The American Hippies

Quest
Jack and Hannah Ormerod and Lucia, Delphine & Fin
Wed 3 Aug 2016 06:09
Americans make the best hippies. Not that we’d met many before last week but then we did and we were like, boy, this is how you do it. Hippies with technology, well-reasoned judgement and a big, comfortable boat. We’re not ashamed of being British or flying a Welsh flag but still. I’ll explain. Last week, at the end of a hot afternoon a family turned up at Quest just as we were avoiding each other. At one point we do this every day. Luckily, I’ve stopped worrying about it, in fact I’d probably worry now if we didn’t do it but just as we were caught up doing it, another family turned up in their dinghy, calling, ‘Quest! Quest!’ Crap, I thought, cant we hide? Well no, because our dinghy is floating out there like a waving flag that we’re home. Outside were three kids and their parents, all super-friendly. ‘We’re going to the beach,’ the dad said, pointing to the beach closest to us, ‘do you guys want to come?’ We looked over; we’d been at this anchorage for a week so far and had yet to visit the beach. ‘We’d love to,’ we said and smiled like we’d just flossed and our teeth still hurt. ‘So you’re all girls?’ I said to the long-haired girls on the dinghy. They nodded and left soon after. ‘God, Mum, I can’t believe you said that,’ Lulu said, watching their dinghy whizz away. ‘Yeah,’ Jack joined in, ‘even I know not to say that to girls.’ Delphine gave me her special empathetic look. ‘Just say sorry, they won’t mind.’ ’Sorry?’ Lulu snorted. ‘For calling them boys? I’d definitely mind.’ ‘I got puddled,’ I said. ‘What,’ Jack asked, ‘by their long hair?’ ‘Maybe by the full moon.’ I watched my family look pitifully at me. ‘Maybe I’ll just stay on Quest. You guys go to the beach.’ No way!’ This time all three of them said it in unison. ‘You’re coming.’ I thought of the American mum and her really nice bikini and her cool sunglasses and then I thought of my full length cozzie, swimming shorts and rash vest. I was dressed as an strange, oversized child. I do it so I don't have to expose my moles. My moles! My heart sank. Great. 

The family had brought calabashes to the beach to open; hard ball-like fruits which grow on trees and are not eaten but turned into bowls. The dad pulled out a large electric saw from his bag. ‘This is better for cutting them with,’ he explained, ‘all our cutlasses and knives get broken trying to.’ ‘It’s called a Saw-All,’ his wife said and she was right; it sawed beautifully through the first calabash and then another and another. They got spoons out for removing the calabash flesh and the dad dug a hole in the sand to bury it. While he was doing this, the middle daughter was breaking open almonds at the other end of the beach with a large rock. ‘She can do it for hours,’ he said, smiling, ‘would you like to try one?’ She peeled off the husk like it was a coconut, smashed the nut’s hard outer shell and pulled out a brown almond. Meanwhile, the oldest daughter caught a small octopus snorkelling with Lulu in the little bay off the beach. ‘Put your snorkel on and have a look,’ he told me and I waded out to her and Lulu. They were examining it underwater in their hands. It was tiniest octopus I’d ever seen, arms like wisps of hair. ‘How did you see that?’ I asked. The octopus was changing colour in front of us, mottling itself into the pattern of the sandy ground. The oldest daughter shrugged. ‘I like octopi.’ 

Back on the beach, the nature party was in full swing. Now, you could say that during our year living onboard, Delphine’s general interest in nature has increased by a millimetre. Maybe two at a push. So who was this child, I wondered, happily scooping out the mushy inside of a calabash fruit? Meanwhile, the middle daughter who been peeling and punching almonds had moved on and was carefully threading a large leathery leaf onto a stick. ‘Would you like to try some?’ she asked me. It looked like a leaf kebab. She took a bite and, despite my own best nature-loving intentions, I tried not to gag. ‘I’m ok, thanks.’ ‘Suit yourself,’ she said and crunched on the leaf. ‘It’s a sea grape leaf,’ her dad said, still smiling, ‘you can eat it.’ Jack came over. ‘Is it the McLeaf? I’ll try some.’ I watched his face after he bit into it, like it was fighting its own muscles. Nice. 

While all this was going on, the youngest daughter was occupying herself on a different part of the beach. We weren’t alone; some older tourists were perched on a blanket some distance away, watching the sunset with glasses of wine and snacks. It struck me that there was something of Fin about the smallest girl, the way she hung around the edge of the group. Suddenly, I watched one of the older people lean over and pass her something and in true Fin-style, she popped it into her mouth. ‘There she goes again,’ her mother said to me resignedly. ‘Ever since she was tiny, she’s always hustled other people for snacks.' Meanwhile, the middle daughter was still chewing determinedly on her leaf. A few moments later, I looked back. She was now propped happily on a rock and munching her way through a whole packet of crisps. Her dad was by her side too, sharing them. ‘Wow, she's really scored,’ I pointed out, impressed, ’this time she’s got the whole bag.’ Even Fin was sitting by her, having caught wind of the uptake. ‘Those are actually ours,’ her mum said. ‘Oh,’ I replied, ‘right’. The sun disappeared into the horizon and the girls were still cleaning the calabash. Delphine scraped out every morsel of flesh in the end, just as the sand flies started to bite. The dad built a quick fire then with some impromptu materials he’d found in the sand, topping it off with the husky kindling of the almonds. ‘We don’t like to make a mess,’ he said and lit his fire and we stood around it, grateful for its insect-repelling qualities. 

The next morning, as the girls were getting ready for dance camp, which involved a significant amount of complaining, the Americans’ dinghy whizzed by again. This time, one of the girls was being pulled from the back on a boogie board. ‘Would you like to come kneel boarding?’ the dad asked. ‘It’s ok,’ I said, waving the spatula I’d been using to dish out breakfast with, ‘we don’t like to have fun this early.’ Both my girls watched the dinghy and turned green. ‘Please can we go?’  ’No, you’re dancing,’ I hissed, ’stop thinking about enjoying yourselves.’ As soon as they came home from dance camp though, the Americans came by in their dinghy again and this time both our girls shot off with barely a good-bye. We stretched it out as long as we could before picking them up. The next morning, the Americans had gone. A little clay mermaid and business card, wrapped in a zip bag, lay on our cockpit floor. ‘It was great to meet you,’ they’d written on the back of their card. Hippies with boat cards. We admired the drawing of their boat and the curly font type detailing their boat name, email and phone numbers. Boat cards and not scrawled pieces of paper. Yep, you guessed it; I wish I’d given them one of our scrawled pieces of paper. 

Love from F/F Quest and her crew xx