Almost to South Africa ...

This one is for the ladies we have left behind.  It has been a while since I've written.  A lot of that has to do with the fact that our Single Side Band radio has been about as helpful as getting messages out via Sailmail as using two Campbell's tomato soup cans with a string attached in the middle.  The other reason, the real reason, is that we have reached that part in the trip where we find ourselves talking and thinking more and more about home, our loved ones, and our beloved ladies and have been less-inclined to talk and write about the places ventured.  When you are getting tossed about in the wild Indian Ocean as 25-30 knot sustained winds for more than a week and continuous 15-20 foot seas pummel your boat, your muscles, and bones; you begin to ask yourself: is it really worth it?  The answer in my opinion is a resounding: "Yes!"  But it is does wear on one.  These are the sea conditions we experienced in our thirteen day run from Cocos-Keeling to Mauritius and the majority of it was, in my opinion, quite miserable.  When weather sets in like this, so does the boredom.  We read our Millennium trilogy books feverishly, thought about what food would have we prepared for us if able, wondered what bliss is would be to hike up a mountain in search of deer (or just go for a walk) and of course, ventured out into the cockpit to do our safety checks and remind ourselves of the reality of our situation, and found comfort in good conversation in what we would do when we made landfall.  But most of all, we thought about our ladies who sustained us through it all, though thousands of miles away.  This blog is dedicated to them who will never fully understand what good they did for us in days that, at times, ironically, left us ill-at-ease and bored us.

Arriving in Mauritius, we found ourselves in a nicely developed waterfront far isolated from the reality of the poverty and horrible drivers in that country (more on that).  Days were spent working on our still defunct generator, fixing some electrical issues so we could finally enjoy AC from shore-power (still don't have it when at to sea), emailing our boat's manufacturer in France to look into buying electrical motor furling kit for Genoa.  With price quotes at close to 8,000 Euros and supposed several strikes going on in France (imagine that) that would make it impossible to assure delivery by a specific date, we decide to forego this option and resort, for now, to use old muscle and sinew to furl and unfurl her.  We did find great delight in our afternoon pizzas at the Sun Cafe eating our pizza napletano.  Media was ablaze with the excitement of the Arc being in port and a waitress said she saw me on the tv.  As we finished up some boat projects, we decided to get a car and head out to a villa that Sean and friends had rented on the East side of the island.  That "wild bunch" had rented a villa on the beach with pool and brick grilling pit.  Being careful as always in checking the car upon delivery, I fired a few snapshots to verify any dings on the car and away we went, to see a little bit of the island, meet up with good people, and get the heck away from the boat.  It did not take us long to see that Mauritians are quite possibly the worst drivers in the world.  Stoplights and signs, if found at intersections, are optional and there seems to be this imaginary third lane that motorcyclists and smaller cars use when wishing to pass, which often occurs at the same time opposing traffic in the "imaginary lane" decide to do the same.  It makes Boston look like a drive through the country.  We were less than 39 minutes from our escape to the villa when the Skip turned on his right hand blinker, approached his turn, and started to make it when a truck foolishly passed on us on the right and slammed into the front  section of dad's door and took out the right panel.  The driver hit us at no less than 55 mph and had Dad been another 1/10th of a second in the turn, we believe, well, you can imagine.  We were able to walk away uninjured and with the other driver admitting fault.  Our car, on the other hand, was a bit messed up with the hub bent down into the front right tire making it inoperable to drive.  Using a lever, we pried the metal off the tire (so delicately-ha!) and limped back to the rental for a new car.  Phew!  Glad I took those pictures of the dings in the car upon receiving it.  A day later we made it to the villa, if only for a few hours, to share a few laughs about the day before and take in some beautiful beach scenery.  We all agreed, though, being next to or in a pool was far more entertaining than looking out onto the deep blue.

After a quick overnight sail to Reunion, we found ourselves in Le Port and in a marina that offered little more than a cantina with poor wifi.  The Arc, as always did put on some very nice functions.  Oisin and I headed to airport and found what we believe to be last car available for rent.  It was quite nice to park, as you could put it in your back pocket and carry it with you while overlooking wonderful vistas of waterfalls and lava fields.  Oisin and I spent a nice day with Ritchie and Charley off "Grand Filou" in their rental exploring the highlands, which reminded me of a tropical alps.  Quite cool, literally and figuratively.  All the while, we dreamed of South Africa.  We are getting there.  It is November 2nd and we are 278 nautical miles away from the southern tip of Madagascar and that much closer to Richard's Bay, South Africa.  After dodging another tsunami scare in Reunion (remember the Galapagos) to the earthquake in Sumatra and now hearing that a Category 2-3 cyclone is expected to make landfall in Cocos-Keeling today, we can feel fortunate in the bullets we have dodged along the way and to have had this experience to begin with, the good times and tough times.  "It's a beautiful ride," in the profound words of Dewey Cox.  As always love and miss you all.  Love ya, Mom.  Te amo, Merce.  SVBEG out.