A few thoughts:

First of all, I'm so sorry I worried some of you by not posting for over a week. Seriously, I didn't think anyone would notice! Imagine my surprise to get yelled at by so many people. It got me wondering, though: if a regressive cannibalistic Fijian Chief decided our plump cruiser bodies were just what the soup needed, who would notify our next of kin and pop out a quick blurb, or even a short restaurant review? ("The soup was especially good!") Chances are, it would turn up on p. 22 of the Fiji Times, next to the ad for a sale on tinned corned beef at MH Supermarkets. Well, a fitting end to our adventure, I suppose. But anyhow, thanks for that.

Next, a number of people asked some very specific questions when we were home that began to fit a pattern. Seems everyone wants the real dirt, the inside scoop on how this cruising life affects our relationship, how we REALLY feel from day to day, what the down sides are, what makes us unhappy, and how in the world we have marital relations when other people are on board.

And to all of that I have this: it's work sometimes. It's hard sometimes, and we get grumpy. No more or less than usual, though, which is why I love to say, "No matter where you go, there you are." The main core of our personalities is not really affected, we're still who we are. Our marriage is progressing along normal lines, I think, enhanced by the closeness rather than stressed by it. For us, hanging out 24/7 isn't hard.

As to the need for personal space, we have plenty of time to be alone, even on a 300 sq. foot boat, believe it or not. Similar likes and dislikes help, as does respect for our differences. Allan loves to watch TV and movies, I'm not so into that and prefer to read and write and play Scrabble. So he puts on his Bose headset and dives into the wealth of movies he has on his laptop, and I sit across the way in my favorite spot on the settee and write, or play computer Scrabble, or read, or go to bed early. We're both Trekkies, so our entertainment of choice is watching the series in order. So far we've gone through the whole of the original series and are into Season 2 on Next Generation. Occasionally, we pick a movie we both want to see and settle down for the evening. We're both water babies, so there's not a lot of conflict about what we prefer to do out here. Some people struggle with that -- he likes to hike, she hates dirt and bugs. She dives, he doesn't. He's a vegetarian, she loves meat. Biggest conflict: he loves cruising, she tolerates it.

Someone told us before we left that strong marriages are enhanced by cruising, weak ones are challenged. Often, the weak ones get some measure of healing by the experience, but what I've noticed is the ones that can't hack it fall apart pretty early in the game. Most of the people who have made it this far are in it for the long run.

You have to be a bit of a gypsy or a camper to like this lifestyle. It's not for everyone. We have a lot of extra luxuries on this boat -- the miracle water maker so we don't have to collect rainwater or lug 5 gallon jugs to and from shore all the time; a washer/dryer so the clothes are spun out and I don't have to wreck my hands wringing out towels (I don't use the dryer and prefer to hang stuff on the rails); air conditioning when it gets unbearable, although we rarely use it; two televisions and 3 laptops; a microwave; a front-opening fridge rather than the awkward box with the heavy lid; a freezer; a terrific generator; solar power; inner spring mattresses rather than decomposing foam; the list goes on. But to some, all of that still adds up to an uncomfortable series of compromises. So, it starts with wanting to have an adventure, and being willing to pay the price. Some cruisers pay a higher price but they love it all the same, maybe even more than we do with our complex conveniences. In fact, that's what becomes clear: the more you have, the more you have to maintain.

You learn to lower your expectations, and that's a good thing. I think our culture has brought us to a place in the last few decades of expecting more and more, of having almost a moral obligation to improve our surroundings and expect the best, as though expecting less will ultimately lower the standard of living, and expecting more raises the bar. True, I suppose, but it can't go on like that in perpetuity -- historically, it hasn't -- and certainly out here and in the Third World countries of our planet things just aren't that way. So if you want paper towels that don't fall apart the minute they touch a drop of moisture, or chicken that's cut into recognizable parts, or a specific kind of spice for a recipe, you will be frustrated. It's nice when someone comes from the states and brings us a few luxuries -- little comforts and splurges -- and admittedly we stuffed our bags with some of those comforts (as you can see from my staged picture) but we have adapted to so much out here. I hadn't realized how much until I went back, and I like me better for it. I admire my mother for this quality -- she's the least picky person I've ever known, and can survive with a smile when many of us are groaning in agony. I like to say she and the cockroaches will survive in the end; the rest of us will wither from lack of Bounty paper towels. (Sorry Ma, I'm not calling you a cockroach.) The ultimate question, of course, is how long our adaptations will hold once we get back ...

If anything, I think we suffer from a mild case of normalcy out here. When everyone around you is doing the same thing, it seems normal. When we go home, it's suddenly not so normal. We have to remind ourselves that we're on the trip of a lifetime, it's finite, and that we may never pass this way again. Going home and talking to people reminds us of that, and as we share our adventures we're amazed ourselves that we're talking about our life -- it seems too great to be real. So we try to be in the moment, which gets easier and easier.

As to the marital relations part, well, that's a topic always best left to the imagination.