Any hardcore sailor will at some point in his sailing life loose his bags, get himself into a fistfight and end up in a brothel. Of course the sailor in question has to go to sea the following day where he finds himself vomiting over the sea rail. When Joshua starts as delivery skipper he gets more than he bargained for and he can erase some of these must do´s of his list.
Time for a change
Jolly and myself have spent the last three weeks working on a teak deck of fifty meter motor yacht; new caulking, replacing planks and doing repairs. I get asked quit regularly to deliver charter boats to other Caribbean islands. And because we have seen enough sawdust I invite him to sail a delivery from Sint Maarten.
From bad to worse
Happy we finish up the work on the motor yacht, get our bags and take the taxi to the airport. Naturally we have a two hour delay but we are in good spirits nonetheless. Once in Sint Maarten we wait for our bags with food, sailing gear and books but unfortunately nothing. The responsible airline employee says he will arrange it but half an hour later the security man on the airport tells us he has left. Must have been to much work I guess.
We take a taxi and drive past McDonnalds which is the only place which is still open. Once in the harbor the promised note with instructions is not there so we walk along the pontoons searching for a charter boat without guests where we can sleep. We find a boat and make ourselves comfortable on board whilst eating our cold french fries and hamburger with unhappy faces. We decide to exchange this misery as soon as possible for what appears to be a small club. When I open the door of the place and we enter the club I cannot believe my eyes.
“The better clubs are brothels”
In a big room I see a bar surrounded by about thirty women, one more scarecely dressed than the other and at most dressed in a thong and bra. Before we even reach the bar, two of them approach us. We try to evade them and get to our beers but the next hour or so one after another tries to dayrape us, grab us or ask us if we want to get it on. We are not in the mood to go back to the empty boat so we stay for another coupe of beers. After an hour or so they give up and start a dancing parade on the bar where several men put dollar bills in between the ladies “clothes”. Once in port I ask a drunk sailor if all clubs here are brothels. He answers: “The better clubs are yeah!”
Brought to my knees
Next day it turns out we are to sail a 38 feet Catamaran to Antigua. I don’t particularly fancy the floating caravans so I am curious how this will turn out. We sail out of port and ram the colossus against the waves and 25 knot wind. The monster shakes, bends and beats itself into the waves like a spaceship in a meteorite storm. I feel very anxious about the flexing hulls and the fact that I have difficulty staying in my chair. Cannot believe it handles like this in only a force 6 wind!
We both start to look pale and a couple of hours later Jolly runs off to the loo. I don’t feel to good myself and I revert to my regulars seasickness strategy so I start eating ; pizza to be precise.But being in a washing machine will make anyone sick and it is hopeless. After twelve hours at sea I crack and do what I haven’t done in four years: I run off to the aft deck and in a great streem I feed the pizza to the fish. I cannot believe it; brought down to my knees by a catamaran, the humiliation!We sail through the night and next day moore the vessel. We abandon ship as soon as we can and I go back to Hope. hmmmm Hope sweat home!