Mo Dinghy, Mo Problems

I had a dinghy.  It was a decent dinghy.  It had lost air only once in the history of me owning it and only leaked a bit of water.  Not a big deal.  It didn’t look great, but this isn’t a fashion show.  All that said, I am very skeptical that it would last another four or five years.  To me, my dinghy and dinghy engine are almost as important as the mothership S/V NOMAD – because I explore, dive, and fish from my dinghy.  As a matter of fact, it’s the source of the most fun and entertainment I have onboard, hands down.  Oh, and it hauls water, food, fish, people, workers, equipment, tools… You get the point – everything that comes to S/V NOMAD, comes via my dinghy.

Knowing that my current dinghy was iffy (for the next five years) it made more sense to me to buy a new dinghy now – and get the benefit of it now – rather than buy one later after I had patched and re patched and fought with my old dinghy.  So I decided to replace my old dinghy while I could still sell it.

Buying a New Dinghy 

There are a myriad of choices in dinghies now.  I wanted to dive with mine.  Meaning that it needed to be easy to dive from, stable, lightweight, and tough.  Most cruisers simply use their dinghy to go to land occasionally.  For me, I use the dingy for everything fun.  That really leaves me with two options:  a large hard dinghy or a large RIB inflatable.

I looked at a variety of dinghies, got quotes from everywhere and talked with a thousand different people about dinghies and designs and options.  I would have preferred a good hard-dinghy (because they never deflate) but they are remarkably heavy when compared to inflatables, and one thing I don’t need onboard is more weight.  I was specifically looking at the Livingston boats, they still appeal to me, but again – the weight was the issue. Weight stresses davits and adds weight to my catamaran, which is already a heavy boat.  This left me with only once design choice:  RIB.

Within RIBs (Rigid Inflatable Boats, a combination of a hard-bottom and inflatable tubes as sides) – there are a myriad of options, brands, etc. The newest development in this marketplace is the use of aluminum as the material for the bottom of the RIB.  This has several advantages:  it is very light, it is very strong, and it is resistant to scratching or holing if driven over a reef or when pulled up onshore.  Basically, they’re one step closer to bulletproof, while being extremely light.  That appealed to me because I needed a lightweight, tough dinghy that is larger than the one I am replacing.   The problem here is that they are very, very expensive.  The more economical option is the fiberglass dinghy but it is heavy and not as tough, given the same size. 

So this was my dilemma.  When I began my research, it looked like the 11 foot aluminum dinghies would be out of my budget – many of the prices coming in around $7K, which is absolutely outrageous.  I was set on the 11 as I felt like I needed more room for diving, and (in the AB line) the 11 footer had a much thicker hull than the 10 footer – while being lighter than my current 10 foot fiberglass dinghy. 

I talked to enough people and eventually found out that AB Inflatables (who is the leader in aluminum RIBs) actually has a factory in Colombia, where I would soon be.  Through a friend I was able to get in touch with the factory sales rep and start questioning him.  The quotes he provided were very reasonable, compared to prices elsewhere for AB aluminum dinghies, which made me seriously consider the aluminum again.

Of course, there were issues.  I had a brand-new Yamaha Enduro 15 HP outboard.  The problem is that it was short-shaft and the AB 11 foot aluminum (AB AL 11) required a long-shaft outboard.  I considered buying a long-shaft outboard, but the prices in Colombia were astronomical compared to Panama, when I finally got a quote.  This made me balk. The last thing I wanted to do was cause more problems for myself.  Bear with me though, as that’s exactly what I did…

After thinking and talking and a million different emails I decided to not get the AB AL 11, due to the issue of the short/long shaft outboard.  I conveyed this to the sales rep, he quickly replied that they would make a custom version of the AB 11 AL for me, so I wouldn’t have to buy a long-shaft outboard.  This was great news, and it pushed me toward buying the dinghy.  The downside was that it would take 6-8 weeks to get the dinghy and it would be delivered in Colombia – meaning I couldn’t have it right away and I would absolutely need to get to Colombia if I did, indeed, buy the dinghy.

To make a long story short, I hemmed and hawed and eventually decided to pull the trigger.  This was an “investment” in my future trouble-free freediving, spearfishing, and exploring.  It wasn’t too hard to convince myself, except for the wallop my pocketbook would take. But I did it.  I placed the order.

But due to intermittent internet access, some strange credit card rules with AB, and the reputation Colombia has – I didn’t actually place the order for two weeks after I originally sent in my credit card info.  Typical cruising problems.

Mo Dinghy, Mo Problems

The good news is that I got the dinghy the other day.  It’s beautiful, I love it, and it really does making diving and exploring so much better and more fun.  Adding to my cruising experience is something best done at the beginning of this adventure, i reckon – so this is all good. 

AB Inflatables Lammina 11 AL

The bad news is that after I got it out to the boat, because of the arrangement of my arch, the closeness of the hulls, and the design of the davit-system – this dinghy is very close to working in my current setup – but doesn’t.  I could make it work, as is, but it would require two people to lift the damn thing – and that’s just not intelligent.  There are many a time when I lift the dinghy alone. 

This was heartbreaking, but could have been avoided.  I’ve become fairly adept at kicking my own self in the ass.  The real kicker is that I would now not be able to raise my dinghy at night.  And there’s nothing more appealing than a brand-new dinghy and a brand-new Yamaha Enduro 15 – to the thieves in this part of the world.  I was able to borrow a heavy chain to lock the dinghy to the mothership while I sorted out my davit issue.

AB Inflatables Lammina 11 AL

The davit issue was a real one.  Even as I write this it’s not totally sorted.  But we’ve made some progress and welding began on the solution already. 

The solution was fairly apparent, but the devil is always, always in the details.  Especially when you’re talking about welding heavy-duty stainless onto an existing structure in the hopes that it will not only lift your dinghy – but take shock loads when the dinghy is slamming around back there in bad weather.  This had to be absolutely, totally correct. Overbuilt should be an understatement.

And since I’m having this done, I might as well correct another issue that was designed into the construction of the boat – a low-hanging davit system.  A low hanging davit system can mean real trouble if you have a following sea and you catch a breaking wave, into your dinghy hanging on said davit system – that means the whole structure on the back of your boat get’s ripped off.  You don’t just lose your dingy – you may very well lose your boat.  A fairly serious concern.

I was lucky (?) in that I had an existing heavy-duty arch which I could add onto.  That’s a big deal and most people don’t have this heavy-duty of an arch, especially on catamarans.  I lucked out. 

Since this needed to be 100% correct, I went into town, bought a 2×4 and cut it into two pieces. Then we mocked up what I thought would be the right solution and then I brought out the welder and other people smarter than me to help me with the solution.  After an hour or so of playing with things, we came up with a rough idea of the materials needed and a sketch of the solution.

Then it was up to the welder.  This guy is pretty damn good and I trust his instincts on welding and structural strength – he proved that to me when he strengthened my dinghy engine lift, my bimini support structure, and my additional seating on the rear of NOMAD.  The welder made his measurements, gave me a quote, and we were off to the races.  This was going to take some time and we needed to cut and weld and support and tie everything together and it couldn’t look like shit.  It needed to look good (though I like the look of stainless on catamarans, almost without exception).  Not a small job, not an inconsequential job – but we got it started.

So how did my dinghy buying go?  Great.  I have the dinghy that I want, it even has my boat-name on the side of it.  It was delivered directly to Club Nautico, where I was anchored. I’m having a dinghy-cover made.  The only issue is that I really, really opened up a bag of worms when I decided to increase the size of my dinghy.  That was, though, a perfectly rational response to the problem I was presented with – an aging dinghy that had proved too small for my freediving/spearfishing/exploring/fishing. 

The end-result of the dingy davit debacle is yet to be seen, but as soon as I figure it out – I’ll post up some pics and let you know how it went.  I have high hopes, but these things rarely go as planned.   After it’s all tied together, I’ll also take some pictures (maybe some video?) of the arch and davit system.  I’ve had a couple of requests for this (sorry guys!) and will comply. Eventually. 

Mo Dinghy, Mo Problems

I was just back from a wedding in Costa Rica.  For the first night I stayed on Disneyland, a friend’s yacht on the dock at Club Nautico in Cartagena, Colombia.  I arrived late, tired, and hungry. S/V NOMAD was still in a ratty marina down the road in a ghetto in Colombia – having some surgery done.

Boatwork in Cartagena

The amount of work being done on NOMAD here in Cartagena is staggering.  Though I’m enlisting help, it’s still enough to keep me and several other people busy, nearly full-time.   It’s a common question when a meet a landlubber here:  “so you don’t have a job?  What do you do all day?”  The answer is always the same:  “Work on the boat.”  It blows people’s mind to think that a guy (and several other guys) can spend all day working on the boat and still have a million boat projects.   Let me set your mind at ease – it’s possible. 

The truth is that I am doing as much as possible here in CTG.  The reasoning is fairly simple – the boatwork here is fairly high-quality and fairly cheap.  Here I can have a high level of service  for a fraction of the price that it would cost in The States.  I’ll list everything in a follow up post, but suffice it to say – it’s an immense amount of boatwork.   The issue is what it always is – every cent I spend is a cent that I can’t spend sailing around.  I’m shortening my cruising time by spending money… 

Living in the City

With S/V NOMAD in said ratty marina, it wasn’t practical to stay onboard.  The boat was a construction zone, the marina was difficult to get to, and I would have to call a relatively expensive taxi to get around the city.  I chose, instead, to stay at a cheap hostel in the heart of the city.  This was a good, though slightly more expensive choice.   Here’s NOMAD in the marina, docked next to a sunken boat and a tiny wooden pirate ship that sailed every couple of days. The name of the sailboat in the second picture always made me laugh…

NOMAD docked

The pirate

Sunken Boat

The fiberglass and welding work was supposed to take 10 days, maximum.  And before then I’d drawn sketches, figured out pricing, engaged the right guys, and paid half upfront – so they could buy the material.  Staying in the marina was about $25/day and my hostel was about $15/day for a private room.  Add to that the cost of eating out and the inevitable increase in consumption of alcohol that comes with wandering around CTG – and you can see how this would get expensive.  It did get expensive, but it was nice to walk “home” through the plaza and see familiar faces and drink cheap beer and eat good hamburgers.  Living on a boat while it is in project-mode sucks.  It really, really sucks.

So when, as I suspected, the boat work ran over schedule – I decided to begin my next project without the other previous projects being completed yet.  The next project was to clean the engine rooms, clean, sand, and scrape the engines, and then paint the engines and engine rooms.  Not too difficult, but hot, filthy, and tedious.  I enlisted the help of a local guy named Fernando, at the recommendation of a very good (and relatively new) friend in CTG – let’s call him Kyle.  Kyle has some epic stories, and get’s most excited telling the ones where they ran contraband from the Bahamas to Florida, or his treasure hunting stories, or the stories about the long list of bands he did lighting and sound for.  The list, printed on some very old and very yellow paper – contains all of the greats of the 70’s, 80’s and a couple from the 90’s.  All of the greats, really.  Kyle is an interesting, and very helpful, human being. 

So Fernando and I were in the engine rooms.  The process of making the engine rooms habitable wasn’t easy, but it was straightforward.  We were repairing 15 years of abuse and trying to prevent any additional corrosion. 

Here was the process:

• Clean the engine rooms in their entirety.  Removing all water, all oil, all diesel, all dirt and grime. 


• Scrape and peel the cheap soundproofing off of the bulkhead on the engine rooms,  which was falling apart and causing a mess in the engine rooms.


• Clean the engine rooms again.


• Degrease the engines.  (Simple Green, mineral spirits and gasoline)


• Scrape the peeling paint off of the engines.


• Pick and scrape and sand as much rust off of the engines as we could.


• Clean the engine rooms again.


• Apply another coat of Simple Green.


• Apply a coat of Ospho – a phosphoric acid compound that converts rust.


• Sand, pick, and scrape again.


• Clean the engine rooms again.


• Apply another coat of Ospho.


• Apply High-Heat Rustoleum to the engines in three coats, about twenty minutes apart.

Mind you, this was done on two engines.  There were five days spent covered in grime and sweat, in cramped quarters, in tortuous heat, and without much of a break.  There were plenty of harsh chemicals, and even some acid.  It wasn’t fun.  In fact, the only time I’ve sweated nearly as much was the time I spent in Iraq – walking around the desert with 100 pounds of gear and body armor.  Regardless of how much water I drank, I simply couldn’t stay hydrated.  In short – it sucked. 

It took two of us five full days to clean, prep and paint the engines.  In fact, it took so long that I ended up taking the boat back to Club Nautico without the engines being painted – but they were fully prepped. 

So I was back in the anchorage in Club Nautico with most of the heavy-lifting done.  What was supposed to take 10 days (giving a 3 day margin for error) took 15 days.  And even then we weren’t finished. 

The reason I was moored at said ratty marina (which was perfectly safe and reasonably priced):  I was having my bimini fiberglassed, some deck-rot repaired, and having some welding done to add seating to the deck area.  We took the bimini off in Club Nautico, so they could make a mold. 

Removing Lagoon 380 bimini

NOMAD Sans Bimini

Previously on NOMAD the bimini was cloth.  Cloth biminis are OK, but they have more than a couple of downsides.   They chafe, they wear out, they get holes, they don’t retain their waterproofness, etc.  And Sunbrella, the stuff we use to cover biminis is very expensive material.  So when my cloth bimini started to go, I did some math and thought about how much I hate replacing things – and decided to splurge a bit and have it fiberglassed – which is a near-permanent solution when done correctly.  The beauty of this is that I had complete say over what was done.  So I was able to install a hatch so that I stand and put my head through the bimini to navigate if I needed to.  I was also able to have the bimini constructed with a lip on it – so now I have a rainwater catch-system up 24/7.  That’s a very, very important improvement.  I could go into the details, but I’ll just show pictures and tell you that there were a million tiny things that we hadn’t quite thought of that came up along the way – despite having some pretty experienced and sharp people on the job. 

Lagoon 380 fiberglass bimini

Lagoon 380 fiberglass bimini water catching spout

Lagoon 380 bimini water catching lip

Lagoon 380 bimini hatch

The deck rot wasn’t too serious, but did need to be repaired quickly.  Deck rot is what happens when water gets in between the sandwich of fiberglass (it’s two pieces of fiberglass with a balsa core), from which the boat is constructed.  In my case, the culprit was an improperly installed snap that a previous owner had installed on the deck.  The snap allowed water to penetrate the fiberglass sandwich, and that caused the balsa core to rot.  That made the deck soft and spongy, which is a problem.  The longer you leave it, the worse the problem.  I noticed it in San Blas but opted to leave it to CTG – where I could have a pro tackle the job.  It’s another straightforward but tedious process.  This was in a part of my deck that got a lot of traffic, so it needed to be done correctly and needed to look good.

Here’s what we did:

• Guessed how extensive the area of rot was by what was soft underfoot.


• Figured out how to cut the deck out (top or bottom) to make it look good and hide any lines that would be a result of cutting through the deck. 


• Cut the top part of the deck out.


• Scraped the rotted core out.


• Used epoxy to completely fill the void.


• Replaced the cut-out and finished it so that it looked good.  Really good.

Deck Rot Repair

Finally, the other thing that was being tackled was some additional seating on the back side of NOMAD.  I wanted another seating area for parties and for when we sailed.  The truth is that if you’re sailing, everyone wants to hang out outside.  I’m running around trimming sails and tightening lines and checking fishing poles – and whoever else is onboard is typically relaxing on the back deck.  That’s fine, but that puts them directly in my path when I’m moving from one side of the boat to the other.  That doesn’t sound like a big deal, but when you’re in a hurry (for instance:  tacking) – it’s a massive pain in the ass and adds a little friction to what should be a fun and enjoyable day sailing.  I chose to remedy this by removing the rear lifelines, and welding a structure that extended out over my davit system with a bench-seat.  Anyone sitting/laying/relaxing there is completely out of the way.  And now I can fit more than 28 people onboard for a party :)

Lagoon 380 Additional Seating

There were a myriad of concerns in this process, but the end-goal was straightforward:  tie all of the stainless structure at the rear of the boat together to add strength as well as seating.  We didn’t get it right the first time, but we got close.  Here’s a picture of the new structure, the seat itself was made from Starboard and attached to the stainless tubing with (wait for it…)  zipties.  I could have attached it with stainless fittings, but the truth about stainless is that it rusts in the marine environment.  So I opted to go with plastic zipties  and replace them every couple of years.  Cheap, easy, and they don’t rust. The mistake we made is that we opted to use a piece of stainless tubing in place of the old lifelines, but this created a footrest for the bench that was uncomfortably high.   So, after all was said and done, I had to take NOMAD back to the ratty marina and have the stainless cut off, moved down, and re-welded.  Not the way I would have preferred to do things, but you don’t always get it right the first time. 

That’s a small taste of the work going on on NOMAD right now.  Just a taste.  In the next few posts I’ll outline the projects completed and the projects left to be completed.  The goal, right now, is to have NOMAD ready to cross the Pacific when she leaves port in Cartagena.  No doubt, things will go wrong between CTG and my next port in The Pacific.  No doubt.  But I’ll be much more and better prepared and there will be fewer things falling apart around me. The value of doing less boat work, of having less moments of panic when things break, and of being confident in one’s yacht, cant’ be overstated.

The voyage across the Pacific isn’t one to be taken lightly and, if I can slow the monetary hemorrhaging that is boat ownership, it will take a couple of years.

Boatwork in Cartagena

Cartagena and A Wedding

It’s easy to get lost in Colombia.  If you’ve done any reading around sailors and this particular part of the world, you know that Colombia is a haven, in many ways.  I can’t possible list all of them, but they range from perfectly wholesome to vice.  Sometimes so much so that it makes it tough to leave.  Beautiful people, good food, very little rain, it’s right on the water, and it can be cheap. There are many a sailor that never left.  Colombia can swallow you whole. 

On Cartagena

The truth is that the anchorage in Cartagena sucks.  It’s got quite a bit of Rock ’n Roll.  Speedboats going to the Rosarios, Baru, and Playa Blanca run wide open – within a couple of feet of where you’re anchored.  That can (and does) send food, drink, and people flying around your boat.  It happens all day and half of the night and it’s frustrating.

It’s hot here.  Really, really hot.  And though you’re anchored on what should be a giant swimming pool – here in CTG it’s not good practice to swim in the water, as the entire city dumps into the bay in which you anchor.  So you have to sweat on your boat, rather than going for a dip. 

There’s no diving here, until you get to the islands.  The water is brown.  I wouldn’t eat the fish from this bay, so we don’t fish.  That’s enough to drive most watermen insane.  It’s loud and it can be bright at night.  For some reason, Colombian people assume that the entire anchorage is interested in the music on their boats – I believe they spend more on their sound systems than the boat itself.

BUT…

The anchorage at Club Nautico is right in the middle of a fairly affluent area in CTG.  It’s easy and cheap to get a cab anywhere.  There’s a dinghy dock that serves as a social center, where one can leave one’s dinghy without worrying about it being stolen.  It’s also easy (though sweaty) to walk just about anywhere.  A couple of days getting lost in the city is all one needs to know it.  And it’s a great city to get lost in. 

Being anchored in the middle of the city is pretty damn cool at night.  As the boat swings on the anchor there are a plethora of bright, interesting, beautiful lights.  Like a moving picture show.  Having drinks on the trampolines with friends is a great way to beat the heat.

The old city is beautiful.  It’s vaguely European, with narrow paved streets and bright colors.  Much of the architecture is beautiful.  With dilapidated buildings directly adjacent to the very upper crust – the contrast is interesting and worth noting. 

People always seem to be in the streets, conversing, waiting, socializing – but you’d be hard pressed to find people who seems to be actually doing something.  Which is to say, CTG is very much like other South/Central American cities.  Just prettier, and in many ways more affluent.

There is a plaza within walking distance that has amazing street food.  Arguably the best hamburgers I’ve ever eaten, and that’s coming from a Texas boy.  We know our meats.  At night the plaza turns into a local hangout.  Everyone comes and sits and drinks and laughs and talks.  You can hear 5 or 6 different languages at any point, if you listen.  The plaza is full of live music, and other entertainment.  Sometimes even a wedding.  I have a Colombian mother at the plaza that sells me beer.  It’s become a habit now to visit the plaza for a hamburger and a couple beers.  We need more plazas in our lives.  It’s a shame we don’t have something like this in American culture – our culture is so much more closed off.

At the plaza travelers, locals, and even people from CTG – but from the other side of the city – come to chill, talk, and people watch.  You can grab a giant beer for $3000 (pesos, about $1.25) and drink it on the benches, steps, or on the church grounds (true story).  Though in some cases they’ll tell you to move off the church grounds if you’re drinking – so you move 5 feet and continue drinking.  I guess that makes Jesus happier. 

Then there’s Aguardiente.  Kind of a local drink, which tastes a bit like licorice and is about 60 proof.  You can buy a bottle, which will come with as many shot glasses as you need.  It’s sold in a way that makes it very convenient to drink as soon as you walk out of the tienda (store).  As a matter of fact, you can drink in the street throughout the city – and there are a variety of cold drink vendors.   It’s nice to grab a cold beer and walk through the city.  You can just walk and buy cold beers as you walk, very convenient.

CTG also has a pretty strong boat-culture.  I wouldn’t say it’s a strong sailing culture – but they love their fast powerboats. And that’s enough to have quality boat-labor on tap.  You’ll run into many of the same “manana-time” issues throughout South/Central America, but there is high-quality/low-cost boat labor available if you do your homework.  From stainless welding, to fiberglass repair and fabrication, to diesel engine mechanics and electricians.  There’s even a guy who is really good with Force 10 stoves, and a guy who specializes in cleaning boat bottoms.  All available from and around Club Nautico. 

Violent crime isn’t common.  You can feel perfectly safe stumbling back from the Old City to your boat in Club Nautico at 4 AM.  Which is more than I can say for many places in the US.  That kind of thing isn’t great practice anywhere, but you can get away with it here.   Theft is more common, but I believe sailors are a much bigger target than the average Gringo walking down the street – so you need to lift your dinghy at night and lock your boat. 

I love the reputation Colombia has.  You needn’t pay any attention to it, but I’m really happy about it because it keeps the right kinds of people elsewhere.  If you’re worried about your safety in Colombia, despite reading this – by all means, park your ass somewhere else.  We won’t miss you down here, nothing personal.

The people can be very warm and friendly.  There are some really beautiful women in Cartagena.  I’ve heard it’s even more-so inland, but that’s on the back burner.  Going inland means I’m even further from the boat and from diving and from the ocean…

Speaking of:  when you get tired of not being able to swim.  When you need the bluewater fix.  When you need to do some diving, or to score some fresh seafood.  If you need to decompress.  Or detox.  Or do some writing.  Or do some boatwork.  Or just explore.  You head to the Rosarios – only a few miles from CTG, but worlds apart in culture and scenery.  There’s also Baru.  And Playa Blanca is worth visiting.  So much to see.  So much to do. 

I was just beginning to explore when Luke started packing.  He needed to head home.  Luke, Amanda and I were splitting up.  Luke had already started to grow on the Disney’s, he spent quite a bit of time at Disneyland (the Disney’s boat), as we all did.  I hate goodbyes, so my MO is to pretend like they don’t exist.  When Luke actually packed his stuff and was leaving, it was surreal. But we’d spent a bunch of time together and done plenty of cool stuff.  We’d both gotten our hands dirty.  We’d sailed – both between islands and between countries.  We’d partied.  We’d met really interesting people and learned a ton.  So when he left, he left having lived a couple of pretty awesome months.  A couple of months that most people won’t get to live in their entire lives.

Then there was two…

Then it was Amanda and I.  Boatwork started in earnest.  I wasn’t actually doing the work, I was supervising, asking questions, and trying to learn.  The daily grind wasn’t too much of a grind, and it was semi-productive. 

I’d be up between 8 and 9, and somebody would be out working on the boat.  I’d work, run errands, or whatever – until 4 or 5 PM.  At that point, we’d start talking about what was the plan for the night.  Disneyland was threatening to leave soon, and I was going to Costa Rica for a wedding.  Which begged several questions:  what’s Amanda going to do when I leave?  What am I going to do with the boat when I’m in Costa Rica?  How am I going to handle wearing a tux after a very steady routine of wearing only board shorts (if that) for the last few months?  Who, in their right mind, would let a sailing bum be their best-man?  How am I going to arrange a bachelor party from here?

With Costa Rica on the horizon, I actually had to do things.  I needed to confirm plans, book flights, actually adhere to some semblance of a schedule. There was still a ton of boatwork needing to be done – so I moved the boat to a ratty marina where they could do some welding, fiberglass, etc – the dirty work.  The idea was that it I come back to the majority of the dirty work done.  Spend a couple of days working on the boat myself – and then move it back to anchor at Club Nautico. 

The Disney’s were leaving for Panama, to head through the canal and back home (AUS) – so I wouldn’t see them again for a while.  Maybe ever, but I don’t like thinking about things like that.  So with NOMAD in the ratty marina, Amanda decided to move onboard Disneyland. 

That’s the kind of thing that having an open-schedule allows you to do: take advantage of spontaneous opportunities.  Props to Amanda for keeping plans open and taking advantage of opportunities.  Amanda would stay on Disneyland back through Panama and then through the Panama Canal.  Super cool.  My goodbyes were also compressed – I got to say goodbye to Amanda, Nick, Andrea, and the girls – all in one fell swoop.  We joked about it being the Last Supper. But I reckon we drank a bit more than they would have at the Last Supper.

To Costa Rica

Finally boarding the plane to Costa Rica, I wasn’t sure what to expect.  After several months of sailing around the Caribbean – it’s a strange feeling jumping on a plane to head to a luxury resort.  Honestly, I don’t like traveling this way.  I want to get to know a culture, a country – it’s foods and barrios and alleyways.  That’s a very long way from staying at an all-inclusive, luxury resort.

The good news is that all-inclusive, luxury resorts are exactly that:  all-inclusive and luxury.  Which is a different kind of travel, but also a different kind of fun.  I was the best-man, which means I was supposed to do stuff.  I went a day early to scout the area, but the chance of a bachelor-party in a remote place in Costa Rica (Liberia, CR) was, well… remote.  With that off the table, I just needed to meet my friends, get in a bus, and get to the resort. 

With a day to kill, I wandered around Liberia.  I ate, chilled, and drank a little.  Nothing crazy.  I was down to my last set of clean clothing, with a suitcase full of horribly dirty stuff.  Then suddenly I was at the airport and old and new friends were streaming off of the plane.

There were some hugs, some laughing and suddenly we were all on the bus.  The resort was almost two hours from the airport. We made one stop on the way for drinks.  I could tell this was going to be a rough night. 

Resort Life

At the resort we all started drinking the good stuff. I was into Johnny Walker Black Label at the time, so a few of those went down the hatch.  By the time we actually arrived at our room I was half drunk and the pool was calling.  A quick change a phone call to get my laundry started, and I was in the swim-up bar drinking. 

To give you an idea of how strange that night got, I remember waking up to my roomie (Lilly) asking me what I was doing.  When I came to, I was packing my clothes.  Lilly told me, calmly, that we were there for a wedding – that I should go back to sleep.  I did, all was well again in the world.

I woke up the next morning and wasn’t quite feeling like getting out of bed.  So I didn’t.  I laid in a very, very comfortable bed and watched movies and read until my room service got there.  Best decision I made on the trip – trying out the room service.  Everyone else was out at the pool before lunch drinking and getting sunburned.  I viewed this as a rookie mistake.  I rested, ate, relaxed. 

It begins…

At 2PM I was out at the pool, drink in hand.  Several people were already plastered, which was certainly the goal, but it was a little early. They weren’t going to make it to dinner.  I was right about that, we carried them upstairs a couple of hours before dinner.  But me? I was great.  Late starts allow late nights.  The sun and alcohol and swim-up bars take their toll quickly, count on it.

Everything blurred together.  But we managed to get a diving/fishing trip booked.  Then I began being harassed by the local female population.  You see, winter was ending in The States.  That means very few people are: in shape, tanned, and have sun-bleached hair.  And there is, apparently, something about the man-bun.  According to my research in Costa Rica, girls really like the man-bun.  Really like it. 

As time progressed I found out about a flip-cup competition.  Among many participants from many states and a couple of countries – I found myself placing second.  Which is to say that I had to drink all of the alcohol the winner did, but I got no prize. 

There was dinner.  Then we went to resort-bar-thing.  Then we went to a resort-club-thing. 

We did this for a few days – drinking, eating, relaxing.  Then we had a fishing/diving trip booked.  Fun stuff.  We caught what they were calling Spanish Mackerel.  It wasn’t what I call Spanish Mackerel, but it was delicious.  Sashimi on the boat was lunch.  We did a bit of diving, but the water was cold, dark, and full of particulate.  And our guides were fisherman, meaning they didn’t know any decent diving spots.  After a few jellyfish stings, we abandoned diving and took to drinking and bullshitting and pulling lines with lures on them. 

Fish for Sashimi

Then we were back at the resort and the resort chef was cooking our fish.  I could get used to this. Coming from 30 second cold showers, waking up in a pool of my own sweat, and generally having to work twice as hard to do anything onboard NOMAD – this resort stuff was fun and easy. 

The fish was excellent and we had enough that the guys from the wedding party went recruiting to find some talent to help us consume our meal.  Then it was pool volleyball, flip cup, and more shenanigans. 

Suddenly it was time for the wedding.  I had no clothes, the bride-to-be had brought them for me from the States.  I had no shoes.  I had no socks.  I had only board shorts and flip-flops and hair conditioner;  the necessities.  Although, I was running low on hair conditioner because my roomie, Lilly, had found out how good it was and was making a daily habit of stealing it and then telling me she had stolen it. 

I was supposed to make a speech.  I had no idea what I was going to say.  But I’d been using it as leverage to try to get the groom, down to Colombia post-wedding.  I thought if I threatened enough embarrassment, I’d get the green-light (from his bride-to-be) to have him down for a week of foolishness.  It kinda worked, but I didn’t have a speech and it was wedding time. 

As a matter of fact, I didn’t have socks and only 30 minutes before the wedding did I actually possess the clothing I was supposed to wear.  Still no socks, but I borrowed some from my roomie.  No practice, no mind-numbing rehearsal dinner, and a legitimate open-bar.  This is how weddings are supposed to be. We were all winging it, and that’s how you have a wedding where nothing goes wrong – you don’t make it complex and you don’t choreograph it.  If no one knows exactly what they are supposed to do, nobody can screw it up. 

Walking In

Now that I’ve seen a wedding done right, let’s riff on that. 

The wedding was quick.  We were taking shots until we actually walked down the isle and I had a couple mini-bar bottles of Red Label, for emergencies, tucked into my tux.  Pictures were taken, a very quick speech was given, vows were exchanged, and we went back to drinking and celebrating.  I can’t tell you what a relief that kind of wedding is, after sitting through twenty or so long, drawn out celebrations in overly elaborate churches or sweating profusely under a pecan tree.  Why don’t we just party and call that a wedding and have everyone happy? 

So, here are a Nomad’s wedding tips – I know you’re dying for them:

The priest/preacher can be quick – he has plenty of time to convert and preach his silliness on Sundays.  There is no need for extravagance, save that money and do something worthwhile with it – like travel, start a business, change your life.  I promise that having an expensive wedding won’t make you less likely to get divorced.  Statistics tell you it actually works the opposite.  So if you have a big, elaborate wedding, where everyone is sitting around uncomfortably for your special day – there are just going to be that many more people who witnessed your wedding turn into a divorce. Destination weddings are cool, and if you arrange it to have people there for a couple of days beforehand, everyone gets to know each other before the wedding – which makes it much more enjoyable.  There needs to be an open bar – not having an open bar is like saying, “Please kill a weekend, spend a bunch of money on clothing, and drive/fly to come and hang out with a couple of your friends and a bunch of people you don’t know for too long.  PS – I’m not going to even buy you a drink.”  Don’t be those people. Small, quick, short, and then get back to why everyone is there:  a celebration of a life-event. 

Back to the story:  we did the wedding, there were speeches, there was even some singing.  Then we began removing clothing (it was very, very hot) and started dancing. Then we jumped in the pool.  Then it became public knowledge that I was wearing green socks with my tux.  Then it all got blurry for everyone and we went dancing at the resort-club-thing. 

Green Socks

Post-Wedding Pool Fun

The next morning was another one of the usual:  room-service, in the A/C, in the comfy bed until the afternoon.

After the wedding I was getting The Itch.  It was time to get back to my boat.  I missed her.  Time to start boat work again.  Time to wander around CTG with some cold beer and people-watch.  Time to be back on the water.  After a hellish travel day, I was back.  And Disneyland and Amanda were still in CTG, despite threatening to leave for Panama, so that’s where I stayed my first night back.  It was great coming back to familiar faces. 

Cartagena and A Wedding