Shiver me timbers! I'm gonna be sick mateys!

Trip Start Jul 16, 2010
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Trip End Dec 25, 2010


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Flag of Norway  , South Coast,
Thursday, August 12, 2010

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday - didn't write in my journal at all - what did we do? Thursday to Kristiansand, and Friday crossing the North Sea to Denmark. Boat was pretty rolly, I got nasty seasick, and on top of it lunch was greasy nasty and somewhere in the afternoon I emptied my guts and felt slightly better.

SHORT ESSAY: De Vomitorum.
There is something nasty about vomiting into a toilet bowl. On the other hand, there is something quit satisfying about peeing al fresco (Waha! Turns out this is illegal in Europe! a girlfriend used to chastise me for doing this in Japan, but I was always discreet!), it is so natural and wonderful and a gift to the plants, and by extension, I REALLY wanted to vomit into the wide blue ocean, it just seemed the reciprocal thing to do, but alas there were too many people on board for me to enjoy this private moment with the sea and out of shame I did it down below in the head...

Rainy all evening, and sailing late into the night in order to reach our port. I was just praying for hours on end that we'd make land soon. New respect for the Pilgrims.

Saturday though was beautfiul, and we sailed up the fjord to a place whose name sounded to me like Nuclear Bean (I really do have bad hearing). At one point in the day, I was on deck doing something and looked up to see an old fat topless woman bearing down on me. Argghh, bloody hell! Not the Pirate Way! It was that kind of boat. It was Fishstick's wife (Fishsticks was a retired farmer on our boat who looked exactly like the man on the package of Gorton's fishsticks). Anyway, she wanted to swim. We were temporarily stopped in the middle of the ocean to fix sails, and everyone told her she couldn't swim but off she plopped into the ocean, and before you could say Skinnydipping half the crew were stripping down and jumping into the deep blue sea, buff as babies - mutiny of the hippies. I was still not tops after the previous day's ordeal so I just sat back and watched.

That night we dropped anchor (ha ha! more pirate parlance that never really happened. We always just tied up at a dock) at Livo Island, which was amazingly hauntingly fairytale beautiful (more Brothers Grimm than Hans Xtian Anderson though), along with super giant black slugs the kind of which must have inspired Lewis Carol (see my profile photo). If you go to northern Europe, this little island is a must.

At the single store on the island we all sat down for a beer and someone asked me how to say Cheers in Japanese and I said, Kanpai, and John Lennon (aka Preben, the Beatles lover (I had nicknames for most of the crew)) immediately broke into "...me love" (Kanpai me love... get it?). Some people just live in a single paradigm universe. They are often geniuses.

As I look out the window of the cabin now (I've been blogging for what seems days now, so I hope all you tens of readers out there appreciate the effort and offer to send contributions to fund my trip), I can see Sausage eating a butterfuly. Win and Cam have a couple of cats named (I think) Ozzy and Grizzy, but I couldn't remember which was which. I mentioned to Cam that one of them looked like a runt, and she said runt in Danish is "raisin at the end of the sausage". So now I just call the fat cat Sausage and the thin cat Raisin. They both seem to like to eat butterflies and spiders. I am thus sparing with my kisses.

In any event, back to Livo. Wish we could have stayed there longer - took a stroll around the island, followed by a BBQ which thankfully included seafood. People kept trying to steal my damned food off the BBQ so I had to guard it with a fork. Danes seem to be OK with semi-raw fish. I'm OK with it too when it's called sushi, but this had been defrosting in the gally all afternoon, and having been foodpoisoned once by octopus, I wasn't about to repeat the experience. In any event, I'd like to go ahead and tap my deep reserves of cultural sensitivity and call the Danes a bunch of seat-stealers (every time I turned around on the boat someone had taken my seat or my hammock) and fish-stealers. It's probably part of the Viking subconscious - all that rowing, and fish for dinner. Win makes Irish coffee for everyone at our table with the end result that he and Smurfy apparently spent a good part of the night wondering around the island lost in the dark.

Next day we sailed on up to Aalborg where the old boat calls home. Captain Hans has us all put on our official Polar Bear t-shirts (which are, interestingly, all black) and we line up starboard just like the Navy does when they pull into port, except that the Navy doesn't RUN AGROUND in front of the waving crowds lining the shore, and then hit reverse and RUN AGROUND again going backwards. But we have more fun than the Navy, and the waving crowd was only composed of perhaps 7 people wondering why we kept going forward and backward past them in the fjord... In any event, a fitting end to a great cruise, and food for thought on my own desires to build a yacht and sail around the world.
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