CURRENT LOCATION: Anchored in Bahia de Luperon, Dominican Republic

19 53.944' N, 070 57.086' W

I am living on a sailboat in the Dominican Republic! The very notion sometimes catches me off guard and makes me wonder if all of this is real. Our boat has been untethered from land now for over 3 months, and I can begin to feel a transformation occurring. I cannot yet define the overarching nature of the transformation; however, something is different.

Perhaps it is the fact that most worries seem to have fallen by the wayside. In preparation for this voyage, I would worry about anything and everything which could happen. 'Contingency Planning,' as it is euphemistically referred to. I still pay due caution where caution is due (going forward along the north coast of the Dominican Republic, I want to make certain that we avoid any and all conditions which would make this big island a lee shore); however, I am not so worried about the consequences of a hand-grenading engine, a gushing hole in the boat, or the rigging giving way and allowing the mast to be torn from the deck. Those things may, in fact, happen. But I am no longer allowing the mere thought of them to cost me sleep.

Perhaps it is the fact that we have grown comfortable in a place as foreign to our experiences and sensibilities as Luperon. One reader characterized our photos of downtown Luperon as, "...depressing." I suppose that in the context of western developed nations, it would seem exactly so. Our time here, though, has uncovered exactly the opposite. The surroundings are not what we are used to in suburbia USA, but there is much joy and happiness in these streets. And we are fortunate enough to be privy to it. This locale does not cater specifically to cruisers (and certainly not to tourists), but it does not push us away either. As we walk down the street, we get glimpses into the lives of these folks: cooking their meals, cleaning their homes, or enjoying a simple game of dominoes on a rainy day. We try to be unobtrusive observers, and the locals allow us to be just that. We exchange only a smile and an, "Hola" or "Buenas Dias" in passing. We have grown comfortable in this role as passive outsiders, a unique type of transformation for us as travelers.

Perhaps it is the change in our view of time. Days seem to melt into one another with surprising ease. It is not at all uncommon for us to ask, "What day is it?" With few of the benchmarks we are used to from our former working lives, heralding weekends and holidays, the framework for tracking time has all but dissolved. It was with great surprise that I learned that we had, in fact, moved into the month of February. The weather, too, provides no reference of seasonality as we know it.

Although the effect on the person is, I believe, distinctly positive, the cruising life is hard on the boat. We made great efforts to clean and protect what we could while living in a marina, but those efforts have met their comeuppance when faced with the powerful forces of nature: wind, UV radiation, and salt water. For example, our stainless steel stanchions, bow pulpit, and bimini support (cleaned and protected with wax prior to our departure) already shows signs of rusting and pitting. The hull is my pride and joy after waxing (as most dark hulls are), but today's efforts at putting a new coat on were met with less-than-ideal results. After less than 4 months since the last application, the hull looks like it will never recover from the recent intimate inundation of sea and sun. In addition, the teak (Sheryl's pride and joy) is already beginning to show significant wear, again after only 4 months elapsed since it last received her undivided attention.

The transformative effects, both positive and negative, make up our experiences as a whole. We relish in these and look forward to gathering more as our journey continues. As both boat and crew become more weathered, the work and the sacrifices are definitely worth the ultimate payoff. Hopefully, dear Reader, you will agree.