The past few weeks we have been flooded with memories of our journey. It was a very special time for us. It’s really hard not to sound cheesey. I’ve been spitting out cliche’s since the day we got back. I can’t find the words to share how we feel. But I’ll try.

We feel lucky, so lucky on many levels. Lucky that we had the time, and such a wonderful boat to carry us through this adventure. Lucky that Simpatica gracefully handled all of the weather the oceans and winds presented. Lucky that the sea shared so much of its life and beauty with us. Lucky that our children adjusted so nicely to life at sea. Luckily that though there were illnesses, we got through them. Lucky that we had such great help along the way; Glenn Harman, Sofia Ruiz de Luque, Ricardo Sartor, David and Liz Otway, Veronica Andrade and Martin Colles. We are also grateful to our friends who came to visit and help us sail the boat; Jor Restelli, Willy & Maria Kirchner, Martin & Mercedes Fernunson, Crhistian Austin & Paula Ferro and their three kids, Diego Valenzuela & Javiera Pascal, Antonio & Diane Espinoza, Pablo & Gisela Bosch, Gringo (Fredrik) Holst & Julia Matarazzo, Margarita Palatnik & Barbi, Michael Esrubilsky & Tatiana, Micky & Becky Malka, Martin & Marina Lanus, Javier Bolzico, Nico Petreanu, Diego Pastore, Con Bonadeo, Dieguito Gutierrez Zaldivar, Leo Lena, Diane Crespo & Karin Schaefer, Esteban Sosnik & Macarena Reitze. Lucky to have been so graciously accepted into the wonderful community of hundreds of yachties, and to have become friends with so many of them. Some of whom we got particularly close to like Nico & Dagmara of Hippocampus and Eric & Nicole and their daughter Luna of Rainbow Voyager. Lucky to have met people we hope to see again, or for our next circumnavigation like Maria & Eduardo and Alan in Tonga. Lucky that our families could come and share this with us; Scott & Wylie, Theo, Nicholas, Dennis, Ezequiel, Charlie & Mei. And lucky that some of our good friends who wanted to come and visit but were unable to get away got to share this with us through the website, giving us support in many other ways.

There are so many ways we could try to sum up our experience circumnavigating. When we talk about our best memories or what we think we learned, we remember the people we met along the way who shared their homes, their food, their stories, and their smiles. Through them we saw into their worlds and learned different ways of thinking, doing, and feeling. To all of those people, we are truly grateful.

Sailing around the world has been the most challenging thing we have ever done, as individuals and as a family. We’re proud we made it. And though we are sad to say goodbye to our lovely lady, Simpatica, who took such good care of us, we know it’s time. Wence is starting a new business, Dio’s going to preschool, Teo is learning how to walk in a straight line, and I am ready to have another baby and hope to write a book about some of our adventures. Right now we’re just trying to get settled in our new home in Woodside, California.

Israel is the kind of place most people would like to visit, if it weren’t Israel. It’s the womb for Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. You can walk the stations of Christ on the Mount of Olives, you can light candles at the Western Wall, or you can see the third holiest mosque in Islam, a friend of mine also added, or you can die in a car bomb, an air strike or cross fire. When confronted with this perspective, I always say something about the chances of getting hit by a car in New York City or Miami are much better than being in a bus where a car bomb goes off. And although I’m pretty sure I’m right, we took no buses while we were in Israel.

I was not brought up with religion. I think my parents took me to church once when they were feeling guilty about something. I wish I knew what that was… I only knew two kids at school who went to church every Sunday. My best friend in fourth grade, Jennifer Marcus, was Jewish. I think the only time I prayed during childhood was when Jennifer and I decided to go skiing out of bounds one Christmas day on Tiehack mountain. The powder was calling us, we said. Virgin powder, we said. And though we did not know what a virgin was, we damn sure knew what virgin powder was. How could we resist! We got completely lost. It got dark and we were still hiking back up miles of fresh powder. I thought I was going to die. I saw Jennifer praying and asked what she was doing. Praying to Jehova for help, she said. It sounded like a good idea to me, so I went along with her and really put my heart into it. We both cried. But we kept going. We never stopped.

A few hours later we followed our tracks back to the place where we had gone out of bounds. Though we had come a long way and would not have to hike in powder anymore, we still had to hike to the top of the mountain so we could ski down the other side to the bottom, to our homes. Suddenly we heard a buzzing in the distance. A ski patrol was performing the final sweep of the mountain. We waved out poles, screaming. I’ve never been so happy to see a snowmobile in my life. He saved our lives. Or was it Jehova? Maybe I should have converted. Maybe that was my calling to become a Jew. Was it luck? Or maybe it was the fact that my mother had not stopped calling the ski patrol when I did not show up for my après ski ovaltine and bath. Maybe it was all of these things. Maybe all of it was God’s work. Who knows.

Usually when we sail into a new country, we could pretty much sneak in without being noticed. I’m sure many people skip from country to country without clearing customs, but of course we would never do anything illegal like that. Never. Ahem. Nobody could ever sneak into Israel. They know where you are before you do. And they know what you had for breakfast, and what kind of underwear you’ve got on. When we were miles from the marina in Herzliya, the Israeli navy confronted us on the radio. We could not proceed until we answered dozens of questions. When we arrived at the marina we were asked more questions than all of the other customs officers across the world had asked, combined. Who knew we were coming to Israel? Had we spoken to any Egyptians while in Egypt. Well, yes. Quite a few. Had we told any Egyptians where we were going? Yep. Did anyone show interest in our visit? Yep. Were we carrying anything for anyone that we met? Nope. Did we buy anything in Egypt. Oh yes. Many things. They performed an in depth search of the boat, checked to see if we were listed on any list of terrorists, shook our hands and left. They were polite and to the point, but it felt strange having men dressed in black Calvin Klein t shirts and tight jeans with hand guns strapped to their hips on the boat. Oh yes. We had entered a war zone.

And yet after that first hand gun encounter, it’s easy to forget that you’re in a war zone in Herzliya. Right in front of the marina was a huge mall. Wence and I would go for a morning coffee and breakfast, I would wander through the monumental mall and find all kinds of things the boys needed, warm clothes, for example. We were freezing. A few things for the boat, salt grinder, a super cool coffee press that turned into a coffee mug and thermos, some new dish towels, new towels, some pants, some shoes that would bring me back to civilization. It was like being in Miami again. Everyone spoke English and there was nothing you could not find. Even if everything was written in Hebrew, you could always ask someone and they would answer you in perfect English. And yet, the people are different here. They dress in the latest fashions and wear all the trappings of modern civilization, but there is something primal here. Anger. We found the people here volatile, rude, aggressive, tough. Not all of them, but most of them. Living in a war zone has to shape you some how.

After we had been in Herzliya a few days, our friends Diego and Javiera came to visit us for a week or so. Diego is Wence’s lawyer for his businesses and he and Wence have become friends over the years. They always invite us to do fun things when we are in Santiago. They even wrote their own Lonely Planet version of Santiago for us. They have an amazing house in a beautiful neighborhood. How can I describe their house. I guess the structure is old. Javiera actually grew up there, but they have remodeled it into a colorful, modern house, with cozy corners and great art. Javiera runs her own catering company in Santiago. I love her food. Every time we go over to their house she throws together some elegant, yummy hors d’oeuvre in seconds while Diego hands us a pisco sour or some wine. Diego and Javiera are also involved in film production. Diego produces and Javiera does the catering, some art direction, and probably tons of other things. They let me come to a casting for SE ARRIENDA, a movie that is in film festivals all over the world now. It was so fun to sit next to the writer/director Fuguet and listen to what he saw in these people and what he was looking for. SE ARRIENDA was very well received and asked to film festivals around the world. Javiera and Diego organized a great trip for all of us to Jerusalem before one of these film festivals.

When I thought of arriving at the Holy Land, I always imagined coming across some Titianesque scene like his Assunta. The color of the sky alone reveals the divine, and that floating Mary, well, she seals the deal. And though horns were blowing when we arrived, there was nothing angelic about these babies. Bleeping Toyotas and Hondas screaming in the heat of a traffic jam. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been in the exact same spot in a car for such a long time. Diego finally went to go see what was going on. When he came back he looked a bit off. What? We asked. Two groups of men fighting, and when the police showed up, instead of keeping the peace, the police seemed to jump right in with the rest of them and add fire to flames. Well, we know that kind of thing happens in the States. We all remember Rodney King. But since it is very clear that behavior is NOT acceptable, they hide it. It is not so hidden in Jerusalem. There is no need.

We stayed at the American Colony Hotel. A beautiful hotel in the old town. The first thing I noticed when we walked in was that the staff seemed to be an equal mix of Palestinians and Jews. Now this is something you do not read about in the papers. We read about all the violence but the fact remains that many Palestinians and Jews work side by side in Jerusalem without any problem. That alone shows that peace is possible. But what may be possible so often never becomes a reality does it.

The buildings in Old Jerusalem look like they were all made of pieces from the same huge rock. It’s hard to describe the color. It’s not white, not yellow, not pink, not gray, but somehow a uniform mix of these colors, perhaps more white and yellow than anything else. It’s really a beautiful color. Jerusalem is scattered up a valley and down the side of another.

We had a very interesting guide. Naim. He was a Palestinian Christian. He knew all the facts. There was not one question he could not answer. The first day we were all excited to talk about politics because none of us really know any Palestinians. He tried to shut that door, however, saying we should not discuss politics. Right. How can you not discuss politics in Jerusalem? He could not help himself so eventually we had some very interesting conversations about what it is like to be a Palestinian living in Jerusalem. He showed us the check points he has to go through every day. Told us stories about not being allowed to take his daughter to celebrate religious holidays because the guard at the check point did not feel like letting him in. It did not take long before we were feeling his anger.

Then we saw the wall.
Naim described what the wall was doing to his community. By the time the wall is completed, 90 percent of East Jerusalem will be absorbed by Israel. More than 200,000 Palestinians will be cut off from both East Jerusalem and its surroundings, thus belonging to nowhere. This means they will have lost their access to schools, universities, medical facilities, the Haram al-Sharif and Church of the Holy Sepulchre as well as their own communities, neighbors, family members etc. And it really does look like a prison wall. Generations of Palestinians living in these conditions, forced to go through check points cannot help the quest for peace. But neither do car bombs.
We asked him what it would take to make peace. He said peace was impossible because the Jews would never agree to what the Palestinians deserved. He defended his skepticism by saying that during the last peace talks the Jews did not stop building settlements, but on the contrary built more settlements, faster. How can that be in the spirit of peace? He demanded.

And that is the irony right there. There is no spirit of peace or forgiveness in Jerusalem. Or just not enough. Here in the Holiest of Holy Lands, they’ve been fighting over real estate for centuries. It would truly take a miracle to stop the fighting here.

My favorite places were The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Gethseman Garden, and The Church of All Nations. I have a wonderful image of Javiera and Dio walking hand in hand in the Gethseman Garden. They became pals on the trip. And I felt like I got to know both Javiera and Diego much better. They’re fun, curious, and open minded which is the perfect combination in traveling companions. They also really helped me a lot with the boys.

The Dead Sea
We all took turns holding Theo while we went into the Dead Sea. We were told the water is so salty, that it would not be a good idea to allow the kids to swim in it. I thought maybe they were exaggerating. My boys were born in the sea for chrissake. Thank God we didn’t let them go in. Aside from swallowing a gallon of liquid salt, I cannot imagine what that water would have felt like on a diaper rash. That water is like no other water. It is one of the saltiest bodies of water with a salinity of 30%. Almost nine times greater than the average ocean salinity. It’s so salty that you actually have a hard time maintaining your balance just being in it. You float so high out of the water. And it has an oiliness that you would never imagine accompanying such salt content. Yet people flock from all over the world to bathe in this special water. Doctors say it cures psoriasis and the well below sea level air helps people with cystic fibrosis. We found it one of the strangest, most unattractive tourist spots in the world. Dozens of very overweight, over forty (I can say that because I am 37…), Europeans rubbing black mud all over themselves and lying in the sun for hours. It doesn’t help that there is no nice place to have a water, a coffee, ponder the theology of the geography, or just sit and do nothing. Just a very rocky terrain and half naked bathers dispersed amid the rocks.

I had a very memorable moment when we were in The Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There were many groups from around the world, praying together. I usually feel awkward around a group of people praying, as I have no idea what they are doing and feel like that day in eighth grade when I stood up in front of my class to recite a poem, and forget every single word. In The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I did not feel that way. Maybe because there were so many different groups of pilgrims singing in different languages that I did not feel like an intruder. Instead I was moved by their focus and dedication. Many prayed with their eyes closed tightly, holding hands. I wanted to see what they saw. I wanted to know what they were feeling. I wanted to know them. It changed the way I walked through the building. It changed the way I thought about prayer. As we climbed the stairs to leave the church, Dio caught the attention of a large group of pilgrims staring up at him. He gave them a huge smile. They all sighed in unison, smiling so sweetly at him. Suddenly the church bells started ringing and as I looked at all of the faces smiling with such love, I started to cry. There was so much love in that moment. What an awesome feeling. And for a second you think that anything is possible. It was one of those moments that when it happens, you know you will never forget it. But you also know you cannot keep it. Like everything else in life, it moves, it fades. It grows into something else. As I sit here, months later, remembering that moment, I can still feel that love and it still makes me cry.

The day we left Jerusalem, we saw a very strange sight. A group of young teenaged boys, dressed in the latest jeans, tight t shirts and sneakers, chatting to each other as they made their way, a half dozen of them or so, down one of the main streets. Casually thrown over each ones shoulder was a machine gun. Boys toting machine guns is too much for me. And that was the last thing we saw as we left Jerusalem. Somehow that seems appropriate. Jerusalem is a beautiful place, Holy, spiritual, culturally rich, whatever you are looking for, you will find it in jerusalem. Including an overdose of anger, hatred, and violence. It’s a war zone. And in my opinion, it will always be. However, for one of the first times in my life, I really hope I’m wrong.

Well, that was the idea anyway. After our twenty two hours of traveling, we arrived at the front desk of the El Gouna Club Med, carrying our conked out boys to find not a friendly face, or good service, but a lack of service and any help at all. The next day we were told that this Club Med had no services for children except for the kiddie pool. I went to try that out and the water was so cold, I would not consider dangling more than one toe. When I asked if they could help me find a babysitter in town, they basically said they did not know of any and they would be unable to help me. It was also freezing. Although that did not stop the single scene by the pool. I guess Club Med El Gouna is where many young Europeans come to find someone, if only for a weekend. So the next day after witnessing two employees screaming and throwing things at each other, I decided it was time to leave Club Med.

We moved to The Sheraton Miramar and were very happy with the service and friendly atmosphere. There were lots of kids, jungle gyms, a club where Dio could meet other kids and do different kinds of activities. Things were looking up. I could not wait for my sister to come for her visit.

I had noticed that Theodore had lost his appetite since we arrived in Egypt. At first I thought maybe he was teething and since he had no other symptoms, I did not worry about it. Then he got diarrhea. When I asked for a doctor, they recommended the hospital. I try to avoid hospitals unless it is absolutely necessary, so when a porter pulled me aside and told me he his baby often had the same problem and he would like to give me some of the same medicine he gives his boy, I accepted. For three days Theo had no diarrhea. But he still was not eating well. I spent two days just trying to let him sleep and eat. Although I was worried, I was glad that he was still breast feeding well.

The next day I went in a convoy to Cairo to pick my sister up at the airport. Apparently it is required for tourists’ protection that they travel in a convoy since the 2005 bombing in Sharm El Sheik. I was told it would take four to five hours. It took over six. I felt so badly for my sister, after traveling all that time to be stranded at the airport, not knowing if I was coming or anything. We cried when we saw each other, which seemed to really annoy the driver. She had been very sick before she came. Her doctor thought she may have mono and suggested she not come. But being the trooper she is, of course she came. We talked the entire way back.

That night Theodore started vomiting. The next morning I took Dio and Theo to the hospital. Dio had had diarrhea too, but no vomiting. The emergency room doctor suggested they both stay in the hospital for a few days, with an IV, to avoid getting dehydrated. At this point Theodore was vomiting every time he breast fed. He was dehydrated. I knew he needed to stay. But I did not think Dio did. They seemed to think it was very strange that I did not listen to their suggestion, but I sent Dio off with Liz and Liz did a great job getting him hydrated again. In two days he was fine.

Theodore was another story. For three days I was very scared. It seemed like nothing was working. There is so much I could write about that time, but I don’t want to go into it all. There were some wonderful nurses, one great doctor, and a beautiful baby Theo who smiled through it all. My sister would spend her mornings with Dio at the hotel doing fun auntie things, and then she would come be with me in the hospital. I am so happy she was there for me. She gave me all the love and support I could ever need in a situation like that. I can’t really imagine what it would have been like without her. We would talk for hours about all kinds of things. She kept me together. And then, right as Theodore was getting better, she got sick. At least now we knew it was a virus. Nobody seemed to know what it was. There were tourists in and out of the other bed in the room though. The doctors said it was the change in the climate. Hospitalization seems a bit much for a change in climate. For an adult, anyway, but what do I know? Luckily nobody was in the next bed when my sister got sick. She spent the night in the hospital.

It must have been the worst vacation in her life. We had organized a tour to Cairo and Luxor, cancelled. Dreams of bazaars and pyramids, Queen Hatshepsut’s temple, gone. We hardly made it to down town El Gouna. And then she had to get back on a plane and travel a day back to New York. I can’t wait for the day that I can make it up to her some how. Maybe we will have to go back to Egypt.

Ill never forget how strangely wonderful it was to see Simpatica sail into El Gouna. Liz spotted her. We were eating lunch on the beach, waiting. We ran out as far as we could on the beach to greet them. Waiving our arms again and again. I got a little teary as she came closer and closer. We had been waiting for so long. I knew the Simpatica crew was exhausted physically. And I felt exhausted emotionally. It was so nice to be reunited.

Shortly after Simpatica arrived in El Gouna, Wence arranged a wonderful tour for us. We went to Cairo, saw the pyramids, museums, mosques, and bazaars with Crhistian, and enjoyed the food. What Cairo has to offer, is quite impressive, but they seem to be the only ones who don’t really believe it. The museum in Cairo has some of the most impressive pieces I’ve studied in all my little art history classes, but the way the art is displayed is so blasé. They need to redo that museum entirely. They need a building four times that size and they need well written information in various languages posted near major works of art. As it is now, you stumble upon very important pieces and there is no information given. Our tour guide, while being an interesting character, seemed to have stumbled into her career because she liked people not because she had a passion for Egyptian art history.

The pyramids, which of course everyone must see, were a bit of a disappointment. Aside from the highly claustrophobic experience of forcing your way up a dark, narrow, totally crowded ramp. There were signs that said no cameras but people were handing the guards a buck and taking pictures all over the place. Some would say defiantly, I’m not using a camera, I’m using my phone. The worst was when we saw people sawing chunks of stone off the pyramids and putting them in their pockets. Instead of mutual respect there seemed to be an attitude of mutual disrespect here. The tourists had no respect for the monuments and neither did the guardians of these ancient treasures. The tourists wanted something to show to their friends and sell on ebay and the guards wanted money to buy their cigarettes. It was a shame. Before I went to Cairo I had been outraged when I found out that the famous Nefretitti bust, my favorite piece of Egyptian art, had been stolen out of the country and was on display in Germany. I could not believe it. I could not believe that the international community did not demand she be returned to her rightful owners. But, I have to day, after seeing the way these things are treated in Egypt, I will stop complaining about Nefretiti knowing that at least she is being taken care of.

The next part of our tour was by dahabiyya boat down the Nile to Aswan, Abu Simbel, Com Ombo, Selsela, Edfu at night, beautiful Edfu, El Kaab, and Luxor. It was a beautiful boat with very nice staff. They were all wonderful with the kids and very accommodating in general. Aside from seeing all of the amazing monuments, which I cannot describe now because they are a bit jumbled in my head, we really enjoyed floating slowly down the Nile. It seems like they way people live along that river has not changed in centuries. It was like watching a reality show on the bible from our bedroom window. Children in traditional Muslim dress riding donkeys who are carrying all kinds of plants, pieces of wood, food, and water. Small villages with primitive looking houses. The land looked so rich. So good for farming. Dio had a chance to meet some of these boys and play. They were all very kind and took good care of him. I think riding the donkey may have been the most memorable moment for him.

Shortly after we got back from our tour, Wence and I darted off to one of his business meetings and had a wonderful reunion with my family in San Francisco. Although it was extremely short, it was so nice to see them all. It was also nice to see them without the kids. I was able to become their little girl again for a few days, instead of always worrying about my boys. When we were gone, however, there was another terrorist attack in Egypt. At first we did not know where it was, just that it was in a tourist enclave. Well, El Gouna is just that. A town pulled up from the dirt for tourists only. We imagined Simpatica, filled with our precious cargo, our babies and friends Liz and David and we felt so far away. So helpless. Shortly afterwards we discovered that the bombings were in Sharm El Sheik, on the other side of the Red Sea. Those poor Egyptians. Those poor tourists. But we were so happy that our family was safe.

When we talk about Egypt now, Wence says he has no desire to go back, but I do. Yes, the people can be aggressive and unpleasant, but it is still worth it to me. The cradle of civilization right in front of you. And even though the Egyptians do not take care of things the way you might like them to, it blew my mind and inspired me to learn more about Egyptian history and culture.

Our trip to India was comprised of two parts. The first week we traveled with Wence’s business partners on the Deccan Odyssey train. The following was the itinerary:
First day: Leave from Mumbai
Second day: Jaigarh fort ganapatipule beach, ratnagiri fort
Third day: Sindhudurg fort, tarkali beach, and the crafts village at Sawantwadi
Fourth day: Goa
Fifth day: Pune, markets and museums
Sixth day: Aurangbad caves
Seventh day: Ajanta caves

The second week we traveled through the Rajasthan province in another train called The Palace on Wheels (and it really was just that). The Palace on Wheels itinerary was:
First day: Leave from Delhi
Second day: Jaipur
Third day: Jaisalmer
Fourth day: Jodhpur
Fifth day: Sawai Madhopur
Sixth day: Chittaurgarh, Udaipur
Seventh day: Agra

They were both first class trains with very comfortable cabins and wonderful service. We also think it must be one of the nicest ways to see India. The main difference between the two trains was the degree of opulence. The Palace on Wheels not only looked like a palace, but most of the places it took us were former palaces and or other buildings pertaining to royalty. In that way the Palace on Wheels was more impressive. The Deccan Odyssey had more of a variety of monuments and attractions. Perhaps they were not as impressive as the Palace on Wheels. For example in the Deccan Odyssey we saw a mini copy of the Taj Mahal where as in The Palace on Wheels, we saw the real Taj Mahal. In the Deccan Odyssey we saw beautiful deserted beaches and small craft fair in small mountain villages. In the Palace on Wheels we only saw very established tourist attractions and went to textile warehouses that supply bedding for Giorgio Armani. If you want to feel like a king, Palace on Wheels is your train. If you want to get a better sense of what India is like today, take the Deccan Odyssey.

One of the many nice things about traveling in a train is at the end of a long day of touring, the train allows you to eject from it all, have a nice meal and collapse. No worrying about getting to the next place. There’s something very romantic about train travel. The countryside spreading out before your eyes, the sound of the train speeding over the tracks. Looking outside the window you don’t have to wonder if you have to take a right or a left at the next intersection, or wonder if you’re husband remembered to fill the gas tank. You can’t see the grime or smell the urine and since you have nothing to do with navigating , you have time to imagine all kinds of things about the people and places whizzing by. I have always found that train travel makes me very nostalgic. It takes me back to moments in my childhood, remembering things like the grain of wood on a foot bridge at my old school or the muffled silence of snow falling in the forest under my favorite chairlift on Aspen Highlands. The things we see when we are moving stay with us.

The Deccan Odyssey

During the day we explored various sites with all of the passengers from the train and at night I would take a nap with Theodore while Wence met up with his business partners and Dio kept Liz and David bouncing around the cars. After long, hot days, I think those that could tried to nap or at least lie down for a bit before dinner. Then we met in the lounge car to chat, have a drink and then wandered to the dining car. The train would whiz along to our next destination as we dined on tasty, but not spicy Indian food. How can Indian food not be spicy? At least they offered spicy chutney with which Wence and I doused our meals. I think Thailand and Sri Lanka warped our taste buds. Anyway, it was a great way to see India and to spend some quality time with friends.

I’ll do a quick introduction to Wence’s partners, Willy, Micky, and Michael. Willy came to visit us in New Zealand before Theodore was born, which was wonderful. He was our first nonfamily visitor to actually make it to Simpatica. I can still remember how he and Dio would play soccer every morning on the trampoline. We went for long walks up mini mountains to have picnics with the clean kiwi cows. Willy is always so easy to be around, so kind and engaging. Dio remembered him well and he still calls him Wheatie. We were happy to meet Maria, his girlfriend. She had to take a pretty hectic traveling schedule to join us on the trip. Many people might have chosen not to come, but she came and never complained once. Willy and Maria seem very happy and relaxed together. She has a beautiful smile. I am looking forward to getting to know her.

Micky and Becky are always a pleasure to see. Unfortunately they could not bring their baby girl Sigal, because she had been sick. Most people are not exactly excited to bring their babies to India anyway. I’m not sure if I would to it again. But we missed meeting her because we’re trying to see if she’s more Dio or Theodore’s type. It looks like she might be extremely tall, in which case Theodore might be a better match. Anyway, Micky and Becky are great with kids. Becky taught me a little game I could play with Theodore (Choque las narices) which he loves. I had not seen Becky for a few years. It was nice to catch up with her and for me to have a chance to talk about mundane mommie things like rashes and diaper creams with her. I also learned how bacterial infections are spread. Becky is a nurse and most of the members of Micky’s family are doctors. His brother, Jonathan has been a great help to us on this trips. Whenever we have a problem with the kids we call him and he gives us advice over the phone. Often when we are in a place where we are not sure of the quality of medical care, it is so nice to be able to have his second opinion. And his advice has been so helpful, that now he is our first phone call.

Out of all Wence’s partners, I have spent the least amount of time with Michael. And with all the bits of stories I hear about him, he has become a mysterious figure. I’ve heard some people compare him to Al Pacino in the Godfather. Don’t worry, he’s legit, unless Wence has actually been a money launderer all this time and I’ve been fooled by that vague Patagon.com explanation. I like to ask other people what Michael is like to see if they say the same thing as Wence. They all describe him as a no nonsense, highly intelligent, hardworking young man. That sounds nice, but a bit boring from afar. But Michael is not boring. He’s perceptive and fun, with a great sense of humor. He also seems to be tricultural, if there is such a thing. Brazilian, Argentine, US, he gets all of them and can be at home in all of these countries. I finally got to meet his girlfriend, Tatiana. Not only is she gorgeous (and a successful model), but she is wonderful. She’s smart, very funny in a sometimes surprising way, and kind. She and Theodore hit it off immediately. He seemed so happy in her arms. One time I was having a hard time getting him to sleep and Tatiana took him for a bit and he passed out over her shoulder. They got so close; I was a little worried that she was going to try to steal Theodore. But what worried me even more than that was that Theodore wouldn’t have missed me for a second.

Traveling on a first class train in India is a luxury. We were really taken care of: escorted from the train to the air conditioned bus with water and wet wipes in each chair, toilet paper at every bathroom stop, helping hands always to guide us onto the ferry, to the palace for a king’s buffet lunch, little cottages by the beach should we want to take a nap after lunch or a shower after a swim in the ocean, back to the air conditioned bus directly to the air conditioned train to our cozy rooms which had been cleaned while we were away. Immediately we were served tea and cookies and anything else we might fancy. It was like being royalty. We were taken to the nicest places, protected from the heat, from the hawkers, from the beggars, from anything that might be unpleasant. Of course it is a very nice way to travel. Especially in a place like India where the hawkers, heat, and overpopulation can be overwhelming. At the same time, as someone who is trying to learn about a different culture, you are kept from the people who are the living, breathing carriers of the culture and its traditions. Beautiful buildings are wonderful. And museums are a window into another time and place and a great tool for understanding cultural heritage, but I have found as we have made our way around the world that as beautiful and grand as places like the Taj Mahal may be, they do not move me. People move me.

We were very lucky to have very special porters who took care of us on the train. Pravaka was a 19 year old boy who reminded me of Bambi. His eyes were big and brown, innocent and kind and he had a grace about him when he moved. He also seemed too young, somehow to be off on his own, living on a train, rarely seeing his family. But to work on these trains, they told us, is quite an honor. So Pravaka was very proud of his job. Pravaca loved Dio. One morning I found him holding Dio in front of an open train door as the world soared by. My first reaction as a mother was, GET MY CHILD AWAY FROM THAT DOOR AND AWAY FROM THE DANGER OF FALLING OFF THE TRAIN. But as I got closer, I saw that Pravaka had a good hold on him. I realized Pravaka was sharing with Dio his favorite part of living on this train, so I waited nearby, listening to Dio talk about all of the things that he was seeing, and hearing the joy in Pravaka’s voice as he pointed out other things. A few nights Liz and David asked Pravaka if he would mind watching Dio while they went to the restaurant car for dinner. When they came back from dinner, Dio who was supposed to be sleeping, was watching television, running around, eating cookies, basically having a blast. When David and Liz asked Pravaka why Dio was up, he would say that he had been crying so he got him up. Pravaka could not bear to hear him cry. I understand that feeling. I used to do all kinds of things to avoid Dio’s tears. But then I had another baby. And of course we cannot keep sadness and anger from our children. It’s part of life and the sooner they learn to deal, the better.

One conversation I had with Pramod, the porter in Michael and Tatiana’s car, explained something I had been feeling, but had not been able to put into words. One day nearly half of our group was sick. Tatiana, Willy, Liz, Dio, Wence, (although he did not admit it), everyone was having stomach problems. I walked by Pramod and he looked like he was about to cry. I asked him what was wrong and he said, “My lady and my man, they are sick.” He later told me that we were all “like Gods” to him. That’s how these people saw us. I was speechless. The caste system is such a part of the fabric of the society in India. It was amazing to imagine how Gandhi accomplished all that he did. We need that kind of strength, that kind of power today. We were lucky enough to go to an apartment in Mumbai where Gandhi would stay when he would pass through. There were many pictures, books, and letters. I remember one in particular written by Gandhi addressed to Hitler. What struck me was the complete lack of anger in its tone. He was not condemning Hitler although what Hitler was doing could not have been more contrary to Gandhi’s beliefs. Gandhi was reasoning with him, arguing with him, trying to convince him that Hitler did not need to do what he was doing. It must have impressed Hitler because he kept it in impeccable condition.

I have a kind of mental collage of India. Every day I would open the curtains in our cabin and watch the countryside slide by. Some days there was not much to see, miles of dry fields. Other days my eyes could not keep up with all of the things that soared by. Little farms with grass huts, a faint brush of smoke curving into the air from a small fire. A beautiful beach with cute cottages scattered in the shade of palm trees, dozens of boys and men squatting outside the train station first thing in the morning, no toilet paper in hand . Children waiving and running, tripping up a hill to get a closer look at the train, to look at us and to be seen by us. When I watched these children from my first class window, safe and separated from them, I cried without knowing why. As a mother, I wanted to hold and protect them. When I saw so many hungry, dirty, smiling children, I wanted to help them. But as the mother of my own children, I wanted to keep these children far away from my own. Too many illnesses, no hygiene in India. There are too many hungry, dirty people here. You want to help them, but when you see how many there are, you do not even know where to begin. India breaks your heart.

Of course that did not stop us all from bargaining up a storm. Wence and I added a new dimension to our partnership as man and wife. We became a negotiating team. I can’t do it alone. I’m the worst. I always feel like if I’m paying less than I would be in the states it’s fine. But Wence is much more ambitious. So we began to carve out roles that worked for us. I would wander into a store that looked promising and start asking to see things, then ask for prices, all the while wondering out loud if my husband would like it. Then Wence would show up and I would show him what I liked, he would ask for the price, and then he would laugh, or sometimes be extremely polite and say that though we liked the object in question very much, we did not ever imagine that it could be so expensive so we would be unable to buy it. Then we would act as if we were about to leave and then the bargaining would begin. When we finally all agreed on a price, I have to say, they LOVED Wence. They admired him for getting a good price and for doing it in a way that was respectful. What beautiful textiles you can find in India. I imagined how fun it would be to come to India with the task of buying fabric and furniture for a hotel or a business. How fun. The colors. So different from what I am used to. So beautiful.

We really enjoyed our time in India and talk about going back in the years to come. Without the kids. It’s a different world.

Oman was the first place we had been where almost everyone wore the full Muslim dress. Men wore long sleeved tunics that fell just above the ground with small caps (fez), Bedouin head scarves or turbans. The women wore black, loose fitting, long dresses that covered their entire bodies except their hands and face. Apparently in Muscat, the capital of Oman, they wear very colorful dresses, but not in Salalah. Some women covered their faces, revealing only their eyes, others did not. I think I only saw two women wearing burqas, the infamous black bag with mere slits in the fabric for eyes. Wandering through the streets of Salalah in our baseball caps, floral prints, and Tevas, it was hard not to feel a little out of place and shy.

The first two times we went into town we did not see other tourists. At first it seemed like the people were unfriendly. They didn’t melt at our adorable children. Some would not look our way. Some seemed to even go out of their way to walk as far away as possible. But the moment we asked for any kind of help, everyone dropped everything. Whenever we asked where something was, people would offer to drive us there. So, they may not be outgoing and welcoming, but it is not that they are not nice. They seem to be more private. For example, every internet café has very private cubicles around each computer. The one restaurant in town with Omani food has private rooms for every table. We loved it. The only place I can take the boys, breast feed without any worries, and let Dio roam the room without worrying about whether or not he is disturbing the other guests. The waiter and kitchen staff were gentle and kind with us, respectfully keeping a distance, but warm. And when we kept coming back for more lentils and rice, they seemed pleased.

We were in Oman in their dry season. Not when it is 120 degrees, nor when it rains every day. They say during and after the rainy season Salalah is gorgeous, so green and full of life. What we saw was dessert. Miles and miles of rolling sand and rocks. A frankincense tree here and there surrounded by miles of lifeless sandy dirt. Camels walk alongside the highway. All of the cars are white here. Every single one. And it cannot be that they are all rentals. It must have something to do with the heat. I could not imagine being there at the peak of dryness and heat.

There is not a lot to see close to Salalah. No quaint tourist section of town. No malls or museums. And we did not dare to invade a mosque. Unfortunately we did not have time to go to Muscat. Ten hours in a car with two babies is too far. Muscat is supposed to be a bit richer culturally and easier for tourists. But we decided we would go see everything that one could possibly see near Salalah

Mirbat Castle.

The word “castle” usually implies a grandiose, formidable structure composed of stones, your basic towers, possibly a mote, a monumental wall to keep out intruders…blahblahblah. Well, The Mirabat castle is a bit different. There is no gigantic wall for protection. Instead, the castle is one of many buildings in town. There are towers, one has a collapsed cannon peeking out of the torrent, but it’s all on a mini scale. It also looks more stucco than anything else, with some of the old rocks occasionally protruding out from beneath. Wooden planks with carved patterns of Kremlinesque mushroom caps keep out some of the light while allowing some air to pass through. Since the Omanis are not very accustomed, nor desiring of mass tourism, there is not a lot of information on site to interest the visitor. At first I found this annoying. But in a way it did marvels for the place. Instead of concentrating on what most probably would be somewhat boring facts about the building, which kind of weapons were stored in this room, where the food was kept, etc. it required that you make up your own story of all of the possible events that took place in this castle. The most interesting part of the Mirbat Castle, however, was the man who worked there.

He sat on a simple rug spread across the dirt floor in a room on the first floor. He invited us inside to sit with him and rest in the shade. After we had arranged ourselves randomly against the walls on the floor on top of colorful woolen pillows, he offered us some tea. The truth is, I’m not much of a tea drinker, but it seemed like an offer I could not refuse. Without moving from his seat, he took some small glasses out of a bag, rinsed them quickly in a bowl of water, and set them down in front of him. Then he reached behind his back, picked up a surprisingly modern thermos and poured tea into the glasses. He offered each glass slowly and deliberately until we were all holding our own glass. Silence. The light shone through the mushroom top windows, into the amber colored tea, adding that element of beauty and magic that only the right light can. Suddenly I was transported in time. Arabian Nights. A beautiful black stallion flying across miles of flaming red sand dunes, a princess hiding in the dark as two men duel to the death, with those impressive, curved bladed swords. Maybe that Arabian princess sat on this very same floor, in front of the master of the house who was this man’s great great great grandfather. And they drank this very same kind of tea. As I smelled the tea from my small glass, I closed my eyes, waiting to sip the taste of ancient Arabia. I swallowed my first sip. It tasted so exotic, so pure, so delicious to me: liquid gold in a glass. I had to ask what kind of tea it was. The thought that I might be able to bring this very taste to my friends and family back home, perhaps if I learned how to make it here in Oman, it was the best way I could give them a piece of my adventures around the world. A unique cup of tea. Of course I would have to sneak it through customs, a tough challenge these post 9/11 days. And my parents would definitely not approve of any illicit smuggled gifts. But, they would not have to know.

“This tea is delicious.” I said, bowing my head to this man who had welcomed me into his world through a cup of tea. The perfect cup of tea. He looked at me and smiled ever so softly. And then, as if he could read my mind, he told me what kind of manna I was drinking.
“Lipton. Yellow Label.”

After I got over the initial blow that I was not drinking tea as the Sumerians prepared, I listened to Wence try to bridge the gap between this man’s world and ours with a bit of light conversation. Only Wence can do things like this. After telling him where we were from and that we lived on a boat, Wences began to ask him questions. Some how we got on the topic of polygamy. Wence has a way of going for the juglar in more ways than one. Liz and I kept our mouths shut, trying to see if there might be anything positive about being one in a flock of wives. One of the first things our host asked Wence was, “How much did you pay for your wife?” We all laughed. “Nothing.” Wence continued. They actually paid me to take her.” Our host looked very confused. Then he looked at me with genuine pity in his eyes. “But she is a good wife, she is nice to look at and strong. She has brought you two sons. That is not right. If you wanted to marry her, and you wanted her to have your sons, you should have paid for her.”

Suddenly I felt totally unappreciated. Worse than a cheap date, I was a FREE WIFE! Maybe there was something to this Muslim way. I mean, I was definitely worth some money. I wondered how much. How do you judge something like that? There must be a precedent. Suddenly I imagined myself in a traditional Muslim dress, being led into a shed where two Muslim men and two Muslim women sat at a long, wooden table, pen and paper in hand.

“Teeth?” Said one of the women. Suddenly my mouth was jarred open to reveal what really is an impressive, cavity free collection of pearly whites. I have not had a cavity since I was five years old. Now that should be worth serious bucks.
The oldest man dressed in a brown tunic shakes his head. “Too small. 10% discount.” Worse than any ballet audition or oral report I had ever experienced. I felt naked under my burqa. They would definitely see that I was a bit bowl legged. How much discount would that cost me? I gladly ran back to my western woman identity.
“Do you have more than one wife?” Wence asked. A western man’s dream. Multiple wives. How cliché.

Our host explained to us that he had one wife with whom he had two children. And they had been happy together for quite some time. But recently he had decided he wanted another wife. Apparently you need to pay much more for the second wife than for the first wife, to ensure that you have enough money to support her and the children she hopefully will bring. But his first wife did not like the idea much so he was not sure what to do. We definitely had no advice to offer. We asked him what this second wife looked like.
“Oh. I have never seen her. I have seen her eyes, and they are beautiful, but it is forbidden to see anything else.

Of course, that was a bit difficult for us to imagine.

We then asked if they had been friends for a while. “Oh no. Friendhip between a man and a woman is forbidden.” HMMMMM. That does not leave a lot of options on the getting to know you scenario. So they do not marry out of infatuation, as probably many do. Well, that’s good. But they do not marry from a deep understanding, love and respect for one another due to hours of conversation. Hmm. How do you decide then? We were all pretty speechless at this point, trying to imagine how you could possibly fall in love with someone if you can not see them or talk to them. I think we were all convinced that he had cheated somehow. How else could you make such a commitment?

He also told us that women had freedom and the right to vote in Oman before they did in the United States. I was embarrassed that I did not know those important dates in the history of American women. Something to look up and commit to memory. Freedom also seems to be word that can also be interpreted in many ways. I opted not to argue with him. Instead I was impressed that these things also seemed important to him. Regardless of whether we shared the same interpretation of these words. The men and women in Oman live by a rather strict set of rules and principles. They do not have the threat of prison or capital punishment for not abiding, but I think the community would take care of any major problem on its own.

He was a very interesting man. Curious without being annoying, opinionated without being overbearing or rude. He was one of the few Omanis with whom we were really able to share a conversation and to share ourselves.

Job’s Tomb

In the middle of the desert, on top of some stony cliff, lies Jobs tomb. There is a tiny house around it, some pink, flowering bushes, and a small parking lot. Job’s tomb lies in the middle of the floor in a very small building. As does one of his “footprints”. Apparently Job was 11 feet tall. My God! No wonder God chose him to fight with. Basically Job was a giant. The man guarding Job’s tomb recited prayers the entire time we were there, without stopping for a second. I thought he must have realized that an agnostic had entered the room. I left quickly so that he could have a moment to breathe.

Beach towards the Yemen border

One of the most beautiful beaches I have seen is in Oman. The different shades of blue varying from a gorgeous light sapphire blue followed by cool turquoise with white fringes of the surf. Fine sand is framed by steep, curving cliffs. It’s what might be called, a dramatic landscape. A beach like this in the United States or Europe would have high rise hotels all over it with thousands of tourists baking in the sun. Yes, there is a Hilton in Salalah. But the tourists do not leave the hotel and there are miles between its borders and any other hotel. And there is always a breeze so it never feels too hot. On the beach, that is. Every acre or so, on this beach, there was a simple concrete house offering shade from the sun. Every house was filled with a family. Burqas at the beach. The women seemed to keep their traditional dress at the beach where as the rest of the family puts shorts on. One thing I can say about tradition dress for women, no sunburn.

As we arrived at our little concrete beach shack, we noticed dolphins just beyond the surf. I’ve never seen dolphins so close to the shore. Of course we all wanted to go swim with them, but by the time we changed they were gone. We sat in our little beach house and ate our Kentucky Fried Chicken take out, which we all admittedly LOVED and looked at this amazing, almost empty beach.

Later David and Dio flew a kite, Liz and Dio played in the surf, I nursed Theodore to sleep. It was a very peaceful afternoon.

We made one friend in Oman. His name was Salih. We met him at a coffee shop. He was sitting with half a dozen of his friends. Dio interrupted their gathering for a little attention. Some of the men did not react and others could not help themselves but smile a little. Soon Dio was sitting on their laps drinking coffee. Salih spoke English very well. He asked your basic, what the hell are you doing here, question, in an extremely polite way. He seemed interested in this going around the world idea. He had been in the Secret Service years back. Secret Service, I knew that would be a huge hook for Wence. Wence immediately invited him to the boat for a beer. But of course Muslims don’t drink so Salih was a bit vague on his response. But they did manage to exchange cards. The next day Wences arrived at the same coffee shop at the same time with half a dozen Simpatica t-shirts. As he handed them to these men wearing dressing gowns, they looked at him as if he were a crazy man. Of course they would never wear them. I mean, these men do not wear t-shirts. Maybe never. But I was still proud of Wences because he was trying to give them something and that was all we could give that maybe they would accept. Salih accepted the t-shirt almost grudgingly, but a few days later he called out of the blue and accepted an invitation to our boat.

Salih arrived with a Catalan bird watcher he had found, lost and weary, roaming the streets of Salalah. It probably seemed so fitting to him that he had met two seemingly lost, Spanish speaking men in the same week. Of course he had to bring them together, make them feel more at home. And he did just that. They stayed for hours on the boat, talking about all kinds of things. From the abundance of birds in Oman, apparently it has quite a collection of species, to relationships, to how to tell a good quality traditional Omani cap and gown from another. Salih told us he had actually seen his wife before marrying. Suddenly we felt sorry for our friend and the Mirbat castle. And he also revealed that he was not in love with his wife and never wanted to be in love. That love was a scary thing that made you weak. Of course, we all know that is true. And we also know it is so much more than that. But how can you explain what love is to someone who has never felt it. I wished this gentle man could experience its torment, and giddiness in all of its wonderful, beauty. But of course you cannot give that to someone. Wence asked why when he had given him the t-shirt he had seemed uncomfortable. Sali explained that since we were in his country, he was the host and it was his place to give, not ours. He felt embarrassed. We wished we had more time to spend with Salih. He was a true gentleman. If we ever go back to Oman, we would love to see him again.

Our first day out on the town, Wences and I went out with a NYT article my parents sent about Sri Lanka. We took a tuk tuk taxi around to get a sense of the place. Galle is a bustling village. Streets are filled with women walking in gorgeous saris, men walking barefoot with handsome striped sarongs and a long sleeved button down shirt. Little old grannies, hair always up in a bun, wearing white lace crop tops under their saris, exposing their soft, leathery bellies. You don’t see skirts above the knee here, or short hair on women, or makeup, or sunglasses. The women are beautiful. And so are some of the men. In general they are thin, dark skinned, but their skin color ranges from black to light skinned. They all have thick black hair, high cheek bones, and big round eyes. They don’t look Indian to me, but I have never been to India so what the hell do I know. We never expected such beauty here. And they walk out of these shacks, sometimes without running water or electricity, and they are spotless and elegant. Made me realize I can no longer use that, I look like this cause I live on a boat, excuse. Oh dear.

Wences and I went to the fort, the old part of town, first. It also happens to be 60% Muslim and did not have any damage from the tsunami because it is surrounded by a rather tall, thick stone wall. We walked around the walls, actually on top of the walls, they are that thick, so thick that it’s like a mini park up there with grass and random plants, people selling all kinds of things, wooden elephants, which I have learned to say no to, since Dio now has over eight elephants of different materials and four elephant t shirts. There was a man who smacked a covered basket in front of him, opened the lid and out jumped a cobra. It’s supposed to be enticing, the snake thing, but it always sends me and Wence running for cover. There were men with “gems” or old coins, and one man with the sweetest white dress with a beautiful lace border that I bought it for Dio’s girlfriend, Luna. We took our driver, whose name happens to be DD, what Luna called Dio, to the Amangala for a drink. It was a beautiful place. Colonial feel, very welcoming service, beautiful rooms.

We loved Sri Lanka. Yes, it is very dirty, yes, we all got sick, yes, sometimes you do not want to eat the food for fear of how dirty the water they may have used to cook it was, but, we met some very kind people, we took a week away from that lovely aforementioned prison known as the Harbor, and drove to Kandy, Sigiria, Tea Country, and then Yala National Park.

We spent the first night in Colombo, where we completed paperwork for our visas to India. That night we stayed in a beautiful hotel by the water called the Galle Face Hotel. It was very elegant, high ceilings, a beautiful veranda overlooking the water where they served all the meals and high tea. We went swimming in their beautiful pool overlooking the ocean as it crashed into the wall of rocks below us. As we were swimming along merrily, Wence looked up and realized the hotel was surrounded by men with shotguns. All of the buildings nearby had men in their second and third floors sporting all kinds of military garb. Perhaps this was supposed to make us feel more secure, but I hate guns. And how could we know who the hell these guys were anyway. They seemed to all be laughing and watching Dio as he jumped off the side of the pool into whomever’s arms happened to be there. He was having a lot of fun. Later we went to high tea. We could not help noticing quite a lot of security everywhere as well as news cameras and mics set up in scenic sites, but we had no idea what was going on. Sri Lankans are into buffet. For high tea there were so many yummy looking treats, we could not stop eating. I think you’re supposed to daintily dine on a few finger sandwiches and maybe a tiny little cream puff or something. Not us. I caught one of the waiters watching Dio eat a plate full of snacks in sheer amazement. It really is something to watch Dio eat. Because there really is not much he won’t eat and for a kid his age, he can really put away an impressive quantity of food. He usually eats more than the rest of us on a daily basis.

The next day, as we sat eating another yummy buffet, reading the paper, we could not help overhearing a lively conversation next to us. A table filled with all kinds of Europeans sat drinking their coffee, totally focused on what sounded like a serious brain storming session on how to keep the peace in Sri Lanka. They were not even eating the food. That seemed so strange to me because these buffets, well, they’re pretty popular with the tourists and this table did not even appear to know there was a buffet. Suddenly Wence started laughing. He threw the paper down on the table, revealing the front page picture of our hotel, underneath a headline about PEACE TALKS in COLOMBO. Diplomats from all over the world had come to Colombo, and were staying at the same hotel. What a coincidence. But I prefer to stay away from Peace talks which can become juicy targets for restless rebels.

After left all our visa paperwork at the Consulate, e we left Colombo to start our tour. Our first stop was the elephant orphanage on the way to Kandy. I’m not sure if I will ever experience more beautiful elephant moments than we all did that day. As soon as we got into the orphanage we were given a humongous bottle of milk from which Dio and I fed a little baby elephantie who guzzled up that bottle in a matter of seconds. Hungry little guy. Then all of the elephants, and I think there were 75, went for a walk to the river for their daily bath. At a place where the river is very wide, they have a restaurant on a cliff overlooking the riverbed. We raced ahead of the elephanties and got good seats so we could eat and watch elephanties at the same time. Moments later they all came down to the river, big ones, baby ones, fast ones, lazy ones. We got to watch them swim, squirt water at each other, fight with each other, one even tried to slowly sneakily escape into some trees on the far side of the river. They made that deep bellowing call to each other, and for a while, it was all you could hear. We all loved it. I could watch elephants play like that for hours. It’s so interesting to see how they are with each other. Dio could not really do anything but watch the elephants. He was in awe of them all.

By early evening we arrived in Kandy, a nice bustling village in the mountains, surrounding a lake. The change in temperature was welcomed by all. The heat of the tropics gets a little boring after a while. Nice to have a blast of cool air every now and again. The night we arrived we went to go see some traditional dancing. I think Wence and I were kind of expecting not to like it. Ever since that amazing show we saw in Tahiti, we have been a bit disappointed in the dancing. In Indonesia, well, let’s just say hours of slow, subtle movement is lost on us. We were very pleasantly surprised in Kandy. First of all their costumes are gorgeous. Little squares of carved metal made into hats and body plates, reminiscent of armor, but much more beautiful. It’s hard to describe the dancing as it’s not like anything I’ve seen. Definitely athletic yet graceful. The Sri Lankans do that little head bobble that people from India do, that little head bobble that seems to mean so many things I cannot translate it. They also used that in the dancing. I found myself moving around in the audience, I guess trying to follow their movements a bit. It was nice. After the dancing, they walked on burning coals.

After breakfast we went to the Botanical Gardens where we saw many beautiful trees, flowers, hundreds of huge bats, and almost stepped on a cobra. When it reared its head and hissed at us, I realized just how fast all of us could move. Scarey how close we were. Apparently their spit travels 12 feet and if they get you, you have thirty minutes to get to a hospital and get some kind of injection or you will die. Lovely. And these are the snakes they have crammed into baskets at all the touristy spots where you pay them and they play a flute, smack the basket and you watch the cobra rear up for a bit and then pass out.
The next day we went to the ancient city, Sigiriya. According to legend, in 477 King Dhatusena of Anuradhapura was overthrown by his illegitimate son and buried alive in a palace wall. The legitimate son of Dhatusena, upset and probably terrified, ran off to India, swearing he would avenge his father’s death. So, the illegitimate son, Kasyapa got to work. He built a formidable fortress on top of a huge rock overlooking Sigiriya. It’s quite something, complete with a palace, pleasure gardens, pools, everything a dictator could want. Years later when his brother finally returned for revenge, Kasyapa proudly led his troops, upon the back of an elephant. Before the real fighting began, however, he managed to get lost and stuck in a swamp. His troops deserted him. Mortified, he committed suicide. What a difference a day makes. It’s quite a sight, and quite a climb. I carried Theodore in the Baby bjorn carrier as far as I could, getting all kinds of comments from tourists as they watched me struggle up that cliff. Some were kind, giving words of encouragement. Others said if I could do it, so could they. And others looked at me like I was nuts, putting my child in danger. If they only knew we lived on a boat…Liz carried and pushed Dio up a lot of the way, but he did pretty well. When I could not carry Theodore anymore, Wence took him the rest of the way. It was definitely a group effort.

The next day was spent mostly in the car. It must have been about eight hours of very uncomfortable driving. I wore Theo in the Baby Bjorn most of the way to keep him from flying around the van. Liz and David managed to keep Dio occupied. By the time we got to the Nuwara Eliya tea country, it was late and freezing. We stayed at a place called the Tea Factory that was cute, had quaint factoryesque details here and there. But the rooms had many windows and not very good heat. We were able to get someone from the hotel to look after the kids, as they slept, while wence treated me, Liz, and David to a five course meal in a private dining car from an old train. It was very fun and the food was very yummy. That night, however, we froze. I slept with the baby in my arms, a blanket pulled over our heads. I’m sure tea country is beautiful, maybe on a nice day, or even in the rain, but when your family is not prepared for the cold, you leave and go somewhere warm. Am I getting too used to the tropics?

The next night I had a nice talk with Tuta. He and Sana watched the kids while we ate dinner. Tuta has a way with kids. A father of two boys himself, he knows all the tricks. He’s very calm and gentle with Dio and Theo and they both love him. Theo can stay in his arms for an hour without any problem and Dio loves to talk to him. Anyway, that night I went up to relieve Sana and Tuta and I realized it was the first time I had just sat with them. We talked about kids, food, and then they told me about the tsunami. They both lost everything they owned, but nobody they loved. Tuta told me he had felt lucky because he had seen the water coming. They used to live on the beach, and in Galle living on the beach means ON the beach, practically in the surf. Tuta told me the tsunami was terrible. It changed everything. More than a year later, people had not recovered emotionally or otherwise. But, he said, the beautiful part about the tsunami was how all of these people came to help us. He told me about a couple from New Zealand that he had met before the tsunami. He had taken them on a tour just like the one we were on. When they found out that Tuta had lost his home, they sent him $1,000 US so he could buy a new plot of land. Other people helped him with his tuk tuk. It was a time when a lot of good came from people, he said. Just as he said this Wences, Liz and David came up the stairs. Tuta and Sana finished their beers and started to leave to go eat their dinner. Wences offered to pay them for watching the kids, but Tuta refused to take the money. It was important for him to show us that money was not all he wanted. He wanted our friendship too. And we gave it to him. What a nice man. We will remember so many wonderful people in Sri Lanka.

Our last stop on the trip was the Yala National Park. I really loved it there. I have never seen so many new birds in my life. I fell in love with the green bee eater. They are so cute, mostly green with a yellow cap and some blue here and there. They were in all of the trees. We had a nice afternoon at the pool and an early night, to rest up for the next day’s safari. The next day theo and I stayed behind with sore tummies, but Dio, Wence, Liz and David got to see wild boar, leopards, wild elephants with a four week old baby elephantie, and deer and water buffalo. Two families of wild boar roamed outside of our cabin for over and hour, with tiny little boar babies, so I felt lucky to at least have seen them from only a few yards away.

When we got back to Galle I went to the doctor twice and finally was able to settle my stomach. The doctor, who was very kind and thankfully gave me the right medicine the second time around, had the dirtiest office I have ever seen in my life. It was beyond dirty, actually. It was like an abandoned construction site. No shelves, just dozens of dirty boxes of medicine all of over her desk. No taking the temperature, or any vital signs. She looked at my tongue, asked me what my symptoms were and gave me some pills and a prescription for more pills. When I asked her what she thought it was, she said, “It doesn’t matter.” Such a different approach to medicine than in the US. The first day we went to find her, she had left the office already so Tuta took us to her house. Within minutes I was sitting in her home office, another disaster area, and five minutes later I paid her two dollars for the visit and the medicine. Now that is quite a different approach to medicine as well. And if she had not seen me at her home, I would have had to go to the hospital. Too bad doctors rarely do house calls in the states. It seems to make so much sense. So civilized. Why are you going to ask the sick person to come see you, the sick person who feels so badly that they don’t want to go to work, but then they have to go to the doctor anyway and spread their sick germs all over the subway, the taxi, the elevator, the doctor’s office. I wonder which country has the best medical system.

Liz and David offered to take care of the kids so Wence and I could have a night out on our own. Very nice offer on their part, and of course, we took them up on it. That night Wence and I stayed at the Lighthouse Hotel. A beautiful hotel with a fantastic view of the beach, it’s up on a cliff overlooking the surf. We had a very relaxed night and agreed that we could have stayed there for a week.

The next day we had a little Farewell party on the boat. We invited Tuta and his family, they had to get special passes to come into the harbor, since civilians are not allowed into the harbor without them, and special permission for the women in the harbor after 6, we thought we were just asking them over for a beer and some cocktail nuts, and it turned out to be a complicated, highly orchestrated event. But it was great. It was really nice to meet his entire family. He brought a friend who brought his kids too so Dio was in heaven, running around like a maniac. We also invited some other boaties who were very nice. And Wence invited a man he met on the train, who commutes three hours to Colombo, and three hours back every day. He brought his wife and kids. It was a nice way to say goodbye to Sri Lanka.

The night before Wence left for his business trip we went out to a restaurant called Kra Jok See in Phuketown. It had a somewhat vague, yet nice sounding listing in the Lonely Planet. We left the boat around 8PM, walked out to the parking lot naively thinking we could catch a taxi somewhere nearby. When we asked the construction workers, half women and half men (who don’t seem to stop working, day, night, rain or shine) if we could get a taxi nearby, they started laughing. Not a good sign, I thought. We asked if we could get a taxi at the other marina nearby, Boat Lagoon, they said yes. Wences started walking. They all looked at each other and started laughing. I waited as Wences disappeared into the darkness, watching the Thai construction workers observe our little domestic scene with much interest. I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. The international sign of a woman putting her foot down. All of the Thai construction workers started laughing, knowingly. That ought to teach him, I thought to myself. Finally, I was learning how to say no to my adventure addicted husband. Five minutes later I found myself blowing thin wisps of overly cologned hair out of my nose, riding on the back of a moped, grasping onto a short Thai security guard. I could basically rest my head on top of his. At least I can see, I told myself. Suddenly the security guard turned off the driveway onto a busy street. Cars started rushing towards us. We were going the wrong way up a hectic one way street. Ahhh. The Gringa’s Adventures with the Patagonian Indian have started again.

By the time we finally got to the restaurant, they were fully booked and I had an afro. The hostess offered us a table that was practically in the street and I, a starving breastfeeding momma, quickly said yes before Wence could utter a syllable. Poor Wence. Eating at a restaurant with a bad view is like skiing on a hill with man made snow in Texas for him. ALL WRONG. As we sat eating our tom yam soup and eggplant and prawn salad with a very spicy chili vinaigrette, we watched character after character slip into the restaurant. A longhaired exhippy with a mustache like a bow tie, a table of chain smoking, over forty, over made up, overly attentive to wences women on the prowl, an elegant older man wearing pants with a print like a dalmation dog’s fur, two portly over fifty German men with two very young, very dressed up Thai girls and an older blonde. Seemed like their affection was for sale. A French business woman wearing a very smart suit, a plump, pony tailed forty something European guy trying to pick up at least one of the chain-smoking over forties, and the list goes on. The characters were the best advertisement for this place. We were dying to go inside! Just as they cleared our appetizers, the hostess told us she had a table for us. As we stepped inside the restaurant, I realized just how boring our table outside was.

It reminded me of so many places. La Jumelle in New York, La Vie en Rose in Akaroa, dozens of places in Paris. A smoky room with interesting photos and memorabilia on the paint peeling walls. In Kra Jok See there was an unforgettable photo of an ancient Thai woman, head wrapped in a scarf, with the most beautiful, though toothless smile. Wooden tables and chairs on a plank wooden floor. A panel or two of stained glass, a tall, overflowing vase of flowers, strange, colorful framed prints of roosters in a row. And the music. Ahhhhhhh. The music. Old ballads, Nina Simone, Billy Holiday, other familiar songs that you may not know the words to, but remind you of countless other times in your life. It’s all a bit nostalgic. And maybe that’s why the entire table of frenchies, who all seemed very familiar with the hostess, were climbing over the table like teenagers, since they were backed up against the wall, to get to the tiny opening between tables that became the dance floor. The hostess, obviously a former ballerina with her hair slicked back into a small bun at the nape of her neck and a grace that began as a love for Balanchine and has become a part of her soul, swayed gracefully to every song, smiling sweetly no matter who she was dancing with. A true hostess. She made sure everyone had a good time. Wences and I watched in awe of this lively, unruly, and totally intriguing group of frenchies as they thoroughly enjoyed themselves, as if tonight could be their last night on earth. I wondered if the tsunami had had a permanent effect on these expats or if they were part of some retired gypsy caravan taking the world by storm. Or if it was just a Saturday night. Just when I thought it could not get more interesting, Diana Ross showed up. Or was it Dion. Her eyes were not as wide, her smile not as moving, but she stole the spotlight anyway, and the room seemed to explode with silliness and joy. As I watched them all, each with their own dancing style that so appropriately seemed to express something about each one, some making jokes with their movements, others strong statements, I felt sorry that Wences would never be able to share with me the joys of dancing. To him dancing is a chore that he performs for his wife, with a smile, on very rare occasions when he senses that if he does not dance with me soon, I will grab someone else and disappear into the waves of moving bodies. I remember in high school and college, I NEEDED to dance, I felt. A week would not go by that I did not go somewhere to move around to some funky music and forget myself in the rhythm and heat. I wished that Wences and I could do that together. I looked across the table at him and saw he was getting that nervous sweat that he gets when he is faced with a task he is not sure he can perform. I decided to go to the bathroom to let him pay the bill so we could leave. When I came back to the table, he was not there. He was standing with the hostess who, as soon as she saw me came and grabbed me, put my hands into wences’s and before we knew what was happening, we were disappearing into a crowd of moving bodies. It was only one song, only a few minutes, but a memorable moment for me. As the transvestite entertainer moved from the old Diana Ross and the Supremes to hits from the 80s, I went to thank the hostess. She put a thornless rose in my hand and kissed us both on the cheek. What a place! I can’t wait to go back!

Today Wence went back to work. Going back to work entailed a taxi ride to the airport, with two hair cuts on the way, I guess the first one was so bad, he had to get another one somewhere else. A two hour flight to Bangkok, a two hour lay over followed by a flight to Singapore, a three hour lay over and much duty free shopping, a flight to Paris, a four hour lay over, probably a few café au laits and the equivalent of a few cigarettes via second hand smoke, a flight to Caracas, then a flight to Panama. It’s so strange that is has taken us a year and a half to come half way around the world and it takes him a day and a half to get back to where we started. I can’t imagine how hard it is for him to go from our slow-paced, some what simple life on the boat to a half a dozen meetings a day, suit and tie instead of flip flops and swim trunks. I don’t imagine too many people could make that transition gracefully, and though grace is not a word that comes to mind when I think of Wences, I know he hits the ground running, and he does not stop until he falls into bed at night.

While Wences was away we did some work on the boat. Eric, from Rainbow Voyager helped us install two AC units in the salon. They’re house ACs, so we can only use them when we are in the marina. It may sound a bit spoiled, but in this heat, staying in the boat in the marina, where there is no breeze, is no fun. The boys have bad heat rashes, prickly heat etc. under their necks, in their armpits and of course, in the diaper area. And the AC, well, it made us all a bit saner. After we took care of that, onto the other projects: Fans, windlass, some wood work, some kind of netting alternative to go underneath the trampoline, some work with the instruments. Every afternoon we went to the pool after Dio’s nap. Sometimes accompanied with Luna and Nicole. I would stay with the baby, on hot days bring him into the water and Dio would swim with Liz. It’s so fun to watch him have fun in the water. He has always loved it so much. But watching him actually swim, is wonderful. Of course he still needs supervision all the time and much more practice, but he has started swimming. I’m not sure, but I think I did not start to swim until I was around 4 years old. And my parents had to drag me to the lessons.

I took Dio to the airport to pick up Wence. We had breakfast at the little Thai restaurant outside the arrival gate. We then did our elephant march (See the original Jungle Book), to the delight of many local taxi drivers waiting next to us. They all tried to touch Dio as if he was the youngest Beatle or something. He would smile and run just out of their reach. He’s already a terrible flirt.

I love watching Dio’s expression when he sees Wence coming off the plane. It’s pure joy with so much love. I cry every time. Dio holds Wences’s face in his hands and smiles in amazement and love. “PAPA! Papa back soon!” It’s so fun to have Wence back.

We let Liz and David have two days off, so they could relax, get away from us, and have some serious Thai massages, preparing them for their next challenge: Four days with Dio and Theo alone and unsupervised. With no help other than Baby Einstein videos and some Disney movies.

BANGKOK

Wence and I went to Bangkok for four days, alone. Wence announced that he wanted to go away for a week. From the fried egg eye look I got from David, I could see he was terrified. Although they graciously accepted the challenge, one week seemed too long to me. Four days. Three nights. I could not wait to SLEEP IN!

Of course, that never happened. We crammed so much into our days while we were in Bangkok that the latest I woke up was 7AM the first day. The next two we got up at my usual 6AM. Oh well. Sleep is overrated.

We loved Bangkok. As interested as I am in Buddhism, I will admit, the temples in Bangkok don’t do much for me. We went to the Royal Palace, the biggie, with the Emerald Buddha (which is not emerald at all, but actually jade) which we enjoyed, but did not feel the need to see more of. I was impressed by how much work went into making it and how much work it must take to maintain it. Millions of pieces of all kinds of materials stretching into temples surrounded by walls. Lots of gold. I hope Buddha likes Gold cause imagine the chagrin of those temple builders if he’s a silver kind of guy.

My parents sent us a NYT article on the hip artistic hangouts in Bangkok so we checked them out. The article mentions an Au Bon Pain in Siam Square as the center for creativity. As we began to eavesdrop at what looked like the artistic table, (you know the look, Mac laptops, some how disheveled yet pulled together by some subtle color coordination, funky glasses) we realized how retarded we were. The only words we know in Thai are Khawp khun Kha and Sa wat dii kha: thank you and good day. And I think we manage to screw those up all the time. People laugh at me when I say Good Day. For all I know I could be saying, “ I’m constipated thanks to Buddha”. So, eavesdropping was no longer an option. But we sat there for a while, sipping iced coffee and pretended we knew what they were talking about. And it was great! The things we imagined they were talking about were probably so much more interesting. In our minds they were the creative force behind Bangkok. The next generation of revolutionaries. Sometimes not knowing the language can be far more fun than sitting there trying to nonchalantly glean enough words from a conversation in a foreign language to have some idea of what the locals are chatting about. And since learning Thai seems like, well, one of those things that could take an entire life time, we’ll fake it and make things up instead.

Wence was on a mission to buy some techie gadget (how unlike him) so we went to some area in the mall where all they sell are techie gadgets. And all you can see for miles and miles are people, lined up to buy these techie gadgets. Suddenly, and this has never happened, I got claustrophobic. There were no windows, no identifiable exits. It was all just a crap shoot. Suddenly I had to get out. I needed day light like I’ve never needed it before. There was no air, no space. I needed out. So we exited the mall. After that near suffocation, we decided to concentrate on food. Since Thai food seems to be both my and Wence’s favorite, we decided to make our time in Bangkok a culinary adventure.

I have never seen so much street food. In Singapore they have hawker stalls where a bunch of food stalls are sandwiched together in a seemingly random way. Usually there is some kind of seating area available, though you may have to wait for a table and then share it with whoever comes and sits there with their lunch. In Bangkok they have vendors in easily transportable carts who set up camp along the curbs of every busy and not so busy street selling food. The food is so cheap and so good, apparently most Thais eat out on a daily basis. One early morning we left the hotel in search of Christmas presents and we found over a dozen elementary school students eating breakfast among three different vendors right next to the ferry. One sold drinks and fruit and the other two served eggs, fried rice, Tom yam soup, and some other fried thing that we could not figure out. As we waited for seats to sit, a woman found two chairs for us and pulled them right up to the drink cart which we used as a table. Yummy iced coffee and tom yam soup. The Thai, according to the Lonely Planet , don’t eat three square meals a day, either. They do a lot of snacks. I guess if you had a bunch of cheap, yummy bites of food available on every street, snacks would seem like a good idea.

Wence and I fell in love with Tom Yam soup and attempted to become aficionados. An impossible task because there is so much improvising in Thai cooking, that soup never tasted the same. And how the hell could I know what it is supposed to taste like. I just know when I like it. Which is all the time. It always has some kind of meat or fish, galangal (a kind of fresh ginger), chilies (everything in Thai food seems to have a little heat, or a lot of heat), fresh coriander, mini Thai eggplants, kafir lime leaves, and lemongrass. Sometimes there’s basil and shallots in there too. The galangal and the kafir lime leaves you don’t eat because you can’t. I would if I could, trust me. And depending on how many pieces of each there are, if you’re Wences, you can have a lot of your soup sitting out of your bowl on the table in front of you by the end of the meal. Sometimes I would surreptitiously stuff them in a napkin or stack them on the side of the bowl. But that never worked because it would just fall back into the soup again and this soup is the kind you want to finish. All of those leaves get in the way of inhaling the last drops. We read in the Lonely Planet Food of Thailand book that you are not supposed to eat everything on your plate. It’s not polite. It’s like saying your host is cheap and not trying to satisfy you, or even worse, he tried and failed. When they tell me to wear a long sleeved shirt in a temple, I do it. When they tell me not to wear sandals, I don’t. When they tell me not to wear shorts, I don’t. But when they tell me not to eat all of my tom yam soup, I tell them to back off and mind their own business. I guess I can’t totally immerse myself in another culture. Just in the soup.

We hired a tour guide from the hotel to take us to the floating market, about two hours outside of Bangkok. Her name was Gina. Or her “American” name was Gina. Her Thai name was so long and complicated we tried for a few hours, but she pleaded for us to give in and just say Gina. Obviously not many farangs can handle Thai. Gina was a wealth of knowledge. She took us to a coconut plantation on the way where we watched workers make all the various coco products. My favorite was coco sugar or palm sugar. Something I have never tried before. It’s syrup drained from the coco flower and it tastes so yummy. We tried it when it was still warm and it was one of the best things I have ever tasted. I would use it in my coffee every day if I could. I honestly don’t understand why people aren’t using it all over the world. We watched them make coconut cream, coconut milk, rope from the husk, bowls and purses from the husk. Basically they use every part of the coconut.

We took a boat ride through the canals surrounding the floating market, where the people who live in the coconut plantations live. WOW. They live in shacks on stilts right off of the canals. Most of the shacks are a bit run down and depressing, but some of them had pretty gardens and unique decorations made from whatever they had around that looked inviting. Since it’s so hot, their houses were very open, sometimes no doors or just holes in the wall for windows. As we zoomed by in our extremely loud long boats, we could look into these people’s bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens. At first I was fascinated. Then I noticed making eye contact with these people seemed impossible. I always have this desire to wave and watch as some complete stranger in this foreign land smiles at me and waves back. Not here. And why would they. They’ve learned to faze us out. Imagine the fury of dozens of lawn mowers tearing through your back lawn, mower after mower for two hours every morning of your life. At first you would probably try to shoot the lawn mowers. But they keep coming. Then you think about leaving. But where would you go? Your family is here, your job is here, you cannot get another job, there is no where else to go. Then you find a way to accept it, but that involves building an invisible wall and some how silencing the deafening roar. I was glad that tourists had been going down these canals for decades, so I missed the shooting part, but felt sorry for these people, their dirty underwear on stage for all to see.

The market itself was a little disappointing. It’s purely for tourists. We thought we would get to see more food, but it was mostly fruit and touristy stuff. We did get to try two new fruits, though. Mangostene, which Gina told us Thai call the queen of fruit, and a durian. Durians seem to cause quite a fuss, and to be honest, I can’t see why. Apparently they have such a strong, bad odor, hotels all over Thailand and Singapore have signs and laws prohibiting people from bringing them inside. I guess the ones we had were not so smelly. The taste was weird. If you can imagine a fruit tasting like a custard. It was s bit strong. It seemed like the kind of fruit that would taste really good cold, but bringing it back into our hotel and stuffing it in the minibar was not an option. Gina told us that Indonesians come to Thailand and pick out the durian trees they want their fruit from and pay serious cash to get it when it ripens. How crazy is that. And how would they know if the durian farmer sent them the wrong fruit? I guess I will never be a durian aficionado either.

I am very bad at bargaining. I know it’s a skill I need to learn, but it’s so hard for me. I saw a straw bag that I liked when I was walking around, but had no money. I asked her how much it was and then went to ask wence if I could get it. When I told Gina how much the woman had asked for, she told me to tell the woman I would pay half that amount and if she did not let me buy it for that, to forget about it. Gina is no joke. So I did just that. Well, almost. I think I paid her 50 cents more than half. Of course I did not tell Gina that little detail. I love my new bag. It was worth that extra 50 cents. It’s become our beach bag.

We decided to ask Gina if she would take us to Ayuthaya, a province 86 kilometers outside of Bangkok known for its ruins of what was Thailand’s capital from 1350 to 1767. At that point Thailand was a part of Siam which extends into present day Laos, Cambodia and Myanmar. Since it was a two hour train ride, and we were leaving the same day, we got up at 6AM to make the first train.

While we were waiting for the train a little boy came and sat next to us. You could tell immediately that this boy had no home. I started thinking of ways we could help him, wondering which ones I should pass by Gina and wence. Gina found out he was an orphan from the very north of Thailand. He had gotten bored of school and did not like staying in the orphan home so he had decided to come to Bangkok. He had just gotten here by train the night before and had spent the night in the streets. I could see from the way that Gina was talking to him that sympathy was not the Thai way. At least not hers. She seemed to sense my surprise and said, “Probably some tourist felt sorry for him and gave him the money for the train ticket. They should not have done that. He should be in school back in the north. They have homes for kids like these, but they don’t like them. They want to be free. But freedom won’t give him an education or a job. Freedom won’t feed his hungry tummy. The sooner he learns that the better for him.” Suddenly people like me were responsible for misplaced orphans. Perhaps she was right. I’m in no position to judge. But he was just a boy. Maybe eight years old. And he chose to sleep on the street rather than in an orphanage. And still after sleeping on the streets, he did not want to go back. I don’t even know what that means, but it made me a little sad knowing there are so many kids like this one wandering the streets.

In Ayuthaya we saw the King’s summer palace and three temples. The King’s summer palace was nice, but strange. The only Thai style buildings were for the help. All of the major buildings were European or Chinese. One looked like a Swiss chalet, one looked French, and the Chinese one had so much gold, well, I wondered if they had sunglasses in those days. We preferred the temples in Ayuthaya. They were beautiful. Falling apart, stones out of place, but monumental. We found out that two of them had originally had lots of gold Buddhas all over the place. And I mean, all over. Empty Buddha stands were everywhere. The Burmese decapitated all of them and took the gold. Wow. And they’re Buddhist too. I guess all is fair in love and war. Europe and the US were no different. And yet the lack of gold made these places more sacred to me. The most beautiful thing we saw that day was the large, stone head of a decapitated Buddha that had some how become a part of a Banyan tree. It really looked like the Buddha was the genesis of all of the tree’s limbs. They swooned around him, holding his head gently in place.

On the way back in the train we sat across from an older Thai man who had the most serious poker face I have ever seen. Interested and yet apathetic at the same time, he watched us for a second and would look away. At one point the train stopped and there were a lot of people gathered by the train tracks. He asked one of them a question and a woman pointed to something ahead of us. He stood up and looked out to see what she was pointing to. A minute later we passed part of a moped, twisted and smashed. A hundred yards down another part of the moped. Seconds later we saw a girl, head down in some overgrown weeds, not moving, a group of people around her as someone started cutting her jacket off. Less than fifty feet away. I longed for the train to go faster. I did not want to see anymore. I grabbed Wence’s hand, suddenly grateful for everything and scared of everything at the same time. The Thai man looked at me and shrugged, as if to say, what do you expect. Seeing a dead girl on the side of the road was not part of my tourist package. Life in Thailand finds you whether you want it to or not. Suddenly I understood something about this man with the poker face sitting in front of me, pulling dry straw from his hair. Don’t expect anything, and learn to accept what ever comes your way. Life is what it is. Not too many people in Thailand pretend it’s something else.

While we were in Bangkok Wence and I walked, for what seemed like days, to a Thai massage school. By the time we got there, I felt like I deserved five. I was given a robe and told to change behind a curtain. I followed a girl into a dark room with about ten single beds lined up across the floor. Five other women were getting a massage too. Thai massage is very different than Swedish or deep tissue or Balinese, or any other massage I have ever had. They use their entire body while working on yours, elbows, feet, knees, not just the hands. They also stretch you out a bit at the same time. This was no spa, with a cd of flute playing accompanied by the sound of water falling and birds chirping and a special massage table, the room the perfect temperature, with pleasant smelling fragrances gliding unobtrusively through the room, while you wait in some fancy robe. All the Thai masseurs wore worn black plants and t-shirts, they chatted away, telling jokes to one another and laughing. For all we knew they were making jokes about how tight we all were, or worse. There was no AC, we were all sweating, it smelled like whatever the lady next to you smelled like, but it was the best massage I’ve had. She worked me over, but in a good way. She knew where I had been injured, knew where I was tight. She lectured me for not stretching and exercising. She was perfect.
The day after we got back from Bangkok we left the marina. It was so nice to be out sailing again. Err, well, motor sailing anyway. Thailand is so beautiful. So many islands. I feel like we could stay here for years and not see everything.

Since Theo’s birth I have been very removed from the actual sailing of Simpatica. I just try to keep the boys sane and occupied, with a little sanity left over for myself. It’s been nice cruising in Thailand because we’ve been doing day sails to get from one island to the next, which makes it much easier on all of us. Dio’s fine if the weather allows a swim in his pool on the front deck, but when it rains it’s a little hard to keep them occupied for hours in the boat. On longer passages I give Liz and Wence some time with Dio so I can feed the baby and not wonder if Dio is getting into things he shouldn’t, like coloring with an indelible marker on the outside of the boat, or spraying baby powder all over the kids’ room, or going to the bathroom on the trampoline, an old favorite past time of his, or giving himself a bath in the kitchen sink, and the list goes on. At least he’s creative about the disasters he makes. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.

THE SIMILAN ISLANDS

I had not done any reading on the Similan islands before we got there so when I finally took a look at where we were, I was really impressed. There was a beautiful beach lined by palm trees and dense bushes. No people. It looked like your basic paradise island. When we arrived at the beach with Dio, we noticed a middle-aged Thai man making a tree swing in the shade. We made sand castles in the shade next to him. The sun here can suck the life out of you in no time. Suddenly two boys appeared from the bushes. They must have been about six and eight years old. At first they did not take much notice of Dio. This seemed to puzzle Dio. Ever since we arrived in Indonesia, he’s gotten accustomed to a movie star reception. So he went up to the two boys, in his little sharkie shorts, rash guard, and his Billabong windsurfing hat (they are like baseball hats but they have a strap that goes under the chin, so they stay on in the boat and in the water). Dio stood in front of them, arms out to the side as if to say, THE DIO HAS ARRIVED. He calls himself The Dio, as if he were some kind of movement or something. Sometimes in the morning when he gets out of bed before I have a chance to get him, he comes down the stairs into our hull and says, “The Dio’s coming!” Like it’s some miracle that there could ever be something as amazing as that, as his feet coming down our stairs. Quite a character, The Dio. Anyway, who could not laugh at such an obvious display of playfulness? Moments later Dio and his new Thai friends were off, running in the water, making sand castles that Dio would immediately ruin and then run away screaming with delight at his mischief. They would chase him, let him get away, play in the water with him, spit out the sand he threw at them. They were angels, always gentle, always looking after him like an older brother should. As I stared at my little maniac skipping and screaming over the waves, I wondered if he would ever be calm and gentle like these two older boys. Dream on, Wences said.

There was some pretty good snorkeling and although the anchorage was a little bumpy, we were fine in Simpatica. We could not help but notice that all of the other boats at the anchorage left soon after we arrived. Monohulls. Our life would be so different on a monohull. Thank God I can be a difficult woman sometimes and we are not sailing on the first boat Wence showed me. I am not sure I would have made it this far. Monohulls are constantly on the look out for a still anchorage, free of rolling and pitching. But Simpatica is much more stable. This gives us a lot more choices.

When Dio got up from his nap, we tried to go for a walk. After a few minutes of a nice path up and down small, rolling hills, the walk quickly progressed to large stretches demanding climbing up a path so steep, a rope had been made to aid all of us who are not mountain goats. Then the mosquitoes attacked us. I found myself swatting my poor baby on the head as four mosquitoes at a time would land on him. I shuttered at the thought of what was happening to his chubby thighs. Much to Wences’s dismay, I canceled the family walk and opted for some beach time instead. We walked to the other side of the island, impressed by how well organized the tourism industry here. Dozens of tents were lined up not far from the beach, a small restaurant was nestled amid some trees. We saw at least a dozen employees wandering around, fixing things, cooking, cleaning, etc. There were about ten tourists on the beach, Europeans, soaking up the last of the sun. Why in this day and age people are still getting painfully sunburned all over their bodies, I will never know. But all of those people seem to come to Thailand.

The next day Wence and I went snorkeling in the morning. It was great to be in clear water again, with small coral reefs all over the place. Nothing spectacular, but enough to keep you interested and under the water for a while. Wence and I decided to finish the walk we had started the day before, this time wearing serious bug spray. I broke out the toughest stuff we have, which we had not used yet. Wences and I made it to the top of the trail after about a half hour of somewhat steep terrain. There was a nice rock you could climb and once you reached the top you could look out over the entire island. It was pretty. I was feeling very pleased with myself for making it up the trail at a pretty good pace. I was a little out of breath, but happy. As we headed back, I pushed myself to stay close to Wences. I did not want him to have to wait for me. After a while, I could not help noticing we did not seem to be walking on the path anymore. Instead we seemed to be walking in complete jungle. That nice little path with the rope to help us normal people along was no where to be found. “Did we go off the trail?” I asked, thinking it must have been a freak accident that had happened moments earlier. “I decided to make the way back a little bit more interesting.” Wences said and smiled back over his shoulder, that smile that is very charming, super charming because there is fear behind it. Fear that he has gone too far, said too much, done something bad. Oh and he had. I stopped and looked behind me, hoping to see some semblance of order echoing a pathway, but nothing, only branch after branch of prickles, thick bushes huge rocks, and spider webs. Yes. Spider Webs. I am not talking about Charlotte’s web here, I am talking about a humongous yellow, green, orange and red spider with long long black legs that look like steel knives, waiting in its web, which spans from ten feet in the air to the ground. I looked at the back of Wence’s head, as he happily plowed through a bramble bush. Panic set in. I was wearing sandals, a sleeveless t shirt, short and shorts and no hat. My god, I may as well be naked, I thought to myself. So much skin to be scratched and bitten by what could only be seriously deadly spiders and dengue fever mosquitos. We were goners. Lost in the jungle, eaten up by spiders and mosquitoes. Oh god. I was not sure what was worse, death by flinging myself on thorns, or spider coma. The spiders suddenly started looking inviting. I was so mad, all I could say was, in a very stern voice, “THIS IS NOT FUN!” I could hear Wence laugh ahead of me. Oh God. As mad as I was at not being consulted before our nice walk became GI Joe and Jane’s hectic bushwhacking journey in the jungle, the only thing that could be worse would be if I got lost. I have no sense of direction. Never have. Never will. I’m always getting lost. It’s a running joke in my family. They tell me to just think about which way I THINK I should go, and go the opposite direction. I started running through bushes to catch up with Wence. Suddenly I was caught in a shroud of thorns, and being bitten by red ants at the same time. I looked down at my feet. Bleeding. And those nasty ants all over, biting. Wences helped me dethorn myself. I think I did shriek at the point. Words could not express the frustration. The jungle was turning me into an animal.

An hour later, bleeding, butts caked with mud from various falls and sliding across precipes, we made it back to civilization after creeping through some very nasty water. Wence laughed and I laughed, and fumed, then laughed. Months later, we call it our Near Divorce Experience, now that we’ve made it to the other side of that jungle, it’s a comic moment. I promised not to panic in the future, he promised to consult me before embarking on jungle intelligence expeditions. At least then I could be prepared, or opt out of the covert operation before it was too late.

HEADING TOWARDS MYANMAR

We arrived at the first Surin island the early evening. After a day of sailing we were all ready for a relaxing night. The next morning Liz and David took Dio to the beach while I cleaned the boys’ room and our bathroom. After Dio had lunch and went down for his nap, Wence and I went out in search of a good snorkeling spot. It was a gray day, raining slightly. We searched for about an hour before we realized the best spot was not far from our mooring. Even though it was a gray day, I saw some of the most beautiful coral I have ever seen. I could not help wondering how much more amazing it would have been had we had a little sun. I followed all kinds of fish around, trying to get good pictures of them with our new under water camera case. It’s so fun taking pictures under water. I feel like I could spend an entire day chasing fish. At least until I get really cold. Anyway, I saw a lobster hiding in a little cave of coral and pointed it out to Wence. Big mistake. We were in a Natural Park. You can’t put Wence in a natural park, where killing fish is not allowed, and then show him a lobster. I should have kept the sighting to myself. He spent over a half an hour trying to get the lobster out. At one point, so focused on capturing the lobster, he got his hand stuck in the hole. After a minute of struggling, I noticed he was started to freak out. He had run out of breath and panic had set in. He yanked his hand out so hard and fast, not only did he not get the lobster, but he left a piece of himself in the lobster’s cave. I think he is still having nightmares. The huge lobster that got away. My hunter gatherer.

Today we left early in the morning. The wind was gusting past 20 knots. The seas were choppy, and we were heading right into the wind. I immediately put my little electric watch on that sends little electric pulses to my wrist and magically keeps me from getting sea sick. After about an hour of misery, Wence decided to change plans. We would head further south first so we could do a tack and not head directly into the wind. What a difference a few degrees makes. In the morning it was gray and overcast, with short, choppy waves and in the afternoon the sun came out and the waves smoothed down.

We got to Koh Phayam by 3:30 PM and immediately piled into the dinghy to go to the beach.. By complete accident we had arrived at one of the nicest anchorages and islands we have found on the trip. A beautiful bay with about two miles of beach, some kind of small resort with a few bungalows, a few outdoor restaurants and bars, and some hippy French families playing with their kids on the beach. Wence went to go get some drinks and came back with small buckets filled with iced coffee and some local alcohol concoction On the strong and strange side. We spent a few hours on the beach. Liz and David drew a huge helicopter for Dio in the sand and I took Dio in the tiny surf and started to teach him how to dive through waves. At one point I thought maybe I was pushing him to do something he did not want to do, but when I saw his face as he came through the other side of a wave, I could see how much fun he was having. If we lived a few more years on this boat there is no doubt he would be a total beach bum. He loves the water. I can’t wait to take him snorkeling.

We left Koh Payam regretfully. We had to leave Thailand that day to renew our visas.

MYANMAR/ BURMA

Seems like quite a few people living in Thailand have to do the visa thing on a regular basis. The Burmese have made it easy and fun. The Andaman Club is a place that organizes the visa trip from Ranong. You show up at their ocean front property, from which you can see Myanmar across the water, fill out some papers, and hop in a ferry with thirty other people that takes you across the river, then get in a bus and arrive on what appears to be the heavens. It’s a raised peninsula, green, and open, beautiful. A large club, complete with gambling, golf, an all you can eat Burmese buffet, and lots of Duty free shops awaits. We had a yummy lunch, the boys behaved very well. Dio even made a friend with a little boy whose shorts kept falling down when he ran, revealing his bare bottom. Dio started flirting with the women who worked in the club and before I knew it, Theodore was out of my arms being passed from one woman to the next. I watched anxiously as Theo got farther and farther from my arms. No did not seem like an option on renewing your visa day. And they knew it.

After we got back to Ranong we did some produce shopping. So fun to go to the outdoor markets. I stayed in the taxi while Theodore finally took a nap as Liz and David collected all kinds of yummy fruit and veggies, including a huge jack fruit, which has become one of our favorite fruits now, since Singapore. I could eat jack fruit every day without any problem what so ever. It’s an amazing looking fruit. On the outside it’s huge, green, bumpy, roundish, well, as fruits go, it’s kind of unattractive. But, when you cut it open, you find hundreds of yellow cells that taste so yummy, so distinct. They are not crisp, but not soggy, unless they are over ripe. And they have a beautiful pit in the center that looks like a nice piece of wood. As much as we love jack fruit, we could not eat that one up fast enough. Within days much of it was on the overly ripe side. I tried to salvage it through strange smoothie concoctions, but only Dio liked them. Not a good sign. Dio is kind of life a garbage disposal. He’ll eat whatever comes his way. If he doesn’t eat it, well, you know it’s BAD.

The next day we went back to Koh Payam. What a special place. I could stay their for months. One night we went out to the Rasta baby Reggae Bar with Liz, David and the boys. At first we were worried they might not have enough food for us. Turned out they did not have any food when we get there, but they disappeared on their mopeds and came back with bundles of food. The Rasta baby Reggae Bar is the coolest bar I have been to. I think. Definitely in the top ten. It’s all open air. With a few covered areas, but no walls. They have all kinds of cozy corners with comfy cushions. The music was a great reggae mix, mostly roots which I love. The owners of the bar are a couple of Thai guys who seem to be rastas. They have never been to Jamaica, but they know more about it than most Jamaicans. They wear their hair in dreds, have that groovy hippy feel, and are extremely warm and friendly. They also seem to do things in Jamaican time. SLOWLY. Don’t go to the Rasta baby Reggae bar if you are starving because you might just die before you get your food. But you’ll be listening to great tunes when you do.
Dio rode his bike around and around the bar, flirting with the one female customer. A few buckets of jack and coke later (they have a thing about serving drinks in tiny buckets here, encouraging group beverages I guess) and what seemed like days later, barbecued squid with rice and vegetables appeared at our table. We all ate every last crumb it was all so good.

The next day we met Yuri at the coconut beach resort. Another very cool spot. He’s from Israel originally though he’s lived on the island now for over ten years. A nice guy. We all had a very yummy early dinner there too. This place seems to be the social hub of the island. Yuri told us what it had been like during the tsunami. It was not his as badly as other parts of Thailand, but still, most of the people left. He stayed to fix and rebuild.

The next day Wence and I rented two mopeds to explore the island. David and Liz had gone on their day off and suggested it to us. After the near divorce experience in the jungle, I decided instead of riding on the back of Wence’s moped, I would get my own. Then I could go at my own pace and not spend half the day terrified I might die at any moment from flying off a cliff at top speed. As we puttered away from the coconut beach resort, I kept waiting to join up with the main road. After stopping a few times to ask directions, we realized, we were on the main road. To call it a road, well, that would be very generous. It was more like the space in between the road and the curb. I don’t know what that space is called, but it’s by no means roomy. And me, with my shaky hands, pathetic moped skills, well, suddenly I was beginning to wonder if I might be better off on wence’s moped. No. I will not give up, I told myself. What has happened to me! When I was young I was this unstoppable tom boy that was always trying to beat the boys at whatever they were doing and succeeded, actually, a fair amount of the time. At least until I was about fourteen. Was I going to slowly get more and more afraid of life until I stopped living it? Stopped taking chances, stopped trying to get up and down dirt paths on mopeds? No! I was going to face my fears and get wherever the hell I wanted to go on this island on this moped.

After a beautiful ten minute ride up and down hills covered with trees and bushes we hit the “town”. The town consists of a block of paved road, a few restaurants, a general store, and not much else. There were no cars in all of Koh Payam. They wouldn’t be able to make it down any of the roads anyway. We had breakfast at one of the restaurants, Tom yam, of course. Then we went off to do more exploring. Just when I felt like I was mastering my moped, the quality of the path got much worse. It was dry, crumbly red sand. Going up this big, winding hill I did ok, but when we were on our way back, I’m not sure what happened, but after a brief moment in the air (I like to call it my improvised wheelie), I found myself buried under my moped. For a moment I was scared, I couldn’t feel anything. This is what they always say in books when something is really wrong, a broken bone, a near death experience. I thought I should just lay there for a moment until I could feel something. I could feel a burning on my feet and shoulder. At least I knew I was not dead. After a while Wence realized he was no longer being followed so he came back and got me. I was bleeding in a few places, nothing serious, but I definitely felt a little sore. So I realized I was more of a driving hazard than Wence. Wence took me to a beautiful restaurant/inn by the water where we rented a little cottage overlooking the ocean. I took a long shower, washed all the cuts out and the dust off and took a glorious nap in the middle of the day. How scandalous.

BACK AT PHUKET

Dio has picked up a new way to make momma laugh. For someone who has never seen any of the Star Wars movies, he can impersonate Yoda’s voice perfectly. One night, as I lay in bed nursing Theodore, lights off, trying to keep completely quiet so Dio would forget I was there and eventually fall asleep, Dio started talking. He’s so cute when he talks to himself at night. It’s sounds like he’s doing Dio’s Greatest Hits of that day. “Dio in the watah! Yeah! Shark in the watah! No! BEEG feesh in the watah. YEAH!” Then, from out of nowhere, he starts talking like Yoda. “Pabbies (crabs) at the beach? Ya! Dio at the beach? Dio in the watah?” I held my breath, hoping he would stop the voice so I would not totally lose it. But he didn’t. After a few more seconds of Yoda at the beach, I lost it. I started laughing, then the baby started laughing, then Dio started laughing. Realizing that Yoda was a huge hit, he went for more. We all laughed so hard, I stumbled out of their room to get some relief. I heard Dio and Theo continue for a few more minutes, then slip off into sleep. I think they love being in the room together now.
We went to go check out the place where my father was staying, thinking we might be able to find him something nicer, closer. But the Laguna Beach Resort turned out to be perfect. We were standing in the lobby, waiting to ask a few questions from the concierge and all of the sudden, this elephant comes waltzing through the lobby. I don’t mean a man in an elephant suit, I mean AN ELEPHANT IN THE LOBBY. Children were walking up to the elephant, handing it bananas, men in suits were standing in line to touch her. Anna the Elephantie caused quite a commotion. I found out from the concierge that Anna makes an appearance twice a day at the hotel, once in the morning and then again in the afternoon. Oh my god. Can we move in? The concierge stared at me as if I was on crack. I guess if you see an elephant every day the novelty rubs off. But for us, elephants are just so special. I watched as Anna’s little elephant butt sached out of the lobby and past the pool area, dozens of children started jumping out of the pool, running towards Anna. She only paid attention to children bearing bananas, so they all ran to the buffet and started pilfering bananas from the display. Her trainer,( I think they call them Mahouts or something like that, sorry out in the middle of the sea with no internet and all the Lonely Planets have been sent to Chile by my boat weight conscious husband) pulled some bananas out of a bag he had and started handing them to the smallest children lining up to touch the elephant.

We walked down the beach from my father’s hotel and found another reggae bar with another Thai dude in dreds. Turns out he is friends with the guys from Rasta baby bar in Koh Payam. I guess Thai rastas stick together. His bar seemed in pretty good shape so we asked if he had been hit by the tsunami. He pulled out a laminated article written all about him, his family, and his bar after the tsunami. How his girlfriend had been pregnant and they lost everything. Everything out to sea, he said. That was all he could say about it, he handed me the article to explain what he could no longer talk about, what he no longer wanted to remember, and yet everyone here still looks out at the sea, they say, and they remember that day, the way the water disappeared and then a wall of water came and took everything away.
That afternoon we anchored off what looked like a rustic, but nice resort called the Nui Bay resort. We had dropped Liz and David at my father’s hotel earlier so they could take their day off. Wence, the boys and I spent a relaxing afternoon just chilling in the boat, enjoying the scenery of the little cove in front of us. When we were having dinner, Liz and David called, having a hard time finding us. Wence explained where we were to the taxi driver, but ten minutes later the phone rang again. Apparently the road just stopped. It was dark and it seemed too dark and far for Liz and David to walk from where they were to the resort. Wence went ashore to see if he could get some help from someone at the resort. After he had been gone over an hour, I started to worry. Moments later I heard the dinghy returning to the boat. Good, I thought. He waited for Liz and David and now they’re all back. But Wence returned to the boat alone. And the look on his face was one I did not recognize. “Bella, I think we should move the boat.” I asked him what happened. Suddenly I realized he was terrified. “There was a guy with a shotgun…” that was all I needed to hear. I started getting the anchor up all the while, Wence kept looking over his shoulder back at the resort, fear in his eyes. Moments later we saw a flashlight on the water outside the resort. Wence gunned both engines and moments later we were out of that cove, immediately in a more populous area and out of sight from the resort. Wence kept the engines on high until we arrived at Kata beach. When we got there he told me he had been trying to talk one of the employees into taking the four wheel drive truck out to get Liz and David when one guy showed up with a baby bear. Well, that was weird, but somehow ok. A few minutes later a guard showed up with a shotgun wearing bullets all over his chest. He told Wence it was time for him to leave and pushed him with the barrel of the shot gun. The entire time Wence walked down to the dinghy he felt that gun on his back and for one of the few moments in his life, felt terrified. He said they were all chain smoking and acting a little weird. Apparently crank has hit Thailand with a vengeance. It’s cheap and easy to get. Made in Burma, smuggled into Thailand. Maybe they were all on crank. Who knows what was going on. I was just glad to get out of there and glad Liz and David were able to talk their tuk tuk taxi driver into taking them somewhere else to meet us.

Wence had been talking about shaving his hair off and on for over a year. I have always preferred Wences’s hair when it’s just starting to get out of control, or, if you look back to pictures of him at the beginning of the trip, when it is long and luxurious. Since Wences has told me many times to never cut my hair, whenever he would start talking about going bald, I would threaten to go bald with him. And wouldn’t that be interesting. Instead of his and her bathrobes etc. we would have his and her bald heads. Sort of takes the meaning of togetherness to another level. Anyway, I don’t know what happened, but one day, mid December, Wence disappeared with a bag of toiletries by the outside shower at the back of the boat. When I asked him if he was going for a swim, he smiled mischievously and simply said, “NO.” I didn’t think much of it until I heard David and Liz having some kind of conversation about “cutting it ALL off.” Then I knew. I ran to the back of the boat, hoping I could catch him in time. But it was too late. An hour later, Wence emerged, a changed man. Completely bald. He looked so funny. Not only because he was bald, but he was very tan everywhere except his new baldness. He could not have looked funnier to me, I thought, until he got sunburned on his head. And then the long strips of snake skin floating in the breeze on top of his head was hilarious. Now, a month later, I must admit, although I still prefer the long and Luxurious, he looks good for a baldy.

December 22

My father, Dennis, and Wences’s brother, Ezequiel flew in from LA, bearing many Christmas presents for us and supplies for Simpatica and Rainbow. Dennis gave Wence this bike that turned out to be more like a practical joke than a bike. It was impossible to ride. The front wheel was tiny, and the back wheel was big, like those crazy circus bikes in the old days. Wence and Ezequiel tried to master it for a few hours to no avail. They were crashing into boats, almost falling into the water, it was like watching a Marx brothers movie. I couldn’t help but notice the mischievous smile on Dennis’s face. Oh, he was enjoying this one. After more than 24 hours of trying to ride the bike, Ezequiel and Wence decided to take it apart and put it back together. This usually is sure death for the object in question. But, an hour later they were riding that bike as if they’d been riding it for years. Turns out Dennis put it together incorrectly, perhaps on purpose. Wence loved it. So much so that he did not want to keep it on the boat. He wanted Dennis and Ezequiel to take it back to the states to keep until we finish the trip. I knew by the way Dennis raised his eye brow that THAT was not going to happen. Wences’s family is used to carrying loads of things across the globe for each other. I guess things do not always arrive safely in the mail to Argentina and often they have to pay too much money to get things out of customs. After experiencing that frustration in Thailand, I understand why it’s so much nicer to send things with someone you know, rather than wondering for weeks if your package will ever get to its destination, and if it does, how much are they going to make you pay them in order to receive it. But I also understood Dennis’s perspective. When someone give you a bike, you don’t say thanks for bringing that all the way to Thailand, now can you bring it back to LA for me and I’ll get it in a year or two. Dennis put his foot down. Turned out we could send it back to the states at quite a reasonable price.

Dennis’s hotel was a twenty minute drive from our marina. We dropped him off then went back to the boat with Ezequiel. Although initially Ezequiel was shocked by a while Wences’s new look, but I guess he liked it because two hours after Ezequiel arrived, he came back from the showers completely bald. What is it with these boys! They looked cute though, the Bald Brothers. And after Ezequiel got burnt on his virgin skin and shed his peeling lizard skin all over the boat, he looked good too.

December 23rd

Ezequiel decided to take advantage of the time we were staying in Phuket and took a diving course. He would leave early in the morning and come back in the afternoon, sunburned but happy. He took some great pictures under the water too. Wences was glad to have someone to use his diving compressor aside from himself. I don’t think I could handle the whole, if a shark comes you have to stay in the water and time your ascencion with the rate of your rising bubbles, thing. Snorkeling is just fine for me. But it was great that Wence and Ezequiel could do that together.

I had three and a half hours to do all the Christmas shopping. Thank God for malls is all I have to say. I had two cups of coffee in preparation and then took off!

That night we had dinner with Dennis at the laguna Beach resort. They had a nice buffet, with very yummy food, and then a dance show. Dio made friends with a cute French boy and the two of them spent most of the time running around the stage, dancing to music and being silly. At first I worried the dancers might get annoyed, especially because the kids were so much better than they were, but they were great about it. Until Dio decided to actually get up on the stage. I spent the rest of the night frolicking with Dio and the French boy, dancing in the trees nearby, locating myself so in case Dio fell off the five foot drop off the rock wall, I would happen to be right there. Or if he tried to storm the stage again, I could head him off. You know, mom stuff.

December 24th

I spent the day with Dennis at his hotel. Without kids! It was so nice to be able to focus on him and not where Dio was running off to or what Theodore was putting in his mouth. We had a nice lunch, went for a swim in the ocean, perfect temperature. Then into the pool where we went down the water slide three times. If we had more time, I would have gone a few more times. The first time I was laughing so hard, because I could not believe how loud I was screaming, that I nearly drowned. When I finally stopped choking, I noticed about four five year olds staring at me, like, what is wrong with that lady! I tried to be much cooler the next two times we went, but something about those slides, I just lose it, when you’re going so fast with the water, it’s just so fun and then you think you might just fly off the slide into the sky, but you never do. Then I had a massage in a beautiful, serene room with the sound of water and the scent of frangi pani. Unfortunately the mosquitoes also liked the frangi pani and crashed the massage. Every once in a while, in between gentle sweeping motions, my masseuse would smack my arm or back and rejoice at the death of another mosquito. Strangely therapeutic because I am always at war with those little bastards and the less there are as far as I am concerned, the better off we all are.

CHRISTMAS

We spent Christmas anchored out at Nai Harn Bay. We celebrated at Le Meridien Yacht Club with Dennis, Ezequiel, and Eric, Nicole, and Luna from Rainbow Voyager. Le Meridien had a beautiful view of the bay, wonderful food, and good service. When Dio and Luna started tearing down the life sized gingerbread house decoration (made from cardboard), the staff merely smiled nervously, and nodded gratefully when I plied Dio’s sweaty little fingers off snow covered card board pine tree. They played Gloria Estefan’s version of THIS CHRISTMAS, reminding me that only a year ago I was finishing up the last draft of the Connie Francis draft for her. And two years ago we had just moved onto the boat and were spending Christmas with my family in Cambridge. How time flies! I watched Dennis dance with Dio and Luna on the Christmas scene and tried to remember if I had ever seen my father smile THAT smile before. A combination of bliss and pride.

The next day we sailed to Koh Yai where the boys got off and explored a small fishing village. Theodore was in mid feed, so we stayed on the boat and had a nice quiet nap. We were the only sail boat in sight. It’s difficult to describe how beautiful this area of Thailand is. There are hundreds of islands scattered about, each with a tower of rock that plunges straight up to the sky out of the water. Some of the islands have beaches, some do not. Some have caves, some have plant life, some don’t, all of them are beautiful on their own, and when you see hundreds of them together, it takes your breath away.

The next day we sailed to the famous island, Koh Ping Kan, where they shot a scene for the James Bond flick. We had anchored a few islands away, in solitude. Coming around the corner was so bizarre. It was PACKED with tourists. Hundreds of Europeans piling out of long tail boats with their cameras, backpacks, sporting their Tevas. We saw a few monks in their saffron robes. I guess monks like James Bond too. There were vendors selling ice cream, shoes, necklaces, tshirts, junk food, all kinds of touristy things. Dennis took Dio for a walk up the rock. I sat trying to decipher which tourists were from which European country. A lot of Italians and Russians that day. Strange taste those Russians. Stuck in the 80s.

The next day we sailed to the Muslim Sea Gypsy village. The fishing in this area was so good, some fishermen had built a village on stilts. It’s quite a sight to see. Everything is on some kind of bridge. Dozens of restaurants wait for the tourist boats that come on a daily basis. We took a walk through the town after lunch. Dennis bought dio many cute elephantine outfits and more little elephants to add to his collection. One little black one with a little metal saddle, I believe is the only one that is not missing a trunk, or a leg, or a tail. But we’ll give it time. Dio has a way with destruction. We came across a woman with a monkey. Of course they are all about exploiting every little thing for a meal here, so we paid her something reasonable so that Dio could touch the monkey. Before we knew what was happening, Dio was wearing the monkey. I looked at Dio’s face to see if he was ok with this. He had that perfect balance between fear and fascination that assured me he was ok with this one. Dennis was the one who looked like he might lose his breakfast. After the lady took her monkey off and everyone started exploring the village again, Dio stayed. The woman immediately bought herself breakfast and Dio and I sat next to the monkey. At first Dio would not touch it. He just watched it. Then he slowly moved closer and closer, watching the monkey, until he oh so gently touched the monkey’s leg. The monkey, probably drugged, let’s face it, did not move, so Dio pet him more, sticking his tongue out, in that way that some men do when they are fixing things with deep concentration

For New Years we were at Rai Lei Beach in Krabi. We went ashore for an early dinner with the kids. Again, no deserted island here. Hundreds and hundreds of back packers all over the place. There were a few restaurants, cafes, tattoo places, massage places, a small store, a weird mix of services. We got a table right by the beach and watched Dio as he roamed the beach. At first he made sand castles by himself, then he forced his way into a soccer game some older boys were playing. They were very nice and let him kick it a few times. It was so fun to watch him interact in that kind of environment. Free to do whatever he wanted. And he did just that. After dinner we went back to the boat, I put the kids to bed. And then we did what we had been doing every night since Dennis and Ezequiel had arrived. We put in a DVD of 24. Any of you who have seen the show will understand how it is that before you know it, you have watched three episodes in a row. I made some chocolate chip cookies and we watched three back to back. In between viewings, I went outside for some air, and saw one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Hundreds of lanterns lit up the sky, floating with the wind, in a line, they started their journey from the beach in front of us then floated hundreds of meters over our head out into the clouds. You could seem them for miles and miles. It lit up the sky. Then came the fireworks. What a wonderful tradition. Of course, as an American, I could not help wonder how many forest fires this graceful pilgrimage had started. I was able to pull Dennis, Ezequiel, and Wence away from 24 for a few minutes. We were all mesmerized.

We stayed two days at Pi Pi Lei so we could all get a chance to explore the coral. It was a great place for snorkeling. A U shaped cove with coral along the sides, clear water, very shallow in some parts. The only bad thing about it was everyone else and their cousin also knew this was a great place for diving and they all came. By 10AM diving boats were already competing for the best places to anchor in the cove, zooming around in their loud boats, sending us rocking around. Impossible for the boys to nap. And then most of them would leave for the day. Only to come back again the next day with new tourists. Thailand has the diving tourism industry down pat.

We got back to Phuket with ample time for Dennis and Ezequiel to get their things together. We had a nice farewell tea at the café that had opened in the marina during our absence and Wence took them to the airport. It was such a nice visit for all of us. Even though they were here for two weeks, which seems like so much, it flew by. I was happy I was able to have good, serious talks with both Dennis and Ezequiel. The kind of talks you cannot plan and the kind of talks that come only when you are spending time together. I really enjoyed seeing our family interact with one another, the way Ezequiel and Dennis tease each other, Ezequiel’s look of surprise at something Dio would do, and the joy in Wence, Dio, and Theo’s faces. Three generations in one boat.

Our next stop was a place called the Hole in the Wall. I have to admit, my hopes were ironically high for a place with such a name. Up a long, narrow channel, thus very well protected from swell, but also from any whisper of wind, Hole in the Wall was a monohaul’s dream. We found lots of interesting characters growing there amidst the mangroves. An Austrian as tall as a pine tree who had just returned from a visit home, seems like he has been cruising in the Malaysia/ Thailand area for years, his friend a nice, german story teller, and a drunk French bartender. We ate at the Hole in the Wall restaurant where our waitress took our orders and then went out back and snagged our fish from the fish farm surrounding the restaurant. That was kind of cool. And the fish was good. Grouper. A little on the pricey side, though for Malaysia, and for a place called Hole in the Wall. After dinner we were practically ordered to visit the frenchies bar that was just adjacent to the restaurant. He was playing fantastic music and dancing with his wife and twoyear old son. The Austrian giant and the german were the only customers. Other than the frenchie. Seems like he had been drinking for a few hours himself. And chain smoking. He actually fell off a stool onto the floor while we were there. When he asked us what we wanted to drink, Wence asked for a White Russian. The Frenchie took out a hand puppet of a dog and started frowning. No White Russians. Then Wence asked for a mojito. The dog frowned again. When we asked what was available, he said beer or whisky. Perhaps he had drunk everything else. We found out later that he was a little depressed that his business was going under. He had already decided to close his bar and go off with his wife to the Philippines for some tuna fishing business. Apparently months will go by without one customer. That can’t be good for business or moral. He said muslims are quiet, stay at home kind of people and his dream had been to make a special night spot where people could come and dance and drink and have fun. But there was not much interest. We stayed in Hole in the Wall for a few days before heading off to Tan Jun Ru.

Tan Jun Ru was gorgeous. Mountains, monkeys, a nice breeze. It was not surprising to find out that there was a Four Seasons right around the corner from our anchorage. One night Wence took me to a wonderful, special dinner on the beach at their restaurant. They had a beautiful white tent with a view of the sunset over the water, and our own private waiter. The food was very good, fish and lobster in curries, lemon grass, coconut milk, a sancerre. I felt like a princess.

We were able to go water skiing one of the days we were at Tan Jun Ru. I have not had that much fun in a long time.It had been over ten years since I had even tried to water ski. I got up on the first try and stayed up until Wences had dragged me around for what seemed like ages. The next day I felt like my arms were going to fall off. I actually had such strong pains in my chest, at times I thought I might be dying. But I was too embarrassed. How could I have pneumonia and then die in the same two month period. It was just too much. I decided to ignore the chest pains and that would help them go away. Three days later I felt normal again. WOW am I out of shape. More water skiing!

Our last anchorage in Langkawie, Dai Tai, was probably our favorite and yet we had only one day to spend there. Too bad. It was so nice. A perfect breeze, beautiful mountains. But Thailand was calling. Or more accurately, Wences’s business trip back to the Americas was demanding us to move on. Poor wences. It seems like whenever we get somewhere we would like to stay for a while, he has to go. Maybe that’s good though. Maybe if he did not have business trips to push us along we would still be in Bora Bora!

That day we walked around the down town area, Raffles something or other. Everything is named after Raffles, an English lieutenant governor who helped secure trade routes in Singapore for the Brits from 1819 onwards. I was overwhelmed by how western everything appears. The architecture, the roads, the cars, and yet everyone is Asian, or Indian, or Malay. Walking down the street I realized we whiteys were the minority here. What an interesting feeling. Kind of like how I felt living on Wycoff street in Brooklyn. But I always knew if I walked up three long blocks to Park Slope, I would be in whitey land again. Here, you are always a minority. As we walked around looking for a place to eat, I noticed long lines of people waiting to buy moon cakes. Mmmmmmmmm. That sounded so yummy. A moon cake. What could that be. How does the moon taste? Sweet for sure! The lines were too long for me to wait. Later I thought to myself. Later we will sit down under a tree and have a taste of the moon.

We finally sat down at some little café. It was not really the food we were looking for, more western than all the exotic flavors we had been reading about, but good. Dio ate a bit and then entertained himself by running around, becoming one with nearby bushes. People seemed concerned that this little blondie was getting dirty and frumpled in the shrubs (don’t worry, it was far from the street).We found out later that Singaporeans are a bit overprotective with their children. Basically, they don’t let them do anything because they usually only have one or at the most two. They are so afraid they are going to get hurt. This was told to us by a woman named Ming we met in the marina. She was born and raised in Singapore. Let’s just say that being overprotected as a child kind of back fired on Ming. When she went to study music in the US, she went a little crazy trying everything she had been forbidden. Everything.

A few days later WEnce and I went into town to do some shopping. Singapore is the last large, westernized city we will see for a while, so we thought we better buy all those odds and ends we had been talking about before it was too late. Everyone told us to go to Orchard Road. I had imagined some small, quaint road with lots of little shops on them. Mabye some orange trees or something on the side. Totally not. Orchard Road is building after building of three to four story malls. Nice malls, with everything from Cartier to Toys R us, but still huge malls. It was a bit overwhelming actually. Especially coming from Indonesia where you probably will not find what you are looking for on any of the islands and if you do, there is just one kind, and one of them. Here, there was so much to choose from, I could not handle it. I went into shopper OD mode and could not think or make any decisions. But of course, ten minutes later I remembered my western capitalist consumerist roots and got over it and shopped until the kids dropped. And then shopped some more.

Wences had been reading Lee Kuan Yew’s (Singapore’s former Prime Minister) autobiography and had decided he needed to meet this guy. But this guy is not the mayor of Kupang. He was very difficult to get to. Finally wences got desperate and started emailing all kinds of people he knows to see if any of them knew him or someone who knew him. He had no luck. My father, totally dumfounded at the request of meeting a dictator, got us a meeting with the head of Disney in Singapore as a trade off. We met Raymund Miranda and his colleage Bob for dinner at a place called No Sign Board. They were really nice, ordered dozens of delicious plates for us, and gave us great ideas of things to do, contacts, and good conversation. Raymund has two girls so I got the number of his pediatrician so I could get Theo his next round of shots.

When we went to the doctor a few days later, Theo had developed a cough. It did not seem anything worse than what he had had in New Zealand and since every time I took him to the clinic for his cold and cough in New Zealand the doctor would send me away with a bottle of saline solution, rolling his eyes, I did not think it was anything serious. As soon as the doctor heard his cough, she stopped preparing the shots and started listening to his chest. Within minutes of our arrival, she had informed us that our child was breathless and in need of serious medical attention. She recommended putting him in the hospital for three days for nebulization, medication, and this horrid practice they call physio which basically is when they shove a plastic tube down the nose and throat to suck out mucous. I was a bit in a panic and wanted to start the treatment immediately. Having just gotten over pneumonia, I was afraid maybe he was getting it. It turns out he was. After three days in the hospital we found out that Theo had pneumonia. Poor little angel. We had to stay an additional ten days so he could get a strong intramuscular shot of antibiotics. We would leave the boat at 9 30, go to the doctors office for a nebulization, go to the emergency room for his shot, then go upstairs for physio. I hate physio. It seems so aggressive to me. And poor Theo would just scream and look at me. God I hope he cannot remember any of that.

It was hard for me to enjoy much of Singapore after that. Wence made sure, however, that my only memories of Singapore were the pediatric ward of the Glen Eagles hospital. He arranged for a beautiful birthday dinner in the city’s tallest building with our friends Eric and Nicole, the best Laksa hawker stand lunch, sushi on a conveyor belt, the Singapore Zoo’s night safari, dinner on a trolley car overlooking Singapore, fun stuff. No matter where we were, we did not have a bad meal in Singapore. Even the hospital food was good. We were ready, however to leave. Of course the day before we were to leave Dio started coughing. A bad, cough. I noticed he was wheezing too. What is going on with my kids! We took them back to the doctor. She wanted to admit him to the hospital right away. Somehow that seemed a bit too extreme. We okd one physio so that they could get a culture and send it to the lab to see if he had pneumonia. The screaming was enough to know that putting Dio in the hospital for three days, where they would do THAT to him twice a day, without being entirely sure that it was absolutely necessary seemed wrong. We told the doctor we wanted a second opinion. She was a bit pissy, but what is she going to do? I tried to explain to her that we were not hospital people. I had chosen to have my sons in our apartment in Miami and a birthing center in Auckland because I do not like hospitals. I could see that at that point, she was sure I was insane.

How the hell do you find a good pediatrician in a city where the only person you know sent you to the one you are running from? We started asking women on the stree who were pushing strollers. Apparently the hospital where we had to go for Theo’s shot had a pediatrics clinic. We went there, spoke to a nice elderly Chinese doctor who seemed much more reasonable. He did not make me feel like my child was going to die on the spot if I did not send him to the hospital, which the other one had. He even told us we could buy our own nebulizer and bring it with us. Which she had told us we could not do, since we needed to be trained. Well, any idiot can give a nebulizing treatment. It’s true that not everyone can read the signs of breathlessness, but we could spot the wheezing, so any attack, if one were to come, we could handle. I was scared to leave Singapore with the kids sick, but I was scared to put Dio into the hospital as well. Wences called a friend of his, Jonathon Malka, who is a pediatrician in New York and told him what was going on. The first doctor had called our kids asthmatic. None of the other doctors would go that far, since they are both so young. But they are having asthmatic like symptoms. Since we had the nebulizer, we now had everything we would need if there was an emergency with these asthma symptoms. We had everything they would have in the hospital. We made sure we had all the right medication for the nebulizer, antiobiotics, and left.

So long Singapore!

The passage sounded exhausting to me. Since Wence, David, and Liz were going to busy doing the watches and cooking, at first I did not feel right about asking for help. But then I realized I would be getting less sleep then all of them since Theodore still feeds two to three times during the night. Also being in charge of both of them all day is just too much safety wise. When I feed Theo I cannot watch Dio. Dio is too much of a maniac for that. Unless I pop in Finding Nemo, but I don’t want to do that very often. So I realized I was going to need help.

For the most part the passage was very smooth. The usual first day or two of getting used to the whole, everything moving routine. I enjoyed sailing with another boat. It was nice to always be able to see your friends not too far away. Made me feel less like we were all alone out in the middle of the Java sea. When we were about half way there Wence decided it was time to give Pacific Bliss a demo of just how powerful our audio system is. He BLASTED Yo te chiero dar, a great song by La Mosca that has magnificent drums. Everyone who was awake jumped up and out and onto the tramp. Dio and I danced and jumped and sang as Pacific Bliss, who was right beside us, watched us, either in amusement or horror. They were too far away to see the expressions on their faces. After the first song an exhausted David came up, looking a bit under the weather. His stomach was bothering him. I suppose our stereo demo did not help. Wences played it so loud I think they must have heard us coming in Singapore. After a few songs Dio and I were exhausted. Time to jump in his pool.

The next day we had an interesting event. Liz noticed that a rather large fishing boat had basically turned around to come towards us. She changed the direction of Simpatica and the boat changed direction, heading towards Pacific Bliss. After some sketchy radio communication we learned from Noen, a Malaysian passenger on Pacific Bliss who translated for us, that the fishing boat was looking for gas. Wence poured some diesel into a jerry can and hoisted it off the back of the boat on a line. The boat received the diesel, seemed very thankful and started heading off in the opposite direction. At this point I went down below to nurse Theodore. Shortly afterwards I heard Wence on the radio talking to Gunther, sounding concerned. It takes a lot to concern Wence, so immediately I was worried. I heard him say that the boat was coming back towards us at full speed. Then I heard WEnce get David up, close all the doors and hatches and sit down to make a call. Who the hell is he going to call, I thought. God? Who could help us here, in the middle of the Java sea? What OPM or GLT friend could call off a bunch of pirates? You know when you receive a business card from someone and you smile, thinking, why the hell are they giving this to me, what are the chances that we will ever speak again. Well, I had that experience with Mia, the wife of the mayor of Kupang. Who ever could have imagined that her business card could have been so helpful. Wence told her our situation, that we were not sure, but we thought we might be under attack from pirates. She said she would make some calls and call back in five minutes. Then I was summoned on deck, with the baby, to show we had children onboard. Yes, we were that desperate. I noticed that as soon as they saws me and Theodore they backed off a little bit. Their boat had been very close to ours. There were moments it seemed like it might even crash right into ours. It was not some little Cris Craft fishing boat, it was a big, two storey, long boat with at least five men aboard. All of the sudden I wondered if their backing off was a good sign or a bad sign. Do pirates have morals? Do they say OK, we will steal whatever we can from whomever we can, but if there are children aboard, forget it. Suddenly these kinds of distinctions mattered to me. Nice pirates…hmmmmm. Is there such a thing? I remembered the story wence had read aloud about the guy who was sailing alone, without a gun, GPS, stove, charts, etc. etc. and he was taken over by pirates. When the pirates realized this guy had nothing except some canned food and dirty underwear they left. Moments later they came back, boarded his ship again, this time giving him two things. A GPS and a warning: BE CAREFUL, said the pirates. That was a good pirate story. I liked thinking of that one at this particular time. We watched as they yelled to Noen, Noen yelled back, they yelled again, making gestures with their hands, Noen yelled back, making gestures with his hands. Suddenly, Noen discovered it was not diesel they were after, but oil. They needed oil for their engine. Oh thank God. Gunther was able to give them as much as they needed and they were off. Suddenly I realized how lucky we were that we did not have a gun on board. A gun could have gotten us into trouble. The scariest thing on Simpatica that day was our own fear. Our fear of meeting pirates, of people we did not know, of a language we did not understand, and a culture that is foreign to us. If we had had a gun we might have threatened to use it or worse, we might have actually used it. And what a tragedy that could have been. We found out later that Gunther had been holding a flare gun in his hands during the entire episode, as scared as we were. I wonder if these fishermen had any idea how much fear they caused. I hope not. I was a bit embarrassed by our fear. Especially when we found out five minutes later that Mia had called her husband who had called the navy in Jakarta. The Navy was minutes away from disbatching a ship and fighter planes to our coordinates. Those fishermen could have been blown out of the water for asking for a bit of oil. I guess it was nice to know, as well, that if they were not just fishermen, if they had indeed been pirates, that we did have some kind of rather serious international mojo working for us.