in it. "No need to view the menu, with that sort of ingenuity i'm sure the food will dazzle." It didn't, but it was surprisingly cheap and I barely remember the drive home. We'll spend more time there.
I can safely speak for both of us, we are ashamed and not just a little embarrassed. Never having thought that it would lead to addiction, we were introduced late one night, during a period of diminished decision making capacity, to the best pizza joint in Ft Lauderdale. Spiralling into lacklustre cooking through demotivation, our fridge is nearly always empty. In a "these-pants-need-to-fit-me" display of depravity I was found, in the early hours of one morning in the walk-in closet, with a slice of pepperoni and sausage in one hand and a knife in the other. Leather is tough to punch holes through with greasy fingers. "Don't look at me!" It was a low point in which we decided that for one week it would be food from home - kebabs are a last resort. I will keep those of you obviously concerned up to date.
Jess has the shakes and I used the cord to the stereo as a belt...
Monday, November 8, 2010
Pool Side Beer Pongin'
 |
| Setting up the festivities |
 |
| TEAM PHOTOS - Mallory & Kevin |
 |
| Dan & Locky |
 |
| "If there was a cup there, it would have gone in" |
 |
| Everyone's a winner in this league |
Maydays, Mastiffs and double-shot-Macchiato's
The law regarding transmitting a "mayday" over a VHF radio states clearly that; vessel (or person) must be "in grave and imminent danger." I know this, having completed the first week of training related to our bourgeoning megayacht career. Practically speaking though, when exactly, on the Intra Coastal Waterway, as your rubberised inflatable vessel tears on a rather harmless looking piece of pylon, should you assume that you are in "grave or imminent" danger?
Training quickly abandoned us; the four who watched helplessly as the air hissed out. The person culpable, the fairer half of a very friendly Alaskan couple, winced as her man weighed up; reach for her, or reach for higher ground. The instructor, a veteran of the seas for some 30 years, didn't reach for either, or the radio - this was enough to keep me from shrieking, "save yourselves!!" before abandoning ship... barely. I guess he knew, having honed his instincts through years of potential inflatable boat disasters, that they have more than one chamber holding air.
It was a welcome surprise to the rest of us that we could limp, albeit with more than a little water filling our buckets, very slowly back to land. It was the highlight of a week of training. Jess argues that scoring very high marks for her flower arrangement trumps life-and-death fallible inflatables. Both of us completed the first round of our training with fantastic results. Apparently however, on the high seas little is more important than a well positioned Geranium.
Our house has more nationalities than the UN. It is not easy, upon discovering a foreign national who has negated our sophisticated security at three in the morning, to determine wether to offer him an extra pillow or to start swinging that perpetually greasy frypan as he reaches for the remote. More difficult still is convincing them to sign the treaty relating to making fresh coffee if they are the first one up.
John owns and runs the best drive through coffee stand in the city (1900 S Andrews.) He also owns "Well spoken," a bicycle selling/lending business. Alertness is paramount when attempting to share the road with the rest of the population. Thai tuk-tuk drivers exhibit a deeper understanding of road safety and vehicle handling than the rush hour traffic on 17 St - the perilous stretch through which we manoeuvre daily to and from school. Green is go, red is go as fast as necessary to insert your front end into a space, oncoming traffic be damned. As mentioned previously, decision making comes easier when your native road crossing impulse draws your vision to the left first. John ensures he imparts the most amount of awareness he can - double shots and helmets will keep you in there longer. Genuinely he means it, out of concern, not financial gain.
Homebound off 17th is less of a concern, more attention is focused on how to reach those limes that will create the best tasting G&T or knock the bite from a 24oz can of Corona. We have exhausted the branches on our side of the fence, the bull mastiff knows he is now within striking distance as she stretches for the biggest and juiciest. I am peddling hard as Jess narrowly avoids loosing her sleeve. "It's not my turn,"I announce the next day we are thirsty, "and besides, you're obviously more nimble than I am."
We will attempt to post once a week on a Monday. We can relive those less than memorable occasions where we have attempted to promote ourselves to the yachting fraternity in the hope we have showed enough restraint during happy hour to have a conversation bordering on coherent with a potential employer.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Less beer, even less velcro and no tandem bicycles
Though every day is freakin' exciting here, I am aware of our potential inability to adequately illustrate the quieter events for you to receive any enjoyment in reading about them - you should skim for the highlights.
We have decided, though we have been told expressly to participate in the local social scene often (and to excess,) in order to sustain ourselves in our continuing period of unemployment, that it best not to be the most intoxicated ladybug-princess/tinfoil knights in the Sunshine State.
Waxy O'Connor, the Irish temptress and yachtie favourite, is relentless with her happy-hour-siren-song for the majority of our hour long walk home. I have been steadfast in restraining Jess and pushing us to instead register with the prerequisite crew agencies and polish the CV's. Having said that, she has convinced me that we may again succumb to the icy cold Budweiser's and oversized portions of fish and chips for dinner tomorrow.
Our courses began today with a joint deck/stew class outlining what we can expect from the industry - a million ways we could lose sleep, fingers, the ability to stay sober etc... before diving into terminology and knot tying. Jess was quick to learn knots - quicker still to point out I still use rabbit ears or velcro for shoelaces. I am practicing my bowline whilst she dictates..."can you help me make that sound funny-bowline...no? nothing?" Classmates range in experience and age but it was encouraging to learn that it is shaping up to be a great season for finding work.
After deciding that the scooter-sans-helmet option on the highways of Ft Lauderdale may be advanced,
(I still look the wrong way at the crosswalk) we will tomorrow invest in pedal-power to shorten the distance to school. There are no vintage tandem mongooses left - I will instead follow close in the hope my lack of North American road-crossing-instinct adjusts quickly.
We have decided, though we have been told expressly to participate in the local social scene often (and to excess,) in order to sustain ourselves in our continuing period of unemployment, that it best not to be the most intoxicated ladybug-princess/tinfoil knights in the Sunshine State.
Waxy O'Connor, the Irish temptress and yachtie favourite, is relentless with her happy-hour-siren-song for the majority of our hour long walk home. I have been steadfast in restraining Jess and pushing us to instead register with the prerequisite crew agencies and polish the CV's. Having said that, she has convinced me that we may again succumb to the icy cold Budweiser's and oversized portions of fish and chips for dinner tomorrow.
Our courses began today with a joint deck/stew class outlining what we can expect from the industry - a million ways we could lose sleep, fingers, the ability to stay sober etc... before diving into terminology and knot tying. Jess was quick to learn knots - quicker still to point out I still use rabbit ears or velcro for shoelaces. I am practicing my bowline whilst she dictates..."can you help me make that sound funny-bowline...no? nothing?" Classmates range in experience and age but it was encouraging to learn that it is shaping up to be a great season for finding work.
After deciding that the scooter-sans-helmet option on the highways of Ft Lauderdale may be advanced,
(I still look the wrong way at the crosswalk) we will tomorrow invest in pedal-power to shorten the distance to school. There are no vintage tandem mongooses left - I will instead follow close in the hope my lack of North American road-crossing-instinct adjusts quickly.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
deers, beers and turtles too!!
It all came to be after three years of deliberation we should find ourselves without any material shackles holding us to one country. Farewells to family and friends aside, it was relatively easy to pick up what we did not have in storage (or had hidden at peoples houses) and head out on what we are beginning to learn could be a much bigger adventure than we anticipated...
After spending 2 years in Canada I had never been fortunate enough to see a deer in the wild, so it would come as a surprise to myself, Jess, and her Papa (Brian) when on the 407 at the 3:30AM, en route to the airport we nearly bagged one each through the front of the van. Having narrowly avoided the startled creatures we were looking forward to an incident free flight to sun-soaked-party-state, Florida.
Alas, we boarded off the tarmac into a tin can the Wright brothers would have deemed unsafe, with a cross-dressing stewardess that forgot the words to the safety shpeel, before she dispensed a seemingly endless amount of pretzels (with no water) right before we headed into the 150 knot headwind that ensured many passengers had tested the quality of Continental's paper bags.
We arrived at our crew house just a little way away from the first of many establishments that have embraced the Happy Hour. Within two hours of touching down we were well on our way to getting to know a few of the ten or so people that reside in the four bedroom house we temporarily call home.
It is not hard to spend time drinking here; of the people we have met in the house one or two seem to do little else, a few consider it part of the lifestyle, but all have dedicated a large amount of brain cells to "networking." As we have yet to begin our prerequisite courses we were happy to join in the revelry without having to consider the consequences of not being able to get out of bed before midday...
...of course when we did we were greeted with Bloody Mary's and beer pong by the pool - never a bad way to start a day!
The Ft Lauderdale boat show, the biggest of it's kind, plays host to some of the most expensive yachts in the world - you can take one of the larger home for the "show price" of $40m. A taste of the lifestyle enjoyed by everyone attending had us both in awe - they could afford to eat many servings of the $10 alligator skewers - we enjoyed the corn.
Halloween, like the great white north, is a big event here. In the spirit of tradition we shopped at the finest of the neighbourhood Dollar Tree's dubbed the "halloween headquarters" by the marketing department and found little to no outfits available for anyone older than five. Which was fine for Jess.
She managed to make out with a decent looking (if not a little confusing) princess/ladybug getup. I was supposed to make use of all 27 yards of tin foil for my knights outfit but settled for squeezing, what i'm told is a large head, into a very small plastic helmet.
"Nice effort, no expense spared hey?" was the first comment from the bar girl at the "Elbo room," the tiki-looking bar on the beach where we spent most of the night tearing up the dance floor...Suffice to say she made less than the price of my costume in tip. There was a fantastic MJ - complete with mask, sparkly glove and underage "friend," a great Evil Knievel, and the Hanson brothers - a hockey pair randomly pulling shirts over people's heads and landing uppercuts. We finished the night with some cheese pizza and a brisk dip in the pool - this time home to baby turtles.
We start our course tomorrow...
Dan & Jess
After spending 2 years in Canada I had never been fortunate enough to see a deer in the wild, so it would come as a surprise to myself, Jess, and her Papa (Brian) when on the 407 at the 3:30AM, en route to the airport we nearly bagged one each through the front of the van. Having narrowly avoided the startled creatures we were looking forward to an incident free flight to sun-soaked-party-state, Florida.
Alas, we boarded off the tarmac into a tin can the Wright brothers would have deemed unsafe, with a cross-dressing stewardess that forgot the words to the safety shpeel, before she dispensed a seemingly endless amount of pretzels (with no water) right before we headed into the 150 knot headwind that ensured many passengers had tested the quality of Continental's paper bags.
We arrived at our crew house just a little way away from the first of many establishments that have embraced the Happy Hour. Within two hours of touching down we were well on our way to getting to know a few of the ten or so people that reside in the four bedroom house we temporarily call home.
It is not hard to spend time drinking here; of the people we have met in the house one or two seem to do little else, a few consider it part of the lifestyle, but all have dedicated a large amount of brain cells to "networking." As we have yet to begin our prerequisite courses we were happy to join in the revelry without having to consider the consequences of not being able to get out of bed before midday...
...of course when we did we were greeted with Bloody Mary's and beer pong by the pool - never a bad way to start a day!
The Ft Lauderdale boat show, the biggest of it's kind, plays host to some of the most expensive yachts in the world - you can take one of the larger home for the "show price" of $40m. A taste of the lifestyle enjoyed by everyone attending had us both in awe - they could afford to eat many servings of the $10 alligator skewers - we enjoyed the corn.
Halloween, like the great white north, is a big event here. In the spirit of tradition we shopped at the finest of the neighbourhood Dollar Tree's dubbed the "halloween headquarters" by the marketing department and found little to no outfits available for anyone older than five. Which was fine for Jess.
She managed to make out with a decent looking (if not a little confusing) princess/ladybug getup. I was supposed to make use of all 27 yards of tin foil for my knights outfit but settled for squeezing, what i'm told is a large head, into a very small plastic helmet.
"Nice effort, no expense spared hey?" was the first comment from the bar girl at the "Elbo room," the tiki-looking bar on the beach where we spent most of the night tearing up the dance floor...Suffice to say she made less than the price of my costume in tip. There was a fantastic MJ - complete with mask, sparkly glove and underage "friend," a great Evil Knievel, and the Hanson brothers - a hockey pair randomly pulling shirts over people's heads and landing uppercuts. We finished the night with some cheese pizza and a brisk dip in the pool - this time home to baby turtles.
We start our course tomorrow...
Dan & Jess
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)