If you have been following our progress on Yellow Brick Tracker you may have noticed a slight turn to the right every evening between 6-8pm in our strange world of boat time (which we keep resetting every few days to avoid becoming jet lagged on arrival to St Lucia - a bizarre concept when there have most definitely been no jets involved in our journey, but it's possible). We call this heading north to dinner and it happens when whoever is in the galley cooking - usually me or Andrew - yells out in frustration to whoever is on the helm - usually Josh - to please keep the bloody boat steady. With the language varying in colour depending on the severity of the rocking. So we veer off track and away from the wind all in the interests of keeping cook alive and happy. It's no mean feat producing a meal in the galley, where the gymbolled (gimballed? we have taken bets on the spelling of that one) stove swings wildly to and fro, a terrifying sight when it's carrying a huge, full pot of boiling curry... then there is the challenge of keeping all the necessary ingredients and implements on the bench, using legs, elbows and any other spare body parts to jam them into place and prevent them from flying across the saloon. Knowing which spots will hold, say, a can of beer safely and which will send it sloshing into the air. We did lose a bowl of guacomole onto the sofa (don't worry Shane, it didn't stain) and managed to tip boiling water all over the floor one night, but there have been no serious injuries. Although Andrew and myself do have by far the most impressive collection of bruises...coincidence? I think not.
We have exceeded ourselves though and come a long way from the first two days, when we survived on six pizzas judiciously bought by our skipper before leaving dock. It was quite bizarre to eat cold takeaway pizza out of a box 100 miles out to sea! In recent days our dinners have included steak with mash and a watercress, apple and zucchini salad; pasta primavera; and beef rendang curry. Tonight we are having roast pork to celebrate reaching the halfway mark in the wee hours of this morning. Snack time has been no less eventful, as the snacks we picked up in Las Palmas have not all proved equal. Last night we cracked open a bag of 'Crispitos', which were definitely not crispy, instead tasting exactly like those little foam balls used to package fragile deliveries. (Yes, two of us admitted to having eaten those foam balls in the past, so it was an informed comparison... I won't name names.) So it was back down to the snack cupboard for another try, this time a bag of pork scratchings purchased in honour of our absent captain - but sadly not up to his high standards of quality. The second one I pulled out of the bag was full of black bristles, as if some bitter factory worker had tipped his beard trimmings onto the production line. GROSS. Tell you what, the Spanish may excel themselves in all things sausagey, but the snacks are a bit hit and miss. Suffice to say it was a slightly depressing happy hour- luckily the next one is never too far away. Now, where's my gin and tonic?
- Maddy from SY Sumatra
P.S. the most exciting thing that happened yesterday was that we saw a bird. News enough in itself out here in this endless ocean, but this one entertained us all by spending 20 minutes flying around and around the boat trying to land somewhere. Poor thing, I think he was tired. Anyway, gives you an idea of how thrilling our days have been... huzzah! Onwards to paradise!