Heading Home to Nine of Cups

Our last day in Vegas was hectic … go figure. We've been here since January and had plenty of time to get things done, but still some things got put off till the very last minute and we struggled to cram it all in before heading to the airport. David had some parts that he'd forgotten to order and we scrambled to locate them. We wanted to say goodbye to David's mum and a friend of hers (and ours) decided to give us a flat screen TV that we needed to pick up. A cruising friend's laptop died and they asked us to pick up a new one for them and bring it back with us to Trinidad. Then packing, last minute laundry, chores … and then we were at the airport hugging Mary and Karen goodbye.

We're budget-minded, as you know, so we booked a red eye to save a significant amount of bucks, but it takes a toll on these old bodies. Our previous experience flying to Boston from Trinidad with Jet Blue wasn't the greatest, but they're cheap (in more ways than one). Unlike the last nightmare flight on Jet Blue, however, this flight was on time, the crew was friendly and they even offered snacks and drinks en route. Heck, we even got hot towels to wash our faces before landing.

We arrived in Fort Lauderdale at 0500 EDT … 2am Vegas time. It was dark, much colder than Vegas (only 55F) and we were a bit stove-up and tired from the 4.5 hour trip. We had a 5-hour layover to look forward to and we were hoping to find something in the way of breakfast. Egg and turkey sausage patty breakfast sandwiches and weak coffee were the best we could find and reluctantly spent $15 on mediocre food to satisfy our hungers.

As I write, the final leg of our Jet Blue flight to Port of Spain, Trinidad is scheduled on time. We're sitting at the gate, charging all of our electronics and trying to stay awake. That darned sausage patty is doing a good job though … we're definitely not sleeping with that in our systems.

Entering Countdown Mode

Midst the holidays and then all the house-buying, thrifting, moving, thrifting, settling in and thrifting, I failed to mention that we did finally make our reservations to head back home to Nine of Cups in Trinidad. After buying the tickets, I tucked the paperwork and our passports in the back of a suitcase and put it out of my mind (but not completely) for a few weeks. The departure date kind of snuck up on us. We've been in the States since mid-December and we've been so busy, we haven't had time to ponder our return to Trinidad. Now in a few days, we'll be there. We are in countdown mode. We depart next week and we're transitioning from “what needs to be done to the house?” to “what does Nine of Cups need?” An errant thought ... we always name our boats, but unless you own a ranch or a plantation or a castle or something, you rarely name your house. We call the house “the Big House” … not very imaginative.

We got lists and lists and lists. To-do lists for finishing up house chores. To-buy lists of parts and other stuff we need to bring back to the boat. To-do lists of business details that need to be finished up before we leave. To-do lists of things to do once we get to Trinidad. Whew! We've even created a master list of lists so we don't forget anything. These have somehow gotten mingled with current grocery lists and download lists and once again, chaos has crept in … but not for long.

We've dragged out our big duffels and our suitcase and we're trying to figure out how everything is going to fit. If there's even an extra ounce of allowable weight, we'll find something to add.

Are we anxious to get back? We have mixed emotions. After finally getting the new house somewhat settled, we were just about to enjoy the fruits of our labors and now we're leaving. It'll be hot and humid in Trinidad and Cups has no A/C. She also needs lots of attention. We're bringing back a shaft seal for replacement and there's an engine room through-hull which needs replacement as well and a long list of to-do's to get our girl ready for some Caribbean cruising. The usual anti-fouling bottom job will need to be done. We'd commissioned the topsides to be painted before we left and paid half the fee, but have heard nary a word from the painter which is somewhat distressing. Because Cups is on the hard, we'll be living on the hard for a few weeks as well … not the ideal situation. We'll deal with it all when we get back, but it doesn't seem all that appealing at this moment. Once we're back aboard, have the chores completed and we're in the water, it'll all be a distant memory and a story to tell. In the meantime, you'll get to live it with us. Stay tuned.

FAQ - When did Nine of Cups become "home"?

I always refer to Nine of Cups as home. After 15 years living aboard, wherever we are, no matter what country or what port, she's our home. When we dock in a foreign country and folks ask us where we're from, we usually reply “Well, today we're from here.” It wasn't always that way though and several women who are thinking of becoming liveaboards have asked me when I stopped thinking of Cups as just a sailboat and starting thinking of her as home.

Certainly there was not one exact moment when the boat equaled home. Having sold our house, car and most of our worldly possessions before embarking on our liveaboard lifestyle certainly helped speed up the process. Cups was all we had left. Moving familiar items aboard made her more homey … our whistling teapot, pictures, our favorite mugs, a familiar blanket to snuggle up with on cool evenings. You know … all those creature comforts that make a place not only comfortable, but yours.

Perhaps, experiencing our first storm and hunkering down for the blow was a telling event. Seeing how well Cups handled the wind and waves was certainly reassuring. She was seaworthy and sea-kindly despite the crew's ineptness and discomfort. She protected us from the elements (and ourselves). As we came to know her better, she took on her own personality. We began caring for her as we'd care for any well-loved family member. We began to miss her when we were away.

I always said that when I could walk effortlessly without lights through Cups at night (on deck and below) and not stumble on the step up from the galley to the saloon or the step down from the forward cabin to the forward head … that's when Cups would really be “home” to me. That's when I'd be so familiar with her that I wouldn't have to think about my movements as I moved blindly from one end of the boat to the other.

It happened without my realizing it. I found it hard to sleep without a little rocking motion and the lap of water on the hull. After awhile, I found myself moving around the boat with ease. I could hustle down the companionway ladder gracefully; grab stuff from the galley lockers without hitting my head on anything; hoist myself up the long step from the dinghy to the rub rail to the deck while holding onto a grocery bag; and, yes, walk through the boat from stem to stern in the dead of night without stumbling a step or missing a handhold.

Now, it's being on land that seems the novelty. No rocking, no lap of waves, no smell of the sea. Our home country is the USA, for sure. But after 15 years aboard, Nine of Cups, wherever she might be, is home.