It was 17 years ago today that we became full-fledged, live-aboard boat bums on Asylum. As I noted in a previous blog, had you told us then that we'd still be here now I would have waved you off. But never say never: here we are, still afloat, still boat bums.

When this anniversary date dawned on me I saw the opportunity to combine it with our ongoing efforts to edit and organize our woefully messy photo collection and take a brief nostalgia tour. In slogging through thousands of photos we are reminded how lucky we are to have been able to live this life and see the places we've seen and how lucky we are to have met so many memorable people, both fellow cruisers and "locals," everywhere we've visited. We laughed out loud at some of the old pictures of us and were delighted to see old friends again.

So, welcome aboard for a short cruise down memory lane channel.


One of the things cruisers always talk about is the enduring friendships made along the way. Our "Class of '99"--those of us who left the east coast of the U.S. for the Caribbean in the fall of 1999 and met that first year--included a fabulous fleet of fellow sea-farers. Some, like us, are still at it 17 years later, scattered all over the world. Others have "swallowed the hook," as boat-folk say, and are now dirt-dwellers, and we've stayed in touch with a bunch of them.

Heading down the Intracoastal waterway from Annapolis, among our earliest friends were Don and Sue on Suzannah, whom we first met after a squally night in Virginia where just about every boat in the little bay where we were anchored dragged. Here we are with them in Savannah, November 1999--one of the earliest boat bum photos of us I came across.


We saw them again a couple of years ago at an impromptu reunion of a few members of the Class: formerly of Suzannah, Serenity, Pelagic, and Windborne. All but Asylum are now dirt-dwellers.



When we set off, Jim shrugged off 30 years of Navy rule and let his hair grow. His squirrelly little pony tail got this far before he lopped it off in Venezuela in 2001...



...to the hearty approval of the two old ladies in our home stay in the Andean town of Merida where we did a Spanish immersion course. When he returned from the barber without it, Aunt Tata on the left with me and Gioa's mother on the right (whose name I can't remember) broke into applause as he came through the door, shorn and now respectable-looking.


Since we were there, Venezuela has slid inexorably into political and economic chaos. I've wondered how those special people have fared, who offered such gracious hospitality, nurtured our fledgling Spanish, showed us rare Andean condors, and connected Jim with a surgeon who removed the painful bursa sac on his elbow. I hope they're doing ok.


In Panama's San Blas islands, one our favorite people was Puna BB, a diminutive great grandmother who didn't make very good molas and never said much but, as it turned out, had an impish sense of humor. In one of our many visits to her tiny island/home, I laid my sunglasses on the bench where she was working. I don't know what I was doing, probably visiting her ailing frail husband, Jim, inside their dark hut, but when I returned, she had slipped the oversized glasses on.


Jim, her husband, rarely left his hammock. He couldn't see much (despite the bright green glasses someone had given him) and could only walk with assistance. But he always seemed happy to see us and loved it when we brought him bottles of cold water from the boat. He spoke a few words of English and we spoke just enough Spanish by then to put together that he'd worked as a cook at a U.S. Army base in the Canal Zone a long time ago.


We heard that both Puna BB and Jim died a few years ago. Having been able to attend two Kuna funerals when we were there, I can imagine the family assembled around their hammock-borne bodies and then lowering her not-so-good molas and his favorite green glasses into their graves, where special things go with them to the after-world.


On the other side of Panama, anchored on one of the rivers in the remote Darien province, I wanted this guy's paddle and he wanted Jim's T-shirt, so everyone left the deal happy, except perhaps Jim, who went home shirtless.



The Vava'u island group in northern Tonga was a hub for Pacific-crossing cruisers and we had the good fortune to be there with a talented group that rocked the place with two open mic nights at a local bar. The first was such a hit that everyone wanted a second. I was the Em Cee (which basically meant saying "you're next!" and holding a flashlight for people who couldn't see their music). Jim sang a couple of songs and also joined Hans, our wonderful Dutch friend from the boat Happy Monster, to sing a Dutch folk song that everyone loved.


Hans and Dory have since swallowed the hook and are building a house on land that overlooks the sea in Fiji.


Vanuatu remains one of the most memorable stops in the voyage of Asylum. It dished up everything: eye-popping scenery above and below the waterline, earthquakes and erupting volcanoes, real-life anthropology classes, people whose generosity humbles you, kids who charm your socks off, spirits and black magic, and well, yes, even weasely government officials. It was terribly frustrating to be limited to a 4-month visa there. Among the many interesting people we met were these two guys from the mysterious Ambrym island where "black magic" was practiced and feared. Here they're dressed for an important "kastom" ceremony where men advance in hierarchical "grades" of importance. Sekor, on the right, is one of the highest ranking chiefs and working to restore kastom rights and traditions in Vanuatu. The other is Norbert, whose day job is a secondary school principal!


In Vanuatu Jim spent a fair amount of time being Mr. Fixit. He worked on this little generator under the hopeful eye of a lovely family who then shared their dinner with us.




Last year poor Vanuatu, listed by the United Nations Institute for Environment and Human Security as "the world's most at-risk country for natural disasters," was pummeled by Pam, the "largest cyclone in recorded history to make landfall in the Pacific." It likely would have blown away many of the small fragile homes and villages we visited. The cruiser community there (to the extent they were still afloat) took to the seas and delivered supplies to many remote villages. The overall death toll from the storm was thankfully low but the recovery process can't have been easy given the isolation and remoteness of so many places--which, ironically, is one of the things we liked best about them.


Sailing to the Philippines more than 20 years after living there we found our old house in Manila...


...but even better than life in a gated community, we found people and places you'd only see from a sailboat. (No clue what makes their little make-shift raft float!?)



In all these years afloat we are most grateful for enduring good health, although we've managed to have a few medical issues in exotic places along the way: I had my first-ever root canal in Raiatea; Jim had surgeries in both Venezuela and Borneo, and was med-evac'd from Vanuatu for another in Australia. He came close to lopping off the tip of his finger with the anchor in northern Thailand. Does this nurse look like she's 14 or am I just getting old?



For the last couple of years we've done more city hopping than actual island hopping, which I do miss. But when you land in a place like Penang in Malaysia, where we are now, the benefits of city life can be seductive: great local markets full of exotic stuff, western supermarkets full of familiar stuff, even the occasional classical music concert. You don't have to go too upscale though, and Jim maintains this is what a hardware store should look like. He always finds what he needs at this jam-packed gem on "Cheapside Lane," his favorite shop in Penang.



It's now July 17. Like the last 17 years, these last 17 days have flown by and as usual I'm behind. Just to round things out, though, since we started with a "before" shot of us from 17 years ago, I guess I should end with an "after"--or least one that bring things up to date:



Now back to photo-editing...

Chinese New Year Dragon Dance


We are in Penang, Malaysia, a wonderfully multi-cultural little island with a large Chinese population that enthusiastically celebrates Chinese New Year. We've attended several events over the past few days to usher in the year of the monkey, which got me thinking about all the other celebrations, festivals, and ceremonies we've been lucky enough to attend in our years of wandering the high seas. For some of them, we actually planned to be in the right place at the right time, but for most it was just dumb luck that we were there when things were going on. Here are a few of our favorites.


Chinese New Year, Penang, Malaysia
The celebrations go on for 15 days at various venues and temples around the city. Lots of firecrackers, drum banging, cymbal clanging, and good food.

Lion dance



The guy in the slip next to us in the marina lives in Penang and every year hires a lion dance team to come to his boat to bring him prosperity and good luck in the new year. We hope some carried over next door to Asylum.




Thaipusam, Penang
This is a Hindu festival that stems from a rather complicated legend with gods and villains and swords and vanquished enemies. It's also a bit gruesome, with many of the devout spiritually preparing themselves for 48 days before the celebration to be rather extensively poked and punctured, including spears through their cheeks; big hooks in their backs that they attach to ropes to tow floats; and dozens of little things hooked all over their bodies, some of which looked to us like those wee metal tea infuser balls. We thought just a few of the most devout engaged in the piercings (most people just carry milk pails on their heads to a temple), but apparently its hundreds who opt to be pierced. We saw a few of them being prepared. Each had a small drum band accompanying the piercing process, with firecrackers and lots of incense burning in the area. Supposedly they feel no pain and don't bleed.




Testing the hooks before rigging two guys to pull the float on the right.



Hitched to the float and ready to pull it on a long walk to the temple. They may look like they're holding those spears in their mouths, but they really are poked through the cheeks and each of those little pots on their bodies is attached by a hook in their skin.




Loi Krathong, Thailand
A festival of lights that happens on the full moon of the 12th month of the Thai calendar, the name means "to float a basket." The baskets are beautifully decorated and elaborately folded banana leaves, with flowers, incense sticks, and a candle. Many vendors line the waterfront assembling them on the spot. To launch your little basket, maybe adding a bit of your hair or a coin, you light the candle and let it go into whatever body of water you can find--making a wish as you do--and hope it floats away. If it comes back, your luck isn't so good; if it does float away, the coming year will bring good fortune.

Krathong vendor in Krabi



Ready to float our baskets, with friends from Catspaw



Away they go, down the river, bringing us all good fortune




Rainforest World Music Festival, Borneo
This 3-day international music festival is held near Kuching in Sarawak, Borneo and brings in performers--everything from rock bands to gong orchestras--from round the world. The year we attended they covered countries from almost-A to Z: Burkino Faso to New Zealand. Our favorite part of the festival was the series of informal workshops offered during the day, in traditional longhouses, that covered interesting and oddball topics like the variety of plucked instruments, bowed instruments, instruments you toot, drums and things you bang on, bellows and bagpipes around the world. At night, the high energy performances on the main stage went from 7 pm to 1 am. Hard to get good photos of that kind of thing, but you get the idea. Who woulda thunk in the wilds of Borneo??

Traditional Borneo longhouse workshop venue



Final night at the big stage




Carabao Festival, Philippines
Filipinos love a good festival and there's no subject too lowly to keep them from throwing one. Even water buffalo, affectionately known there as "carabao," get one, and it's a big deal. I have a thing for water buffaloes so this is a slice of heaven for me. It's hot, dirty, and crowded but I love it!




Everyone with a water buffalo comes from miles around to join in the parade



The water buffalo are trained to kneel and owners take great pride in having them do it in front of the church. Not sure whether the carabao himself gets the significance but the crowd loves it.



I never met a water buffalo I didn't love and want!




Traditional Canoe Festival, Yap
This was a quaint little event in Yap to celebrate their history of sailing and paddling the high seas in traditionally built vessels. The year we attended the weather wasn't great and despite their goal of attracting foreign tourists, we were among only about 10 non-natives in attendance. But it was fun and colorful with a low-key, home-grown feel.








Cultural Festivals, Vanuatu
Vanuatu is one of those almost-mythical places any National Geographic reader dreams of visiting and we were lucky enough to be in when three uniquely "kastom" festivals were held: one, a first-time culture-preserving gathering held on a tiny island in the Maskelyne group; another, a national cultural arts festival, the first in over 30 years, with the entire island nation represented; and finally the jaw-dropping Land Diving on Pentecost Island, to celebrate the yam harvest. It's hard to find the right non-trite words to describe these events, but awesome, authentic, and once-in-a-lifetime come to mind.

All the men from a small village perform a kastom hunting dance



The Rom dance from Ambrym Island, for men who are moving up in society's hierarchy of "grades" (it costs them a lot of pigs, the currency of the realm, to climb that ladder)



Land Diving, with nothing but vines around their ankles (note the upside down kid in flight on the left)




Heiva, Tahiti
Racing across the Pacific in 2007, our timing was perfect to be in the right place at the right time: Tahiti around Bastille Day. Heiva is an old festival that dates officially to 1882 when the French decided the Polynesians could legally dance again. Before that, the custom dances Polynesians performed for all occasions and ceremonies had been condemned by missionaries as seriously erotic debauchery and essentially outlawed. Now the festival has large, exotic traditional dance performances telling opera-like legends, as well as traditional sports activities with heavy stone lifting, javelin throwing, outrigger canoe races, and running around with heavy loads of bananas lashed to poles.








History, haircuts, and funerals, San Blas Islands, Panama
Panama's San Blas islands remain one of our favorite places in the world and their indigenous inhabitants, the Kuna Indians, celebrate life and death with great ritual. And, they love their chicha, home-fermented grog that would make a dragon wince. At one of our first island stops in the San Blas we stumbled on the annual 3-day reenactment and celebration of the 1925 Kuna "revolution" against the Panamanian government. And while the village was in such a festive mood, they also held a puberty ceremony for girls who recently had come of age, get their first haircuts in a hair cutting ritual, and are then ready to be married off. For these ceremonies, a town-size batch of chicha is set to brewing a few weeks ahead and declared ready when it's, well, time to drink it. At the other end of life are funerals, and we were also lucky enough to be invited to two, something we were told doesn't often happen for tourists. At the first we were advised not to take pictures and never in my life have I so wished for a James Bond gadget with a micro-camera in it. At the second, however, the family was not only OK with photos, they wanted copies!

Kuna kids celebrate victory in La Revolucion



Kuna girl gets her first hair cut



Kuna women do enjoy their chicha!



Kuna women and curious children tend to the deceased old woman while the men prepare her nearby grave







Havana, Cuba
We have no idea what these towering street performers were celebrating but even in dour Havana they were having a grand time doing it!





It would appear there's nothing quite so universal as a good celebration of something. Birth, death and all the milestones in between. Harvests, hunts, the sun, the moon, the sea. Friendship, heritage, art and music, water buffalos. Even mussels (we forgot about that one in New Zealand). Celebrations are everywhere, and they make you feel good--sometimes awed, sometimes inspired, sometimes cleansed, and sometimes just better.
With that, we're off to take in another Lion Dance. You can never have too much good luck and prosperity. Happy New Year!