Rodney Bay
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Sat 18 Dec 2010 13:59
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Summer Song has undergone an astonishingly quick
transition from a home, means of transportation, shelter, restaurant, fish
catcher and entertainment complex to a floating hotel room. I'm sitting at the
chart table in the cabin, where only a couple of days I had to sit sideways,
with my feet wedged in against the companionway steps - just so I didn't end up
sprawled on the floor. Today, the table is level again, and capable of holding
hot drinks withour threatening disaster. There's no need to hold on tightly when
walking about and the incessant creaking of rigging and sails has
disappeared. She suddenly seems like a fish out of water.
Nonetheless, it's pretty awe inspiring to be back
on dry land. The idea of food that doesn;t come from tins is exciting enough,
but it seems like extraordinary luxury to be able to stop for a bite of anything
whenever we feel like it, or duck into a bar for a cooling beer.
There's plenty going on in the marina complex,
which is where all the boats are based. We had a pre-Christmas drinks party with
Tigris (our neighbours in Las Palmas, who got in two days before us) and with
Honningpupp, who are moored just opposite. Then we jumped in a water taxi to a
resto called Buzz, which specialises in Caribbean style seafood. Jesse took a
chance and brought Tabitha - the onyl way of all eating out together -
amid fears that she would refuse to sleep in unfamiliar surroundings. The gamble
paid off as, despite a steel drummer playing Christmas carols, the Twoo nodded
off after barely 10 minutes of uncommitted grizzling. We'll find out shortly
whether the move backfired in the morning, when we catch up with the landlubbers
after breakfast.
Yesterday passed in a blaze of much-needed cleaning
and tidying. summer ong is slowly returning to her pre-crossing state as a home
for two, rather than the stuffed-to-the-gunwales abode for four. She ressembled
a student flat at one point, with bags, boxes, food, books and clothes piled
high on every imaginable surface. Beneath the chaos there was order, maintained
by the First Mate, but a casual observer would have considered her a floating
bazaar. We've got a couple of days to get her ready to go back to sea, for the
150 mile run down to Grenada for Christmas.
And tonight there's the final ARC party, where the
rankings are confirmed. We're hoping to go up rather than down, as they take
account of the engine hours used. At 47 hours, we are a little below the
average, with some boats getting in more than a week of solid donking. Fingers
crossed!
The finishing line in Rodney Bay
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