WRITTEN: July 30, 2010

We have arrived! I have arrived! The most I have seen of Europe so far is this little piece of rock- Faial Island, town of Horta in the Azores. And already I am in love! The sight of land yesterday – the first island we saw was Corvos as we were entering the island chain- was strange to me, foreign, a bit daunting. The sight of land meant change and having to leave the belly of Duckie- Whale, it meant a change in my rhythm of life that was beginning to produce some real flow in the writing of the book, some real sturdiness in my sea legs. Now I have to try on my land legs again. Will they still work?

But, ah, now that I am on land and almost in Europe to boot- the taste of the coffee, served in little white ceramic cups...Sical sugar label on the side...The pinched-lipped way the Portuguese people speak, I take it all in. I have already learned a few words. At least now I know if I ever wanted to stay in Brazil, Azores, Portugal or anywhere else that this language is spoke, I would be able to pass with my Spanish and I would be able to learn Portuguese quickly. The Hortanos here are subtle, serious, hunble, quiet. They are steeped in culture but they do not need to flaunt it, just as one has an arm but doesn’t need to necessarily announce its presence. It is as ordinary and common as that, the way of these simple-speaking, conservatively-dressed folks.

I am in love with the soft bread and in love with the sausage, chorizo, that come in many shades of red. Yesterday, over a glass of red wine, I got the urge to cook. Abi, our galley manager, had pulled fish out for dinner, don’t ask me the name, I don’t know except that it was big and round and blue! And the local wine, good and cheap, had gotten ahold of me. It made me look up a recipe in The Joy of Cooking for whole fish. I found one that used capers, onions, red pepper, garlic, thyme, parsley and, of course, red wine. Perfect! I stuffed the whole fish with it and poured the sauce over it as well. It bubbled and simmered as the captain came in to check on its progress. He picked a piece and, in his usual stiff-lipped yet ironic way, said that it was official done. Then he helped himself to three more bites. I served it with rice and potatoes and sprouts that I had grown in the little room attached to the engine room, where it is dark and cool most of the time.

Wow, that night we were all satiated by the beautiful evening. After dinner, we sat around the rope lights on deck and drank more wine and jammed on instruments- Juanito my mate on the watch on guitar along with a French guy who also played an invisible trumpet with his voice. Rio was on harmonica, Mo on gourd rattle and Eddie and I were on drums. We rocked out when Jaunito played Manu Chou and sat in delighted silence as the French guys sang quirkly little ditties in their native language that were incomprehensible to me, yet light as rain. And to top it off, tomorrow I go to my little room in the Senora’s house to write. It is on the third floor and a half block from Pim Beach, where they rake the sand every evening and in the morning the water is aqua-blue. Tiny fish swim by your fish as you dip your toes in. I cant wait to take a chunk out of my masters thesis writing project which is due at the end of the month and also to simply do nothing but walk, swim, eat and write. Sounds good to me!

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WRITTEN: July 22, 2010

Chaos and confrontation on the ship. Every moment is an opportunity for connection or control- I guess it is a C word kind of day. For some reason, in the quiet times, I have been thinking about the years I taught kindergarten and how we use to focus on a letter a week. For five days in a row, my brain was filled to the brim with bananas, bows, bark from trees, bunnies, beetles, brains, bowls, etc.. So, today is a C day. Chaos. Confrontation. Control. Compassion. Circus. All these words describe the 10 other people who live in very close quarters to each other here on the ship.

And here the ocean is trying to teach us something and we get it sometimes in fits and starts. Most of the time, though, we are too preoccupied F words- flesh, fighting, fucking, feasting, filming (that’s for Rio, the official ship photographer). It is love/lust, hate/violence, frustration/compassion, all the violent, raw, real things of life here on earth, just compacted down into a 92 by twenty space. Here you see people at their best- lending a hand to lead someone into the bathroom as they are puking in the middle of a storm, holding a cup while someone climbs the steep galley stairs to eat lunch on deck- and their worst- the bickering that goes on and on (and on and on and on…- he didn’t wash his dish, she didn’t flush the toilet all the way, blah, blah, blah…) the fighting and the gossiping behind everyone’s back. No one is immune. In the groggy morning, when most of the time I am wide awake after consuming my black or green tea with milk powder, I have the job of waking most of the rest of the crew up. I am witness to them rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, bolting out of bed with looks of total confusion on their faces, their grumbling words (which I just assume are cuss words). I serve them coffee and hot chocolate, muffins and eggs and then clean up after them. I am happy to do it too, if it will bring a smile to their faces just for a little while, and sometimes it does.

The dolphins that play along the bow almost every morning that the Heraclitus is under sail are always reminding us to laugh and smile and to not take it all too seriously.

When we spotted a whale the other day, we all leaned against the railing like children as the massive beast spewed seawater twenty feet into the air. We gasped oohhhs and ahhhs and began making mock whale noises that most of us learned from repeated viewings of Finding Nemo. We saw the mama sperm whale under the water as she made her way towards us and swam directly under the bow. Her white spots sparkled transluscent blue under the water and her dark body was in shadow. How did she know she could get so close and she would not be shot, that she would not be stabbed to death like some humans do? Maybe she sensed that we would do no harm.

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July 18, 2010

Hi world! It’s Sunday. There is no ship meeting at lunchtime today but there is a formal dinner at 1930, equipt with red wine and desert. Folks on the ship really know how to cook…and eat (and drink too but that’s another story). It is lat 40, long about 41. I woke up again as always at 0330 for the watch but it is almost 9 am now and I am snuggled into the bunk to nap and write. Rio and I have created a cozy little nook here. Claus and Christine and the rest took the wall out of the middle so that we could have a bunk for two. They call it the honeymoon suite (and I guess it is appropriate). What a strange coupling I have got myself into in addition to a strange adventure. Yet we seem to fit like glue in many ways, even when we are bickering about bedsheets and laundry, a daily chore since we do it all by hand. He keeps trying to get me to do his laundry and I keep trying to get him to do mine. I said that he should do mine all the time to make up for the thousands of years that women have done mens laundry. That worked for about one load. Now I am back to scrubbing my own socks…

Anyhow, this little bed nestled in between the Shiela and Peter (the women’s and the men’s heads) is just perfect for a day like today- cold, cloudy, on the brink of rain again. A little light wind is coming up from the north, enough to sail. The ship creaks and moans, her sails aching in the cold. Other than that, it is quiet. Sleepiness sets in like it did on the helm today. Oops, falling asleep again despite the reinstatement of my coffee habit. Sometimes nothing helps but to get some ZZZzzzzz…]

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July 14, 2010 Lat 42 Long 47

The list continues…spinner dolphins, whales (whales!), sharks (the fin bobbing consistently and menacingly through the calm water gave it away and sent a shiver down my spine), the multi-dimensional sunfish that swims on the top of the water with two big eyes looking up into the white clouds and the blue sky…Words cannot describe the beauty that exists in the water. Out in the big blue, out in the middle, those of the wild are not afraid of humans and humans, in turn, are not afraid to be a little wild. The wild creatures come right up to the ship. They are curious and so are we! This morning was perfect. The sun came in like a bright orange bulb, spreading its color across the sky. I was up before it was, of course. I took the star and constellation book up on deck with me to try to identify things in the early morning darkness. I thought I saw Venus and Polarus and some constellations.

Our lives hang in the balance. At any moment, a storm or a mechanical breakdown or a human vulnerability or even a rogue wave for that matter could be the end of one or all of us. In the meantime, there is a shark doing his thing, swimming in the ocean less than ten meters from the ship. He is all black, like a shadow lurking. There are dolphins too, wisely on the other side of the ship, acting like the hunters they are. They jump and teem, sometimes in pairs or four at a time, when they have found a school of fish and are going in for the kill. There is the sun shining. I am on a crazy adventure. I can hardly believe that I am here. I have to pinch myself and I am full of gratitude. Thank you, I whisper.

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WRITTEN: July 13, 2010 Day After Rio’s Birthday !

Looking off the stern with Rio standing in the fog at midnight feeling like we could be in the 1700’s or 1800’s, on a cargo ship bound for the “New World” or maybe what we thought was India but turned out to be the New World. With the light and the mist and the way he was dressed (minus the camcorder and the lazer pointer draped around his neck), I imagined I was the wife of a sailor who was on crew on this giant vessel, but alas he died at sea and here this stranger is trying to console me on the stern in the middle of the night…Ah, the tragedy and I am mourning, but he is kind of cute…

After many cachasas (very strong Brazilian liquor), Rio was waving the lazer pointer around in the water, green streams hitting the tiny waves. We are watching the lazerstream cut through the fog and then suddenly it lands on items floating in the water, like a river of odd-shaped fish. What is it? We are stunned. Have we stumbled across a school of mutant ahi? Quick, get the lines out! Time for sushi again..No, it is a line of biodegradable trash. Someone has cleaned out the galley and is dumping the compost off the deck at midship. Wine bottled bob in the sea, pieces of lettuce and carrot as well, cardboard wrappers from spaghetti cartons. I announce, rather unlady-like, “The Heraclitus is taking a dump!” And we both break down in peels of laughter. But touchingly, lovingly, we are only half joking. She after all , is truly a living, creature, a sea giant, like a giant kissing fish in the middle of the ocean.

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Written on: July 12, 2010 Rio's Birthday!

The sea. I smell her pungently. It smells like we are going into her crevices, her intimate places. The sea teems with life today! I worked hard on watch this morning and I wanted to. It felt good. Jellyfish, birds, pilot whales (pilot whales!), dolphins, a school of six yellowfin tuna, as slick as Japanese swords- right now we are only 300 miles from Newfoundland. This is new territory for me, on the physical level here on earth and in my life, in experiences too. I have never been here before except in my dreams. HOw DOES when act when suddenly her dreams have come true? There is nothing at all to do but stand there with my mouth open like a stunned baby, watching the vibrant world go by.

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WRITTEN: July 11, 2010
Things I Saw At Sea Today (Starboard, Early Morning Shift, 1,000 miles from land)

A moth
A spider
A jellyfish
A piece of seagrass
A thin, brown and white feather
A jellyfish attached to a piece of seagrass
A feather attached to a piece of seagrass
A piece of seagrass attached to a jellyfish attached to a feather (just kidding)
A watery path of bubbles portside
Half a white feather
Another feather (where do all these feathers come from?)
Ripples on top of ripples on top of water folded and creased like a silk blanket

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Written on: July 4, 201


Happy Independence Day America! For half the crew, however, who are not American, it is just another day, except that now we have crossed the midpoint in the journey. We are now out in the middle of the Atlantic, about a thousand miles on either side of us of pure water, no land in sight. I don’t think it will get much colder than this. The ocean is still beautiful, the waves mesmerizing. Today we saw schools of yellow fin tuna following the ship, gracefully gliding with their blue fins and yellow tails and heads swaying in the water. We caught three and ate them for dinner, M and J cooked- perfect!

Yes, the sea is still magical, a mysterious force, completely fickle, going totally flat with no wind for days then suddenly picking up to Force 5 or so, swells as tall as the “beam” on the ship, at least ten feet. Every moment is new and we can take nothing for granted, especially our safety out here. This is like human relationships.

With the sea and with people, change is the only constant.


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Written on: July 3, 2010

At sea, there is something called the doldrums. This is when the wind just stops and you are suddenly at a standstill. There is no breeze to push you along and little current. You just sit there and bob and drift quite aimlessly, maybe going one or two knots in the right direction, preferably not in the wrong direction. Today, I feel like I am in my own personal doldrums. Everything is blah and grey. It is cold out, like we all knew it would be. Inside it is chilly too. It is an inside day, a drink-tea-all-day day. I have slept a lot today. Folks sleep a lot on the ship. I guess, with our crazy schedules, you just get it when you can. I love my shift, but sometimes- especially when I go to bed late- getting up at 3:30 am every day makes me think of nothing but sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep. I nap often now. I take little catnaps in the AM and sometimes in the afternoon, or Rio and I watch a movie before my shift (his is 8-12), holed up in our little bunk with the lights out and our headphones on. In one hour, I am on duty. Sometimes I am feeling lazy and am hoping that we are hove-to, so I don’t have to helm or read the wind. Right now, however, I am anxious to move again and I hope that I can jump on the helm. I am not afraid of that anymore.

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Written on: July 2, 2010
For Michael Love

Today is the second of July. My dear friend Michael Love of New Orleans, LA is gone, passed away sometime over the last few days. Got an email from his daughter after getting the intuition to email her about his status. She wrote back a beautiful play-by-play of what was going on, that he had slipped into a comatose state, peacefully sleeping, and that that he may not last the night. Now, the next day, standing with my headphones on on the bow of the ship, again swaying in tai chi form to the swells of the sea and Duckie (the RVH) bobbing with them, I feel my friend in the wind, in the surf, in the water, in the clouds. We had talking about the ship the last time I saw him in San Diego about a month ago. I showed him pictures and he said that he felt as if he was right there, taking the journey with me. He said he was ready for an ocean-going adventure. Now I listen to Buckwheat Zydeco – Crying in the Street- and I feel as if he is right here with me. Michael Love, artist, writer, visionary, romantic, partner to Aysha Love, musician, father, brother, grandfather, friend. Michael Love, this song is for you. You are forever in my heart. XO.

Written on : June 29, 2010

Day 11 of the voyage. There has never been more of a juxtapositional situation than here out at sea. The hellish parts are equal to the joyous parts and sometimes they are interchangeable.
First, there is the sea. M aptly said that being on the ship in rough weather is like being beaten up constantly by an invisible person. There is no such thing as equilibrium these days. I am constantly on the verge of falling or teetering off of something, the hatch on the way to the kitchen, the stairs leading to the head, the galley floor slick with sea spray that has washing in from a rogue wave before we had the opportunity to shut the porthole. Try to sweep a floor that does not stand still. Sometimes I get so angry. My body hurts. I have bruises in places I never thought possible. Yesterday, because of the mega-swells we have been riding for the last three days, about 100 gallons of water came shooting through the Synesthesia portholes on the starboard side (Synesthesia is a fancy word for the big room next to the galley where we eat). I have slipped on railing and stairs and hit my head, elbows, knees and bum.
But then of course, there is the sea (repeat intended)- big, bold, scary, massive. Again, on watch, I was on deck as the sun rose. Christine was helming and we were chatting. Intermittedly, I was checking the wind and surfing the swells on deck, trying not to use the safety rope, precariously balancing, bending knees, thinking of tai chi. The ocean rose to meet me and I felt like I was flying, riding the massive waves.
Tomorrow- I learn more helming!! It’s As crazy-fun and scary as riding a horse through an open field. Yahoo!

written on: June 25, 2010 Friday
Day 6

A storm. Thunder and lightning, inside the ship as well as outside. Close quarters make tiny fuses into time bombs. Rio says that the ship infuses us with passions, rekindles desires, for better or for worse. I am use to that. New Orleans was like that, which was why there were hardly any drive-by’s in NOLA but many murders by stabbing. Crimes of passion. Passion is love and hate, ecstasy and the depths of despair. Passion is the sea, wild and violent, an abusive lover one minute, and a mother rocking us in her arms the next. She is who she is without excuse. Do we do well to follow her example? I wish we could when it comes to the way the sea seems to not hold grudges. We dump so much shit into her waters, all those thousands of sea-going vessels, many so much bigger than ours, and also what we do along the coast. And still she keeps churning and churning, washing herself clean as best she can. I wish to be like that. On the ship, I wish that every day is a new day, those people that rubbed me raw the day before I can see anew as the sun rises. Not so easy, however, for a human being to be like the sea. Out here, however, when I stand on the bow of the ship as it slowly makes its way northeast and feel my legs bending and swaying with her swells and I close my eyes while I am at it, I can feel the sea within me and it is easier to smile at all of our little dramas.
So on it goes. The confrontation with G. C expressing his frustration. And the storm above as well, wild rain hitting my face as I lean into it and try to read the wind. V is excited to be out in it. The more experienced “man” the helm. The ship burps, her belly full with us, holding us and herself firm against the gale. The ship too is an example of beingness. It bobs like a duck humbling yet sturdily against the waves, now close to 15 feet high sometimes. The ship is the great mama whale.

Thursday June 24, 2010 Day 5

…and then there are the sounds the ship makes herself- her moans, her squeaks, her clangs. Especially when we are under sail, which we are finally now, the ship moves and sways and creaks and chirps while the ropes moan against metal on deck and door hinges rattle with the swells. Last night and today, it was not bath water out there as it had been in the past. Suddenly, we are in the Gulf Stream, going at times, close to 9 knots on just the current alone! We are on the Grand Highway (think of “Little Dude” the turtle and his dad on Finding Nemo). It is proof that human beings under sail are more like animals. This is the current that Great Honu, Dolphins, Sharks, schools of thousands of marlin and tuna, and countless kinds of birds use to travel to cooler waters during summer in order to feed. Big ships can go anywhere, but little ships like ours, ships that rely on sail (we do have a motor too but only so much gas) are wise to flow with nature. And that makes sense as the Heraclitus feels to me more like a sea creature- wild and bucking with the wind under her sails. She is more living organism than machine.
There are little comforts here- no air conditioning nor heat except for the stove, a pump hose for shower and to clean after using the bathroom. After almost a week, the sea saturates me, invading my pours and tear ducts, my skin and my heart.