THE SAIL FROM PHILIPPINES TO PALAU

(picture above: sunrise sailing)

After almost a year since we decided to sail to Palau, we have finally reached this beautiful place that has been ever-elusive to us. If you've been keeping up with my blog, you might remember that Ali and I left Palawan, Philippines in September, 2011 with the intention of sailing to the country of Palau in the Pacific Islands. But as circumstances had it, we got stranded, first in Boracay for 6 months, and then in Carmen, Cebu for 3 months, due to boat repairs and long-overdue maintenance. Now I'm happy to report that everything is well, the boat in fair working condition, and we finally touched down in Palau as of 7am on June 15, Friday...just two days ago.

Tim, an Australian friend that we had met in Boracay, flew to Cebu to join us on the sail. An hour after he had checked into the Philippines, he had to check out of the country again with us to prepare for the journey to Palau. We bought a year's worth of food - canned goods and sacks of rice – for storage, since we knew that goods would be much more expensive in Palau, as American dollars were the country's currency. After a week of final preparations, we said our goodbyes to good friends we had made in Cebu on June 6 and started our sail toward Siargao Island on the easternmost side of the Philippines – the last island we would be able to stop at before Palau.

We sailed all day for two days and took a rest each night by anchoring at islands along the way to Siargao. The first island we stopped at was a quiet, pretty little island with clear waters, rocks, and a lot of coconut trees. There were some residents on the island, but they lived on the other side of it from where we were anchored. It was a great feeling to be in a peaceful island again, after 3 months of town life in Cebu. I did love being around people and meeting new friends in Cebu, of course – especially meeting the young German couple circumnavigating the world, Martin and Corina...Corina becoming my best friend at the marina, whom I spent afternoons playing guitar and painting toenails with - but that time always comes for me when I just need to retreat once again from the busy world of people to the silent one of Nature. And so my little soul found rest at our first island stop.

(pictures above: our first island stop, south of Cebu)

In two days, we touched down in Siargao, an island best known as a surf destination. It wasn't hard to see why, as we were met by miles and miles of coral reef upon getting there...which makes for great surf waves but bad boat anchoring. It took us hours of tension-filled motoring across the reefs trying to get as close to shore as possible, hoping against hope that we wouldn't hear that dreaded SCRE-EEE as the bottom of the boat hits a reef. We did manage to find a spot without incident, but it wasn't close enough that a kayak ride to shore wouldn't take at least an hour. So we took the dinghy to reach land instead. More trouble came, with the dinghy engine refusing to start, which took another 2 hours; and then when it finally did start, we had to leave the dinghy about 10 minutes away from shore and walk the rest of the way in knee-deep, jellyfish-filled water, as we might have had trouble if the tide got even lower, leaving the dinghy stranded on sand. The dinghy is not a light boat. It takes at least four people to push it back into the water once it's on sand.

Our first stop at Siargao was Bayud Resort, a quiet, relaxed place, where my brother Johanne was staying for a week to facilitate a surf-yoga retreat. We got to meet the people participating in the retreat and were invited for a few spectacular vegetarian meals after that. Ali, Tim, and I borrowed Johanne's rented motorbike for the afternoon and checked out the sites around Siargao, all three of us scrunched together in one motorbike – Filipino-style. Siargao is a very laid-back island, with nothing more than resorts and restaurants as a sign of development. As I've mentioned, it's known as a surfing destination, so other than the locals, we saw nothing more than surfers upon entering a restaurant called Ocean 101 for dinner. On our way home, we found that our problem with the dinghy was just the opposite of what we were worried about earlier. The tide had gotten high, and the dinghy was now in deep water. Ali decided to swim to get the dinghy to shore and fetch us. It was already dark by that time, so he couldn't see his way very well and had to endure the harmless yet no-less-painful jellyfish stings...better one person get stung than all three of us anyway, was what we decided.

The next day, we invited Johanne's retreat group to come on the boat during their free time. They brought lunch for everyone, and we all had a generally nice time just hanging out on the boat, chatting, swimming, kayaking, and trying out the new paddle board that Ali had purchased online a few months back. There were many pretty islands around Siargao that we could've sailed to for the afternoon, but maneuvering around the reefs wasn't a feat that Ali was up to taking again. But despite that we stayed in one spot the whole afternoon, everyone enjoyed themselves immensely, just being surrounded by the ocean. In fact, when it was time to go, Johanne had a bit of a problem gathering everyone up, as the retreat people kept bargaining for a few more minutes on the boat. “It's turned into more of a vacation than a retreat, really,” Johanne joked.

(pictures above: my brother with the yoga-surf retreat group)

The next day, we decided to go for a bike ride around the island. We had sold our motorbike in Cebu and had purchased bicycles instead...much easier to get on shore than a motorbike. Tim had also purchased a bicycle for himself, which he could readily sell in Palau before he left. We had a drink at Ocean 101 and walked to the surf spot to check out the waves and surfers, and possibly do some surfing ourselves. Ali and Tim wanted to try out surfing; I, having been surfing a number of times in the past with my surf-enthusiast brothers, wasn't too excited for it anymore, as I knew all-too-well how much muscle-work and endurance it took to get past the waves and far enough out, just to get a few seconds' worth of riding the waves. I was open to the idea though, in case they decided for it, since I do recall the excitement I felt once I was out there. At the surf spot, a long boardwalk had to be crossed so that the surfers could be in deep enough water to avoid getting towed by the waves into the shallow reefs. It was mid-afternoon and extremely low tide, and we found no surfers around. We had to get back to the boat by late afternoon to start our sail to Palau, so we decided to abandon the surf idea and stick to our bike ride instead.

The roads around the island are mostly dirt roads along the coast, and we were having a pleasant time enjoying the quiet scenery of shores and little shops in the towns, when my one of my bike pedals broke off. We spent a good while trying to fix it, Ali and Tim coming up with all sorts of improvising, but nothing worked. In the end, Ali and I exchanged bikes, and he rode my bike on one pedal. He was not a happy camper by the time we got back to Bayud Resort, let's put it at that. Well, so much for China-made bikes. I'll just have to get a better one at some point.

Once at the resort, we found the dinghy now stranded on the shore due to extremely low tide. We waited for the tide to rise and relaxed at the nice resort. The tide didn't rise until 7 p.m. though, which meant that we could no longer start our sail to Palau that day. It would be too tricky getting past the reefs in the dark. So as always with life on a boat, a change of plans was necessary. We rose at 5 a.m. the next morning (okay, Ali and Tim rose at 5 a.m., and I rose at 6 a.m.) and set out for the 4-day/4-night nonstop sail to Palau. We decided that we would each take 4-hour shifts in watching the boat. I got first dibs in choosing my watches, so I chose the 6am-10am and 6pm-10pm shifts. That would give me a proper night's sleep, from 10pm-6am, which was my usual bedtime anyway. Ali chose the 2pm-6pm and 2am-6am shifts, so he could catch the sunrise and sunsets. That left Tim with 10am-2pm and 10pm-2am shifts, which he was happy to take, since he liked to go to bed late and sleep through the morning. So we were all content with our shifts.

(above: taking pictures at chilled out Bayud Resort while waiting for the tide to rise)

Except for hours of trying to maneuver around the reefs and out of Siargao, our first day was a clear, sunny, and relatively uneventful one. One of the boat engines did break, but there was enough wind for us to sail without engine. We just had to forgo the speed we originally intended to go. By my night shift at 6pm, Ali went to bed to get his rest before his early morning shift, while Tim accompanied me on my watch. Later in the night, a guy from a cargo ship in our vicinity came on the radio, greeting us in Filipino with “Kabayan...over” (“Fellow countryman...over”). We decided to have a bit of fun, so Tim radioed back, saying, “Magandang gabi” (“Good evening”). The guy greeted back, and then a guy from another boat joined in as well, saying something in Chinese. We decided to abandon the radio then.

Weather-wise, everything went lethargically the first day, but by my morning shift the next day, the winds got stronger due to some small storms lurking around. This was good news, as long as the storms didn't hit us directly. The winds got the boat sailing a little faster so that we were able to make up for lost time during the first day.

We had set up a couple of fishing rods at the back for trolling when we left Siargao, in hopes of catching some tuna, but had gotten nothing except false alarms so far. When Ali called us for about the tenth time in two days that he thought a fish had been hooked, Tim and I started joking about “the boy who cried wolf”. Wouldn't you know it. There on the hook when Ali reeled the line in, was a big, fat yellow fin tuna, about a foot-and-a-half in length; more than enough for the three of us to have a proper meal. Unfortunately, in our excitement to get the fish on the grill, none of us remembered to take a picture. So I'll just have to leave that to your imagination. We decided to stuff and grill the head part of the fish, and make sashimi out of the tail part. It was a glorious lunch that refueled our bodies and spirits for the arduous journey. By the second day, there were no longer any islands around us – just sea and sky – and we knew this would be a constant for us in the next few days. So we were grateful for the gift from the sea.

Maybe the fish meal was an advanced compensation for what was to come, because later in the afternoon, the radar broke, and Tim, having good background in electronics, had to try and fix it. Repairs being in vain, Ali resorted to climbing halfway up the mast to try and fix the sonar. That didn't work either, so we hoped for good weather at night, at least, since without the radar, we wouldn't be able to see the direction the storms were headed and would therefore not be able to avoid them in time if they came our way. And that night, starting on my shift again (I did think for awhile that it was some kind of joke being played on me that things should start happening on my shifts in particular), ominous clouds started looming overhead. That kept the boys up all night, while they allowed me to snooze through the rest of the night once my shift was over. I must have been very tired, since I slept soundly despite the hard rain and the waves rocking and banging violently at the boat.

(picture above: Ali climbing up the mast to fix the sonar)

The third morning awoke me to a very tired boat crew, but a bit of hope, with better weather and the exhilarating sight of ten or so dolphins feeding by the boat and swimming a bit of the way with us. Our third day, though wavy, proved to be all sunshine. We each got to rest well that night after our respective shifts, as the sky was clear and stars were fully out.

(pictures above: a relaxed third day at sea)

The fourth day brought an overcast sky, so we kept on our toes for possible storms. A few were brought our way, but thankfully, nothing more catastrophic than some large waves knocking kitchen stuff over, with a glass bottle breaking and spilling cooking oil all over the floor, while I held on tightly to the pan and kettle of water simmering over the stove, which had threatened to fall over too. What else could we do except finish cooking the dinner over slippery, oil-soaked floor filled with shard glass, while cleaning up the mess. The storm got worse at night, and again, Ali and Tim both stayed up all night, relieving each other of duty every 2 hours by turns. I left my shift half an hour earlier, got out of my rain-drenched clothes and into some dry ones, and went straight to bed at 9:30pm. I was thankful that Tim was with us, since of course he had far, far more strength and endurance than I did, which allowed me quite a bit of slack from the boys regarding my boat tasks.

(picture above: sailing past storms at 6 knots with the tiniest bit of sail ever!)

By 5 a.m. on the fifth day, we finally caught sight of the island of Palau. We were overjoyed by the sight of land. We could feel a proper rest getting closer and closer. Tim woke up still shivering from the night before, when hard rain unluckily fell for a very long time on his watch, but he was equally happy that we had finally reached our destination. It had been a long journey that had felt like weeks, with the boat continuously on the move day and night. Towards the end of the journey, we had started to ask why the sea was giving us such a hard time; there had been more storm than good weather. The answer, of course, is that the sea was simply doing its thing, as it always has, and we were the guests who had decided to brave its many moods; what right or power did we have to make it other than it was? The sea is what it is. A woman, they say, in many ways. One can never completely predict its moods, yet we love it anyway.

(picture above: WWII shipwreck at the reefs on entering Palau)

Palau's breathtaking beauty of rock islands scattered across still, green waters let us know that our journey had been well worth it. We passed through quarantine, and I held my breath in fervent hope that Customs would not confiscate my plants - two of which I had been taking care of for 2 years already. Ali saved my plants by telling Customs that I had painstakingly grown them from seed. So Customs ended up asking us to take the plants inside the boat, and took our fresh fruits and vegetables instead, which held the possibility of carrying insects and/or possible disease into the country, should we mistakenly bring the food to shore. And then finally, we were able to anchor at a peaceful, pretty lagoon, where other yachts were also anchored.

That night, the typhoon that the weather forecast had warned about prior to our sail finally hit Palau with a vengeance. It simply passed over during the night and headed toward the south of the Philippines - the course we had been on. So we suddenly realized just how lucky we actually were to have gotten to Palau in time. It wouldn't have been possible had it not been for the smaller storms that gave us good wind, and therefore speed, along the way. Our sailing troubles immediately turned into blessings that had spared us from the big typhoon. Nothing can convince me now that what we see as troubles are not actually blessings in disguise!

So here we are today, in Palau, after a very long and patient wait – 9 months, to be exact - sitting in an open Internet cafe called The Drop Off, in front of close-by islands with lush forests and a tranquil sea of green. As I write this blog, I'm enjoying a refreshing iced coffee and a burrito that I know I won't be able to finish. After a bit more rest, we will be ready to fully explore this wondrous country of outstandingly friendly Palauans and a maze of picturesque islands to get lost in. Our sailing adventure from the Philippines to Palau has now come to a close, and a new one is about to begin. And I will be back soon to tell you of it!

Climbing Mountains for the Afternoon

The boat is back in the water and we're now home-sweet-home again. We spent a couple of days getting everything tidy, and the boat's livable again now, but final repairs are still going on outside of it (I'll bet you're sick of hearing about the repairs. Trust me, so am I. But no worries, once the boat is all souped up, it'll be about another 5 years before we have to get stuck with maintenance again! Besides, it's aaaall a part of the boat life; love it or leave it).

I had planned to finally get back to work on my writing today, as I do have a deadline for my work, even if it's not a 9-5 job. But I woke up today to the usual scratching and hammering, which goes on from sunup to sundown these days. The construction noise was more than my ears could take after a couple of days of it, and especially after waking up from a nightmare I had about monsters invading my house - I wasn't in the best mood.

I had just finished reading a novel about a man who journeyed on foot across the U.S. after losing everything in his life; his business, his home, and his wife. Then, browsing through the Internet for awhile, I stumbled on an article about the numerous benefits of walking for 40 minutes a day or so; and then after some more browsing, found a sort of Astrological predictions video on this month apparently being a phase of the year where our need for physical activity is high and will gain us much-needed energy if we “heed the call”. So I took all these as signs that the Universe wanted me to get walking today. Ali thought it a welcome idea too.

When we were looking for a temporary apartment in Carmen a couple of months back, we accidentally stumbled onto some mountain trails and had planned on hiking them one day; so today, we decided to head back to that place.

Maybe it was because Survival Camp had trained our muscles and mentality for arduous trekking, but our hike up the mountains was a very pleasurable one, with just a few beads of sweat running down our backs from the heat, and a few pants now and then. Along the way, we were met by a variety of views: a hundred or so rubber trees scattered for miles; a bright, open field under the midday sun, filled with vegetation; and a cool, shady trail of forest dotted with ferns (which ferns we of course picked for food, just to re-live our glorious Survival Camp days).

Halfway up, we decided to stop and admire the view, which was now an expanse of mountains, fields, sea, and sky. We relished the silence for awhile under the shade of a big tree. Then looking up at the tree, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was the kind that bore little tropical “berries” called Aratelis! Childhood memories suddenly flooded through me of jumping over a fence into someone's backyard with my brothers and friends, and quietly picking those sweet, succulent little fruits, while stuffing them into our folded shirts to collect. We would pick the fruits until the owner shouted at us to get off his property, and we would scramble away with our prized goodies; and then come back again the next day. I had been dreaming to taste these berries again ever since I'd gotten back from Canada...which was more than 15 years ago! So now I picked and picked, and ate and ate, to my heart's content. Ali looked at the berries skeptically at first, while I squeezed them and delightedly sucked their insides into my mouth. Then, after a taste, he decided that they were “Really quite good and very sweet.”

After our berry-fest, we continued our hike up the mountain, and were rewarded with a view that got even more breathtaking. There's something about being on top of a mountain that can instantly wash away all the day's worries. I suspect it's because when you're at that height, looking far down below at the crowd of houses and buildings gathered in the towns, you become literally, and then figuratively, above it all. And when everything below looks so small, you feel like your daily worries, which you had left down there in the city, are that small too. Miniscule, compared to the grandeur of the Universe. So we stood contentedly in the vastness.

It was late afternoon by the time we decided to call it a day. Walking back down, we did one more stop off the trail, at a grassy meadow, to take in the view, the peaceful silence, and the cooling breeze one last time, and I got to pick some more berries for a last fill of juicy sweetness.

On the way home, we passed by a sign that said “Mud Crabs for Sale” and another great idea struck us, so we motored back to the road where the sign had pointed to. We had been back on our vegetable diet for a few days now, so we figured it was time to get a good boost of protein again. We were able to purchase some large crabs at a local fishery, and finally went on home, eager for our special seafood dinner.

There was some rice left over from lunch, so I simply cooked some more, just to make sure we'd have enough to go with our crabs. Unfortunately, I burnt the rice because I got so engrossed with writing this blog; so I put some potatoes to bake in the oven instead, as an easy alternative.

I have to admit, I don't like putting live crabs into boiling water, especially while they fight for their life; I feel almost inhumane doing it. But I believe in the saying, “If you can't kill it, don't eat it.” So I stroked the crabs' heads to put them to sleep, and then with my eyes half-closed, popped them into the boiling water. A little mishap went on, as the legs of the largest and feistiest crab suddenly clung onto the side of the pot in an attempt to escape. I let out a little squeal as it frantically tried to get out, and I frantically tried to push it back in. Thankfully, the boiling water killed it in a matter of seconds. Well...cheers to supper! (And my deep apologies to the last crab. Next time, I'll be very sure to make it a quicker death for you guys.)

So my day didn't start off on the right foot; but I was able to end it with a big smile on my face and a satisfied tummy. My work awaits me tomorrow. I'll probably have to put in some extra time to make up for the lost one today. But sometimes, I guess you just have to put off your plans for the day, so the Universe could give you a better one.

Fish Out Of Water

We've been here in Carmen, Cebu for the past 3 weeks now. We're currently at a marina, with the boat hauled out onto land at the yard for maintenance. It's been a busy time for us, finding an apartment to stay at temporarily, catching up on work, and running to and fro for boat stuff. Fortunately, things have settled down a bit now, and I can finally update my blog!

So what's been happening then...

Well, as I've mentioned, we had to look for an apartment in town, since the boat is currently situated on land for repairs. We initially hoped we could stay on the boat while the men did repairs outside of it, but remembered that we wouldn't have water and wouldn't be able to flush the toilet either, as these are all functions that need the boat to be on the sea (catch my drift about the toilet-flushing issue? ;)) 

So we set off to find a cheap place to stay for the whole month that we have to be here, and eventually found a 2-storey, 2-bedroom apartment in a nearby town at P6000/mth (roughly 140USD). Great find, really, especially considering its spaciousness, though it's very basic. The apartment came with a plastic table and chairs, some cabinets for furniture, and an air-conditioner (which we don't really use, since the place is already so nice and cool) so we just had to buy a handy stove for our meals and a mattress for our bedding; all-in-all, still far cheaper than having to rent a room at a resort and having to eat our meals outside. It's also relatively quiet at the place (no videoke's nearby!), and we don't mind the roosters around the area either, since they serve as our alarm clock in the morning, save for that one confused rooster who likes to cockle at 12 midnight.

Our unit is situated at the end of a row of apartment units, so that we get some nice greenery with a creek for a backyard, where neighbors also do their clothes-washing and kids swim or hunt around for forest critters. The neighbors like to play the radio all day, tuned in to a love song station, which I don't mind much either. At least it's not the usual loud, hammering music that Filipinos like to play, with the intention of serving as the neighborhood alarm clock, should roosters not do the trick; one of those good-hearted but misplaced intentions.

We usually spend our days at the marina, and only go home to the apartment at night for dinner and sleep. There's a nice resto-bar at the marina, which I find is very conducive to a relaxed working atmosphere, so we've set up a little office at one of the restaurant tables, comfortable and breezy and overlooking the sea. Gets the creative juices flowing, if I may say so.

The marina restaurant is the only one I've ever known that doesn't offer a food menu. They provide the ingredients, and you tell them how you want it done. On our first night, Sheila the cook asked us what we wanted, and since she said we could order anything we wanted, Ali asked for a duck roast, and I asked for Ox tongue. “No, we don't have those,” was the serious reply. So it was a fun game for awhile, trying to guess what food they actually had in store, and whether or not Sheila could cook it the way we wanted it done. We finally ended up ordering what the other table was having. Easier.

In the late afternoons to evenings, we sit at the bar to chat and watch TV with the staff and other boat owners staying there. Cable television is one of those little things I've come to appreciate much since I've lived on the boat, because we only really get to have it during the few times we're on land. I like it this way though, only having it occasionally, because I find that too much of it also makes me sluggish and dulls my senses quite abit; plus, I appreciate it much more exactly because I only get to have it sometimes.

The people who come into the restaurant, besides the staff, are boat-owners themselves, with most of them living on the boat, and some simply having a boat for leisure while they live in a house on land. Most of them are also older (anywhere from 40-60 years old), so most of our “boat pals” are around this age range. They're very amusing and interesting people to talk to, as they know so much, having lived twice as long as Ali and I have. They're rich with sailing experiences, adventure, and worldly knowledge to share; and they're always keen on sharing these with us 'younger ones'. But what I find the most fascinating about these sailors is their quirky characters.

There's Zeik, the owner of the marina, a scatter-brained man with whom Ali finds it abit frustrating to talk to, as he tends to forget things they just talked about 2 minutes before, regarding our boat repairs. Interestingly though, Zeik never forgets to do a single one of those boat tasks after the conversation. Actions speak louder than words? I guess you can put it that way too for his case. On some days, Zeik likes to have one-too-many drinks at the resto, and then turns the music on full-volume (much to the detriment of all our ears), and will accept a nice request from one of the customers to turn it down a little, only for him to turn it up again slowly as the night progresses...eventually managing to put the music back at full blast. Other than that, though, he's a nice, happy-go-lucky guy with a booming voice that can carry over the sea, and a strange, cackling laugh that by itself, gives me a good laugh too.

Then there's Chiquitta, a 40-something-year-old Aussie woman who comes into the resto almost every night for her shots of rum and a dose of television. A very nice and soft-spoken lady, who throws cup holders into the kitchen door to get the staff's attention when she wants something, or when she just wants to say Hi to them. She has a cast on one leg from dancing on the bar-top and falling off during her birthday celebration a few weeks back. Ali and I spend most nights watching TV with Chiquitta and the kitchen staff, making fun of characters on reality TV shows while having a few beers. We have yet to see Chiquitta's husband, who seems almost a ghost to us, as he never leaves their boat; so we've never really seen him. Lately, we've been suspicious about whether or not a husband really exists. But then again, the guy supposedly broke an arm from falling off his motorbike when some locals got him drunk off Red Horse beer. Yeah, well...that beer! So that's most likely why he's been keeping himself in their boat. Although a broken leg doesn't stop Chiquitta from visiting the resto nightly.

A couple of weeks back, we also met a young boat-owner, Clemens (about 30-something years old), a cheerful, boisterous German guy who likes to laugh and make jokes. He's a husband and father of 2 boys and a baby girl. All his kids were born and raised on their boat, so these kids have never known a life on land. They're home-schooled; and I have to say, they're some of the smartest kids I've ever met! I mean, I've personally never met a 6-year-old who was obsessed with Astro-physics (I know Astroboy, that's as far as I go with that); and while Ali and Clemens surmise about all things scientific, this kid supplies answers the 2 grown-ups beside him couldn't even come up with, with all their complex scientific facts. You gotta wonder sometimes if it's actually kids that have more sense than grown-ups, and not the other way around. Many times, kids' facts, although very simple, make astounding sense...so that we tend to feel stupid for not having come up with something so right-in-our-face. Now my partner's a really smart guy - IQ-wise and everything - and he isn't easily impressed by facts; but this time he couldn't help exclaiming, “This kid's smarter than me!” Guess he finally met his match in a 6-year-old.

We got to have a tour of Clemens' boat the night before they left, as they threw a going-away party. Their boat was actually a miniature ship, complete with an entertainment room, a massive kitchen and living area, a library for the kids to hang out in, crew bedrooms, storage rooms, and proper engine rooms. There are some crew members living on the boat temporarily; mostly travelers in their 20's, but a couple of them in their 40's or 50's as well. Clemens and his wife accept people to sail around with them, in exchange for being part of the boat crew, all-expense paid. Another requirement is to become part of the couple's work as environmental volunteers.

So these are just some of the people around the marina. It's a nice change of pace for us to be here too. For one thing, we're living on land, which is always a bit different after having lived on sea for awhile. The ground feels stable...sometimes too stable, it's eerie. When we go to bed, we almost expect the waves to rock us to sleep; but no waves, just hard, solid ground. It's also dustier, which unfortunately means I have to bathe more often. And space is a lot smaller here, since on a boat, you have the whole sea for your backyard and the sky for your ceiling, with only a few other boats to share your space with. But on land, you're also closely surrounded by people, and it reminds me of the days when I had neighbors and the sounds of daily human activities around me; vehicles passing by, women chatting while doing laundry, men hammering away, kids running around playing, and dogs barking. I can't help but smile at all these sounds that were once so familiar, and at times, annoying to me. In a way, the sounds lend an intimacy between me and the people around me; living to see another day together and being participants in life's daily little activities.

The land and its communities of people may only be my temporary home these days, but it always welcomes me warmly anyway when I do come. I guess this is why I love change as well. You get to appreciate things so much more than if you were constantly immersed in them. You especially learn to appreciate the little things that you once took for granted, just because they were always around. I know that when we go back to our boat, I'll get the same chance to appreciate my home on the sea all over again too. Changes are good. Changes offer a fresh perspective; even on things you thought you already knew so well.

How Do You Live On A Boat!?

What the..? How the heck do you live on a boat!? Like...it's your home? These are usually the first reactions I get when people learn that I'm living on a boat. Since a lot of people are interested about life on a boat, I've decided that the best way to describe my life is to set up a blog about it. It might even be the little push that sends some looking for their very own sailboat, to finally live their dreams of becoming a pirate. Aaaarrrr....

So...how do I live on boat? The same way that everyone else does living on land, really, except my house floats on water, I kayak to get on land from the boat (since the boat can't be parked on shallow waters), and I can relocate anytime, anywhere. Aaah, gotta love the freedom of not having to be stuck in any particular place, I have to say! It just suits my itchy traveling feet. That's the perk of living afloat.

Of course, you've gotta have the stomach to endure the constant rocking, especially on windy and wavy days, but you get used to it after awhile. The land might feel wobbly to you (ironically) after having been on the boat for a few days, and you'll look like some drunken idiot zigzagging across an otherwise stable shore as you walk, but hey, it could be a fun thing too. Personally, since I've been on the boat for more than a year now, I really can't tell the difference anymore between being on water and being on land. It just becomes second-nature, like anything else you do constantly. Occasionally, we do run into storms, but they're never a cause for panic. In fact, panic and you might find yourself overboard, drowning! It's best to keep calm, focused, and in the present moment during these times. You can even harness yourself to the boat, if you're really that scared about the wind blowing you overboard. Have faith that the boat won't just sink anytime it's faced with storms and big waves. Sailboats are designed to weather storms. They stay afloat as long as you don't crash them into some iceberg, like the Titanic did. I speak about storms from experience, so you can take my word for it. And by the way, I learned to drive the boat during a storm, because my partner had to attend to the sails and other such things that need attention during a storm. But it's probably best to get Sailing 101, for good measure. I'm just saying that experience is not a requirement; it comes in time.

Anyway, everything else about my life, as I've said, is pretty much the same as living on land. In the mornings, I water my plants, do some yoga if I'm up to it (although my yoga practices are a bit more limited, due to balancing issues from the boat's rocking), do some house/boat-keeping chores, go into town to do the market if needed, and then I'm off on the Internet. My partner and I both work on the Internet as a source of income, which makes spontaneous traveling feasible for us. We make sure to park the boat in places where signal is available, but on some days, we have to forfeit this, like when we're sailing or have to stop for the night at some deserted island in the middle of nowhere. The physical freedom of your job is important if you wanna live on a boat and are not yet retired...unless you just plan to park your boat on a pier year-round, that is. But..whatever floats your boat, right? Hehe, thought that was a good pun.

In the early mornings I purposely get up to watch the sunrise. These are wonderful times for me, as I sit on top of the boat, taking in the sleepy silence, the gentle warmth of the first rays of the sun, and the clear waters that allow me to see everything at the bottom, including schools of fish hunting for their morning meal. Occasionally, I even spot an eagle spanning over the waters until in one swift movement, it dips its head into the sea, and a fish is squirming about in its mouth. Majestic! In the afternoons, my partner and I sit out on the deck to enjoy the beautiful sunsets that living in nature provides each day. I hardly ever take pictures, because the outcome just never fully captures what I can see with my own eyes, and feel with my own senses. Either that or I'm just not a good photographer.

Life is truly an adventure when you live on a boat. Where else can you explore the shores and forests of the most virgin islands, pass through a sea of literally a hundred dolphins catching their meals for the day, watch giant sea turtles bobbing their heads in and out of the water, or even have reef sharks take refuge under your boat for shade? Yes, I've experienced all this. And I'm happy to say that it never, ever gets old. When you live in nature, you live in constant wonderment for the treasures it beholds. And you realize that you have always been a part of it, and that it has, in fact, always been our true home...until we disconnected with it through the industrial revolution, which gave rise to the materialism that has made us dependent on societal structures.

Nature requires no money to be surviving in it. If you happen to have run out of canned goods, or any other food in stock, or can't catch a fish and you're in some deserted island, there are other alternatives easily available. How about roasted sea urchins, boiled seaweed, or snail soup? You can be a sloth, and you would still catch these things. They're just...stationary! But remember to always give thanks for the life they offer, to keep you alive and healthy. We are, after all, part of the circle of life – it's always a give-and-take. Give what you can, and take only what you need. Or how about having a handy vegetable garden on your boat? I have pots of kangkong on our boat, just because they grow ridiculously easily, and I have the pleasure of having fresh greens anytime. We basically leave our canned goods in stock for emergency. I have a stock of beans that can last months and months, and by curing fish, I can keep these in stock too for months. Dried fish is available in virtually any town though, so why cure your own, you may ask. Well, it's just knowledge that can come in handy.

Okay, so maybe it sounds a little bit stone-age for you. But to know that you can survive anywhere, with or without money...that, for me, is the ultimate freedom. Of course, my partner and I do need the money to pay for the vessel that brings us places, but hey, if the need ever arises, we can just as easily build a house from sticks and stones, or find refuge in a cave. Believe me, I have no problem with that. But since we do have jobs that provide us money to have a boat and buy food delicacies at stop-over towns, we use the cash gratefully. But the point is, survival is not an issue.

So now, we are currently in Boracay, Philippines, and as the boat needs repairs, we've been pretty much stuck here for 4 months. I often complain, because my itchy feet are longing to set sail for the great wide ocean and those serene islands again, but unfortunately, that's one of the things about living on a boat...it does need a bit more maintenance than a house on land. But if you're willing to sacrifice a small amount of your time and energy for consistent maintenance, the rewards will be great, I assure you. Most of our finances do go to maintaining the boat, but then again, this is the lifestyle we chose... can't complain about that, now! And anyway, there's not much else we need, except to be living a life in Mother Nature's embrace, and to explore its wonders with full hearts. It's a blessing in itself to be reconnected with our deepest roots.

As for how I came to live on a boat, I'll save that for the next blog (along with pictures, from time-to-time). I hope this answers a few of your questions anyhow, about how it is to live at sea. It's not such a radical idea, really, is it? There are thousands of people around the world like my partner and me, as I speak, living the same kind of life we do. So if it's been in your heart, or if my blog has by chance stirred any forgotten passions in you about living in nature, I say now is the time to go for it! Take survival classes, learn to plant and be self-sufficient, start saving that money to have that boat, or that house in the forest, field, or mountain, or by the sea. If your needs are simple, it's not such a hard task. Believe me, I've been there. Don't worry about loneliness either, or becoming a hermit. We have human neighbors in little villages, and meet new people all the time during our travels. And we connect with friends and family through Internet. How do you think it was possible for me to write this blog while on a boat? You gotta give thanks to technology too, for that. We don't have to be totally stone-age!

I say if your heart is calling you back to Mother Nature, just go for it. It's not something you can regret because, trust me...ultimately, it will be your homecoming. And I'll be here, showing you the abundance and pure, simple joys that it provides, just to keep you motivated!