Continuing the continuence: Gypsy Wind- Aruba to Panama, or , What the f**k am I doing here,Part I

             You may be wondering why the font keeps changing on my blog. Good question.
   When last I wrote about our journey, Chumley had just gotten a 2 AM phone call from Tony announcing the arrival of the ketch, Gypsy Wind, at the Renaissance Marina in Aruba. It was a Sunday morning. I remember hearing Chum's phone ring, but that was about it, sleep came back upon me like a sneeze...?
   We woke at an early lazy hour, about 9, and after checking to see if all our parts were working, we showered and made our way towards the breakfast room ( I wanted to see if Lionel Ritchie was still stocking the scrambled eggs). We met Tom and Monica and shared a table outside while digging into the mostly forgettable morning repast, or whatever you'd call a shitty breakfast (there goes that bad language again).
  The Gypsy Wind was tied up at the fuel dock and was awaiting it's berth. We got a late checkout  time and walked down to the marina to get our first view of the boat and meet Tony and Helene, the owners, and Allan, who was first mate- main man on the crew. Tom was Tony's brother, and Monica, Tom's girlfriend.
   I would say that my first view of the boat was kind of magical. As I've already written, the Gypsy Wind was a Formosa ketch, built in the '70s and had the romantic look of an older era sailing vessel.You could imagine long voyages and exotic ports, sun filled days with the wind blowing , sails filled and flags flying. Well, that's how it hit me when I first glimpsed it. Closer examination with a more critical eye would come later.
   We met Tony and Helene, and got re-acquainted with Allan- he lived aboard his boat in Alameda, Ca., just across the dock from my brother's boat- I'd met him briefly a couple years before. We clambered aboard and got a brief tour.
   Topside was big, but covered with lockers, fenders and about ten old tires that would be used when the boat went through the Canal. There were also a number of long bamboo poles that were used for hanging a large tarp over the deck and protecting us from sun and rain while we were tied up at the marina. As a matter of fact that was our first task as a crew- rigging the poles and spreading the tarp, which we did pretty efficiently, if I must say. I didn't even have to know any sailor knots to do it.  We climbed down the companionway into the galley. It was pretty spacious, layed out in an L shape and there was lots of ambient light shining through the port holes on the port and starboard sides and the windshield in the forward portion of the cabin. Lots of teak, grab rails in strategic places and a nice sized stove on gimbals.
  To the aft was Tony and Helene's quarters, the captain's cabin. Two steps down from the galley, towards the bow was where Chumley, Allan and I would call home (Tom and Monica had the fold out bed in the galley). On the port side was a head and a shower. Forward of that was the equipment room which held, among other things, the GenSet (a diesel powered generator), a smallish, apartment sized refrigerator/freezer that was held closed by a couple of bungy cords. In the bow was a typical V-berth that was almost totally obscured by a large array of stuff, some nautical looking, most junky looking.
  After we finished the tour and the rigging of the tarp, we hoofed it back to the Talk of the Town, checked out, and brought our gear back to the boat and stowed our stuff in our quarters. We were in what would have normally been called the 'salon'. Normally is not really a good word to use on a boat  because so many different situations require different solutions and , shipboard, there are many, many different situations. In the coming days that would become very evident.
  Tony contracted a car and driver, then left to gather as many of the supplies that were needed to get the Gypsy Wind ship shape. Helene , Monica , and Tom attacked the laundry (during the shakedown sail from St.Thomas, they had been doused by some heavy waves and everything needed to be washed) and set about provisioning the galley. Allan kept working on the motor and generator and Chum and I got a chance to check out a bit more of Oranjestad before we left, which meant sucking down a few more beers and checking out the iguanas and lizards that were all over the place. We managed to get a few emails out via Chum's smartphone and I grabbed a bottle of Aruban rum, some mixers, and a couple of bottles of wine- for cocktail hour on the boat- wishful thinking it turned out, but I was imagining a sun filled cruise on a gently rolling ocean, a gull or two flying off in the distance.
   After a few days, all the preparation was completed- so I thought. Tony and Helene took our passports and were driven to the customs building to get us cleared to leave and after only an hour or so we were ready to cast off .
  There were a few last things to be done. First was a ceremony conducted by Tom that involved glitter and a veiled 'coronet' he wore. His is a member of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence or Sisters of Perpetual Motion, both seem to be closely related, but don't think of them as Ursuline Sisters or Dominican Nuns, think more like drag queens and heavy make-up with benevolence as the unifying factor. I didn't get it , but , just like I did when I was 17, I tried to appear reverent. I think I heard Chumley choking back a laugh.
   We posed for a crew picture, taken by a friendly and smiling local (I am going to dedicate a separate blog for the Aruban locals- they were awesome- even the shitty bartender).
    With Tony at the helm, we cast off and motored out of the Oranjestad harbor, into, and once clear of that, hoisted the mainsail and unfurled the jib (Aye mately! Jib...mainsail...all that piratey stuff). We were sailing!
    There is something magic when the motor is shut down and the wind provides the power. It's a magic that is ancient and alive. You feel it on your body, you see it in the sails, and once it takes the boat, you feel it in the motion of the water and the sh-h-h-h-h-hush-hing sound of the bow cutting through the swells. You can almost hear the sound of the tiny bubbles bursting in the fine foam  as the hull moves through the water. It has hypnotized sailors for years and led them into mysteries and discoveries that still amaze now. You get calm and fall into thought. It quiets your soul. And sometimes, just after you have sailed a good bit from land and lost sight of the horizon, some... get seasick as hell.
    Sister Ida, a.k.a.,Tom, was the first to start feeding the fish. He barfed in the proper fashion-leeward side- off the port side of the boat standing at the rail. He made it back to a low folding chair that was at the stern of the boat, right next to a conveniently placed opening in the safety netting. That was to remain his 'spot' for the next few days. Monica succumbed next, though not as badly as Ida- she didn't feed the fish as often, which was good, because she became the un-offical cook on board and did a really good job, even in the foulest weather. Apparently Tony's cat, a Siamese, just a kitten, was having a rough go of it as well. I haven't mentioned the cat because I rarely saw it and I forgot the damn things name. I did come to admire it when, in the midst of some of the nastiest weather we encountered, it swayed in perfect rhythm, meowing as the boat rolled  35degrees or more. It was that throaty, scratchy Siamese meow, but I forgave it.
   We had decided and chosen our watches while we were back in Aruba, at the Strabucks just across from where the Gypsy Wind was berthed. Initially, with 4 sailors, Tony, Alan, Chumley, and I, watches were a very nice 3 hour affair. I got the 6 to 9 watches, which I thought was grand, perfect hours for me. All the after dark watches had, at Helene's request, a 'helper' who would stay topside, act as an additional set of eyes, and keep the helmsman company. Night watches are tough for several obvious reasons, the visibility being primary, keeping the course and watching for other boats, all  were  harder in the dark. Later in the sail, when we were pushed up to 4 hour watches and hours changed,they became essential, for me, at any rate.
  My first watch went by quickly and was uneventful. The swells were moderate, 4-5', and steady, as was the wind. The sky was clear and the  moon would be full in two days , so we had a beautiful light which rose up off our stern and lit the ocean, reflecting off the top of waves like mirrors. It was really beautiful and peaceful, very much of what I imagined it might be. Tom was my helper and, as he gained his sea legs, became more animated and fun to be around. My three hours passed quickly, Alan relieved me , and I went below and fell asleep easily, the waves rocking the boat like a lullaby.
  The next morning problems starting to arise. The seas were a bit rougher and the wind had picked up. That wasn't the bad part. Wind and sea is what a sailor lives for. What was problematic was the absence of coffee. Somewhere along the line, perhaps because of the close proximity of Starbucks so near the berth in Aruba, coffee was not purchased, stocked, or thought about. I'm not a coffee hound like my brother. Kevin and coffee have a mystical, magical relationship- it's a Lolita-like thing in a caffeinated way, let's not get into details. No coffee surprised me because we all, except the cat, drank it, and of waking up, or breakfast, or "I need to wake up", makes you often think of coffee. At one point I remember a cup of Earl Grey tea, but that could have been a dream because for the next several days I was likely in a subtle cold-turkey mode as I didn't need much more stimulation that what the ocean and weather provided. As a matter of fact, the elements were about to give me more than I wanted, but you'll have to wait to hear about that till later.