Monday, May 30, 2011

Plip-Plop Drip-Drop

I've been out of sorts lately.  Nothing new there, one day the brain and body works fine, the next, I'm on a different planet. 

Friday I dreamed I was back on my boat, sleeping under the open hatch when it started raining. I kept reaching up to close the hatch, like I had done thousands of time, in my sleep aboard the sailboat I called home. 

Scattered rain showers are the norm in the Caribbean. Often they are gone in under 5 minutes. So while living aboard, I learned to close the hatch over my vee berth in my sleep. When it became stuffy inside, it would signal my sleepy brain to semiconsciously  open the hatch back up, taking in the tradewinds,  now that the brief shower had passed on. 

But Friday it kept raining on me. I kept tossing and turning to avoid the rain, but the bunk was getting wetter.  I was sure I had closed the hatch.  At least twice.

I woke up astonished I was not on board my boat at all. I was in my motorhome. It was pouring down rain inside, right on my bed.   

A leak. My roof is leaking!  

Like a cat sprung into action after napping, I was suddenly very wide awake. 

Horrified. 

In March 2010,  I paid a small fortune to have my roof coated in rubber paint.  Five coats of the stuff, plus complete caulking.

Friday.  

It's Friday on Memorial Day Weekend. I frantically called the RV place that did my roof. I am guessing it needs another caulking job. My cell phone service kept going in and out, plus their number seemed permanently busy.  

I went outside to climb the skinny built-in vertical rear  ladder on the RV to have a look-see at the roof. My body would not cooperate. My arms seemed too weak to climb the ladder. I made it up a few treads, felt terrified I was about to lose my grip and  fall backwards.  I made my way back down, aching and confused.  

What's wrong with my roof?  What's wrong with my arms?  Which is more urgent?

Inside I tried to make more phone calls, but the cell phone would not operate correctly. I called customer service and was told to drive 60 miles one-way in my motorhome to come pick up a new Sims Card. *SIGH*  No time for that sort of foolishness. At least I can use my computer phone via Skype.

Searching the internet for Mobile RV repair turned up one source nearby. But his regular phone on the webpage was a wrong number. The cell phone listed rang up  a sleepy person at 1 in the afternoon, who gave me another number and name to call. At that number,  a voice mail instructed me to leave a message.  No one returned my calls.

I know there is a Mobile RV place south of here, I saw their sign last June, I spoke to them by phone back then. I thought I had their info in my address book, but my old computer died since then. I had to revert to backups, and I guess my address backup was a few weeks older.  I can't find their info, they had no webpage then, I tried to sell them a cheap webapge, but they  claimed they didn't need one. *SIGH*.  Now I needed them, but couldn't find them. 

Meanwhile I kept trying the original RV repair shop that did my roof, 65 miles away from here. Finally the phone rang, but it kept disconnecting. I think they were overworked.  Perhaps they were  just hanging up the phone as soon as it rang. It's a very small place. I could imagine lots of RV-ers trying to get thier rigs ready before Memorial Day Weekend. Maybe they had chaos on their hands. They don't have a webpage either, and no email. 

I must be a lousy salesman, I keep trying to offer small businesses a complete webpage for a ridiculously low fee. They all seem to think, that "people find them"  and therefore they don't need any information stuck up on the newfangled internet. 

But these days in times, if you have a tiny business and you aren't on the internet, then you might as well be winking in the dark at your secret  love obsession. You know exactly what you are  doing, but no one else does. 


I am truly amazed at the astonishing wild flowers I find while out walking with my dog. What's so cool is that a long-time reader, Drew, sent me a new used camera recently, that I used to take these pictures. How cool is that?  Thank you Drew!  
I went for several  long walks with the dog throughout the day. I was so frustrated about my roof. I needed to calm down, walking would help. I had just figured out how to make Drew's camera work. That's why there is a wild flower interlude above. 


While walking, my cell phone decided to operate.  I called a handy  friend who is always complaining about lack of money.  Like so many, he is having a rough time getting by.  I am sure he could caulk all the seams, plus I know he has a big tall step ladder that would make the work easier, we could repair it as a team.  Why pay strangers when you can pay a friend in need, helping them along?  


Much to my surprise, he suggested I just buy a tarp and deal with it later. Well that is easier said than done. Then it dawned on me. Perhaps he didn't want this job. Maybe his situation wasn't as dire as the picture he painted. 


I can't see busting up camp to drive my RV to go waste money on  a huge tarp. It's not a one-person job to put it on, even if I did that. Think about a camper that is  28 feet long, 11 feet high and almost 8 feet wide. Now think about one short person trying to toss a big tarp over it.  


Hilarious!  


It doesn't fix the problem anyhow. It's like putting a whole box of Bandaids on a broken leg. The effort and expense is there, but the end result is far less than desirable. Of course there was the time I suffered with a broken leg for 3 days before medical help arrived, another story altogether. 


So I've spent the last few days, searching for help to no avail. It is a holiday weekend. I've also done my sun worshiping dance repeatedly to ward off the rains. At least that has worked fine. 


I've also tortured myself for three days,  trying to do workouts on the rear ladder.  I'm getting close to making it to the top. I keep willing my body to cooperate. Not sure what I am going to do, once I make it up on the roof, but I keep trying.



Ladder phobia. 


Trying to overcome ladder phobia. As a small child my father convinced me to climb a ladder to the roof of the house. He wanted help cleaning out the gutters. I was only 4 or 5 years old.  He was supposed to be holding the ladder firmly in place while I climbed up first. I was scared. Very scared.  But just as I reached the top of the ladder, with his encouragement, something dreadful happened. 


I lay on the ground, dazed and confused, horrible pain shooting through my little body. I wanted to scream out, but I could not. My breath had literally been knocked out of me. I lay there with the ladder on top of me, my mouth wide open, but no sound came out.  It seemed forever before my lungs filled with life giving oxygen again and the excruciating pain subsided. My father moved the ladder off of me, as my mother ran outside, pure terror written across her face.  She was a big fluffy woman. I buried my tears in her comforting hugs. Later the family doctor pronounced me OK, nothing broken, just bruised and banged up. I would live to see another day. 


Life is funny. 


I miss my sailboat. I would have already crab-walked across the deck, caulking everything.  The job would have been done by now. But here I am on day four, trying to physically and emotionally scramble up that ladder while the puppy anxiously looks at my curious maneuvers.  Maybe the RV shop will start answering their phone on Tuesday, after the holiday. Maybe they will make room for me to break camp and come see them for urgent repairs. 


Maybe I should get this rig shipshape for sailing the highways, in case that miracle happens. 
Good news!


Puppy and I have now (TODAY!) celebrated our first year together!  It seems like only yesterday, this starving little hitchhiker climbed aboard.  He has been great companionship, always enthusiastic about where ever we end up next,  (but he's truly lousy at map reading.)



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Sunday, May 29, 2011

Oaring Around

Let's go oaring around. 


Or should I say hoeing around? 


But ooops, that's not a hoe. It's a shovel. 


I really dig this. 




I lived in the Caribbean for 22 something years,  where symbol signs are not yet popular. Now I am back in the USA. So when I saw this sign at the entrance to the park where I volunteer, I thought I understood it. 
It always amused me that they wanted you to Pee In Designated Areas Only. Since they have built new public restrooms here, replacing the old outhouses, I thought they were just being super serious, that they didn't want you to Pee anywhere but the restrooms. Ooops, they don't call them restrooms anymore, they are Comfort Stations. 


I think of a Comfort Station as a place to go suck your thumb and hold your blankie. But that's my weird brain. 


Recently I pointed this sign out to my friend, saying I thought it was hilarious they want you to "Pee in Designated Areas Only".  I went on to say, that I guess they didn't want you to pee in the woods, as that must not be a designated area, when they have brand new Comfort Stations (aka Restrooms).


My friend gave me a really strange look, then burst out laughing. He claims, the P is for PARKING and not for PEEING. 


Oh.


I've been giggling about this sign for two months.   The joke is on me. 


I think I feel a tad foolish now. How did I miss the P is for Parking and assume it was P is for Pee?


I have a new sponsor. Well, I don't get a penny out of the deal, but I do get to download free movies, if you sign up for a free trial.  There is no credit card required to sign up for the free trial. If you want to try out some free movies, then try Graboid. Use this link and I get some free movies too. Yippee!  






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Saturday, May 28, 2011

Alternative Sightseeing

A friend of mine  calls my dog "monkey on a string".  He can often be a circus act of one!


Where I grew up Ringling Brothers used to bring the circus to town once a year. Besides the actual circus shows, we were also treated to a parade right through downtown including all the massive elephants that methodically ambled down the road, all decorated in their finery.  Since the parade happened nearby where I was attending school one year, we were given strict instructions about our behavior, then allowed to go on a "field trip" to see the parade. We did that by foot of course, but we had to walk nice and neat in a single-file line until we got to the designated spot for watching this awesome show in the middle of the day. 


Besides sightseeing in your motorhome, you can take advantage of online ticket sales, to buy tickets in advance for events in areas you plan to travel such as Ringling Brothers Circus ticketsLady Antebellum TicketsBrad Paisley TicketsGlee Live tickets and Taylor Swift Tickets, just to name a few of the upcoming shows that might be in an area you plan to be in. 









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Friday, May 27, 2011

Scrubs

Who says scrubs are just for the Operating Room?  Now you see all sorts of medical professionals in their scrubs. Old fashioned nursing uniforms have gone out the window, though I grew up seeing an old fashioned family doctor that spent a lot of time with us when he came to visit us on house calls, or later when we went  downtown to see him in his office.


His nurses wore starched white dresses with white hose, white caps and orthopedic white shoes. They were extremely sympathetic, we felt like we were visiting a trusted relative, rather than a medical office. But out with the white and in with the colors. For a fast fun wardrobe you can try discount medical scrubs.   They even have scrub outfits for kids too. 


I've  seen many folks adopt scrubs for day wear while boating or RV-ing. They are comfy, come in assorted colors.  For women many are now tailored to actually be flattering to wear. My friend buys them for pajamas.  The really funny thing is, she and her husband wear the same size. They must look cute in their bed time attire. Of course scrubs have always come in male shapes and sizes. They even offer them in stylish colors such as black and navy blue at http://www.blueskyscrubs.com/categories/Scrubs/Scrubs-for-Men/.








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Thursday, May 26, 2011

Tragically Sad Death

I am a volunteer workamper at Hartwell Lake which borders Georgia and South Carolina. 


We had a fatality on Hartwell Lake this morning. On a clear beautiful day. 


It's unclear what happened as the lone survivor doesn't recall. He was in the boat driving with his lifelong friend and next thing he knew, he and his friend were in the water, with the boat circling around and around. His friend's arms and back, were cut by the engine propeller, the rapid loss of blood apparently killed him. 


This boat had a large outboard engine.  Any boat engine, when not being steered will be forced by the spin of the propeller to turn in that direction. This is why the boat was racing around in circles. The engine was still running. 


With no one on board, there was now no way to stop the engine. Neither man was wearing a life vest. They do make nice comfy life vests, they aren't all the big bulky Mae West kind. There are automatic inflatable type vests, that look like suspenders, until they are inflated. When you hit the water, it inflates or you can use a tube to inflate it yourself. 


This death is tragically sad in so many ways. They make a boat kill switch tether, you can wear on your wrist or attach to your clothing, with the other end  that attaches to the engine or the steering console of the boat. If the tether is  yanked out of the engine kill switch, then the engine dies.  Not the boater. I believe this is commonly sold with the new engine, but replacements are cheap and easy to get and use. 



A boat kill switch tether, (also known as an engine stop tether) could save a life. As of this writing, they sell on Amazon for $8 and up



I feel so sorry for the young man who lost his life today, and the loved ones he left behind. 


Many of us forego safety in pursuit of happiness. I was lucky in my young days, that the captain who taught me how to drive a powerful outboard engine, first showed me the kill switch lanyard, how to use it and why it was important to always wear and use it. Some outboard engines will let you lock the steering somewhat, so that the strain on steering it, is lessened. Imagine if you bounced out of the boat on a rough wave, and your engine and boat simply took off without you. 


I spent decades messing about in boats.  I've seen and heard of all manner of ways to kill yourself while boating. Sometimes boats are found adrift, leaving us clueless as to what happened to the occupants. I remember years ago, a boat being found in the Sir Francis Drake channel, in the British Virgin islands,  running at full speed in circles.  The previous occupant was never identified, nor found. 


Back in the late 80's or early 90's, I took a job aboard a charter yacht with a captain, the day before the charter was due to start. It was Thanksgiving week. I finished the charter, only to keep my reputation intact, but I wanted to jump ship within 24 hours. I probably should have too. But I stuck it out all week, then quit the job minutes after the guests departed at the end of their stay. 


I thought the captain was an irresponsible abusive drunk who had no business being in charge of a million dollar yacht.  When I expressed the same, to the charter house clearing agency, that had recommended the captain, sending me on the interview to work for him, they totally dismissed my concerns. In a not so polite way, they told me to shut up about the "popular captain", acting as if I was disgruntled crew, rather than take my complaint seriously. I was warned if I didn't hush up about my criticism, I would be blackballed and not allowed to work again as a charter chef. 


Within a few months, that captain was granted even a larger charter yacht under his command. I was shocked, wondering what charisma he possessed. He drank from breakfast right up until he passed out each night.Over the weeks and months, I ran into him often, in other anchorages, because we were both working as charter crew, but on different boats. He was always drunk, but busily working with his latest group of guests and chef. 


Then he accidentally killed one of his passengers, on charter. He was drunk and playfully knocked his passenger out of the dinghy into the ocean, while commuting from the bar on shore to the yacht on anchor, in the dark. He then ran over the passenger with the propeller. Because he was drunk, he didn't call for help until much later.  Instead he dove around, in the water,  on his own, trying to locate the passenger. 


After that tragedy,  the charter yacht agencies and clearing houses, began seriously looking to attract less drunken crews. 

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Packing a healthier lunch for my kids


Packing a healthier lunch for my kids


Guest post written by Debbie Parish


I grew up eating so much junk food and once I got out on my own after college I really made an effort to start eating healthier. It was kind of tough for me to do that because I was so used to eating all kinds of unhealthy food. But I don't want my kids to have to make that adjustment. I'm trying to teach them how to eat healthy from the start.


I pack their lunch for them to give them a little bit more variety and avoid preservatives. A few weeks ago I went online to come up with some new stuff to pack in their lunches for that purpose and when I was doing that I came ac! ross the site www.get.wildblue.com. After I looked through it a little bit I decided to sign up for a new internet service through it.


One idea that I got was to make turkey wraps for them. They love turkey so I thought that would be an easy way to also include some vegetables in it, which can be tough to make kids eat.


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Fun At The Boat Ramp

I am a workamper with my mini-motorhome. Workamping means I (and the Bark Ranger) volunteer for the government and they provide us camping for the wheel estate,  with electric, water, sewer and a few other little perks. I live across from the boat ramp in a park on Hartwell Lake with picnic and swimming areas. It's been rather busy lately. 


First we had a boat fire, right at the boat ramp. These guys were trying to launch their boat. They started up the engine, it was a little smoky then suddenly it was smoldering. 
 Oh the joys of boating!  
Now it was positively fuming. You might have noticed these trees between me and them. That is because I didn't want to get close at all. Matter of fact, I was up the hill a few hundred yards away.  I have no idea how much gasoline he has onboard.  I just wasn't in the mood to be blown up. 


Some adventures, I just have to pass on. 
Finally they pulled the boat back out of the water, but it was still on fire.  There is a guy down below, fighting the fire inside the boat. I didn't call the fire department,  because when the fire first started, I could see one of the guys (with my binoculars) talking on his cell phone. Incredibly, I guess he wasn't calling the fire department after all.  


Now I feel like an idiot. You should ALWAYS call the fire department no matter how small the boat fire is. In this case, they were launching the boat to go boating.  Gasoline is much cheaper at the roadside gas stations than at the marina pumps, so it stands to reason, he probably had a full tank of gas on board. 


Most boats are fiberglass, which softens and then melts. That happened between 1500F and 2,000F degrees. Wood of course catches fire at a much lower temperature. 


Anyhow, they did get the fire extinguished, but I am a bit shocked they didn't call the fire department. Next time I will call, I won't assume the person on the boat with the fire, talking on the phone, is calling them. Which makes me wonder, WHO was he calling?


"Hey honey!  Can you bring down some marshmellows?"


Next, some men showed up to launch a bridge off the boat ramp. The black box on the far right, is a big float holding up the end of the bridge. The black boxes on the truck are floats, that will be attached to the other end of the bridge.  My camera battery died, so I didn't get to photograph the bridge finally floating in the lake. 



Is anyone missing their furniture?  



This moving truck was transferring all the furniture from the big truck to a smaller rental truck.  It took them several  loads to empty out the big truck.  


At a boat ramp.


The little truck would vanish from the park, then come back rather quickly for another load. Or maybe they were using more than one small rental truck to empty it out. I was amazed at how fast they were moving. 


I just hope it was all going to the correct owner. The boat ramp seems like a really strange place to empty out a big moving truck. 


Then some folks showed up past midnight, screaming with drunken delight.  Sadly, the next morning, I saw they had trashed the parking lot with a wild assortment of gear, such as clothes, towels, assorted fast food garbage, CD's, magazines, a variety of coffee cups, beer bottles, drinking cups, ashtray contents, heavy plastic food containers, a debit card, pens, note paper, and their opened mail. It was as if they were living in their car and it exploded in the parking lot. 


Last week I was a tad bored here, this week I am thoroughly entertained. 


  

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Monday, May 23, 2011

There I Fixed It!

Life in a mini-motorhome, fulltime,  on a little budget, has its moments. 


I love to cook potatoes in the crockpot. They come out super moist, far nicer than baking in the oven or cooking in the microwave. So when I stuck my sweet potato in my little  1.5 quart crockpot to cook it on low, it didn't quite  fit. 


Ut oh!  


With the lid on, heat is escaping.  The potato won't be very moist, but the kitchen will be toasty warm.  I could have chopped up the potato, but I wanted it to cook in the skin whole for the best flavor. Cost of a larger crockpot  $30-$80, but I really don't have room in my mini-motorhome for a larger crockpot.


There, I fixed it!  


Poking around, I discovered one of my cooking pans fit the little crockpot nicely as a lid. That potato cooked on low in about 2 hours.  I forgot to time it, but it was so super moist and delicious.




This is my auxilliary button for making the engine battery switch over to the deep cycle house batter for emergency starting. My stereo runs off the engine battery.  There are extra speakers built-in to the house area of the RV for the music. So guess what, the engine battery goes dead if I listen to music when I am parked and camping.


So I stopped listening to music. That made me sad. Really sad. Engine batteries don't like to go dead. Matter of fact if you kill them more than once or twice, guess what?  You need to buy a new starter battery. 


The auxilary push button switch, switches over to the deep cycle house battery.  So if I continuously hold the switch depressed while camping, I can listen to music. This makes me smile. But a few minutes later, my finger is tired and I can't do anything else while I am holding the button in, except listen to music. 


Fun, but not productive. 


The electric gizmo to fix the gaffe by the motorhome manufacturer, costs about $75 plus labor to install. 


There, I fixed it!  

That's my old four-legged walking cane. Luckily, I learned through physical therapy (aka physical torture) how to walk without a limp and without a cane. Yippee!  Now my walking cane can do important things, like hold that darn spring-loaded push button in for me, so I can play the stereo when camping. 

Total cost of repair $0.00

The adjustable cane is jammed up against my driver seat's vertical armrest. 


My motorhome is a 1994 version before slide-outs became popular. A slide enable the width of the motorhome to expand by 10-24 inches on one or both sides of the motorhome when it's parked for camping. There are companies that will build slides for older motorhomes, far cheaper than buying a newer motorhome with slides. However, this costs between $5,000 and $15,000. 

I just wanted 10 inches to make me happy. 

My dining booth had a huge table, because they often build these motorhomes to sleep a complete baseball team. So the table is made to drop down, the back cushions are moved to the top of the table, then you have another bunk. I already have my rear bunk plus a guest loft bunk over the cab area. That's plenty of company for me, I don't really need the table bunk too.

Sure it makes a nice big desk, but the table is so close to the seats, you can't really lounge around with pillows, I longed for the table to be not quite so wide, as well as not near as long. This would give the living area more room to move about. Almost like having a slide-out. 

But I'm a lousy carpenter.  However, I do have a big mouth!

One day while chatting with a couple in a campground who had an older motorhome, we got to talking about renovations. I mentioned I wanted a smaller table, they said, that was funny, they wanted a bigger table. So we ran back and forth, measuring tables, hemming and hawing. We decided to think about a possible swap over the next few days. It seemed to me, their skinnier shorter table was perfect for me. 

I went home to my motorhome, taping off my larger  table with masking tape,  as if it were already smaller. For a few days, I dined, worked, typed, did projects on my "smaller" table. I told my new friends, I was willing to switch if they were. So one afternoon, we traded tables. We had to change out the hardware from each table, as both were attached with different hardware. So basically, I have my old hardware attached to their table and vice versa. 

Total cost $0.00 plus some sweat.  (One of these days, I am going to replace that ugly table leg with a wooden one.)   It sure gave the campground something to talk about, as nosy folks wanted to know what we were up to with our impromptu renovating.  

The bonus is that the overhead cabinets above the dining booth are a snap for me to reach now. Previously, I had to climb up on the cushions to reach them. With the shorter table, I can now open them just fine, by standing in front of the new used table. 

Before on the left, after on the right. 
Amazing how 10 inches can make me happy...




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Saturday, May 21, 2011

Venezula

If a five thousand boats launch into the lake on the same day, does the water level rise?  So far at Hartwell Lake we've been at full pond. It's measured by sea level. Full pond is about 660 feet above sea level. 


By 9am this morning it was already 68F degrees, we are supposed to have a hot summery weekend. I've given up on storing my little pile of winter clothes. I'm afraid the dog and I might need them and can't get to them. We both get cold easily, though I think I am improving. My teeth no longer chatter at 60F degrees.  But even this morning, with it in the mild 60's, my feet are cold unless I wear my thick warm house shoes. Several mornings this week, temperatures were down to the 40's, and I'm talking Fahrenheit, not Celsius. 


I've heard  this same story from several people who live somewhere around or near Hartwell Lake. It's about my workamping predecessor. I haven't been able to officially confirm the story or not. But with so many people mentioning it to me, it's either true or an awfully good  tale. 


Ever since I've been here, I've had that odd impression that something untoward had happened to my predecessor.  It's reminded me of the time I was hired in Fort Lauderdale, Florida,  to go join a large yacht in Venezuela.




The engineer and I flew down with the Venezuelan owners.  During the flight, Senora gave me numerous instructions.  One, that at the time, made me feel fairly special, was that she was adament I interview taxi drivers, in advance,  for one that spoke fluent English as well as Spanish. She knew my Spanish was dismal.  


Since I was expected to shop for exotic foods and boat supplies, she wanted to make sure I could get around OK.  She repeated, I should try to get references and to not settle for anyone that made me feel the least bit uncomfortable. Then once I settled on a driver, to engage him with boat funds, to take care of me and the crew, for whatever errands we needed to run.  She insisted that once we found a good driver, to keep him and never use anyone else. Pay him extra.  Make sure he was true to us. 


She also explained to me about the daily bribe of the security guards that worked at the marina where the boat was docked. I was to offer them each one cold drink per man per shift. No more, no less. It didn't matter if it was soda or cerveza (beer). 


I settled into life in Venezuela aboard a grogeous large ketch that was custom built, right down to the teak hand carved dolphins on the rails and the incredible handcarved mermaid on the bowsprit. 


I loved working on this yacht. It was a pain in the tush to maintain, but she was the most beautiful yacht I ever had the chance to be employed upon. What's so funny, is that I took the position, sight unseen, agreeing to fly overseas to join her. The job had come from a reputable crew placement agency. I met the owners in Florida for an interview. I was chosen above numerous applicants. 


They were looking to hire a couple only, but had found none that met their eclectic requirements. When the agency suggested I go on the interview alone while they searched for an engineer with a captain's license, I immediately  invited a sailing friend of mine from Czechoslovakia who was an excellent engineer, to go on the interview with me. He was living on his sailboat in Florida, working a job he was ready to quit in favor of the high seas.  I was given a date, time and  address to a swanky high-rise condo in Fort Lauderdale. 


On a funny note, the crew agency told us we made a terrific first impression on the owners, because we had kicked off our shoes at the entrance to their condo, entering their living room barefoot. 


If you aren't a sailor, this may sound rather peculiar. Professional sailors  in the Caribbean and other warm areas, are accustomed to removing their shoes before boarding a yacht, so that "street dirt" is not tracked all over the boat. So without giving it any thought, we removed our shoes before the door was answered. We had dug up our cleanest white clothes to wear to the interview. We had also made sure we arrived exactly at the appointed time. We had no idea that the owners were clean freaks until we met them. 


Their entire living room was done in shades of white, decorated  with priceless colorful paintings and sculptures.  They refused to tell us what the crew positions paid, so we gave them an outrageous price for our services. Later, when the crew agency complained to me, saying the couple really wanted to hire both of us, but we seemed way overpriced, she demanded to know why I gave them such an outrageous salary request.


I said "Well, we can always lower our price, but once we name a figure, we can't suddenly raise it."  Turns out the positions paid half of what we had optimistically asked for. We gladly took it, as it was indeed very nice pay. 


After I settled into working in Venezuela aboard the yacht, I found a wonderful driver named Clunker. Actually, Clunker was a renegade. He didn't even have a taxi license. But he came highly recommended.  I interviewed him choosing him above all others, in spite of the fact he drove a beat up old station wagon with an illegal VHF radio in the glove compartment. He was quite a character, but I felt very comfortable with him. We became great friends.  I could tell you some tall tales about him too. I'll save that for another day. 


Initially I paid him double plus tipped him 50%.  Naturally, Clunker would drop whatever he was doing, to run to my service. The yacht owners sometimes had some interesting requests.  I would be dispatched immediately in search of whatever they desired next. At the time, we mostly just did short overnight cruises around the area, returning back to our berth at the marina. 


As we began to get to know some of the other yacht owners and crew, the coconut telegraph began perking up. We heard the same gruesome story over and over. It seemed everyone in the marina wanted us to know. 


The crew member I was replacing, had left to go shopping in the morning. She never returned. Late that night, she was found on the side of a remote road, brutally assaulted and left for dead, presumably, by her taxi driver.  But no one knew who she left with, as she had taken a bus, then a gypsy taxi. Tragically, she died shortly after arrival at the hospital.  The perpetrator was never identified. Her husband, the engineer, went crazy.  A third crew member, who had been on board over two decades, jumped ship as well. I would eventually meet him. (Another story, another day.)



My friend and I were the replacements. Now we knew. 


Next time Clunker took me shopping for the yacht, I doubled his pay and added a 200% tip. The owners never once questioned my taxi expense and I never told them I knew about my predecessor. When Clunker first protested, I was paying too much, seemingly embarrassed by the jump in pay, I laughed and said "Hey, you brought me back alive!  Save it up for a new car!"   


I also made sure all the marina security guards got their drinks each and every shift. This was pretty easy, because they loitered about our dock,  day and night. 


Oh and about my predecessor here, he wasn't murdered.  I haven't been able to confirm the story yet, but several have told me near identical tales. That's for another day too.



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