Boat buying is not as fun as we thought

It took eight months of serious searching to buy s/v Perry (and this doesn't count the three years of keeping abreast of the market, ready to buy if  the perfect deal had come along). We seriously considered boats as far away as Hong Kong, Turkey, Greece, and Croatia. We visited boats in Rhode Island, Florida, and the Bahamas. We would check yachtworld.com daily to see what was new on the market.  We would eagerly await for more photos for that seemingly perfect boat at a reasonable price only to discover that the original pictures were the product of some very creative cropping.

We had contracts on two different boats that fell through, one after an extensive and expensive survey. And we waited a lot.

On the plus side, we got to work in a visit with family in Massachusetts. Matt’s cousin Cheryl and her husband Pete are the buffest people we know. Seriously, they look like superheroes. And this is even though they have the most rockin' built-in pizza oven in their back yard.   I'd end up morbidly obese with unlimited access to pizza, so it's good we were only visiting  And their son is an amazing kid, whom the boys adore.

 

All the waiting also allowed us to build up the cruising kitty a bit (Mom- that's cruiser speak for making benjamins. Err, which is street speak for Scrooge McDuckin', which is.. look, never mind, just know that we'll have some extra funds so your grandchildren won't starve).

Speaking of Mom, we also got to spend a lot of quality time with my parents, who generously opened their home to us and made the transition infinitely easier. Although there were a few moments of friction (what?  moving back in with your folks?  friction?  who da thunk?), the boys loved being with their grandparents. Being away from family and friends will be one of the hardest part of all this.

A Very Sandy Christmas

I don't think I will ever get used to Christmas in warm weather. Of course, maybe I should give it more than one Christmas. This was definitely not your typical Chicago Christmas.

In the morning, we saw a manatee up close when it swam under our dock. We went to the beach and dug holes. And we saw the local crazy Christmas light display.

 

 

Homeless and happy about it

In March 2012, after almost a year on the market, we sold our home of 10 years. It was hard to swallow the reality of the sad, sad state of the real estate market (much of the year was spent coming to grips with how much our home value had declined and figuring out how little we could sell for and still go).

To save money, we didn’t use a listing agent, but paid a few hundred dollars to a flat rate broker to list us on the MLS. If we had used someone, it would have been our friend Morgan, the hardest working agent in the business. But 6% is a sizeable chunk of change that we weren't ready to part with without at least trying on our own. Being on the MLS also got our home onto the major real estate web sites. We created a website with tons of pictures. We built a fancy custom “for sale” sign and refilled the flyers every few days (I swear it was either a competitor or the manager of the local Kinko's swiping those things).

 

We painted and primped until everything was perfect. We spent an hour or two before every showing to clean and straighten inside and out (that was interesting with two little boys tearing around). We put together a detailed information packet with a list of improvements, a floor plan, room dimensions, utility costs, and a letter to potential buyers about the house and why we were selling.  It was a totally flawless marketing plan...that resulted in jack squat due to the worst real estate market the universe has ever seen.

But, finally, we got an offer that resulted in a contract. And, by an improbable sequence of events better left for a post on its own, we were able to close.  Best of all, thanks to some bargain basement pricing, the new buyers bought the house with almost everything in it--furniture, dishes, glasses, art work, and even some of the wine. Now all we had to do is find a boat. How long could that take?

Bahamas Recap – Part 1

After a month of being closed up, the boat smelled just like a celebrity perfume... Not. 

The plan was elegant in its simplicity. I (Matt) would go to Freeport, Bahamas to clean up the boat, bring it back to Ft. Lauderdale, get some work done, and then move the boat to a dock.  Jen and the boys would meet me in Ft. Lauderdale, arriving to a clean and fully functional new home.  Yeah, right.

With a background in Project Management and home renovation, I thought I had a pretty good handle on estimating schedules and padding to account for unforeseen things that will invariably conspire to put you off track.  In the Information Technology world, take the developer’s estimate for a task and double it. In construction, take the amount of time your contractor tells you and triple it.  For boats... well, I'm not sure what the multiplier is yet, but it's certainly more than I ever imagined.  Jen and the boys were scheduled to arrive December 16.  It's now December 22 and I've only just arrived in Ft Lauderdale.

The plan started smoothly enough.  I left Chicago the Saturday after Thanksgiving and drove to Ft. Lauderdale.  It took a full day to investigate whether I could complete the paperwork myself to import the boat and pay the customs duty (the short answer is ‘no’ and ‘it will cost you’).  Next, I flew to Freeport, drove the rental to the boat yard, and found the boat (yay—it survived Sandy). Then I tried to get in.  Hmmm, the salon door was padlocked.

Having looked at a lot of boats with brokers, I knew all the usual places that owners hide their keys.  To avoid the ire of boat owners, I will refrain from listing them here. But I hit them all and ran out of places to look. I was locked out of the place I had planned on sleeping that night.  After checking to make sure the boatyard office wasn't holding a copy of the key, the yard manager said "No problem" and appeared with a grinder. After 5 seconds of sparks, I was in.

For those of you that aren't into boating, there is a certain fragrance to the inside of a boat that's been sealed up for over a month.  And believe me, the scent is not going to be the next pick for a celebrity branded perfume.  So first order of business is to open all the hatches and get some air flow.  Great, that's better.  Until I realize that the fresh air is also bringing with it a hefty swarm of no-see-ums that are now feasting on my ankles.  Screens, even if I could find them, wouldn't do any good because these little bastages are small enough to go right through.  So it's either swelter inside a smelly boat or become lunch for the local fauna. Three weeks later my ankles are still itchy. At least they seemed to go away once the sun went down. 

Knowing that I would have a full day of work the next day, I decided to go to bed early... but not before sitting in the cockpit for a while, absorbing the view of what was to be our new home.  My eyes glanced here and there, at the winches, controls, switches, tables, and lights.  I stopped at the engine instrument panel and see a set of keys, dangling from the ignition switch.  Oh... so that's where they were.

Perry Who?

This is not a peregrine falcon (it really isn't--we don't have a picture of one yet).

This is the conversation that Matt had with our friend Scott when he told him the boat name.

Scott: So what's the name of the boat?

Matt: Perry.

Scott: What? That's soooo [dumb]! You're going to change that, right?

Matt: Ummm... Nope, that's the name we picked.

Scott: Oh. Sorry, man.

Thanks, Scott.

Ever since we picked the name “Perry” for the boat, we have seen it everywhere: Perry Como, Perry White, Perry Ellis, Katie Perry (for those born closer to this century). Okay, not Perry Como. We chose the name because the boys love peregrine falcons. And really, how awesome is diving at speeds of up to 200 mph? But a boat named Peregrine seemed a bit...stuffy and certainly too serious for us (and um, the fact that svperegrine.com was already taken certainly had nothing to do with it).  No? Well, whatever. Perry's the name. And the dinghy is named “Grin.” So there.