We sailed into the harbor at Port Vila, Vanuatu silently this morning as the sun was coming up. Though the 5 days and 600 miles before now was anything but calm. It was 5 straight days at sea with nothing but blue ocean and a 360-degree horizon as far as my eye could see. We were pointed almost due west from Fiji for about 500 miles -- 500 miles with the southeasterly wind nearly at our back and the HUGE waves to go with it... big 10-foot waves that tossed the boat around like a horrible irregular rollercoaster ride. It was quite a sight to watch the horizon disappear from view from inside the cockpit as the boat rocked and rolled with each wave, and the feeling of it is even more unsettling. I wondered at how we were staying afloat at all.

I am sorry to say that I didn't see much of Fiji beyond Suva and hope to make it back one day to do it justice. We spent all our time in the yacht club bar chatting with the yachties. Such interesting stories. One Canadian guy Colin was making his way up and down from Canada to the South Pacific, alone. He's been at it for 2 years and had been in Fiji for 2 weeks waiting for a package with parts that was somewhere between here and there to arrive so that he could set off again. Lorraine and her husband Mark from England were halfway done with their circumnavigation. They left England last November and hope to make it home by this time in 2005. Gosh, that seems so far away, but I guess they still have about 15,000 miles to go. It was Tracy's birthday and her husband Richard treated her and their son Luke to a night in a hotel. After nearly a year on a catamaran in cramped damp quarters, all she wanted was a bath and to stretch out in a bed. Luke wanted to swim in a pool. Richard wanted the buffet breakfast with all the fresh orange juice you could drink, with ice. It really is the little things in life that you come to appreciate.

We left Fiji without much pomp and circumstance. One minute we were anchored and then suddenly the island was behind us and we motored out of the marina. I did have a couple pangs of mal de mer (seasickness) as we started off, but a few hours of staring intently at the horizon and trying not to notice the huge waves rolling around me did the trick.

Night watch began that night, and it dictates your life. My watches were from 7p-10p and then again from 4a-7a. I have to admit I was petrified to be left "in charge" of a boat, in the dark. The fact that Alex sleeps in the cockpit during the passages - just in case - provided me little comfort. I was told that ALL I had to do was monitor the auto-pilot with the course heading on the GPS. Just click this button and the auto pilot will correct itself by 2 degrees, but don't click this button by accident or else you'll turn it off, and oh by the way, there is a delay in the GPS and the auto-pilot. OK, I don't know about you, but these totally foreign concepts/language seemed scary as hell to me! And then, on top of that, I had to watch the horizon, looking out for lights of other yachts and ships... and squalls. I guess it takes all of 10 minutes for a blip of light on the horizon that is a container ship to run right into you if they're pointed at you. Again, that was enough to make me realize I was not at home, and this was not my Ford Explorer! I spent my first couple watches standing with my head out of the hatch hoping my eyes weren't playing tricks on me...

3 hours on watch can seem like a lifetime, especially when you're as paranoid as I was. The first stint went off without a hitch - just me and the stars and a gentle breeze. It's amazing the number of stars you can see from the middle of the ocean. The first time I heard the song "Southern Cross" I was 18 years old and sailing for the first time in the Caribbean. "When you see the Southern Cross for the first time, you understand now why you came this way..." It was kind of surreal that 13 years later I was seeing the Southern Cross for the first time, from a sailboat in the South Pacific...

I woke up the next morning at 4am to howling winds blowing 15-20 knots and huge huge huge waves, with scary whitecaps that you could see even in the pitch darkness. If there is such a thing as a "siren's song" that sailors hear, I heard it loud and clear that night. Eerie. The feeling of relief that daylight brings is undescribeable - I really look forward to 6am! The great bonus of my watch times is that I get the sun set every night in front of me and the sun rise every morning behind me. I've never seen such amazing colors in the sky...

I've become a napper. I could never do it before, but now napping has become an important part of my life. My routine on Salamandra was like nothing I'd ever experienced before either: watch, sleep, watch, sail change, nap, eat, lounge around, read, eat, nap, sail change, read, eat, watch. Lots of reading and listening to music and hanging around. As for sleeptime, imagine sleeping on a waterbed with an 800-lb gorilla that's tossing and turning incessantly next to you. It's a bit disconcerting at first trying to balance and brace yourself against being tossed around in bed, all while trying to fall sleep, but you get used to it. This morning I woke up to the sound of a jar crashing in the galley as I was thrown against the wall of the berth... It was a big wave.

As for my sailing skills, given that everything has been on auto-pilot so far and we've pointed in the same direction for 5 days, all I've become proficient at is a couple of knots and learning my way around the boat. And, I've come to quickly realize that I'm somewhat of a weakling. Body sculpting classes don't really prepare you for hoisting sails. Who would have thought it would be sooooo hard to do? As for Sailing 101, I'm sure the 12-day passage to Australia with us hand-steering (sans auto-pilot) will bring its fair share of fear and learning. I'm used to the watches now and the basic concepts of navigation after last week. Tomorrow I am to be hauled up to the top of the mast (about 70 ft) to replace a halyard. The next day we'll scrub the bottom of the boat for barnacles.

Our first day in Vanuatu consisted of 3 guys in yellow shirts in a dinghy ("quarantine") coming aboard and to confiscate all of our fruits and vegetables. Then "customs" (a young girl with a blue clipboard) dinghy-ed up to clear us. Gotta love when the admin comes to you. Now Alex and Sonia and the kids are headed to immigration to check in, and Jo and I are doing email and checking out dive shops. Vanuatu is supposed to be one of the most amazing places to dive and I can't wait. Jo is a divemaster so at least I'll have easy access to a refresher course. Apparently the waters here are shark-infested...

The people of Vanuatu are warm and friendly. The market is chock full of coconuts, bananas, papayas, etc. The kava root here is supposed to be the best in the South Pacific. You beat it into a liquid pulp and drink out of a special gourd. Kava is a narcotic that makes you literally "go numb." Sounds like an interesting experience, but I don't know if I'll be trying that any time soon...

I have no idea what time it is where you are, but the sun is about to set here so it's time to get back to the boat. Until next time, I leave you with a quick list of fun facts:
Flying fish really do fly. Far and fast.
I will not have clean feet for the next 21 days.
Dampness is a part of life.
There is nothing better than a freshwater shower.
The boat "funk" smell is something I will never get used to.
You can make good banana bread on a sailboat.
Accidently drinking sea water sucks.
Mastering using the toilet on a rocking boat is a huge accomplishment.

Hope you've enjoyed the read. Keep sending emails - I love getting them!
Judy