Yeah – our mail arrived from our mail service in Florida! We had ordered it weeks ago hoping it would beat us to Cape Verde. Oh well, we can leave Mindelo Marina of Sao Vicente, Cape Verde now after an extended visit of just over two weeks. This has been a lovely place to relax and enjoy the cruising life as Kandu had only a few maintenance projects to complete since most were completed earlier in the Canary Islands and Agadir, Morocco. We’ve met several lovely cruisers here making the Atlantic crossing and hope to see them again in the Caribbean.
We will be casting off the lines tomorrow to sail the Atlantic west to French Guiana. We are excited to get moving again. Everything is ready. Water tanks and diesel tanks are full, the boat bottom is clean as well as the deck, cockpit and the interior. All the laundry has been washed and we’re topped up in provisions.
The music scene is excellent here on the weekends. Typically there is a singer and guitar accompanied sometimes with a cajon drum box. Both weekends we went out to hear the mixed sounds of the tropics combined with Portuguese rhythms topped with a language mix of Portuguese, Creole and English. We actually bought a couple wonderful albums one from their most internationally famous singer – Cesaria Evora: Miss Perfumado. Today’s most popular singer Elida Almeida is featured on her latest album: Kebrada distributed by Sony Music.
These last two days, Bryce has been able to get out and surf the northeast side of the island in the south section of the Baia des Gatas: Praia Grande de Calhau. We met a recently arrived fellow American cruiser, Jeff Morcroft on sv Talaba who was game to join Bryce on some water adventures.
Bryce Rigney and Jeff Talaba, Sao Vicente, Cape Verde.
After college, age 22, while traveling on svGetel across the Pacific with Eric in 1989, I had time to pause from the ‘busy’ness of life laiden full of skills learned across multiple disciplines in order to earn a living, and reflect on how incredibly blessed my path had been up to that point. During that crossing from Hawaii to San Francisco, there was a difficult and rather scary 24-hour period when I pushed myself into a tight corner crevice, crossed myself (unusual for a Lutheran), and prayed. At that moment during the raging sea storm, in the most uncomfortable and frightening circumstance of my life, I thanked God for all the extraordinary experiences that my parents had provided me and the incredible opportunities to learn and to grow unhindered by war, by pestilence, tragedy, sickness, hunger, disability, poverty and even unattractiveness. I acknowledged that I had already lived a terrific life. Overwhelmingly thankful, I was prepared to die. Fortunately, the storm passed and we lived to sail under the San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge.
Pondering Blessings
Today, thinking back at that moment and my life up until then, my life had been truly blessed: born in California in the late 1960’s, healthy, strong of body with a decent brain, and an only child of devoted upper-middle class parents. Truly, I was the princess that most of my high school friends perceived me to be, living atop the hill in a big modern house that my father built. Although I never thought, nor think of myself as a princess. I rarely got new clothes; mine were mostly hand-me-downs. My parents owned a record player with basic speakers, a simple medium-sized television and VHS machine to record shows – purchasing movies was out of the question expensive, and renting movies wasn’t a possibility back in the late 1970’s. Spending time on the telephone long distance was forbidden. My parents didn’t often take me out to eat. We drank milk or water with dinner and ate simply. I learned a great distaste for shopping because while my mother loved to go ‘shopping,’ we rarely bought anything. Our big spending was food on special. Before I was ten, I collected aluminum cans, sorting through trash bins to recycle. When I was 10, I sold mistletoe wrapped and tied with a bow to neighbors for a $0.50. Later in high school, I babysat the neighbors’ children. I never received an allowance.
However, what my parents did offer me, above and beyond any material prizes, were experiences. With my mother, we joined a roller-skating club. I was four. Until I was twelve, I spent most of my after-school hours and weekends at the roller-skating rink, taking lessons and practicing. At age six, I started taking piano lessons. A little later I took-up violin in the elementary school orchestra…I was now taking piano and violin lessons.
My mother was a snow ski addict. During the winter months, we would drive up to the Tahoe mountains on Friday afternoons having packed all our food and sandwich materials for a weekend of skiing. At that time, Squaw Valley attracted families to their ski resort by offering children to ski free until age 14. I skied so much as a youth, that by the time I was 16, I was skiing the most difficult runs on the mountain. My mother’s brilliant idea, I attached a horn to my ski pole. While on the chairlift looking down, I would honk the horn to congratulate fellow skiers on their great form skiing and/or crashing. Haha. I used to ski so hard, that my own crashes were enviable…but fortune would have it that I never experienced a debilitating accident. At that time, we skied without helmets.
Then one day, my father showed up with a modest water ski boat. From then on out during the summer months, we would pack-up the El Camino with a camper top (my cousin and I lounged in the back on a cushion reading books – I became an avid reader – no DVD movie players back then) and headed out on late Friday afternoons to the bay area delta for the weekend.
Around age 12, my mother’s interest in roller-skating dwindled. She asked me if I wanted to continue. I was good enough that if I continued, I would have started skating freestyle pairs – a dangerous sport for girls as they are twirled, lifted, and thrown in the air at their peril. At the same time, my interest and skill at playing the violin had markedly grown. We decided that our roller-skating days were over. Instead, we water and snow skied many weekends, I poured myself into local after school sports (softball and soccer), practiced and played the violin, sang in choirs, and improved my mind through academics and reading. Junior high was marked for me by singing in the choir, the purchase of a good violin and playing in the orchestra at the junior college, but most significantly, having to wear headgear to school; before I smiled I was considered a small, cute girl. Haha.
My mouth was such a tangled mess, that the orthodontist required I wear braces and the worst possible: headgear 24 hours a day – even to school. He was going to wire the apparatus in so that I couldn’t remove it. Fortunately, my mother and number one advocate, protested the wiring and assured the doctor I would wear it. In the bathroom, my mother discovered me in tears trying to hide the headgear under my hair. She held me in her arms and said: “You won’t be able to hide it, instead, flaunt it!” From her crafts, she pulled out ribbons and dried flowers and together we decorated it in style wrapping it with bright colors and festooning it with “charm.” Interestingly, I was rarely pointed out or ridiculed. During those months, we arranged at school for me to eat lunch privately in a classroom away from prying eyes. The orthodontist predicted I would need to wear the headgear full time for five months. I determined that would not do. The moment my teeth stopped aching, I would tighten the gear myself. Three months later, my teeth had reached their new permanent place and the headgear was no longer required. I wore braces for just a year and retainers every night thereafter.
While I was in junior high, my mother went back to school to San Jose State University. My grandmother would pick me up from school to take me to violin lessons. Other days, I would attend soccer practice and/or walk home, practice my violin and piano, do my homework. A couple nights a week, I was expected to cook simple dinners – rice and vegetable stir fry and/or spaghetti with salad. In eighth grade, I auditioned for Oakland Youth Symphony Orchestra and was accepted into the second violins. For three consecutive summers, I earned music scholarships to attend La Honda Music Camp in the Santa Cruz mountains to improve my skills and make contacts.
La Honda music Camp
Moving forward in time, as a freshman at San Leandro High School, I auditioned and was accepted to sing in the Notables Choir, and continued to study piano and violin privately.
The day I turned 16, I passed my driver’s license test. My parents were so relieved from having to taxi me around to rehearsals, they allowed me to drive their robust El Camino truck to school and to my numerous music commitments. By that time, I was playing string bass in Young People’s Symphony Orchestra, I was 6th chair of the first violins in Oakland Youth Symphony (OYSO), taking lessons in San Francisco, and heading to school for 7:00 am rehearsals for Pirates of Pizazz, our high school “glee” club of singing and dancing. School mornings, I would pick-up two friends who also sang in the group. As might be expected, with all that driving, before I turned 18, I caused two smallish car accidents where fortunately nothing but the cars were damaged. There is a reason why drivers under 25 pay more for insurance. My parents were kind to me about those accidents as I was driving myself from orchestra rehearsals both times. They had the cars repaired, paid the higher insurance fees, and I continued to drive. Through OYSO I got a chance to travel to Europe…travel without my parents. It was my 16th summer. The travel bug hit me hard.
Kent Nagano conducted OYSO at that time.
Time passed musically. I had started taking French as a Sophomore in high school, and became so advanced that in my Senior year, I finished my high school classes at noon and continued French courses at Hayward Junior College. Between my orchestra classes as a junior high student and the French classes, before I graduated high school, I had already accumulated 58 college credits. I then graduated HS with good grades, but earned unimpressive SAT scores. After appealing my application, University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) accepted me as a Freshman.
I could go on about the blessings of my life through University and beyond. I continued to have and to create opportunities. And then I met Eric. Through him, I found the courage to pursue a career in opera which led to more wonderful teachers and eventually to a Master’s and Ph’d in Music supported by teaching voice and a ‘priceless’ 12-year career singing in the chorus of Los Angeles Opera. These incredible opportunities were afforded to me by hard work and great people who helped and nurtured me along the way. I have never been exceptional at anything…even opera singing…but through much perseverance, I have become very good at a lot of things, even typing.
Eric also did well in his chosen career and we experienced an extraordinary boon; Eric and I were blessed with two very sturdy, healthy, and intelligent sons with whom to share our lives.
RigneysKandu floating in Dead Sea of Israel
And you wonder why I wrote this account that sounds a bit like boasting, why I recorded it ‘out loud?’ I wrote all this as an edification for a thought that has been mulling around in my brain for some time, since I was 22 and sailing aboard sv Getel. Now at almost 52 having traveled the world for 4 years, I have seen so many extraordinary sights, experienced incredible cultural events and have witnessed in person war torn countries, very poor people, and interacted with all types from different regions of the world. I ask myself and God why have I been so blessed? Surely, I have had to struggle in my life, but my struggles, in general, have been self-inflicted as I have toiled to grow, improve my understanding in music, language, writing, math, spirituality, singing, sailing, etc. Was it the environment in which I grew-up and the choices that I made along the way that protected me from horrible hardships? Was it luck to have good health and simply good fortune, and that I have not had to battle against oppression of all kinds?
This morning aboard our sturdy sv Kandu, before writing all this, a song was wafting around in my mind from Rogers and Hammerstein’s “Sound of Music: Something Good.” The lyrics repeated over and over: ‘Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.’ I’m not sure if a good life or having many blessings is a reward for good works in this life or another. It’s entirely possible that because of my “good life” or ‘Princess on the hill’ benefits, I still have much to accomplish of good in the future – to ‘pay it forward’ so to speak. I don’t know what that payment is or may be, or even if it’s necessary in the scheme of things. However, it doesn’t stop me from wondering deeply. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. Nevertheless, I feel the utmost gratitude for all that has made this outstanding life possible and to those that have been instrumental in this life I have been living.
At home in California, I constantly tried to be frugal. I was taught to save money. I didn’t go out to buy coffee and treats at Starbucks. If there were leftovers from the previous night’s dinner, I would eat that for lunch the next day. I packed the boys’ lunch. I bought the grocery store brand that was $0.10 cheaper. And I used coupons.
Then I would get a parking or a speeding ticket.
In my mind, I would think all that saving was for nil. Privately, by myself, I would rant and rave, throw an adult “tantrum” – absolutely pissed off at myself for being so stupid to get the ticket or to have wasted so frivolously, wondering what was the point of saving if the universe or fate was going to take away my penny here penny there savings anyway. After a while, I would calm down and follow my mother’s advice. Immediately, I would pay the ticket and put it in the mail – try to forget about it.
At a certain point early on, I learned that maintenance of ‘possessions’ was much more expensive than the original purchase price. I tried not to buy unnecessary or repeat items.
Once I became a homeowner, the motto “Less is More” rang true in my head…small house, small cars…. Instead of getting pulled into a ‘sale’ item just because it’s ‘on sale,’ I would talk myself out of the purchase nurturing the concept, “if I don’t buy the ‘sale’ item, then I saved even more!”
Like refurbishing a house where we were warned to budget 30% above and beyond the original foreseen/planned budget, traveling on a ‘houseboat’ is similar. However, I’ve come to figure that expenditures on maintaining Kandu account for 3/5 of our annual budget. So, Eric and I and the boys continue to save and make decisions accordingly. Perhaps we eat out too often. Living on the boat, I’ve never cooked so much in my life. But in other aspects, we work to save. In fact, we planned extensive stays in countries where the dollar is strong and prices are cheaper for us: Marquesas, Samoa, Fiji, Indonesia, Malaysia, India, Egypt, Morocco.
Having learned that in non-Western, generally Islamic countries, bargaining from vendors is expected and among locals it’s a skill. We Western tourists are prime targets for milking and paying double or even triple the ‘local’ price which often ends up making the items as expensive as what would be paid in a technologically advanced country.
Yesterday, I wanted to have our laundry done because washing 3-weeks’ worth of clothes and linens by hand is an all-day painstaking job. I had previously researched the Internet to find there were no coin operated laundromats in Agadir. I asked the marina manager for a recommendation. She highlighted an area on the map indicating there was an establishment across from ‘a restaurant’ that some other yachties have used and the prices were reasonable.
Having been heavily ripped off and burned in Egypt over laundry, I was equipped with courage and determination to barter for the price. I was not going to pay US$100 dollars for two bags of un-ironed laundry. In Egypt, with use of a derelict washing machine (2.5 hours per load), I spent 2 days washing, hanging, and folding 5 loads of laundry. Port Suez Yacht Club then unexpectedly charged me US$10 a load. I had spent hours doing all of my own laundry and they charged me $50 in a country where things are supposed to be cheaper? I was beside myself frustrated.
Now in Agadir, armed with a map, Eric and I took off with two bags (3 loads) of laundry filled with 4 sheets, pillow cases, worn but decent boat clothes and underclothes that can all be washed together – no separating necessary. After a bit of searching we found the recommended laundry place (pressing or blanchisserie): Pressing Alwafa located across from ‘SouIaymane Restaurant’ on Rue d’Essaouira just north of the taxi cab hangout.
Pressing Alwafa, Agadir, Rue d’Essaouira opposite Soulaymane Restaurant
I approached a middle-aged man at the counter and started bargaining in my imperfect French right away. My mistake may have been that I should not have been as assertive. Many Muslim men don’t appreciate strong women, especially those not wearing long non-descript smocks, gloves, and head coverings. He wanted to charge for each item, so I took out all the large pieces and said: “I will hand wash the small pieces myself.” Then he counted the large items as I watched, dropping them in a basket behind the counter, announced it was 35 items and it would be 350 dirhams which amounted to US$38…already expensive! I then asked if I could double count the items – he was annoyed and turns out he was off by five…there were only 30. At that point, he said fine, for another 10 dirhams, he would do all the laundry – a total of 400 dirhams or US$45. I agreed. Then we negotiated when I would pick-up the laundry. The next day was Sunday, so he wanted to give it to me on Monday, but I needed it back the same day since we would be leaving on Monday – we agreed the pick-up would be at 7:00 pm. I mentioned that he didn’t need to wrap the clothes in plastic. Instead, to simply refill my laundry bags directly to on save plastic. He was put-out. Then I asked for a receipt which must have completely tipped him over.
At 7:15 pm Bryce and I returned to pick-up the laundry. Everything was cordial enough. Back at the boat, I started to sort through the laundry and discovered one of my good and hard to find ‘no underwire’ bras was melted/destroyed. Continuing to sort, half the laundry smelled burnt or dirty and felt hard, as if it hadn’t been washed and then I found 4 more pieces melted, burned and/or ruined and three others scorched. Now it was my turn to be pissed. The badly ruined and scorched items with the exception of one of Bryce’s old shirts and a hole in his best Hurley shorts, were mine. Was the damage orchestrated intentionally to punish me specifically because I had ‘aggressively’ tried to bargain? Or since I mentioned I was leaving the country Monday, maybe he didn’t care? On passing us the bags of laundry, the man certainly knew that several items had been ruined and/or damaged and didn’t mention it because half of the clothes were folded and some even ironed! He accepted the full amount of money with a smile. Also, the clothes in one bag were extremely hard wrinkled having been left sitting in a hot dryer – and then not folded. The wrinkles won’t come out even after hand washing unless I iron the items. It was the worst paid laundry job I have ever experienced. I guess I’ll be hand-washing my clothes in the future if I cannot find a coin operated laundromat where I can wash the items myself.
Expensive ExOfficio Specialty capris for sun protection
Recently gifted sweatshirt from Aunt Meg
My immediate reaction to the destroyed laundry was to retaliate. I know it’s sounds foolish and well I felt foolish, but I couldn’t sleep that night for all the possible methods of malice I kept devising in my head. Of course, much of this anger in me is pent up frustration in response to the overall Islamic culture’s treatment of women. It feels like to me that within conservative Islam, women are good only for breeding, cooking, and cleaning. Women should say little and have no opinions. Oddly, only mothers are revered. Not other people’s mothers, just yours. Certainly, a man cannot be friends with a woman…friendliness is interpreted as the woman being open to have sex with the man.
Typically dressed Muslim women in Agadir, Morocco
Eric tells a story about a male public restroom attendant working in the Middle East, filling pitchers of water for patrons to use (they clean themselves with their left hand using the water, no toilet paper). As a business man descends into the attendant’s domain, he grabs the pitcher at the end. The attendant orders the man to set it back down and take the third pitcher from the end. “Why? They’re all the same,” the patron declares. To which the attendant replies, “When I’m up there, I have to do what you say. But when you’re down here, you have to do what I say,” exercising what little power he can. Was this that case? Was the laundry man just exercising his power, because he thought he could? Because I was leaving and had no recourse?
So, my experiment with saving in Morocco was a joke. I tried to save on laundry or to at least get a fair price and I was kicked in the butt. The universe is laughing at me. However, what is the best thing to do? It is to WALK AWAY and let him think he defeated me – that he stole from me, beat me down, won. To me, he’s a middle-aged man surrounded by ugliness and dirty buildings, usurping his little bit of power over a foreign, modern woman.
What do we truly own in life but our attitude? Everything else can be taken away. I want my attitude to be positive, so I work to reject that man’s actions. Happiness is my preference. I want to be happy, and I will keep trying to save because it’s what I do, but maybe a little less vigilantly. Still, hard as I might, I remain a bit hurt, feeling attacked. I guess he won today since I chose to stay inside the boat, hide away and write this article instead. I also didn’t want to spread any residual bad mojo to those around me. Eric and Bryce went to visit the Moroccan souk without me, which I really wanted to experience, . . . but, well, I didn’t buy anything, so I guess I saved.
Leslie Rigney
Epilogue – Eric and I returned to the pressing/laundry with the worst damaged 4 pieces that I was unable to fix and a pillowcase that was unmistakably browned – the other items I rewashed, pressed and/or mended myself. The shop owner seemed dismayed at the news, as his worker, the man I dealt with, looked on. The owner asked us to leave the items with him to see if he could have them repaired, and for us to return in a couple days. Without me, Eric returned and spoke with the jerk clerk. He said, “We were unable to repair the clothes, but we did clean the pillowcase. We are sorry.” The man didn’t make any special offers until Eric pressed him. Compelled, the man offered to do another load of laundry on the house. Burned twice having laundry done in Muslim countries, I couldn’t bare the possibility of getting burned thrice. I have since washed the laundry two times myself with a plunger, buckets, cold water and elbow grease. It all turned out perfectly clean, sun-wind ironed and smelling like fresh air. Not only did I save myself cab money and consternation, I got some exercise too!
Dear Jeff (Jeff Jordan is a high school friend whose second job is traveling the world and may be joining us as a line handler in the Panama Canal),
Actually, we don’t know if Rick’s Cafe in Casablanca is still owned by an American…we never looked. We enjoyed very much our experience there. It maintains an international flavor. We went upstairs to watch the ‘Casablanca‘ film for 15 minutes. I had never seen it. BTW – did you know that the Casablanca movie was never filmed in Morocco? Eric believes it was filmed entirely in Southern California.
The exterior of the restaurant was nondescript same as most buildings we have seen in French Polynesia, Indonesia, Malaysia, India, Eritrea, Egypt, Sudan, and now Morocco. We have discussed that matter with locals and their feeling is this: they don’t want to draw attention to their dwelling on the outside because they don’t want others to know their actual wealth and to steal from them or to expect unearned generosity. Today, a Moroccan gentleman explained to us: “If your neighbor needs something, you are compelled to give it to them over your own needs; your neighbor takes precedence over yourself and your own family.” Yet in my mind, we are all human, aren’t we? Such generosity is difficult to conjure even in myself. Sigh!
Marina Agadir promenade entrance
We’re finding Agadir great. Now that we are forced to remain here to await special bolts and a new water intake pump for the engine, we are finding Morocco more and more charming – desert dust and all. Sadly, the more time we’re spending inside the city (out of the resort areas) we’re experiencing a lot more beggars and homeless. Such an interesting human/global problem since forever, I think. My parents related during their five weeks with us that San Francisco is becoming quite the pit of filth, drug addicts and rampant homelessness. Not good for attracting international tourism!!!
Richie’s Cafe: Surf haven just South of Aourir road marker K11.
We have meet wonderful people and not so wonderful people as we travel. At a local surf hangout called Richie’s located at highway marker K11 on the beach just south of Aourir (30 min busride north from Agadir), we met a wonderful young woman serving tables. For not ever having lived outside her country, her English and accent is excellent!!! I was so impressed with her and her artistry that we invited her to our boat and then she invited us to her home to share couscous. Hadjar’s generosity was so great that she insisted on giving us one of her paintings. Wow! We gave her a couple things too, but her favorite was a California flag!
Hadjar Elmajid’s gift: Saharan womenHadjar: a California fan!
Freelancing at Marina Agadir, we met a wonderful Muslim gentleman, Youssef Ajewher, a retired military ship engineer who provides yacht services. Along with many boat maintenance issues, he has also provided us many personal services too.
He helped me locate and visit a woman’s health/dermatologist (Clinique IBN SINA Avicenne) for some black spots that I was nervous about on my chest thinking they might be the beginnings of cancer – which the kindly middle-aged female dermatologist declared were deep seated blackheads and removed with a bit a trouble having to use her scalpel to cut open the skin. She did a good job and now, most importantly, I am no longer worried. We spend so much time in the sun, that I want to make sure to catch things early on. I was nervous about waiting 8 months to return home before addressing the issue.
On the other hand, we had a little issue with our laundry. I was so upset, I wrote a story about it in the raw the day the day I got back the laundry…couldn’t bear to go out for 24 hours as I felt personally attacked. Waiting a few days, yesterday, with Youssef, we took 5 ruined pieces back to the cleaner and presented them to the owner. He was apologetic. The man who had enacted the damage was there too, shamefacedly. The owner said he would try to mend them wanting us to come back in a couple days. I forgive the naughty man now, but at the time I was thoroughly put-out.
Since we are waiting around, we have made arrangements to take a bus to Marrakesh, the capital city of Morocco, on Monday with a reservation through www.booking.comat an inexpensive yet decent centrally located Riad (old private home turned into a Bed’n Breakfast: ma******@ho*****.com“>Riad Chennaoui) – for two nights. Our 2 new water intake pumps (2ndone is a spare), ordered from the Netherlands, will arrive sometime on Wednesday. Eric will get busy replacing the pump (he’s become quite the mechanic!) while I get to work cleaning, laundry in a bucket, etc. Bryce has some chores too to keep Kandu looking ship-shape. If all goes efficiently with shipping and customs, the plan is that we depart in a week or so for the Canary Islands.
Kandu in Marina Agadir
Truly, moving from one culture to the next is always exciting yet a little daunting. I was nervous coming back to a Muslim country after our difficult experience in Egypt…which we haven’t really wrote about yet…I’m still too raw and I don’t want to sound mean nor like a spoiled brat, which sometimes I see myself as when wandering around poorer countries. Sigh….again!
Unable to reach the Yacht Club du Maroc, a private enterprise, prior to departure, we set sail from Gibraltar in hopes a space would be available. A forecasted large NW swell had us forego the shallow entrance of Rabat, and Casablanca has no facilities for receiving yachts. Upon our morning approach, Port Control Mohammedia responded to our VHF call on 16. We were instructed to enter the port and head directly to the marina where someone would point us to a berth. Warned in reports of underwater obstructions near the marina, we arrived at high tide. The private marina resides tucked away in the corner of the commercial and fishing port. Seeing no one of authority, we stayed just off the marina’s two large pontoons, toward the commercial portion of the port rather than the likely shallower small fishing port.
Kandu waiting to be welcomed to Yacht Club du Maroc in Mohammedia
Within 10 minutes, an official looking person with collared shirt and long pants, holding a handheld VHF guided us to raft up alongside one of two possible boats, the choice was ours. They have limited space for visiting yachts. Looking at our depth sounder during our maneuvering into place, the depths were more than adequate, never below 18 feet. The official, who we never saw again, asked us to drop an anchor which I said I would do later, but intending only to stay for 2 nights, with no bad weather forecast, we did not.
All officials came to us within an hour or so, boarded our boat, and processed us politely and professionally in English and French, . . . no “gifts” asked, none given. Leslie offered coffee, which they gratefully received. No charge for clearance. They took our passports for an hour to process, stamp, and return them to us with shore passes (as we were in a commercial port with high security), and held on to the ship’s original documentation to insure we checked out properly. Check out was as simple and painless after 9 a.m., presenting our passports. Taking only 15 minutes, we had our exit stamped passports and original ship’s document. Agadir officials said we should have received a blue paper from Customs, but did not belabor the point with us.
The YC charges two fees, theirs and the port’s. Warned of the high price and that they charge per day, not per night, I was mentally prepared to see a high bill. Accepting only cash, up front, the YC manager was pleased I had made the effort to have Moroccan dirham on hand, having exchanged in Gibraltar before our arrival. He charged us for two nights, not three days. Perhaps because we planned to leave at the same time that we’d had arrived. The two-night YC charge was slightly higher than the port charge, but for a 12.7m monohull, the charges were about 500 dirham each, 1000 total, or $55/night. Price includes 220 power and potable (we don’t trust) water, separate men and women’s toilets and hot showers (clean and adequate), excellent security, trash, access to their restaurant across the port, and weak to non-existing WiFi. Our pontoon was for larger boats and was shared by mostly sports-fishing boats. While there are smaller local cafés nearby, to get to the center of town, a 10-dirham taxi ride makes it easy. ATM’s are common. We used the ATAM at the train station and purchased via cash our tickets through the ticketing vending machine. We hopped aboard the frequent (±every 30-minutes) half-hour train to Casablanca (showing up at least 15 minutes late), costing 32-dirham R/T, and walked 20-minutes to the Hassan II mosque, taking the 100 dirham English-speaking tour, by far the best and most worthy experience we had in our short stay in Casablanca.
Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca, Morocco with Bryce Rigney
Mosque Hassan II Casablanca Morocco
Mosque Hassan II Minaret
One of many entrances
Titanium doors
Mosque Hassan II Interior, Bryce Rigney silhouette
Italian Murano glass chandelier
Magnificent Interior Hassan II Mosque
Intricate plaster carving
Mosque Hassan II Ablutions Chamber
Local Moroccan marble
Exit corridor
Moroccan art at it’s very best: Hassan II Mosque of Casablanca with Eric Rigney
Rick’s Café Americain was charming and elegant, although more expensive than we’re use to paying (4x the cost of the normal hole-in-the-wall places we frequent), very delicious, and the portions are large enough to share between two (wished we had known earlier). As with most all less technologically developed cultures, non-written prices must be negotiated before you engage in buying open market food items, but especially with taxis, where you might pay as much as 3 times the going rate. In perspective, sometimes that means paying $3 instead of $1, but it can also mean paying $50 instead of $20.
SIM cards are an excellent deal in Morocco, 20 dirham ($2.25) for the Maroc Telecom SIM which allows you some limited calling then you add separately a top-up at a tobacco/convenience store to acquire data or more phone. 10 dirham per 1 GB data. Valid for 30 days. We bought 50 dirham worth (about $5.50). SIMs are purchased at a Maroc Telecom or other brand store.
Maroc Telecom Sim
In summary, Mohammedia is a friendly, efficient, and secure place to berth if Casablanca is on your must-see list. Reportedly, the most populous Moroccan city, except for the Hassan II Mosque and the train station, we found this historic city to be unattractive. The old colonial architecture described in tour guides is not maintained and disappointing to behold. To be fair, we did not pay for a guided tour, nor did we have a local showing us the charm of what may otherwise be a very lovely place. Bryce did get to surf at Florida Beach, but even that experience was just okay. Eric Rigney
Dar Bouazza / Florida Beach, Morocco, Sept 2018
Arrive Dar Bouazza, Morocco
Bryce Rigney at Dar Bouazza / Florida Beach Sept 2018
Bryce Rigney waxing his board at Dar Bouazza
Bryce Rigney heading to surf Dar Bouazza, Morocco
Dar Bouazza, Morocco
Leslie Rigney at Dar Bouazza Beach, Morocco
Bryce Rigney, Dar Bouazza, Morocco
Dar Bouazza / Florida Beach Morocco Sept 2018
Leslie’s brief Facebook excerpt:
Casa Blanca on the ocean claims to be the largest city in Morocco. But not having a yacht marina directly in Casa Blanca, we headed instead to port Mohammedia 10 kilometers north from the city. From Gibraltar we left with perfect wind and tide circumstances hopping the Gibraltar straights shipping lanes to the south like a rabbit to avoid the big tanker traffic. With Kandu docked in Mohammedia, we took advantage of the inexpensive train and taxis to see the sights in Casa Blanca. We visited Dar Bouazza Beach for some long overdue surf and the renowned Rick’s Cafe for excellent 1920’s art deco ambience and delicious Moroccan couscous.
Bryce & Leslie Rigney at Rick’s Cafe, Casablanca Morocco
Rick’s Cafe Interior, Casablanca, Morocco
We were spellbound by the most impressive architecture found in the large and beautiful Hassan II Mosque (inside and out as they allow non-muslim visitors to tour the interior for US$11/person). We also walked the city to visit the acclaimed business city center, local souk and the famous Rialto Cinema…all of which were underwhelming. Not a beautiful or romantic resort town, two days was plenty. Sadly, most of the city was run-down and dirty…with hopeful construction everywhere especially on the beachfront which was completely torn up and off-limits except on the outskirts like Dar Bouazza / Florida Beach.
After Sudan, we were on a whirlwind tour of Egypt, Israel, and Europe. Not much has been posted on the blog site since then. The three of us – myself, Eric and Bryce – plan to rectify that, posting articles recounting more detail than revealed in our postings on Facebook about the many extraordinary adventures of the last 5 months. BTW – if you don’t know, Kandu is down to 3 as Trent returned to California to attend high school. He is living with Uncle Nick Rigney in Calabasas.
Trent Rigney in Alsace, France
August 29, 2018
Dear Sara and family,
I have been thinking of you since we were in Spain wishing I had become more fluent in Spanish like you. Unfortunately, we didn’t spend any time in Spain outside Barcelona, darn it! Just had 90 days to visit the Schengen countries (The Schengen agreement among most of the European Union countries grants visitors a 90 day tourist visa…if not European, then you only qualify for a 90 day visitor’s visa out of 180…3 months within a 6-month period. Turkey, Croatia, Cyprus, England, Gibraltar are not part of Schengen.) It’s just as well, because our bank book is quite depleted. It’s been very expensive traveling and docking the boat in Europe west of Greece. We sailed past the lower boot of Italy bee-lining it to Pompeii – one of my bucket list sights.
Cyprus Roman amphitheater dating 100 AD
RigneysKandu floating in Dead Sea of Israel
Santorini, Greece
Acropolis, Athens
Pompeiians asphyxiated
Walking the boardwalk of Ancient Pompeii
Eric and I had never been to Rome or Venice. Having the boys with us, it was a must to make efforts to hit the bigger sites. Maybe another day, we’ll get a chance to explore more of Italy as I really fell in love with that country, full of ancient wealth and history.
Florence’s Duomo: carved marble exterior
Roman Colliseum
Michaelangelo’s David
Gondola ride in Venice
Interior St Peter’s Basilica
Actually Paris this time for us was not as mesmerizing as it has usually been in previous visits and stays. Perhaps it’s because we were generously put up by a friend in the suburbs of Paris and it took almost 90 minutes to get into the city, making early morning and late night strolls a little more challenging. Oh well. Not to mention the hoards and hoards of summer tourists swarming the big sites, and the heat. I don’t remember previously visiting Paris in the summer.
Bryce Rigney at Le Louvre
RigneysKandu Men in Paris
I haven’t had a chance to write on our blog much since making Egypt. Now that we have a bit of time to breath having exited out of the Schengen territories, we can enact repairs on the boat and record more details of our explorations.
In Bruge, Belgium with Ron and Rosie Dennis and Sian, Lara and Elena Demande.Thierry and Clara Robert, Ron and Rosie and RigneysKandu touring around Huy, Belgium.
Most recently, we had a wonderful 6 weeks with my parents. Via extended invitations from our dear Belgium and French friends, we were able to introduce the boys and my folks to European living in many forms and to visit extraordinary sights and places like the picturesque & unforgettably charming wine villages along the Rhine in the Alsatian province. Eric and I had been to Alsace a couple times before, visiting with friends, but we had never explored the region: Colmar, Strasbourg, nor the wine trail villages. It’s no wonder why this region bordering Germany has been under contention for 100’s of years between France and Germany…it’s rich in valuable resources: hard working “Protestant type work-ethic” people and rich land for agriculture. The Strasbourg Cathedral housed the most incredible astronomical working clock we’d ever seen.
Baden Baden, Germany ancient fortress
Alsatian ladies dress in traditional costumes
Strasbourg Cathedral Astrological Clock
Alsatian style building, Strasbourg
Together, we also had time to visit some bordering areas/towns of Alsace including Baden Baden on the frontier of Germany – extremely wealthy boasting a lovely old fort that we hiked during the rain, and Luxembourg – which is clean clean clean, with a picturesque old town, fort, huge city walls and gorgeous Catholic churches. Of course, all through Cyprus, Greece, Italy, Belgium, France, Monaco and Barcelona, we visited churches, Basilicas, and Cathedrals ad nauseum. I loved it all….the boys were definitely done with the typical city offerings except the most spectacular ones such as St Peter’s Basilica in Rome, The Duomo in Florence, Versaille in France, and The Sagrada Familia by Gaudi in Barcelona. In Chartres Cathedral, France, the inside has recently been painted white to enhance the otherwise dire interior, but most specially the organist played for about 20 minutes, which for me, was magical.
Sagrada Familia Exterior, Barcelona
Sagrada Familia Interior, Barcelona
We’ve enjoyed so many other incredible country spectaculars: art museums, Napoleon history, war memorials and museums about WWI and WWII, plus many ancient sites, valuable and palatable history lessons for us all.
Ron n Rosie climbing Waterloo lookout, Belgium
WWII Memorial for US soldiers, Bastogne Belgium
Truly truly spectacular traveling which I hope to write about more fully on our blog now that we are moving at a more leisurely pace.
We and Kandu are now in Gibraltar harbored in Queensway Quay Marina. Trent, our youngest at 14 returned to California from Barcelona to live with Uncle Nick and started school August 23rd in Calabasas. Happily, he made the volleyball team. He is thrilled to be back home and excited to get academically serious. He’s extremely motivated. Bryce (16) flew solo to London last Friday night, visiting a good friend that he met in Athens.
Gibraltar – The ROCK!
Queensway Quai Gibraltar
Queensway Quay Marina, Gibraltar
Eric Rigney walking over Gibraltar Airport landing strip
Bryce is staying the 6 days with a dear friend of ours who is working on the next Spiderman movie currently filming in London. Bryce is exploring the city historical sites, skateboarding along the way.
Gibraltar airstrip in distance
Bryce Rigney off to London by himself
Leslie welcoming B back to Kandu!
Once Bryce returns, we’ll finish the remaining maintenance and repairs and sail off to Morocco, a two day sail, leaving Sept 3 to Mohammedia to visit Casablanca, Morocco. Then we’ll sail further south to Agadir to work on the boat a bit more and hopefully find some good surf for Bryce after almost a year of circumstantial abstinence. We plan to depart Agadir on Oct 1st for a two day sail to the Canary Islands (7-day stop, Columbus’s last before setting off to our New World), the Cape Verde Islands to restock (8-day sail), find a bit more surfing for Bryce – and then when the weather is good sometime around October 31st we plan to take off to sail the 18 days across the Atlantic .
After that – things are still undecided. If all goes well we’ll head straight to French Guiana, then Surinam, Guyana and north to visit a couple of the French Caribbean Islands, then west to the A, B, C’s of Dutch Antilles and Columbia to get ready to transit the Panama Canal around my birthday in February 2019. In the Eastern Pacific, we make our way north through Costa Rica and Mexico, skipping the less secure countries in between. It’s reported that there are pirates along the Central American coastline from Nicaragua through to Guatemala. Our plan is to return to Ventura end of May, early June 2019. Our McCool house has re-rented under a two-year lease. We are not beholden to any specific place to live in Southern California until we both land employment.
We’re getting close to the bottom of our cruising funds. From here on out, we’ve gotta be careful. Hopefully we won’t have big expenditures with the boat. We’ve already replaced so much!!!
Sending you big virtual hugs my dear girlfriend!
Leslie
We are departing Gibraltar today, Saturday. Too tired from all our hard work and sight-seeing to leave on Friday, our original chosen day of departure after 3 weeks of work and exploration.
Queensway Quai Gibraltar
Queensway Quay Marina, Gibraltar
There was much to accomplish here in Gibraltar, not having spent any time on Kandu’s general maintenance since the big overhaul in Pangkor Marina, Malaysia. We had various leaks to address, turns out that our electrical grounding had an issue and Eric spent 3 days assessing the problem and another 2 leading another wire through the nooks and crannies of the interior to replace the problematic one. Then the water maker membranes that had been ordered and delivered months ago needed to be installed. During regular maintenance of the engine and tightening the alternator belt, Eric discovered a bolt had severed off the water intake pump – that took another 3 days to deal with…and it’s still not done because here in Gibraltar, one bolt could be made out of four which meant he had to use the old bolts and order new ones for future replacement. The rule is if one bolt has broken, all the other bolts should be replaced too. And it goes on and on…finding moldy items that needed to be cleaned or tossed, deep cleaning, etc, etc.
Watermaker membrane install
Eric working on the water intake pump
Our last work day, we accomplished a lot on Thursday and then toured the Rock hiking up to the top starting at 14:00 – We tramped through the WWII tunnels and the Great Seige tunnels built in 1782/83. Fascinating history. The rock of Gibraltar has been taken over so many times…this area was the gateway of the Muslims into Europe from 711 to early 1300’s. Then they were politically kicked out of Spain under a final defeat headed by Ferdinand and Isabella in 1492. Later up through 1609, Philip II of Spain and the Spanish Inquisition then persecuted any remaining Muslims and Jews, forcing them either to convert, depart…or they were killed.
Gibraltar – THE ROCK!
Entrance to WWII Caves
Leslie Rigney protecting her head!
Rock balcony overlooking Gibraltar airport
Built in 1782 against the Spanish
The first installed cannon
Wide Gibraltar Seige Tunnel 1782
Bryce Rigney looking out over Gibraltar
Gibraltar Cable Car
100 Ton Gun never fired in anger
One of 4 built in late 1800’s
Metal piercing armor projectiles
Bryce Rigney ontop a WWII Bunker
Gibraltar Castle
Gibraltar Castle & flag
View from The Gibraltar Rock
The Brits started considering taking over the rock already in 1654…but they officially started to hold it in 1704 under seige by Spain. 1713 – marks the date when Spain officially ceded Gibraltar to Britain in perpetuity…but the two countries continued to fight over up to the siege starting in 1779. 1783 marked the end of the last and final “Great Siege.” Then fighting Napoleon during the battle of Trafalgar, Oct 1805, the area and the straights of Gibraltar were fought over again during which Admiral Lord Nelson was killed. However, his victory at Trafalgar removed the threat of another siege by the French and Spanish.
Darned interesting history. A couple days ago, we visited the Natural History museum…Here in Gibraltar was the first Neanderthal skull found 1848 recovered from the Forbes Quarry in one of two enormous and deep caves…but the skull was not recognized as a new humanoid ’species’ until after the Germans later discovered and officials named the species “Neanderthals” following their discovery in Neanderthal Valley, Germany.
During the World Wars, Gibraltar was used extensively as intermediary safe haven by the Allies as naval ships came and went. The people of Gibraltar have since voted two times, the first in 1967, to remain part of Britain as an overseas territory. 32,000 people live in this crowded area calling it home. Numerous large apartment buildings have been constructed in the last 30 years on landfill expanding past the original city walls.
Gibraltar Natural History Museum – Oldest Neanderthal skulls
We’ve been here 3 weeks and have enjoyed our Gibraltarian visit very much. Feels nice to be in an English speaking country that is organized much like our own, albeit the locals generally speak both English and Spanish. The Brits really colonized well and established great “infrastructure.” Much different than the French, Spanish, and Dutch colonies. Dutch colonizers (Indonesia) basically built what they needed to build only, but the Brits’ organizational structures were sound, hence their successful colonies: US, Australia, New Zealand, Canada.
September 10 marks their National Day where everyone wears red and white. We stayed specifically to attend their festivities including an air show, rock bands, speeches, dancing, and fireworks.
Eric Rigney in Gibraltar
Off to Mohammedia, Morocco – close to Casa Blanca for just a couple days, and then more south to Agadir for a few days to allow Bryce to enjoy some Atlantic surf. It’s been since Bali, Indonesia that Bryce has stored his boards!
Love Leslie
Gibraltar airstrip in distance
Bryce Rigney off to London by himself
Leslie welcoming B back to Kandu!
Macaque monkeys, their mascot, live on The Rock
Saint Michael’s cave
Saint Michael’s cave
Eric Rigney in Saint Michael’s cave
Absolutely Fabulous Concert held in St. Michael’s Cave
Fab Orch concert we attended in St Michael’s cave
Beethoven 7th Symphony
Real working payphones!
Moroccan mosaic influence
10 Downing Street?
The Gibraltarian policeman
Annuel Gibraltar End-of-Summer Fair
Leslie Rigney enjoying the ferris wheel
Most delicious deep friend churros!
Bumper cars are our favorite
Colorful night fairgrounds
Gibraltar’s Old Town Main Street
Charmingly decorated Gibraltar Old Town Main Street
New Mac Air – previous one had a ‘Coffee break’ literally
Gibraltar airport landing strip
Bryce tricking on Gibraltar Airport landing strip
Bryce Rigney skating Gibraltar
Bryce Rigney skating Gibraltar
Bryce Rigney skating Gibraltar
Eric Rigney walking over Gibraltar Airport landing strip
We had an exceptional time in India due to the delicious & inexpensive food (that even our 14 year old son Trent loved), the vividly colored clothing, the profoundly different culture, the prolific vegetable and fruit markets, our fabulous tours to the Taj Mahal and Kerala’s backwaters, and the general hustle and bustle.
Still getting our bearings, the second night we got a chance to see the renowned Kerala Kathakali facial dance and costume show along with the pre-show application of the make-up and fitting the costume was amazingly interesting and colorful. The spectacle is offered every evening right at the Bolgatty Palace Resort Hotel for a modest price. The Kathakali entertainment was just the beginning of our great adventures in India.
Instead of flying both ways, we purposefully took a 48-hour sleeper train ride north to New Delhi to observe more closely the countryside, its peoples and to have a true local Indian experience. The Taj Mahal mausoleum, the most important site of our India travels, was as impressive and beautiful as anticipated – all white marble with specially carved and intricately cut and inlaid floral designs. (Definitely one of today’s ‘Wonders of the World.’) The photos say it all!!
We absolutely loved spending Happy Holi day in New Delhi on March 2nd, where people hit the streets with fluorescent colored chalk plastering it on each other while getting lampooned by water balloons and/or water hoses. We enjoyed the wonderfully generous people we met full of smiles and hellos. The four of us are BIG fans of Masala tea (Chai tea) and samosas: potato & veggie filled deep fried savory.
Before….Happy Holi
Fluorescent Happy Holi Chalk
After….
The boys and I especially appreciated witnessing the ‘holy cows’ walking in amongst the Agra car and auto tucktuck traffic. Sometimes huge cows were laying down right in the middle of traffic – vehicles simply drove around them. Bryce spanked the hindquarters of one behemoth that was walking VERY close. Holy Cow!
Driving on the streets in India is all that it is reported to be…hectic, crazy with just a few rules…mostly ‘anything goes.’ The four of us frequently squeezed into auto tucktucks, which are two or three-seater three wheeled motor cabs that can be hailed everywhere. In the city, it is far more exciting to travel around in that cheap and convenient mode as opposed to cars.
India’s TuckTuck mania!
Renting a car wasn’t really an option nor was it expensive to hire ‘tour guide’ drivers with nice cars to drive further than in-town distances like traveling south to the backwaters of Kerala or the two hours between the Taj Mahal in Agra province to New Delhi.
One such driver was so friendly, that he suggested we come visit his home in the older section of New Delhi. A driver/musician, he sang Indian songs in the car for us, and when we arrived at his home, he played all the Indian sounding licks on his keyboard while singing along. In exchange, I sang “O Mio Babbino Caro” to his family’s delight. We would never have gone into that section of New Delhi without a guide – too local and impossible to navigate!
These particular residential New Delhi streets are narrow like in medieval European towns – no cars, just scooters, bicycles and pedestrians. Built on a hill, the small streets are packed and slippery due to running water leaks. Houses are constructed side by side and scale upwards – one floor per family. Our driver is one of three grown sons with their own families all sharing the same parents’ house: the parents’ room is on the ground floor, the 2nd son, wife and 2 kids in the only room on the 1st floor shared by all as a dining room with the kitchen down the hall, our friend and his wife and son live on the 3rd floor with the only house bathroom across the hall, the 4th floor houses the 1st son, his wife and 2 children plus the laundry room down the hall. Then there is the rooftop for drying clothes and seeing the city sights below. Each room is about 600 square feet and much of the square footage of the house is made up of stairways. The ground floor, supporting five stories is only about 1000 square feet. It is tight living – but not quite as tight as living on a 13-meter sailboat!
We had read that one of the biggest tourist attractions of the Kerala state where Cochin city is located (and the region where our boat was docked), is a houseboat ride on the Backwaters. Our 24-hour trip south to hire one did not disappoint. Relaxing on a luxurious riverboat, we floated through the rice paddy levees enjoying the green scenery and fresh air. Occasionally, we witnessed women wading in the water slapping clothes against the rocks and others bathing fully clothed in the brackish waters. Many homes line the levees and many of those are actually large and brand new looking. Maybe the area supports city families’ second homes? Happily, I didn’t have to cook or clean during that relaxing trip.
Bryce Rigney at Kerala’s Backwaters
Kerala Backwaters houseboats
Kerala Backwaters
Clothing – 1/3 of the women dress in the most beautiful saris and men either wear plain sarong bottoms or long pants and plain button down short or long sleeved collared shirts. It’s a little like fancy birds bedecked in colorful feathers except the opposite – the males are plain and the females draw the attention. More modern female Indian style is the ankle length legging and knee length cotton tops with slits up the sides and long sleeves. No shorts anywhere, even in the tropical heat! Fashions are cut conservatively to maintain modesty.
Buying sim cards for phones is like in the United States – you need a permanent address within the country. Thus, it was impossible to purchase our own. Our handy dandy Cochin marina go-to man, Nazar P.M., provided us two of his own for a modest fee (US$15 each) including phone and data. We returned the sims upon departure. He also drove us around in his tucktuck to shop, sightsee, to get to a local restaurant, to go to the post office (which I would never have found on my own), to find ATMs (almost everything is handled in cash), etc. One day he even loaned me local money when I couldn’t pull out enough from the ATMs to purchase my local market groceries. He helped us obtain diesel and drinking water at great prices always showing up with a huge smile. Plus, he invited us to come and dine at his home and to meet his lovely family. He truly made India GREAT for us.
Although more are spoken, there are 23 languages officially declared in India, each protecting special long-standing cultural traditions. But if an Indian wants to communicate widely, English is their go-to language along with Hindi. Ashamedly, I thought most East Indians spoke English, but only the higher educated actually speak some English.
We had a true Indian experience riding 48 hours by sleeper train from Cochin to Agra. Part of the ride was to see the countryside up close, hang with the local Indians and inexpensively make our way to Agra where the Taj Mahal is located, then to make the two-hour drive to New Delhi to tour the environs including a visit to the Parliament House, the Baha’i Prayer Center, a Kashmir rug store, the place where Gandhi was assassinated and so much more.
New Delhi Parliament
Baha’i House
Baha’i
Baha’i
Indian Kashmire rug
Gandhi
On the train, each sleeper section housed 6 beds. The four of us slept on the top bunks to insure no fowl play, but that meant Eric was separated from Bryce, Trent and me in a different section on the same train car during the night. Of course, he did sit with us during the daytime. Along with us traveled a lovely older Indian couple, retired dentist and wife. He spoke some English. They were very sweet. During the trip, we got off when the train stopped and walked around the quay for exercise and people watching.
One time, Bryce actually climbed off the train, over a fence onto and over an adjacent quay and into the train tracks to take movies and pictures with his ‘expensive’ GoPro and iPhone flashing in his hand. From the train, I was watching him and within 5 minutes, a local man stood up from his perch and started to nonchalantly walk in his direction. I hollered to Bryce to come back quickly. Bryce turned to me and began making his way to our train quay, jumping up and then over the fence down to our train and inside. I watched as that local fellow followed faster and faster all the way up onto the quay – but stopped at the fence grimacing at me. We glared at each other…’Mama Bear protecting her cub!’ Later I discussed the situation with Bryce and explained to him that his actions opened him up to be a target. It was a lesson fortunately he didn’t have to learn the hard way. Hopefully he learned that he mustn’t flaunt his foreignness and prosperity, especially when alone.
Side food markets
It’s definitely true that there are many poor people in India – those we saw while on the train, begging in New Delhi, and working in the Backwater rice fields. However, the upper lower classes are solid workers and eat well…we didn’t see people starving. Even beggars in New Delhi looked good. Their housing conditions aren’t perfect or large, but they aren’t miserable either. Most people have access to water and sanitation, modern transportation: auto tucktucks, cars, buses, ferries, trains, etc. There is a prominent middle class that spends money in modern malls, on cars, on phones and computers, and on nice clothes. The clothes people wear are clean and ironed, unlike mine – which often smell of boat and are never pressed! We found that the people are happy and free to work as hard as they want or not and to move around freely, with freedom of speech!
The biggest bummer was the amount of trash piled up in the waters, along the rivers, in and around the train tracks, and aside the roads. We constantly witnessed all kinds of people tossing trash on the ground anywhere and everywhere – plastic wrappers/bags, paper cups, full trash bags, cigarette butts, boxes, bottles, etc. When asked why they toss trash on the ground instead of holding it or finding a trash bin, they shrug their shoulders and say, “Everyone does it.” Over and over, we explain that everyone makes a difference and the only way to enact change is in their own individual actions and teaching their children not to toss trash indiscriminately.
The only marina in India that can handle cruiser yachting boats is in Kochi or Cochin on Bolgatty Palace Island. It is located within the confines of the Bolgatty Island Resort Hotel that had a fine restaurant, bar and pool. The reception area was so nice and air-conditioned, that it became our office when we wanted to escape the hot humidity of early afternoon. The boys loved the workout room and ping-pong table. We were able to have our laundry washed, charged by the item not by kilos…so I hand-washed the smaller items using the inexpensive but non-potable marina water on the dock. The showers and toilets were clean and in okay condition, the docks were repaired and in working order, not perfect but fine, and the marina manager was effective.
The customs process was straightforward since we hired Nazar to act as our agent, however, it still took all day – everything is done on paper – and at least five people are involved, when only one is necessary – very few computers and modern equipment are used. Our one hiccup was declaring that we have a satellite texting device. The police and customs required that we dismantle it and have it officially sealed by an officer on our boat inside a cabinet. We were not allowed to use it while in India. India has a problem with Pakistani terrorism. Terrorists once used a satellite phone to activate a bomb housed on a catamaran that killed many people. Unfortunately, customs did not communicate with the police that our device had been sealed and so we were hassled a bit by the marine police who didn’t understand English. Eventually, it all worked out, but at the time it was challenging.
Our departure was easy. The morning before we intended to leave, Nazar tucktucked the four of us back to the customs offices and we were relatively quickly checked out. It took only about two hours. All paid up and accounted for, the next morning we departed the marina early without even making a radio call. It was a wonderfully educational and colorful visit. We thoroughly enjoyed our too short but very sweet two weeks in India.
BTW – We hired a tour agent to help us get to the Kerala Backwaters and onto a boat at short notice: Basil Mathew of Tour Green India recommended by one of Eric’s LA colleagues whose wife hails from Cochin. Basil was so great, that we asked him to help us make our way by train to the Taj Mahal in Agra, then to New Delhi where we spent 2 nights in a hotel frequented by Indian tourists, including tour guides/drivers, and then a plane ride home. All our expectations were addressed and handled extremely well. The only frustration was that we couldn’t use our credit card. Everything needed to be handled in cash or bank transfer. Frustratingly, the ATMs at the banks want to earn fees so they force you to take small amounts of money requiring many withdrawls. Fees then accumulate quickly.
Bob Bechler was an enormous help encouraging us and several other yachts to make their way to Bolgatty Island through the Facebook private group: Red Sea Passage.
Nighil, Bolgatty Palace Marina Manager, tel: +91 97470 57015. He is available at the marina every day except Sunday between 10h00 – 18h00. His English is pretty good.
Immigration Entry Visas: Before visiting India – each person on board must obtain a tourist visitor’s visa. The easiest way to get a visa is online: http://indianvisaonline.gov.in. Each visa cost us US$75. Make sure to provide the right size photos and passport pdfs – don’t make any mistakes – check your work twice before submitting. When done, print out the final versions for immigration to present when you arrive.
Here are some more photos taken the last free tour day in Cochin including the celebrated old-fashioned fishing nets off the entrance of the natural Kochi bay, the incredibly huge monkey shrine, clothes hand-washing, spice galore, Indian children, our tour guide Nasam, and more.
Leslie, Nasam & Bryce pulling up the old-fashioned fish nets
April 7, 2018 – e-letter sent from Port Suakin, Sudan
Hello Dear Family and Friends – Thank you for your thoughts and prayers!
Praise God that we made it safely through the Gulf of Aden w/o incident. Our engine worked perfectly and we are extremely pleased to report that the coalition war force (31 countries providing naval support in the High Risk Area) was monitoring the shipping lanes in full force to great effect. Many of our friends and family have been praying for us and we are grateful. We did indeed feel protected even when, on two separate occasions, what were later deemed fishing boats got a bit too close for comfort. When we became concerned, we hailed the war force coalition on VHF Channel 16 and the coalition sent over a naval aircraft to survey our surroundings. In both cases, the fishing boats moved on. It’s entirely possible they were simply curious fishermen. We’ll never know.
Kandu tied up to Port Massawa, Eritrea.
From Cochin, India, after 20 days at sea crossing the Indian Ocean, Arabian Ocean, through the Gulf of Aden and into the Red Sea, we landed at Port Massawa, Eritrea, a predominately Christian country with many active Orthodox Christian and Lutheran Congregations. We stood outside an Orthodox Christian church during service one Sunday morning near Port Massawa and the mass, with its cantering, sounded very similar to the Muslim cantering that we’ve been hearing everyday over loudspeakers since arriving in Indonesia. The women arrived completely covered from head to toe in mostly white linens…a few had colorful long dresses under the long white head/body coverings. Before entering the church grounds everyone stopped to kiss the wall or the gate several times and concluded the ritual with crossing themselves. No chairs or benches, there was a lot of kneeling (touching forehead to ground) then standing and then more kneeling during the service. The men stood on the inside perimeter wall of the church property instead of approaching or entering the church. Of course, the service was conducted in the local tongue.
Orthodox Church, Eritrea near Port Massawa.
We couldn’t understand any of it, so after 45 minutes, we wandered away to visit a nearby war memorial featuring 3 steel war tanks aggressively posed. The war-hammered tanks were impressive; the surrounding memorial looked similar not having had maintenance performed on it since erected. However, we particularly noticed there was no extraneous trash lying around. It seems the Eritrean government is keeping up with the monumental task of treating the ever-increasing problem of refuse.
Port Massawa War Memorial
The locals are friendly and Port Massawa, being an international port, albeit sleepy, some speak English along with Italian and Arabic – their official languages. During our stay, several locals spoke Italian to us hoping we would understand. With my meager 1 year of Italian study, I was at least able to respond back with “Buon giorno” and a few simple sentences. We toured the nearby village close to the port of Massawa (the once thriving city of Massawa is now a ghost town because Ethiopia shifted its international shipping industry south to Djibouti after Eritrea gained independence from them) where we anchored (several bombed out “memorials” are still standing).
Kandu Crew’s first Eritrean cafe experience, Port Massawa.
Rental cars are non-existent in Eritrea. Hiring by telephone a local 5-seater taxi was the easiest way for the four of us to get to the local village from Port Massawa. It was also possible to take the local bus, but since we didn’t know where we were going and the local stores are not marked and there were no local maps to be had, it wasn’t practical.
The government limits Internet. We found that the country is pretty much managed by a one-man show. Very impoverished circumstances across the board as modern private industry is discouraged and distrusted. Just about everyone there is thin. We four were a major curiosity as everyone there is dark skinned with African/Egyptian features. They see few tourists coming up the Red Sea. We learned after talking with a handful of Italian tourists that obtaining permits to fly into the country is very difficult, but arriving by boat was similar to most clearance procedures we have encountered. As a cruiser, obtaining a visitor’s permit was not difficult and handled right near the port on the same day we arrived. Money talks, of course.
Solomon our taxi driver tour guide extraordinaire!
To get to Asmara, the capital city, was quite the challenge. We had to obtain visitor travel permits. We would never have been able to do this without our taxi driver/guide extraordinaire, Solomon. Once permits were acquired, traveling from one unmarked building to another located far from each other, we then headed to the bus station to stand in line with the locals to catch the next bus to the capital city…traveling by private taxi to Asmara was prohibitively expensive, not to mention the fact – not a particularly local experience…which tends to be our preference. Once again our taxi driver/guide Solomon saved the day and finagled four tickets for us and helped us get aboard, otherwise we would never have boarded the bus.
Old “blind” Eritrean beggar counting his money after boarding the bus and asking for handouts.
Finally the bus arrived, however, it sat ½ hour before allowing passengers to board. Once boarded, it remained another hour before leaving. The bus ride itself was 4 hours, switch-backing up the mountains with one stop off in a town where children heckled the passengers to buy food and sticks for brushing our teeth (a little girl kept holding up a group of sticks to me smiling and repeating “Brush?” “Brush?” until passengers re-boarded. No obvious toilets were to be found. Trent and I stayed on the bus the entire break hiding away from the onslaught of eyes, vendors, and the curious. Bryce, the adventurer, is always a hit because he plays with the children. There was one small little boy that giggled the entire ½ hour hovering around Bryce for fun and games: arm shaking when a hand is proffered and throwing him in the air. I forgot to mention that there are sometimes available privately owned vans that transport people, commodities, and goats on the rooftop between cities, but these independent entrepreneurs are discouraged by the government and tend not to be any faster. They are quadruple the price but are able to sustain since there are not enough government buses to serve the traveling population’s needs.
At the Asmara bus station area we were met by a most wonderful, pre-arranged host, Abel, the nephew of Eritrean friends of ours who years ago emigrated to Los Angeles. Bryce and Trent had swam on the Westchester YMCA swim team with their daughters. Without Abel’s help and guidance, we would have been completely lost….no Internet = no Google = no written travel guidance…you get the idea. Being the only white people at the bus stop, Abel had no trouble locating us in the otherwise hectic bus area. When he pulled up next to us in his white, beat up Toyota sedan, Eric asked, “How did you know it was us?” Abel laughed showing off a beautiful white grin. We discovered that speaking French together was the easiest as he had grown up in France and he felt uncomfortable speaking English. It was great to make use of our French again!
Abel and his beautiful family.
In his car, he toured us around the city showing us the sites and the lay of the land. Then he brought us to our hotel. We hadn’t realized that even the hotel didn’t accept credit cards. The country no longer supports credit cards or ATMs. So we couldn’t stay in the “expensive” international tourist friendly (i.e., running water) hotel because we hadn’t brought enough US cash to turn into Nafka, nor did we want to stay in that hotel because it was too expensive for us mostly because we would have had to book two rooms. The hotel manager suggested we try the next door sister hotel frequented mostly by locals. To our surprise, the Hamassien Hotel is an Eritrean historical site, featured on post cards and Asawa tourist brochures, built by the Italian colonists 100 years ago. It was a bit musty for sure and the furniture somewhat threadbare, yet clean with charming tall, narrow wooden shuttered windows which opened up widely so we could see a bit of the city.
Hamassien Hotel in Asmara, Eritrea.
Since we stayed in the cheaper ‘Hamassien Hotel,’ rather than the Intercontinental Hotel next door, we experienced the city’s normal and constant water shortages.
Sitting room as part of our hotel room in Hamassien Hotel, Asmara, Eritrea.
Our hotel staff regularly fills up the bathtub with water to use with buckets to flush the toilet and to wash with when the running water is diverted to another part of town. No water heaters, the water in the tub was frigid. Needless to say, we didn’t take showers, just spot cleaned! Water in Eritrea is expensive. Drinking water even more so.
Later that evening, Abel joined us to catch some dinner at a nearby western-style café. From our centrally located hotel, we could pretty much walk everywhere that was of interest, so we headed down to the main street “Liberation Avenue,” their “Champs Elysee” or “Rodeo Drive,” and just off the avenue found a burger place to satisfy our hunger. The ‘meat’ hamburgers were actually filled with vegetarian patties…tasted good though. Eric dove into a local dish of pit bread pieces in a tomato sauce with cheese and tiny bits of meat, a version of lasagna is how Eric described it.
Liberation Avenue, Asmara, Eritrea.
Liberation Avenue was bustling with pedestrians out to enjoy the nightlife – not out because of the ‘cooler’ weather. In fact, it was cold. Normally in the hot tropical/desert areas where we’ve been traveling the past three years, people venture out at dusk when the sun sets. As the air cools down, businesses in Polynesia, Vanuatu, Indonesia, Malaysia and India to name a few, tended to reopen from 3 or 4 pm to 9 pm. The typical nightlife type businesses were open in Asawa (restaurants, cafes, bars), but banks, government and most stores closed on the “Western” clock at 17h00. Eritrea is not very humid or tropical. It is either flat and desert or mountainous and dry – hot or cold – very little in between. Fortunately well warned by our taxi driver/guide Solomon in Massawa, we brought warmer clothes than shorts and T-shirts, yet we were still not quite prepared for the onslaught of the night’s cool breezes.
Having arrived in a faraway port town without internet access, we thought the country’s capital might offer some options. The hotels proudly advertised free Internet access, which proved nearly useless. But even in downtown Asmara there was no serviceable Internet cafes. You could pay for an hour and not be able to connect at all. The Internet café’s were useless. Bryce would stand outside their glass windows to measure signal strength, to be disappointed every time. Also credit cards are not accepted anywhere—cash only. They accept US$ but we exchanged our US$ into Nafka, Eritrea’s currency, because it’s easier; 15 Nafka to 1 USD. A “hamburger” and fries went for 45 Nafka. Our bus ride was 30 Nafka or US$2.
Aside from the official buildings and the churches, the capital city looked worn, with many closed businesses, no active cinemas (previously functioning ones were all closed) nor malls. In fact, the capital city shows very little benefit of international trade and industry – with the exception of small clothing stores, some liquor stores, small limited grocery type stores and a central market where they sell staple items like flour (they are very proud of their delicious Italian type bread called “pan”), rice, coffee, fruits and vegetables (mostly onions, tomatoes, chili peppers, watermelons and bananas) and goats.
Coffee shops on the main street are popular serving Italian coffees and tea, but few can afford to eat out at restaurants. We understand with unemployment so high, most men get together to discuss non-existent income opportunities and the much-anticipated passing of the president. Some bars exist, serving inexpensive Eritrean alcohol, but still too expensive for locals. Unlike Muslim countries, clothing for women is not heavily restrictive. Women in the capital wear tight leggings/jeans and close fitting tops. However, you rarely see a woman wearing shorts or skirts/dresses cut higher than the ankle. Although not required, 75% of the women wear head and sarong type coverings perhaps to keep off the dust. I didn’t wear tank tops off the boat, but I did wear knee-length shorts covered by knee-length Indian tops. Men wear pants, few shorts, and button-down shirts, T-shirts, and polos. All wore sweaters at night in Asmara against the cold. Clothes are well worn. There are many beggars.
People squat on their feet when they get tired of standing…they rarely sit down as there are no benches and the ground is dirty with feces and spit. Very little rain – the streets and walkways are rarely cleaned…maybe swept. Paved roads and tiled sidewalks (remnants of the Italian colonization up until 1941) are found in the capital and on main roads…the rest is hard packed dirt. Dust pervades everything, covering your clothing and sweaty skin. The very poor people near Port Massawa live in small communities of tin shacks with dirt floors – no running water.
The second day in Asmara, the four of us set off to find breakfast and the National Museum of Eritrea. Asking many people along the way where to find it, we got closer and closer, yet couldn’t seem to locate it. We asked some students who shrugged their shoulders. Turns out, I saw the sign directly across the street from where we were just inquiring. Eritrea has many archeological sites and some of the findings were displayed at their three-room museum. A replica of the rare, very early human skull of a woman found in Eritrea was centrally displayed.
Ave Maria Cathedral, Central Asmara, Liberation Avenue, Eritrea.Inside Ave Maria Cathedral, Asmara, Eritrea.
We then walked around back to the town’s main street to visit the impressive Ave Maria Cathedral, which unfortunately didn’t open to visitors until 3:00 pm. (We did return later and found it absolutely beautiful and impressive on the inside.) So we headed off to find a special area called Medeber, where used metals and items are recycled, turned into new things for sale. After much walking, getting a little lost, and asking people along the way, we found it and the effort was worth it. Men and women were industriously working on many projects, the women working on sorting dried chilis and the men creating new metal items for sale…donkey carts were available to rent for transporting goods. We stuck out like a sore thumb.
While friendly, most people didn’t want to talk to us long fearing that we were spies and that they would later be questioned. On the bus home, a nice looking, well dressed gentleman sat down with us. (BTW – we would never have been able to catch a bus back to Massawa without the help of our friend Abel. No one spoke English and the locals were so caught up in their own business, that they didn’t look out to help us…yet the beggars were all over us like flies.) The lightly bearded gentleman started up a conversation asking what were we doing in Eritrea. I responded, “We’re here as tourists, sailing around the world on our sailboat.” He spoke English well and wanted to see pictures. I pulled out my phone and filed through our years aboard. He then asked, “Where did you stay while in Asawa?” “At the Hamassien Hotel.” I replied. “Why did you stay there?” he asked. In all honesty I countered, “The biggest reason was the price and the fact that we didn’t bring enough cash because we thought we could pay with credit card. Also, we prefer to stay in the same room as our sons who are young to be alone in a foreign country.” “I see…” he concluded the conversation, “You’re sailing around the world and need to save money.” These questions and his response seemed a little too curious to me along with the fact that he looked rather ‘well-manicured’ and very well educated to be riding the cheap bus. Eric thinks I’m silly to have such thoughts. Perhaps. But they really didn’t like Bryce and Eric droning their Massawa memorials before traveling inland thinking we were reporters or something. After an altercation, one of the 5 men convinced the others that we are just tourists. Who knows? After that – authorities could have been more keen to watch us.
RigneysKandu touring Asmara city streets, Eritrea.
I’ll have to provision in Sudan as anything we could buy in Eritrea was extremely expensive and slim pickings, so I didn’t buy much. I bought just enough fresh provisions to get us by: a large cabbage, tomatoes, okra, dozen eggs, potatoes, onions, oranges and a large watermelon. We’ve been eating through our dried and canned provisions in a big way since leaving Malaysia in February where I had stocked up. India didn’t have much in canned foods although we did find boxed liquid milk – the boys are drinking a lot of milk these days. That’s long gone…powdered milk is it!
All in all, Eritrea felt restricted because Eritreans have become increasingly oppressed by their own government since their liberation from Ethiopia in 1991 after a 30-year war. Today, Eritreans are not allowed to leave the country between the ages of 5 and 65, nor are they allowed to engage in much self-industry. Private enterprise is discouraged….wouldn’t want anyone to earn more than another….so everyone remains poor…no incentive, no hope. It was a sobering experience to visit such a depressed and altogether dry and dusty country with little active industry even though the country itself has excellent natural resources and is located on the Red Sea. We did our best to wash the 6 days of dust off our boat before picking up anchor and were ready to move on. Before we lifted anchor, Immigration came aboard to check if we had any stowaways!
Our total stay in Eritrea was 6 days. I wrote this account while sailing from Eritrea to Suakin, North Sudan, where Eric’s brother Nick had already arrived to meet up with us. Our trip up the Red Sea from Massawa to Suakin took longer than expected. It was supposed to be 2.25 days and turned out to be 3 full days. The Red Sea’s seasonal wind was already coming from the north (we’re running late in the weather window) – thankfully it was a light counter wind. But with a 1.5 knot counter-current, we weren’t progressing by motor quickly. Kandu is a slower moving boat anyway.
May 16th, 2018 – I planned to post this letter to our website while in Suakin, Sudan, but our time there was too condensed and brief before I could sit down to do so. Much has happened since our days in Sudan, like Egypt, where we had an equally interesting time. We are now in Cyprus enjoying our last days hanging with Nick.
We have been learning so much about this part of the world and are grateful for the freedoms we enjoy in the US and as US citizens.
Our Very Best Wishes to you,
Leslie, Eric, Bryce and Trent
Small Eritrean village hovering above the bus on our way back to Port Massawa from Asmara, Eritrea.
The Bintan Sail Indonesia Rally 2017 Committee treated us to a couple special days sightseeing the area starting with a speed boat tour of the local Bintan mangroves. Entering deep into the forested areas, not only did we get to glimpse several coiled vipers sometimes directly overhead, Blue Kingfishers, and endemic Grey Herons, we saw up close the twisted mangrove tree roots that seem to morph into different shapes in front of your eyes.
Our guides then brought us to a previous tin mine, now tourist attraction, that boasted lovely visuals of aqua blue waters and an archery range where ‘the boys’ amused themselves. This tourist area also had our favorite local drink which seemed always to be available: fresh chilled coconut water cut open directly in front of you – a welcome healthy treat to quench our thirst countering the hot humidity.
Later that day included competitions celebrating a local festival: boat racing and kite flying. I enjoyed tremendously experiencing the locals being sportive and having fun.
Then wonderful local food was provided for us along the river front, which involved entertainment that I was prodded to participate in, all in good humor.
During our last day in Bintan, Indonesia, we got a chance to visit 500 Lohan Temple aka Vihara Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva, a Buddhist temple with 500 statues (arhats) representing the different transformations in male form of the Goddess Guan Yin, each one human-like, unique and different from the next. “Guan Yin or Avalokiteśvara is one of the most popular and well known female goddess in Asia and probably in the world. Guan Yin is the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion in Mahayana Buddhism and also worshiped by Taoists.” They actually refer to this temple as the temple of 1000 men as the original order from China was for 1000 statues, but they changed the order upon realizing they didn’t have enough land space to accomodate so many.
Our farewell dinner to Indonesia and the rally was over-the-top fun. During an outstanding local food buffet, we were once again entertained with beautifully costumed dancers. Eric was crowned with a special Malay hat for having spoken on behalf of the cruisers. After dinner, we were ushered to the beach-front where loud DJ music blasted out beats. We all danced to our hearts content, especially Trent who thought it was one of the best nights EVER. To top off the night, the entire beachfront was lined with tiki torches lit afire. Passed out to the crowd were paper lanterns to send off into the sky. Lighting the lanterns and letting them rise up into the dark night was truly magical. None of us had ever experienced such a unique wonder watching them float away over the ocean. It was a spectacular end to the Sail Indonesia Rally 2017. We left Indonesia having been wonderfully guided through the bountiful and colorful cultures of the country while being spoiled rotten by their generous hospitality. We couldn’t have had a more enriching experience if we had tried to visit Indonesia without the guidance of the rally.
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