Trading and Bartering

 

Trading and bartering are common with sailors … between and amongst ourselves, as well as with people we meet along the way. It always seems that you always have something that someone else wants and vice versa. Sometimes it's a boat part or tool or perhaps a service you can perform like fixing a solar panel. Other times it's something totally unexpected like used diesel oil. If you have it and you're willing to part with it, you can be certain that someone else will be happy to have it in exchange for something you want (or that they wanted to get rid of).

Most people shy away from outright gifts. Somehow when you receive a gift from a stranger, you feel somewhat “beholden” to the giver. If you trade a service or an item though, it's totally different. Hopefully, each party is happy with the trade and there's no further obligation on either side and lays the seeds for a fine friendship. David's fixed many a generator and solar panel in exchange for fresh fruits and veggies. We're always happy to help someone, but they usually feel the necessity to repay us. Currency has less value in some remote island location. Freshies, however, or a piece of the local culture, are always welcome.

The Kunas in Panama's San Blas Islands were keen traders. We traded everything from baby spoons to reading glasses. They'd trade their lesser quality molas for sewing needles and thread, but often decided extras like plastic bowls, t-shirts and baseball hats were needed to seal the bargain. The good molas would only appear when cash was available.

Fishermen always seem to be happy to share their catch. We have certainly traded cigarettes and wine for fresh fish, lobster and crabs on occasion. In the Islas Aves off Venezuela, the transient fishermen stopped by daily to have us charge the 12V battery used for their on-shore radio. We had lots of solar and wind power, so it was an easy task, especially when they brought lobster for dinner each night. In the Gambier Islands of French Polynesia, a German ex-pat traded yachties the use of his clothes washer and clothesline for bottles of rum. The size and quality of the rum determined the number of loads to which you were entitled.

We always thought we made pretty good trades, but we found we were mere amateurs when we arrived in the Cook Islands and started trading there. David was able to fix a multi-meter and a drill for a local Customs official. He reciprocated by giving us a pumpkin and a pair of shell earrings which we thought was a very fair trade.

When we arrived in the village of Omoka across the lagoon, however, we found ourselves in the midst of trading professionals and we weren't prepared for the techniques, savvy and sheer genius that the locals brought to the table. We barely had the anchor down when an aluminum skiff was racing towards us ready to trade. We wanted to figure out what we had available and develop a good trading strategy and suggested the next morning would be better, but these folks were not to be dissuaded. They insisted coming aboard to “welcome” us.

"Do you have sun glasses? What about towels? sheets? bungy cord? fish hooks? sewing thread? mixing bowls? Dremel tools? drill bits? fishing rods?" The questions went on and on and they waited quite patiently while we looked for the requested items. It was like a scavenger hunt on the boat figuring out if we had what they were asking for, if we wanted to part with whatever it was and then figuring out where in the heck it might be, because if we were willing to part with it and hadn't used it in awhile, it was probably stowed away somewhere. Finally, with everything located, dug out, laying in the cockpit or on the saloon floor, they dug out some polished shells, a few pieces of jewelry and a couple of natural pearls and said..."Okay, fair trade?". "NO!!!", we said (but in a nice way, of course). They dug out one more pearl and one more shell. "Now, okay? Do you have any perfume?" Eventually, they wore us down and we said "Okay", hoping they'd leave soon. Our heads were spinning. They did leave eventually, but the very next morning, they were back as if the “things that Cook Islanders want” fairy had replenished the larder overnight. "Do you have any ....?" It was like a game of Go Fish, but we never seemed to win the game.

In Vanuatu, DVDs were all the rage … action or kid's movies. They might be wearing loin cloths and tooling around in a dugout canoe, but they had their battery-powered DVD players at home.

We've traded for black pearls, natural pearls, tapas, molas, carvings, baskets, locally made jewelry and hooks and all kinds of fruits, veggies, fish and seafood. We don't trade school supplies, books or kids clothes. Those we donate to the community and people feel fine about it. So, what do we trade? Well, you got drill bits? Fish hooks? Dremel tools? Sewing needles? Reading glasses?

Hole in the Head

 

 

 

Whenever I think of funny situations we've encountered during our sailing career and David's resourcefulness, I always remember this particular story from our early days. I think you'll enjoy it.  

As we entered Luperon Harbor in the Dominican Republic, a voice came over the VHF. It sounded like God telling us to “Anchor to the trades!” Turns out it was Bruce van Sant giving us a heads up on the trade winds and though there was no wind to speak of this early in the morning, we should anchor towards the east. We listened and followed directions accordingly.

A week or two later at sundown as we were sitting in the cockpit enjoying our post-dinner lethargy, we noticed the sky blackening and a squall moving in from the east. It looked like it was going to miss us and it did…the first time through. The storm passed and then because Nature is known to play tricks on presumptuous cruisers, it whipped around and came at us from the west with almost no warning.

This was not just any little blow; we clocked gusts at 60+mph. The anchorage was crowded and the VHF blared with various warnings from cruisers, mostly akin to the fact that the whole fleet seemed to be dragging. Down below, the dirty dinner dishes and pans crashed on the floor and unlatched lockers and drawers emptied their contents on the sole in a grand, uproarious fashion. The contents of the dink went with the blow and we watched as gas tank, oars, PDFs and bailer flew out and hit the water, quickly disappearing into the now pitch-black night.

An hour or so later, calm was restored weather-wise, but the anchorage was in turmoil. Several boats had dragged and needed to be reanchored. Dinghies were gone missing, solar showers were in the drink and drying clothes had flown off the lifelines. It was moonless and except for emergency maneuvering, it was pointless to try to recover anything in the dark. We’d all wait till morning.

Everyone was on edge and with the first light, cruisers ventured out and began combing the mangroved nooks and crannies of the harbor, rounding up lost gear and consolidating it in one location for owner identification and retrieval. Midst all of the ruckus and afterwards, we felt we were pretty fortunate. We recovered all of our lost dinghy items. Only a couple of dishes broke and once the sole was washed down, the boat seemed fairly shipshape again. That is until David went to the forward head to take care of some “business”.

He had left a stubborn outboard engine lock soaking in oil on the forward head counter. We hadn’t had occasion to use the head since the blow and hadn’t really given it much thought. As he sat down, he noticed the lock laying on the floor in a pool of oil littered with large shards of white porcelain. The type of white porcelain you might find, for instance, in a toilet bowl.

It appears as the boat heeled over during that 60+ mph gust, not only did the dishes fly off the counter, the lock went, too. The lock not only flew, but made a clean entry and exit through the toilet bowl leaving a huge hole in its wake. What to do? There were no toilet bowls available at Luperon Marine. Ever resourceful David managed to glue the pieces back together just as you would a fine vase, except he used 5200 and then covered the damaged area with duct tape. It worked just fine until we were able to order a replacement head in Puerto Rico, but it certainly gave new meaning to the phrase “hole in the head”.

Mile High to High Seas

 

While browsing through an old hard drive, I came across this article I wrote back in 2003. For those of you who have been sailing awhile, it will probably bring back a few memories. For those of you looking forward to sailing off into the sunset someday, perhaps it will give you some inspiration. I hope you enjoy it.

A Change in Lifestyle…Mile High to High Seas

Most folks have dreamed at one time or another about “sailing off into the sunset”. For many, it’s just that: a dream of a new life, wandering carefree around the world. But it doesn’t have to be just a dream. For us, it’s reality and life is good aboard the Nine of Cups, a 45 foot sailboat. With more than three years and 13,000 miles under our keel, we’ve sailed across the Gulf of Mexico, up the East Coast of the United States as far as New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, Canada and back down the coast through the Caribbean islands to South America.

There’s no doubt our family and friends considered us both candidates for psychological counseling when we announced our intentions. They pressed the issue even further as we proceeded to sell our company. Then we sold most of our worldly possessions, including the Mercedes, the antique furniture and the house and all the tchotchkes. With minimal sailing experience, but a thirst for travel, discovering new places and experiencing new cultures, we bought a 1986 sailboat in Kemah, Texas. After finishing our professional commitments and tidying up personal business, we moved aboard in April 2000. We were off on our life’s dream…a real adventure.

Drastic changes? You bet. Consider this: a 4,000 square foot house became less than 800 square feet of living space that rocked from side to side and had engine access from the kitchen … I mean the galley! No moveable furniture…everything is built in. No more unlimited use of water… no long, hot showers or letting the water run as you brush your teeth. Every drop of water needs to be conserved since the tanks would need to be refilled…somewhere. Watch that power consumption! “Shut off the lights; check the voltage monitor before you listen to the radio.” (What’s a voltage monitor?) Every bit of power needs to be generated by either running the engine (very loud and noisy and wastes diesel) or through solar panels and wind generators. Either way, there is never enough to waste. Adding to the list of apparent deprivations, we have no TV, no telephone, no electrical appliances. My one modern galley convenience is a tiny microwave oven which can only be used when we're in a marina or when we're motoring…in other words, infrequently.

Even learning the lingo was a challenge. A whole new vocabulary had to be mastered just to describe your home. The kitchen isn’t a kitchen, it's a galley. The bathrooms aren’t bathrooms, they're heads. Closets are lockers and bedrooms are cabins. Ropes are lines or halyards or painters. There's fore and aft, bow and stern, port and starboard and no permanent address.

Perhaps the most drastic change of all for me was no shopping…or worse, nothing to buy. Not only were there no places to shop, other than for groceries, but my usual “clothes horse mentality” quickly met with cold reality. We had no big “his and hers” closets any more, just two small hanging lockers that we shared. From three large closets all my own and daily work attire consisting of silk blouses, designer suits and shoes that matched, I regressed to shorts, tank tops and Teva’s. The rule on the boat soon became, if you buy something new, something old has got to go…there’s no more room. Besides how many tee shirts can you use? As for those other sweet amenities I deemed necessary? No sense in getting my nails done, they’d be trashed in one day working on the boat. Makeup? Hardly ever, considering I’m usually slathered with sunscreen and salt spray. Perfume? Not unless you consider bug spray to fall into the fine fragrance category… Eau de Deet?

As if the physical changes weren’t enough, the psychological changes seemed even greater. We were used to working long, hard hours…as many as 80-90 hours some weeks. At least one of us was always on the road. Phones were always ringing, someone was always “on hold”, emails and messages mounted up and the meetings were endless. We juggled all this while running a household and raising a family. Now…the kids were gone, the boat, though requiring a steady amount of maintenance and TLC, does not necessitate even a 40-hour work week. Without a telephone, the only ringing in our ears is from fog horns and sea gull cries. No emails, no internet and blessedly, no meetings. It took a while to figure it out, but there was so much to do that wasn’t “work”, so much to see and experience, but we had to work at not working. With a concerted effort, we had to learn to play and quite frankly, it wasn’t easy.

Time ceased to be an issue. There were no weekends to acknowledge. In the beginning, we'd rise early, rush to get our boat chores done and then hurry to enjoy the offerings of the current port. After all, we had places to be, things to see and a schedule to keep. For nearly a year, we pushed to get from one port to another, always reluctant to stay longer than our defined schedule allowed. Then we spent a summer in Maritime Canada and the rushing ceased. The area was just too beautiful to resist and too delightful to allow rushing. We made up excuses to stay just a few more days here and a day or two longer there and finally chided ourselves for needing excuses. Wasn’t this what we had yearned for when we set off to sail?

So what’s the attraction? This way of life is harder and lacks all those amenities we’d once considered necessities. If this is true, what comical sense of the macabre drew us to this sort of life? Though living on a boat is physically demanding, it is also the most carefree we have ever been. No mortgage, no car payments, no monthly telephone or electric bills…just our daily expenses as we choose. Life has become simple. We worry about weather, currents and tides instead of traffic, lawn mowing, bill paying and office politics. Welcome to our new life!