photos of spirit, the sunset and sailing crew

Jingle sails, in all seriousness

I'm writing a barrage of posts in an attempt to log all the things that have made me laugh and cry in the last couple of weeks. It's my day off and my hands aren't hurting too much today so I'll take advantage and type like a demon.

The other morning, I was thinking that it really should be cold, rainy and overcast as it was December. Here in South Africa, it's the height of summer with 32-34 degrees celsius the norm. I thought to myself, 'I should be wrapped up in my winter coat, singing Christmas carols,' and thus, Jingle Sails was born. Here are the lyrics, to be sung to the tune of Jingle Bells:

Jingle Sails, jingle sails, jingle all the way,
oh what fun it is to sail in a gaff-rig schooner yeah, hey!
Jingle Sails, jingle sails, jingle all they way,
oh what fun it is to sail in a gaff-rig schooner yeah!

Splashing through the waves,
in the pouring rain,
over the swell we go,
laughing all the way! [ho ho ho!]

Tacking in the gale,
reefing in the storm,
it's even more fun when being soaked becomes the norm!
oh~

jingle sails, jingle sails, jingle all the way [etc etc]

I was cleaning the engine room one day (called the bilge - now symbolically loaded with all connotations of getting grimy, dirty, greasy and generally yukky) with Milhouse and to make a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down, I made up a song to sing. It's called The Bilge Song and is sung to the tune of the Yellow Submarine.

In the quay where I was born,
lived a deckhand who sailed to sea
And he told us of his life,
in the bilge that was never clean

We all live in the bilge that's never clean,
bilge that's never clean,
bilge that's never clean,
[repeat]

My subconscious must be funnelling all my excess creative energy into song-writing. On a more serious note, I've found that the second biggest challenge (after the obvious fact that I will never be as strong as the guys who are on average about 6 foot and I don't know how heavy, but are certainly very big and tough) is being taken seriously as crew. I suspect it's a universal problem, for I've read about the difficulty women have in being viewed as competent/serious/capable in their jobs. I've often thought women would have to work three times as hard in sailing as men. Twice as hard because it takes more effort for me to lift/carry the same things as the guys. And twice as hard again because of the psychological impression that many guys (and women) carry that women just aren't as capable. Like the bilge that really is never clean (there's always oil, diesel or random gunk oozing onto the bilge floor), I sometimes feel the battle to be taken seriously is a neverending uphill struggle, in the tradition of Sisyphus. But sometimes, you just have to laugh and make up a silly song to mock it all.

photo of Hope

all that you can't leave behind

I'm sure all my friends think I've dropped off the face of the planet. I often mean to write to good friends but most days after work, my hands are literally hurting too much to type or write after a day of working with the ropes.

I've moved into a flat so I finally have a room of my own in which to collect my thoughts. I wanted to go far away to a country where I didn't know anyone, to challenge myself and to see if I could make it in a place with no friends and no family.

Some days I think I'm doing well, some days I want to scream and shout and cry. Growing up and studying in England, I didn't have much contact with conservative old men. Every now and then, sailing on the yachts, our skipper is an old man - why is it that old men think it fun to tease and make pathetic jokes to young women? Is it, that for centuries, women were forced by etiquette and society to pander to old men's vanity by laughing at their unfunny jokes? In situations like these, I feel like I did when I was seven, forced to endure my father's friends pinching my cheek while I hated every moment. Except now, I don't have to grin and bear it any longer. Possibly I'm gaining a reputation as a sourpuss, but I refuse to laugh if I don't really feel like laughing inside. Why do people do that anyway? And why is it that men feel young women should be smiley and happy all the time? I was attacked for 'having a frown on my face during the day and for giving short answers to his questions'. I went to bed unsettled and had a nightmare complete with a green haired man with his back to me. I was running a race and I had to run past him to get to the finish. When he turned around, there was dolby digital screaming and I woke up with a jolt.

I suppose the two previous, rather random posts, were an indication of my thoughts of what I left behind and where I came from. I'm just trying to remind myself to always consciously carve out a life where I'm trying my best and to make something meaningful out of my experiences.

I was sitting in the cabin of Hope the other day with Gizmo and the boss' son (who's working with us during the hols) said 'Sailing crew don't get paid very much do they?' to which I replied 'No, they don't. I think I'm being exploited!'. Gizmo: 'so this is how it feels!' I understand Marx better now.

The day before yesterday was cool. We were sailing on Hope in the southeaster in 30-35 knots (officially a gale!) and we were racing the guys on Spirit, our sister ship. I'm afraid the passengers were soaking wet, trying to hide in their ponchos and huddled at the back of the yacht while we were grinding (turning) the winches to adjust the sails as hard as we could in order to sail more quickly. Sometimes the wind would come in gusts, pitching the boat over to an exhilarating angle. Someone from our company actually took a photo of us from another boat.