What is this delicious piece of gorgeousness? A blocked toilet hose? I don’t know about you, but this puts me in mind of arterial plaques and makes me want to treat my circulatory system with gentle kindness.
More importantly, does this mean that things are afoot aboard the Good Ship Papillon? Indeed it does! Erik is tearing through our to-do list like a lion taking down a zebra. The girls and I are waiting out the worst of the destruction from afar. If all goes well, the four of us will move back into our floating home in another month, and this blog will emerge from hibernation.… Read More
“Oh, ho!” you say, sipping your morning coffee. “Amy has finally written something new. That slacker. Took long enough.”
And you’re right. My record has been more than a little spotty this past year. And I owe you, my loyal readers, a short explanation.
Let’s face it: this is, at heart, a family travel blog. And while the family part remains intact, the travel aspect has ground to a halt. Not forever, but for now.
The other issue I face is that we currently live in a teeny-tiny community. And while I could record many (many, many) funny stories about living here, I wouldn’t feel very good about it.… Read More
Ahh, peaceful Baie Maa. A lovely little bay just north of Noumea, and a perfect place to stop when everything is going to hell around you. Soak in this lovely photo of the girls, because it took some major excitement to get to that point.
It was a misty moisty morning when we pulled out of Port Moselle for the last time. As we filled the diesel tanks at the nearby fuel dock, the winds howled louder and the rain came harder. I shielded the diesel inlet while Erik filled, trying desperately to avoid taking on a tankful of water, and we exchanged a grim look.… Read More
It was tough to choose the first photo for this post. On the one hand, most of our time in Noumea looked like this:
|Not a holiday.
But on the other, returning to Noumea felt strangely like going home. Exciting, but bittersweet. The girls and I lived there for almost a year. In that time they went to school, we made friends, and began to integrate ourselves into the community. The moment we landed, the girls wanted to visit everywhere and see everyone – our favourite bakery, their old schools, the best spot on the beach. And, of course, their friends.
We couldn’t walk down the street without bumping into an old friend.… Read More
I spent the day confirming plane tickets and stuffing underwear into a bag. Why? Because it is time, people. Time to return to Papillon. Our good old Papioni-pepperoni.
Not permanently. No, that would be too much to ask. Erik is still firmly in the grip of his work addiction, so we’ll have to ride out the land life for a few months longer. However, the good people of Nouvelle-Calédonie are ready to be rid of our fine vessel, so it is time to jump aboard and sail the boat to Brisbane. Read More
But what kind of a boat are we returning to?…
Hello, everyone! Sorry for the prolonged absence. My lungs and I had a serious disagreement. They decided they would be happier outside my body, and attempted to cough their way to freedom. I was of the firm opinion that we would both be better off if they stayed inside my chest. That is just the kind of hard-line organ traditionalist that I am. Eventually they saw things my way, but it took three weeks and a lot of coaxing.
By Sunday, I was well enough for an outing. Erik saw his chance. He has been determined to try out the sailing dinghies we found, and mounted a campaign of persuasion.… Read More
“Do you feel like checking out some sailing dinghies this weekend?” asked Erik. Read More
“Sure,” I said. “Sounds fun.”
“Great. They’re in an old container down at the dock; someone abandoned them years ago.”
I looked up. “Abandoned” is usually a deadly adjective for a boat.
“It’s all supposed to be in pretty bad shape.” he continued. “The sails are probably going to be full of rat poop, and who knows if anything will still float.”
“Boy, Erik, why didn’t you lead with that? You know I can’t resist a rusty old container full of broken boat parts.”
“And rat poop,” he added.…
When I was eleven years old, a friend invited me up to her cottage one summer weekend. We had a great time – swimming in the lake, riding around in her dad´s motorboat, running around in the sunshine. And fishing. I´d never been fishing before, but I understood the basics: add worm to hook, drop in water, wait for bite then reel in. Pretty easy.
So my friend and I took our bait and our rods and plonked ourselves down at the end of the dock. The wooden boards were pleasantly warm beneath us. We dangled our feet over the edge, wormed up and threw in our lines.… Read More
As you know, the fine crew of Papillon is currently living ashore. Yes, we’re still firmly tropical on a tiny island in Papua New Guinea, but still. We are temporarily parted from our beloved yawl – and this on our fourth anniversary aboard. Sniffles all around.
For the duration of our sabbatical-from-our-sabbatical, the blog will not be syndicated on SAILfeed. This makes sense, because we are not sailing. So, dear SAILfeed readers, you will have to bookmark the original Sailing Papillon if you would like to keep up with our adventures. Otherwise, I’ll be back on SAILfeed circa April with cruising stories galore.… Read More
Imagine a desert island. Ocean breezes blowing, palm trees swaying, perhaps some decorative coconuts strewn about the place. Just you, your beach chair, the waves lapping your toes, and the gentle clink of plastic bottles washing up on shore.
Not quite what you pictured? After four years aboard, I am sorry to say that this is reality. Every windward beach has plastic. Unless someone works every day to clean it, flip flops and plastic bottles are the order of the day. Everywhere. And I am sick of it. Read More
The girls and I went on a beach walk with some on their friends last week.…