tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17685329563615884062024-03-29T14:30:03.920+11:00s/v Field TripMarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05058999777997521499noreply@blogger.comBlogger368125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-23334370361326545492021-11-09T03:20:00.004+11:002021-11-09T03:20:46.914+11:00Detours and Delays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1c1PbBgTq9E-8HpDLbv2Ht3T1DKISQGttg3SjzZoowi8nf70iJx09leypycC-EIUVLHqPZsxWP7atJxDJZBrzSggYncW1jFCQ7D3kURtnOjmoYmql_k06XN42raqPc1yYgLUcVhMMEsIKx_B3XOp4WW03qyRaXsHEov9zKLDEdJXoyVHCj7PRctbZJA=s750" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="750" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1c1PbBgTq9E-8HpDLbv2Ht3T1DKISQGttg3SjzZoowi8nf70iJx09leypycC-EIUVLHqPZsxWP7atJxDJZBrzSggYncW1jFCQ7D3kURtnOjmoYmql_k06XN42raqPc1yYgLUcVhMMEsIKx_B3XOp4WW03qyRaXsHEov9zKLDEdJXoyVHCj7PRctbZJA=w640-h488" width="640" /></a></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><b>"Are you guys still alive??"</b> </h3><p></p><p>The comment popped up on our YouTube channel and prompted me to look at my blog. <i>When was my last blog post? *GASP* <a href="http://svfieldtrip.blogspot.com/2020/07/conquering-mount-tapyas.html">Philippines</a>? July 2020? </i></p><p>Yep. I've got no excuses. It's been over a year since I last sat down to document our latest happenings, and oh, how many happenings have happened since then. I could not begin filling you in on all of that, but I think that a brief catch-up, in this case, is important. </p><p>After being caught in the Philippines for 9 months due to Covid-19 travel bans, Quickly, we made some phone calls, filled out all the right paperwork, contacted all the officials, and the proverbial ball which had been cemented in place slowly began to start moving.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA4lXpz1Rmw454l5tMQnhqoKvTtzN8-qSj8QampR64q9RlHdAXAx_tEAwUEhghqEUYIAuBUOwrReh11TAIWc5XBZ4uxD7Ae0ZMFcQRe5jVhIegVxoYFb9U9UUpWfNVk7mdnC1prMbdmmSGJ5kynigm3_SRwxHxoQXeQSw6sX9eWtf0c80RACf89Mssew=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA4lXpz1Rmw454l5tMQnhqoKvTtzN8-qSj8QampR64q9RlHdAXAx_tEAwUEhghqEUYIAuBUOwrReh11TAIWc5XBZ4uxD7Ae0ZMFcQRe5jVhIegVxoYFb9U9UUpWfNVk7mdnC1prMbdmmSGJ5kynigm3_SRwxHxoQXeQSw6sX9eWtf0c80RACf89Mssew=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prepping the sails<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>This all happened about 3 weeks before Christmas 2019. Elizabeth had been doing remote learning through the <a href="http://dalat.org">international high school </a>in Penang, Malaysia, where we had planned to go before the lockdowns started, but they would stop providing remote classes in January. The timing to get to Malaysia could not have been more perfect. However, it wasn't that easy. With each forward movement, we'd be met with tough decisions. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiX82YCLLoZLeJlyoHvJR1Mo9vb3QOI2GBAz651r9qH3B0P47kA18JwLS2Mwm5hFk0bu8lm6XnFQTSMvi7tTc6waMHgp4X-u0V2UOP5rI08cCV_myJFDP5sgJOnTkbycipNUix3INYMEGwLZR-g5vEMhCYyZ1VfY3_ZstXuUvyubR54ePqKo382DxDSzA=w640-h480" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elizabeth getting in one last pet with our favorite dock dog</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p></p><p>First, they were saying we could fly into Malaysia, but would be required to do two weeks of quarantine. This posed two problems. We'd have to pay the premium price for fourteen days in a hotel which would cost USD $6,000+ for our family of four. Also, our boat would have to stay in the Philippines. There was really no available safe place to store it, and we had no guarantee of when we'd be able to come back and get it. That meant we'd not only pay for quarantine housing and abandon our boat, but also would have to move into an apartment. </p><p>This initial information started a pattern. We'd come up with a proposed option, think about the pros and cons, decide what we would need for that option to work, and ask God to make it possible if that was His will. This time, we realized that flying into Malaysia wasn't really going to work. We would have to sail there. <i>Lord, thank you for opening this door. We don't want to leave our boat. It just doesn't feel right. We need to be able to sail to Malaysia.</i></p><p>Amazingly, our friend Matt on <span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://www.svperry.com">SV Perry</a></span> emailed us a hot tip within moments of this prayer - he'd read online that sailors were being allowed to check into Malaysia at one particular <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pangkormarina/">port of entry</a>! Mark sent a quick email to James, the marina manager there, to see if he could help us get in. Once he explained the situation to us, we had more decisions to make. Yes, he could get us in, but we would not be allowed to quarantine on board. One other boat who had been granted that permission had snuck to shore and broken the quarantine prematurely without permission. The officials were no longer letting people stay on board. <i>Okay, Lord, we know you will provide. If we need to pay for quarantine facilities, we will have the money. If we can stay aboard, you will somehow change the officials' minds about refusing sailors to quarantine on board. We would love to stay in our home for those two weeks, but You just lead the way.</i></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8QQhnd-3xsmecB9zHYuR_u1bTeP95FiD-TkxUhK1kpw-Jeqm7Qbm5hRCC1qbn63iLBNVYRJpuRBeAqwKqYd1TqHwJqnSUAXeGfIoUzMMtblXGXwgf773_9RBk9yNqO6ZLGHc6CuLYDCQAOPFgkMStKI7gSrpniCOlmCYHgqSJ0QsZ00F5LzPKJYg1iw=s2048" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8QQhnd-3xsmecB9zHYuR_u1bTeP95FiD-TkxUhK1kpw-Jeqm7Qbm5hRCC1qbn63iLBNVYRJpuRBeAqwKqYd1TqHwJqnSUAXeGfIoUzMMtblXGXwgf773_9RBk9yNqO6ZLGHc6CuLYDCQAOPFgkMStKI7gSrpniCOlmCYHgqSJ0QsZ00F5LzPKJYg1iw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daily temperature checks</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>The very next day, James sent us an update. He had figured out a compromise with the officials that would convince them of compliance and allow sailors to quarantine on their own boats. Every day, his marina crew would come out to the boat and take photos of us on board and our dinghy would never be allowed to be lowered from our boat. Again, a way had been made where there seemed to be no way.</p><p>By this time it was a week before Christmas. It all happened so fast! Plans for Christmas parties with our dear Filipino friends had to be canceled as we rushed to get our rapid tests, get the boat provisioned, and get ready to set sail. </p><p>In order to check out of the Philippines, we sailed a few days to Puerto Princesa. The customs officers were still ironing out the details of all the Covid rules and regulations, not many foreign people had sailed through there lately. We had our recent rapid test results to show them, but they said they needed their own test results which would require a three-day wait time. In three days, the offices would all be closed for the holidays! More prayers were prayed there in the empty waiting area while the officials deliberated behind closed doors. Strange confidence overcame me as I recalled all of the prayers that God had answered since this began. <i>Whatever the decision, Lord, I know You are in it. </i> </p><p>Within moments, we were walking out of the offices, exit stamps in our passports. We hopped in a trike, prepped the boat for an 11-day passage PLUS a 10-day quarantine aboard (ironically, the time required to stay on board non-stop - 21 days - was the length of our longest ever passage from Galapagos Islands to French Polynesia over 5 years ago!).</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwEJ1Wv8iTDLcftNA4bhAiAJVGW511GjfO8D-EYfknn93ysHlNeUEhBfv7_cf0qtj7xwd0wgEkPC8WtZncyYEBoHud2y-h-avHaXIF_dG5lyygaIGMzcb349WpMXLnncySmBg2h1-BRgQ3lf8cQ9OuEdiCRO2WuzJocyZdamI6b2Q_IesKAkxNwYhZbg=s2048" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwEJ1Wv8iTDLcftNA4bhAiAJVGW511GjfO8D-EYfknn93ysHlNeUEhBfv7_cf0qtj7xwd0wgEkPC8WtZncyYEBoHud2y-h-avHaXIF_dG5lyygaIGMzcb349WpMXLnncySmBg2h1-BRgQ3lf8cQ9OuEdiCRO2WuzJocyZdamI6b2Q_IesKAkxNwYhZbg=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy New Year! at sea</td></tr></tbody></table>We arrived in Pangkor, Malaysia, after celebrating Christmas and New Year at sea. One of the ships in the Singapore Strait even treated surrounding vessels to a fireworks show when the clock struck twelve! Throughout the trip, I kept a running log of each person's temperature along with a photo as proof. I was hoping this record-keeping might shorten our required quarantine, but no such luck. </p><p></p>Finally, after being unable to travel for nine months, we put up our Q-flag, dropped the anchor, and took in our new surroundings. During our quarantine period, we would only leave the boat twice to get the necessary swab tests. Honestly, I'm not exactly sure how we passed the time. We ate lots of spaghetti dinners and used up all of our fresh provisions, though. The kids had no excuse not to get caught up on schoolwork after not having done much school during the passage, and Mark dove into his marketing work. Movie nights, game nights, and a lot of swinging from the halyard happened in those two weeks, too. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfVUJptaaVj01tkXCldwsGEfDbjbPwAlvd8leK8wALH5LoSfaQig8Jy_pBRJ-VPfa9Wwwvo5ExQH_WuCwNAhNarnm-7F2znod36sTT5TWeleaWfYRsy6bf-emCjVe59jDVPOh_mzpPBMd11jSSuqq9cbS53DCGEpfr-QsqG6WdYlUwq0eLUXijspNhjA=s1920" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfVUJptaaVj01tkXCldwsGEfDbjbPwAlvd8leK8wALH5LoSfaQig8Jy_pBRJ-VPfa9Wwwvo5ExQH_WuCwNAhNarnm-7F2znod36sTT5TWeleaWfYRsy6bf-emCjVe59jDVPOh_mzpPBMd11jSSuqq9cbS53DCGEpfr-QsqG6WdYlUwq0eLUXijspNhjA=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10-day Quarantine After an 11-day Passage</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgovts2ItQa4IVQbyMNYFjsM-48HhNsRNXfsuFWnYKZP1iQ6OKtvfphGIXiVPjKzQ6HwzyNYrtv7-O6zQJfuvfPNDVYVPsa3sgx5VhQ0g69fRQEMUSHU7Qo5GFGp1q3-JuPCRbd0TTAKgrSu4Iv7mjXHDUFVZYF1kgioTUVviFjFQtUKxkqtuhRocaQg=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgovts2ItQa4IVQbyMNYFjsM-48HhNsRNXfsuFWnYKZP1iQ6OKtvfphGIXiVPjKzQ6HwzyNYrtv7-O6zQJfuvfPNDVYVPsa3sgx5VhQ0g69fRQEMUSHU7Qo5GFGp1q3-JuPCRbd0TTAKgrSu4Iv7mjXHDUFVZYF1kgioTUVviFjFQtUKxkqtuhRocaQg=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blowing off pent-up energy!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>When the quarantine was over, we were planning to leisurely sail our way up to Penang, where Elizabeth was enrolled in school (Michael was completing 8th grade with me in homeschool). However, we heard rumors that Malaysia was prohibiting all interstate travel. We had no time to provision or prepare. Instead, we filled up on fuel and hightailed it overnight up to <a href="https://www.straitsquay.com/business-services/the-marina/">Straits Quay Marina</a> in Penang! Stepping on land is overrated anyway, right?<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaC-DyrSxELXN0xsajCOgMI1eDRslhMMu2P51lsudMnDZYb2wjWwZllVIaTWuyxPd5xVYafRfWNTQ2lMn8rn4EhJZ3kO_a4Oxbcb48DbgmG-IhR1a2YMhZ0dFPxcJ7THas6-PxlUOtE9WioJPWNLoGobC1T1mMs7P3tS4rrY28AGo__nZSfzYdyTwE3g=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaC-DyrSxELXN0xsajCOgMI1eDRslhMMu2P51lsudMnDZYb2wjWwZllVIaTWuyxPd5xVYafRfWNTQ2lMn8rn4EhJZ3kO_a4Oxbcb48DbgmG-IhR1a2YMhZ0dFPxcJ7THas6-PxlUOtE9WioJPWNLoGobC1T1mMs7P3tS4rrY28AGo__nZSfzYdyTwE3g=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Straits Quay Marina...finally arrived </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Tears of relief welled up in my eyes as we pulled into the marina in Penang. It had been over two years since we'd found this school for our kids and started the process of getting here. A recall on our Volvo engines put that plan on hold and required a giant detour to Guam for double engine replacements. A tropical storm in Micronesia added some extra excitement and experience. Then, on our way back, Covid happened, postponing our plans even further. Pulling into our slip in Penang brought gratefulness for the detours and delays. Thinking back on the friends and experiences of our time in Guam, Yap, Palau, and the Philippines gave me a renewed hope for what our time in Penang would bring. Those detours and delays were certainly not in our plans, but they were already established in His. He knew what we would encounter. He knew what we needed to learn and how we needed to grow. He knew all along.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8nwiY7Q1W8Uhyqc-UNHDb0LSXYR9dPnkZHf-e__ZdZyIBA6pL8AKk8URhbVKN7homhv2Q19H33WB6IwnwUrKVegcotOIB5ig8shW9oUtfEh2A_ZBuIr1Tq3HPHZKAn77fTAlkxTte72kV2Uqm6q4pGyaerTwEAsR1QCcKTPabTcnvz9WnAf6KBE2IXQ=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8nwiY7Q1W8Uhyqc-UNHDb0LSXYR9dPnkZHf-e__ZdZyIBA6pL8AKk8URhbVKN7homhv2Q19H33WB6IwnwUrKVegcotOIB5ig8shW9oUtfEh2A_ZBuIr1Tq3HPHZKAn77fTAlkxTte72kV2Uqm6q4pGyaerTwEAsR1QCcKTPabTcnvz9WnAf6KBE2IXQ=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Thanksgiving Tree in Coron</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I've not been good about documenting our happenings for a while now, but writing this post makes me realize how important it is to stack those stones - to look back, to remember, to memorialize all that God has done. It can be so easy to just keep pushing through each day, getting quickly discouraged and allowing the mundane and minuscule to drown out the miracles. The past few years have been crazy and strange. Nothing worked out the way I thought it would, but somehow, it's all worked out for the best. That's what I want to remember. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcg7WEwGvNnR4mSMLnDEzWnE3EcRoCiecyIH1wlgINXt7LmTYTWJk0CdvWYaU__5I7ZPGnBzWa9CR3--9zLofFhrBwVfdeJ09TYTRWJpVB7oGFcEPIMbt0bkptahmrHr5bR7a5awW2YgSlH4lnn4rAbCJA4fo7QzlWeE1IdjAoQuRfhP6kjHv_y1Ecew=s2046" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="2046" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcg7WEwGvNnR4mSMLnDEzWnE3EcRoCiecyIH1wlgINXt7LmTYTWJk0CdvWYaU__5I7ZPGnBzWa9CR3--9zLofFhrBwVfdeJ09TYTRWJpVB7oGFcEPIMbt0bkptahmrHr5bR7a5awW2YgSlH4lnn4rAbCJA4fo7QzlWeE1IdjAoQuRfhP6kjHv_y1Ecew=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gathered around the table with our friends in Coron, Philippines to share an American-style Thanksgiving meal together, complete with home-grown turkeys!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-16195207217931583932020-07-24T15:04:00.000+11:002020-07-24T15:04:14.477+11:00Conquering Mount Tapyas <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mount Tapyas, Coron, Philippines</td></tr>
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Seven hundred and twenty. <br />
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That’s the number of steps we climbed today to reach the top of Mt. Tapyas. From our achorage, we can see the C-O-R-O-N sign lit up every night along with a tall cross and a few cell towers, for added ambiance. <br />
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We woke up before sunrise to avoid the heat of the day and started our ascent. Only seven hundred and twenty steps to go! Although many tourist attractions here are empty these days, Mt. Tapyas was buzzing with people of all ages getting in their morning workouts. It was encouraging to see so many people making health a priority in the wake of a lengthy lockdown. Kindly, the creators of this stairway thought to post numbered increments on the stairs. Somehow, it made the 720 seem more achievable when broken down into smaller chunks. Each time we reached a marker, it was a bit of a celebration! (And a great excuse for a brief rest to catch our breath!)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've only just begun</td></tr>
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Periodically, we’d also stop to admire the changing views and spot landmarks down below. Look! There’s Field Trip! And the fresh market! And McDonalds! Anyone wanna just stop now and go grab some fries and an iced milk tea with bubbles??? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h6kQ6vUMaP0/XxZmlOi4VyI/AAAAAAAAGBI/WbfVEMLukbE7TbFCRSFhRciRZ0sXgsYbACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/hike%2Bcoron%2B-%2B1%2B%25283%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1272" data-original-width="1600" height="508" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h6kQ6vUMaP0/XxZmlOi4VyI/AAAAAAAAGBI/WbfVEMLukbE7TbFCRSFhRciRZ0sXgsYbACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/hike%2Bcoron%2B-%2B1%2B%25283%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd like a Big Mac, please!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-59Hazk7mV1E/XxZmj_sDqZI/AAAAAAAAGBE/F8yqxh9F-fEnUMwRokvtplg06nro92p1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_6897.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-59Hazk7mV1E/XxZmj_sDqZI/AAAAAAAAGBE/F8yqxh9F-fEnUMwRokvtplg06nro92p1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_6897.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Field Trip in the distance</td></tr>
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Much of the trail is shaded, except near the top, but there are roofed platforms with benches where we could catch our breath and hydrate. We tested out most of the resting spots, just to make sure they were properly rejuvenating (hehe). Meanwhile, über athletic people who were skipping and jogging up the stairs didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat. I tried not to hate them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h85HD1oQYfA/XxZmzfCl-cI/AAAAAAAAGBQ/j88LSJq6LZ0UO3ZsIemEXQML6jJcqN_jACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_7286.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h85HD1oQYfA/XxZmzfCl-cI/AAAAAAAAGBQ/j88LSJq6LZ0UO3ZsIemEXQML6jJcqN_jACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_7286.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's 720 minus 400? I'm too tired to do math.</td></tr>
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Only 400 more to go! Sweat was trickling down the back of my legs and soaking into my socks at this point. I guzzled some water, though, and pushed on, determined to make it - eventually. I began to use any excuse to take a break - photo op, cool bug on the railing, retying my shoe - anything to stop and breathe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IOqv4NcGfMY/XxZnaRvzCmI/AAAAAAAAGBc/WAULhg028SogUY2RuvSMz-ZTfq3lCFwZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/hike%2Bcoron%2B-%2B1%2B%25286%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IOqv4NcGfMY/XxZnaRvzCmI/AAAAAAAAGBc/WAULhg028SogUY2RuvSMz-ZTfq3lCFwZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/hike%2Bcoron%2B-%2B1%2B%25286%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhinoceros beetle</td></tr>
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At the 600 point, I almost said, “Okay, that’s close enough. I can see the view!” I was dying. Thoughts entered my mind like, “How would the paramedics get up here? Would I have to be airlifted out?” (As if Coron hospital has a helicopter - ha! Perhaps I was becoming delirious!) No, I couldn’t stop now. Only 120 steps left. I lifted my foot to the next step. And then the next. Until I finally reached the viewing platform at the very top of Mt. Tapyas. <br />
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Seven hundred and twenty steps. Conquered. <br />
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And the views were worth every single one. <br />
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Good Morning, Coron! <br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-90996854831443342542020-07-21T11:28:00.002+11:002020-07-21T11:28:49.685+11:00Barracuda Lake - Coron Island, Philippines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ID6GAiUDAFM/XxYyNXvkZNI/AAAAAAAAF_c/ofNK0ScMyIgedz5Xsnwqa4faqfGB5w3QwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25287%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ID6GAiUDAFM/XxYyNXvkZNI/AAAAAAAAF_c/ofNK0ScMyIgedz5Xsnwqa4faqfGB5w3QwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25287%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Coron is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the Philippines. Usually, the streets are packed with foreign adventurers, eager to experience all that Coron has to offer, but these days, we’ve got the place to ourselves. So now that Coron has loosened movement restrictions, it’s time for us to see some surrounding sights. This time, we opted to visit one of the most renowned dive sites here, an underwater environment that feels like we’ve entered an entirely new world. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TMMqO9dQGlA/XxYzCsLQxnI/AAAAAAAAF_w/lkStfouGax04oUraBHUFNU0iRYMGJsmVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25286%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TMMqO9dQGlA/XxYzCsLQxnI/AAAAAAAAF_w/lkStfouGax04oUraBHUFNU0iRYMGJsmVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25286%2529.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting geared up on the dock</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pP6pzn_XEf0/XxYzCt_IMkI/AAAAAAAAF_0/b6ovA4hGyJcJRvcrAGHjMRz6Sv3egxKHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B2%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pP6pzn_XEf0/XxYzCt_IMkI/AAAAAAAAF_0/b6ovA4hGyJcJRvcrAGHjMRz6Sv3egxKHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B2%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then, carrying gear, we had to climb up and over the rocks to the lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEmRpcNN2hs/XxJ80qXlUlI/AAAAAAAAF9g/Xxh2EzyuzyI-vzWdzJbanDXq9WQaDBeOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEmRpcNN2hs/XxJ80qXlUlI/AAAAAAAAF9g/Xxh2EzyuzyI-vzWdzJbanDXq9WQaDBeOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy to be diving without a crowd!</td></tr>
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<h3>
Salinity and Temperature</h3>
Tucked within the towering karst cliffs of Coron Island, lie the warm, cyan waters of Barracuda Lake. Formed by sunken limestone rock, this lake contains both fresh and saltwater, with a layer of brackish water nestled in between and heated by geothermal activity. The changes in both salinity and temperature cause the water to form three separate layers in which light refracts differently and impairs vision. The separation of varying water temperatures is called a thermocline, while the layering of water varying salinities refers to a halocline. At one point I could clearly see Mark beneath me, and then - boom - the water around me heated up and he suddenly became a pixelated blur of color, nearly unrecognizable! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vyFFfc5gIJI/XxYweqx4MvI/AAAAAAAAF-8/uwaRxl1VyBQJrJxyei8UxIKHBSGe-1MrACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vyFFfc5gIJI/XxYweqx4MvI/AAAAAAAAF-8/uwaRxl1VyBQJrJxyei8UxIKHBSGe-1MrACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B6.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The blur of thermocline</td></tr>
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The temperature continued to rise as I descended. At one point, I decided I didn’t particularly enjoy the sensation of sweat dripping down my forehead inside my mask. Slowly, I ascended back into the cooler water above. Mark continued to venture down to 30 meters and recorded a maximum water temperature of 38ºC (a sweltering 100.4ºF!) before finally entering the cooler saltwater layer at the bottom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0QU7olHwfLA/XxY0l9V3QdI/AAAAAAAAGAE/XA2OJmohCnUnWyeLX8ZeNg2ZOyJEDvf7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25288%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0QU7olHwfLA/XxY0l9V3QdI/AAAAAAAAGAE/XA2OJmohCnUnWyeLX8ZeNg2ZOyJEDvf7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25288%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still 39ºC even at 19 meters!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7eBt10GRNRo/XxY0n-C64iI/AAAAAAAAGAI/l0IuySYu0cwk4e6KI3JJts5s8Zf0j8M2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7eBt10GRNRo/XxY0n-C64iI/AAAAAAAAGAI/l0IuySYu0cwk4e6KI3JJts5s8Zf0j8M2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B7.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice the dark reddish water behind Mark - tannins from dead leaves settle, creating a black abyss</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9dQXN0PmzVg/XxYwxd4zAKI/AAAAAAAAF_E/djs6P5bol68V9bu_6moHlYobDkPkFim4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B15.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9dQXN0PmzVg/XxYwxd4zAKI/AAAAAAAAF_E/djs6P5bol68V9bu_6moHlYobDkPkFim4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B15.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Limestone cliffs disappear in the depths</td></tr>
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<h3>
Eerie Underwater Life </h3>
While Mark was experimenting with the water densities and temperatures, I decided to find out what kind of creatures could withstand this variable marine biome. The jagged limestone cliffs surrounding the lake continued all the way to the lake floor, creating plenty of nooks and crannies for brine shrimp to stake out their territory. As I approached, the crustaceans would charge out and pace about the rocky crevice, pincers raised in territorial warning. It is said that these centurion shrimp will gladly clean divers’ hands as they cling to the rocks, but I chose to simply observe from a safe distance this time. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tgEVYdXo5pQ/XxYysS1qeCI/AAAAAAAAF_o/iw3xEIJOO4cENty7ZkJUuHNYwgck-Gn5wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tgEVYdXo5pQ/XxYysS1qeCI/AAAAAAAAF_o/iw3xEIJOO4cENty7ZkJUuHNYwgck-Gn5wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B9.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brine shrimp</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vWfXlIag9Yk/XxYxdXLdHqI/AAAAAAAAF_Q/r-FcwIFI2REAHNw0cyrt7dJxd5wsXt4nACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vWfXlIag9Yk/XxYxdXLdHqI/AAAAAAAAF_Q/r-FcwIFI2REAHNw0cyrt7dJxd5wsXt4nACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B8.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got braver the second time we dove!</td></tr>
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Another resident of Barracuda Lake has also been known to clean divers’ skin - the blue-eyed dwarf catfish. Its vacuum-like mouth is encircled with long, rubbery whiskers. It slithers along the limestone columns, swishing its eel-like tail as it hoovers any surface it can find.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gwUwVqX6R8M/XxKD8Y8Mi-I/AAAAAAAAF-k/-Xqi2pGWFZYL4zRr4rzgmXlsbwnXCkGGQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gwUwVqX6R8M/XxKD8Y8Mi-I/AAAAAAAAF-k/-Xqi2pGWFZYL4zRr4rzgmXlsbwnXCkGGQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue-eyed Dwarf Catfish</td></tr>
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Along the silty bottom, hundreds of gobies can be found picking through the sand for any juicy tidbits. When I thrust my steel poker into the sand to hold myself off the bottom, they surrounded the place where it entered, anxious to eat whatever I had rustled up from below. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CslT1616tqA/XxYxPPyMTFI/AAAAAAAAF_M/HZzea5Fg80QuUGf0LJ2h6ovDHHtVQHxagCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1226" data-original-width="1600" height="490" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CslT1616tqA/XxYxPPyMTFI/AAAAAAAAF_M/HZzea5Fg80QuUGf0LJ2h6ovDHHtVQHxagCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B10.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nearly transparent goby</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H05oLZjVPfM/XxY0xW3H7UI/AAAAAAAAGAM/uIUbsO3IunEIliRTx1hO9y8OYJSjae5sQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H05oLZjVPfM/XxY0xW3H7UI/AAAAAAAAGAM/uIUbsO3IunEIliRTx1hO9y8OYJSjae5sQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B11.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rare, unidentified underwater species :) </td></tr>
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<h3>
The Quarantined 'Cuda</h3>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3qBxqNpT4g/XxJ8zxY5DwI/AAAAAAAAF9c/_978QyXOJrsfHSJqKWDjFgyI7B3NZPiFACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3qBxqNpT4g/XxJ8zxY5DwI/AAAAAAAAF9c/_978QyXOJrsfHSJqKWDjFgyI7B3NZPiFACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Mark reappeared in the shallow waters and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up as he grinned behind his regulator. He was enjoying the marvels of this mysterious place. While he was checking out the creatures I’d discovered already, I noticed something out in the distant water. A long shadow slowly came into view. A large barracuda was inching closer to us. Its stripes and teeth becoming more clearly defined as he approached. Some divers never get to see him, but I imagined after so many months with absolutely no tourists in his lake, he was quite surprised when we showed up! Some say the lake was named for an enormous barracuda skeleton that was found here, but others say it is named after this lone fish. I kept my eye on him and subconsciously covered up my silvery wedding band to avoid drawing him any closer.<br />
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I began to wonder how he’d found his way into this isolated lake. There must be an opening underwater through which he came, right? I’d heard of a cave down at 30 meters, was that opened to the sea? His solitary presence got my wheels turning and my thoughts waned poetic...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nmC0aXYzVPo/XxKAsRnrokI/AAAAAAAAF-M/39EHLkhvNao2irx2FeFDsRruRLhyFaLGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda-face-scary-smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="640" height="350" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nmC0aXYzVPo/XxKAsRnrokI/AAAAAAAAF-M/39EHLkhvNao2irx2FeFDsRruRLhyFaLGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda-face-scary-smile.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Divezone.net </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<i>Barry the Lonesome ‘Cuda</i></h3>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>They used to come in neon vests</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Those tourists and their fins</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Their hands attached to go pros, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Wearing cheezy, selfie grins.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>They’d splash around and dive below</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>To feel the heat and see</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The ripples in the thermocline</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And changed salinity.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Gobies feed on the sunken floor.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The shrimp fend off their foes.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Blue-eyed catfish suck the slime, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>All part of my underwater show.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This lake, you see, is named for me,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The “Barry”cuda Lake</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Found in Coron, Philippines;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A trip tourists are sure to take.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But suddenly they've disappeared, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Those tourists and their grins.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I don’t know why they went away, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But I sure wish they’d come again.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A lonely fish, a brackish lake;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Sequestered from the sea.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I’m Barry the Lonesome ‘Cuda,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Now it’s just the shrimp and me.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FofXvByOFXg/XxY2Vc0976I/AAAAAAAAGAg/2qtC0evagOUbUoTCmsoiJHhN-zPbKrBygCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B16.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FofXvByOFXg/XxY2Vc0976I/AAAAAAAAGAg/2qtC0evagOUbUoTCmsoiJHhN-zPbKrBygCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/barracuda%2Blake%2B-%2B16.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Field Trip crew invaded, and Barracuda Lake will never be the same...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-89201418580676613382020-06-27T15:06:00.000+11:002020-06-27T15:06:00.264+11:00Seasons Change<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CiqvaDpDleQ/XvLK5KL04PI/AAAAAAAAF7s/SQcyrFt10AYB62TRpmnqyeJT-tdBOKQsACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_4921.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CiqvaDpDleQ/XvLK5KL04PI/AAAAAAAAF7s/SQcyrFt10AYB62TRpmnqyeJT-tdBOKQsACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_4921.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Come on over. I live just down from the Two Seasons Hotel!” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Oh, not the <i>Four</i> Seasons?” Mark joked. “Right, we’re in the Philippines - wet and dry - only two seasons!”</blockquote>
<br />
We’d just met him in the bakery, and already, Ganny was showing us that Filipino warmth we’d encountered so often throughout the Philippines.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
As COVID-19 travel restrictions begin to ease up, we are witnessing the change of seasons here. Scorching hot days and weeks without a drop of rain have morphed into overcast days scattered with thunder showers and wild lightning storms.<br />
<br />
This change occurs due to a switch in wind patterns. Monsoon winds now blow from the Southeast, rather than from the Northeast. Roughly from June to October, the Southeast winds bring on the rainy season. Overlapping the wet season, typhoons typically show up between June and December. This wind change means two things for us…<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">First</span>, it means we must carefully monitor weather forecasts. If a typhoon forms, we watch its predicted path on various forecast models and compare them. Already, Mark has pinpointed typhoon holes nearby in which we can hide should we find ourselves in the path of a storm.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cpgQfpHtiD0/XvLNLcFLiYI/AAAAAAAAF8I/2sY7HxIXTJ0_wVlwTdejteUgg650Tmw2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/seasonchange%2B-%2B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cpgQfpHtiD0/XvLNLcFLiYI/AAAAAAAAF8I/2sY7HxIXTJ0_wVlwTdejteUgg650Tmw2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/seasonchange%2B-%2B1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The captain researching typhoon paths of the past ten years</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Second</span>, this wind change conflicts with our upcoming travel itinerary. We decided long ago to find high school for the kids to attend when the time came. Through a series of events and encounters, we discovered <a href="http://www.dalat.org/">Dalat International School</a> in Penang, Malaysia. It seemed a perfect fit for our family, and the original plan was to get there by the summer in order to get everyone settled and ready to start school in August.<br />
<br />
Well, these increasing Southeast winds oppose our plans. Passage to Penang is directly against the winds and currents. Getting there will be a slog. Given the fact that we’re not even allowed to enter Malaysian ports yet, and that schools in Malaysia are still awaiting COVID re-opening permission and protocols, our school-in-the-fall plan is anything but figured out. There are more questions than answers at this point. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qquDEp0Gl70/XvLLyFpItLI/AAAAAAAAF78/_EfcBar1MfcgWVI0sa-hb3qaENypo0wVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/seasonchange%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="638" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qquDEp0Gl70/XvLLyFpItLI/AAAAAAAAF78/_EfcBar1MfcgWVI0sa-hb3qaENypo0wVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/seasonchange%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">In life</span>, there are more than two or four seasons of change to which we must adapt. Just as the weather seasons are changing around us, our family is preparing to step out of one season and into another. My homeschooling hat is being hung up, and I am excited and anxious to see us all adapt to a more traditional schooling life. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eDhGXiw4Ly8/XvLOApj9ZiI/AAAAAAAAF8Q/SEtvJB1YpKkGhUAYMcnXHDRxvSoHWaDVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/seasonchange%2B-%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eDhGXiw4Ly8/XvLOApj9ZiI/AAAAAAAAF8Q/SEtvJB1YpKkGhUAYMcnXHDRxvSoHWaDVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/seasonchange%2B-%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">We did it! Eight years of boat school officially complete! What a voyage it has been!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After ‘boat’schooling our kids for the past eight years, I find myself filled with conflicting emotions. I’m excited to release the immense responsibility that comes with being my children’s sole educator, but it saddens me to relinquish the independence and choice that homeschooling has offered us. I can’t wait to have more time to pursue my own passions, but I will miss being with the kids for hours each day. (I think back on those hard school days, when all I wanted was to plop them into a classroom, and now, I grapple for any moments they will spend with me!) I know they are thrilled to learn with their peers, but I also know that they will certainly have to navigate some tough social situations that just don’t happen at home. <br />
<br />
But seasons change. <br />
<br />
Winds turn. <br />
<br />
And sometimes it might mean we slog through heavy seas.<br />
<br />
But if we can adapt, we will grow stronger than we ever thought we could and arrive exactly where we’re supposed to be. <br />
<br />
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-2074465983253728232020-06-24T13:49:00.000+11:002020-06-24T13:49:38.140+11:00The Heat is On<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HbVD1Un_Uf4/XvKuf6jAz6I/AAAAAAAAF6g/PovzLojLrK4LXewjZpqSOnHBneCykMVuACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HbVD1Un_Uf4/XvKuf6jAz6I/AAAAAAAAF6g/PovzLojLrK4LXewjZpqSOnHBneCykMVuACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Heat inside the boat with sun blaring in, 126.2ºF.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It’s 7:30 a.m. and the thermostat reads 32ºC inside the boat (that’s 90 ºF). Given the 75% humidity, that makes the <a href="http://weather.uky.edu/table_at.html">apparent temperature</a> 106ºF!<br />
<br />
Hatches above us are open, but there’s not a wisp of breeze blowing in. Sweat trickles down my back, soaking the elastic waistband of my pajama shorts. The air inside is heavy. It feels like I’m sitting in a steamy sauna at the local gym, only... I’m not. I’m sitting at our salon table, stubbornly sipping my morning coffee, determined not to let this heat rob me of my morning indulgence. <br />
<br />
We haven’t had any rain since the lockdowns started - nearly two months ago now. The sun rises blazing, and continues to turn up the temperature throughout the day. Moods turn irritable on board. The heat is oppressive, and we are all struggling to carry on with our regular routines. <br />
<br />
<h2>
How Do We Beat the Heat When Living Aboard?</h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pM8zXK7rgjk/XvKvS-GskQI/AAAAAAAAF6s/mcwtV0M6ACURTbEB-7I-xQ2f2pr5bVNHACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25283%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pM8zXK7rgjk/XvKvS-GskQI/AAAAAAAAF6s/mcwtV0M6ACURTbEB-7I-xQ2f2pr5bVNHACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25283%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Staying cool during school. (No, we do not promote wine drinking in class, but the glass bottles <br />get cold faster in the fridge so we reuse them for water!)<br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Increase the Airflow.</span></b> Running the generator to power the air conditioners all day isn’t really an option, as we’re in ration mode with diesel fuel until travel restrictions ease. Desperate for some air flow, I rally the kids. We go through the boat, collecting any free-standing fans that we can find, and place them wherever there’s an outlet around our salon table. The best fans we’ve discovered are the portable, powerful <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Caframo-Hatch-Suction-Mount-Light/dp/B01M15UCV1">12-volt Caframo fans</a>. They can be moved around the boat and even suction to the hatches to bring in fresh air. Any bit of breeze makes a big difference. If there is a breeze outside, opening up the hatches throughout the boat can lower the temperature exponentially.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h6OHVi_APoQ/XvKxj7PCh3I/AAAAAAAAF7A/HaZwbYQsd382oCnsCW53ZTwH5IdWhqr6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25285%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h6OHVi_APoQ/XvKxj7PCh3I/AAAAAAAAF7A/HaZwbYQsd382oCnsCW53ZTwH5IdWhqr6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25285%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Quick dip to cool down in the midday heat.<br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Get wet.</b> </span> Really, we should just jump in the water to cool off, but right now in the Philippines, the water temperature is in the bathtub range - 30-31ºC (88ºF), so it offers no refreshing reprieve. Sometimes, though, a quick dip is all it takes to take the edge off. Other options I’ve found to cool me off are simply wetting my hair, sleeping under a damp sarong with a fan blowing across me, or freezing a wet bandana and placing it on the back of my neck. I don’t sit in sweaty or wet clothes for too long, though, or I may develop swimmer’s rash or other skin irritations. Itchy skin and hot weather are NOT a fun combination! (Believe me, I learned this the hard way.) A quick application of baby powder can help remove sand and completely dry your skin.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O9w7HA488qk/XvKx-XEDAhI/AAAAAAAAF7I/dsPQVM77QWU4z5lN_1-78Uo3_xN1crAMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Urine%2BColor%2BChart.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1144" data-original-width="1532" height="476" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O9w7HA488qk/XvKx-XEDAhI/AAAAAAAAF7I/dsPQVM77QWU4z5lN_1-78Uo3_xN1crAMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Urine%2BColor%2BChart.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">On a friend’s boat, they post this chart next to the head as a reference. Great idea!<br /></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Hydrate.</span></b> Pure water from the watermaker doesn’t replace the minerals we lose through our pores, so we add a pinch of salt and a half teaspoon sugar to our glasses of cool water. The salt replaces the minerals and the sugar helps with absorbtion. Gatorade used to be our rehydration drink of choice, but we haven’t been able to find any sold in stores here in SE Asia. There is an electrolyte powder called Picari Sweat sold here, but right now we’re all out, and I realize I prefer making our own. That way, I can control my sugar intake. <br />
<br />
In order to make sure we are properly hydrated, we also monitor our pee. Yep, always check the bowl. Too dark or cloudy? Time to drink a liter or two! <br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gYyQV_RYyjE/XvKy4ifW3oI/AAAAAAAAF7U/ZHvTjpx5VdMtsMDN09KgnaxKqLlNBfhIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25284%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gYyQV_RYyjE/XvKy4ifW3oI/AAAAAAAAF7U/ZHvTjpx5VdMtsMDN09KgnaxKqLlNBfhIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25284%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Michael cooling off while he scrubs the rudder.<br /></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Don’t add <i>more</i> heat.</span></b> This seems obvious, I know, but even daily chores can raise the temperature of me or my surroundings. Cooking, cleaning, exercise, and boat maintenance all leave me drenched and spent. Expectations about when and how things are done must be adjusted to the temperature. For example, I save workouts for after the sun goes down or before dawn. I look for meals that don’t require me turning on the stove or oven during the day. Instead, I try to use the microwave or grill outside like baked potatoes or kebabs. Boat chores like polishing stainless steel or fixing a pump in a small, tight space are either broken up into smaller bits to prevent overheating or saved for a cooler time of day. Scrubbing the waterline, however, is one chore that doubles as a way to cool off in the heat of the afternoon! <br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JWGa48D5Gks/XvKt72pLsmI/AAAAAAAAF6Y/59uW7ATNvCABnh4VEXfF5BtfojhYZSyXwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JWGa48D5Gks/XvKt72pLsmI/AAAAAAAAF6Y/59uW7ATNvCABnh4VEXfF5BtfojhYZSyXwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Our Sunbrella sunshade</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Seek cover.</span></b> Whether that means putting the dark shades on our salon windows, closing the shades on the portholes and hatches, or even securing our massive Sunbrella deck shade we had designed by “Johnny” back in Grenada, we avoid the sun’s blazing rays however we can. It automatically lowers the temperature on board and raises the mood of the crew.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A9hbF29AmOM/XvK8gLY5XkI/AAAAAAAAF7g/MwFkLV38epgMSCCtH-iEXuZHwT9hcWkCwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25286%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A9hbF29AmOM/XvK8gLY5XkI/AAAAAAAAF7g/MwFkLV38epgMSCCtH-iEXuZHwT9hcWkCwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/boatlife%2B-%2B1%2B%25286%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sweating through my morning coffee</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Say goodbye to spice and caffeine.</b> This is a tough one for me, but ever since pre-menopause set in, hot flashes have exacerbated my tropical heat battles. Now I’m heating up from the inside <i>and</i> out! However, I do notice that when I refrain from that precious morning cup of coffee, my body temperature stays more constant. So even though coffee grows well in the tropics, drinking a hot cup of joe out here can bring on an instant full-body sweat-fest. And instead of turning up the heat by adding tasty chili peppers to my meals, I stay cooler if I do without. Desperate times call for desperate measures. <br />
<br />
Heat can zap my energy, dull my motivation, and challenge my mood. The more I can do to fight the heat, the happier our crew and I will be! I think it might be time for me to switch to iced decaf coffee in the mornings! Anyone have a good recipe?<br />
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-92044297492189656852020-05-20T13:51:00.001+11:002020-05-20T23:51:45.862+11:00The New Normal?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QE1cilNP3lk/XsSajAv-8dI/AAAAAAAAF3A/z65nwvm25ecHE9ForVOwq2vukoq1PEZnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QE1cilNP3lk/XsSajAv-8dI/AAAAAAAAF3A/z65nwvm25ecHE9ForVOwq2vukoq1PEZnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The New Normal</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Well, it's been eight weeks since the quarantine regulations were put in place. Gradually, the resort has closed, leaving only a few staff left. Our Covid-19 family has dwindled as people have found rare opportunities to travel back to their homes. In some ways, it feels like just yesterday when all this started. In other ways, it feels like it's been decades.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The focus for me has been to maintain routine and a realistic perspective during such global upheaval. It feels weird, though, to continue living life as usual when so much of the world around us is changing and is <i>anything</i> but usual. I try to take it one day at a time. <i>What can I do today to boost morale and maintain momentum?</i> Here are some of the ways we fight the boredom/blues bug amid the monotony...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Playing</span></h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-mPc_rTjtE/XsSGtCsh16I/AAAAAAAAF1Y/BoVLbyPxA4IRTIKkvCh1-GvxSyJwaMaMACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B1%2B%25285%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-mPc_rTjtE/XsSGtCsh16I/AAAAAAAAF1Y/BoVLbyPxA4IRTIKkvCh1-GvxSyJwaMaMACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B1%2B%25285%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Monopoly Marathon!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our onboard game cabinet hasn’t seen <i>this</i> much action since our 20-day Pacific Ocean crossing. Some old favorites have made a reappearance, especially those that take longer than twenty minutes, like <a href="https://monopoly.hasbro.com/worldwide">Monopoly</a> and <a href="https://www.catan.com/game/catan#">Catan</a>. Michael and I had a 4-hour Monopoly battle one afternoon. When else could this happen? </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D9yKwbWyPZg/XsSV9SFTlOI/AAAAAAAAF2o/k2KPMPDQa8sFDJEllvcTzQ6Pl3UnXVbBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D9yKwbWyPZg/XsSV9SFTlOI/AAAAAAAAF2o/k2KPMPDQa8sFDJEllvcTzQ6Pl3UnXVbBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B5.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">One of our favorite games, learned back in our Caribbean cruising.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The few staff left at the nearby resort have made our game times much more fun. After teaching them our version of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSo4GuclCbE">Mexican Train Dominoes</a>, we all meet up at a table in the bar nearly every afternoon for a round or two, and the competition is getting serious! On the other hand, our <a href="https://apps.apple.com/us/app/heads-up/id623592465">Heads Up</a> phone app is anything but serious. I laugh so hard each time we play that I nearly wet my pants! It’s the perfect way to blow off steam and get us all cracking up. The app has the added feature of video recording each team’s charades, to be used either as blackmail or endless comedic entertainment! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Back on board, the four of us have used the ipad and Apple pencil along with an app called <a href="https://www.thegamegal.com/2012/07/30/pictionary-word-app/">Game Words</a> to play a version of Pictionary after dinner. The app provides words at an easy, medium, hard, and really hard level. Gradually, we’ve moved up to the medium level with words like ‘colored pencil’ and ‘sword’. We tried the really hard level, but when the word ‘ironic’ popped up, we knew we were way out of our league. Back to medium we go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Learning (outside of boat schooling) <span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span></span></h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FcxPrXUr32o/XsSNQGtIdvI/AAAAAAAAF1k/MR2Ww14qcokvuQ_nOHO56sVG5rJxedDPQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FcxPrXUr32o/XsSNQGtIdvI/AAAAAAAAF1k/MR2Ww14qcokvuQ_nOHO56sVG5rJxedDPQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B8.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">This app is highly motivational! She could spend hours practicing!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Elizabeth has been working through her <a href="https://apps.apple.com/us/app/simply-piano-by-joytunes/id1019442026">Simply Piano app,</a> using the keyboard she got from Santa this year. Just this morning, she popped up from her room declaring, “I’ve completed Pop Chords!” I’m not sure exactly what that means, but she’s thrilled and progressing. My ukulele playing isn’t progressing so quickly, however. After I brought it to shore to let the resort staff have a try, they have latched onto it and adopted it as their own. To see them finding songs to learn and downloading tutorials, I’ll gladly put my playing on pause. They are having way too much fun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">They’ve taught us some of their hobbies, too. Elizabeth brought in all her beading and bracelet supplies, and the gals taught us each a new friendship bracelet knotting pattern. As we’ve completed them, they’ve been gifted to the remaining crew here as Covid-19 souvenirs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another afternoon, we took over the resort kitchen and asked the ladies to teach us how to cook a few Philippino dishes. We gathered up the ingredients and made quite the feast! Grilled <a href="https://www.sbs.com.au/food/recipes/eggplant-omelette-tortang-talong">eggplant omelettes</a>, <a href="https://panlasangpinoy.com/filipino-chicken-adobo-recipe/">Chicken Adobo</a>, and homemade <a href="https://panlasangpinoy.com/filipino-lumpia-recipe/">lumpia</a> (Filipino spring rolls). The kitchen was a flurry of flour and fun. Adele blasted over the speakers as we rolled out dough and learned a few tricks. Did you know that you can make <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6UtblxrCqs">super thin tortillas</a> by stacking up a few blobs of dough, with oil and flour between, and rolling them out together? This little tidbit will be a game-changer next time we have to make our own tortillas! Thinner and faster. And, if you don’t want to make an entire dish spicy, just add in the chilis whole instead of cutting them up. Then, those who want the spice can include it in their portion when the time comes to serve it up. Perfect for our family, with various tolerances for heat.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O8uLnZNKv0Y/XsSNyIqS38I/AAAAAAAAF1s/TyXW3eEPSecec3AJht2aWHkHirefZdNogCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B2%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O8uLnZNKv0Y/XsSNyIqS38I/AAAAAAAAF1s/TyXW3eEPSecec3AJht2aWHkHirefZdNogCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B2%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Rolling up our handmade Spring Rolls</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Creating</span></h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-055h021DjLg/XsSOLNc3q7I/AAAAAAAAF10/FuF9xcVdyisONqS3VUfTxUMAWlmtsX8lwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-055h021DjLg/XsSOLNc3q7I/AAAAAAAAF10/FuF9xcVdyisONqS3VUfTxUMAWlmtsX8lwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B7.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michael in animation mode</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cooking and bracelet-making weren’t exactly Mark’s thing, so he’s enjoyed the quiet time aboard to watch photo/video editing tutorials. Learning, in this case, has led to a boost in motivation to get caught up on our Field Trip video journals. His momentum has been contagious, prompting me to get busy writing blogs that document the past few months. I’d gotten a bit behind, too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Michael has found a renewed interest in creating with some of his digital animation programs: <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&ved=2ahUKEwiCkZW8q8HpAhXFKqYKHRjjCUAQFjAAegQIAxAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fscratch.mit.edu%2Fexplore%2Fprojects%2Fanimations%2F&usg=AOvVaw1NjiL9hCD3hkVwFFuv8Ul8">Scratch</a>, <a href="https://www.blender.org/">Blender</a>, iMovie, and <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&ved=2ahUKEwjox8XLq8HpAhXQEqYKHZ5TDWIQFjAAegQIIxAB&url=http%3A%2F%2Fsticknodes.com%2Fstickfigures%2F&usg=AOvVaw3TxQJ-HK-ZL_lRJaA8ki4F">Sticknodes</a>. He and his buddy even started collaborating to create animations together. He’s learning more about programming and digital effects everyday. I think I need to take a few lessons from him! Recently, we finished reading Lord of the Flies for school. He created a digital presentation using iMovie and <a href="https://procreate.art/">Procreate</a>. I was blown away. <span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Meanwhile, Elizabeth is snapping photos of every single nudibranch she sees underwater. She is learning how to use different elements of Photos (Apple’s photo editing app) to compensate for the underwater hues and lighting. She is also having fun messing around with digital art on Procreate. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SbcEDfjm6uE/XsSPB1rydyI/AAAAAAAAF18/HIX5PCpfzww3xycxR9x5TpojCQAHfk9KwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SbcEDfjm6uE/XsSPB1rydyI/AAAAAAAAF18/HIX5PCpfzww3xycxR9x5TpojCQAHfk9KwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Co's Chromodoris</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As a family, in fact, we’ve watched a few <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EI-ToB0tG9A">Procreate tutorials</a> together and decided to have a contest. Each of us had a week to create a fruit-themed piece of artwork which included a banana, mangosteen, dragonfruit, and calamansi. (if you’ve never tried any of the last three fruits I named, you are missing out. Get to your nearest Asian supermarket and buy one of each to try! Mangosteens are our family’s favorite!) At the beginning of the week, there was some major smack-talking going on, but as people realized how much time others were spending on their projects, humble silence set in. Ultimately, Elizabeth blew us all out of the water with her attention to detail. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eqoDbo1259o/XsSPdkMdOJI/AAAAAAAAF2I/b3i-zu-GpMIUeKP1ZuvBajNBRzBvavuTgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B3%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eqoDbo1259o/XsSPdkMdOJI/AAAAAAAAF2I/b3i-zu-GpMIUeKP1ZuvBajNBRzBvavuTgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B3%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The winner! Let's just say it wasn't a close competition at all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">I'll spare you the runners up :)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Entertaining</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At least one night a week, we’ve brought a movie ashore with the screen and projector. A few of the staff had never seen The Hunger Games, so we opted to watch all three in order. It’s strange how the news on tv is starting to sound a lot like the dystopia portrayed in Panem - government issued drones monitoring civilians, “The Capitol” censoring social media, and people being forced into compliance. It all hit a bit too close to home. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 12px;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">'The Reaping'</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Usually, we reserve movies for long passages and Friday Family Nights, but lately we’ve needed more entertaining to lighten the mood and distract us from the monotony. By the time the sun goes down, we’re all wiped, so a two-hour movie just seems like too much. Some nights, it’s a throwback to Duck Dynasty, other nights it’s watching a few <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeG1ftTmLAg">Dude Perfect</a> videos on Youtube, and on rare occasions we’ll catch up on the endless news stories to find out what’s happening in the rest of the world. These quick snipits of entertainment are just the thing to bring us all together at the end of another Groundhog Day and provide relaxation before bed (well, all except the news, that is).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Great Unknown</span></h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O3qRSCQnCIM/XsSVQ7aNe9I/AAAAAAAAF2g/zQLaHlIKB9Yb-t8Ho98kMhH7PY2mF8mbwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8weeks%2B-%2B6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O3qRSCQnCIM/XsSVQ7aNe9I/AAAAAAAAF2g/zQLaHlIKB9Yb-t8Ho98kMhH7PY2mF8mbwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/8weeks%2B-%2B6.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Storms becoming more frequent as we enter into typhoon season here in the Philippines. Time to get moving!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are certainly those days when the enormity of this situation threatens to infect me with a case of the blues. Those days when the kids are at each other's throats, and Mom and Dad aren't really doing much better. When the boat is 98º inside and I <i>just can't </i>anymore. Just can't. No one really has any answers right now and much of our next steps consist of questions, so many questions. No amount of domino-playing can suppress those feelings, and I don't want to invalidate them. Those struggles are real. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But we press on. We count our blessings, find ways to brighten these days, focus on the good, and set our hopes on God’s faithfulness. Lately in the news, there's been a catch phrase - "the new normal". Everyone is talking about how these distancing, zoom-calling, online schooling, glove and mask-wearing social precautions will be what life looks like for who-knows-how-long. I like to think about other social effects of this lockdown, though. Family dinners together, cooking together, playing together, reaching out, finding value in life's simple pleasures, slowing down, realizing our need for relationships and interactions, holding our loved ones closer when we can. It has all reminded me of what's truly important. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Would I love for life to go back to the way it was before? In some ways, yes, but in many ways I'm so grateful for the new normal that this experience has spurred, how we've grown, and the memories we've created in this past eight weeks. </span></div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-70504555459305936162020-05-11T12:27:00.000+11:002020-05-20T13:52:34.184+11:00Saving Easter<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m8gB1R3p_Tk/XrNin1hQd_I/AAAAAAAAF0U/X6moWkoTcZ4wmL46kjIkaBkqncJ81bDmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_4880.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m8gB1R3p_Tk/XrNin1hQd_I/AAAAAAAAF0U/X6moWkoTcZ4wmL46kjIkaBkqncJ81bDmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_4880.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo sums up my kids' personalities perfectly! </td></tr>
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<h4>
Easter 2020</h4>
Blame it on Corona virus or lockdown or parental lack of planning ahead, but the Easter Bunny took this year off. I’m not sure if he is laid up in one of the thousands of hospital beds using one of the precious ventilators on his cute, twitchy bunny nose, or perhaps he is about to go bonkers inside his burrow in lockdown with his precious little Easter Bunnies-in-training. Heck, maybe he saw the chance for a vacation from all the egg-hiding, and is binge-watching Tiger King with the rest of you lucky unlimited data streamers. Whatever the reason, there were no baskets full of plastic grass or chocolate bunnies or (my favorite) Reese’s Pieces Eggs aboard Field Trip this year. Does this even count as Easter? Do I still get to maintain my ‘Mom’ title, or have I forfeited those privileges with my blatent child neglect? <br />
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In the morning, when I realized this would be the first year without some sort of basket from some sort of bunny, my mind churned. Moms are the ones that keep their children’s dreams alive. Seriously, I think if dads were in charge, there would be no Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus or Elf on the Shelf (gasp!). Our poor children would be living such dull lives with so little lies to believe and so little over indulgence. I shudder to think of it. <br />
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(Sorry to that 1% of dads who actually carry this torch for their sweet, believing kiddos! You are the few, faithful ones.)<br />
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It was obvious, I could not (would not) be perpetuating the Easter Bunny charade, but I still wanted to give my kids an Easter to remember. The churn continued. <br />
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Ah-ha! Yes! For the past 3 months, Michael, our planning kid, has been asking, “When’s Easter?” When I finally admitted that I didn’t know, because it changes days every year, I probed further.<br />
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“Why?”<br />
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“I just wanna know if we’ll be somewhere that has WHITE eggs.” Oh, the sweet wonderings of a kid who has been in so many brown-egg countries. It had been years since we’d had white eggs to dye. The brown ones just don’t work. When we were walking, gape-mouthed, through the grocery store in Guam in December, the white eggs were what he honed in on. Yeah, he noticed the Jif peanut butter, too, but I think this was the moment he got started with his Easter date obsession. It was those white eggs.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BN3oK3TA-Dc/XrNi6JbvJXI/AAAAAAAAF0c/gk319mOPYaAF-BVlacg5QzG8bgR6pA63gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_2654.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BN3oK3TA-Dc/XrNi6JbvJXI/AAAAAAAAF0c/gk319mOPYaAF-BVlacg5QzG8bgR6pA63gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_2654.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creating a dyed masterpiece</td></tr>
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Okay, it was decided. We had white eggs. We had vinegar. We had food coloring. We were going to dye the heck out of some Easter eggs. I mean, we have WHITE EGGS! There’s really no other choice. So, we dyed eggs... six eggs. This means each of the kids can dye two and Mom and Dad get to dye one, because six is the exact number I would need to make egg salad sandwiches the following day. (We are still rationing, remember? I know, I’m withholding so much joy, revoke my parental rights immediately.) But somehow, only having two to dye increased their motivation exponentially. These are my only two chances to create a masterpiece. I gotta go all out. Perhaps, less is actually more.<br />
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The idea for my next mission in Operation Save Covid-19 Easter came when I opened the food stores and found marshmallows. (Thank you, Guam supermarket!) Yep, it was time for a baking bonding moment - Resurrection Rolls. We layered the ingredients in the bread machine and the dough was made while we were dying eggs. By the time our fingertips were various shades of dye, it was time to roll out the dough, dip those marshmallows, and roll ‘em up! Presto! Perhaps this plan was coming together. <br />
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We baked a double batch and brought some of the warm rolls into the resort which we’re anchored near. Every afternoon around two o’clock, we’ve been having a Mexican Train Domino competition. The few staff members stranded here love the distraction and especially loved the sweets we shared with them this time! Easter 2020 was becoming memorable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S-ISr-mc1j4/XrNjFkjMa5I/AAAAAAAAF0g/Kev7kjP69rIaOOMeZuSyldOjPrHX8nYowCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_4455.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S-ISr-mc1j4/XrNjFkjMa5I/AAAAAAAAF0g/Kev7kjP69rIaOOMeZuSyldOjPrHX8nYowCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_4455.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Again, prime example of kids' personalities</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EKx46UYebwg/XrNjM0d8njI/AAAAAAAAF0o/VFglNS_XL6U-9vmbUbiZgzfxUEcr0BP3ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_3760.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EKx46UYebwg/XrNjM0d8njI/AAAAAAAAF0o/VFglNS_XL6U-9vmbUbiZgzfxUEcr0BP3ACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_3760.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Resurrection Rolls</td></tr>
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But, honestly, each Easter isn’t Easter because it’s memorable; Easter is about remembering. <br />
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Remembering who Jesus is and the hope we have in Him. Sure, the plastic grass and dyed eggs make fun family memories, but I don’t want to miss the beautiful truth that Easter represents. He loves me. He died for me. He redeemed me. He arose. He is alive! During all this Corona virus upheaval, we can be confident that He is with us and offers grace, hope, and perfect peace. That is what Easter is all about.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elizabeth's work of egg art</td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-31373257066444380992020-05-10T19:02:00.000+11:002020-05-20T13:52:34.038+11:00From Rations to Plenty<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_VB1v_tqRE/XrJrZqXwmEI/AAAAAAAAFzg/CNKxg9FQLSwJvbngDyxMgSe0urU8hqH0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Rations%2B-%2B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1119" data-original-width="1600" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_VB1v_tqRE/XrJrZqXwmEI/AAAAAAAAFzg/CNKxg9FQLSwJvbngDyxMgSe0urU8hqH0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Rations%2B-%2B1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Say hello to the biggest carrot we've ever seen. </td></tr>
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<h4>
Produce Delivery - March 31, 2020</h4>
“Your produce arrived today, you can come pick it up at the resort anytime.”<br />
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The text came at 10 o’clock, and I could barely contain my excitement. Opening the sparcely stocked fridge lately had brought on a sort of panic and depression in me. Wilted bok choy, one quarter of a pumpkin, and half an onion sat glumly alone on the shelf. Whenever it came time to cook dinner, I felt like I’d been thrust onto the set of Iron Chef, “Create a main course with these two shriveled tomatoes, three potatoes, and a can of corn.” (Things were certainly not this dire for us quite yet, but I felt the need to use as few of our canned provisions as possible in order to save them for when we ‘really needed them’ and I could feel the food rationing nazi slowly creeping into my psyche. When preparing each meal, I found myself praying thanksgiving and miraculous multiplication over each veggie I placed on the cutting board like it was my last. Fishes and loaves, Lord, fishes and loaves.)<br />
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But, alas, my produce arrived. I prayed, “Lord, whatever is there, thank you. It will be enough.”<br />
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As I pulled up to the resort dock, the security guard motioned to the edge, where a ginormous potato sack was leaning up against the railing. It bulged with the promise of plenty. Thank you, Lord. Once again, your provisions for us exceed my greatest imaginings. The guard helped me heave the sack into our dinghy, and when we got back to the boat, we unpacked our abundance. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mMlUjt_hYvI/XrJsxo6BQTI/AAAAAAAAFz0/fLfnvKBxb8UJrdaUvefSTpWuDjhRTiBzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Rations%2B-%2B3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mMlUjt_hYvI/XrJsxo6BQTI/AAAAAAAAFz0/fLfnvKBxb8UJrdaUvefSTpWuDjhRTiBzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Rations%2B-%2B3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unpacking the bounty</td></tr>
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Oohs and aahs rose as each item was pulled out, and like Mary Poppins’ carpetbag, it seemed bottomless. Quietly, I thanked the packaging person who had thoughtfully set my fragile tomatoes and bananas on top of the heartier produce to prevent bruising. They obviously had done this once or twice! Green beans and calamansi were next, then eggplant, cucumbers, cabbage, garlic, carrots, and finally onions, potatoes, and a plump pumpkin at the very bottom. Separately, two cardboard trays of eggs were stacked and bound up with plastic twine. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tNtc4A6ji34/XrJsRovPaQI/AAAAAAAAFzo/XzeUJsPvJWoTjDJX2ayg8-y0Qa9QrD_qwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Rations%2B-%2B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1600" height="496" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tNtc4A6ji34/XrJsRovPaQI/AAAAAAAAFzo/XzeUJsPvJWoTjDJX2ayg8-y0Qa9QrD_qwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Rations%2B-%2B2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael's our 'egg tray guy'</td></tr>
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Our fresh provisions were replenished. No more Iron Chef challenges for a while. Phew. All was right with the world again... well, aside from that silly pandemic, anyway.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oVtSN77g300/XrJuZxQi_VI/AAAAAAAAF0I/7UhEsWfXNmwrHe6QzLqZHS8XQbAqgsdqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Rations%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oVtSN77g300/XrJuZxQi_VI/AAAAAAAAF0I/7UhEsWfXNmwrHe6QzLqZHS8XQbAqgsdqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Rations%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Market Receipt</td></tr>
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The following morning, as I happily cut up onions to add to my omelette, I peered out the porthole to see a family paddle past, fishing from their small canoe. The young boy, around Michael’s age, sat at the bow, rhythmically jerking on a trailing fishing line. A girl, around three years old, huddled on her mother’s lap while the father propelled the boat from the stern. I couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing for food in the midst of the shutdown. Did they have enough? Are they fishing for today’s meal? Was that mother plagued with the same anxiety I’d felt when my baskets were all empty? </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fEqpZJledFU/XrJt8U1iSzI/AAAAAAAAF0A/xsMrYszOiSoJw6epfIQEPuLXEfTrU6p5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Rations%2B-%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fEqpZJledFU/XrJt8U1iSzI/AAAAAAAAF0A/xsMrYszOiSoJw6epfIQEPuLXEfTrU6p5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Rations%2B-%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishing for today's food</td></tr>
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I paused.</div>
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Now I am that boy carrying the basket of fish and bread. I am the one to whom God has given plenty, surrounded by the hungry crowd. I’m the one wondering how it could possibly be enough. Will I share what I have? Will I trust that God will multiply it to be far more than they need? </div>
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Fish and loaves, Lord, fish and loaves. The crowd is hungry.</div>
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John 6:27 “But don’t be so concerned about perishable things like food. Spend your energy seeking the eternal life that the Son of Man can give you. For God the Father has given Me the seal of His approval.”</div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-60040950733145350982020-05-09T12:04:00.000+11:002020-05-20T13:52:34.135+11:00Stuck in the Philippines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h4>
Social, but Distancing - March 2020</h4>
It is strange to be here with no other sailors around us. We are lone rangers. The limited internet connection we have, however, allows us to stay in touch with a group of sailors nearby at Busuanga Bay. They write about their efforts to contact local farmers to arrange for produce delivery in the anchorage. Here at the resort, they keep saying they have produce, but I feel bad asking them to sell us some of it, seeing as they need it to feed their staff and few stranded guests. Yesterday, I finally broke down and asked if they had some table salt they could sell me. It feels awkward and humbling to be somewhat dependent upon them. We are trying to find ways to give back to them as well. <br />
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Yesterday when we went in, I brought a dress and a raincoat that Elizabeth grew out of, and Mark brought some pickling powder to help fix one of their watermakers. I also packed up a mini pedicure kit, to provide a spa time for the female staff and the one guest. They were thrilled with the idea, and it prompted us all to begin brainstorming ways we could pass the time together (adhering to the social distancing requirements, of course). A bbq was planned for the following day, and we suggested a movie night - we’d provide the screen and projector and they’d supply the popcorn! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zwe3KCdjkA4/XrJkv25Rj2I/AAAAAAAAFzM/e83bA-PiXAoJ2LrixuewoiTlPF_Q-AE3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Sangatweek1%2B-%2B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zwe3KCdjkA4/XrJkv25Rj2I/AAAAAAAAFzM/e83bA-PiXAoJ2LrixuewoiTlPF_Q-AE3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Sangatweek1%2B-%2B1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hunger Games trilogy</td></tr>
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That same afternoon, the resort food and beverage manager, Mark, packed up a cooler full of cold drinks and everyone kayaked to the hot springs for a happy hour. What a luxury!<br />
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This all sounds exciting and social, but underneath it, I still am struggling to process everything. No matter how life appears normal on the outside, fear inches in. The fact that we are in a foreign country (a relatively poor foreign country) gnaws at my inner peace and my mind easily runs away with all the ‘what ifs’. Social media certainly doesn’t help much - photos of empty shelves, stories of horrific medical experiences, and the sheer chaos and panic of it all. I can see all the ways that God has protected us and provided for us. It is truly awe-inspiring. But my mind doesn’t want to stay in that place of rest and assurance. Why do I automatically default to fear and anxiety? Why does my human nature want so badly to worry and freak out? So easily I can get spun up into a tornado of anxiety, but right now, I am asking that God spin me into a storm of serenity, of peace in the knowledge that He is still God. I’m convincing my mind to lean into the truths found in Him and not focus on the unknown and the inconsequential. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eD4mR-oP5u4/XrJl1dwcOYI/AAAAAAAAFzU/u4o4mVkGYjwjiyNBjACmoTdsJ4Xt0-pjwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Sangatweek1%2B-%2B4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eD4mR-oP5u4/XrJl1dwcOYI/AAAAAAAAFzU/u4o4mVkGYjwjiyNBjACmoTdsJ4Xt0-pjwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Sangatweek1%2B-%2B4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My pondering place</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
“For God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and self-control.” 2 Tim 1:7<br />
<br />
“When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.” Ps 56:3<br />
<br />
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9<br />
<br />
“Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matt 6:34<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-47279057289987925672020-05-08T18:08:00.000+11:002020-05-20T13:52:34.086+11:00Quarantine Oasis - Sangat Island<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iMHWzSxP96s/XrJgVnc9cBI/AAAAAAAAFyo/fwwn6vPDvF8qSysERnsAW0K83spksVNKwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Sangat%2B-%2B6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iMHWzSxP96s/XrJgVnc9cBI/AAAAAAAAFyo/fwwn6vPDvF8qSysERnsAW0K83spksVNKwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Sangat%2B-%2B6.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rock Bar - Sangat Island Dive Resort</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4>
A Safe Spot to Land - March 17, 2020</h4>
After our quick escape from Coron town and one night in a secluded bay, we ventured onward, hoping to find some friendly folks at the Sangat Dive Resort. Friends had highly recommended this spot and specifically noted it was “cruiser-friendly.” Given the chilling way we were received in town, we desperately hoped to find a cruiser-friendly spot to stay put for a while. <br />
<br />
When we arrived and tied to a mooring, Mark and I debated about who would go ashore. Neither of us wanted to be the ones to rock up in this resort and get turned away. In the end, Elizabeth and I stayed aboard to man the boat in the 20-knot winds on the unknown mooring ball, while Mark and Michael ventured ashore. I anxiously watched through the binoculars as they were greeted by an armed security guard and a white man. What were they saying? Was the place open? Were we going to be welcomed to stay?<br />
<br />
When the guys finally returned, they were all smiles. Andy, the English owner, was extremely welcoming and even offered to sell us some of their excess produce, if needed. He told us about a calmer spot to anchor, set us up with wifi, and gave us a menu for the night’s dinner. Relief spread over me like a warm embrace. God had answered our prayers for a safe anchorage and even surprised us with friendly faces and fresh food.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-duLt2FiPsvs/XrJg6-YmlHI/AAAAAAAAFyw/qQt2W2Qbv2Q_Ofrfz8767tI-c5meELKGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Sangat%2B-%2B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="1600" height="434" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-duLt2FiPsvs/XrJg6-YmlHI/AAAAAAAAFyw/qQt2W2Qbv2Q_Ofrfz8767tI-c5meELKGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Sangat%2B-%2B2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calm anchorage just around the corner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Andy said they would remain partially opened. A few of his friends were visiting from England, and had opted to stick around and wait out the quarantine. The resort pared down its staff substantially, but dives were still available and meals would still be made. Given all this, we decided to wait out the quarantine period (1 month in Philippine Islands) here on our own. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SHSJ6eKkhrE/XrJhcNalAWI/AAAAAAAAFy4/BsRR5w_qY-IWJE-BjJBrqPv9VGVEA4TlgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Sangat%2B-%2B5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SHSJ6eKkhrE/XrJhcNalAWI/AAAAAAAAFy4/BsRR5w_qY-IWJE-BjJBrqPv9VGVEA4TlgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Sangat%2B-%2B5.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Added bonus... Amber, the resident resort dog. The kids are happy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-27377998044972953922020-05-07T17:43:00.000+11:002020-05-20T13:52:33.984+11:00Coron, Philippine Islands<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IVV8cj7nC8w/XrJX4AeGjlI/AAAAAAAAFx4/JFu81Mx8Y-oVY4Al-UyuZPF4DRTBocs5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/coron%2B-%2B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IVV8cj7nC8w/XrJX4AeGjlI/AAAAAAAAFx4/JFu81Mx8Y-oVY4Al-UyuZPF4DRTBocs5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/coron%2B-%2B1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First glimpses of Coron</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4>
Encountering Corona Closings in Coron - March 17, 2020</h4>
For the past four days we have been out of internet range - diving in the remote Apo Reef, anchoring beside deserted sandy beaches, and enjoying the stillness. Somehow, my phone picked up a smidgen of internet somewhere, though, and our stillness was shaken as this message popped up on my text feed from my friend Kerry who had just left us to get back to Australia:<br />
<br />
<b>“Do you have internet where you are? Looks like we just made it through the Manila airport in time!! Best you keep on sailing - the world’s gone mad!!”</b><br />
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After pulling out of Puerto Galera and being away from the media coverage for four days, we have finally anchored in Coron and have been bombarded with the onslaught of travel restrictions, lockdowns, and mandated closures. Apparently, a lot can change in four days!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kW5QI5-QZqo/XrJZaC80VYI/AAAAAAAAFyQ/5oVk44viKvIzaxitT-VITMUStRwPg7BggCEwYBhgL/s1600/coron%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="748" height="205" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kW5QI5-QZqo/XrJZaC80VYI/AAAAAAAAFyQ/5oVk44viKvIzaxitT-VITMUStRwPg7BggCEwYBhgL/s320/coron%2B-%2B1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One and Two - check! Three - not a chance.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What used to be seen as overdramatization and over-reaction suddenly seemed reasonable and alarmingly necessary. This COVID-19 was ramping up, and governments around the world were taking drastic measures to protect their countries from hospital overwhelm and complete chaos. Once we caught up on the newsfeed about the increasing spread and immediate need to take action that would ‘flatten the curve’, it was apparent that this virus was going to have an impact on many areas of our lives.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<h3>
Sailing Plans</h3>
Could we enter Malaysia in April as planned or would the lockdown still be in place? How would the authorities in Coron react to us being here? If we did need to evacuate, what would that look like for us - leave the boat where? fly to where? We have been reading about sailors who sail for days to a destination, only to be refused entry or told to stay onboard for a specified quarantine period. Basically, that means we A) need to stay where we are, and B) need to make sure we are provisioned for at least a month or two. In some ways, a sailboat isn’t a bad place to be stuck during a pandemic, as long as we are adequately prepared.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Travel</h3>
This summer we had grand plans to finally go back to the US after two years away. Family reunions were organized, airplane and event tickets purchased... you know, all the big plans that the “10-person gathering” recommendation shuts down. With the current rules in place and IF we could find a place to dock the boat, we could possibly still go home. However, then we run the risk of not being able to return to the boat for the foreseeable future. Ah, the complexities this corona virus has brought about.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Visas</h3>
Right now, we hold tourist visas that allow us to stay in the Philippines for a little under two months. But the big question is, what happens when our visas are up? Will we be allowed to renew? Or will we be sent away? Many cruisers are finding themselves uncertain about how to adhere to the immigration laws of the country in which they are currently moored. In Malaysia, for example, sailors often hop to Thailand, then back to Malaysia in order to get a renewed visa issued. That’s not an option for them anymore. What should they do? How long will these countries be shut down? (update: many countries have waived the immigration deadlines and will not administer fines for overstayed visas)<br />
<br />
<h3>
Weather</h3>
Always a vital aspect of any sailor’s passage planning is weather. The patterns of the wind often dictate where we go and when. Right now, for example, we are enjoying the cooler dry season as we travel west through the Philippine Islands. Strong tradewinds from the northeast provide comfortable downwind sailing and naturally propel us southwest towards Malaysia, our ultimate destination. These winds, however, begin to blow the opposite direction in late April. If we cannot get into Malaysia and out of this wind pattern by the time the weather turns, we will be forced to either stay in the Philippine Islands or beat against the winds and waves for hundreds of miles. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eS_48I-0znI/XrJYfFc4mTI/AAAAAAAAFyA/GUz7bgsg56MjI7ZPIF4n-tBz2OqVU74OgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/coron%2B-%2B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eS_48I-0znI/XrJYfFc4mTI/AAAAAAAAFyA/GUz7bgsg56MjI7ZPIF4n-tBz2OqVU74OgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/coron%2B-%2B2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are shocked to see Coron as a ghost town, everything shut down.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
The following day... </h3>
We ventured ashore yesterday to grab a few provisions, check out the town, and maybe talk to some dive operations. Trucks were hauling dirt, reclaiming a large portion of the sea as a new waterfront. Dust blew into our faces as we trekked across the desolate new land. It felt like we were in some old western film, walking into a ghost town. Nothing was open, doors were shut and boarded up. The market had one stall open where I quickly bought a tray of fresh eggs, wondering for how many weeks I should provision. This is a crazy time. <br />
<br />
While I was loading up my plastic egg cartons, a man in uniform approached us abruptly. “Where are you staying? Where are you from?” When we told him that we were on a yacht, his facial expression changed from authoritative indignance to complete confusion. “All tourists have to fly out in 72 hours due to the one-month quarantine in this province. There will be no other way for you to leave.” It was obvious that he didn’t really understand our situation. “We can sail away from here. We don’t need to get a ferry or a flight.” A blank stare. He wasn’t sure what to do with us. “I’m going to alert the coast guard, “ he quickly stated and walked away. Mark and I looked at each other, shrugging our shoulders. We had thought the quarantine had been set only for the Manila area, but it turns out, Coron is part of the same province. Hmmm. Our minds’ wheels began turning. <br />
<br />
In the grocery store, there was a crowd of people at the register with cardboard boxes filled and ready to take out to their villages. No one was panicked, but people were stocking up. I had a short list of things we needed, but we decided to go investigate further before buying groceries that we’d have to carry around.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8rhHzS9Q2T4/XrJaTB3bO4I/AAAAAAAAFyU/bv38p6powrc9svwQQFktb86MzY1Di7HoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/coron%2B-%2B4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8rhHzS9Q2T4/XrJaTB3bO4I/AAAAAAAAFyU/bv38p6powrc9svwQQFktb86MzY1Di7HoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/coron%2B-%2B4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kicking myself for not buying a few things while we were there!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A frozen yogurt shop beckoned us as we walked past. Behold! It was open! Inside we met a nice woman (from Switzerland, perhaps?) who owned the place. She studied us closely before asking, “How is it that you are still here?” We briefly explained and she graciously proceeded to offer to sell us cheese, coffee, wine, veggies, etc. As we sat there enjoying the mango frozen yogurt, it gradually dawned on us that we might need to get the heck out of here, and fast. Since no one really knew how we fit into the quarantine regulations, we feared that the coast guard would decide to force us to stay for the entire month. In a flash, we gulped the last of our frozen yogurt and high-tailed it back to the boat, not stopping anywhere on the way. Anchors aweigh and we motored into a small, secluded bay to gather our thoughts and make a plan.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k2NqHVlyY0I/XrJafma-LLI/AAAAAAAAFyY/7sF4_ZK-W1kue-MSKJcG13nvvTc_M-RkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/coron%2B-%2B6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k2NqHVlyY0I/XrJafma-LLI/AAAAAAAAFyY/7sF4_ZK-W1kue-MSKJcG13nvvTc_M-RkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/coron%2B-%2B6.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self-isolation with a view</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-12583311335662095512020-05-06T17:13:00.001+11:002020-05-20T13:52:33.888+11:00Apo Reef, Philippine Islands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f9g5sPwDE78/XrII4XyXwvI/AAAAAAAAFw4/aj4CV-oQlG4ukf1YBiLBX7OSCLYrgqe6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/apo%2B-%2B6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f9g5sPwDE78/XrII4XyXwvI/AAAAAAAAFw4/aj4CV-oQlG4ukf1YBiLBX7OSCLYrgqe6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/apo%2B-%2B6.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<h4>
March 12, 2020</h4>
The water was glass as we motored toward the lighthouse marking the Apo Reef ranger station. We had sailed (well, motored) throughout the night under the light of a nearly full moon. Our goal - to arrive in the morning so we could fit in a full day of diving. Apo Reef is 90 miles southwest of Puerto Galera. It is designated as a national park, so first thing we had to do was pop into the ranger’s station and pay the fees (US$60 per diver) for a 48-hour permit. There was only one place that we were allowed to anchor, which was quite a distance from where we paid the fees, so instead of anchoring and making the long trek, I pulled Field Trip right up to the reef wall near the station, stayed on board, and manned the ship while everyone else hopped in the dinghy and went in to check us all in. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L-s7edtLmMQ/XrIH358bx1I/AAAAAAAAFww/P8sc-kChx4AMiwKKJLvbUu8aMe0WQTQUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/apo%2B-%2B10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="1600" height="284" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L-s7edtLmMQ/XrIH358bx1I/AAAAAAAAFww/P8sc-kChx4AMiwKKJLvbUu8aMe0WQTQUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/apo%2B-%2B10.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Motoring around near ranger station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Thirty minutes later, they returned with the details. Turns out, there are members of the Philippine Army stationed on the island with the rangers. Michael reported that they carried guns similar to the assault rifles and pistols he'd seen on Fortnite. It was said they were here for protection. They even made sure to tell us to monitor channel 07 on the VHF and call them if we needed any assistance. What/who are they protecting? And from what or whom? Immediately, my mind leaped to the pirating incidences reported in the Sulu Sea. Sure, we were specifically avoiding the trouble area, but there certainly aren’t clearly defined walls keeping them in one place. Mark, always the voice of reason in response to my ‘awful-izing’, figured they were stationed there to protect the waters from illegal fishing vessels. Right, that must be it. Either way, we were glad they were here and so willing to help if need be. With a forced nonchalance, I turned the dial on the VHF to 07 as we motored to the designated anchorage.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fDvY67RYDfA/XrJQqhnfyUI/AAAAAAAAFxM/X2QZnGxF9vEEMcqUHBb3tyfgBRq8xJziQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/apo%2B-%2B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fDvY67RYDfA/XrJQqhnfyUI/AAAAAAAAFxM/X2QZnGxF9vEEMcqUHBb3tyfgBRq8xJziQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/apo%2B-%2B2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lessons in navigation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Right away, Mark got busy readying all the dive kits, and I dug into our dive gear to gather all the dive suits and accessories we’d need. So far in Philippines, the water has been a frigid 24-25ºC. Hoods had become a necessary part of our dive uniforms. Michael even wore a shorty over his full length dive suit and still had blue lips when we surfaced! <br />
<br />
The water here, though, was surprisingly warm! 29-30ºC! Before descending, the kids flailed around on the surface, so excited for the comfortable temperature. Mark untied the dinghy from the dive mooring, tied the long floating dive line to the dinghy line, and we slowly descended into the clear waters of Apo Reef for the first time. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KsLh0Q6Ihbw/XrJRKD4I9CI/AAAAAAAAFxg/rG500uvRrmUe_017Rk2hjKWD-HkrCmhoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/apo%2B-%2B7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KsLh0Q6Ihbw/XrJRKD4I9CI/AAAAAAAAFxg/rG500uvRrmUe_017Rk2hjKWD-HkrCmhoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/apo%2B-%2B7.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending into the deep - Field Trip above, reef beside</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Surgeon, unicorn, and sargeant fish circled us as we swam against a slight current toward the steep reef wall. The water was crystal clear, allowing us to see way out into the blue. The reef rose up to 10 meters then suddenly, dropped into oblivion. Swimming to the edge felt like looking over a cliff into pure nothingness. Michael swam right out into the deep and hovered there, suspended against the backdrop of cerulean. Schools of fusiliers zipped past, then spotted juvenile snappers ambled by followed by crowds of curious pyramid butterflyfish. The coral was not in great shape, but the ample variety of fish species made up for it. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IuJzF4bu-CI/XrJQ-tc785I/AAAAAAAAFxY/KMfGWDng3lsZh39HozuQW-5fLctvXuxpACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/apo%2B-%2B5%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IuJzF4bu-CI/XrJQ-tc785I/AAAAAAAAFxY/KMfGWDng3lsZh39HozuQW-5fLctvXuxpACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/apo%2B-%2B5%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sea of fish in clear waters of Apo Reef</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Eventually, we all kicked out into the blue and descended deeper to explore the reef wall. A large hawksbill turtle literally walked along the coral ledges, nibbling coral and sponges here and there. He wasn’t at all timid or bothered by us being there, so we hovered nearby and watched him for a while. Michael spotted a tiny nudibranch perched atop a piece of hard coral, and Elizabeth snapped a few photos to add to her ever-growing collection. After about twenty minutes at twenty meters, we began our slow ascent back up to the top of the reef where we explored canyons and crevices. At one point, we happened upon two white-tipped reef sharks resting on a sandy canyon floor. Both were probably 8 feet long and only swam slowly away when Mark approached them with his gopro to get a closer shot.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family meeting on the reef</td></tr>
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Up near the surface, a swirling school of silver unicornfish were performing some sort of mating behavior. Pairs of fish would break off from the school, one remaining silver and the other turning a deep black color, then they’d swim right next to each other as a couple. These are the moments underwater that enchant me lately. I love to just sit and watch how fish react to each other and wonder at the reasoning behind certain behaviors.<br />
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Speaking of strange behaviors, the kids were on a bubble kick during this dive. Each time I’d look over at them, they’d be watching each other attempt bubble rings and compete to see whose was the biggest. The water was so clear, you could watch each bubble float all the way to the surface! I guess that was more entertaining today than the aquarium we were swimming through :)<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-16581282075209292912020-05-01T19:16:00.000+11:002020-05-07T13:41:14.789+11:00Puerto Galera, Philippines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h4>
March 2, 2020</h4>
<h4>
Yacht Club?</h4>
When we arrived in Puerto Galera back in February, the virus had already started diminishing tourism. Many of the dive shops were empty and few foreigners could still be seen around town. The day we got there, we anchored in a bay among other boats, and headed into the yacht club to talk to them about possibly getting a mooring. The young gal behind the counter was less than helpful, telling us that there was a very long waiting list and basically sending us on our way with no more information. Mark and I looked at each other, puzzled. Okay? Guess we’re on our own and there’s nothing more we need to know! All the questions we wanted to ask would have to be saved to ask other sailors we happened to meet. <br />
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Above the office, we ordered lunch and sat down to make a game plan. At a nearby table, a group of expats were enjoying their monthly wine tasting luncheon. Each of them brought a bottle of wine and then blindly rated them in a variety of categories. We couldn’t help but eavesdrop, as they unknowingly offered up restaurant recommendations and insider information of the area within their casual conversation. They’d all obviously lived in Puerto Galera for some time, so in eavesdropping in on that winetasting conversation, we gained much more local knowledge than the yacht club receptionist had given us! As they talked, I quietly opened my notes app and began taking down all the details I could! Eventually, when they had finished their tasting and rating, we struck up a conversation and asked them all the questions that were still left unanswered - laundry facility? best grocery store? trash disposal? local hangouts? They were a fire hose of information, and I was desperately trying to jot it all down!<br />
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Later, when looking for a place to grab dinner, we actually found a place on TripAdvisor serving Mexican food! What?! <a href="https://badladz.com/">Badladz Dive Resort</a> had a chill vibe AND homemade salsa. It quickly became one of our favorite hangouts. It also became the place we earned our Nitrox dive certification, enjoyed a diving trip out to <a href="https://www.google.com/maps?q=verde+island+map&source=lmns&client=safari&hl=en&ved=2ahUKEwjowvmqzYzpAhUvHKYKHSZJAScQ_AUoAXoECAEQAQ">Verde Island</a>, and indulged in a few pampering spa treatments. Our new favorite place.<br />
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<h4>
Anchoring Eviction</h4>
At least four days after our not-so-helpful yacht club visit, we were approached by a harbor boat, telling us we were anchored in a marine reserve and would have to move. I explained to the messenger that Michael and I were alone on board, and the others were on a day trip to Verde Island. They wouldn’t be back until at least five o’clock, and I didn’t feel comfortable moving the boat by ourselves. He quickly dialed up the port captain and handed me the phone. The port captain was understanding, but firm, as he explained the situation again. I told him that this information was new to us, and we certainly would not have anchored here had we known. (This area was not designated as a marine reserve on our charts, so I’m guessing this was part of the information that we <i>should</i> have received from that ‘<a href="https://www.pgyc.org/index.php">yacht club</a>’.) We agreed to move as soon as Mark got back. <br />
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We also received a very curt email from the yacht club insinuating that we had not checked in with them and were not given permission to anchor there. It was quite a mess. When we had first arrived and gone straight to the yacht club, the gal at the desk had not taken down any of our information or questioned us when we said we were anchored in the bay. Again, no information was provided. We had told her that we were proprietary members due to our membership in the Palau Yacht Club and she had sent us on our way. Eventually, things got smoothed out. First, they put us stay on a vacant mooring, just until Kerry and I caught our rides to the early morning ferry the following morning. Then, Mark and the kids moved the boat to a mooring in a bay around the corner. It felt like we were being accused of breaking rules that we didn't even know existed! Kindly, we asked them to post the information on their website so that future visiting yachts would know what to do.<br />
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<i>So...quick note to cruisers planning to visit Puerto Galera: They do not want yachts anchoring <b>anywhere</b> in the bays around town. You will need to call plenty of time in advance to reserve a mooring ball through the Puerto Gallera Yacht Club. The port authorities were assigning fines to all anchored boats who refused to move. </i><br />
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<h4>
Traveling Amid the Frenzy</h4>
Our friend, Kerry, a fellow sailing sister of mine from Australia, had been aboard for two weeks, and she was concerned that she wouldn’t be able to get home due to the increasing travel restrictions. There were fewer ferries running and flights were being cancelled left and right. In the end, though, she was able to get to Manila and fly back to Oz. Phew! <br />
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Since we were at a place that was easier to fly in and out of, I decided to go to Penang and visit the school we would enroll the kids in this fall. I had heard about some teaching positions that were available, and thought this might be the last chance I’d have for a while to go for an interview. At this time, I really didn’t have a clue how serious the Corona virus situation was. If I would have realized what it would become, I would have never opted to fly alone to Penang. Only when I started my trip, did I see the severe effects of the spreading virus. Everyone was wearing a mask, temperature scans were commonplace, and very few people were traveling anymore. It was eerie. <br />
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The school visit went very well, but among the staff there was an underlying tension. Little did I know that they would be closing the school just a week or so later due to quarantine measures. Yikes. I’d barely made it back to Puerto Gallera before the Philippines was officially put under a strict quarantine lockdown! As a matter of fact, when I returned before everything was shut down, we set off for some remote island, not knowing we’d find a whole new world four days later when we anchored in Coron! I can’t imagine what would have happened if I’d have gotten stranded in Malaysia while the family was in the Philippines! Certainly the timing was divinely orchestrated. Kerry was able to get home, I was able to get to the school before it closed, then I got back from Penang just in time, and we had just done a big provisioning haul. There’s no way we could have anticipated the unprecedented events that were to come, but I'm so grateful that we were together and as prepared as we could be.<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-82139011906621171202020-04-22T19:43:00.000+11:002020-05-07T13:41:14.907+11:00Romblon, Philippines<h4>
Old World Charm</h4>
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It had said in the guidebook that Romblon was rich with historical charm, but our first quick jaunt into town to grab dinner left us wondering if we landed in the right place. Certainly, the homemade pizza, pasta, and 6 delicious desserts we feasted on in a treasure of an Italian restaurant satisfied our taste buds, but the rest of our senses were left feeling a bit underwhelmed by the town. It wasn’t much different from any other we’d visited so far in the Philippines. And did I mention it was raining?? <br />
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The next day, though, we set out on an early morning hike to the San Andres Fort. I was feeling like I needed a bit of exercise, and the 200+ steps would definitely be a great start. Along the way, mosaic images decorated the platforms and provided wonderful opportunities to stop, take in the view, and catch our breath as we ascended. At the top we met Johnny, the caretaker of the fort who’d been living on the grounds and maintaining it for the past three years. He was on the team of volunteers who worked to restore the fort and make it the historical attraction it is today. Over 400 years ago, a Catholic priest from Portugal had been posted in Romblon to lead the people both spiritually and militarily. He taught the local people how to defend themselves with weapons, greatly increasing their chances of fending off the Muslim marauders who made multiple attempts to capture the island for Islam. <br />
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From the fort, the morning light cast a golden glow onto the town below. From this vantage point, we could see how little of the town we had walked through last night. We had certainly judged the Romblon ‘book’ by its proverbial ‘cover’. It was decided that we needed to give it another chance. We bid farewell to Johnny and thanked him for his work before descending the stairs and winding our way further into the heart of Romblon.<br />
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The city was just waking up. Folks were congregating in the alleyways with cups of coffee. Some were already selling fried goodies roadside and others were busy shuffling the kids off to school. The time of day we come ashore can make such a difference in our experience of a place. Often, we wait until after school and lunch to head into town, which gets us there right when everyone is hiding from the heat of the day, taking a siesta. It’s not a great time, really to see the best a community has to offer. This morning, however, it feels like we are waking up with the town and feeling the charming vibe spoken of in the tourist book. Romblon definitely has a unique vibe and a warm, welcoming feel to it unlike any we’ve encountered so far.<br />
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A stop in the market to refill our produce baskets finishes our morning ashore. Back on board, we’re all feeling energized and ready to buckle down on the list of to-do’s for the day - school, laundry, cleaning, and writing before heading back ashore for dinner. I’m loving finding great restaurants (TripAdvisor lists about 13!) to save me from cooking in the galley every night. After Italian the night before, we opt to try a new burger joint, Smōhk, opened by a native Romblonian who spent many years living in New York. Complete with French’s mustard, grilled onions, and real Heinz ketchup (not the sweet SE Asian version) the burgers were a-mazing and absolutely unexpected. So often, the replication of western food is attempted by other countries, but they never get it quite right. This place nailed it.<br />
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I thought the price was reasonable at 200 pesos for a burger and fries (about US $4), but our tricycle driver told us that those prices are still too expensive for most of the local people. He feeds his whole family at a local eatery for 300 pesos total! Certainly the cost of importing foreign foods like mozzarella cheese and Heinz ketchup factor into the inflated prices. So, while we thoroughly enjoyed our burgers, it was good to be reminded that we’re in a place where daily minimum wage is between P200-P300. Yeah. One burger costs one day’s wages. Still letting that sink in... <br />
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On our way back to the dock, our friendly driver made numerous stops to help us find last minute items that were still on my shopping list. When one rotisserie chicken spot was sold out, he tried three or four more before finally giving up. Then, he stopped by his friend’s shop so I could grab a few sodas for the fridge. Once the shopping was done, we treated him to ice cream at the local homemade ice cream shop as a thank you for his fantastic service and honest, local perspective. <br />
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Tomorrow we’ll be leaving for a small island called Cobrador, just an hour away. We’ve gotten our ‘town’ fix, now, it’s time to get back to the peace and quiet of a remote anchorage and more time underwater. So long, Romblon, thanks for showing us what you’re really made of...<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-75207860156736442492020-04-20T16:29:00.000+11:002020-05-07T13:41:14.891+11:00Calm in the Midst of Chaos<h4>
Sonok Pintuyan, Philippines January 2020</h4>
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In Sonok Pintuyan, a village in the Philippine Islands, we had the opportunity to swim alongside the biggest fish in the sea - the whale shark. On average, they can grow to a whopping 18 meters in length, equal to ten grown men laid head to foot! Even though they are enormous creatures, whale sharks are not easy to locate in the wild. In some places, the local fisherman have capitalized on the appetites of these filter-feeding beasts and continuously feed them in order to keep them around. Here, however, the local people do not feed the whale sharks, but simply bring tourists to see them when the whale sharks happen to be in the area during their migration. We asked a local guide and his three canoe-rowing spotters to come along with us in our search. Would we be lucky enough to see one?<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Suddenly, a shout came from one of the spotters! We rushed over in our dinghy, frantically pulling on our masks and fins. Large boats lined with tourists followed, and the race was on. Once in position, we hopped over the side of the dinghy and looked below us. Bright white spots on a dark silhouette slowly came into view. The graceful giant steadily swished its tail, while we snorkelers above kicked desperately to keep up. Everyone was clambering to get the best view and the best photo, causing a crowd of chaos on the surface. Below, however, the whale shark swam along effortlessly in a silent serenity, not at all stressed or concerned about the fins splashing above. Its calmness captivated me. <br />
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<i>As I look back on this moment, it occurs to me that I find myself swimming in a sea of chaos right now. There are things happening on the surface that are completely beyond my control. It is a turbulent time. People are frantic, scared. No one knows how this pandemic will progress or when life might start looking normal again. There are more questions than answers. But even amidst of all the chaos, let me remain calm. Steady. Focus my heart and mind on the hope and peace that can only be found in You.</i><br />
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<i>Philippians 4:5-7</i>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-29610709786468125032020-04-17T16:30:00.002+11:002020-05-07T13:41:14.819+11:00Surigao - Don't Judge a Town by its Smells, but its Smiles <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zooming along in7 knots of positive current on our way to Surigao! </td></tr>
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January 2020<br />
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Checking into the Philippines required us to stop in Surigao, a shipping port and crowded city in the eastern islands. Our prior stop in Sairgao, the eco-conscious surf destination, made Surigao look like an absolute pit. As we dinghied into the man-made channel where the small fishing boats docked, the water beneath us turned a putrid shade of brownish yellow and the smell in emitted was even more disgusting. I did not want to fall in here. <br />
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As we debated about tide levels and the best way to tie up the dinghy (stern line?), some friendly men offered to take our bow line and helped us get situated. What this place lacked in asthetics, it would prove to make up for in kindness. During our quick 5-hour schlep to Immigration, Customs, Port Authority, and the fresh produce market, the people of Surigao we encountered along the way would insulate us from the abrupt shock of the big city.<br />
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Just days ago, we’d been enjoying the quiet bliss of a clean, cozy surf town - watching the waves roll in as we pulled rambutans from our eco-friendly paper bag and ate coconut icecream from an actual coconut bowl using a coconut spoon. Obviously, the community of Siargao went to extreme efforts to maintain their pristine surroundings. Was it the foreign tourists and expats instigating this green living or a forward-thinking Filipino? Either way, the aesthetics of Siargao couldn’t have been more different than what we’d find in Surigao.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying eco-friendly coconut ice cream in Siargao</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shock of a busy port after days surfing and walking along beautiful beaches</td></tr>
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Ferry ships zoomed in and out of port, rolling Field Trip violently from side to side. Huge container ships woke us at 3 a.m. with their required horn blasts upon arrival and departure. Habal-habals (modified motorcycle taxis) vied for position in tight traffic along streets lined with puddles of who-knows-what. Tangles of power lines hung haphazardly all around us. Children beseiged us with hands outstretched. Rancid smells accosted us around every corner. Eco-friendly? Asthetically pleasing? Not even close.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our rearview, sitting in traffic in Surigao</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the festive view in front!</td></tr>
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But the people. Drivers patiently tried to decipher our desired destination as we fumbled with our phones through google maps, even asking other drivers if they had any idea where we wanted to go. A customs official not only offered Mark a hot cup of coffee (that was a first!), but also specifically came out to meet the rest of us in the waiting area to warmly welcome us to Surigao! In the fresh market, while I was busy buying provisions for the next week, a stall owner next door quietly kept the kids company. In my peripheral hearing, I could make out his inquiries, “Where are you from? Have you been here before? How old are you?” It was a sweet glimpse into the quiet friendliness of the Filipino people. <br />
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The 5-hour stop was an exhausting one; navigating traffic, motorcycle fumes, tropical heat and uncertain directions in order to get all the signatures and stamps we needed for official entry into the Philippines. Then, sloshing through the fish and meat market to get to the fresh produce, holding my nose as inconspicuously as possible to fend off the stench. But it got us what we needed - clearance papers and fresh food - with over a dozen friendly faces to accompany us along the way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always happy to be home again!</td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-90818712057916509642020-04-10T16:23:00.000+11:002020-05-07T13:41:52.013+11:00Surfin' in Siargao by Michael<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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January 25, 2020 at 8:44:17 AM GMT+8<br />
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Surfin’ It, Shreddin’ It!<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was so nervous! I was about to go surfing for the first time in my life! My instructor walked around a corner holding the longboard I would be using. He was young, and had a bit of dyed blonde hair on top of his curls. He set the board down on the beach and showed me how to stand up on it from laying down. Once I did it two or three times, we started out on the water.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay this one!” he said and turned my board around (with me on it) and faced me towards the beach. Suddenly he gave me a shove and I felt myself speed up as the wave pushed me forward. “Up! Up!” I heard him call out. I pushed myself up with my hands and stepped forward with my left foot and then with my right. I was surfing! I heard my instructor whooping and clapping far behind me. I laughed and exited the wave by sitting down on my board. I glanced over and saw Dad plummet into the water and his board fly out of the wave behind him. HA! After about ten more waves we paddled back to shore and got ready to go. Dad asked if I wanted to go again and I was like, “HECK YEAH!”. So we signed up to go again the next day.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>To my surprise, when we returned the following day, my instructor came with a real surfboard!<br />
It was about half as wide and long, and the kind that professionals use. He said I was so good last time that he thought we should use a real surfboard! WHOA! So we went out and found a wave. “Up! Up!” he called. I pushed up with my hands, moved my left foot forward, wobbled a little, then-- SPLASH! Argh- the surfboard was WAY harder to use than the longboard! After a few tries, I got the hang of it and found out that it was way more maneuverable than the longboard.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I liked it so much, I asked Dad if I could do another hour, and he said yes. But this time I had a different instructor. I went out again, and found very quickly that the instructor I had was not good. He would say, “Paddle, paddle!” And while I paddled, he would hold my board until the wave came. I only got onto, like, five waves because of that technique. I also was tired from the first hour of surfing, so I didn’t really know what I was doing. But in the end, I wanted to come again the next day (if I had the good instructor). I might actually have found my new hobby!<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-1108889044243525162020-04-09T16:20:00.002+11:002020-04-09T16:27:57.126+11:00Guam: A Photo Journal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Guam Memories<br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dNK8Dv0Vdts/Xo1nKk-LoXI/AAAAAAAAFns/O5ENOT5ISWUM8K3xry-icvZE9dqFIVdtwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dNK8Dv0Vdts/Xo1nKk-LoXI/AAAAAAAAFns/O5ENOT5ISWUM8K3xry-icvZE9dqFIVdtwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/2%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></h2>
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Field Trip's home for just over a month, <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hag%C3%A5t%C3%B1a,_Guam" style="background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;" title="Hagåtña, Guam">Hagåtña</a> harbor. Guam is a U.S. island territory located in Micronesia. "Where America's Day Begins!" Also the home of a U.S. Naval Base, Andersen Airforce Base, U.S. Coastguard Sector, and National Guard. Every morning at 8:00 a.m. we would hear the national anthem being played over the loudspeakers. </h2>
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Food First.</h2>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guam was not in our original cruising plan, but when the kids found out <br />
they had a Taco Bell there, the 4,000 miles we had to sail to get there didn't seem so far! <br />
Taco Bell was literally our first meal in Guam. Tostadas, burritos, and tacos - oh my!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark and I enjoyed a dinner out alone at Lone Star Steakhouse! MMMmmmm - meat and potatoes! It felt a bit odd to be surrounded by Asian tourists in such a hometown American establishment, but the steaks were fantastic and there was even country music on the radio! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tcuBrHNHf84/Xo1nxYFhpiI/AAAAAAAAFn8/vayh8VNWc0YvCkUZXwx51yMxInTsaxRCACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/14%2Bcopy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tcuBrHNHf84/Xo1nxYFhpiI/AAAAAAAAFn8/vayh8VNWc0YvCkUZXwx51yMxInTsaxRCACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/14%2Bcopy.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The other 'must have' meal out was strawberry crepes at Village Inn! Yes, our time in Guam fattened us up! It feels strange to look back at all these restaurant photos now for two reasons: 1) friends and family back in the states probably don't get so excited about eating at these places. It's been a while since I've seen someone posting their latest Dorito Taco encounter on Instagram, like never, and 2) Now that everyone is on lockdown or under stay-at-home orders and having to cook every single meal, this just seems like torture! Wish I could hop in my car and pick up dinner!</td></tr>
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<h2>
Being Tourists</h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FQCLCpbo_mM/Xo1ucSbdwcI/AAAAAAAAFoU/iSUEZ74FZ6MukMV37mfiO8fjuZgg_zGxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/1%2B%25284%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FQCLCpbo_mM/Xo1ucSbdwcI/AAAAAAAAFoU/iSUEZ74FZ6MukMV37mfiO8fjuZgg_zGxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/1%2B%25284%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stunning design of the Guam museum had an eerie feeling to it when we walked by during the solar eclipse. In Guam, the indigenous Chamorro people have lived here for over 4,000 years. The lands were taken over and ruled by the Spanish from 1668-1898. Probably why Guam has a Taco Bell.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qoxb8d8eGPM/Xo1ucMpc5MI/AAAAAAAAFoQ/Q2R4jjn0xHEg4lV9Ok8-cv1vICuo164HACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qoxb8d8eGPM/Xo1ucMpc5MI/AAAAAAAAFoQ/Q2R4jjn0xHEg4lV9Ok8-cv1vICuo164HACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/10.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">T<a href="https://guam.stripes.com/travel/puntan-dos-amantes-and-tale-two-lovers-statue">wo Lovers Point</a> - A lookout over the cliffs where two lovers from quarreling families (Romeo and Juliet in Guam?) leapt to their deaths after their families refused to allow them to be together. This statue was destroyed in a typhoon, and lay in a scrapyard for years until a romantic Guam businessman searched for its remains and had it restored and re-erected as a symbol of his love for his wife. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PdC8Dg1Zapk/Xo1ugEgj0SI/AAAAAAAAFoY/cYFWygHy6_A_EVxAMYz0lJRJQM4ztfsfACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/3%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PdC8Dg1Zapk/Xo1ugEgj0SI/AAAAAAAAFoY/cYFWygHy6_A_EVxAMYz0lJRJQM4ztfsfACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/3%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thousands of lovers have commemorated their love here with personalized hearts - ah, how sweet (or 'super cheesy' according to Michael).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0izfV5iNOc/Xo14znSs3lI/AAAAAAAAFpY/F3nfJ8MLNvoWgVeS3Tt_nYL6WFEfOxfbgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0izfV5iNOc/Xo14znSs3lI/AAAAAAAAFpY/F3nfJ8MLNvoWgVeS3Tt_nYL6WFEfOxfbgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wasn't sure whether this should go in the food section or the tourist section. This iconic restaurant/bar/beachside hangout/tourist attraction was a fun stop on our tour of the island. Mark and Elizabeth played a game of 'pig' on the basketball court, we bought a few drink cozies in the souvenir shop, browsed the collection of washed up artifacts, but the BEST part of this trip for me?? The fried pickles. I might have to go back to Guam for their fried pickles. The best I've ever had (and yes, I've tasted lots of fried pickles).</td></tr>
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<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1lPaOmkYAiY/Xo12DDOeTuI/AAAAAAAAFo8/aSWa0y-Cv_w0FXF4ZAUXcHeZeVdSABq6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1lPaOmkYAiY/Xo12DDOeTuI/AAAAAAAAFo8/aSWa0y-Cv_w0FXF4ZAUXcHeZeVdSABq6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beachside game of Pig</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TqIru5JcHCY/Xo11gesfSYI/AAAAAAAAFo0/qiguKRe73sw9nbkkR5NwKL9uI0k2w8qLACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/1%2B%25285%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TqIru5JcHCY/Xo11gesfSYI/AAAAAAAAFo0/qiguKRe73sw9nbkkR5NwKL9uI0k2w8qLACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/1%2B%25285%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checking out a display at one of the many history museums on Guam. Michael always wanted to see the 'old bullets' and try to figure out which gun they came from.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ar5Hoi85S_U/Xo12FaVkswI/AAAAAAAAFpM/T10oZ7pHt9YaJist8siGR94X-gYBrqCcQCEwYBhgLKs0DAMBZVoBa4Vnx5MqoLCFDIF3k-74wcyuimWLEjhHRUTBs1pjriySRFoqMXHj5Nt0c--qvvHc22mMEO_BBtN8EEuZ3pDXcnYkcnNkEyJHm0fwmHOcjgSzPVimrbOrpu004s6ExwRTRbK1g2zb1hKXMO4wNXcL54OsLdn1Y5BFmX16zPOghILA_MA_3Q5J19ltnquBSaYdh1cxZKIUBUJdR3gdyi5P8eaCm0iKBHQM6NMAR1DcHkGy9eYYLz0IYnuNQ88dlIcy6SyrmmT8uErsqpHDBEB6vMN7B2B4HzHPoPK8exaB_NuHwpFcvCbYNA29QTmy79opmoD7A8eJSfFliDb4V-CBmW1x_ukqTE7EF0qWoCO7mTYmEVxJbNCHobRUgmmlNe-RVSE8DEOjFxHDZYeUw3NFZ48npmYNW3823GwQnbocCWWhUoVSlcKf3tFinZ63WCOyECPiR4AuK_rWNi7M7Ho0t5vZFzv5GlOcZ33fky8_b8OpxpRMb8PglJw3t8xc_vRy-Eg9_2wu0MPS-nOYEKcp8W3JuisTrHcr00lLrJjQUnxy6Cd6XbS1LM1ui1O9Va_dH_njqvVkJMbh342Wrfi4mmTu6DLg3Ytww8fW19AU/s1600/6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ar5Hoi85S_U/Xo12FaVkswI/AAAAAAAAFpM/T10oZ7pHt9YaJist8siGR94X-gYBrqCcQCEwYBhgLKs0DAMBZVoBa4Vnx5MqoLCFDIF3k-74wcyuimWLEjhHRUTBs1pjriySRFoqMXHj5Nt0c--qvvHc22mMEO_BBtN8EEuZ3pDXcnYkcnNkEyJHm0fwmHOcjgSzPVimrbOrpu004s6ExwRTRbK1g2zb1hKXMO4wNXcL54OsLdn1Y5BFmX16zPOghILA_MA_3Q5J19ltnquBSaYdh1cxZKIUBUJdR3gdyi5P8eaCm0iKBHQM6NMAR1DcHkGy9eYYLz0IYnuNQ88dlIcy6SyrmmT8uErsqpHDBEB6vMN7B2B4HzHPoPK8exaB_NuHwpFcvCbYNA29QTmy79opmoD7A8eJSfFliDb4V-CBmW1x_ukqTE7EF0qWoCO7mTYmEVxJbNCHobRUgmmlNe-RVSE8DEOjFxHDZYeUw3NFZ48npmYNW3823GwQnbocCWWhUoVSlcKf3tFinZ63WCOyECPiR4AuK_rWNi7M7Ho0t5vZFzv5GlOcZ33fky8_b8OpxpRMb8PglJw3t8xc_vRy-Eg9_2wu0MPS-nOYEKcp8W3JuisTrHcr00lLrJjQUnxy6Cd6XbS1LM1ui1O9Va_dH_njqvVkJMbh342Wrfi4mmTu6DLg3Ytww8fW19AU/s640/6.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Capturing a selfie with Nana at Talofofo Falls. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B_vIwyCWPlI/Xo12F8paXQI/AAAAAAAAFpQ/KjaTKRbgIzMATqw1V838pgUxX8rsw3higCEwYBhgLKs0DAMBZVoCWsvjZeJOm_kOtBIe65DaEu9qSgyReDAdFgCEBgRkIr-prT_mhhSC-MZIAmXToOKskOs3erBtJlWljQcuF72o_Tjkey1v1QF66KxxLonMJseLP4MGbmF6toHRa0cEJ0c9SWpXBeNThKJWadB2KHb91fjGxCCdTIz9QYbBg9AZf4KzPwcaLHmLTqOw7fTDr8oa01KRlNQ6pxYe0nqBnWe7Vlr9zmRWZ2eT9HQj_eqFakgq4wKpsSMlwVhlzwl_TS4tXcN5QUt_WIlyhlv6CWUgp5EbkDh7zkRMsrQwjcQ91fxJrjVQVNbuLt8XEJypAoK5IGI95LM6lKKjV7DHM8o3VOgF-Z6J5Y_uk3OPCFp9UDd_BTKHAxArBYm17qV9J456ZtzLYKH8giiiNftQEgnBatBwsm5YQA641kmtgLFg3dssx8YKR_FodmzFyokgaIC_D8kq6WnhI6xTxeY2x-kIquyBKTzS0JNOhgHJ5pc-EphGcxvpzbNTK34DyHzWZTowFD27s-7upqEChKWXpDrep3hfcnTw8g_shPZYlvPkgsvXzjXA7-2p_qpHY_3SNjpAYHtlVJRPCDpVGdmh-6W-GbfdpYslpBgsw_fW19AU/s1600/8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B_vIwyCWPlI/Xo12F8paXQI/AAAAAAAAFpQ/KjaTKRbgIzMATqw1V838pgUxX8rsw3higCEwYBhgLKs0DAMBZVoCWsvjZeJOm_kOtBIe65DaEu9qSgyReDAdFgCEBgRkIr-prT_mhhSC-MZIAmXToOKskOs3erBtJlWljQcuF72o_Tjkey1v1QF66KxxLonMJseLP4MGbmF6toHRa0cEJ0c9SWpXBeNThKJWadB2KHb91fjGxCCdTIz9QYbBg9AZf4KzPwcaLHmLTqOw7fTDr8oa01KRlNQ6pxYe0nqBnWe7Vlr9zmRWZ2eT9HQj_eqFakgq4wKpsSMlwVhlzwl_TS4tXcN5QUt_WIlyhlv6CWUgp5EbkDh7zkRMsrQwjcQ91fxJrjVQVNbuLt8XEJypAoK5IGI95LM6lKKjV7DHM8o3VOgF-Z6J5Y_uk3OPCFp9UDd_BTKHAxArBYm17qV9J456ZtzLYKH8giiiNftQEgnBatBwsm5YQA641kmtgLFg3dssx8YKR_FodmzFyokgaIC_D8kq6WnhI6xTxeY2x-kIquyBKTzS0JNOhgHJ5pc-EphGcxvpzbNTK34DyHzWZTowFD27s-7upqEChKWXpDrep3hfcnTw8g_shPZYlvPkgsvXzjXA7-2p_qpHY_3SNjpAYHtlVJRPCDpVGdmh-6W-GbfdpYslpBgsw_fW19AU/s640/8.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reminiscent of our days in the ski slopes of Colorado, we rode the gondola out to see the falls. It was a creaky ride, causing us all to wonder when they had last serviced the gears! Yikes!</td></tr>
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<h2>
Field Trip's Christmas Present - New Engines! </h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RScri2M4N8E/Xo15rL17MtI/AAAAAAAAFpk/1pku_dbTgiA6N1KfSnid8rW3Oj8HNwfTwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/5%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RScri2M4N8E/Xo15rL17MtI/AAAAAAAAFpk/1pku_dbTgiA6N1KfSnid8rW3Oj8HNwfTwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/5%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our entire reason for making the 4,000 mile trek to Guam was to install new engines (no, not Taco Bell!). A Volvo emissions recall had been announced, requiring Volvo to replace our 10-year old engines for free!! The guys at Coral Reef Marine had never done this kind of replacement before, so they had to build a custom trolley to lift the old engines out, get it to the deck where a crane could lift them off the boat, and bring the new engines in. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2oZGcE_V35Y/Xo16HGu6REI/AAAAAAAAFp0/iqClxhiR_IcjJZmWdonllfxT_iy46R0rgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/4%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2oZGcE_V35Y/Xo16HGu6REI/AAAAAAAAFp0/iqClxhiR_IcjJZmWdonllfxT_iy46R0rgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/4%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was quite the undertaking. But the guys were extremely careful and thorough in their planning and execution. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NL_GtiBNWn8/Xo16I51pSKI/AAAAAAAAFp4/PeQ5QOeSdek5tcMc80AuroD7K8FpRKzJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/3%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NL_GtiBNWn8/Xo16I51pSKI/AAAAAAAAFp4/PeQ5QOeSdek5tcMc80AuroD7K8FpRKzJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/3%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shiny new engine in the bilge! Merry Christmas, Field Trip!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XHxcHmDAdWI/Xo15ccJn8OI/AAAAAAAAFpg/rjcfEquj52EZoRLYfaWWU3drniS1mOqCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XHxcHmDAdWI/Xo15ccJn8OI/AAAAAAAAFpg/rjcfEquj52EZoRLYfaWWU3drniS1mOqCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/2%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So strange to see our engine hours at zero again! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-golHDTNKB34/Xo17b-jEOYI/AAAAAAAAFqI/jNxht2qwab4NLcVQnUPkJa1ij8pY7bG_wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-golHDTNKB34/Xo17b-jEOYI/AAAAAAAAFqI/jNxht2qwab4NLcVQnUPkJa1ij8pY7bG_wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Field Trip also got new solar panels and...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fWVJigqzZKM/Xo17xxcV3hI/AAAAAAAAFqQ/_8LVFbb8YzA8uVBVWFrP-eVDPgjcVy5kgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fWVJigqzZKM/Xo17xxcV3hI/AAAAAAAAFqQ/_8LVFbb8YzA8uVBVWFrP-eVDPgjcVy5kgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/5.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a fresh shampoo and...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PInV0bllgKc/Xo19alil4KI/AAAAAAAAFqc/3nI2HijrcFcLuFwrxkBvfzznlE-8ewCFgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/18.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PInV0bllgKc/Xo19alil4KI/AAAAAAAAFqc/3nI2HijrcFcLuFwrxkBvfzznlE-8ewCFgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/18.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a full belly!!</td></tr>
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<h2>
Natural Surrounds</h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zCAcK9-jAzA/Xo19_etNlbI/AAAAAAAAFqk/-3-jYOtXYjIYGOHI00hGfRB8mhDPbt5WACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zCAcK9-jAzA/Xo19_etNlbI/AAAAAAAAFqk/-3-jYOtXYjIYGOHI00hGfRB8mhDPbt5WACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/1%2B%25282%2529.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Secluded beach - all to ourselves! And this was BEFORE Covid-19!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r4aTQy7Kqk8/Xo1-JvzcDAI/AAAAAAAAFqs/Ru9exCXxyJ0B6VGEtvk-7HeR2Ou_2M-TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/14.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r4aTQy7Kqk8/Xo1-JvzcDAI/AAAAAAAAFqs/Ru9exCXxyJ0B6VGEtvk-7HeR2Ou_2M-TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/14.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring the lush beauty of the Guam National Wildlife Refuge with Nana. After all the boat work, it was time to enjoy some time in the great outdoors!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Symmetrical perfection</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x6RT7PJlqag/Xo1-5vsqQkI/AAAAAAAAFrI/McbSIx4YHHMeev4pY-KNve3eb5stvHSjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/12.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x6RT7PJlqag/Xo1-5vsqQkI/AAAAAAAAFrI/McbSIx4YHHMeev4pY-KNve3eb5stvHSjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/12.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching all the butterflies flutter around us! Unfortunately, the reason for so many butterflies is the absence of bird life. Guam is struggling to bring back the bird population after it has been decimated after the introduction of the Brown Treesnake during WWII. A <a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.com/news/2010/9/100924-science-animals-guam-brown-tree-snakes-mouse-tylenol/">new strategy</a> involves dropping mice that have been packed with acetaminophen (discovered to be poison to these snakes) into the forests from helicopters.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pj_-MKa024Q/Xo6Hd1AyYKI/AAAAAAAAFrw/MWQ7zbpOSL4si6t0iuYGTL1qL3PpmlZOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/1%2B%25287%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1230" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pj_-MKa024Q/Xo6Hd1AyYKI/AAAAAAAAFrw/MWQ7zbpOSL4si6t0iuYGTL1qL3PpmlZOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/1%2B%25287%2529.jpeg" width="492" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue-banded King Crow Butterfly</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nNfs1yYLAuY/Xo1-J0QBhdI/AAAAAAAAFqw/IfTRs89eB4AQPNFs0_1V_BLR30nvTOvZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nNfs1yYLAuY/Xo1-J0QBhdI/AAAAAAAAFqw/IfTRs89eB4AQPNFs0_1V_BLR30nvTOvZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/9.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous views!</td></tr>
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<h2>
Volunteering</h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m4F617XRDbw/Xo6F4ms4m8I/AAAAAAAAFrc/kqNUSfTyMiMvxnVL4VKn5shhGYvGM9PrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/1%2B%25286%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m4F617XRDbw/Xo6F4ms4m8I/AAAAAAAAFrc/kqNUSfTyMiMvxnVL4VKn5shhGYvGM9PrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/1%2B%25286%2529.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The animal shelter in Guam, GAIN, quickly became Elizabeth's second home. She signed up on their website to volunteer a few days a week while we were there, but would've gone every single day if she could've! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDq1nQYhu9Q/Xo6FzWir4fI/AAAAAAAAFrY/lvw05gjEWyI_kQBxJiFhoQ9tSbohSfkrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/2%2B%25283%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDq1nQYhu9Q/Xo6FzWir4fI/AAAAAAAAFrY/lvw05gjEWyI_kQBxJiFhoQ9tSbohSfkrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/2%2B%25283%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael made a few furry friends, too!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cePMP0P44mo/Xo6Fy2ufnUI/AAAAAAAAFrU/GNFy-AB6ZB40Rl5L9_t7lTHkxq91BWqtwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/3%2B%25283%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cePMP0P44mo/Xo6Fy2ufnUI/AAAAAAAAFrU/GNFy-AB6ZB40Rl5L9_t7lTHkxq91BWqtwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/3%2B%25283%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One day they were giving the cats treats and just decided to hop in the enclosure and get up close and personal! This experience only heightened Elizabeth's obsession with rescue dogs, dog behavior, and dog training. <br />
Does she need a dog of her own, or what??!! Now, just to convince the captain...</td></tr>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-26234922981114150902020-04-08T15:38:00.001+11:002020-05-07T13:43:47.699+11:00Boxing Day's Solar Eclipse by Elizabeth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have had a cold for the last few days and I was in need of more medicine. We drove to the pharmacy and while mom was checking out, the lady at the cashier said that there would be a solar eclipse at 2:50pm! When we got back into the car, we told Michael, Dad, and Nana. They were all excited and Michael set an alarm on his watch for when it was supposed to happen. I felt so thrilled because the last time we tried to see a<a href="https://spaceplace.nasa.gov/eclipse-snap/en/"> solar eclipse</a>, we had missed it because we had the time wrong. I hoped that this time we would be accurate!<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xj143tU6mew/Xo1SeMqYXZI/AAAAAAAAFl8/VTV_mSPj-5Yu4EoWIV6cOfOKnRS-5H7VACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Judy%2BFlores%2BArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="250" height="161" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xj143tU6mew/Xo1SeMqYXZI/AAAAAAAAFl8/VTV_mSPj-5Yu4EoWIV6cOfOKnRS-5H7VACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/Judy%2BFlores%2BArt.jpg" width="200" /></a>To pass time, we all visited the museum in town. The main entrance fee was way too expensive, so we payed for the cheaper art gallery. I was disappointed because the museum was supposed to be well-made with lots of information. However, the art that an <a href="https://web.facebook.com/Judy-Flores-Guam-Batik-Gallery-175511362497736/?_rdc=1&_rdr">American woman</a> did was beautiful. She made batik works depicting village and city life. I think Nana really enjoyed seeing the different paintings and their meanings. After browsing for 30 minutes, I took my medicine and we had some tea in the gift shop.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tBE7CFv5Sug/Xo1TAzTxNrI/AAAAAAAAFmE/Vi1pzM5_6t8nnw5DMdesj2qV5QYcUUv6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tBE7CFv5Sug/Xo1TAzTxNrI/AAAAAAAAFmE/Vi1pzM5_6t8nnw5DMdesj2qV5QYcUUv6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/4.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tBE7CFv5Sug/Xo1TAzTxNrI/AAAAAAAAFmE/Vi1pzM5_6t8nnw5DMdesj2qV5QYcUUv6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
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It was almost time for the eclipse and my heart was beating with anticipation! Mom asked the man who worked at the gift shop for a piece of receipt paper. He gave some to her and Mom explained our <a href="https://www.timeanddate.com/eclipse/make-pinhole-projector.html">plan</a>. She poked a hole in the receipt with her earring and explained that if we hold a brochure behind the hole, the eclipse would be projected onto the the paper. We hurried outside to try it and it worked! We could see a small part of the sun being covered by the moon!<br />
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A few minutes later, the moon completely covered the sun and only a ‘ring of fire’ surrounded it. I figured out that if I took a picture of the eclipse with Mom’s phone, a blue reflection went in the top corner! Everything turned an eerie color and our shadows were long and fuzzy. The holes through the trees created the same effect as our paper on the white wall of the church! It was so amazing!<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-82106420868152561802020-04-08T13:30:00.001+11:002020-04-08T13:31:26.183+11:00Ring That Bell! by Michael<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i>You have to ring that bell, Michael! </i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">That’s what Elizabeth said to me a few minutes ago, before I approached the rock climbing wall at the Festival of Lights at Harvest Baptist Church in Guam. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The setup lady starts to tighten the straps on the harness encasing my legs, and I look up at the rock wall looming in front of me, trying to plot my path. When she is finished, I walk over to the base of the wall, where a guy hooks me onto the line and says, “You’re good to go!”</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting geared up</td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I reach for the first plastic rock jutting out of the wall, then place my bare foot on another below me. I hoist myself up and start to ascend quickly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Too quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My right foot slips out from under me about five feet off the ground, and the contraption slowly lowers me to the floor. I look around quickly, hoping the guy wouldn’t say that was it. Luckily, he had his back turned, so I start up again, more careful this time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">About seven feet up, my *left* foot slips and I swing to the right, only holding on by my hands. I scrabble my feet on the wall until one foot catches a ledge. Phew! I continue up until I find no other place to put my foot but on a tiny, two-inch rock. My heart thumps and I try to reach the small rock with my left foot, but I can’t quite get there. I’m stuck. I look down to see a lot of kids staring up at me. <i>I have to hit that bell!</i> I think. Then I do something daring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I brace myself and leap sideways to the left, no hands on the wall. I swing out my left hand and grab a firm, green stone. My left foot finds the small rock, and I hoist myself up. Then I place my right foot on a blue stone and push up, grabbing a ledge with my right hand.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">With my left, I reach up and ring the cowbell. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Then I ring it again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">And again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Joy floods me as I repel off the wall towards solid ground. Elizabeth smiles and cheers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“I did it!” I exclaim, “I rang the bell!”</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Repelling down </td></tr>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-30098822442512017002020-04-08T13:29:00.000+11:002020-05-07T13:45:28.507+11:00Deck the Hulls! Christmas in Guam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>...A look back at the family times together before all the quarantine and isolation (you know, when we <b>chose </b>all that together time?)...</i><br />
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It is Christmas number eight since <a href="http://svfieldtrip.blogspot.com/2011/12/skinny-dipping.html" target="_blank">moving aboard</a> way back in 2011, and we find ourselves enjoying a bit more of an American holiday than in years past. After realizing we’d need to come all the way to Guam from Phuket, Thailand for our Volvo engine replacement (it had to be done in a US territory to qualify for the manufacturer’s recall), it was so good to finally arrive. We traveled over 4,000 miles through 6 countries/territories, one tropical storm, pirate-infested seas, and some of the bumpiest waters we've ever encountered. It’s time to celebrate.<br />
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None of the ornaments or decorations could be put up until our passages were over. Who wants to clean up a toppled Christmas tree while seasick?? Not me! So in the first few days we arrive, decking the ‘hulls’ is at the top of our crew duties list. Mattresses are lifted in order to ransack bilges to find the ‘Christmas box’, and the tree is unbagged and assembled. Each of us decorate ourselves in the goofy accessories we’ve acquired along the way, and Christmas carols blare on the speakers as we share memories of the ornaments we’re hanging on the tree. Isn’t pulling out those treasured ornaments one of the most wonderful moments of the holidays? Christmas has officially come aboard Field Trip.</div>
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What would it mean this year to be in an American territory during the holidays?</div>
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It means Martinelli’s cider to toast in the New Year. It means being able to buy cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie filling at the local supermarket! It means shopping for gifts in familiar stores: Kmart, Ross, and even Macy’s! It means candy canes - haven’t seen those in years. </div>
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But all of that is just the cosmetic, consumerist fluff of the holidays. What we actually found in Guam meant so much more than that. Friendship. Fellowship. Family. </div>
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Friendship</h3>
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Way back when Guam was plopped into our sailing plan, I sought out any and all information I could gather about it. On one sailing families Facebook page, kids4sail, I happened to notice a family posting from Guam! Instantly, I sent a message asking way too many questions, and Chuck was more than happy to answer each and every one. That exchange started an online correspondence between our families that would prove priceless. His children were only a step up in age from ours, a girl and boy, and they lived on a boat! When Mark mentioned he needed to replace some solar panels, Chuck actually needed some, too, so they were able to order together and save on shipping costs. </div>
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That first day we stepped foot on Guam, Chuck was there to welcome us and get us acquainted with the island. Our families got together and spent a few happy hours in the cockpit getting to know each other. Ivy, Chuck’s wife, invited the kids to tag along to Boy Scout meetings, dance recitals, and simply included them in their everyday life. Chuck, a captain in the Naval Reserve, let the kids participate in packing boxes for the annual <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0G6XKBrrJM">Operation Christmas Drop</a>. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carla (and Chuck in the background) at her Christmas dance recital</td></tr>
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Family</h3>
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Ivy and Chuck would introduce us to other American military families based on Guam who would end up sharing their Christmas with us. Suddenly, we found our social calendars filled up with holiday cocktail parties, pool dates, and potlucks! After sailing from one remote spot to another, we relished the sudden social life that we happened into. The ladies I met became fast friends - texting during the day and helping me know where to buy the things we needed. These military mommas knew what it was like to move from place to place, to be the new one on the block, to figure out the ins and outs of a new location, and to raise kids in different countries. We shared many of the same challenges and could relate to each other on many different levels. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas dinner with our adoptive military families</td></tr>
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At the yacht club, we also found kindred spirits. Admittedly, there weren’t many cruisers passing through Guam. Mostly, we met folks who’d sailed there and then never left or those who’d bought boats there with dreams of setting off one day. At a wine tasting one night, we met a kind Kiwi couple who had lived in Guam for over twenty years. If you haven’t had to pleasure of hanging out with anyone from New Zealand, you’re missing out. We have never met a Kiwi we didn’t like, and we’ve also never met a Kiwi who didn’t instantly make us feel like part of their family. The same was true of Sarah and Ross. </div>
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After sharing tales of our lovely time in New Zealand, we somehow got on the topic of our engine replacement. The minute they realized we’d have a crane removing and replacing our engines just days before Christmas, they decided that we’d need to stay in their house. They’d be gone for a family trip and the house would be free for us if we’d simply keep the plants watered! What?? I could barely contain my excitement. A full kitchen to cook Christmas dinner in? A full-sized washer and dryer? Even a trampoline and pool for the kids to enjoy? We were beyond humbled by their hospitality. They even gave us the keys to their car. Really. We should all be more like Kiwis. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nana came to stay aboard with us for Christmas and traveled with us all the way to the Philippines!</span></td></tr>
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Fellowship</h3>
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Since we were in an English-speaking country and would be here a while, I was anxious to find a local church to attend. Driving around in our rental car one afternoon, we found a Christian radio station that advertised a Festival of Lights that Friday night (read about what Michael did at the festival here). I jotted down the name of the church, looked it up on googlemaps, and we made plans to check it out. Harvest Baptish Church quickly became our Guam church. </div>
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The first Sunday we attended, a man spoke about the trip he’d recently taken to Ulithi Atoll to help build a church. Ulithi Atoll? That’s the last stop we made before sailing to Guam! Tears sprung to my eyes as I felt that we were exactly where we were meant to be. After the service, we made a beeline to him and asked him all about his trip. We shared stories of our time in Ulithi and let him know that we planned to stop there again on our way back. Could we bring anything to the people there on his behalf? By the final Sunday of our stay, he had stuffed two school backpacks full of goodies for us to bring to the missionary family in Ulithi. It felt good to be serving in fellowship with other believers again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas concert at Harvest Baptist Church in Guam</td></tr>
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Another night, the local college students presented a musical drama, telling the Christmas story from the perspectives of Mary, the shepherds, the wisemen, and Joseph. It was a moving performance that recalibrated my heart to the real reason for the season.</div>
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Often, when we attend a church, even if it is in a language I don’t understand, I can’t help but weep. I’m not sure exactly why. I just get overwhelmed by the beauty of worshipping with fellow believers. The timeless hymns of my childhood that my mom used to practice every Saturday night in our living room to prepare for playing the piano in Sunday’s service fill the foreign space I currently find myself in. Those same melodies and harmonies that I have hummed, sitting alone at the helm under a blanket of stars, suddenly surround me in a chorus of voices. There’s something about the collective worship that causes a catch in my throat. I can’t even sing along. Tears stream down my face and I realize how I have longed for this fellowship. To be part of the collective. I take a deep breath and again rest in knowing that we are right where we are meant to be. </div>
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I begin recounting the thousands of miles we’ve traveled, and I can see God’s timing and provision throughout each step. The experiences we’ve had and the people He’s placed in our path now seem woven together in a perfect tapestry of His providence. He always prepares a way for us and orchestrates all that we cannot control. As I sit there in that sanctuary, crying like a fool, God reminds me that He is with us. Immanuel, God with us, no matter where we celebrate Christmas...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ringing in the New Year with Nana and Martinelli's Cider!</td></tr>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-31678283532645312162020-01-24T13:47:00.004+11:002020-05-07T13:46:16.832+11:00Ulithi Atoll, Federated States of Micronesia (FSM)<div style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 20px;">
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<b>MogMog Island, Ulithi Atoll</b></div>
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“It’s turned into a tropical storm, but all the weather forecasts show it going well north of us.” Famous. Last. Words. </h4>
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On our way from Yap to Guam, we opted to stopover in the Ulithi Atoll, just to regroup and rest. It wasn’t a planned stop, but we all needed a welcomed break from the seas. Of course, because it wasn’t planned, we hadn’t told anyone in Ulithi we were coming. When we dropped the anchor just off the beach of MogMog Island, we immediately got a call on our VHF radio with a polite voice asking why we were there, how many people were onboard, and what our intentions were. We assured them we meant no harm and were simply stopping to give our family a rest. Then we all piled in the dinghy with a small gift in hand for the chief (an LED flashlight) to say hello to our new neighborhood. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chief Stanley offers a warm welcome</td></tr>
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Chief Stanley greeted us on shore and promptly instructed us on proper etiquette regarding the Men’s Meeting House - women and children were forbidden from entering unless given special permission. As he walked us around their beautiful village, he noted other taboo paths and places where only men could go. The Women’s Meeting House held similar restrictions. This was the place where the women of the village would stay during their menstruation period. I was instantly reminded of a book I’d read years ago, The Red Tent, which gives an account of the strong bonds and significance of such a place. Gradually, we would come to learn more of the cultural and religious tradition that drives much of life in MogMog. We’d find ways to offer our time and our talents, and we’d be reminded of the comfort that belonging to a community can bring.<br />
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Mark got busy fixing fiberglass boats that had been sitting dormant for years. He had just a bit of epoxy left aboard, and luckily it wasn’t out of date yet. In the mornings, while the kids and I did boat school, he diligently packed his waterproof backpack with all items he’d need. All the men would be waiting for him, anxious to have their boats back up in working condition so that they could fish to feed their families. This initial time spent with the men of MogMog allowed Mark to gather more information about the community and sparked ideas about how we could further contribute. <br />
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The kids of the village were especially excited to see the boat, so Mark brought them out by the dinghy-full to show them our floating home and let them jump off the deck! Each child was so polite and well-behaved (unlike some other villages we had visited where children climbed aboard without permission and we’d felt like our home was being invaded!). Some were scared and uncertain, holding tightly to the railing, while others didn’t miss a beat! Splash! Splash! One after another they’d show off their jumping and diving skills, each kid trying to one-up the one before. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">MIchael giving a farewell dive</span></td></tr>
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Later, Chief Stanley introduced me to a teacher named Tess. She was busy going from home to home, conducting surveys for a university in California to monitor the natural resources above and below the waters of Ulithi Atoll. The survey results would be used to determine continued research and would create a record to track environmental patterns. Tess had just returned from attending the funeral events on a neighboring island. In fact, many people had come back from the funeral the day that we arrived, after staying with the bereaved family for the traditional four days. Some, closest to the family, would stay nine days to help with the feast preparation and clean up. Due to the time required to fulfill cultural expectations, Tess was further delayed in her surveying, and now she was rushing to get ten surveys completed and sent in by the deadline. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Flossing 101</span></td></tr>
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Graciously, Tess sat with me for a few minutes to talk about school on the island. All five of the teachers in the elementary school were from MogMog originally, which is not always the case. Interestingly, teaching is the only paid position on the island, albeit minimally. Later that week, the kids and I would come visit her classroom, talk about our travels, and do an impromptu lesson for her Health and Wellness class about making and maintaining connections with people. Spontaneously, I retold the story of The Invisible String, a book I used to read to the kids when Mark was traveling for work to remind them that we were still connected to him. Tess told me that she had struggled to explain to the kids what a ‘true friend’ was because all of the kids were related to each other in some way or another - siblings, cousins, half-siblings - everyone was family. Sure, they could be friends, too, but none were solely friends. This explains why L.J., a boy Michael had been playing with, asked if Michael would be his ‘true friend’ the day before. Now it all made sense. Suddenly, Michael had a whole classroom full of ‘true friends’ and all the kids could claim their first true unrelated friend. <span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teaching the kids a new game</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aDfh6Lr8cVA/XipRPRCWCWI/AAAAAAAAFfI/eqZNfo0AdrQ7lzLF9MSHF9FOSqG36_1DgCEwYBhgL/s1600/1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aDfh6Lr8cVA/XipRPRCWCWI/AAAAAAAAFfI/eqZNfo0AdrQ7lzLF9MSHF9FOSqG36_1DgCEwYBhgL/s640/1%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sharing recipes from my <u><a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=8&ved=2ahUKEwi_ktvKlZvnAhXUIqYKHeL0Dc0QFjAHegQIAhAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FBoat-Galley-Cookbook-Everyday-Essential%2Fdp%2F0071782362&usg=AOvVaw08L0leo3XeJROEzXiCkg4F" target="_blank">Boat Galley</a></u> cookbook</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conducting a "store" of our extra provisions - proceeds donated to their Christmas Dinner Groceries!</td></tr>
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Before departing, the village organized a very special goodbye for us. We were piled high with fragrant flower leis as the children serenaded us with song. Then a prominent leader stood and spoke of their sincere gratitude for our participation in their community. The women had been slaving all day over the fire to cook enough food to feed an army! Each of us received a woven basket each containing two fish, one huge coconut crab, steamed rice, and taro cooked in at least 4 different ways! It was enough food to last our entire journey! Then, two young girls handed a folded 'lap-lap' to Elizabeth and I. They had been secretly woven during the week we spent there especially for us. We tied them around our waists, suddenly feeling like part of the family. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bon Voyage Feast gifted to us from the village - coconut crabs, fish, and taro galore!!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7edhlXOoz4M/XipRuD3flDI/AAAAAAAAFf8/oA-wzT2o5NsiNeTBQd-Sb9sW9l5HMX2JgCEwYBhgL/s1600/4%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7edhlXOoz4M/XipRuD3flDI/AAAAAAAAFf8/oA-wzT2o5NsiNeTBQd-Sb9sW9l5HMX2JgCEwYBhgL/s640/4%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">We'd seen them weaving these colorful fabrics earlier in our visit</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The handmade 'Lap-lap' was a parting gift for Elizabeth and I. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">We had to learn the very specific way to tie it in order to maintain the village's modesty standards.</span></td></tr>
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<h3>
<span style="font-size: small;">Whether or Not We Weather the Weather... </span></h3>
(Sorry, there are no photos to commemorate this sequence of events. Photos weren't at the top of our priority list. Hope you can visualize what transpired.) <br />
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Two of the children in the school had especially relevant names as we continued to keep a close eye on the encroaching weather - Typhoon and Tsunami - reminding us that this atoll lies in the path of the typhoon belt. In fact, that low weather system that we’d been watching had changed its course. Instead of going north, like most of these systems do, it opted to turn south... right towards us. By the time it turned, it was building in magnitude. Now we were in the path of a tropical storm. We decided to stay put rather than risk getting hit by the worst of it while at sea, but that turned out to be the wrong decision. <br />
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Mark and Elizabeth set a second anchor off our bow at a 45 degree angle to our main anchor. The foresail was lowered and stowed to prevent wind damage. Within hours the winds began to build. The day before, we’d said our sad goodbyes to the people of the village, knowing the weather wouldn’t allow us to go ashore. I could see them watching our ship from the shoreline, surely concerned for us. Luckily, we could remain in contact using the VHF radio, and this allowed us to relay weather reports as we received them from the satellite. Certainly, they were battening down their hatches as well, tying down roofs and securing loose items. Our weather reports were the only access they had to the forecasts. </div>
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Tensions rose with the winds. At this point, the forecasts were calling for winds in the 30’s, but we were seeing gusts in the mid 40’s already. Whenever I thought the winds surely couldn’t get stronger, the wind gauge would climb higher and higher. As the winds increased, the fetch became a real problem. (<b>Fetch -</b> area of ocean or lake surface over which the wind blows in an essentially constant direction, thus generating waves. Britannica.com) The howling winds blowing across the shallow waters of the lagoon were creating steep chop. Soon, we were all searching for handholds as the boat bucked to and fro. This bucking motion put extreme load on the anchor tackle, so we used the motors to press forward during the gusts, releasing the load on the anchor chain. By this time, the sun had gone down. We could watch the lights on shore to ensure we were holding our position, but with the extreme conditions and a shallow reef right behind us, the situation was intense. </div>
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At around 1 a.m., we felt a sudden jolt. Mark carefully worked his way up to the bow, only to find that our secondary anchor rode had snapped. Now we were completely relying on our Rocna. All night the winds and waves tormented us. Every muscle in my body was clenched. My mind raced with the what ifs. Mark sat dutifully at the helm for the entire night. When I came to sit next to him at sunrise, I could see the exhaustion in his face. </div>
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“We have to leave. I think we’ll be better off out at sea with no reefs to worry about and deeper water to absorb the fetch. I can’t do this another night.” </div>
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I looked out at the sea around us. White-capped waves washed over our bow. Seconds later our stern steps were fully submerged. The lagoon was an eruption of crashing waves. How would we lift our anchor in this? I shuddered to imagine Mark kneeling on the bow, bringing up the anchor as the waves lifted the boat above the horizon and then crashed back down in a trough. I would be at the helm to keep tension off the chain and motor toward where the anchor was buried. In this wind and chop, maneuvering would be difficult. </div>
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Mark decided we’d leave the secondary anchor and stop here on our way back to retrieve it. The conditions were too dangerous to attempt getting it with the dinghy, and it would be hard enough to haul up our main anchor without anyone getting hurt. The secondary anchor would be here when we returned.</div>
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Mark radioed the village to tell them of our intentions, then he and Elizabeth made their way up to the bow. With one hand I held the helm and with the other, the throttle. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the shakiness I felt. Mark motioned for me to motor forward, and I pushed the starboard engine up to 1,000 rpm, and watch the spedometer to see if we were moving. Nothing. I pressed to 1,500 rpm and slowly saw our speed increase. Each wave knocked us backwards and caused us to veer to one side or the other, making it hard to stay on course. Once we were turned off the wind, the windage caused the boat to turn even farther off course. </div>
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Meanwhile, Elizabeth held onto the Genoa as she used her other hand to direct me to where the anchor was. Mark unhooked the bridle, careful not to get his fingers caught in the chain if a wave suddenly jerked it taut. I held my breath as I struggled to maintain our position. I knew I was not on track. </div>
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“SARAH! AIM INTO THE WIND!! THE ANCHOR’S WAY OVER THERE!!” Mark screamed, flailing his free hand to the right angrily. I revved the engines to give me more steerage. I was overcorrecting, trying to overcompensate for the conditions. I took another deep breath and kept my eye on the wind direction. Gradually, I righted us and Mark finally gave me the okay sign and nodded. The anchor was up. </div>
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Like a bucking bronco, we motored through the lagoon and out the leeward pass into the the deep. The bucking continued, this time in all directions due to the rotating winds of the storm. These deeper seas take longer to adjust to new wind direction, so our bucking bronco quickly turned into a washing machine. Our bodies, exhausted and weary, struggled to adjust to this new, although equally extreme, motion.</div>
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We’d had a sleepless night, and with 24-hour watch cycles, we’d have 3-4 more bumpy, sleepless nights before arriving in Guam. Thankfully, the 30-knot winds were now from behind us, pushing us along. At one point, we surfed down a wave at a whopping 17 knots, a record speed for Field Trip (and one I never wanted to see again!!). The strong winds persisted until we were half a day from Guam. Because of our emergency exit from the Ulithi Atoll, we couldn’t plan for our arrival time. We’d be entering the harbor in Guam at 11:30 at night. In the dark. We called port control and were flooded with relief to hear a southern American accent telling us we could anchor in the harbor for the night before checking in with the officials in the morning. </div>
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Just for a bit of excitement, our anchor got entangled when we attempted to drop it for the night. Mark had to hop in the dinghy and untangle it. Finally, plumb tuckered out, we tucked our weary bodies into bed, closed our eyes, said a prayer of thanks, and fell fast asleep. </div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-69725260907127137592019-12-17T11:21:00.000+11:002020-05-07T13:46:16.859+11:00Micronesia: Yap Island<h3>
<b>The Land of Stone Money, Jam Sessions, and Birthday Bashes </b></h3>
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“We have a weather window that might get us all the way to Guam,” Mark announced one morning at breakfast. The typhoon season is supposed to be coming to an end, and the tradewinds are scheduled to fill in fiercely at anytime. This trip up to Guam was going to be tricky. Our choices of typhoons vs. head-on tradewinds left no easy option. The best scenario would be to wait until a low weather system passes and brings with it uncommon winds from the south that would be pushing us the entire way, or a period of little to no wind in which we could motorsail most of the way. </div>
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The entire trip from Palau to Guam is about 700 miles, which would take us about 5 full days to complete. Yap Island is about 250 miles from Palau, on the rhumb line to Guam, and offers a great stopping point if we need a breather. Would we stop or continue on? </div>
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Overall, the seas are settled as we motorsail towards Guam, but we receive an email on the way that leaves us leaning towards stopping in Yap. The new Volvo engines being shipped to Guam have just left the warehouse in the US, and we don’t have a committed arrival date yet. In these situations, it could be two weeks or two months until large items arrive. If we go to Guam now, we might be sitting there for a month or two before the engines even get there! The upside to that is that, hey - it’s Guam - full of many comforts of the US (like the kids’ favorite breakfast spot, The Village Inn)!! The downside to that is that those US comforts come at high US prices! The anchorage for yachts is quite removed from town, meaning we’d also need to invest in a rental car during our stay. Those expenses add up fast, so arriving a month prior to our engines means an extra month of living costs chipping away at our savings. Do we really want to hurry there? </div>
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If we opt to stop in Yap on the way north, we would avoid needing to visit on our way to the Philippines, allowing us more time for diving throughout the Philippine archipelago. The pros and cons are beginning to stack up, a fairly even race for now. Mark and I decide to pray about it and leave some time to wait for clear guidance. We would not be passing Yap until the next morning, so no need to rush in making a decision. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Analysis Paralysis - Mark weighing all our options and watching the weather closely</td></tr>
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Another email comes later that night, this time from a friend we’ve been corresponding with in Guam, further complicating matters. He warns us of a few low weather systems that are forming on a path to Guam. We’d beat them there, but then might find ourselves having to ride out a typhoon at anchor. That certainly didn’t sound fun. </div>
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Our decision was made. Stop in Yap and wait for a window to continue north, hoping this wouldn’t be our last chance before the tradewinds kick in. We drop the mainsail and enter the meandering channel through the skirting reef and into the Yap lagoon. Tino, the port control officer, radios us to inquire about our vessel details and ensure we have already received pre-approval to enter the Federated States of Micronesia. This is a stict requirementof FSM, and neglecting to get prior authorization would result in a hefty fine upon arrival, up to US$1,000! Mark is prepared, and has all the required paperwork ready to submit to each set of officials - customs, immigration, harbor control, EPA, Biosecurity, etc. He’s even thought to make plenty of copies for them to keep in their records. Check-in is easy and we’re officially welcomed to Yap. </div>
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Again, it is strange to be in a remote place, where many people wear traditional clothing and chew beetlenut, but where everyone speaks English. I still can’t get used to it! </div>
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<h3>
Meeting Our New Neighbors</h3>
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Anchored near Field Trip is a small, mustard-colored sailboat, SV Tambu. Three young gypsies live aboard - Marcello (dread-locked captain from Italy), Tristan (classically trained singer from France), and Lulu (a celestial enthusiast from China). They are living the simple sailing life - catching rainwater, fishing for dinner, saltwater showers, creative boat maintenance, and making it work. Before the other crew member, a guy from Israel, left, they performed as a band to earn income. We are inspired by their adventurous attitudes and hanging out with them makes us feel young again. <br />
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One night, they surprise us by bringing over various instruments and lead a jam session around our salon table! Their wide repertoire consists of songs in Italian, French, and Chinese, as well as some sing-along sailing shanties and American favorites. I finally risk taking out my ukulele and attempt to play a few songs with them, figuring what better time to practice and improve my meager skills. I flub up much of the time, but they are patient mentors and encourage my continued efforts. </div>
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I feel my mothering instincts kick in, and I make sure to invite them for a hot shower and a warm meal. It turns out, it had been months since they’d been in a proper shower, and even longer since they’d enjoyed indulging in real cheese! Tristan, from France, about jumped up and down with joy when he saw the shredded cheese as part of the taco salad buffet set out on the counter! I admire them for being out here and making it work, and I privately say a few more prayers of thanks for the luxuries we have on board that I often take for granted.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SV Field Trip and SV Tambu crew!</td></tr>
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Birthdays Aboard!</h3>
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November is birthday month on board. Michael will celebrate entering his last year before being a teenager (yikes!), and Mark will nonchalantly slide into his fifth decade. (Shhh... don’t tell him I told you!) For Michael’s birthday, he and Mark walk to the post office, where a special package should be waiting. Back in Palau, Michael had decided to spend some of the Amazon gift cards he’d received to purchase a board game that he’d been wanting ever since he’d played it with his cousins a year and a half ago. It was scheduled to arrive in Yap on his actual birthday, and to everyone’s surprise, it did!! That meant that none of the gifts we’d gotten for him really made much of an impact (although he was excited to receive them all, of course!). For the rest of the night, we gathered around the salon table to play round after round of King of Tokyo - the gift he’d bought for himself! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Birthday Boy! Happy 12th, Michael!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her first Fortnite cake!</td></tr>
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To commemorate the occasion, Elizabeth and I baked a vanilla cake with white icing. Since the theme was “Fortnite”, she took great care in decorating the cake with one of the video game characters doing ‘the floss’. (If you have been living under a rock for the last 5 years and don’t know what ‘the floss’ is, look it up on Youtube and give it a try!) The cake was a big hit, both for the sweet deliciousness and the equally sweet decor. </div>
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For Mark’s birthday (he wanted to keep it on the down low) we did a dive together in the morning just outside the pass and invited our new boat friends to join us for dinner onshore at a restaurant that was part of an old wooden ship, SV MNUW Crow’s Nest. The bar brewed its own beer, appropriately called Stone Money brew. Erin, our waitress, was ready for us with a beautiful wreath for Mark to wear and a surprise dessert made of a candle stuck in a muffin atop a stone money-shaped chocolate chip cookie! We ordered a few stone money pizzas (they truly do take pride in their unique stone money here!) and shared a lovely dinner together. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AlWfDZznfqo/Xe84N4YNTJI/AAAAAAAAFcY/u9iTWPXAiTYFqQNy56-17lmsSbwhJIXBgCEwYBhgL/s1600/4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AlWfDZznfqo/Xe84N4YNTJI/AAAAAAAAFcY/u9iTWPXAiTYFqQNy56-17lmsSbwhJIXBgCEwYBhgL/s640/4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating with friends from SV Tambu</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Birthday, Captain!</td></tr>
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Yap Public Library</h3>
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One of our hideouts from the tropical heat became a daily trip to the Yap Public Library. We paid three dollars each for our own library cards, and relished in afternoons reading in the air-conditioned building. It also presented a unique opportunity for us to learn research skills, so I decided to postpone some of our other learning in order to teach the kids how to conduct research and compile a research paper. We checked out a few books, read encyclopedias, took notes, created a bibliography and an outline, and eventually developed a research paper complete with a title page, headers, and works cited! Thank you Yap Public Library!</div>
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“We have a weather window, “ Mark declared again one morning. The winds were lightening up a bit and we could head towards Guam once again. We checked out with the authorities, made a last minute trip to the small grocery store, and prepped the boat for departure. Our friends from SV Tambu came by to say goodbye and we set off in the rain. This time, though, the weather wouldn’t hold and we’d be forced to go more easterly to avoid wind on the nose. After 90 miles and some bumpy seas (along with a bout of seasickness for me - ugh!) we would seek shelter in a remote atoll. Would we be allowed to stay? Did we have enough provisions to last until Guam? How long would we have to wait for another window? </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our radar would be working overtime, tracking squalls.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kids prepped for the rough passage by creating an easy-access snack bowl</td></tr>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-61761536553018549612019-12-15T11:28:00.000+11:002020-05-07T13:46:53.768+11:00Peleliu: 75 Years After WWII<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5eQKcFf2MrI/Xe7hz9lBJoI/AAAAAAAAFak/4yQ97a0fwdUm7wmEx_B5VWAjGPTC7ZIfQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5eQKcFf2MrI/Xe7hz9lBJoI/AAAAAAAAFak/4yQ97a0fwdUm7wmEx_B5VWAjGPTC7ZIfQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/7.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Nov 2019<br />
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Peleliu: A Practice in Descriptive Writing as we walk through what remains of World War II. Written by Michael (12)</h4>
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<span style="font-family: "lato";">Japanese Headquarters</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The massive concrete building towers over the lush landscape as the forest attempts to retake what it once had - the land the building is on. Roots cling to the hole and bullet-riddled walls and slowly cover everything in sight. The roof sags in and threatens to collapse. Brave sprouts spring from cracks in the blackened floor, defying the concrete they had been trapped in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "lato";">200 mm Gun Cave</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The massive turret guards the hill, guards the cave concealed behind it. The cave mouth beckons any spelunker to enter it’s dark interior, to face the army of crickets waiting to strike. Water drips from the roof as the cave cries, mourning the loss of it’s inhabitants who died decades ago due to the attacks of savages that call themselves Americans. It wants revenge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "lato";">Catacombs</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "lato";">Darkness beckons explorers to approach the cave mouth, armed with flashlights and backpacks. The tunnels split into many rooms, like King Minos’s Labyrinth, and some have been blocked off by bulldozers with gears and electricity running through them. Electricity that made the grenades in the factory, that made the grenades that were thrown into the catacombs depths, killing all the inhabitants. Old beer b</span><span style="background-color: white;">ottles litter the ground, liquid cleaner than the oil-splotched water that the soldiers had to drink.</span></span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "lato";">Peleliu: A Journal Entry by Elizabeth (14)</span></h4>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wednesday licked my hand and wagged her tail as we waited for our tour guide to come pick us up for a tour I will never forget. Michael spotted a grey van rolling down the road. Godwin pulled into the gravel patch, dreadlocks flying and earring twinkling in the sunlight. He greeted us in perfect English and instantly I knew that he would make a perfect tour guide.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Japanese Headquarters made my mind flash back to WWII, because the building had bomb holes in the roof and bullet dents in the walls. It was eerie. There were still toilets and metal grips on the stairs. The main control room was behind a six inch thick metal door. Even though the control panels had been taken out, you could still picture what it would have been like 75 years ago. We got to walk on the top floor as well! One tree had its roots all over one wall. It looked like a scene from a movie with old ruins. When we were done looking around the headquarters, we got to explore a bomb shelter right next to the building. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The other WWII site that we visited was the 1000 Men Cave for the Japanese. The whole cave was manmade by Japanese slaves. A whole network of catacombs and square chambers went on and on in a limestone passage. There was also a medical chamber with a Japanese prayer stick. Beer bottles littered the floor (both American and Japanese brands) and broken bits of glass sparkled in our torch light. We passed crickets on the ceiling and little bats that sent high pitched squeaks echoing throughout the caves! We exited the cave into the green forest! It was such a relief to stretch my back out after having to duck down for so long while we were in the passages!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The very last thing that we saw was a German tank that had been blown onto its side by a mine. The men inside were killed, but I didn’t know how at first. That is, until I walked over and saw that the bottom of the tank had been blown in! The 1/2 inch metal had been molded like clay with the force of the explosion! It was mind blowing to think of how strong the mine would have been to bend and contort the metal so much!! This tank still had its engine in it and I got to look at it through the tank’s rusting metal exterior. It was maybe 3 times the size of Field Trip’s engines and was covered with cobwebs and dust!</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PZZwGOpqdDg/Xe7gueKHSLI/AAAAAAAAFZw/U6CHPoVdiqwW5c0O1JNS-uFSn0JPaUIhgCEwYBhgL/s1600/2%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PZZwGOpqdDg/Xe7gueKHSLI/AAAAAAAAFZw/U6CHPoVdiqwW5c0O1JNS-uFSn0JPaUIhgCEwYBhgL/s640/2%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today has been so interesting but sad. 11,000 men died here and we even saw a human bone while on the shoreline. When you look at the old pictures of Peleliu, there was no bush or trees. No grass even! It was all rocks and mud. The temperature was 115º during the WWII and men died of heat exhaustion sometimes! Imagine having to carry 50 lbs of gear, with full suits on in that temperature! The soldiers also had to drink oil-tainted water which made them sick. It must have been horrible for the troops that came here. Their bravery and courage shall never be forgotten. </span></span></div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1768532956361588406.post-40298139541445047272019-12-13T11:54:00.000+11:002020-05-07T13:46:53.742+11:00Palau: Exploring the Rock Islands<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10px;">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><b>Rock Islands, Palau</b></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><b>(Warning: this kind of turned into a novel... read on, brave one.)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">For nearly two weeks since arriving in Palau, Field Trip has been tied to a mooring at Sam’s Tours Dive Shop and Yacht Club. It had been a productive two weeks - meeting people, finishing videos and blogs, and getting back into the school routine - but we were all ready to untie the lines and set off again. Only hours away lie the protected Rock Islands, a maze of gumdrop-shaped emerald islets floating in turquoise waters. We secured our required permits, paid our cruising and entrance fees, stocked the fridge, and finally set off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">A mere hour motor from the yacht club, we find ourselves carefully navigating between two islets and over a shallow reef to enter a secluded lagoon. Once the anchor is set in the center, Mark and the kids tie a stern line to the shore to ensure we won’t swing into any of the limestone cliffs around us. I’m at the helm, keeping us in position and then backing up towards the stern tie so that Mark can hop on board and secure it to the cleat onboard. He uses the rear winch to tighten the line, making the anchor and the stern lines taut. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The kids hop on the paddle board to explore our new surroundings. Elizabeth returns with a collection of flowers and leaves to show us - orchids, pitcher plants, and the branch of an evergreen. Behind us is the arch for which this place is named, but we won’t get in the water to check it out until tomorrow. The sun is beginning to set, tide is rising, and we settle in for the night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">What was a peaceful anchorage in the afternoon, quickly fills with a cacaphony of noise. Quarreling cockatoos squawk loudly in the trees. Ricocheting waves slap under the rock ledges. The winds happen to be coming directly through the only open passageway, wreaking havoc on our quiet solitude. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">After dinner, the kids use the foredeck shade to construct a makeshift tent with plans to spend the night outside. They haul an assundry of ‘necessities’ from inside to create a cozy ambience - a lantern, pillows, blankets, foam seat cushions, a cooler filled with drinks and snacks (just in case), their kindles for nightime reading, and an ipad for music. They are certainly not roughing it! </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Around midnight, however, their cozy tent is no match for a rain squall. The canvas begins to flap in the building breeze and they are forced to pull it down and secure it. They gather the items that can’t get wet and retreat inside for the night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">In the morning, I head out on my own for a quick dive through the soft coral arch that happens to be right behind the boat. It’s a shallow dive, only 3 meters, and within moments of me being underwater, I look up to see a crowd of snorkelers flailing in the waters overhead. One displays the peace sign, posing as I snap a picture of the chaos from below. It is obvious why so many tourists are brought to this spot - every inch of the channel is covered in vibrantly colored soft corals - yellow, orange, magenta, and deep red. It is almost too much beauty to take in. I hold myself in place and marvel at the extravagance of it all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b>Cemetery Point</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Turns out, Mark needs to pay some online bills. The stern line is untied and brought on deck, the dinghy raised, then the anchor, and we are off again. At the helm, I motor out to the open water and head towards town just until we are close enough to get a signal on my phone. The engines are pulled into idle, and we drift as Mark tap-tap-taps away on his computer. Oh, the ever-present shackle of connectivity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Bills get paid, and our journey continues onto a spot just a half hour away - Cemetery Point. Again, we meander between islets and settle into an isolated lagoon, this one not open to the wind, and much larger than the last. Mark had pinpointed the center of the lagoon on the satellite images, and portrayed it now on the chart plotters. This is where we’d drop the hook. Then, pull back to the nearest limestone wall, to ensure the anchor was set well with ample swing room. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Needing a bit of ‘me’ time, I lower the dinghy and motor around to check out the place. Just beyond our lagoon, I see an area surrounded by bouys, a marked boundary to protect the reef jutting out from Cemetery Point. I circumnavigate the site, planning for the dive I’ll do the next day. Even from the surface, I see huge beds of various hard corals and large snapper perusing their turf. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The following morning, the kids discover a juvenile Roseate Tern (long-tailed sea bird) who has fallen into the water, causing its downy wings to get too wet for flight. At the dive shop, we had met a dive guide who regularly rescues these young birds and cares for them until they are dry enough to fly again. The kids immediately take action. They paddle out, and Michael leans over to scoop the bird up. It flaps and squawks, but settles down by the time Elizabeth paddles them back to Field Trip. Now the project really begins.</span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">On board, a towel is placed inside a big bucket and our new patient is carefully tucked inside. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The kids minds turn to overdrive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“We need some fish. Do we have any fish? Dad, we need to go catch a fish.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">All the fishing tackle is brought out from its storage and sifted through to find the right gear. The line is rigged up and we all pile in the dinghy - me with my dive gear and them with their tackle. While I dive around Cemetery Point, they’ll be trying to catch a fish to cut up for the bird’s dinner. They drop me in the water, and I descend into the blue. Huge snapper and one token Napolean Wrasse slowly swim by to welcome me. This is only my second time diving alone (the first was at the coral arch just the day before). Since Mark’s eardrum is still broken, though, I don’t have much choice. I quiet the nagging fears and calm my breathing into a steady rhythm as I sink deeper. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Above water, the dinghy has moved away from the dive site to a cove nearby. The bait is lowered down and Elizabeth watches from the side of the dinghy, leaning her face into the water to see how the fish are responding. When a small fish nibbles, she jigs the bait up, enacting the fish’s natural instinct to chase it, and boom - he strikes! They haul him up quickly and Mark runs them back to the boat to prep the bird’s fresh catch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Meanwhile, I am enjoying my solitude underwater, oblivious to all the fishing action going on. Schools of fish dart by as I glide along the wall of coral. In front of me, a giant table coral sits on its side. It must be 7 feet across! I pause to take a selfie, but realize my camera battery is dead. Guess this dive will only be seen by me! A titan triggerfish grabs my attention and I watch him cautiously. When these guys are nesting, they can get very territorial and pack a nasty bite. This one is docile, though, so I swim on. Eventually, I decide its time to turn around and head back the way I came. I put a bit of air in my BC and rise up to see a different level of the coral on my return trip. This way I can do my decompression stop and see new things all at the same time. A tourist boat engine rumbles above my head and I check my depth gauge again to ensure I’m deep enough to avoid its propeller. I pass the tipped table coral, wave goodbye to the huge snappers and Napolean Wrasse, and ascend to the surface. Mark has the dinghy tied to one of the boundary bouys, and I hail him to come pick me up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The kids caught their bird dinner and I got to enjoy a quiet dive alone. Everyone’s happy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b>Ulong Island/Channel</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The bird rides with us on our passage to Ulong, still not able to fly off the deck. We spot Jim’s boat, Cardea, in the anchorage so we motor around until we can find a place that gives us each plenty of room to swing. In these lagoons, surrounded by tall cliffs and lush green hills, the wind whips around from all directions. Since we aren’t stern tying, we need to make sure we’ve got room to swing 360 degrees. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Mark puts up the sunshade to cover the entire foredeck and cool the boat down. It stretches from the port sidestay, around the mast, to the starboard rigging and up to the bow seats. On hot, calm days, this is a godsend, but when the winds pick up and storms come through, it can catch the wind and cause problems. Twice, while in this lagoon, right after sunset, storms pop up and it becomes a quick all-hands-on-deck drill to untie and stow the massive canvas shade. Each time, I imagine the material acting as a sail and pushing the boat with enough force to free our anchor and drag us to our doom. (I know, I’m always the worst-case scenario drama queen in these situations). Thankfully, we survive unscathed and the storm passes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">During our stay here, we make a few trips out to dive Ulong Channel, 3.6 miles away, the top dive in all of Palau. Once we’re underwater, Elizabeth and I understand why this dive is so popular. Sharks circle above the sandy bottom and vast coral reefs. Schools of massive Bumphead parrotfish, the size of a beach towel, loudly bite chunks from the coral. Marbled grouper hover above their homes, teeth bared. Octopus poke their heads out of holes, watching the activity. The inbound current brings in clear water and carries us through the channel. We both spread our arms in the Superman pose as we zoom effortlessly along. What a thrilling dive!</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Bird rearing wasn’t going quite as well as diving, however. He wouldn’t eat the fish (perhaps it wasn’t the right brand), but he did drink some water when dripped from a straw. We all wondered how long a bird could live without eating. Certainly, we were not bird experts, and perhaps we’d bitten off more than we could chew. Undeterred by our lack of expertise, we pressed on. Surely the wings were dry by now, right? Elizabeth lifted the bird from his makeshift nest and set him out on the trampoline. We all were encouraged with his every flit and flutter. Just watching him preen his feathers and pump his wings enamours us. It is such a delight to be able to see his features in minute detail! </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Finally, the moment of truth. Time to set him aflight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Elizabeth holds him in her cupped palms, lowering and lifting him in a fluid motion. He spreads his wings and prepares for flight. Then, at the apex of the movement, he takes off, rising up, then swooping down so close to the sea that we think he’ll surely fall in again. We gasp as his wings flap, providing him just enough lift to pull himself back up into the air. Our cheers rise with him as he soars up, up, and out of sight. There is a sigh of relief, a swell of pride, and a twinge of sadness as we watch him go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">After two nights at Ulong, we lift anchor and head out to an anchorage that had been recommended to us by Sam, the owner of the dive shop and yacht club. The biggest decision that needs to be made here is which beach to visit first! Michael is my paddleboard chauffeur and he decides on the beach downwind of the boat. Two huge rocks stand next to each other, connected by a strip of sand. Hermit crabs seem have taken over and are moving along the beach en mass, making it look like a parade of seashells along the shore. The wind is howling, so we stay out of the water and instead begin construction of a hermit crab ninja warrior course. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Once the pit is dug and more sand scooped out from the lower edge to create an unclimbable ledge, a stick is twisted down into the center of the arena. More sticks are leaned up against this center stick, creating a tepee-style climbing gym. Elizabeth comes to help us once her Algebra homework is done. She takes the role of Crab Collector. As soon as she plops the hermit crabs into the hole, the game of King-of-the-Hill commences. The opponents grip the twigs and haul themselves up, shell and all, with amazing agility! We can’t believe the strength of these little crustaceans! Small ones climb onto the backs of larger ones, using them as step stools to attempt escape. Meanwhile, a crab with a spiral white shell clings to the very tip of the tepee, and I imagine him hollering, “I’m the King of the Hill!” in his squeaky little hermit crab voice while he scans his newly conquered domain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Elizabeth changes roles. Now she is the design architect - figuring out a new way to stump the competitors. She adds bridges and moats as part of a challenge course, but it proves too challenging in the end, and we watch crab after crab fall in defeat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Crab warriors are freed and attentions are suddenly switch gears to beach gymnastics. Somehow I decide that showing the kids how to do a cartwheel (which I haven’t attempted in years) would be a good idea. Once my hands hit the sand and my legs are splayed apart haphazardly in the air, I realize that I’m no longer the lanky, flexible 12-year-old I once was. I manage to land with both feet on the ground, but I’m certain I have pulled no less than 28 muscles in my inner thighs. Ouch. Such are the joys of growing older. Cartwheels morph into wheelbarrow races, which result in far fewer aches and pains, but are still not as easy as they once were. Oh well, the kids delight in seeing their old mom attempt such feats, and I would gladly sacrifice myself over and over to hear the giggles that ensue. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">This is one of my favorite stops on our Rock Islands cruise. We anchor near Long Beach, a sliver of a sand spit that only shows up at low tide. In the evening, tourists are brought here to take photos, and I figure they must be onto something. I watch all the silly poses the photographers place their subjects in, and decide it’s time for a family photo shoot. Long gone are the yearly studio family photos or even school pictures for the kids. This is an opportunity I can’t pass up. I announce my spontaneous decision, and require everyone to put on some ‘nice’ clothes for our sudden photo session. Mark grabs the drone, too, already imagining possible shots to take. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">It’s far from perfection. Shirts are wrinkled. Eyes are squinting in the sunlight. Kids are whining. But it gets done and those tour guides are right, this is a fantastic backdrop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The following day, we decide to anchor closer to the channel so we’ll have a shorter dinghy drive. The German Channel is a man-made channel, dug out by - you guessed it - the Germans 100 years ago. This turns out to be the most epic dive for Elizabeth and I. The water on the inbound tide is crystal clear. Sharks cruise along in the deep blue. Massive schools of all types of fish zip here and there. An enormous manta ray swoops right behind me, giving Elizabeth and I quite a fright! It circles around us for a while, seeming to enjoy giving us the thrill of such a close encounter, and then gracefully glides away. Magical.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b>Moving On</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The ten days we spend in Palau’s Rock Islands are wonderful. We love the quiet anchorages and the pristine scenery, untouched by man. Many evenings I sit out on the foredeck, in awe of the raw beauty surrounding us. I imagine that this is how the earth looked long ago, and I marvel at the simplicity and balance it brings back to me. The productivity that seemed so vital while we were tied to the mooring ball in town now seems so trivial. The agendas don’t press in so urgently, and we find a different kind of connectivity - not to devices or internet or email - but to each other and only the world we can see from right where we are.</span></div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01668686039435861586noreply@blogger.com0