Eek--We sold our boat

 

It's official--we have sold Perry. She now belongs to another family that plans to live aboard and cruise. We have mixed emotions about leaving our traveling home of nearly a decade. We have had unforgettable experiences and made lifelong friendships.

Land life is pulling us back in. We bought a car and the kids are enrolled in school for the Fall season (speaking of which, since when did the school year start so early?!). We're excited to spend time with family and friends that we haven't seen in forever and less excited to be stuck in traffic and shovel snow. Be well and we hope to see and hear from you down the line.

Back on familiar ground

 

Charter boat central - Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas

It seems weird to be around so many Americans.

 

From our leather back turtle egg laying trip back in Grenada (we haven't taken many pictures lately). This was the smaller but better lit of the two turtles we saw.

The U.S. Virgin Islands has a lot of Americans, for obvious reasons. If anyone here were to ask us where we were from, they would mean which city, not which country. But no one has--maybe because as soon as they hear us speak, they know we're American.

Normally, the most common question we get on our travels is, 'Where are you from?' And being from the U.S. has usually garnered at least a little interest in places like The Solomon Islands, Papua New Guinea, Southeast Asia, and South Africa. Once we left the Caribbean, the nationalities of our fellow cruisers got a lot more diverse.

Now that we're back on this side of the world, we're just one of the crowd. And the U.S. Virgin Islands is the U.S. There are multiple McDonald's here in St. Thomas. There are K-marts, Wendy's, Pizza Hut and Home Depot. It's the same, but different (they drive on the left side of the road in left-hand drive cars, McDonald's doesn't have soft serve cones, and you can hear a Caribbean lilt in a lot of voices).

The red light supposedly doesn't disturb the turtles as much as white light.

 

We're here waiting for the effects of tropical storm Alex to pass. The storm itself is long gone but it took with it our wind and we have been waiting for it to come back before leaving to head to Florida.

We picked up the mainsail battens that a cruiser on one of the Caribbean Facebook pages was giving away. Our friends Paul and Chris on Georgia were kind enough to pick them up for us, since they had just gotten to St. John as the batten gifter was leaving. When we were delayed in Trinidad and then Grenada, Paul and Chris had to leave and found a sailor in St. John to hold them for us until our arrival. We picked up the battens and the longer one fit almost perfectly. It was the kind of coincidence that leaves you worried that you have used up all your luck and will pay for it at some point. But we're not superstitious (just a little 'stitious').

Researchers measuring the 'smaller' turtle. One of the volunteers was told to put her hand under the eggs as they came out of the turtle so she could count them.

 

We were able to catch up with our friends Tim and Steph, who also own a Privilege catamaran, but were in St. Thomas about to run a charter on a beautiful Fountaine-Pajot Victoria. It's the kind of boat that makes it hard to come back to your own modest vessel without feeling that you're actually living in squalor. We last saw them eight years ago in Grenada and even though our paths have been different, it felt as if nothing had changed.

We haven't seen any cruise ships since we arrived, but that is about to change. Three cruise ships are scheduled to arrive in Charlotte Amalie within the next couple of days. We don't know how full the ships will be, but when we were here eight years ago, the town changed drastically when the passengers descended. They're the bread and butter of the area and sorely needed.

Around the world in 2869 days

 

It's a bit less dramatic than going around the world in 80 days, but we made it to Grenada, closing the loop on our circumnavigation. We left Prickly Bay in August 2014 and have returned after almost 8 years.

 

Our goal wasn't necessarily to go around the world, but now that we're here it seems like something to celebrate. We toasted the event with a bottle of Pierre Jourdan champagne from our visit to the farms near Cape Town. We have traveled 46,000 miles, visiting 46 countries and enjoying countless experiences and friendships. We loved Grenada during our first visit, so we're happy to close the loop here. It feels like all our old friends from back then should still be here.

We traveled overnight from Trinidad to allow us enough time to arrive in Prickly Bay during the day. Also, the few 'pirate' incidents that have occurred during this leg was during daylight hours. Our trip was mostly uneventful, though the wind and favorable current that had us ripping along at over 8 knots died to under 2 knots overnight. We got impatient and ended up motoring the last few hours. As a consolation, we did catch a mahi-mahi.

The bamboo cathedral in Chaguaramas, Trinidad

 

An old radar installation on the bamboo cathedral hike

We will be here a few days to have our life raft re-certified. What, you say? We should maybe have done that before the 5800 nautical miles spent crossing the Atlantic ocean? You may have a point, my friend. But what's done is done. 

Also on the to-do list while we are in Grenada is to win some more livestock if Bingo Night at the Prickly Bay Marina is still going on.

What with coming back to Grenada and posting our boat for sale, I've been hit with a bout of nostalgia. I stumbled upon this post with a video tour of the boat conducted by the boys when they were just wee little guys. Perry looks a bit different these days with different upholstery and no more 'goldfish/hand logo' on her hull and the boys are all grown up. Hopefully they will look back as fondly as I do upon this last decade aboard spent exploring a few corners of the world.

The end is near

 

Photo courtesy of Michel Luthi on Javerne.

Perry is headed back into the water this afternoon and we will start our way up the Caribbean this week. We haven't seen much of Trinidad because we have been so focused on boat work. We have tried doubles I'm a fan but the rest of the crew isn't into savory and spicy breakfast.

Our Atlantic crossing

The trip seems so short on paper

We have completed our Atlantic crossing and again have decent Internet access and a little bit of time and energy. I write this from Perry on the hardstand at Peake Yacht Services in Chaguaramas, Trinidad. We're here to fix the hull paint that was damaged in Galle (by the way, the ferry that we saw in Galle on its delivery voyage is here in Chaguaramas), change our cutlass bearings, and a few other projects.

 

Morro do Pico (Peak Hill) in Fernando de Noronha, Brazil

I have added pictures to the blog entry about St. Helena that was made from our satellite email, originally with text only.

After we left St. Helena, we made a 13-day passage (1804 nm) to Fernando de Noronha, Brazil. It was the second longest passage we have ever made. We were very happy to have satellite email updates from family and friends along the way because it turns out that being stuck on a boat for almost two weeks without very good sleep can get tedious. 

On the plus side, after a slow start, we had decent wind for most of the trip. The constant squalls kept us on our toes and required frequent sail changes, but at least we were sailing. We motored for about 11 hours on the last day, as our wind disappeared.

Fernando de Noronha is kind of a mini-Hawaii for Brazilians. The scantily-clad, mostly Brazilian tourists were a far cry from the conservatively dressed crowd we have become accustomed to over the years. The Brazilian Brazilians were on prominent display with rear-end photo ops being the local twist on selfies. The main activities in Fernando de Noronha (besides seeing and being seen) are spending time at the beach, snorkeling, diving, and surfing. Matt and the boys enjoyed body surfing and Conrad rented a board for a few hours.

It is one of the most expensive places we have been and we only stayed four days. Matt repaired the top car of the mainsail track, whose pin had bent. This consisted of bending the pin back into shape (think a beefy vice and lots of hammering) until we can get somewhere to get a replacement. It was nice to have a break before moving on to our next destination: French Guiana (or straight to Trinidad, depending on conditions and timing).

Prison cell on Ile Royale

Matt chose our route to minimize the time spent in the ITCZ (the doldrums) and maximize the current that runs along the coast. The strategy worked well and we had three days in a row on this leg where we sailed more than 200 nautical miles a day. We motored for about 5 hours total, typically when squalls sucked away our wind. This was also during the time when our generator was acting up and we needed to charge the batteries with the engine anyway. 

Our fairly boring passage was rudely interrupted by the aforementioned generator at (of course) 3:00 a.m.  It got a bug up its butt and decided to start putting out more than 300 volts (it's only supposed to put out 230 volts). Fortunately, though our Sterling battery chargers are only spec'd to handle 270 volts, they were able to handle the additional power without frying. Had we been running the watermaker at the time, we would probably have burned out the pump.

The repaired AVR

Matt sent a satellite email out to cruising friends and got some helpful advice that confirmed his suspicions. The AVR (automatic voltage regulator) had failed.  Matt was able to pull the board out and identify the issue: a broken wire connecting one of the components to the circuit board. Luckily he was able to fix it by epoxying the loose component (the glue holding the component down had failed, and the vibrating component had eventually cracked the wire) and soldering in a jumper wire. Fortunately, the sea state wasn't too rocky for all this, though being stuffed into a cramped engine room underway is no one's idea of fun.

Ile du Diable (Devil's Island) - Because it was impossible to land a boat, a cable car carried prisoners across strong currents and shark-infested waters

We decided to stop in French Guiana because had we kept going, we would have gotten to Trinidad on the weekend (Easter weekend), which would have meant overtime charges and closed offices. In total, it took us eight days (1378 nm) to get to Iles du Salut, which is comprised of three islands (Ile Royale, Ile Saint-Joseph, and Ile du Diable--Devil's Island) used by France to house prisoners. Papillon and The Dreyfus Affair made famous Devil's Island (where political prisoners were kept in horrendous conditions). Ile Royale is now idyllic and swarming with tourists, so it's hard to get a feel for the oppression that the prisoners must have endured.

Peacocks roam Ile Royale

An 'open air' cell on Ile Saint-Joseph, where the worst of the worst prisoners were kept, exposed to the elements.

 

After two days at Iles du Salut, we started on the final leg our of our Atlantic voyage.  Our 4-day passage to Chaguaramas, Trinidad was a mixed bag. Our first day was 214 nautical miles, which is one of fastest days we have ever had. On days two and three, the wind and current moderated a bit and as we approached the coast of Trinidad, we still had 60 miles to go and only a few hours of daylight left. So we slowed down to make sure we would arrive the following morning. We passed a couple oil rigs, one of which lit up the night sky with an eerie orange glow.

We'll spend a week or two in Chaguaramas (hopefully no longer than that, though boat yards have a tendency to suck you in). The boat yard is remote and you need a car to get groceries and most other things, though within walking distance there is a Budget Marine and an expensive convenience store that carries produce. Fortunately, Peake Yachts provides a free shuttle to the mall and grocery store and the facilities here are nice. That's okay--there are fewer distractions; all the better to get our work done.

Goodbye St. Helena

This post was originally made with the satellite connection and email but has been updated with pictures.

Jacob's Ladder (699 steps)

 

After just over a week in St. Helena, we are continuing on our journey across the Atlantic. St. Helena is not big but is packed with unique and varied terrain (hills and valleys plunging into crystal clear waters, arid scrub, and pastures from an English countryside), as well as loads of history. 

Napolean's house/museum

We visited the house where Napolean spent his final days and used Internet in the remains of an old castle. There are cannons everywhere. The people are friendly and welcoming. Every passing car (and there are a lot of cars) and pedestrian waves and greets every other car and person.

Napolean's tomb (his body has been moved to France)

It's one of the more expensive places we have been, which is understandable considering how remote it is. We will also not miss the anchorage because it can get quite rolly. The trade-off is that we have seen huge Mahi Mahi and Devil rays swimming by the boat. Apparently, a whale shark swam right by our boat in the anchorage but we were busy fixing something and didn't notice.

Sandy Beach

We plan to head to Fernando de Noronha, which is part of Brazil, for a short respite. You can see our progress at https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/Perry.

Approaching St. Helena

Namibia to St. Helena

Technology makes our life as ocean goers so much easier. Besides the auto-pilot ('Otto'), satellite communications for weather, GPS and radar, AIS is our superpower out here. It's like our eyes, but better. The Internet has all the details (look up Automated Identification System), but basically AIS uses VHF and GPS technology to let ships track each others' position anywhere on earth. Smaller fishing vessels in certain parts of the world often don't have AIS, so you still have to keep watch). Most of the time, ships will see us on AIS and avoid us without even a radio call. As a vessel under sail, we technically have the right of way, but bigger ships always win.

But sometimes ignorance can be bliss.

On our passage from Namibia to St. Helena, there was a huge tanker called 'Winning Kindness' that was drifting along as we passed it. We were too far away to see it but it showed up on AIS. We wondered what it was doing, but often ships will change their speed to get to their destination at the right time. Then later that evening, we saw the same ship on AIS again. This time it was going 12 knots and we were projected to be on a collision course. It didn't help that our boat speed was fluctuating a lot due to the flaky winds we have been getting, making it hard for other boats to predict our position. As we kept an eye on the boat's position for the next hour and a half, it occurred to me that it was like the start to a bad horror film. 'An unsuspecting family unwittingly sails past a tanker. Later, the same tanker is suddenly in front of them and heading straight for them.'

Well, of course nothing bad happened and the tanker passed a couple miles behind us. If we hadn't had AIS, we would never have even known the ship was there until we saw its lights as it got closer. After spending so much time making sure we would avoid hitting Winning Kindness, we later saw on AIS that it was drifting along at .3 knots again. Of course, even though the drama on AIS kept us in suspense for such a long time, without AIS it would have been much more disconcerting to see a huge tanker that close to us, especially at night.

Being in South Africa and Namibia reminded us that the Portuguese gave the world more than Peri Peri chicken. Vasco da Gama and Bartolomeu Dias, who were Portuguese explorers that landed in Africa in the 15th century, did their exploring without any of the information or technology we rely on. It puts what we're doing--with all the tools at our disposal--into perspective.

But almost nine days at sea is still nine days at sea. Overall, it was a pleasant-enough passage, but it was certainly not a set-it-and-forget-it kind of sail. The flaky wind required many course adjustments and sail changes. The seas kept much of the ride bumpy and banged the boat around. But we made bread (using Maeve--the 50-year old sourdough starter that Merel on Anjea gave us), fished (1 mahi mahi and 1 tuna) and played Euchre.

As always after a long passage, we were elated to see land. We were greeted by huge volcanic cliffs that plunge into the sea and a mooring field full of boats, including a few that we know. Having arrived on Tuesday morning, we have a couple days on the boat before our PCR tests on Thursday. It's just as well because it gives us a chance to rest and work on some of the projects we have accumulated. We can't do much about the dead start battery for the generator and starboard engine until we can get to land, but the top car for the mainsail needs a repair and the clothes we have been wearing for way too long need to be washed.

Namibia to St. Helena. Also, track us!

Matt mentioned the other day that when he had seen other cruisers' pictures of the Namib desert, he had no idea how cold it would be. I mean, it's the desert. It's supposed to be hot during the day, right?

 

Perry surrounded by dunes at Hottentot

So why have we been bundled up with every layer we own during our sails through Namibia? It's the Benguela Current, which acts like an air conditioner for the entire coast of Namibia. The water temps hover around 55 F, and the air is about the same. Our sail from Luderitz to Hottentot Bay was cold, fast and a bit lumpy. There was a lot of fog, seals and dolphins too.

Hottentot Bay is a deserted desert with endless dunes, a few abandoned and semi-abandoned buildings, and a handful of lobster fishing boats. After an afternoon enduring howling winds, the next morning was relatively calm. We were able to launch the dinghy and spent a morning climbing some dunes and exploring the shore. Later, one of the lobster boats insisted that we take a huge (~15 kilo) bag of very small spiny lobster, which they delivered to us by having us throw a rope at them and tying the bag of lobsters to the end of the rope. There were way too many for us to eat and even though we appreciated the gift, we ended up letting over half of them go to keep growing. But some weren't going to make it. So we've been feasting on lobster for the last 3 consecutive meals (breakfast excluded, although we would have made lobster omelettes if we had been on our game).

Perry in Hottentot Bay

The anchorage was comfortable enough for us, but the wind was screaming in the rigging and there was a bit of an onshore swell. Based on the conditions we decided to skip Spencer Bay, the next possible stop to the north, and make our way straight to Walvis Bay (pronounced something like "Vahlfish" by some of the locals). We sailed past Spencer Bay in the dark so we didn't see the resident penguin colony, but I could sure smell it.

Whale skull at Hottentot

 

Besides wanting to visit Hottentot Bay, we came to Walvis Bay mostly because the forecast for the weekend showed very little wind down in Luderitz. Now mind you, leaving from either Luderitz or Walvis Bay to go to St. Helena, is about the same distance. So we basically sailed 261 nautical miles over two days and two nights to catch the wind and avoid motoring. We have apparently become true sailors, which is to say, a bit touched in the head.

Namport Container Terminal in Walvis Bay

Today, Walvis Bay has a very distinctive and strong fish, sulphur and guano smell (apparently there is an algae bloom that is killing off some fish) and Perry is anchored next to a big dock with huge cranes and hundreds of shipping containers. We stretched our sailing-atrophied legs to walk to and around town, which is a couple miles from the Walvis Bay Yacht Club, near our anchorage. We got a bit spoiled being at the V&A and Luderitz, where the stores were very close to our boat. One of the kids (I won't say who) was at a 7/10 on the whine-o-meter. There are lots of seals in the harbor and several have already tried to take up residence on our transom.

Are you really going to make me move, dude?

Dune 7, which, at 1,256 feet (383 meters), is the tallest dune in Namibia (the seventh tallest in the world), is the other reason we wanted to visit Walvis Bay. It's a short drive out of Walvis Bay and it beckoned us. We had to maintain our sordid history of mounting whatever high point exists in the area. Apparently, we also really like having sand in our teeth and every crevice of our bodies. This was also an acceptable form of exercise that did not involve parental cajoling or whining.

Dune 7 near Walvis Bay (not to be confused with Dune 7 in Sossuvlei)

After a couple days in Walvis Bay, we are headed to St. Helena. Because St. Helena is a very small country with limited resources, they can only do PCR tests (which are free) on Thursdays. So we have to time our trip to get there before Thursday, but not so soon that we are cooped up on the boat for more than a couple days. The journey should take about 10 days.

Racing down the dunes with our taxi driver, John, looking on. Spoiler: I lost.

Also, because Internet in St. Helena is a million dollars a megabyte or something crazy, we may not be updating the blog much until after we have finished crossing the Atlantic. While we are underway, you can track our progress here: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/Perry/.

Missing out or incredibly lucky?

 

The desert in living color. Normally there is no green.

The top attraction in Namibia (competing with Etosha National Park) is arguably Sossusvlei, a salt and clay pan surrounded by high red dunes. I'll tell you straight away that we tried and failed to make it there. Still, we feel privileged rather than deprived.

 

We climbed one of the smaller dunes--high enough for us in the heat

By all accounts, the dramatic dunes are a sight to behold. So we bit the bullet and shelled out the big money to rent a four-wheel drive Ford Ranger to navigate the sand and gravel roads that make up most of the six-plus-hour drive from Luderitz to Sesrium. We rationalized the extra cost as necessary because only four-wheel drive vehicles are allowed in the last four kilometers into Sossusvlei itself (if you don't want to depend on a paid shuttle service). With the local lodges running around $350 US per person per night, we opted for the cheaper, but still pricey campsite (over $80 US for camping--in your own tents--for the five of us). They came with power and personal showers and toilets, but it was still just camping. The one benefit of the campsite was that it was located inside of the park. That allowed us to get a head start as the park opens the inner gates that lead to Sossusvlei at 5:30 a.m. but doesn't open the main gate until 6:00 a.m.

We left Luderitz and had a stunning drive through some unreal landscapes that were made even more amazing due to the green hues and grasses covering the normally desolate red-brown of the desert. It's been an active summer here and the normally dry desert has been getting more rain than usual. After driving through a thunderstorm and a few sketchy bits of road, we made it to camp. We ended the day by watching the sun set over the dunes, enjoying a tasty oryx steak dinner, and having some drinks around the camp fire. Then off to bed as it was going to be another "up before the sunrise" outing.

OK, sorry to interrupt, but time for a bit of a sidebar rant. So we've been to a number of places where the "thing" was to get to a certain spot prior to sunrise in order to watch the sun rise over the mountain, sea, city scape or random goat or whatever. Of course, this usually means getting up at an uncivilized hour, stumbling around while trying to brush your teeth and making sure the underwear doesn't get put on backwards. Then it's off for a walk/drive/bumble, usually cold and certainly to the accompaniment of complaints from the children, to the pre-ordained perfect spot from which to watch the supposed miracle of the sun coming up. And almost invariably, when all is said and done, we've come to the conclusion that we could have just gotten up at close to a regular time and still experienced 99% of whatever it was. That extra 1% from seeing the very first ray of light is rarely worth the hassle of all that comes with it. 

And yet, somehow, we always forget these hard learned conclusions, and allow ourselves to be convinced that this time it really WILL be worth it to get up early and see the first light hit the dune, scrubby tree, or scraggly chicken. This time was no different.

So, the next morning, we got ourselves up in the dark to time our arrival at the dunes for sunrise and drove along the unlit gravel road, narrowly missing a jackal that darted towards the truck. As we approached the Tsauchab River, which is a normally dry collection of dust and stones, we were met with 3 stopped vehicles and this:

Our friend and car mate Dave (Anjea). Those are 2-foot standing waves in the Tsauchab River, which is normally a dry river bed.

This is a quote from the Sossusvlei travel site: "Sossusvlei literally translates to 'dead-end marsh', as it is the place where the dunes come together preventing the Tsauchab River to flow any further, some 60km east of the Atlantic Ocean. However, due to the dry conditions in the Namib Desert the river seldom flows this far and the pan remains bone-dry most years. During an exceptional rainy season the Tsauchab fills the pan, drawing visitors from all over the world to witness this spectacular site."

Why did the oryx cross the road?

We waited an hour for the river to subside enough to cross, but it never did. We went back to camp to have a cup of coffee and give the river a bit more time to go down. Our second try was also unsuccessful. So, instead of going to Sossusvlei, we climbed the unnamed dune that sits just before the river crossing. By that time, it was 9 a.m. and the sun and sand were already scorching. Matt and Conrad made it to the top, but Mark and I decided to head down because we were feeling light-headed and the sand burned our bare feet. We are (or were, anyway) used to heat, but the desert sun is no joke.

Luderitz, a German mining town, where Perry is moored.

By the time we left, the few vehicles that made it across to Sossusvlei before the river flooded were stranded and still waiting to come back to the Sesrium side. One intrepid man decided to try to wade into the river a few feet but quickly got out. It is ill-advised to wade in the waters. Besides the risk of being carried away, there can be snakes.

A wild desert horse

We have had many Namibians tell us how lucky we were to see the desert in bloom and how rare it was for there to be water in the river. Local tourism was up as Namibians flocked to the desert to witness the unusual scene.

We ran out of time to wait for the river and needed to start the 6 hour journey back to Luderitz. We planned our route back and got about three miles out of Sesrium when we encountered another flooded river crossing blocking our way. After chatting with a local car that had been waiting for three hours to cross, we decided the only option was to wait for the water to go down and to head back to Sesrium and have some lunch. The prospect of not getting out and having to spend another night at the campsite was a real possibility. Luckily, a ranger at the restaurant told us of another crossing point where traffic had just recently been able to get through, so we headed that way after lunch. We made it across, after a few tense moments driving through the flowing water.

By the way, Matt later ran into the couple that was waiting for three hours (they have a house in Luderitz) and they never did get through. The spent another night in Sesrium.

Kolmanskop, the German diamond mining ghost town

Our trip back was punctuated with heavy rain and a tire change. We're still not sure what we hit, but it did a number on our tire and we later ended up having to buy a new one. We were happy to make it back to Luderitz before dark. Despite never making it to Sossusvlei, we were witness to rare and spectacular scenery. We don't know what we missed, but we know that what we saw was beautiful.

Though abandoned for many decades, some of the Kolmanskop buildings look better than newer buildings we have seen in various parts of the world

 

We quite like Luderitz and have enjoyed the best Eisbein we have had yet. The German influences in the architecture and food give the town a European feel (if you keep a narrow focus and ignore the desert just down the block). We spent a morning in Kolmanskop, the abandoned diamond mining town that once boasted the largest production of jewelry-grade diamonds and the highest per capita income in the world. All the building material, including sand (in a desert, mind you), was brought in from Germany.

A hallway in the krankenhaus (hospital)

We also spent a day driving the peninsula around Luderitz, which still has diamond mining and processing operations. There are many lovely bays and rocky hills, with seals, penguins, and flamingos.

The flamingos are not as pink as some but have a lovely color when they fly.

 

On the sailing front, our trip from Cape Town to Namibia was mostly uneventful, if a bit slow due to a lull in the wind. The whisker pole failed again, which Matt has already fixed (hopefully more robustly this time). 

The bigger issue on the passage was that our satellite phone connection was nearly unusable, making it essentially impossible to download weather data and emails. With our provider unable/unwilling to help us fix the problem, we were facing an Atlantic crossing without good weather information or reliable communication. 

Fortunately, our friends Andrew and Leslie on Sonrisa, who were still in Cape Town, found and bought an Iridium Go! for us and got it to our friends Paul and Chris on Georgia before they left Cape Town for Luderitz--all while we were mostly out of cell phone range on our Sossusvlei trip. A few days later, Georgia arrived in Luderitz after a fast and sporty passage and we now have our new Go! in hand. Dave on Anjea has been kind enough to sell us the SIM card we need. We have amazing friends and this was one of the times when we have been blessed with good timing. Once we get the Go! working, we can start moving north towards Walvis Bay. The Atlantic crossing gets closer and closer.

We love Cape Town! But should we?

 

This is not a great 'ussie' (plural of selfie), but we always forget to take pictures of ourselves so we publish the picture we have, not the one we want. Hout Bay.

 

We haven't met one cruiser who doesn't like Cape Town. This is a rarity because we're all different and not everyone likes the same things. The folks that love the remote islands with villagers that come to trade don't always like bars and restaurants that mark the more populated areas and vice versa.

 

Climbing Lion's Head. Table Mountain in the background.

Cape Town has it all. The ocean and mountains provide a stunning backdrop to the well-planned city and surrounds. The restaurants are affordable and top-notch. It's easy to drink too much of the locally produced wines, with easily accessible vineyards and reasonably priced bottles. Our cruising friends back home can't needle Matt about being stuck with bad beer (you know who you are). The people are warm and friendly.

Seaforth Beach penguin colony

 

It's not perfect, of course. The V&A is sheltered from the many homeless and poor, but they are just outside--in make-shift shelters and holding up signs in traffic and they're in the 'Townships'. The area is not crime-free, though it's hard to gauge how it compares to, say, Chicago. Even just outside the V&A there are many business who will only accept electronic payments to avoid having cash on hand and most residences and business complexes are surrounded by secure fences with barbed and/or electrified wire.

 

And as much as I have enjoyed our time here, it doesn't really feel like we are cruising. Cape Town has provided us a cocoon of ease and luxury after years of being out of our comfort zone in some way. We have had Perry parked in a marina in single place, don't have to put our dinghy up and down, can speak English (the lingua Franca here), are able to walk to grocery stores that stock any food we want, and have a plethora of entertainment options (restaurants, parks, shopping, hiking, vineyards). Conrad has been able to make good use of the shore power and Internet here.

The colorful houses of Bo Kaap (previously The Malay Quarter)

 

Dungeons in Hout Bay can be a world-class surf break when the conditions are right (usually during the Winter months).

We have met several boats who are just starting their cruising adventures. The Robertson and Caine factory and several other boat builders are here and the docks near our boat are lined with shiny new cats whose owners or crew are busy preparing to leave. Their excitement and energy is a bit infectious. Living in this world-class, yet affordable-to-us city is in some ways a dream come true, but the urge to push on and to be closer to our families is bubbling to the surface. Weather permitting, we will leave for Namibia in about a week. After Namibia, we plan sail to St. Helena, Ascension Island, and Trinidad (to fix the paint marred by the concrete wall in Galle Harbour). There's a lot of ocean to cover between here and there.

Workers leaving the vineyards at Groot Constantia

 

The old Ford in question (see the bottle of Port pictured below)

Eikehof Wynes (Eike is Dutch for oak)

An Eikehof Wynes ostrich

Part of the Chef's tasting menu at Protégé Restaurant

Grand Provence Heritage Wine Estate

'Sabrage' demonstration at Haute Cabriere. Another use for our machete.