The Fernandina Beach Forcefield

Atlantic Bridges to Fernandina Beach – 29 nautical miles sailed

The worst atrocity on the ICW would be striking a manatee or a dolphin with your boat. When we left at dawn there was a single dolphin playing in the current below the bridge, directly in SeaLight’s path between the narrow spans. As I moved closer and closer the dolphin remained in place with its dorsal fin out of the water, hovering in the current. I got so close that I could no longer see the dolphin as it disappeared beneath the bow, and I waited for a bumping sound or underwater squeal or dolphin sushi to appear floating behind the boat in a churned mess. But, of course, none of that happened and the clever dolphin simply dove to the bottom as we passed. Dolphins are so fast I suspect they never get hit by the fast-moving powerboats either as they can hear boats approaching from a very long distance and have plenty of time to get out of the way. Manatees, however, are far slower and get hit all the time, which saddens me to the point of tears if I think about it too much.

The stretch of the ICW we covered today was beautiful. The channel snaked and twisted impossibly through immense walnut grasslands, with river rock beaches, green tufts of bushes and trees heroically pulling themselves out of the brown grass prairie, with a blanket of thick overcast sky creating a shadowless world and the high tide providing ample water. I imagined seeing a hungry lion springing up from the grass and pursuing a gazelle across the table-flat horizon, but all I saw for animals were pretty shorebirds, many of them, unmolested, and the occasional dolphin curving out of the dark tea water for a breath.

At one curve in the channel appeared a huge tourist riverboat, the size of a small cruise ship. I steered SeaLight to the far left of the channel, toying with grounding depths, to allow the big girl to pass. An elegant, grey-haired lady in a flowery dress waved to us from her cabin deck as the ship passed and we waved back.

We reached the town of Fernandina Beach around 1 pm and spent a long while looking for an appropriate anchorage. There were many other boats here, but some were anchored in excessively deep water, others in very shallow water, and there were also two mooring fields we had to avoid as it is illegal in Florida to anchor within 100 feet of them. But, with patience, we found a good spot and dug the anchor in hard.

The weather forecast for the rest of the day was not encouraging. 100% chance of rain, with 40 mm expected. We’d hoped to walk the substantial distance to the grocery store to pick up provisions, but the thought of trudging through torrential rains pulling a buggy then having to deal with soggy cardboard packaging didn’t excite us much, so instead we played it safe and remained on SeaLight. It’s also not a great idea leaving a boat unattended in a new anchorage with the likelihood of squalls and high winds. But, as usual, the Storm Radar weather app was wrong and the many squalls coming from the west were all deflected from our area, as if Fernandina Beach had an alien forcefield dome over their town. These squalls then recollected in the ocean east of here, leaving us in a strangely dry circle. We did not see any significant rain until early evening where we had a couple of microbursts, but nothing substantial. Nevertheless, we made use of the time. Ana spent hours working on Newport club stuff and fighting with Microsoft Teams/Onedrive which has recently been losing changes she’s made, immensely frustrating for her. I resealed then defrosted our top loading refrigerator, which had come to resemble a scene from “Ice Age” with four inches of solid, glacial ice built up all around the freezer section, making it impossible to access the pork chops, chicken, and wieners trapped within. With the help of a plastic scraper, Ana’s hair dryer, a large cooler, our wet/dry vacuum, some sacrificial knuckle skin, and a hoppity playlist of songs, I completely de-iced the food chamber over a period of several hours. Ana still wasn’t done her work, so I sliced up our one remaining plantain and made us an appetizer of tostones, which brought us right into dinner of leftover, but re-moisturized pasta, using up the last of our pasta sauce.

Tomorrow, we explore Fernandina Beach.

Fighting the Tide

St. Augustine to Atlantic Bridges – 29 nautical miles sailed, 2 miles in dinghy, 6 kilometres walked 

We decided another half day in St. Augustine was in order so we spent a couple of hours walking deeper into the peaceful residential neighbourhoods, avoiding the Saturday crush of tourists in the centre. We had considered attending the Lions Seafood Festival, but when we arrived and found an entrance fee, festival grounds jammed full of people, a band playing pop country, perfectly arranged rows of blue portable toilets giving off that fresh blue liquid smell, a throng of vendors selling generic crap, and no seafood in sight, we decided to return to the boat and make some miles.

The timing of the tides is far more important on the ICW that it is on the ocean as the narrow channels can develop strong currents, especially in the middle of the six-hour cycle of high to low. Sometimes these work in your favour, sometimes then don’t. Today, they did not. We motor-sailed through an opposing tide of 2 – 3 knots for nearly the entire ride, making a painfully slow 4 knots at times, occasionally less. There was a tremendous amount of boat traffic and the small powerboats and jet skis swarmed us like fruit flies on a three-day-old banana, kicking up wake from every direction, often waving at us and smiling as they passed ten feet from us, throwing tsunamis that rocked SeaLight back and forth, sending paperback novels and serving dishes flying.

The route was not particularly interesting, besides one stretch called Palm Valley which was a ruler-straight, narrow channel rowed with a series of houses, long docks, and two Bars and Grills on either end crammed full of people hammering back the Bud Lights, eating bacon double cheeseburgers with curly fries, and enjoying the occasional peeks of sunshine through the mainly overcast sky. Ana pulled up the aerial view on Google and found a huge residential area riddled with lakes, canals, and thousands of houses, which looked much like magnified bacteria culture in a petri dish.

We arrived to the Atlantic Boulevard Twin Bridges around 6:30 pm and dropped anchor in a wide area with strong current opposed by the 15 knot wind, which caused the boat to list and spin and grind against the anchor chain as it could not decide which way to go, like a kid faced with a candy store in one direction and ice cream shop in the other, with ten bucks in his sweaty hand and no parents in sight.

With a close eye on the anchor alarm, we enjoyed a long sundowner then had a delicious meal of pasta and meat sauce, which was superior to our strange meal last night that we consumed while watching a horror movie on Ana’s phone.

By later in the evening the boat traffic had slowed to a trickle, the vehicular traffic on the bridge had dried up, the currents and wind had come to an understanding, and we were able to enjoy a peaceful and quiet night at anchor.

Courtyards, Cuban Coffee, and Cannonballs

St. Augustine – 3 miles in dinghy, 5 kilometres walked 

Our first day back in St. Augustine was wonderful. And I’m happy for it as our initial experience here was on the way south during the insanely busy tourist week of Thanksgiving, and bordering on unpleasant due to the intense crowds. Today, we saw a beautiful side of St. Augustine. But not before a shocking meeting with a local marine canvas maker.

Two side panels of our cockpit enclosure have become yellowed to the point where we can barely see through them. Ana found a small canvas company in St. Augustine, spoke to the owner yesterday, and she asked us to meet her at 9am at the dock after she had met with another customer there. Ana and I have changed these Strataglass panels ourselves in the past, so we had a rough idea of how much the materials cost and time it takes to change them. We expected a cost of around $250, maybe a little more as this was a rush job. She was there shortly after 9 and was very friendly and seemed to know what she was doing. I unrolled the panels for her to see and she said she could have them done by early afternoon. The cost? $800 or $1144 in lowly Canadian funds. We passed. Nearly passed out, actually.

We walked into St. Augustine and began with a slow stroll through a quiet residential neighbourhood south of the centre and found a series of stately mansions, quaint cottages, southern abodes, all nestled into thick tree canopy with that spooky, yet magnificent Spanish moss reaching down like demon fingers. It reminded us much of Charleson. We passed a school yard swarming with uniformed, perpetual-motion children, a quiet and possibly deserted nunnery, several churches, and Ana spotted a thrift shop hidden at the back of a building, where she picked up a sexy, form-fitting, va-va-voom dress and I browsed the terrifying selection of vinyl (listened to a Jim Neighbours album recently?) then found an equally scary horror novel to feast upon during the upcoming long passages.

Our goal for the return trip to Canada is threefold: make it to NYC before the end of April by doing more offshore runs, explore some of the sights and towns we missed along the way, and revisit places we loved. With that, we visited the Hotel Alcazar building (which had been either closed or packed with touristos last time) and admired the incredible architecture of this Spanish colonial masterpiece and the small antique and art shops along the courtyard. We then moved into the town centre and found the Cuban Café & Bakery, which we patronized last time, but was far more peaceful and enjoyable today with just a handful of customers. This place is authentic Cuban – with Cuban staff, Cuban food and Cuban drinks…but, sadly, American prices. We seated ourselves on the deck overlooking the street and enjoyed our two hot coffees and three warm ham croquettes. This is only the second caffeinated coffee I’ve had during the trip, as I choose to ingest that powerful drug only at special moments. The last one was just a couple weeks ago with our friends in the garden of the brilliant coffee shop at Man-O-War Cay. I derive intense enjoyment of good coffee on these rare occasions and do not look back fondly on the many years I was addicted to it and drank it to feed a dependence instead of relishing in the pure pleasure of the bean. Like many other things in life, with scarcity comes great enjoyment.

Ana and I sat for a very long time talking, mostly about our children, and the exponential growth in maturity and life experience they’ve both experienced the past couple of years. It has been so satisfying for us as parents to see them thriving, taking chances, handling problems, enduring difficulties, traveling, meeting new people, and discovering who they are, what they like, and which of the infinite life paths they will blaze. We are so excited to have them both back at home this summer and looking forward to a lot of lengthy and loud evening meals around our dinner table.

We wandered into the hornet nest of the city centre and while it was still busy with tourists, we found a quiet space – a Greek shrine with the story of the extreme challenges faced by the original European settlers, surrounded by a peaceful garden courtyard. After this, Ana browsed a few shops, we had a chat with the bubbly host at a distillery of flavoured whiskeys, and we walked the perimeter of the 17 century Castillo de San Marcos fort, imagining the 12 pound iron balls exploding from the cannons, ripping holes through the thick wood hulls of invading British ships.

After our self-guided walking tour we returned to the boat for a late lunch then I changed the oil and filter of our trusty 54 horsepower Yanmar as it had been the recommended 250 hours since the last one. This process always takes longer than I think it will and it brought me right to sundowner, where I enjoyed a can of PBR in the cockpit as I finished off the last chapter of a novel. Our original plan had been to return to town to partake in the evening festivities of St. Augustine’s Sail Week, but Ana just wasn’t feeling it so I went in by myself with the used oil to deposit it in the used oil collection drum at the marina, and had a quick look at the goings-on in the Sail Week tent. We weren’t missing much besides a mediocre 80’s cover band, $6 drinks, $12 fish sandwiches, and a lot of sailors wearing fancy clothes (i.e. long pants without rips and shirts without skulls, metal band logos, or stains).

We enjoyed a quiet night on the boat.

A Life Filled With Curiosity is a Life Well Lived

New Smyrna to St. Augustine –60 nautical miles sailed

It was a long, boring day. We left New Smyrna at 7:30 am and dropped anchor at 5:30 pm in St. Augustine. The weather was cool, with a north wind blowing in between 15 and 20 knots all day so we kept the cockpit enclosure zipped us tight as we motored endlessly up the mostly straight channels of the ICW, seeing little of interest besides the curved backs of surfacing dolphins and seabirds dive bombing bait fish.

So today I will write about a podcast I listened to during the overnight run from Bahamas to the US. I follow a regular series called Stoic Coffee Break and had downloaded one called “Stay Curious: The Stoic Case for Asking Why”. I don’t think I’ve listened to any episodes since the start of our trip, but I really enjoyed this one and it made me realize how important a role curiosity has played on this sailing adventure. Without a burning sense of curiosity, there is no way this trip could have ever happened.

The hobby (or lifestyle for some) of sailing demands a high level of curiosity as there are always far more questions than answers, and more opinions than facts. Every sailor we meet seems to be particularly skilled at some aspect of cruising, whether that’s the technical mastery of sailing, being an excellent navigator or good with electronics, or even some of the non-sailing parts of the experience such as photography, video, writing, research, or building a wide network of cruising contacts. But nobody knows everything. There is much to learn and everybody you meet has an important piece of information to pass onto you…if you ask the right question, which requires a perpetual sense of curiosity and frequently asking “Why?”

Curiosity is an antidote to ego; if you believe you know everything and don’t ever ask any questions then you are trapped in a static position and are unable to learn and grow. Nobody likes a know-it-all, yet everybody likes to be in-the-know. Throughout this trip we have asked so many people so many questions, to try and fill the gaps of our inexperience with the Erie Canal, the ICW, ocean sailing, and navigating the shallows of the Bahamas. And it has helped. We’ve learned so much - some from trial and error - but also many things from the people we have met and often online resources they have directed us to. And people are always happy to share.

Curiosity leads to discovery which leads to joy. Just look at a young child. They never stop asking questions and are fascinated by… everything! They love being amazed. They are curious about the world and when faced with something new, are only too happy to touch it, taste it, flick it, step on it, poke it. As we grow older, our sense of curiosity is beaten down by our yearning for certainty and a lifeless satisfaction in routine. Before long, our adult life becomes a series of checklists and obligations with hardly a moment or available energy left to stop and have a really good look at that flower. Moments of joy become sparse, needled out by irritation, unmet expectations, unrealistic demands.

When is the last time you allowed yourself to be fascinated by something? Say, a pretty rock or shell. Or a leaf. A bug, maybe. Or the peculiar shape of a puddle or an image in the clouds? When did you last stop for a moment to engage with the world as it is, not as you assume it to be, which is often mistaken. Children do this all the time. Curiosity and fascination come naturally as they are not afraid of not knowing something or appearing dumb. They ask why. Theirs is a beginner’s mind. They are not afraid. As adults we don’t ask for nor take advice because we already know everything. Appearing as if we do not is evidence of weakness. We are the Knowers, not the Seekers. Yet, as history has shown, the key to wisdom is not in knowing all the answers; it is in asking better questions. It is only the wisest who know they know nothing.

Having a sailboat has enabled us to nourish our sense of curiosity. In fact, staying afloat on a boat demands it. Why is the engine making a different noise today? Where is that smell coming from? Why is there oil and water in the oil pan? Where did this nut on deck come from? Why is the boat not moving as fast as it should be? What is causing those scrape marks? Why is the bilge pump running more frequently. Why is it getting wet behind that cabinet? Why is this bolt loose? How did that crack open up? Why is the water a different colour over there? Issues on a boat take on special significance when you realize there is only half an inch of fibreglass separating you from fifteen thousand feet of black ocean.

Staying curious allows us to troubleshoot problems before they become emergencies and manage situations before they become disasters (usually). Making assumptions and throttling curiosity can lead to bad decisions. For example, yesterday we were motoring along the ICW, keeping the green buoys on our right and reds on our left. We came to a curve where they were reversed. Knowing this happens in some areas of the ICW, we assumed they had switched so we tried to go between them… and ended up stuck on a sand shoal. We should have stopped the boat and asked why they had been reversed instead of pushing ahead under a wrong assumption. We could have easily avoided this by asking the right questions.

Ana and I have always had a passionate curiosity about the world which is why we have spent so much of our time together traveling and exploring. This trip has enabled us to itch this scratch like never before as the complete freedom on the water has led us to the most remarkable oceans, rivers, estuaries, ponds, and bays where we’ve seen so many magnificent creatures, experienced solitude, relished sunsets, been transfixed by unreal vistas, and explored the underwater worlds of valleys, tunnels, wrecks, coral, swaying sea grass, brilliantly coloured reef fish, turtles, sharks, lobsters, eels, and conch. On land we’ve explored towns, met so many interesting people, visited shops, walked trails, climbed hills, lurked in caves, dropped into blue holes. Every day has been an adventure. Every day has brought something new. Sometimes I feel we’re like drug addicts but addicted to newness instead of a substance.

A life filled with curiosity is a life well lived.

What Happened to the Old Smyrna?

Titusville to New Smyrna – 28 nautical miles sailed, 2 miles in dinghy, 3 kilometres walked, many dolphins, 3 manatees 

My brother must have worn us out last night because I didn’t even open my eyes until 8am this morning, a nautical travesty. We left immediately after prepping the boat and were back on the ICW headed for the town of New Smyrna. It was a pleasant and uneventful ride, although I did spot three manatees and a large number of dolphins.

We dropped anchor south of the town then sat in the cockpit for a long while watching the dolphins surfacing on all sides of our boat, some close, some further away. I don’t know why there were so few dolphins in the Bahamas, but we really missed them and are thrilled to be back on the Daily Dolphin program.

The public dinghy docks in New Smyrna had been destroyed by the recent hurricane so the only one left was a private one at the River Deck restaurant. We tied up the dinghy there, told the hostess we’d be back for a beer and snacks later, then went walking. The town was nice. Many art shops and galleries. A dozen restaurants and bars. A couple of cute coffee shops. Some boutiques. But nothing really stood out for us. I didn’t even find anything interesting enough to photograph so I had Ana take a picture of me drinking a craft beer (Shark Attack, local brew, fabulous) at the bar. I intended to ask the server what happened to the Old Smyrna, but fortunately I spared her the embarrassment of having to respond to a Dad Joke she's probably already heard a hundred times.

In the evening, I attended the Newport Yacht Club tech team meeting (I’m a member, but have been wholly ineffective, predictably absent, and mostly useless during our ocean adventures…) and Ana joined in at the end to discuss some club stuff then we had a short, but great visit with our marina buddies.

It was not the most exciting day, nor was it the least.

A Surprise Visitor in Titusville

Cocoa to Titusville – 18 nautical miles sailed, 2 miles in dinghy, 8 kilometres walked, 3 dolphins, one alligator, 3 manatees

We spent the morning in Cocoa, exploring further, and found even more bars, restaurants, cultural venues, and the largest and most interesting hardware store we’ve ever seen - the S.F. Travis company, founded in 1885. We went in to have a look around and found at least three buildings, one with three stories, jammed full of everything you can imagine from 5-foot-long Godzilla pipe wrenches to 2” thick manilla rope to wooden wagon wheels to every variety of screw, bolt, nut, washer, plumbing fitting, and electrical connecter ever made, in boxes by the thousands. It was half store, half museum, and one of the staff showing us around rolled out a steel safe on casters to expose a piece of the space shuttle floor, lying on the ground with a dusty sign stating “SPACE SHUTTLE FLOOR”. Another staff member told us that staff from NASA, Blue Origin, SpaceX, and the cruise ship companies are in here all the time picking up supplies, which explains the 4-foot-long wrenches, sheets of aluminum, rolls of steel cable, and massive come-alongs. This store has played a significant role in the construction and ongoing maintenance of the Kennedy Space Center and nearby Patrick Air Force base and serves the entire aerospace industry, defense contractors, small businesses, and regular home owners too. I could have spent an entire day here looking around.

In the end, we bought a canvas snap kit, a set of home tools for Stella (she moves to Guelph in the fall), and a camouflaged tie-down strap. As we were checking out I asked the clerk, “What on earth do you guys use for an inventory system to keep track of all this stuff?”

“Well, basically nothing,” she said as she looked at me over her glasses and punched the value of our purchases into a calculator. “Nothing’s written down and the guys sort of just wander around and reorder stuff when stock gets low, or sometimes they don’t if they can’t remember what was there, so just order whatever.”

“So, there’s really no inventory system.”

“Nope. Old school at its best.”

Our wanderings led us to an artists’ collective where I found a bitchin Misfits t-shirt with a giant, scary skull on the front, and Ana got a pretty purse. They had a killer record section with classic band posters, but our record player on SeaLight was on the fritz and wall space in the boat is limited so I had to reluctantly pass. I also found a custom maple table with dazzling electric blue metallic highlights imprinted in the lacquer, plus four equally mesmerizing chairs, but limited floor space on SeaLight again thwarted a purchase.

We stopped at a coffee shop with an outdoor seating area tucked snugly into a decorated alleyway bordered by another squat building with a beauty parlour and a marketing company. I sipped my decaf espresso, Ana enjoyed her latte, and we shared this fantabulous guava cheese lattice pastry as we talked.

“Look, they do Brazilian Blowouts,” Ana said as she pointed to a colourful sign on the door of the beauty place.

“Brazilian Blowout?” I asked.

“Do you know what that is?”

I knew a Brazilian was a gruesome wax patch removal of hair in the female nether regions, but a Brazilian Blowout? I opted to hazard a guess.

“Not sure,” I started, nervously, “but I’m guessing it’s a high-powered cleansing of the pubic region?”

“No, you nitwit - it’s a hairstyle.”

“I thought Brazilians liked to remove hair?”

“Only from certain areas. Here, let me show you a gallery of Brazilian Blowouts.”

Since I had nothing else to do, I watched as she flipped through a gallery of women with straightened hair and I nodded approvingly, though not enthusiastically. Fortunately, our coffees soon ran dry.

By 12:30 we were back on the water and headed to Titusville, a town we’d visited on the way down and quite enjoyed, particularly the marina and the wonderful staff there. Along the way I received a message from my brother Marty. Not only was he in Orlando for a work conference, but he had rented a convertible Mustang and was driving over to visit us tonight! We were both thrilled, as we hadn’t seen Marty for over a year, and hey, we just love surprises.

We arrived in Titusville around three hours later, filled up on fuel and gloriously free, high quality water, and saw not just an alligator cruising the marina, but also a dolphin, and a mother and juvenile manatee who swam right by our boat, and even looked up and winked at me. There is nothing more beautiful than a manatee.

Marty arrived at 7pm and was sporting a nicely trimmed man beard with sprinklings of grey at the chin, adding even more substance to his character, but he was also wearing closed shoes and socks, which caused a shudder to vibrate through my body. I shook it off and hugged my bro. I’d missed him.

Before hopping in the dinghy we walked the concrete boardwalk and lucked out with seeing a juvenile manatee suspended in the water. Marty had never seen one before so I am happy fortune smiled upon us.

Back at SeaLight, hugs were exchanged, sundowners were sipped, dinner was enjoyed, and conversation was non-stop as we caught up on a year’s worth of news, and Marty spotted yet another manatee in the water as we sat in the cockpit. I will say that both of my brothers are so good at making the effort to meet up. They always have been. And we always have a great time, even if it’s brief.

After dinner Ana said, “Marty, I know you have another day of the conference tomorrow, but why don’t you and Kris head into Titusville to have some fun tonight before you have to leave. It’s been so good to see you again!”

With the green light given, I grabbed a bottle of rum and Marty seized the tequila, and the tequila was gone by the time we reached the marina, so we flung the empty bottle at the lurking alligator and popped it right in the snout. We crashed the dinghy into somebody’s boat but managed to jump to the dock as the dinghy floated away, gushing air from a ripped seam. We leaped into the convertible Mustang, cool-like, without using the doors and Marty revved the engine as we had a few slugs of the rum and banged heads to Wild Side, blasting from his Motley Crue cassette on the powerful Bose stereo. I retrieved the hunting knife from my calf holster and gave my brother a quick dry shave, forming up a deadly handlebar mustache, while I put on my best whiplash smile. We gave each other the “Olson nod” then Marty hammered the gas and the rear-wheel drive tires lit up, throwing smoke and squeals as he did a ruthless cop turn, knocking over two garbage cans and a Little Free Library, throwing pop cans, fish guts, and useless self-help books into the air as we laughed and fish-tailed away. Marty blew through three red lights, narrowly avoiding collisions, with his middle finger deployed, and drove through a fence into the prize-winning town gardens where he pulled a dozen 360’s, ripping up daisies, bluebells, roses, and took the stalks out from a bunch of sunflowers, leaving their sunny faces spinning in mid-air, wondering what the hell had just happened. We laughed like maniacs. Marty “Lightning McQueen” Olson then floored the accelerator and we raced at 120 mph down Main Street, guitars blasting and Vince Neil screaming a smashing tale of Dr. Feelgood. We came to a skidding halt in front of the Slippy Slidey Tigercat Space Zone nightclub and strutted in, but not after flinging the empty rum bottle at a passing cop car, knocking down one of the cherries and causing it to skid across the road and into an alligator pond. The club was full of scantily clad chicks and local dudenicks dancing a frenzy to house music. After downing another litre of spirits which we stole from behind the bar after head-butting the skinny bartender, I grabbed an ashtray and flung it into the crowd, skipping it neatly off the noggin of a jockster then shattering a wall of mirrors. The fight was on. It was ten against two but they didn’t have a chance as Marty and I had been well trained from the years of our youth playing Double Dragon in smoky Saskatoon arcades and watching Chuck Norris masterpieces. The crowd parted, leaving the twelve of us in an open circle, already stamped with bloody footprints with the ample flow from the gash on jockster’s head. Marty nodded at the DJ and the fists started swinging as Motorhead’s classic Ace of Spades rang throughout the club. A finely choreographed series of flying side kicks, roundhouse chops, throat punches, crushing solar plexus hammer blows, and a magnificent spinning round kick Marty delivered to the biggest of the brutes left a pile of ten bloodied and broken bodies as the two of us stood atop the pile bowing to the cheers of the awe-inspired bystanders. By then it was getting a bit late, but we still had time to drive out to Cape Canaveral and knock down two of the rocket towers with well-placed explosives Marty had thought to bring along. He dropped me off at the marina, we did a high-five, then I swam back to the boat while he stole a case of beer from the convenience store to keep him hydrated on the way back to Orlando.

It was a great night.

Exploring Cocoa, Florida - TJ Maxx, Noodles, Artful Spaces, and Cheap Pineapples

Cocoa, Florida– 1 mile in dinghy, 8 kilometres walked 

I’d forgotten the noise of North America. The planes and helicopters flying overhead. Wailing sirens of the ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars. Crowds of people talking and shuffling around. The endless streams of traffic and vehicle sounds of roaring engines, amplified music, honking horns. I didn’t realize until today that an umbrella of quiet rests over the Bahamas and that we had become accustomed to it.

Besides the racket, it was fun being back in the US. We had dinghy'd east over to the busy commercial area of Merritt Island which had dozens if not hundreds of stores. Ana's incredible retail radar pinged off the nearest TJ Maxx and she floated into the store on a cushion of joy and took her time browsing through the retail treasures therein. I even looked around for a few minutes and found a nice pot of blueberry jam for a mere $4.99. While Ana luxuriated amongst the leather belts, designer purses, plastic housewares, kitchen knick-knacks, and corn rows of discounted clothing, I went to the Publix supermarket around the corner to see what I could find and returned a while later with two bags, loaded with their best two-for-one deals for a mere twenty bucks.

It’s funny how the brain adjusts rapidly to one’s surroundings. During the trip to Florida, groceries became progressively more expensive to the point of it becoming painful to enter a grocery store in Florida. After spending three months sifting through pricey merchandise in Bahamian grocery stores, provisioning in Florida took on an aura of great value particularly when we found an Aldi grocery store and their scandalously low prices.

After walking across many hot pavements and asphalt surfaces made gooey by the 29-degree heat, carrying our load of goodies, we treated ourselves to lunch at Olive Garden to celebrate our return to the continent. We were aghast to find no hamburgers, conch fritters, or grouper fingers on the menu, so had to settle for unlimited garden salad and hot breadsticks, fettuccine alfredo, and spaghetti and meatballs. We resembled a couple of fat meatballs as we wobbled out of there, having added a take-out tray of fettuccine (midnight snack for later) to our stack of groceries for an additional three bucks.

Back at the boat, we quickly packed away the provisions, then dinghy’d over to the other side of the river to explore the smaller town of Cocoa Village, intrigued by the name and inspired by the other boaters we’d met who loved it.

Well, Cocoa Village is a beautiful little town, an artful diamond in the commercial rough, an artists’ retreat, with colourful and joyful spaces, diversity, shaded pathways, a classic theatre, many small cafes and bars, a French bakery, a busy children’s park, a beach volleyball court, a splash pad, and a gorgeous rotunda performance space, ringed by a brick-tiled covered walkway. Sadly, most of the businesses were closed on a Monday, but during our ride back to the boat we discussed staying another half day to more fully experience this lovely town.

Since our digestive systems were still diligently processing the pasta noodles consumed for lunch, there was no need to make dinner so we had a long sundowner in the cockpit, made a couple of phone calls, and enjoyed the light show from the tiny storm cell passing overhead, throwing lightning bolts and a bit of rain.