Graceful turtle RIP

Lazy jazz wafts through the thick humid air, the immense bearded lady in her stained apron sits in front of me, frowning at her Blackberry. Beads of sweat trickle down her chins into the orange t-shirt that stretches beyond it’s capabilities, around her dense shining skin. She is on a break from the steaming kitchen, like me she is basking in what little breeze teases as it flutters by.

I’m at the Lazy Turtle, a French run pizzeria on the tiny island of Carricou. I’m the only one here, using the free and fast Internet. Pastel painted wooden chairs are lined up in rows at the empty tables, awaiting this evening’s crowd of cruisers and holiday makers. Fresh coconuts are on offer - the seller's sharp machete slicing through the hard shell, spilling the fresh, sweet juice and handing the ready made cup to eager hands and lips. The season has begun, the hurricanes are hopefully all gone and the tourists are coming back.

Today is our last day in this bay. There are many ‘lasts’ lately, but this lifestyle has taught me to never say never. We might be back, we might not leave. Something might need fixing on the boat; we might be invited to another social event. Life is fluid.

Life is relaxed. The laid back beats are backed by the surf, lapping the beach below me. A crowd of divers has just arrived next door, eager to head off to the reefs, alive with coral and multi coloured fish.

The islands are paradise.

But there is another side, as with everything. Even paradise has an ugly underbelly.

As much as we cruisers pass through these places with rich cultures and customs, there are things that happen that we find difficult to accept. Hard to witness. Things that have happened for centuries that rub us with the coarse sand of cultural difference. Of taboo. Our righteous backbone stands straight up and urges us to do something.

Many areas in the islands have been designated as marine reserves, protecting the wildlife that is in danger of extinction; that is so precious to those of us who have not grown up with this exotic flora and fauna at our fingertips.

However, not everyone sees these animals as sacred, precious, as cows in India.

Once when I was living in Ghana I showed my local friends a photo I’d taken in Houston Texas, of an advert for taking photos of your pet with Santa Claus. This concept was absurd, frivolous, bizarre. It was cultural. Dogs and cats are not considered members of the family in Ghana. In some areas, cats are a savoured delicacy. They are food.

It’s with this understanding that we try to accept what we saw the other day on a stroll through town.

The other side of paradise is that conservationism is not universal. Turtles to some are food.

And we try to compute this, when remembering our days of swimming alongside these gentle, valiant creatures in the Tobago Cays, marveling at their grace and swiftness in the water.

We try to view the islands with a sense of balance. Of good and bad, light and darkness. We walk on, but our knees are a bit weak. Something tugs at us, something feels not right with the universe. There are so many questions, but no good answers.

Some days are harder than others to face.

Water water everywhere...

  What kind of person would complain about temporary bowel problems when they are sitting in paradise? Crystal clear waters, swimming pool blue, navy patches in the distance, fluffy clouds in the robin’s egg blue sky beyond. Turtles bob up and down past the boat, along with elegant sting rays, smoothly cutting through the water with their black slick cape wings.

 Well yesterday was a write off. There I lay, in a wooden cabin, turquoise bedsheets no substitute for what beckoned through the cabin window. Watching old episodes of House at noon as the sun swapped with tiny rain squalls through the hatch above my head.

I couldn’t move more than a few feet from the head (toilet).

Last night, as JW and I both leapt up and headed to a head each, we figured we better deduce the cause of our suffering.

Boat life involves a lot of conservation and compromise. One of the taken for granted amenities is water. Not the endless ocean around us, but the safe potable kind.

A few bays ago, (well bays and days ago) in a place aptly called Saline Bay, we found a cheap source of water to fill our jugs. Precisely it was free. An abandoned dock had a hose and water pressure. We couldn’t believe our luck. We hauled all our 20 and 25 litre jugs back and forth a few times and replenished our onboard tank.

But then we realised that it was somewhat contaminated. It tasted a bit salty. We decided to use it only for washing bodies, clothes, dishes.

And then days went by, and in the Tobago Cays, an uninhabited paradise that is also a nature reserve, where you must store your rubbish bags onboard and really dig into your stored foods (had you provisioned properly), we forgot the golden water rule.

I was making tea, coffee, boiling noodles and potatoes all in the contaminated water.

And then it all caught up to me. And then JW.

So a day of cream crackers, flat coke, gingerale, teaspoons of honey, plain yogurt (all suggestions courtesy of Google results), and we’re both up and ready once more.

Ready to acknowledge both how fragile we are as humans, and how lucky we are as individuals. Lucky to be experiencing a little patch of this earth that has kept it’s beauty intact. Where flounder fish with both eyes on one side of their bodies, line the white sand, a testament to evolution, and iguanas prowl the little islands, their armour reminiscent of prehistoric ages.

 Where the children today have decided to make floating rafts on the beach with only natural materials, and there is not a television or video game in sight or mind.

I am off to witness turtles with their kaleidoscope shells, snacking on bits of seagrass on the shallow seabed and then gliding swiftly up for air, unbothered by the clunky goggled swimmers around them. 

 I will handwash the laundry and dump our disturbingly accumulating garbage bags another day, in another place.

And I will respect the water in all it’s forms and acknowledge what it does for us every day.

Water water - learning how to conserve

We’ve been away from shore power and a water supply for three days. When we explained to some seasoned cruisers that we’ve used over 120 litres of fresh water in this time, they were horrified. They explained they use 400 litres in more than a month.

One of the many lessons we’re learning is how to conserve. To be conscious of exactly what we consume and just how precious and rare both power and water really are.

And we really thought we were ‘being good’. We have been showering off the back of the boat, first rinsing and lathering up with salt water, then rinsing off with the fresh water. I’ve been only washing dishes once a day and we’ve been washing just the clothes we wore the day before, each morning. This was apparently a big mistake. In hindsight, I’m sure that we’ve gone through 20 litres of water for each shower and another 20 for each clothes wash. Daily. At this rate, we’d never be able to stay away from shore, or be dependent on amenities on land for more than a couple weeks. Though we have two 400 litre tanks aboard Shiloh, and that seems like a lot, we will have to completely curtail our water usage.

It is wonderful to meet people who have been living aboard for years. I sometimes wish I could take out a pad and pen to capture all their knowledge. Last night, standing around with rum punches in hand, we got the insiders’ scoop about the importance of wind generators, about rigging up a tarp to catch rain water, and the need for large jerry cans, to gather water with the dinghy to avoid heading into a marina with the boat.

We also found out why all the cruisers make use of onshore laundry facilities – it doesn’t deplete your water supply!

It really brings to light just how many hundreds of litres of water we spill, waste, pour away every day on land!! It seems almost obscene from this perspective.

Water is a scarce commodity when at sea – I now truly understand the saying, “there’s water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.”