Kind of a funny story to cheer us up after being dumped off the boat. We were at a tennis lesson with young Fauntleroy and morosely drinking a large beer. An older man, dashing kind of, walks up and says, I can't help but hear you are from America. I say something like hmm....(it is hard to be friendly off the water) but Thomas perks up and starts chatting and it seems this man is Irish living in England. So we chat and I finally say what my mother says to all Irish she meets: We are direct descendants of the Heavy weight champion of the world (in 1910 or something like that) Gentleman Jim Corbett-an Irishman. To which this man responds: do you know who he beat for the title? I say: John L. Sullivan. He says, I am Frank Sullivan-direct descendant of the vanquished. This was funny, even in my condition. Especially because he was holding the tiniest beer and I was holding something resembling a pig trough. We both saw the symmetry to this. Winner gets the big cup.
Not sure I am coming home. Too far from my boat. (Must swab.)
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Das Boot
Oh people...you do not know how sad we are to be off this boat! To give you an idea...Frederick was so fragile he not only cried the day we left, but the next day as well. To get from the boat to Portugal (where we now are, nursing our wounds) took a Turkish taxi for 2.5 hours on terrible curving road at high speeds, past a HUGe car accident...tranfers from Dalaman to Istanbul, then Zurich, drive to Baar, then sleep, then wake up, drive back to air port, fly to Lisbon then drive two hours here. And it was all worth it. Four lousy days.
Perhaps I should begin at the beginning...the wehlies have done this many times but always at times we were not here. This time they changed it so we could come. Thomas was not sure if F would like it..so he signed up for only a few days. (Bad move)
We flew on Turkish air to Izmir...and are met at the airport by the captain. The captain is something out of central casting....a hunky, sunburnt Dutchman.. Born in August (we arrived on his birthday)...huge hands, tiny ankles, swears easily and convincingly, looks grumpy until the wind blows, then he looks like a little kid in front of a birthday cake. Reminded me so much of CAB that I virtually tried to hold his hand. He didn't seem to mind. I think he is used to people losing their mind over him and this boat. It is a 100 foot sailboat, a 12 million Euro number that has a retractable keel so you can get into shallow little amazing coves with Greek ruins to wander in after your swim. It is too much. Plus there is this cook on board that is so good it is crazy. Produces dishes-scallops, lamb, souffle, all in a tiny galley. He is perhaps the shyest man I have ever met, so of course I followed him around, demanding he be my friend. Thomas said I scared him.
So we get on, litle canapes of salmon and caviar and champagne and cake for the captain's birthday. Then he says (because it is late afternoon) lets go to Samos. And we go. Sails are enormous, crew is rushing around, and we haul ass outta there. It makes you want to be a pirate. God why not?! who needs land? F and thomas and I are beside ourselves....I tell the captain that this sensation of not having to do anything on a sail boat is new to me. He tells me: enjoy.
So we sail for perhaps an hour, arrive at Samos where there is a tiny white church and a tiny village and Turquoise waters and after a swim, Alex (Dorothea's husband) tells me to ask the Captain about Somali pirates. It seems he takes this from the Med to the Seychelles and he has to contend with Somalia. So he gets a bunch of guns, kicks any women crew off the ship, asks if anyone objects to perhaps shooting at some pirates, and goes. He tells us, in a tone more like a person who is dealing with the mildest of annoyances..that he sees the boat approach filled with pirates who want to kidnap him and demand a ransom, and he has put barbed wire on the sides of the boat, and they point-i am not making this up-bazookas at him...but he says: Dese Fukers dont wan to hurt de boat...I am not fraid of dese people....so we poin rifles at Dem and, they follow me for tree hours. Such a pain in the ass... Sorry, captain, I say..you had bazookas pointed at you? yea.... Told the crew if the pirates should shoot, they should "shoot and kep shooting". The owner is some importer of garden furniture (yes, people....get going...forget banking) who wants none of this..but is willing to close his eyes and have Lloyds deal with it. So by now Thomas and I have both fallen in love with him and are counting on our fingers to 12 million to see how much leverage will get us to figthing pirates while eating caviar.
Our crew is a beautiful Turkish woman who brings us food and drink any time of day; two Turkish men who help sail, and Ralph the cook. The 2 Turkish men help sail, but they also clean, serve, and perhaps most endearing of all..life guard. Mustafa takes a broom when we are anchored and swimming and wanders around the boat making sure all are above water. But it is all very casual so as not to embarrass us.
When we want, we are driven to shore by the little motor boat and go to unreal Greek ruins. It is really hot, but it is so amazing, no one cares. Then back to the heaven of the boat and our incredibly busy important lives.
The last night (for us) we go ashore with the crew..(normally they eat alone in their part of the boat.) And this was perhaps the most romantic night of all time. Lights of the town (daca) as we drink champagne on board, then go to the retaurant by the water and the captain tells us stories...like how his one child was almost born on a ship, and his wife left him very soon after that, having lost all interest in sailing. At first they split custody: two weeks each. There are side boards on the boat, so the baby (baby) is loose crawling around on the boat...with, as he explains, deck hands looking after him, then into port, again with nanny deckhands and he says it all worked perfectly until school started age 6. So damn cute. And we agree that school is such a problem. ruins everything.
We take F home early, and Dorothea, Alex and crew stay out until a respectable 3 am and in the moring we are off. But it is horrible. We get to beloved, wonderful Portugal and it is now what would have been my father's 75 birthday, and when i was a kid, he and I went out on the Bay to see boats like these when they came to SF for the Big boat series, and I order something in a restaurant and it comes, and I burst into tears. so sad. the worst end of summer camp blues ever.
Good news is, is seems to be good for the ol tennis and golf....am hitting the crap out of the ball. Must be the hunger.
Perhaps I should begin at the beginning...the wehlies have done this many times but always at times we were not here. This time they changed it so we could come. Thomas was not sure if F would like it..so he signed up for only a few days. (Bad move)
We flew on Turkish air to Izmir...and are met at the airport by the captain. The captain is something out of central casting....a hunky, sunburnt Dutchman.. Born in August (we arrived on his birthday)...huge hands, tiny ankles, swears easily and convincingly, looks grumpy until the wind blows, then he looks like a little kid in front of a birthday cake. Reminded me so much of CAB that I virtually tried to hold his hand. He didn't seem to mind. I think he is used to people losing their mind over him and this boat. It is a 100 foot sailboat, a 12 million Euro number that has a retractable keel so you can get into shallow little amazing coves with Greek ruins to wander in after your swim. It is too much. Plus there is this cook on board that is so good it is crazy. Produces dishes-scallops, lamb, souffle, all in a tiny galley. He is perhaps the shyest man I have ever met, so of course I followed him around, demanding he be my friend. Thomas said I scared him.
So we get on, litle canapes of salmon and caviar and champagne and cake for the captain's birthday. Then he says (because it is late afternoon) lets go to Samos. And we go. Sails are enormous, crew is rushing around, and we haul ass outta there. It makes you want to be a pirate. God why not?! who needs land? F and thomas and I are beside ourselves....I tell the captain that this sensation of not having to do anything on a sail boat is new to me. He tells me: enjoy.
So we sail for perhaps an hour, arrive at Samos where there is a tiny white church and a tiny village and Turquoise waters and after a swim, Alex (Dorothea's husband) tells me to ask the Captain about Somali pirates. It seems he takes this from the Med to the Seychelles and he has to contend with Somalia. So he gets a bunch of guns, kicks any women crew off the ship, asks if anyone objects to perhaps shooting at some pirates, and goes. He tells us, in a tone more like a person who is dealing with the mildest of annoyances..that he sees the boat approach filled with pirates who want to kidnap him and demand a ransom, and he has put barbed wire on the sides of the boat, and they point-i am not making this up-bazookas at him...but he says: Dese Fukers dont wan to hurt de boat...I am not fraid of dese people....so we poin rifles at Dem and, they follow me for tree hours. Such a pain in the ass... Sorry, captain, I say..you had bazookas pointed at you? yea.... Told the crew if the pirates should shoot, they should "shoot and kep shooting". The owner is some importer of garden furniture (yes, people....get going...forget banking) who wants none of this..but is willing to close his eyes and have Lloyds deal with it. So by now Thomas and I have both fallen in love with him and are counting on our fingers to 12 million to see how much leverage will get us to figthing pirates while eating caviar.
Our crew is a beautiful Turkish woman who brings us food and drink any time of day; two Turkish men who help sail, and Ralph the cook. The 2 Turkish men help sail, but they also clean, serve, and perhaps most endearing of all..life guard. Mustafa takes a broom when we are anchored and swimming and wanders around the boat making sure all are above water. But it is all very casual so as not to embarrass us.
When we want, we are driven to shore by the little motor boat and go to unreal Greek ruins. It is really hot, but it is so amazing, no one cares. Then back to the heaven of the boat and our incredibly busy important lives.
The last night (for us) we go ashore with the crew..(normally they eat alone in their part of the boat.) And this was perhaps the most romantic night of all time. Lights of the town (daca) as we drink champagne on board, then go to the retaurant by the water and the captain tells us stories...like how his one child was almost born on a ship, and his wife left him very soon after that, having lost all interest in sailing. At first they split custody: two weeks each. There are side boards on the boat, so the baby (baby) is loose crawling around on the boat...with, as he explains, deck hands looking after him, then into port, again with nanny deckhands and he says it all worked perfectly until school started age 6. So damn cute. And we agree that school is such a problem. ruins everything.
We take F home early, and Dorothea, Alex and crew stay out until a respectable 3 am and in the moring we are off. But it is horrible. We get to beloved, wonderful Portugal and it is now what would have been my father's 75 birthday, and when i was a kid, he and I went out on the Bay to see boats like these when they came to SF for the Big boat series, and I order something in a restaurant and it comes, and I burst into tears. so sad. the worst end of summer camp blues ever.
Good news is, is seems to be good for the ol tennis and golf....am hitting the crap out of the ball. Must be the hunger.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Here I am!
Sorry people....where were we? Well tomorrow we fly to Turkey and sail around the Mediterranean for five days viewing ruins and having a swim. I will be without computer, so you will have to wait for details. There are apparently five crew..including a German cook and as my brother in law says, a large Turk whose job is everything. I am going to try to get him in my Christmas card.
We had such a long stay in Lech, it feels really odd to be down here at sea level. We are flirting with depression over it.
I never wrote about the party I "gave" for Katia...at her house of course. In short, I tried to find a private chef to make her an inside joke cheese soufflé and alas these do not exist there. But, we wandered in one night and standing before me was a gay, fabulous with big F friend of theirs..just moved back from America and London to...Zug! yes, Elmar's neighbor. I cannot emphasize how bizarre that is....This guy, from Zug. Apparently, he finally told his parents about being gay and they were like all farming types: pretty blasé about sex.... They see plenty of gay cows, but I will not go into details here..as this is a family blog. So he is back, and yes social life is sloooower than NYC where he says in four years he stayed home: once.
He can count the number of gay lech people on his hands. Anyway, I pounced when I saw him salting without asking katia's soup. K told me he could cook. Soufflé? I asked. Sure he said. So for a few bottles of champagne, he did it. Then I imported cointreu (sp?)from friends (Sarah and Israel) visiting from France. And avocados. Presto: first course tequilla, second course, who cares.
My chef (Gerald-not to be confused with Gerold) was a wreck at 5 p.m. when we arrived to chop avocados...so shots all around just to steady the nerves. Then Gerald and I proceeded to congratulate ourselves on handling the stress so well, while Katia's sister, (Dagmar), and Sarah and Israel did all the work. Long story short I was blotto..snorting things out of my nose...water...on people I did not really know....throwing things at Gerold's head, dipping flowers into my drink and sucking it...oh the list is long and horrible. Katia was calling me Margarite all night. Apparently. But I alone never heard. Left with husband and child at 1 30 a.m.
Good news is I learned the expression for Top form. As in ellie was...last night.
Back Sunday night tan and fat. Portugal on Monday. XO
We had such a long stay in Lech, it feels really odd to be down here at sea level. We are flirting with depression over it.
I never wrote about the party I "gave" for Katia...at her house of course. In short, I tried to find a private chef to make her an inside joke cheese soufflé and alas these do not exist there. But, we wandered in one night and standing before me was a gay, fabulous with big F friend of theirs..just moved back from America and London to...Zug! yes, Elmar's neighbor. I cannot emphasize how bizarre that is....This guy, from Zug. Apparently, he finally told his parents about being gay and they were like all farming types: pretty blasé about sex.... They see plenty of gay cows, but I will not go into details here..as this is a family blog. So he is back, and yes social life is sloooower than NYC where he says in four years he stayed home: once.
He can count the number of gay lech people on his hands. Anyway, I pounced when I saw him salting without asking katia's soup. K told me he could cook. Soufflé? I asked. Sure he said. So for a few bottles of champagne, he did it. Then I imported cointreu (sp?)from friends (Sarah and Israel) visiting from France. And avocados. Presto: first course tequilla, second course, who cares.
My chef (Gerald-not to be confused with Gerold) was a wreck at 5 p.m. when we arrived to chop avocados...so shots all around just to steady the nerves. Then Gerald and I proceeded to congratulate ourselves on handling the stress so well, while Katia's sister, (Dagmar), and Sarah and Israel did all the work. Long story short I was blotto..snorting things out of my nose...water...on people I did not really know....throwing things at Gerold's head, dipping flowers into my drink and sucking it...oh the list is long and horrible. Katia was calling me Margarite all night. Apparently. But I alone never heard. Left with husband and child at 1 30 a.m.
Good news is I learned the expression for Top form. As in ellie was...last night.
Back Sunday night tan and fat. Portugal on Monday. XO
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