#my friends in the southern hemisphere will feel this one in about six months

[crimeronan]

you are not the most annoying person in the world. you are bored and tired and anxious because you're staying indoors all day because it's going to be too dark and too cold to comfortably venture outside for the next three months.

[jere-me--oh-my]

Thursday, November 3 -- The Gift that Keeps on Giving: Make a list of 10 items your character has received as a gift and describe what the item means to them (if at all). 

The 10 Gifts that have meant the most to Jeremy J. Johnson (in chronological order)

His first guitar. When Jeremy was six years old his parents got him his first acoustic guitar. He was terrible, it was out of tune and his parents spent months afterwards listening to him pluck the same notes over and over again for hours on end before he could actually play anything that sounded like a melody. He still has it, at his parents’ house, he loves to give it a strum when he does anything classical.

Pokemon cards. When Jeremy was 8 his parents signed him up to join the choristers at the Cathedral, meaning he spent ages and ages rehearsing and learning music theory and not going and playing with his friends after school. He had been begging for pokemon cards for months because everyone else was playing with them at lunch. After they first heard him sing with the choir, his parents were so proud they relented and bought him a pack. He still has the bulbasaur tucked away in a drawer.

A £2 mix! (Bag of mixed sweets). The following year, with Jeremy’s birthday falling in the lead up to Christmas (busy time for choir boys), he was spending more and more time with the other choristers and making friends. This felt most complete when they all chipped in 20p and bought him a bag of sweets to practice on his birthday. Shockingly, they do not survive.

Treble Clef Pin Badge. A gift from his Mum when he turned 11 and joined the school orchestra. It was obvious to everyone music was his passion, and he was feeling nervous about being at High school, so she brought it for him when she spotted it in a shop as a spontaneous gift (in a fit of ‘my baby is growing up!)

A copy of Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-E (1964) on Vinyl. A present from his grandfather, when Jeremy was 14, as his grandad always shared his love of music and wanted to broaden Jere’s horizons to some proper classics. He had to keep it at Grandpa’s house (because he didn’t have a record player) and listen to it with him.

A woven leather bracelet. An anniversary present from Emily when they were 16. She has a very similar one that she wore because ‘they matched,’ and that it meant she could always think about him. Jeremy’s is at the back of a drawer somewhere at his parents. Emily still wears hers in pictures from time to time. Confusingly.

A watch. A present from his Dad for his 18th birthday, because “every man should have a watch.” They made a whole day of it though, going to NTO to a jewellers and then getting lunch together just the two of them, his Dad let him buy a beer with lunch. He wears it for special occasions but not every day.

A hand-’drawn’ card. A truly unrecognisable, confusing scribbly mess on pink paper that (if you squint, step back three paces and tilt your head to the right) reads ‘”Happy Birthday Jeremy.’ It’s from Suzie. It has pride of place on his noticeboard in the dorms.

His film camera. A present from his grandma before he left on his gap year. It was his Grandpa’s, who had passed away a few years prior, and she wanted Jeremy to go and make memories with it. He has. 

Beers and a BBQ. His birthday last year fell when he was newly broken up with, newly in Australia and very very far from home. So when the people he was rooming with decided that to celebrate his birthday they were going to sit out with a pack of beers and put the barbecue on, he was really genuinely touched by it. It was one of the best birthdays, very laid back, very chill, and one of his friends taught him all about the southern hemisphere constellations when the stars came out. A truly peaceful memory.

[hotchkiss-and-tell]

Dates or Time of Year for Each Nancy Drew Game

whatamagicalplace made one of these charts last year. Those efforts gave me a starting point but I wanted to tweak it after doing my own research. I decided to share my final result since my version differs from hers in several ways. My reasoning for each game is discussed below; but if you have any evidence to add, feel free.

SCK: Nancy says in the opening letter she took a semester off school to visit Eloise in Florida. The banners for Senior Prom are still prominent throughout the school and the event is scheduled for May 23. Game takes place in a single day but that day could be any time in late spring semester prior to May 23.

SCK2: Homecoming banners are prominent and the event is scheduled for Sept 23. A flyer with Jake’s secret messages has a date of Sept 05, so let’s assume Jake was still alive then. The game says Nancy is there to investigate after Jake was murdered “last week.” That could mean three to seven days after the murder since it happened on a Thurs. Thus Remastered takes place in a single day but that day could be anywhere from Sept 08 to 22.

STFD: Nov 13 (confirmed with calendar). Game takes place for as many days and nights as player needs.

MHM: “Winter Festival” and Charlie studying for finals indicates late Nov to early Dec. Newspaper about the lost gold at the end is dated Mar 03; it could’ve been published after money settlement and the renovations completed though. Game takes place for as many days and nights as player needs.

TRT: December. The Spanish letter from Lisa’s friend is dated Nov 30 and acknowledges that Lisa is already in Wisconsin. By now, time should be well into Dec. 

FIN: Possibly Nov (game’s release) but there are no confirmed dates on anything. It’s likely during the school year since Maya is doing the interview for the student newspaper. Game takes place over three days.

SSH: Calendar on Henrik’s desk is for the month of April. The book version takes place during the DC Cherry Blossom parade which usually occurs last week of March or early April. Game takes place for as many days as player needs. (Early April timeline would match with end of game trailer and dates for DOG.)

DOG: Jeff’s calendar is open to April. Culprit’s log book says Sally is due to move in to the cabin on April 19. Sally says she spent four weeks at Moon Lake, implying the game starts May 18. But I really don’t see Jeff’s character forgetting to change the calendar, so either Sally moved in early or she means four weeks total including seeing the property, bidding, and the final sale plus moving in. And let’s remember there’s no safe water source, so it’s unlikely Sally could live there for four weeks straight. Sally says the dogs howled a full week before they attacked the house and then they appeared every night since; maybe Sally lasted 9-14 days with the ghost dogs. The game could likely begin anywhere between Apr 28 and May 18. Then continue for as many days and nights as the player needs.

CAR: Culprit’s emails with black market dealer date from May 23 through June 04. Harlan’s appt book opens to June 09-13 with the significant clue on June 10. Game is a single day, likely on June 10, but could be as early as June 05.

DDI: June 17 (confirmed with calendar). Single day of gameplay.

SHA: Sept 15 to 17. Nancy’s airline ticket confirms arrival date in AZ. Timeline of the game takes place in three days. (Tex’s b-day is Sept 16!)

CUR: This is anybody’s guess. Hugh and Linda were married Aug 22. The lawyer’s letter to Mrs. Drake states Linda must live at the manor for another three months to fulfill the “six-month-habitation-clause” and those six months must be consecutive in the first year of marriage. Game could be late Nov at the earliest. However, frogs are chirping when Nancy arrives at the manor which is a spring thing and Bess and George say they are attending sailing camp. The fact that no one is suggesting that Linda can leave due to health reasons and start the six months over when she’s well again makes me think the year is half gone already. So the game could also be taking place in April or May at the latest.

CLK: May 07 (confirmed with calendar). Single day of gameplay.

TRN: We see snow in Copper Gorge, but it’s in Colorado and snow can be any time of year there. Frank and Lori are wearing the puffy vests and everyone else has jackets and sweaters. Fatima says it’s the off-season now and summer is the busy season. Makes me think winter is my best guess.

DAN: Game takes place for as many days as player needs. The newspaper on Day 1 is dated Aug 28. Newspapers continue to appear through Sept 06, which publishes that the journalists are negotiating for raises and the sounds of the impending strike are occurring outside JJ’s apartment. Day 11 (Sept 07) and onward have no more newspapers appear on the kitchen table. Let’s say Aug 28 to Sept 07 for simplicity.

CRE: Mike’s calendar is set to March. Quigley’s tape recorder log updates as of Mar 28. Craven’s shipping records say his latest sample was sent to Aikens Biotech on Apr 09. Game takes place in a single day, probably Apr 09 or 10. (Mike just hasn’t turned over the calendar yet)

ICE: Newspaper in the lodge is dated Jan 13. Elsa’s resignation letter is dated Jan 15. Lodge computer says Lupe checked in on Jan 15 and she noticed the lack of maid services for days. Game likely takes place that same week, starting maybe Jan 18 at the earliest, and lasts over several days and nights.

CRY: May 31 (confirmed with calendar). Single day of gameplay.

VEN: Newspaper in the Ca’ terrace says chalice was stolen “this morning” and the police records say the theft happened Jan 25. When Nancy nabs Nico on the stakeout, the next day’s newspaper is dated Feb 03. Since game takes place over several days, it likely plays from Jan 25 to Feb 03.

HAU: Night of May 28. The wedding is set for June 01. The end dialogue says Kyler and Matt couldn’t stop saying “I love you” from when the rocket launched to four days later, which was their wedding day.

RAN: The float plane pilot says resorts like Dread Isle shut down in the summer for “hurricane season” in the Bahamas. And the game was released in July. Since we see the map that charts all of Nancy’s past cases (including HAU) so the game is after the wedding on Jun 01. But there is no reference to the current date aside from “summer.” Single day of gameplay.

WAC: The essay Mel receives from her teacher with the plagiarist comments is dated Nov 21. Since two more nights of sleep are required to trigger events in the game, we can figure that the game takes place from Nov 21 to 23.

TOT: Scott’s calendar is open to May and filled in with code until the 19th. The log book of precipitation is filled out until May 24. Game likely takes place from May 20 to 25.

SAW: The TE-Japan brochure in Nancy’s teacher tote says her exchange program runs from Jun 01 to Sept 15 with different durations of 2 weeks, 3-4 weeks, and 5-8 weeks. With no specific date in the game and the player taking as many days and nights as needed to solve the mystery, we have to settle for saying it takes place in “summer.”

CAP: Karl’s daily calendar is on page March 12. When Nancy finds the final forged email from “Markus” she remarks that it has tomorrow’s date, which is Mar 13. Game is a single night of play on Mar 12.

ASH: Newspaper and police report of Nancy’s arrest say the game is done in a single day of August 18. The fire took place on Aug 17.

TMB: It’s the desert and there are no dates on any clue in the game. Since Lily is a student and Abdullah and Jon are professors, perhaps the game takes place in summer between any busy semester/class schedules.

DED: Ellie’s notepad in the control booth says she gave the coil demo to Nancy on Oct 29. Nancy arrived in daylight hours but since Ellie is on the night shift, the demo could have taken place on either side of midnight which means the game could start on either Oct 28 or 29. (Nancy arrived 10/28, night fell and midnight passed, then Ellie gives demo 10/29 OR Nancy arrives 10/29, night fell and it’s not midnight yet, then Ellie gives the demo still on 10/29.) Game continues for as many days and nights as the player needs.

GTH: Jessalyn’s phone recorded her bachelorette party antics from the night of Oct 27 to early morning of Oct 28. Addison says Jess had vanished for the second time after sun-up. It is unclear how many days Jessalyn has been missing before Nancy arrives on the island. Nancy was deep asleep when Savannah calls her for help, which means Jess has been gone at least a full day. Then Nancy arrives on the island at night which either means it’s evening on the same day of Savannah’s call or another day has passed by the time Nancy gets there. Oct 29 is the earliest possibility. Game takes place over three nights. Likely set between Oct 29 and Nov 01.

SPY: The newspaper reports that July 14 is near and it will be the eighth anniversary of Revenant’s first attack. Alec’s letter documents that his sister was kidnapped on the first of the month and has not been seen since. Game takes place between Jul 02 and 14. While Nancy cannot sleep or change the time of day, it is hard to believe that traveling back and forth throughout Scotland’s towns and the different phases of the spy operation all take place in a single day.

MED: Summer in the southern hemisphere, so datewise it’s set between Dec and Feb. Again there’s no sleep or time of day transitions but the elimination rounds likely take place over several days.

LIE: Employee timecards are recorded through July 05, the artifact exchange log is filled out through July 06, and the packing slip on the open crate says received July 06. Game is a single day of play, likely on July 06 or 07.

SEA: Soren’s winter guest log says Nancy is visiting in January. Game takes place for as many days and nights as player needs.

MID: Minion’s plane ticket TO Austria where the game begins is dated Oct 26 and the game goes into Halloween.

[cheolbooluvr]

maybe there's just smth in the air! or maybe because its leo season, haha. i hope you're able to find some rest in between all the busyness, at least! (ooh, when do u start classes? im from the southern hemisphere so admittedly school years where summer break is mid year have baffled me a little... but i guess it'll be the same vice versa as well haha)

tell me about it... like maybe make asks the same on desktop and mobile, and while you're at it, have some kind of way of knowing if your message has sent properly like an outbox or something? maybe do that before u try to monetise your site like its patreon or kofi?

HAHAHA HIGH FIVE... it does except as a horror trope like... do the clothes get possessed? is it like a turnip head howls moving castle kind of situation? many questions to be answered. (look i like horror in theory and have always thought that I would be unstoppable if I wasn't such a big scaredy cat....) and yes it really is haha especially when it gets super cold and if you're like me u never use the heater because I mean I feel bad for how it'll impact the electricity bills and whatnot... out of curiosity tho how cold does it get where you are? do you see snow at all? omg? i mean I hope if its possible that it'll get fixed soon? it does remind me though back at my old place my ceiling was so tall and when the light died out I didn't know what to do because even on a ladder I was too short to change the light bulb... so I just... had no bedroom light for six months before my tall friend actually was like LET ME CHANGE IT !!!!!!!!!!!!

its not pressure at all! 💖 more like i want to catch up to speed so i can give more feedback when i can hehe. oh yeah absolutely, and like the thing about those nerves is that getting comments and interactions can really help! although imposter syndrome is like. one of those things where I'm like will u ever go away or is it just a constant thing forever, like it comes n goes in waves. still, I will say it makes me happy to hear that and see that you where you are today!!!!! like its so cool that even with your nerves you pushed through it and now you're at three hundred!!!!!!!! and honestly pretty much haha. and i don't want to ever stop growing as a person if that makes sense, like we'll always be going through new experiences since its impossible to experience every single thing life has to offer... so the thought of remaining unchanging after all that is... a little sad! yeah right? I think at those times I just need someone to smack my hand away from the edit button to just post haha. although it has been a while since I have posted, since i seem incapable of writing short things anymore, and all my wips are... too damn long...

omg yes i cannot remember the last time I saw a flattering flash picture it really washes everything out 😭 OHHHHHHH?????? THESE ARE SO NICE?????? I love how you framed the shots!!!!!! And idk what the technical term is but like the way the objects/subjects are laid out in each photo has been done with such a great eye? these are so satisfying to look at!!!!! especially if they're not usually the stuff you photograph! thank you so much for showing me!!!!

GOD i custom built mine but there was so many nerves involved. I did build two of mine, one like a year ago but like... when I did, it was a whole ass ordeal and ngl, i have no idea how 16 year old me managed to build her computer like I was just so scared of breaking anything djdjkddjdj but thank u for the reassurance! its genuinely a huge relief to hear that!

ah, do u mind if I ask what kind of fanart in particular? animations though!!!! doodly (why does my phone correct it to Doodlakine dhjdksjdjdskd) animations sounds so cute hehe. do you post them anywhere or is it just a personal endeavour? ahhh uke covers of svt songs sounds so lovely hehe. like the uke really makes any song additionally charming because its such a peppy sounding instrument. have u uploaded covers anywhere? it really shows how much u love art and again, I'm seriously in awe of how many areas you have practice in! also keke we have nearly the same Myers briggs type, only im an infp :') i have another leo friend that's an enfp, actually. go figure hahaha. gosh tho hard-core relate to never finishing things like that's a skill I never learnt how to master

honestly same haha. like I feel like with original work I get so caught up in like... how long it'll take for me to create characters? like even thinking about coming up with names... I am so bad at being decisive with them... at least with fanfic you can take an already existing person/character and sorta use them like a base and see how the au you put them changes them as a person, if that makes sense? it's just so much faster than me having to painstakingly go through the character making process... although if I am serious about turning my current fanfic into something I want to publish... I am going to have to change all the seventeen members I used to other names HAHA im not sure if I can get away with publishing a book and then wow what are the members of seventeen doing here????? (hehe I'm curious did your friend also write imagines back or?) ah it means so so so much to me that you'd be interested in reading my work ;_; like even the thought alone!!! hehe thank u though, I do appreciate that! its just... very interesting to me how often I've set things up so that when I have gaps I have to fill i surprisingly find out that somethings already been established to fit in that gap... or ill have questions that i can immediately answer through the lore and I dunno!!!! This story just feels different to all my past ones. I'm sending over writing motivation and inspiration and energy Right The Heck Now I hope you can feel it!!! and honestly even 1k a day is impressive haha, I do still have days that I can barely write 100, I just have to make them up another day...

ooh, and you enjoying your major? I did an elective in international studies and it was a lot of fun, and I really liked the teacher in it actually! do you major in anything else or is it just the one? and ah yes that does make sense haha. I'm glad you had fun though!

before I respond to this subject djjsjdjf when you were like 'idk if I mentioned this' but that's me when responding to messages ours included like I know if I haven't already I will repeat myself at some point because I never have a good grasp on what I have and haven't said to someone already. and that's genuinely so interesting! did tumblr also help with the anti-fanfic side of things? like for me I was exposed to reader insert at a pretty young age so that's been pretty much all of my fanfic from then on barring exceptions from like friend's work or their recommendations. I completely understand haha, a lot of my original stuff is in a similar state, and if I have written anything, it's like a short story that's of a side character or something!

yeah of course! authors in general and especially on tumblr should stick together i think!!!! because on some level we all know the pains of posting writing haha. (omg dhdjdhdhd i mean if you have an idea i am not surprised because I constantly worry about forgetting anon when I send messages to u 😭 although did anything in particular give you any hints?) but ahhhhh that's very kind of you! you're not obligated to at all hehe but I do appreciate the thought a lot! its funny too because while I have posted quite a few things... most of them have been posted in 2018 or earlier so they're all pretty old! I did post some things recently but it's not nearly the same amount as back then haha. either way! thank u for even wanting to read my work!

pain is just.... like it is pain but I always find it cathartic, you know? ooh though I can't say I've ever written anything that's made me cry!!! The most is that i have sat down recently and had a crisis over how in the fanfic I brought up, I made an original character and I'm not sure how, but I genuinely have x did nothing wrong syndrome for my own damn character, which has never happened before LMAO... BUT IM SO EXCITED FOR JUNFIC... I am tuned the heck in for u to post it whenever its done! I AM READY AND WAITING

HAHA gosh big same. although I will say you have the cool part down!!!!! I haven't seen it but I have heard of monster house.... IS Joshua in it???? lmfao I joke but that would be hilarious. I don't know how he got the weirdest murder but there it is. it was a little alarming but my body is usually weirdly good at like. waking me up if it feels like a scene is about to become a nightmare so thankfully I usually avoid the worst of it! although every few months or so I do get this super vivid nightmare... which i suppose is the trade off???? but thank u I was genuinely so annoyed at him HAHAHA before it faded away because I was like well, I can't really do anything with my annoyance for dream wonwoo... supposedly writing a dream journal helps with remembering dreams although it is funny rereading them after the fact and seeing how little sense I make when I just woke up. omg slow mo running when you're being chased is the WORST though, like how are u meant to escape with speed like that... and thank u for the validation HAHA like I dunno why svt keep trying to kill me in my dreams

ooh, that's so cool though? are they a theatre actor or a film/tv actor or? neither can I, but what I've heard about Joshua is that he was pretty much your average guy in high school... and from my friend who knows someone that back up danced for seventeen, they're are just as polite and friendly as everyone says, which is nice to hear!

it is sad! A little like drifting away from a friend, but I do completely understand. obviously I'm all for musical development but if u lose interest u lose interest you know!

that makes sense! I wish you luck for whenever that happens hehe, all my friends have been moving out recently!! have you picked out any names for your future pug yet? also same my mom hates pets as well haha but I could technically get one now... I just want to be in a better financial situation first!!!

hahaha omg that would be a lot of fun though, like watching two leos try to out compete each other! I would pay to watch tbh... oooh that's a lot of fire in your chart! very nice! but it is fun how it links up to your big three like that! i love those kinda coincidences, although since no one in svt is a pisces sun I sadly do not share the same experience 😔 I am with u on that though! I just think its fun the way personality quizzes are, you know? HAHA omg... i understand completely like i say this in the most loving way but jeonghan.. is such a scheming schemer sometimes

they're a lot of fun! although I've watched so many that sometimes they can repeat stuff haha. like so many of em have that time hao went through the haunted building on his own and dunked on all the guys there... or wonwoos [deep voice] tasty... eggzackle is so cute dhdjdkjdjdkd especially because i love eggs in all forms... fried, boiled, mixed into batter... LACK TOES AND TALLER AUNT... DHDJDKDHD.... tbh I think it should be spelt like this for real from now on and u can quote me on that

I DONT KNOW BUT IT WIGS ME OUT A LITTLE SOMETIMES ... like people walking around talking about how its a dream... like straight up i dream about my best friend from high school and we're catching up in the dream and I'll be like you know I'm really glad we're hanging out I've been getting dreams about hanging out with u BUT ITS ALL A DREAM LIKE HOW DO I PROCESS THAT... and thank u there will be snacks and drinks provided! you'll have a front row seat reserved! god anyone in general tbh like that special video made me lose my mind a little bit... I must away...

yeah hehe! I wrote quite a lot before chickening out at the climax of the story but even so I still love boom boom for the inspiration it gave me! and once again 😭 you're too kind! I'll definitely feel comfortable sharing but like no pressure or anything! although I checked how long ago I posted it and JDJDKSJSJS i uploaded it in 2017...... FOUR YEARS AGO................. my writing has changed a lot since then HAHA but I was... thinking of rewriting this boom boom fic to reflect my newer writing style!!!! swimming fool is peak summer fun haha, even the choreo is a lot of fun to watch! also question i must ask... which unit is your favourite?

junhaos my i should be immortalised in sculpture and placed in a museum and that's just the truth!!!!! I said what I said!!!! and id say I agree with u, but with so many perf unit faves id probably come off as biased haha. and yes I do know I think??? I believe it was your name?????

- 😺 carat anon

ugh idk what it is but i need time to slow down a bit D: i start classes in 2 weeks on the 23rd! i checked my schedule bc i totes forgot what class i was taking, but i'm taking a marketing class which might be fun?? idk who knows honestly i wanna drop out but whatever. OH! southern hemi!! honestly? american education system lowkey doesn't make sense in general so i don't blame you there.

yeah tumblr plz get your $#!t together first smh. omg wait yeah that's a great idea bc the amount of times i wasn't sure i sent my assigned blog an ask akfjadlfj UGH whatever, i don't think anyone on here actually supports plus posts so i'll just let it die like it's supposed to. YA HEAR THAT TUMBLR???? STAY IN YO LANE.

OMG TURNIP HEAD <333 plz i am the biggest scaredy cat and am the first to go in a horror situation? i'm the one who tries to talk everyone out of doing whatever stupid thing they want to do, and then somehow i still get dragged into it and STILL die first. bye.

but YEAH OMG it's like a DIY weighted blanket!! why use a heater when you can sleep under a huge pile of clothes :D oh it actually gets pretty cold where i am! i technically live in a desert, but what ppl don't realize is that deserts get cold, too. it's very dry here, so it gets to -9 degrees C??? idk how to do the degree thing, but i figure since you're not in america, F probably isn't a good gauge. but yeah, it gets cold and we do get snow!!! it snowed so much earlier this year, oh i loved it so much. i wrote a wonwoo drabble(?) based on it, and ugh. snow is so romantic to me :') it's just so pretty, and the crunching under your feet when you walk...ugh. love it. love it it so freaking much!

omg yeah so obvi, again i have been slacking w my asks so this is v late, but i got the light fixed! my neighbor fixed it for me thank the lord. THANK GOD FOR TALL FRIENDS!!!!! GLAD THEY WERE THERE TO HELP bc omg i would just be so dramatic abt it. i'd be like, 'oh no i'm dying, i can't seeeeeee~~!!!' anyways.

EEP THANK YOU <333 i am giving you virtual hugs and love bc it rly does mean a lot to me :( yeah plz, imposter syndrome GO AWAY!!! it totally does come and go in waves, i felt that hard. nothing, and i mean nothing, irks me more than ppl who refuse to change and grow. it's truly one of my biggest pet peeves. UGH DON'T GET ME STARTED CUZ I'LL GO OFF FOREVER >:[ it is sad tho, like hello, you could be changing for the better, but you just choose to stay the same ol stale boring person??? okay, fine whatever your loss -_-

nothing wrong w long wips!! i am seeing the joy of writing long fics now (thank u jun) but damn my brain was all over the place! esp bc i don't write in chronological order. but plz if you ever feel like sharing, my dms are open always and i rly would love to read your work <33

AHHHH THANK YOU!!! the technical term would be composition :D you're so sweet omg :((( i rly just love capturing candid moments the most, seeing ppl be happy...i rly do have so much love for photography and the way it has shifted the way i see things. it was my pleasure!! i might have to revamp my photography sideblog and post those there LOL (so actually, this is my return to tumblr since like...2012 and i had a photography sideblog and that just never took off, but hmm....thinking......)

OMG YEAH WOW GO YOU FOR BUILDING YOUR OWN PC THAT'S SO IMPRESSIVE. plz i had to text my friend and have him walk me thru what cables i'm supposed to buy bc aha LOL i bought an extra hard drive and no extra cables for the motherboard :D but he's giving me some extra, so we're good there!!

oh for sure! also svt fanart LOL i've really jumped into the deep end w them afkladjffkds. but yeah it's fun!! i've posted a lot of stuff on my stan twt LOL so they are on the internet! i'd be happy to share them once we do the big reveal or smth :D yessss i love the uke, and actually i used to play the violin, and i'd love fidgeting w it and plucking it like it was a guitar, and i tried to play guitar but my fingers are not flexible enough, so uke it was! and it's so easy to learn. oh! my covers are also on twt but honestly, they're not that good lol. i'm not rly a singer, tho i'm not tone deaf at least (i hope). but i'm trying my hardest to learn bc i love singing T^T

OMG ANOTHER INFP i swear everyone i know is an infp??? my sister jokes abt how she collects enfps, so maybe i collect infps??? it only makes sense hehe BUT YEAH WHAT IS IT W US XNFPS NEVER FINISHING STUFF AFKJADKLJADL my brain is always just like hey wait what if you do this, and i'm like oooh interesting, and in the middle of that, my brain is like OOH WHAT ABT THIS and i'm like okay but can i finish??? and my brain goes, but WHAT IF and then i'm forced to think abt it until i forget abt my current idea

OH MAN ORIGINAL CHARACTERS ARE SO HARD. i talked abt this a lot w one of my friends, but i like fanfic bc i can just base characters off real ppl and it's so much easier but, ask me to do world building on my own??? phew that'll take YEARS. but yeah omg i think changing the names should be easy right?? just find and replace them LOL i rly hope you get to publish! i was talking to some folks today abt if their dream was ever to be an author, and it was interesting, some said yes, some said no. but for me, i would love to see my name on book shelves :'] idk i think it would be rly fun!!

my friend kinda would, but it was mostly me! and that was all fine by me, i rly didn't mind. but yes!! if you're comfy sharing, plz i would love to read :))) i need to read more, honestly. just in general. i don't do it enough LOL (how tf am i supposed to be a published author if i don't read other ppl's works akljdalkds). but thank you!!! and sending all that energy back to you as well!!! <33

my major was fun!! it was nice bc we basically got to pick our courses to our own interests, so it was great having that freedom in my undergrad studies. that was my major, i also minored in mandarin chinese!! language :] and now i'm getting a masters of business administration so i can make money T^T

no yeah i completely agree lol i'm like...this feels familiar...turns out i mentioned it already LMFAO HELP. but yeah i think tumblr did help!! i was suuuuper reluctant at first like, ugh, reader inserts can't be good -_- BUT THEY CAN BE AND THEY ARE!!!!!!!! oooh that's awesome that you've been reading reader insert since you were young!! kinda wish i did too, tbh. i wonder if that would have jumpstarted my writing career at all. oh well.

oh!! maybe i should try writing side stories for my characters just to establish their back story :o that's such a good idea omg thank you for that!

OMG YES I AGREE. man, i rly had no idea what authors go thru, but now...now i'm feeling it. the post writing pain is so true. or even pain during writing like writer's block UGH.

okay so i had an idea, but now i'm not sure anymore given your timezone LOL. so it's back to the drawing board :{ but also i like surprises so i'm not gonna spoil this for myself hehe

but yes omg i can't wait to find out who you are so i can read them!! even if it's old, it would be so awesome to see how your writing style has changed! and ofc it's a pleasure! but only share if you feel comfy, otherwise i won't bug you too much abt it :)

we love pain in this house!! i rly do love things that make me cry and hurt LOL so 100% agree w you on the catharsis it brings. i told someone i cry to relieve stress and they were like....r u ok.... and i was like yeah, that's eggzacklee why i'm good yo. i let out my emotions like that smh. omg noooo that sounds stressful but i love when you write smth and you make yourself feel things hahahaha like damn wow that has to be one of the most fun things abt writing imo. i mean, they say write the stories you want to read, right?

BUT AH I'M ANSWERING THIS BY THE TIME JUN FIC IS OUT SO I'M SORRY AGAIN THAT I'M LATE BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!! it's definitely painful, and so far the general consensus is that it has made ppl cry.... so.....uh...take that as a warning haha :]

joshua is the house yes. so it makes perfect sense why you had that dream. LOL JK but that is so strange but also hilarious like WHY IS HE A HOUSE HELP but also. i can't talk bc my brain does weird things at night too. omg is it a recurring nightmare??? that's terrifying. also, on the subject of sleep/dreams, have you ever been in sleep paralysis? and can you lucid dream at all?

yeah i used to record my dreams, but lately i haven't and i miss vivid dreaming so much :( i love re-reading my dreams bc then i remember them exactly and sometimes i have these rly lovely dreams and it's my short escape from reality lol. but yeah omg, idk why, i always escape bc luckily i am semi-conscious in my dreams and i'm like oh they'll never catch me. and they don't so, smth is working! yeah i'll fight svt w you, like how dare you fight my friend!!!! SMH.

my friend is a film/tv actor! pretty cool stuff, he was actually in an oscar winning movie so that's cool!! but aww that's cute :[ i like the idea of average joshua, that makes me rly happy for some reason hahaha. but that's great omg i'm glad. they rly do seem just like genuinely kind ppl. you know how sometimes you look at idols, and you just kinda get the vibes that they're...bratty or the vibe is off? like if you met them irl, it wouldn't be pleasant? i def don't get that w svt.

oh yeah, i always joke that they're my ex-bfs lol. it rly feels that way, and i wish i didn't feel this way, but you're right. and life goes on (by bts LOL).

no names yet, i think i need to see my pupper first before i give them a name! it'll probably come to me then :) but maybe smth epic would be cool, or maybe greek myth names cuz i am a sucker for mythology!! also random, but i was answering this ask on my desktop and i hit the word limit!!! jkdhaskfjas stupid t*mblr. but yeah, totally agree w that. i want to be more financially stable than i am rn. i rly rly want a big doggy tho :(((( but that’s expensive T^T

it’s interesting how ppl perceive me to be very put together and organized, but i’m so…chaotic a lot of the time. I LOVE PERSONALITY QUIZZES OMG they are fun. we had to do some at my work and i was SUPER EXCITED bc i was like omg this is my shit. and it lines up so well w who i am and helping me further understand the person i could be.

oh jeonghan is my enemy >:[ (affectionate). i will fight him knowing i would lose, but i’d do it anyway. OMG MINGHAO IN THE TAG IS SO CUTE PLZ I LOVE HIM SM. and tasty is so iconic but also i can’t help but just lose my shit anytime i hear him say it lmfao

OMG SO META THAT’S TRULY AMAZING I LOVE YOUR BRAIN. like i mentioned a little earlier, i am semi-aware i’m dreaming but never enough to be like, yeah, this is a dream and we’re in a dream and i’m dreaming of you, so that’s rly freaking cool.

YAY SNACKS AND DRINKS I CAN’T WAIT!!!! omg anyone. special. video. BYE. race car driver!svt is so UGH. I’M UPSET T^T they rly did not have to look that good. like at all. unwarranted. out of pocket. hate them for it.

wahhhh i hope you get to revisit it soon!! plz i want to read it, i’m super curious what kind of story boom boom could have sparked! :D but yeah, if you wanna rewrite it before sharing or smth, that’s totes good w me, whatever you’d like!! 4 years is a long time, and honestly i’m sure i’ll want to rewrite a lot of my fics in 4 years LOL

which unit T^T this is honestly so hard bc like i love all of them??? but……..i think i love performance unit’s songs the most?? 247, lilili yabbay, my i (junhao but close enough), swimming fool, shhh, wave. and their performances too??? SO GOOD PLZ. but i have so much love for vocal and hip hop unit bc obvi…cheol…and boo…….luvr…..aha…that’s me……what abt you?? (i’m guessing also perf unit LOL) wait did i ever ask you who your biases were??? are they…junhao mayhaps?

BUT SPEAKING OF JUNHAO—OMG JUNHAO MY I AS A SCULPTURE?! PLZ I WANT THAT!!!! for a second i was like…what about my name…..but then i realized you meant YOUR NAME the anime and oh my god that’s my sister’s fave movie. she LOVES that movie. i do too. it’s so good and so beautiful and the story line. ugh. that’s like a happy pain, ya know??? so good T^T

[mitchellsbeca]

Chapters: 1/? Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Summary: A collection of prompts/tumblr requests. Bechloe for now but may change later.

prompt 18. “I shouldn’t be in love with you.”

In all honesty, it was the last person Beca expected to turn up, her arrival always catching Beca off guard and tilting her center of gravity.

It had been about six months since she’d officially signed with Khaled, six months since the Bellas had split and gone their own ways and Beca had moved to Florida. But she’d still invited them all to the release party for her first album, something she’d worked tirelessly on to get it completed as soon as possible (and she already had a repertoire of songs and beats saved on her computer so there hadn’t been a great deal of work to do, just plenty of fine-tuning).

Understandably some couldn’t make it; Jessica and Ashley were busy at a different event in California doing... something (she should really ask them what they’re doing now), Cynthia Rose was in military training and couldn’t get the leave, Lilly or Ester or whatever her name was now was off somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere, Fat Amy had flown herself over since she had the money now, along with a Aubrey, Emily, Flo and Stacie (who had actually brought Bella with her and made motherhood look cool and easy at the same time). But Chloe had reluctantly declined, her studies taking up most of her time now that she was at vet school with an unavoidable exam taking place the same Friday. And she was the one Beca had been most looking forward to seeing.

It was a red carpet event so everyone was dressed particularly nicely. Beca had been assigned a blazer slash play suit piece, dark red with cut-off shorts in matching fabric and heels. Hair and make up had been done - maybe even over done for Beca’s liking - but done nonetheless. And she did look killer, she wouldn’t disagree. Beca was actually feeling good.

But even in the sea of people at the venue, alongside influencers, other artists and photographers, Beca pulling attention from all corners, her focus wasn’t with anyone else but who’d just walked in.

It was like a parting of the ocean, Beca’s direct line of sight guided by a line of emptiness with people either side and all sound plunging to mute.

A blue gilded dress with a deep neckline held the woman tight, hair braided like a halo around her head with strands falling to frame her face. And the sky. The endless gorgeous sky that Beca always saw in her eyes, even from halfway across the room it was like daylight and the height of summer and the endless possibilities that could be. Could have been.

Beca excused herself from the group she was surrounded by, one of them a journalist who was halfway done with asking Beca questions about the album and attempting to pry into her personal life.

Chloe looked lost, eyes wandering across the vast, dark room in sight of any face she might find familiar with clutch caught in front as her body turned. Beca wove through bodies on the approach, smile growing ever so slightly larger as she neared.

And Chloe beamed, spotting the brunette head towards her and she moved forward, arms outstretched and ready to embrace her best friend. Laughter escaped them both when they hugged, Chloe’s warmth seeping into Beca, dissolving her stress and settling some of the underlying anxiety she’d been suffering from all day.

“I thought you couldn’t make it?” Beca asked.

“Amy flew me over from New York. You know she has her own private jet now, right?”

“I do.”

“Well, she didn’t take no for an answer, so she got her pilot to fly back and pick me up after my exam and I got ready on the plane.”

“Yeah, you look like you got ready on a plane,” Beca jested with a playful smirk.

“Please. This is Mile High Couture, thank you very much,” she said, splaying her arms out as she showed off her out and stroke a pose, “And I was going to say I look better than you but that would be an outright lie. You look... stunning, Beca, honestly.”

“This? It’s just people doing their job to make me look good. Turns out you can only do so much with an actual potato. But yours is all natural, you don’t even need to try; you always look incredible.”

“You’re not a potato. But we’ll leave the ‘all natural’ comment out for discussion.” “Dude, I’m not kidding.”

The grin on her face faltered, like a sudden thought had popped to the forefront of Chloe’s mind and escaped to her expression. She eyed someone next to them before she leaned in, pulling at Beca’s wrist and asking in a hushed voice, “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a bit more... private?”

Beca turned to who Chloe had been eyeing; a tall guy with heavy duty camera equipment that was beginning to snap pictures, flash almost blinding. A small group of people lingered behind him too, so Beca nodded in response and grasped the wrist of the hand holding her own, pulling Chloe behind her. She knew where to go. There was a secret balcony down a corridor next to the restrooms that she had scouted earlier that day. So Beca lead them there, out into the Floridian air that was more humid than inside but fair quieter.

“Sorry about that,” Beca apologized.

Chloe shook it off, “You’re a big celebrity now. People want to know you.” “I’m just making music, like I’ve always been doing. Just... more people are listening to it now.”

A silence fell. The thumping bass of the music inside was the only thing that could be heard but the air was still around them. They were both leaning against the edge of the balcony, solid stone wall cool on their skin.

Beca was about to speak when Chloe jumped in before her, “I listened to it. The album, I mean. As soon as you sent it over I listened to it in one sitting. I’m not going to lie to you when I tell you I cried a little bit.”

“You cry at videos of dogs.”

Chloe chuckled, “So it wasn’t necessarily a hard task, okay? But still... it really moved me, Beca.”

“Good. I’m glad you like it.”

“Especially the hidden track.”

The brunette’s posture went rigid. She doesn’t know how, but Beca had been hoping Chloe had missed it, that dumb song she’d unknowingly recorded on her down time (thanks to Theo, once again), stripped back and acoustic. “Yeah?” she asked.

“I don’t know why, but when I first heard it I was kind of... I don’t know. I had to listen to it again. But when I did, I was just... crying and I couldn’t work out why, but I felt like it was a piece of a puzzle that I didn’t even know I had that I’d been missing. And I asked Amy if she’d heard it and what she thought of it and she told me. She told me it was about us. And how you felt about me.”

“Feel,” Beca corrected, staring at the street below them.

A beat, too long too be promising, “...what?”

And it was now or never, Beca decided. Because if she owed Chloe anything, it was the truth. She didn’t have the energy to keep tip-toeing anymore. Chloe had her life sorted now so it wouldn’t make a difference, but she deserved to know, “How I feel about you. Because I love you. And I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be in love with you because it’s not my place to be in love with you—”

“Beca...”

“The truth is, Chloe, I’ve loved you since Freshman year; starting from when you broke into my shower and invited me to audition for the Bellas. When we sang together for the first time?” Beca asked like she thought Chloe wouldn’t remember. “It just took me too long to realize, and when I did... it was too late. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was too slow and gave too little. I didn’t just break up with Jesse because of the long distance. He wanted me to move with him to LA and I said no, but as soon as you said you were going to New York the thought of not seeing you on the daily made me feel like I was going to drop off the planet. So I agreed to move with you and make it work. I knew I couldn’t ask you to be with me the same way as I was with Jesse, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because I was still saw you every day. And even on the USO tour I didn’t say anything because... because I already knew I was too late...” she looked up at Chloe with a sad, gentle smile, but blue eyes were covered by eyelids pressed shut, cheeks glistening in the dark, “and that was okay. I made my peace with that even before we moved. I just wanted you to be happy, and Chicago made you happy, so I didn’t interfere. And all the Bellas wanted me to take this opportunity so I did. And it was a perfect way to move onto the next chapter.”

“We’re not... together anymore. Chicago and I.”

It was Beca’s time to be taken aback, “What?”

“I didn’t really work out. He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but he would have been working away from home a lot and I barely know him already so that’s... not what I want.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe.”

The redhead moved to Beca, clutch left behind resting on the flat of the ledge so she had two delicate hands free. And they reached for the hands across from her, pulling them closer and making Beca turn to face her, “What I’m trying to say is... that chapter? It didn’t start for me when we left Spain, but it ended on a cliffhanger when I heard your song. And I don’t know what the next one is going to be.”

And they were both so close. As close as Chloe had pulled her on hood night all those years ago, but this time Chloe’s eyes were red and puffy and there was a million things swimming within them that Beca had only dreamt about seeing half of. And just when she thought she was used to all the ways Chloe could make her feel...

Clear music erupted from the door behind them. Chloe pulled away, turning away from whoever it was that interrupted them and regaining her composure.

“Beca! We’ve been looking everywhere for you; we need you for the speech,” Theo said, his British accent grating Beca’s neck moreso than usual, “Come on, you’re already late.”

“Two seconds. Just two, I’ll be with you soon. Just... tell them I’m coming.” “We can’t, Beca, we’re already running late,”  he replied, holding the door open. “Dude, I was having a moment!” she near yelled and she heard a chuckle from the side of her. She turned to Chloe.

“You should go. I’ll be fine. Don’t want to keep them waiting any more, Miss Hotshot Artist,” the redhead said, eyes twinkling still but the smile she offered not quite reaching them.

“I don’t care. They can wait, but you can’t. I won’t make you,” Beca whispered, even over the music, so that only they could hear. And she cupped the bottom of Chloe’s jaw, thumbs stroking damp cheeks before pulling her close and pressing lips together. And Chloe? Chloe was everything Beca had imagined her to be. Soft, gentle, perfect. Her perfume smelled divine. She could smell the sweet scent of her hair as it danced into her senses and enveloped her completely.

And before she knew it, Chloe’s arms were wrapped across her shoulders, the crook of her elbow pulling her body closer by the neck. They were pressed so close. So close like when they sleep but this time they were both so awake and vibrant and alive.

Chloe pulled away and Beca craved to follow but the redhead pressed delicate fingers against her lips, “You’ve done enough. I can wait ten more minutes. Go and knock ‘em dead, Becs.”

The brunette couldn’t be beaming brighter if she tried. She pressed a gentle kiss against Chloe’s fingers and pulled away, making her way to the door. She didn’t escape without a pat on the ass from the redhead, though.

And whatever the rest of this chapter had, Beca thought, it was going to even more brilliant.

[lifeisjustanotherstory]

02/03/2019

They shouldn’t have been friends, really. Not on paper.

He was the bad-boy musician with the chocolate-brown eyes and softer hair, with looks and lyrics that had girls on their knees (in that way? Yes.) She; younger than her years, with a thousand storylines swirling around that imaginative mind. Quirky and straight-laced, gold cross dangling from the neck, filled by a warm heart and framed with a gentle smile.

It all started with a rum and coke. Down his top, into his lap. She could have died from the shame. He laughed it off, too high to care. That night, they spent hours in conversation, only stopping to enjoy the sunrise in a companionable silence. Two strangers left that night as friends.

Worlds apart, and yet not so different. Words were not always shared, but pictures were - her story ideas and shots of the sky, his messy songwriting notes. And memes. One day, she dared to ask if they could meet again. Heart full, she accepted his invitation to his house party.

Each girl over the course of the night was a dagger to the heart. Kisses, tongues, lips, sex, it didn’t mean anything to him. But to her? Everything. This was not a good idea. She left before he could see her pain, before she could no longer hold back the flood of tears and emotions. A grey mist of sadness clouded her vision as she made her way through the multitude of rooms - but wait, this was not the way she had come in? And why was there a door being closed behind her? Who was closing it?

He muffled the scream before it could leave her mouth, tossing her on the bed. An uncomfortable pressure, raced breathing. A hundred thoughts raced through her head before settling on one last dark one - I am going to lose my virginity to a rapist.

Flesh against flesh, grunts and groans - but not from her mouth? Fighting all instinct to keep her eyes shut, she opened them to a scene she would never forget for the rest of her life; her gentle sunrise boy, his chocolate brown eyes seemingly glowing red, her attacker cowering and then unconscious on the floor.

He’d had his eyes on her all night. And then she decided. She wouldn’t be a girl to have his body, but she would be his friend. Throwing her arms around him, she let the tears flow once she felt his arms come around her, creating a soft, safe world in his embrace.

Months passed, and friends they were. She was content to have a place in his heart, even if it wasn’t the place she wanted. Girls came and went, but she was always there, at the end of the line. A constant.

His band got big. College over - the American dream wasn’t for her, and she went back home across the pond to the City job she had always wanted. But the pictures continued - selfies from the stages of concerts across the country, her photos of the office skyline , lights twinkling in the evenings of long working days.

A couple of years down the line and he was tiring of the “good” life. Of the endless women, drugs, rock and roll. Arenas had turned into stadiums, national had become international.Money was great, but he had enough of it. Had enough for his grandchildren to have enough. Emotionally rich, he was not. And then, the idea came to him.

A hundred different near-and-dear, those not in on the plan, received the message. “It’s up. I am done. It’s all over. Everything I had...gone.”

Megan cut him off, but not before she’d taken the pearls. Jan said she’d given him her best, and had nothing to show for it. Friends fucked off without a farewell. One by one, they fell out of his life. Hours passed and he was waiting for HER. What would she say?

The rain was falling hard outside, and he could barely hear the knock on the door. She was soaked through, her tan suede coat now only a few shades lighter than his eyes.

“Last minute plane tickets are daylight robbery.” She finally said, her voice small. “But I would rob a bank to be able to see you in person. And to do this.” And just she like had done years before; she threw herself into him, waiting for that moment when his arms closed around her.

Moments passed and she pulled herself away, her eyes not meeting his. All of a sudden, she was the 19 year-old again at the party.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” she said with a quiet fortitude. She knew he hated the 1975.“I want to kiss your neck.” And then, she ran her hands through his hair, gingerly at first, before finally gripping it into her fist, pulling him down. Trailing her lips over his ear, his cheek, his neck, breaths mingling.

It had filled her mind during the entire transatlantic flight. What was he to her? The ultimate friend. There was no denying it any longer. Rejection would be shit. But better then a life full of regret and “what if?

She needn’t have worried.He let her take full control. This was what she wanted. This was what he wanted. She had done exactly what he thought she would; be there for him when everyone else decided to leave. Her kiss was hesitant at first, was this really happening, before years of pent-up passion finally broke through and before either of them realised, she was on her back, her black hair fanned across the pillow.Their hands under each other’s shirts, eyes meeting, no words.

“We can stop,” he said, his eyes on her cross. “No, we will stop. I know what this means to you. I can wait.” Her protests died on her lips as he placed a finger over them. “I’ve waited years for this. I can wait one year longer. Unless you don’t want to get married to me. Which is fine. Or is one year not enough time to plan a wedding for women?”.

Shocked into silence by so many variables, she could do nothing as he went to retrieve an item from his top desk drawer. Encased in a navy blue box, her favourite colour, her sunrise boy asked her the question he had been waiting to ask for weeks. There could only be one answer. The fingers of the award-winning rockstar that had strummed guitar strings in front of millions were shaking as he slid the ring onto her finger.

It would be a lie to say they lived happily ever after. Fallout from leaving the music world was tough on both of them. Issues around her darker skin, in contrast to his white, the clashing of cultures and celebrity life. But the bad times paled into insignificance with the good times.

She had been nervous about the first time. And...it didn’t go to plan. Lying there, moments afterwards, she felt like crying into the awkward silence. He took her into his arms, and told her the truth. Mindblowing sex could not be used to describe what they had not just had. But had he ever made love to someone with so much laughter and pure joy? Never. Wiping tears from her eyes, he whispered that they had a lifetime to work on it. The only way was upwards.

He could never leave music completely, and chose to work as a teacher at a music specialist school. No one outside of the school was allowed to speak of his presence there. Every September she’d wait for his stories about the new students when they realised he was going to be their teacher. As for her? She finally decided to pick a plot from those swirling around in her mind, sit down and write. Her novel was no bestseller, but it had a dedicated fanbase whose letters, emails and love completed that part of her which had always felt unfulfilled. The second book was in the works.

He came home from work one day to find her on the sofa, unnaturally quiet. Holidays for them couldn’t be classed as “once in a life time”, expense was no bar, but they’d thoroughly planned an Australia/New Zealand tour over the Southern Hemisphere summer. He was shocked - why did she want to cancel?

“I don’t know about you,” a nervous smile graced her face. “ But I wouldn’t want to go on holiday with a two month old baby.” He fell at her feet, hands cradling her still-flat abdomen, their happy sobs filling the room.

“Daddy, are you really going to let Mummy give me Coca-Cola?” His daughter held his hand tightly. Feeling unconditional love from the outset for another human being had scared him at first. Seeing that trust and affection in her eyes now , he didn’t quite feel he deserved it. And didn’t quite realise that the unconditional love came from a fountain inside, for more had come when his son had finally joined and completed their family a few months earlier. He shrugged.

“It’s Mummy’s way for saying sorry for making you get up so early,” his wife (that word sounded great, even five years later) smiled. “We’ll go and get breakfast at IHOP later, okay baby?” They’d moved to the USA six months ago, so that his dying mother would be able to meet her grandson. The stress of uprooting had been worth the happiness on her face. She didn’t have long left and it was an anxious time for the whole family. In fact, he realised, this was the first time it had just been the four of them.

The car pulled up in front of an unfamiliar house. His wife opened the door - the house was fully furnished, but empty.

“I managed to find this place. It wasn’t easy,” she told him, cooing at the baby boy strapped on her chest. “But once I told them, they understood.” He was still confused and she smiled. “Wait. You’ll see.”

As they climbed up the stairs to the roof, the memories started to come back. Thumping bass, writhing bodies, a sticky soaked t-shirt. An Indian girl, her expression a mixture of shock and shame. High on more than life. The most engaging, stimulating conversation and how natural it had felt. He remembered thinking that somehow this girl had wormed his way into his heart, that she’d never leave.

“Mummy,look!!” The door was now open and the view before them was much the same as it had been years before. 

The two of them, with two humans of their own, watched the sunrise. 

Dedicated to;

I don’t think you’ll ever know that I dedicated this to you. But maybe I’ll share it with you, one day. I fell in love with the idea of what could have been between us. And I guess this was somehow the inspiration for my story, with a great deal of imagination sprinkled in. But actions speak so much louder than words, and I should have seen it coming.

[astrogeoguy]

A Full Sap Moon as the Sun Brings Spring, plus Morning Planet Parade and Evening Zodiacal Light!

(Above: This paddy-green aurora was captured on February 8, 2019 by talented Canadian astrophotographer Alan Dyer. His image galleries are at https://amazingsky.net/.)

Hello, St. Patrick’s Day Stargazers!

Here are your Astronomy Skylights for the week of March 17th, 2019 by Chris Vaughan. Feel free to pass this along to your friends and send me your comments, questions, and suggested topics. I repost these emails with photos at http://astrogeoguy.tumblr.com/ where all the old editions are archived. You can also follow me on Twitter as @astrogeoguy! Unless otherwise noted, all times are Eastern Time. Please click this MailChimp link to subscribe to these emails. If you are a teacher or group leader interested joining me on a guided field trip to York University’s Allan I. Carswell Observatory or the David Dunlap Observatory, visit www.astrogeo.ca.

I can bring my Digital Starlab inflatable planetarium to your school or other daytime or evening event, visit DiscoveryPlanitarium.com and request me. We’ll tour the Universe together!

(Above: This terrific image of Alnitak and the Horsehead Nebula (at left) and the Orion Nebula (at right) by Adrian Aberdeen of Toronto was taken in March, 2019. The remarkable aspect of the photo was that he collected the photons through a tracking telescope set up on his downtown Toronto apartment balcony!)

Public Astro-Events

On Sunday, March 17 at 6 pm at Burdock, 1184 Bloor Street West, the Solar System Social will feature Dr. Sara Mazrouei, who will talk about the moon, and Elias Fernando Solorzano, an engineer at MDA Space Missions. Tickets and details are here. 

Every Monday evening, York University’s Allan I. Carswell Observatory runs an online star party - broadcasting views from four telescopes/cameras, answering viewer questions, and taking requests! Details are here. On Wednesday nights they offer free public viewing through their rooftop telescopes. If it’s cloudy, the astronomers give tours and presentations. Details are here. 

On Tuesday, March 19 at 2 pm, Toronto Public Library’s Albert Campbell Branch will present a free public talk entitled Being an Astronaut Candidate. Details are here. 

On Friday, March 22 from 8 to 11 pm, adults can enjoy some suds with their science at Astronomy on Tap T.O. at the Great Hall on Queen Street West, a free event hosted by the U of T’s Dunlap Institute. Talks, trivia, contest giveaways, and more! Details are here. 

On Saturday, March 23, starting at 6:15 pm, U of T’s AstroTour will present their planetarium show The Life and Death of Stars. Tickets and details are here. 

Saturday, March 9 marked the opening of a six-month exhibition at the Aga Khan Museum entitled The Moon: A Voyage through Time. The museum will feature installations of art, culture, history, and science pertaining to the moon. A public talk, The Moon: Mirror of Faith, Science, and the Arts will be delivered by Dr. Christiane Gruber on Saturday at 2:00pm. Details are here. 

Happy Vernal Equinox!

Two few minutes before 6 pm Eastern Daylight Time on Wednesday, our northern Spring, also known as the Vernal Equinox, officially begins! Here’s why… 

(Above: At the moment of the Vernal Equinox on Wednesday, March 20, the sun’s path along the Ecliptic (yellow plane) will carry it across the Celestial Equator (blue plane), leaving the sun to spend the next 6 months in the northern half of the sky and delivering increased daylight hours and radiant heat on the Earth’s northern hemisphere.)

The Celestial Equator is an imaginary circle around the sky that sits directly above the Earth’s equator. It divides the sky into two bowls - the Northern and Southern hemispheres. Meanwhile, as Earth orbits around the sun, the sun appears to travel eastward through the distant stars, tracing out another circle called the ecliptic. Due to the 23.5° tilt of the Earth’s axis of rotation, the Celestial Equator and the Ecliptic are tipped with respect to each other. Think of them as two hula hoops with the same centre, Earth - but one is tilted so that they intersect at only two spots. (The motion of the sun that I’ve referring to above is the one that causes new stars to appear each season, and is NOT the one that carries the sun across the sky every day. The first case is due to the Earth’s year-long orbit and the second motion is due to the Earth’s daily rotation.) 

The sun’s eastward motion along the ecliptic circle covers about one degree per day. At the precise moment of the Vernal Equinox, the sun is “stepping over” the equator (where the hula hoops cross) and its apparent motion is carrying it into the northern half of the sky. Six months from now, on the Autumnal Equinox, it will again cross the equator heading into the southern half of the sky. 

This produces two interesting effects. Firstly, for the next six months, the sun will spend the majority of each day in our northern hemisphere sky, overhead of the lucky folks in North America, Europe, and Asia! More daily sun time means warmer air and longer daylight hours! At the same time, folks in the Southern hemisphere have to accept shorter, colder days and longer nights (Warmly dressed astronomers don’t mind long winter nights!). Secondly, on the day of the equinoxes, we experience about 12 hours each of daytime and night-time (it varies by latitude). This is where the word equinox (Latin for equal night) comes from. 

The times around the equinoxes also offer better chances to see the aurorae at high northern and southern latitudes. Just as two bar magnets lined up with their poles in the same direction repel one another strongly, the Earth’s magnetic field repels the sun’s field. At the equinoxes, the Earth’s axis is tilted neither towards nor away from the sun, so the two “magnets” aren’t as parallel, reducing Earth’s ability to deflect the sun’s field and the charged particles that trigger aurorae in our upper atmosphere. 

The Moon and Planets

For most of this week, the moon will remain in view in the evening sky. On Sunday night, it will be a bright gibbous (more than half-illuminated) orb between Cancer (the Crab) and Leo (the Lion). On Monday night, the moon will land less than two finger widths to the left of Leo’s brightest star, Regulus. 

(Above: On Monday evening the orbital motion of the moon will place it 2 degrees to the upper left of Leo’s brightest star, Regulus, as shown here for 9 pm EDT.)

On Wednesday night the moon will reach its full phase. Although technically it occurs a few hours past the equinox, this is the final full moon of winter. The March full moon, known as the Worm Moon, Crow Moon, Sap Moon or Lenten Moon, always shines in or near the stars of Leo or Virgo (the Maiden). Full moons always rise in the east as the sun sets, and set in the west at sunrise. When fully illuminated, the moon’s geology is enhanced, especially the contrast between the ancient cratered highlands and the younger, darker, smoother maria. 2019 marks the 50th anniversary of the first lunar landings by humans. 

After Wednesday, the moon will begin to rise in late evening and wane in phase. From Thursday to Sunday, it will traverse the stars of Virgo and then Libra (the Scales). 

Mars will continue to be an easy planet to see every evening this week, but only for a couple of hours after dusk. By midnight, Mars will set in the west. Once the sky has darkened, look for Mars’ medium-bright, reddish pinpoint of light less than halfway up the western sky. Mars has been slowly shrinking in size and brightness as we increase our distance from it little-by-little. Distant Uranus is situated two fist diameters below Mars – but it’s too low for observing nowadays. 

(Above: This week, Mars will continue to gleam as an ever-diminishing, reddish pinpoint located about halfway up the western sky after dusk, as shown here at 9 pm local time.)

The eastern pre-dawn sky continues to host a spectacular parade of three bright planets. Bright Jupiter will rise first, at about 2:30 am local time. By 7 am, it should still be visible in the southern sky. Yellowish Saturn, will rise at about 4:30 am local time and will become lost in the southeastern twilight before 7 am. 

Our sister planet Venus, now markedly closer to the sun, is starting to become engulfed in the dawn twilight. Look for Venus’ as a bright beacon sitting quite low in the east-southeastern dawn sky from 6 am local time until sunrise. In a telescope, Venus will exhibit a gibbous (more than half-illuminated) phase. If you have trouble seeing Saturn, search about midway between Jupiter and Venus.

(Above: The eastern pre-dawn sky continues to deliver a parade of bright planets, starting with Jupiter, then Saturn, and then Venus, as shown here at 6:30 am local time. Venus’ orbit, shown in red, is swinging the bright planet lower, towards the sun.)

The Brightest Stars

During full moon periods, only the brightest stars can still be spotted with unaided eyes. At this time of year, most of those stars are the ones that form the Winter Hexagon asterism. Start by finding the extremely bright star Sirius sitting low in the southern evening sky at 9 pm local time. From there, look for bluish Rigel sitting 2.5 fist diameters to Sirius’ upper right, then look well above Rigel for warm-tinted Aldebaran, and continue to Aldebaran’s upper left to reach yellowish Capella at the top of the asterism. Now descend on the hexagon’s left side. The bright matched pair of stars Castor and Pollux is three fist diameters to the lower left of Capella. Finally, bright white Procyon is well below those twins – roughly between them and Sirius. 

The only other bright star is Regulus in Leo. That white star sits about 3.7 fit diameters to the left (east ) of Procyon.

(Above: the full moonlight generally overwhelms all but the brightest stars. The Winter Hexagon composed of the bright stars Sirius, Rigel, Aldebaran, Capella, Castor, Pollus, and Procyon will be visible on mid-March evenings, including Wednesday’s Full Sap Moon. The point marked ASP is the point of the sky opposite the sun. The moon is always fully illuminated when it’s near that location. The sky is shown here for 10 pm local time, )  

Evening Zodiacal Light

For about half an hour after dusk between today and the new moon on April 5, look west-southwest for a broad wedge of faint light rising from the horizon and centered on the ecliptic. This is the zodiacal light - reflected sunlight from interplanetary particles of matter concentrated in the plane of the solar system. The glow will be centred on the horizon directly below Mars. Try to observe from a location without light pollution, and don't confuse the zodiacal light with the brighter Milky Way to the northwest. I posted an image of it here. 

Pointing at Polaris

If you missed last week’s information about Polaris, the North Star, I posted it with sky charts here.

Keep looking up, and enjoy the sky when you do. I love questions and requests - so, send me some!

[ilegnangeli]

Random May Thought #3

The monsoon season is almost upon us. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for rain. I was born in September. I’m used to the monsoon season breaking my heart because it’s almost always raining on my birthday but I never get used to it, I don’t love it.

I am sat right in front of our window as I stare at the cloudy grey skies. Our family’s group chat is full of pictures of the skies and I kinda actually don’t miss the cerulean skies right now—specifically because I’ve been praying for rain for some time now. It’s just so hot in the Philippines. I guess everywhere else in the world, too. At least in the northern hemisphere. It must be nice to be somewhere in the southern hemisphere right now. I know these are conflicting statements BUT I would love it if it rained right now. But I don’t like the rain, okay? Lol

Anyway, this week was full of surprises. I got transferred to a different section. Praise God! Fr, I’ve been praying for this to happen and now that it’s finally happened, I have no words but THANK YOU, GOD!

I feel like I’m going to miss the Board members. I’ll miss asking them for their meals. I’ll miss joking around with them. I mean I’ve only worked with them for a couple of months but it felt like we’ve known each other longer than that. It was a privilege serving you, honorable members of the Board for recruitment and promotion. But here’s me, officially signing off.

There’s a bittersweetness to it. I loved being with the people in the recruitment and promotion section of our organization but God, I just wanted out. And you made a way. Thank you, Father. My heart will never be at peace if I stayed there longer. I would have eventually broken down (again and again) and never recuperated. It was just that bad. It was really dark for me to be in that place. It was just heartbreaking. I wasn’t growing. I was just THERE.

Plus, it felt like I won’t be able to improve things in the system because it isn’t up to me and I don’t want to be impeded like that. I don’t want to stay blinded by practices that go against my principles. I don’t want to keep on pleasing people. It’s tiring. And I’m knocked out. Totally.

I do pray for the people who need to remain in that darkness. And those who have newly joined and rejoined the team. My goodness. I pray that they keep their principles in tact. I pray that they don’t feel gaslighted like I did. I pray that God sustains them. I had to tap out because I couldn’t take the abuse any longer. I even cried in front of the Board members because of how heavy it felt to be in that section. Dear LORD, thank you for coming to my rescue.

Everything’s new to me in the section I was recently assigned to. I have never been assigned in the records section before. But what’s nice about it is that I’m already familiar with some of the things that I’ll be “chief” of from now on. I actually hate being called “chief” of anything because I’ve never been a chief of a section before. Lmao. There was an order from last year that made me “acting” chief of a section but lmao, I never felt like I was the chief because there was someone else who kept on “taking” the role so I never really “got the hang of it” nor did I get to “embrace” it. Because I might take the spotlight away from that person. And I don’t play dirty like that. I actually never knew my place there. In fact, I even wondered myself which “section” was I “acting chief” of since I never really got to call the shots. There was someone always in the way. I sighed, my goodness. I was even often told I was already “receiving so much help” that I wasn’t even “performing” well enough because I might be “getting overwhelmed” of so many tasks.

I’ve never felt so manipulated.

Truth be told, I was truly bombarded by tasks without proper timelines nor prioritization. The decision makers were indecisive and I was being blamed for their incompetence. Their lack of direction. Their lack of accountability. Their lack of responsibility. And I also began questioning myself if I was underperforming. Was I? Was I unprofessional? I started blaming myself for not being ENOUGH for them. I was losing myself. It was a dark tunnel I journeyed the past few weeks, if not months. I hope when these people get a chance to read this, I hope you understand how it felt like for me to be there. I was as confused as you were. At least have some empathy for your co-workers. Your co-workers aren’t robots. If that was how your previous bosses treated you (like shit), please don’t do that to us. We’re not being snowflakes, we’re ACTUAL human beings with feelings, if you know what I mean. Just like you?

The lack of proper communication and the amount of talking behind other people's backs and the amount of misunderstandings. The worst. I don't want to be in that place. EVER AGAIN.

This is why I always pray that I get mentors who have the same ideals or principles as I do. But it's so hard to find those kind of people.

However, I’m just glad I’m out of that tunnel now. I get to breathe again.

On another topic, our air-conditioner broke. It’s eight years old so it’s understandable. But I kinda feel sad that electronic appliances’ life spans are so short nowadays. Our aunt’s air-conditioner from MY CHILDHOOD still lives. They even got to bring it to their new house lmao. Meanwhile this air-con from only eight years back has given up on us. Anyway, my sister and I are getting a new one tomorrow. So I pray it rains tonight so I won’t have to endure this midsummer night’s heat.

So I printed my manuscript and have been editing some of my poems for binding. I’m thinking of giving this away as a gift to my friends for my 30th birthday or for Christmas this year, idk. I’m still thinking about it. IF I COULD AFFORD PUBLISHING IT. Lmao. But I’ll pray about it. I found an independent book publisher but I haven’t had the courage to inquire about their service fees. I’m afraid I can’t afford it. BUT GOD WILL PROVIDE lol. I’ll just be faithfully saving up for my book’s publication.

We did a general cleaning inside the house today. And I found so many boxes of the many things I bought from January 2020 up to present. When I think about it, I could have saved so much money right now. If I only had been patient enough. But dang, I wouldn’t be typing on this laptop right now if I didn’t dare purchase one lol.

The pandemic has ruined my timeline for EVERYTHING I had planned after returning from China. I planned that after two years, I would leave the organization. I would be teaching in Japan. And I would live on my own. But COVID-19 had to happen. I have postponed my graduate studies. I haven’t thought about leaving the country. And I am still dependently living with my sister and/or sometimes my parents lmao. I’m sorry. I WANT TO LIVE INDEPENDENTLY BUT THINGS ARE HARD RIGHT NOW. And also I really hoped and prayed for autumn, winter, and spring. But you can’t have everything.

LMAO, I was just having this conversation with my sister, like right now. She told me that she was going to check if she’s won the lottery, I told her that if she won, we should resign immediately and I would just leech off from her. And SHE SAID YES! Whoa! That’s UNCONDITIONAL LOVE right there. Lolol

Oh I just wanted to share another story because this was a conversation I really liked about this week, too. My lovely co-worker and I had a chat about her plans of getting married. This biatch, let’s just say that she is my biatch, we are each other’s bitches. Whatever. We’re friends, I get to call her that and she’s also welcome to call me her bitch. Capisce? Comprende? Alright, on with this story:

She told me that she and her boyfriend have spoken about settling down. CUTE RIGHT? But they’ve been talking about whether having a kid first or getting a house first. So she’s thinking about saving up for a house or applying for a loan so they could get a house and start saving for their wedding.

Ah, it’s cute, isn’t it? How like just six months ago, THIS BITCH TOLD ME SHE IS DONE DATING AND WILL JUST PROBABLY DIE ALONE, LIKE ME! AND NOW THIS BITCH IS ALREADY PLANNING A FUTURE WITH SOMEONE—HER BOYFRIEND! Okay, I’m not even angry or disappointed but it’s just somehow ridiculous and surprising at the same time. They say that when the right one comes, you’ll know. But man, I feel like THE RIGHT ONE for me got hit by a bus or something. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? Lmao

To be honest, I don’t feel like in a hurry dating or marrying. Even though the rest of the world feels like I’m running out of time. I don’t live by the world’s standards—at least not anymore. Even though I often hear these resounding statements: “You’re just saying that,” “You’ll change your mind about it,” “You should explore because you’re at your prime,” and “You need a boyfriend.” I don’t feel pressured. Though I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently because these people keep putting these thoughts in my head LMAO. Should I be grateful though? Thank you?

But I have people surrounding me who pray for me and for my future partner or spouse or whatever the hell he will be (but I hope he’s in human form, okay?). Because for now, I know it’s insane and a pity (for you guys, but not me), I just enjoy watching other people’s blooming love lives. And I get happy and excited for them, like no other. I feel genuine happiness for people who are settling down right now, getting engaged right now, and falling in love right now. Because it’s their time. Not mine. So I will stay and I will wait. Because until I meet THE ONE, I can’t mess up fate. So I don’t mind, if you come into my life late.

P.S. Whoever you are, wherever you are, I’m excited to spend the rest of my life with you.

P.P.S. I’m already feeling the heat and it sucks we can’t turn on our air-conditioner. Imma cry.

[uomo-accattivante]

(NOTE: If you want an accurate idea of the real-life spy that Oscar Isaac will be portraying in his next film, “Operation Finale,” read this. What a story! 😱)

***

For a long time, when I was growing up in the building I still live in on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, I knew one neighbor only as Peter. Tall, bronzed and muscled, Peter lived on the 13th floor. If I was riding the elevator alone with him, he always said, “Hello, how’s your mother?” in an Israeli accent after (sometimes) removing a cigarette from his mouth. When I’d see him talking with my 4-foot-10-inch mother in the lobby, her tiny hands gripping shopping bags from Gimbels, they were so different in size that they looked absurd. Mom knew Peter was an amateur artist; she had once been in his apartment to admire his work. She was an amateur artist, too, and my father teased her that she had a crush since that time she went with him to Pearl Paint on Canal Street to buy more oils.

Then in 1986, everyone in my building found out that Peter was not only an artist; he was also a Nazi hunter. It was the 25th anniversary of the trial and hanging of Adolf Eichmann, and a wave of newspaper articles accompanied a special exhibit at the Jewish Museum. Peter the elevator charmer was none other than Peter Malkin, the former Israeli spy who snatched Eichmann off an Argentine street in 1960. Eichmann, of course, was at that time the most wanted Nazi at large — an ardent believer in the Nationalist Socialist agenda, and a former architect of the Final Solution as the SS Obersturmbannführer in charge of Jewish affairs.

After the excitement those articles caused, he got a book deal. “Eichmann in My Hands” (Warner, 1990), co-written with Harry Stein, shed more light on his role in the capture of Eichmann. Here he claimed that he had been a Mossad agent for 28 years but never killed anyone. Mom wondered if I, too, wanted to read the book, but I was just post-college having fun, and the Holocaust was far off my radar. That sentiment annoyed her greatly.

I recently thought of Malkin again while writing other Lower East Side stories. I tried to find his old book on my bookshelf, but then remembered it was one of the books my husband made me give away after insisting I was a book hoarder and promising I would never miss it. I walked to Strand to see if the store had it. It did, one copy. Signed by Malkin.

I sat in a Broadway cafe with a friend who was amused by my excitement at Malkin’s scratchy signature: “Who? Should I know of him?” Now I was determined to really get to know my elevator companion whom my mother so admired. If I hadn’t appreciated him before, I would do so now.

Peter Zvi Malkin was born in 1927, in a village in Eastern Poland that had roughly 1,400 Jews before the Holocaust, nearly 70% of its population. He had a few persistent memories of that time, including a one-door, one-window heder, a tiny school.

Then, in 1933, when he was almost 5, his family moved him to Haifa, to escape rising anti-Semitism. His parents also took his brothers, Jacob, 6, and Yechiel, 17, leaving behind their eldest child, 23-year-old Fruma, a blue-eyed blonde who lived next door and was a second mother to Peter. She and her husband had three children, but her son Takele was closest to his age; the child was his daily playmate, and his best friend.

Poland in these uneasy times had an exit visa shortage, and cutting through red tape required money the family did not have. Fruma pleaded with her parents to save funds, and she promised they would reunite in the Holy Land shortly. Her parents acquiesced. In his memoir, Malkin recalled boarding a ship, and in British Mandate Palestine he entered a strange new world of foreign sounds and tastes, like oranges, dates and prickly pears. His father and his elder brother found work making bricks in Haifa — and by 1938, with news in the papers worsening, Malkin’s mother was making desperate trips to the local government department to, once and for all, get her daughter and grandchildren out.

Young Peter was a risk-taking kid, often exploring where he should not. People noticed, people talked, and soon someone at Haganah, the pre-state underground militia, heard about his exploits.

In 1941 he was selected at the tender age of 14 to join its secret ranks. Here, he got intensive training in explosives. After the final year of British rule, the group became the core of the new Israel Defense Forces — and with Malkin’s proven knack for detonating bombs, he was a sapper during the Israeli-Arab war of 1948.

A year after Israeli independence in 1948, Malkin joined the Mossad, Israel’s new Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. Concurrently, he joined the Department of Internal Security, known as Shin Bet. He artlessly wrote on his application “I like adventure” as his main reason for applying, and despite eyebrows lifted at that answer, they offered him the job, starting at $40 a month. Safecracking and explosives were his fortes, and he trained in many more specialized skills. His cover was as an artist who traveled for inspiration, but he actually took art very seriously, having started painting at 16.

While spying, Malkin often drew stained-glass windows in churches. “I spent a lot of time in churches,” he said in one interview. “If you go to a synagogue, someone is always asking if you’re alone, if you’re married. In a church, in a hundred years no one would ask.”

At the start of 1960, Malkin was debriefed on his latest assignment, which shocked even him. He was to capture Adolf Eichmann. The new mission was called Operation Attila, and Attila was Eichmann’s code name. That May, Malkin and six other Israeli men flew to Buenos Aires, where the Mossad believed it had pinpointed Eichmann’s whereabouts. Mossad’s headquarters in Tel Aviv decided that Malkin would lead the capture, but then another agent would take over interrogation.

How had Eichmann gotten here?

After the collapse of the Third Reich, he was briefly caught, but in 1946 he had escaped from captivity in the United States and spent years hiding in Germany. In 1950, Eichmann went to Italy under the assumed name of Ricardo Klement, but only after a monk got him a Vatican refugee Red Cross passport. On July 14, 1950, he disembarked in Argentina, and for 10 years he worked in a variety of jobs in Buenos Aires. Eichmann was briefly a gaucho.

In August of 1952 he was joined by his wife, Vera Lieble, and his sons, Klaus, Horst and Dieter: The sons were instructed to refer to him as Uncle Ricardo. The Eichmanns had a fourth son while living in Argentina, Ricardo, who reminded Malkin of his lost blond playmate, his sister’s son Takele.

Lothar Hermann was almost blind, and became the unlikely source who had put the Mossad onto Eichmann. A former dissident and a Dachau camp survivor who, after Kristallnacht, left Germany for Argentina, Hermann had lost his sight, the result of severe beatings from the Gestapo. The family lived as non-Jewish Germans, and his daughter, Silvia, knew Eichmann’s eldest son, Klaus, who still used the family name Eichmann at his father’s insistence, even though Eichmann himself went under Ricardo Klement. One day, in an outdoor restaurant, Hermann and his daughter sat down at the table next to Eichmann and Klaus, and Silvia Hermann decided to make introductions. Her father may have been blind, but he had seen Eichmann when imprisoned and had heard his voice. He immediately contacted both German and Israeli authorities about this suspicious “uncle” and they sent someone to investigate in January 1958. After a quick inspection of the unimpressive middle-class Olivos neighborhood where the suspect was dwelling, the Mossad discounted the intelligence; it seemed impossible for a once lofty Nazi to be living there.

In 1960, a new Mossad team found that the man was still living in Buenos Aries, and still under the alias Ricardo Klement, but now renting an even more unimpressive suburban home on Garibaldi Street in the dreary suburb of Villa San Fernando. Hiding near a creek, the team spied on Attila, a thin man in thick black-rimmed glasses. The weather was not kind and they were often cold, as none of these crackerjack minds had realized that May was the start of winter in the Southern Hemisphere.

Through his field glasses, an agent observed a celebratory family dinner March 21 and did the math: The Klements’ anniversary celebration corresponded to what would have been the Eichmanns’ 25th, “silver” anniversary. Attila unfailingly returned home by the same bus each evening from his administrative job at a Mercedes-Benz factory; the bus arrived at his stop at around 7:20. The snoops were increasingly sure that Atilla was Eichmann, and that getting him when he was near the bus stop was the best plan of action. They decided on May 11 as the day it would all go down.

On this cold, rainy day, the green-and-yellow commuter bus pulled up on Eichmann’s stop along Route 202. Atilla did not get off. But minutes later, a little past 7:30 a.m., the next bus arrived.

Malkin wore fur-lined leather gloves so as not to have to touch the man during the scuffle. He wrote, “The thought of placing my bare hand over the mouth that had ordered the death of millions, of feeling the hot breath and saliva on my skin, filled me with an overwhelming sense of revulsion.” “Un momentito, Señor,” Malkin said, using the Spanish phrase he had practiced for this moment.

Unarmed, he grabbed Atilla’s right hand, spun the man around by the shoulders and pinned his arms behind his back. The man’s scream was piercing. Malkin pressed his hand over his mouth. Atilla’s false teeth dislodged. The leather gloves were quickly “soaked through with his spittle.” He took him on his shoulders, and spirited his target into a waiting black Mercedes-Benz. A fellow spy drove them both to a “safe house” in a rented villa 90 minutes south, in a more upscale neighborhood in the Florencio Varela district, where there was a garden with Moorish arches, a plush carpet and a stone wall to keep out nosy neighbors. In the safe house, Atilla denied he was Eichmann even as the doctor quickly examined his mouth lest he had poison hidden on him. Then Atilla was checked for a scar of 3 centimeters beneath the left brow, two gold bridges in the upper jaw, a rib scar of one centimeter, a Secret Service tattoo, his shoe size and other markings.

“You have SS number 45526?’ Mossad interrogator Hans asked Atilla.

“No! 45326.”

The men were startled.

“Was ist deine name?” another agent named Zvi Aharoni demanded.

“Ich bin Adolf Eichmann.”

In a small bedroom, a blanket concealing the only window, Eichmann was blindfolded and manacled by his ankle, in striped pajamas. Hans worked on him to see if he knew where other prominent Nazis were hiding, including Josef Mengele.

At night the spies stayed inside in the villa. As the team whiled away the hours with chess and cigarettes, a female agent arrived to cook and clean. In the pre-PC era when he got his book deal, Malkin wrote that the men had hoped for a sexy woman to arrive and change the atmosphere. But instead they had been sent Rosa, a chunky Orthodox Jewish spy whom he knew back from Tel Aviv. Oh well, at least now they had a cook. Eichmann ate only kosher food during his 10-day stay in the safe house.

Malkin was assigned to feed and shave the prisoner, and to make sure he moved his bowels. He also oversaw his deep knee bends — Eichmann had to stay in shape to survive the trial. While Malkin sat in the room on his shift, he began to secretly draw him, using the sketch pencils, acrylic paints and makeup he carried in his disguise kit. All he had in his possession was a South American travel guide he had purchased for the trip. He used its map-covered pages for a canvas.

He had plenty of time alone with Eichmann over 10 days, and he surreptitiously began with a black-and-gray portrait overlaying a map of Argentina. On the next page, he imagined him in SS regalia. “I continued drawing in a kind of frenzy. Now I had him watching a railroad train, counting the cars; now in abstract, lying prone atop a flatcar, bearing a machine gun; now, on facing pages, appeared Hitler and Mussolini; now my parents and, in muted pastels, her eyes immense and brooding, my sister,” he wrote. The Mossad wanted Eichmann to sign a form saying he was traveling to Israel on his own accord. He would not sign for Hans, who had spoken to him so harshly. Malkin decided to give it a try, never admitting he chatted regularly with Eichmann, partly to understand the mentality that had sent millions, including 150 of his relatives, to their deaths. They spoke in broken German and a half-Yiddish that Eichmann understood well. The man who had a master file he labeled “The Final Solution” maddeningly claimed he was no anti-Semite, that he even studied Hebrew with a rabbi in Berlin. To study how to kill them better, Malkin suggested.

“I have nothing against the Jews,” Eichmann insisted. This did not sway his guard, who had lost so many relatives. “On the contrary, I love Jews.” To add insult to injury, Eichmann went on to recite the Shema: “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One…” He asked to be tried in Germany. “You must be tried in Israel,” Malkin told him. He told him that if he signed, his wife and little ones could come to the trial. (This actually happened in Ramale Prison on April 30, 1962, and Vera Eichmann’s visit was revealed only recently.)

Eichmann called Malkin by his agent code name, Maxim: “Do you dance, Maxim? Do you like music? I hope you like Viennese waltzes.”

“We found ourselves co-conspirators of a sort,” Malkin wrote. “He knew as well as I did to fall silent at the sound of approaching footsteps.”

Malkin served him a good red wine that a fellow operative had been saving for the Sabbath, and played flamenco music on an old record player in the villa. Music cheered the Nazi. Malkin toasted him. He sneaked him a Kent. More relaxed, Eichmann confided to Malkin that he had lived in fear. “For 15 years I expected what has happened to me — and it has happened.” He also admitted that he had spoken to a fortuneteller in Argentina, who told him he would not live past 57; he believed her.

Eventually, Malkin got the signature.

With so many spies in one house, Rosa and Malkin now shared the room that had two single beds. One night, he whispered to her that he was talking to their prisoner against orders. Sympathy was an uncrossable line, and Rosa was horrified, but she listened to what they had discussed. Afterward, she scolded him: “You act like you’re in love with him!” Eventually so many emotions were brought up by the capture that Malkin joined Rosa in her bed one night, and he held the woman, clothed, in his arms, crying.

The operation to commandeer Eichmann was timed close to festivities celebrating 150 years of Argentine independence from Spain, which made it possible for the Mossad to fly the first El Al plane to land in Argentina without suspicion, even though there were no scheduled flights between the two countries. The delegation was in fact an operational cover, and included Mossad and Shin Bet security service people. Operation Atilla was so top secret that the delegation leader Abba Eban, then minister of education and culture, may not have even known about Eichmann’s capture. When Eban disembarked, he gave a speech in astonishingly perfect Spanish, after strains of “Hatikvah” played. Malkin and his spy pals were at the airport to watch. They waited for word on what day the plane was leaving, which turned out to be less than 48 hours later, on May 20. When told all was a go, Malkin quickly used his makeup kit to change Eichmann’s appearance on the flight to Argentina, dressing him in an El Al uniform as a steward. Eichmann loved being in uniform again, and straightened his posture. It was not lost on Malkin that Eichmann was leaving the country with a Jewish star on his hat. “Recognize that star?” he asked him pointedly.

As they headed to the airport, Malkin’s teammate, Dr. Klein, rolled up Eichmann’s sleeve to give him an injection. Were they killing him? No, Malkin assured him, this was the day he was going to go to Jerusalem, and they needed him as mellow as possible. Eichmann was ushered on board the El Al aircraft with the forged passport for Israeli agent Zeev Zichron. Malkin had made up Eichmann up to look like the passport photo of Zichron.

Mossad agents decided it was best to tell the other passengers on board, since it was a lightly populated flight and many of those delegates who had come for the Independence Day festivities were not allowed back on and had to fend for themselves to get home. The passengers were understandably flabbergasted that they had to book alternate commercial flights. One of the men on board, however, was El Al’s chief mechanic, who fell to pieces, having lost his 6-year-old brother in the camps. Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion announced to the Knesset that Adolf Eichmann had been captured on May 23, 1960. You can imagine the hullabaloo in Israel. But there were no medals or interviews for the agents. Rather, there was absolute authority of safety rules — they were instructed to tell no one of their involvement.

In 1961, starting on April 11, Eichmann was put on a trial that would last for more than four months.

Every word of the trial was filmed to document evil that much of the world was denying. Eichmann, however, did not view himself as evil, saying famously, “Nothing is ever as bad as it appears, or one could put it another way, nothing is ever as hot as when it is cooking.” Malkin went just once to the courthouse, walked near Eichmann’s glass isolation booth, locked eyes with Eichmann and nodded. He never went back. He said he didn’t want to hear the trial.

On August 14, Eichmann was sentenced to death and found guilty on all crimes against humanity and the Jewish people.” He was hanged June 1, 1962 and his last words (in German) were: “Long live Germany. Long live Argentina. Long live Austria.” Eichmann was cremated at a secret location, and his ashes were disseminated into the Mediterranean Sea, beyond the limits of Israel’s official waters. No country would endure his grave, nor would his grave ever be a site of pilgrimage.

Malkin stayed mum on his involvement, but broke the rule once, in the spring of 1967, when his mother fell ill and he got permission to abandon an assignment in Athens. His beloved ima was dying in a Haifa hospital, 12 years after Eichmann’s ashes had been scattered. “Mama, I captured Eichmann. Fruma is avenged,” he told her. She did not answer. He repeated his claim. Gradually her eyes opened. Her hand squeezed his. “I understand,” she managed to say.

Well, there was one other time he let out the truth, the day he hailed a cab in New York City with a Mossad friend in the back seat. Malkin recognized a Polish accent. It turned out the cabbie was from the same town Malkin had fled as a young boy. He knew how Fruma was killed, and how all the others in town met their deaths. In 1941, he said, the Jews in town were rounded up near the fountain, then taken to a camp outside Lublin. The driver had survived as a slave laborer and escaped, but not before the man had witnessed Eichmann making rounds. His seatmate poked him and whispered, “Are you going to tell him?” No, he could not. He left the cab and turned back to see his friend talking to the driver, who was now looking his way, wonderstruck. The driver called out, “Is this true?” Finally, Malkin called back, “Yes!” The driver gave Malkin’s Mossad friend back the cab fare. He could not take any money — his passenger had already repaid all Jews a thousandfold. By most accounts, by this time he was already the most successful agent in Israel’s history, the Jewish James Bond. After he caught Eichmann he also nabbed Israel Baer, the Soviet mole whom the Russians had sent to Israel. Baer had claimed to be born to Austrian Jews. Malkin was rightfully proud that he clandestinely acquired a list of ex-Nazi nuclear scientists collaborating with the Egyptians. He once eavesdropped on a meeting of Arab officials by hiding under their conference table. He eventually rose to become chief of operations in the Mossad.

But he did not work for Israel only. On Malkin’s passing in 2005, Robert Morgenthau, now a renowned former Manhattan district attorney, said of my neighbor, “I think he was the outstanding intelligence agent of the 20th century.” Starting in the late 1970s, Malkin assisted Morgenthau on several investigations, including one involving CIA agents suspected of selling weapons and explosives to Africa. In addition to consultant fees, Morgenthau repaid Malkin by expediting his green card.

Not all Peter Malkin anecdotes are so heavy: I chuckled reading how he once used his expert disguise gifts on his mother before a mission; he arrived at her Sabbath dinner in Haifa, pretending he was a foreign student who showed up at her door at the request of her son. Via an unspecified spy apparatus, he changed the sound of his voice and the appearance of his mouth. For several minutes he had her convinced, but then she realized who was really sharing challah with her. “You are going to kill me!” she cried. However, further in the meal his mother guessed that he was going away on a top-secret mission. “Even a secret agent,” he said, “can’t lie to a Jewish mother.”

In the spring of 2005 I first found out that my own mother had stage IV ovarian cancer, a disease she would battle for the next two years. At the time of the diagnosis I was working on a book with her, a funny novel about the members of her retirement club, the Happiness Club, who were always complaining about their children not coming for a visit. She had taken notes on several Happiness Club members, including a Holocaust survivor named Irene Zisblatt, whom she recorded in the late 1990s for the Century Village retirement newspaper she edited, the Hawthorne Herald. She asked my brother and me to turn the newspaper article into a documentary. We were insulted that she was suggesting our next film together. Spielberg saw value where we did not, and Zisblatt’s story was included in the documentary he produced, “The Last Days,” which won an Oscar in 1998. The second it won, the phone rang — “Told you so,” my mom said.

I laughed again about that call so many years later. My mother was right about bothering to get to know your neighbors, and your duty to the future if you are a storyteller.

The other day, while my daughter did her eighth-grade homework, I rode the elevator to Malkin’s old floor and rang his doorbell. A middle-aged woman whom I have seen in the laundry room but had never spoken to answered.

I explained what I was writing. “Oh I recognize you,” she said. “You have a young daughter, right? A teen. An Australian husband?” She introduced herself for the first time: Irena Nuic-Werber. She was in real estate. She briefly asked me to wait, as she wanted permission to participate in my article by name, for normally she and her husband are very private people. Yes, her husband Daniel was quite honored. He felt it was important to help celebrate Malkin.

“When we bought [the apartment,] there was his art up to the ceiling — vibrant colors, red, yellow, orange. Many of his artworks were painted on maps. It was breathtaking,” Nuic-Werber told me. “We did not meet him, obviously, but we bought from an attorney who knew him well, who had stories. We were very touched to live here, as much of my husband’s family perished in the Holocaust.” Tears welled in her eyes. “We think of his apartment as a sacred place,” she said, “In Israel, you know, he is very famous. I wish he was more well-known in America.”

###

[livitupincapetown-blog]

Spring Break// Durban

           In case you didn’t already know this, I am on the southern hemisphere. That being said, it just became spring. Hence, spring break. After a couple of hectic weeks writing papers and tests, this was much needed. This school is so hard our program curves our grades for us, so a 75 is an A. This is turning out to be more of a challenge than I expected, especially trying to balance school with my friends and doing other adventurous activities. Needless to say, spring break was a necessary reprieve. That being said, as we got closer to the week the weather decided to rain on our parade, literally. Six of us from the house went to Durban, KwaZulu-Natal, which is on the other side of South Africa.

A short 2-hour plane ride, and our vacation commenced. The trickiest part of the trip was getting to The Bluff, where our Airbnb was, from the airport. It is unsafe to call an Uber because the taxi drivers regard the airport as their “turf”, and there has been a lot of violence between the two, so we hopped in a taxi and made our way. The house we stayed at, when we got there 45 minutes later was insane. Two dogs, Phoebe and Ben, as well as the wonderful owners greeted us. This house sits on the edge of the Bluff, and has a view of the ocean just below it. It was breath taking. The best part of the house was the infinity pool overlooking the ocean. We were there for 7 days, and though the sun only decided to show up a few of those, it was still an amazing trip. If you know anything about me, you know that I have an inordinate ability to chill. Which is what I did, for the most part. I laid by the pool, laid by the beach and laid on the couch looking at the ocean. Every day, I would stare at the ocean until I saw either whales or dolphins, or both. The dolphins would put on a show, jumping out of the waves and flipping mid-air. One day I saw a whale fully jump out of the water, it was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever witnessed.

On one of the less sunny days, we went to Durban’s version of Sea World, where we saw sharks feed, as well as dolphins and seals perform. It was pretty cool, though I don’t like to gain entertainment from the inhumane imprisonment of helpless animals. The dolphins in the ocean gave me a better show than the dolphins at the aquarium. After that, we walked along the beach to a waterfront restaurant, and then back to the Bluff. On another not very nice day we went to Entertainment World, where we won 300 Rand (about 23 USD) on the slot machines in the casino and bought ourselves 2 rounds of drinks with it. Overall, very entertained at Entertainment World. My favorite day was the day we walked the 7 minutes from the house to the beach and swam in the Indian Ocean, laid in the sun, and played bocce ball.

This experience wouldn’t have been nearly as awesome without the amazing people that accompanied me and made this the best spring break I’ve had. I can't thank them enough for just being them and putting up with my not wanting to do anything except lay outside. Going back to reality and having to write two papers the day I got back was less than ideal, I was already missing the infinity pool. To conclude, Spring Break 2k17 was a success, and very much needed. I now feel refreshed and ready to take on the last two months of the semester.

[umichenginabroad]

The Clock is Ticking...

After readjusting to a college life nine short months ago, six weeks in a foreign country is a feat I don’t think anyone can prepared for. It took me at least a week in September to figure out how the bus routes worked and to find where my classes were on campus. Now taking that same process and expanding it to a foreign country where there are language barriers, different customs, and only six weeks to do so is stressful. In the beginning of the year, I had to adjust to a new roommate and making new friends, but I knew I had a lot of time. Now I’ll have two housemates and a host family to get to know in the process. There are only six total students as part of this program however, I am super excited to get to know everyone on the trip and explore South America.

One of the things I am the most excited for is travelling. I have been fortunate enough to have been travelling since I was young with my family around many areas of Europe and some other areas of the World, but I have never been to South America before. Whereas in Europe there are many countries close together, things can be pretty widespread in South America. Buenos Aires is located on the east coast of Argentina and is close to Uruguay. However, through my research some of the highlights I see from Argentina are found in locations far and wide from our base in Buenos Aires.

Map of South America with a few things I highlighted! (from Geology.com)

All of the locations I’ve pointed out above are highlights, but most incorporate domestic flights across Argentina and possibly crossing borders into neighboring countries which takes a lot of planning and research. Given that I will be with students who made the effort to study abroad, I’m hoping they will be just as excited as I am to plan side trips and excursions. Another exciting factor of this program is that classes only run from Monday to Thursday, meaning extended weekends for travel!!!

Class schedule (from our CEA program guide)

After a semester full of three or four classes a day, this schedule is refreshing. I just need to make sure I set aside time to study and don’t overdo the travel excitement to the point where my grades drop—psssh easy (I hope). Argentina also follows a different culture which I am excited to learn about and experience first-hand and from my host family.

Before I get ahead of myself, I know there is a lot of packing and preparing for the trip itself. I depart on Wednesday nights and arrive early morning on Thursday, so fingers crossed I get some good sleep on my flight!

First things first—packing. I am your definition of an over-packer so my first challenge is making sure I only pack the necessities and what I willneed and not what I mightneed. This will be tough since there is no way I can predict the “mood” I’ll be in for deciding what I will want to wear each day when I actually arrive, but I will try my best. Since I will be in the southern hemisphere the seasons flip and I will be dealing with temperatures in the 60’s as opposed to the 80’s or 90’s. Remembering what that weather feels like and trying to prepare for it will be a struggle, but I get two checked bags free so I’m feeling pretty good that I’ll have room for what I need(I say this now when I haven’t even started packing so pray for me).

The trip is approaching soon (T-2 days to be exact) and as nervous and stressed as I feel now, I am excited to immerse myself in the culture and make some new friends!

See ya later!

Larissa Wermers

Mechanical Engineering

Engineering in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Summer 2019

[thomasreedtn]

A Taste of Spring: San Antonio and Perfect Timing

Happy Spring Equinox to those in the Northern Hemisphere! (And Happy Fall Equinox to my Southern readers.)

I’ve been meaning to post a recap of our March 7-11, 2019 trip to San Antonio, but between Mercury Retrograde and Uranus moving into Taurus, life keeps redirecting me. Despite “delays,” large and little sync winks confirm the perfect timing of everything. As giant snowflakes fall outside my windows right now, my San Antonio photos will give a much better taste of Spring.

Another sync wink occurred on March 5, just as I finished selecting clothes to pack. For context, on Valentine’s Day, I decided to read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings —back to back– with no other books or coursework in between. I finished The Hobbit in about a week, but I am still reading LOTR! Depending on the edition, that’s around a 1,200 page book, so this next part seemed significant. Just before David pulled into our driveway on March 5, I reached this part of LOTR on my Kindle:

I read this on the fifth of March, right before a seeming mishap occurred. The astounding sync wink in a 1,200 page book made me laugh and provided immediate perspective that all was in Divine and perfect order. As predicted, the mishap turned out be no big deal, especially for the chaotic energies of that day. This synchronicity set the tone for our entire trip to San Antonio, which went smoothly, despite Mercury Rx, Uranus zippy zaps, and perfect timing “delays.”

David needed to go to San Antonio for work training the following week, and we took advantage of a company paid flight for him with me tagging along. His daughter Allie lives in nearby Austin. We planned for Friday in Austin and a weekend in San Antonio with Allie and boyfriend Matt. Such fun! I’m not going to write a full account of our trip, but we enjoyed some amazing vegan food in both cities. Big synchronicities continued to pop through along the way.

On Thursday, March 7, Tania Marie and I began texting back and forth. David was driving us to a mission I learned about long ago in the movie “Still Breathing,” — one of my favorite love stories with themes of creativity, dreams and synchronicities. As soon as Tania’s reply came through, we drove past Nestors:

Nestor, aka “Nestie,” was Tania’s twin soul bunny who expanded way beyond body back eleven years ago. She still comes through at key moments, especially for Tania. When David and I arrived, the tourist part of Mission San Jose had already closed for the day, but I noticed these cuties at the foot of St. Francis:

Tania’s beloved tortoise Gaia and rabbits Joy and Cosmo, all no longer her in physical form. The bunny looks more like Joy, but Cosmo had more white fur. I sent both photos to Tania, knowing they were messages for her. The animal messages from beyond continued on Saturday, when our parking garage looked out on “MAVERICK,” the dearly departed dog of another friend of mine. I sent her the photo, and sure enough, she had just asked for a sign from him:

We happened to visit both Austin and San Antonio on their busiest tourist weekends ever, so our trip involved a lot of waiting. Waiting for tables, waiting for tours, waiting for a light show, needing to loop back to places we just missed: yet everything felt so in tune that we didn’t mind.

Here are some photos from Mission San Jose, which we got back to on Saturday morning before Allie and Matt joined us in San Antonio:

Above and close-up below, you can see the famous “Rose Window,” a great love story enfolded into a the love story of “Still Breathing,” which takes place in Los Angeles and San Antonio:

We sat in the cathedral before heading to San Antonio’s Riverwalk:

This gardener loved all the tropical plants and waterfalls.

Besides just visiting with each other, we each chose the Riverwalk Architectural Boat Tour as the favorite part of our trip.

We remembered the Alamo and paid our respects, but opted not to wait in the massive line for a tour. Instead, we hung out with the Live Oak. This historic tree is so massive, I could not fit much of it into photos. No picture does it justice anyway. If you ever visit the Alamo, be sure to pay your respects to the Live Oak. It feels like a tree from Middle Earth:

We browsed a huge crystal selection downtown, then had dinner and browsed more in the quaint Pearl District. Of course, this gardener marveled at the size of the publicly planted chard. Maybe everything is bigger in Texas!

Same general area after sunset:

San Antonio has gorgeous architecture! Even just walking or sitting outside brings a feel of history and charm. Good thing we didn’t mind sitting outside, because our one activity planned to occur at a specific time … did not occur. At 8:30 p.m., we Uber’d our way to San Fernando Cathedral, which David and I had walked to earlier that morning. The famous Cathedral Light Show runs every night at 9:00, 9:30 and 10:00 p.m. We got there early in anticipation. This was Saturday, March 9 — a fact that becomes important in just a bit.

We waited and waited and then Matt noticed some statues across the street. Since not many people filled the plaza, we figured we had time to check them out. The first grouping showed “The Founders.”

“56 Canary Islanders founded a village, ‘San Fernando de Béjar,’ after arriving March 9, 1731.

“They walked nearly 1,200 miles from Veracruz, with children, livestock and all their worldly possessions, for more than six months after a previous six month journey across the ocean in a small wooden vessel.

“Sent by Spanish King Felipe V, to found the first official civil government in the province of Texas, they were greeted by a Franciscan friar, soldiers from Presidio de Béjar, and indigenous people of the nearby missions.

“Today, the village is the city of San Antonio.”

Matt noticed the date first. “March 9th! What are the odds?!”

I then told Allie and Matt about the March 5th LOTR synchronicity. As I type this up, I notice even more synchronicities: 1,200 pages, 1,200 miles. Both stories tell of a year long journey …

We returned to San Fernando Cathedral just as an evening service let out, and lots more people gathered for the 9:00 show. Minutes ticked by, as we all enjoyed the warm evening air. A half hour went by. No show. Allie and Matt checked their phones and saw that the first show was cancelled but the others would occur on time. 9:30 came and went. We laughed and visited, the weather so pleasant that everyone in the crowd talked and laughed.

Allie started playing a visual/mind game on her phone, which she and Matt had plateau’d on for months. As we sat and chatted, we all watched her play and somehow, she broke through! Months of trying and just sitting there with us marveling at her skill, she leapt to long awaited the next level. We all cheered as 10:00 came and went. No light show, but all the colors, forms and celebration of Allie’s game filled us with delight. The unexpected breakthrough while waiting seemed so symbolic. Very Uranus in Taurus.

The next day brought more schedule shifts, delays, good conversation and perfect timing. In the bigger picture, everything always aligns. Here we all are at the top of the Tower of the America’s looking over San Antonio:

This long post gives a tiny glimpse of pervasive synchronicities and blessings in disguise. So lovely to visit with Allie in Matt where Spring had already sprung, and a Michigan visit will feel mighty nice for them come Summer.

Whatever season you find yourself in now, I wish you well. May those touches of the Divine, what I call sync winks, fill your life with peace and wonder. Happy Spring, Blessed Be … and be the blessing!

from Thomas Reed https://laurabruno.wordpress.com/2019/03/20/a-taste-of-spring-san-antonio-and-perfect-timing/

[ninaivanenko-blog]

a/n: sorry it’s a bit choppy, especially at the end, but enjoy anyways!

Pinnipeds are a clade of carnivorous, fin-footed, semi aquatic marine mammals. There are currently 33 species and 50 extinct species that have been described from fossils. Most species prefer the colder waters of the Northern and Southern Hemispheres. They spend most of their lives in the water, but come ashore to mate, give birth, molt or escape from predat-

I’m interrupted by a knock on the door. My cousin, Imogen, strides in and takes a seat on my bed, next to my hedgehogs.

“How’s your essay going?”

I drop my pencil and bang my head on the table in frustration. I continue to slide onto the floor, faced down and groan.

“Does this answer your question?” I ask with a muffled voice, still lying on the cold, bare ground.

“Let’s give a round of applause for that dramatic performance to Nina Ivanenko! You should drop out of marine biology and go into acting school” Imogen said sarcastically as she attempted to pull me up.

This is my cousin, Gen. You may know her as Imogen Bezrukova. She’s a well known model in Illéa, who happens to be my best friend, cousin, and roommate all in one.

“Hilarious,” I said, rolling my eyes. “How was your trip?”

She just came back from a modelling shoot in Angeles. I usually went with her to these things but unfortunately, I had to spend the day writing an essay for school. One thing that you should know about me; My life revolves around animals. I’m currently studying at the University of Columbia for my Masters degree in Marine Biology, while I have a part time job at the aquarium.

FISHY FISHY SNORKLE SNORKLY BLUB BLUB.

“Same old, same old…. Did you hear that Prince Dom is finally of age for his selection? We should sign up!”

Living in a palace with 35 girls, hundreds of maids, butlers, and the royal family? No thanks

“I don’t know if you know this, but I don’t like being in places with lots of people. A palace is the least preferable place I’d like to be.”

“Come on, Nine! It’s not like either of us will actually get chosen. And plus, you have to face your fears,“ she protested. “You have to learn how to make more friends, because I’m not always going to be there for you… You can’t stay at home all day with your animals forever.”

“I will have you know that I am perfectly fine with that. Now if you don’t mind, I have to get to work,” I said, slamming the door.

I walked down the street as slowly as I possibly could. My shift wouldn’t start for another hour, but I didn’t want to stay at home with Imogen bothering me more, or else she would probably end up persuading me to sign up. It’s part of her charm. That is partly how I got into some modelling gigs. While Imogen was born into a family of twos, I was a three, so it was a miracle that she could even get me into modelling.

She’s been there for me through thick and thin ever since my family fell apart. Fun fact about me; I’m a triplet. Or at least I was. Long story short, Lilia and Callum Ivanenko died in a car crash while the I suffered from a coma. As you can all tell, I did eventually wake up. I woke up to a new life without my best friends by my side for the first time in six years. Though I still had a younger sister, named Ayla, I was still absolutely devastated when I learned that they hadn’t made it.

Time passed by as I finally starting coping with the fact that I was now the eldest. Three years later, a miracle happened. Ayla and I had a new baby sister named Roza. We thought that our family was finally healing from the loss. We thought wrong… The following year, my mother, Nadiya, was diagnosed with PPD (Postpartum Depression).

I’ll save you from the gory details. Let’s just say I lost my mother a few months later out of nowhere. Losing so many close family members took a toll on me. I isolated myself from everyone and everything for the longest time. Later that year, Imogen’s family moved over to Columbia from the Ukraine to help us heal. My father ended up marrying another woman and starting a new family, while my two sisters moved in with my aunt and uncle. As for Imogen and I, we moved out when she turned 17.

“Nina!”

I turned around to see my friend, Kyomi, running towards me.

“Hey!” She took a breath of air. “You going to work?”

“Yep, just like usual.”

“Are you signing up for the selection by any chance?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not, Nina? It would be so fun!”

“I just don’t feel like it.”.

She babbled on and on about the book she was writing, while I was too busy lost in my thoughts. “-ave to go now, but let’s catch up next time!”

We parted ways and I headed went to work.

I unlocked the front door and walked inside, surprised to see papers scattered everywhere. Imogen was sitting in the center of the mess, scrounging through boxes. Maisie, my border collie, made his way over to greet me.

“Oh how are you doing, Maisie?” I scratched her head and turned my attention to the mess. “What’s all this?”

“I FOUND IT!” She screamed, jumping in the air. “HA TAKE A LOOK AT THIS, NINA!”

I took one look at the orange construction paper and groaned. “No. I am not signing up for the Selection because of this… this bet we made when we were five.”

“Read what it says out loud,” Gen responded with a smirk.

I sighed. “I swear that if I don’t get married by the time I am 17, I will do whatever Imogen and Lilia tell me to do.”

“So I guess we’re signing up for the selection!”

“We were five! And this is expired already.”

“There is no expiry date! A bet is a bet, Nina.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“I said no.”

“… Do it for Lilia. Remember? She always wanted to sign up.”

She knew this was a touchy subject for me. Bringing up your dead siblings always are.

“Fine. Only signing up. I cannot promise that I’ll get chosen, alright? Are you happy now?”

“I’m absolutely ecstatic!”

Don’t worry. The chance is one in a million, so there is no way you’ll get chosen. It’ll be alright.

I filled in the application form and handed it to Imogen so I wouldn’t throw it away. Truth be told, I had social anxiety, if you couldn’t already tell. I spent the whole night twisting and turning, panicking about what could happen if they picked me.

What did I get myself into?

[kristablogs]

Five stories of sailors who weathered COVID-19 out at sea

Storm on the ­horizon: For the Kiwi crew of <em>Telasker</em>, the dark skies served as a COVID-19 metaphor for their strange South Pacific odyssey. (Courtesy Talasker/)

Two-time circumnavigator and prolific sailing writer Lin Pardey is a longtime, cherished and regular contributor to Cruising World. This story originally featured on Cruising World.

The novel coronavirus sent the entire planet, including the sailing world, into a complete tailspin, and at least temporarily altered or even erased the very freedom we enjoy while cruising under sail. The following five COVID-19 dispatches from both near and far-flung waters are a testimony to the resiliency and fortitude of sailors everywhere, serving as snapshots of our time.

This past spring, the global pandemic resulting from the novel coronavirus upended the world—­including the cruising world—as sailors around the planet scrambled to seek safe harbors and dash together new plans even as borders and waterways slammed closed and the notion of “quarantine,” always a feature of the conclusion of a long passage, took on a whole new meaning.

There was nowhere, literally, that was not affected in some way, shape or form. Working from home here in Newport, Rhode Island, the stories began trickling in. Some of those filtering back were troubling; others were inspirational, bordering on outright heroic.

Take the case of Argentine sailor Juan Manuel Ballestero who, as reported in The New York Times, was stranded on a small island off the coast of Portugal in mid-March aboard his Ohlson 29, Skua, when the pandemic struck. Desperate to see his father, who was soon to turn 90, Ballestero decided to sail home. He was denied entry to Cape Verde to reprovision and pressed on anyway, ultimately spending 85 days at sea before reuniting with his dad in Mar del Plata, where he did receive a hero’s welcome.

Or what about the great yacht designer Rod Johnstone, one of the principals of the family-run J/Boat company. According to an account in The Royal Gazette, a Bermuda newspaper, Johnstone’s friend Jean de Fontenay was visiting the US, with his 67-foot boat, Baraka, docked on the island nation in St. George’s, when everything closed down, including all international flights. Hurricane season was approaching. What to do? Well, Johnstone, de Fontenay and two crew hopped aboard a new 33-foot J/99 and sailed from Connecticut to Bermuda. They were never allowed ashore, but a Bermudan friend left groceries in their dinghy, and the four sailors split up and doublehanded the two boats back to the States. They were not to be denied.

What follows are five more dispatches from around the globe, of sailors facing and reacting to unprecedented circumstances in this dreadful season of COVID-19. They speak for themselves. And they make us proud to be members of the community of cruising sailors.

Problems in the Pacific

By Alvah Simon

The Walker family from New Zealand had set out on a long voyage around the Pacific Rim aboard their 57-foot <em>Talasker</em>. (Courtesy Talasker/)

The best-laid plans of the cruising sailor oft times go astray. But no matter Mother Ocean’s wind or waves, tides or tantrums, bluewater sailors always knew that somewhere on that distant shore, a port of refuge awaited them. Then along came COVID-19.

Perhaps most illustrative of these dystopian times is the saga of New Zealanders Daryll and Maree Walker and their two children on board their 57-foot yacht, Talasker. They had set off on the trip of a lifetime: a clockwise voyage around the Pacific Rim, up through the islands to Japan, over to Alaska, down the West Coast and back to New Zealand via the fabled South Pacific.

Things were rolling along splendidly but, while in Micronesia, rumors of a global pandemic began to filter in. They headed straight for Guam, arriving a mere three hours before the borders closed. They hoped to push on to Japan but began to suspect that the Japanese government was underreporting COVID-19 cases because of the effect on the coming Olympics. In any event, they could not be sure that the Japanese border would not close while en route.

They made the hard decision to turn around; as it turned out, it was much harder than they could have imagined.

For added safety, they chose to voluntarily isolate on board for two weeks before departing Guam, thus depleting their supplies. They sailed to Ponape, where they were flatly refused entry. Using dwindling fuel supplies, they soldiered on to the remote Kapingamarangi Atoll. The locals were friendly but firm: no entry. Understandable when put in historical context; the Marquesas Islands had a thriving population of over 100,000 when they first allowed foreign sailors to enter with inadvertent but devastating diseases. Their numbers bottomed out at 4,000 souls.

Talasker headed south to the Solomon Islands, emailing ahead for permission to rest, refuel and resupply. Not only was this denied, but they were even refused permission to transit Solomon Islands’ waters toward another port of refuge. Then they were commanded to stop and were visited over several days by police and immigration vessels who threatened fines, jail and impoundment for ill-defined violations. After several days of fear and confusion, they were told they could proceed through Bougainville Channel. But at nearly 100 miles out, they were ordered back to Honiara. They wisely ignored these orders and pushed on toward New Caledonia.

There they were told they would be granted only 24 hours in an isolated anchorage and then must depart. They were tired, low on everything, and dangerous weather was predicted near New Zealand. “Bureaucrat” is actually a French word that roughly translates into English as “cover your butt.” Those were the “official” restrictions, but they were granted two days of glorious rest before they were even approached by officials, then given access to fuel and limited supplies, and allowed to await a safer weather window. Viva le France! Ultimately, they stayed 10 whole days before a weeklong sail to New Zealand. There, after nearly two months at sea, they gratefully dropped their lines on the immigration dock.

When their journey was derailed by COVID-19. Their voyage home was difficult but successful. (Courtesy Talasker/)

But what of the future? While Daryll said that they are raring to head out again, many cruisers are nearly crippled with uncertainty. There are presently 40 foreign vessels “trapped” in Whangarei alone because all Pacific islands and Australia have closed their borders. Many sailors who landed in New Zealand flew home to the States or Europe and now cannot return to their vessels. The New Zealand government has extended all visas and customs exemptions for foreign sailors but, frankly, many skippers feel they are in the safest place in the world and are in no hurry to depart. In fact, normally each year the town of Whangarei hosts an appreciation party for the 100 visiting yachts that contribute an estimated $20 million to the local economy. This year, however, it is the cruisers hosting the party to express their appreciation for their treatment by the town and the Kiwi government.

For local sailors, such as myself, the lockdown was fast and furious. The restrictions were so strict as to prevent me from even rowing out to my yacht to check the mooring and bilges for an agonizing six weeks. Those who were genuine liveaboards—along with those who, against government directives, fled their land homes to self-isolate on board—were given an almost hostile reception by locals in more-remote anchorages such as Great Barrier Island. The locals felt that the yachties were depleting the island’s limited supplies and unnecessarily exposing them to possible infection, and perhaps resented the appearance that while people on land were being desperately inconvenienced, the sailors seemed to be enjoying a holiday of swimming, fishing and moving from anchorage to anchorage. Finally, the police were asked to intervene.

The New Zealand Marine Association last year sent out emissaries to Fiji and Tahiti, and as far afield as Mexico and Panama, to entice cruisers toward New Zealand for the Southern Hemisphere cyclone season. Presently, 300 westbound yachts are waiting in Tahiti for the gates to open. The Whangarei Town Basin Marina receives daily inquiries from the Americas saying: “The Galapagos is closed. Can we come if it is nonstop?” Any response would be obsolete before the ink was dry because the situation is too fluid.

Soon, as a French Territory, Tahiti will open. But New Caledonia, while sharing the same status, will still require a ­14-day isolation in a hotel at the owner’s expense and then a further seven days on board without credit for time at sea.

The point is, there can be no real clarity while nations differ in pandemic strategies, bend to political and economic pressures, brace for the dreaded second wave, and await results of vaccine research, production and, undoubtedly, uneven distribution.

But take heart: By nature we cruisers are an adaptable lot. This COVID-19 crisis will test our patience, but in time we will once again escape to the boundless blue.

Two-time circumnavigator and author Alvah Simon is a contributing editor to Cruising World.

Offshore in the Blue Atlantic

By Hank Schmitt

Hank Schmitt has spent the past 15 winters aboard his Swan 48, <em>Avocation</em>, in the Caribbean. He won’t soon forget his “COVID-cruise” home to New York this past spring. (David Lyman/)

I have been fortunate to spend the past 15 winter sailing seasons in the Caribbean. My regular port of refuge is St. Maarten, with numerous flights and a high level of quality marine services. Most fellow veteran sailors thought the challenges inflicted by the one-two punch of hurricanes Maria and Irma were insufferable enough. But it turns out nobody had a pandemic plan in place from the smallest Caribbean island to world leaders. The quick shutting down of borders caught many skippers by surprise, locking many in place. Those caught at sea, as islands closed entirely, were in double trouble.

Obligations to departing charter guests in Dominica, along with confusion over the ever-changing closing dates of borders, caught me solo-sailing 180 nautical miles in 24 hours from Dominica to St. Maarten…arriving 11 hours after the island had closed. A 48-hour reprieve under Q flag only deepened the resolve of customs and border patrol to enforce the closure, which led me to Plan B: a sail to the United States Virgin Islands. I could not get into St. Maarten, but with my Swan 48, Avocation, being an America-flagged vessel, and me being an American citizen, I would be guaranteed entry.

In my mind, onboard email capability is not a necessity. So, before leaving St. Maarten, I therefore had to relay by text to friends ashore my answers to the COVID-19-related questions that US Customs was posing that were required 24 hours before arrival. After another solo overnight sail from St. Maarten to Charlotte Amalie, I dropped anchor off the Customs office located at the Blyden Ferry Terminal to clear in. No one in the office had received my pre-arrival health declaration, but no matter. Ten minutes later, I was legally welcomed back to US territory with no quarantine, no restrictions, no fee—not even a temperature check.

This is not to say that everything was normal. At the airport, the National Guard was performing temperature checks for passengers arriving by plane. The cruise-ship terminals were empty, hotels closed, charters canceled and the nearby British Virgin Islands under a no-sail edict. Seeing zero sails traversing Sir Francis Drake Channel at the height of the Caribbean sailing season was somewhat apocalyptic.

Finally having an island to shelter in place allowed me to watch from afar via The New York Times app and WhatsApp video calls as the world changed under pandemic lockdown. As the days turned to weeks that were closing in on insurance-­policy-imposed deadlines for moving to safe harbors ahead of the impending hurricane season, I was witness to the looming logistical nightmare of stranded boats within closed islands with no way for owners or crew to board. Some owners chartered planes—and in one case an entire cargo plane—to get to their boats via St. Thomas.

The group that runs the annual Salty Dawg Rally quickly pivoted to invite boats to join a loose federation of yachts departing weekly over several Sundays, helping roughly 185 boats get home. Almost all chose to listen to weather routers who decided the safest way to return to the States was through the Bahamas to Florida and up the coast. Since many were cruising couples sailing shorthanded, this seemed a safer choice. One big COVID-19 change: Sailors were setting sail shorthanded and not flying in additional crew to help.

Off the coast of St. Maarten, a patrol boat shadowed <em>Avocation</em>, making sure her skipper did not come ashore. (Hank Schmitt/)

I have made the passage from the Caribbean to New England every year since 1999. Normally I sail with a full crew of paying charter guests, but this year I decided to return doublehanded. Most years, I stay east and sail almost due north on a beam reach to Bermuda on the first stretch before making the second, more-challenging leg from Bermuda across the Gulf Stream to Newport.

This year, with a departure from Red Hook—100 miles farther west from my usual departure point—we were lucky to not have to maintain easting to get to Bermuda (which was closed anyway) and were able to sail a relaxed broad reach. I seldom set a waypoint sailing offshore, but rather try to find a comfortable and quick sailing angle for the first half of a passage. If you are within 20 or even 30 degrees of your desired course, you are OK, as long as you have a good idea of the next wind shift. It gets even more important to follow a compass course to a waypoint the last couple of days.

By the time we hit the latitude of Bermuda, we were 160 nautical miles west of the island, and had shaved 100 miles off the traditional passage. After four days of trade-wind sailing, the breeze kicked up from the northeast above Bermuda, which allowed us to crack off and sail west on a broad reach to set up our Gulf Stream crossing. When the winds went southwest a day and a half later, we were able to tack over and sail north to cross the Gulf Stream with the winds and current running in roughly the same direction. Our course was north, but we were making northeast over the ground while in the Stream. We rounded Montauk, New York, some eight and a half days out and were docked before noon, just shy of a nine-day trip dock to dock.

Now that I am home, I look back on my shortened COVID-19 Caribbean season and am trying to predict what next season will look like. Will there be the same rallying cry to return next winter or will many cruisers feel required to stay close to home as a theoretical second wave reels up? Or will more sailors than ever choose to social distance by taking off on their boats looking for safer places to shelter until a vaccine signals the all-clear? At this moment, who knows?

Veteran voyager Hank Schmitt is the founder and proprietor of Offshore Sailing Opportunities, a networking service that links boat owners with prospective crews. For more, visit its website.

Marooned in the Maldives

by Judy Sundin

After six weeks on board, a walk on the beach was pure bliss. (Courtesy The Sundins /)

We are a couple, Sherman and Judy Sundin, sailing the world on our Bristol 41, Fairwinds 1. We arrived in Uligan in the northern Maldives on March 15, with plans to continue to transit the Indian Ocean and then sail back to the southern Caribbean, completing our circumnavigation. In the three days it took to sail from Sri Lanka, so much had changed. The check-in was unusual with our temperatures being taken, but the masked and gloved officials did not come aboard.

At midnight on March 20, the Maldives closed its borders. Several boats that arrived after the closure were provided with a brief time to rest and take on fuel, food and water, but were then asked to leave the Maldives. Borders were closing like falling dominoes, and we were grateful we could officially stay put. Access to shore was prohibited, but we could swim around our boats. SIM cards for cellphones and other supplies were provided. Then we waited. As the weeks passed, our small home became even smaller: 36 steps for a round-trip spin around the deck; seven and a half steps from bow to stern belowdecks; two paces across.

We looked at our options. Tanzania was the only country open, but with our own health care concerns, we couldn’t go to a country that had basically ignored the virus, other than suggesting that herbal tea and prayer were a cure. After 20 days, we were given permission to mingle with other cruisers in the anchorage but were not granted shore access. Just how serious was this situation? How long would it last? Had the world gone mad?

Lots of questions, no answers.

COVID-19 cases started to explode in the capital city of Malé. A city of approximately 220,000 people on an island measuring a little over 3 square miles, it is one of the most densely populated cities on Earth. In the meantime, behind the scenes, many of our fellow cruisers were toiling away tirelessly, organizing supply deliveries and searching for alternative anchorages that we might get permission to go to. With a strict no-movement order in place, the latter was not getting any traction.

We once again made contact with our respective embassies to see if they could seek permission for us to return to Malaysia. No luck. We had to stay put. Yet the southwest monsoon season was approaching. The weather was clearly turning and the wind shifting, so we moved across to the western side of the lagoon and found some protection behind the reef and the small island of Innafinolhu.

The COVID crisis put Judy and Sherman Sundin’s circumnavigation on hold in the Maldives. (Courtesy The Sundins/)

Several boats successfully sought and received permission to sail to Malé and prepared to continue on their journey. Some had permits to go to the British Indian Ocean Territory in the Chagos Archipelego, while other EU-registered vessels received permission to sail to Reunion Island. As US sailors, both of those places were still closed to us. The rumor was that the Seychelles would open up on June 1, but where to after that?

Our agent was able to secure us permission to go ashore on Innafinolhu. After six weeks of limited exercise, my first walk on the island was blissful. We had turned a corner somehow, and the fact that we could once again resume sundowners on a beach felt like life had taken a turn for the better. Our conversations could be about trivial things instead of our stagnant situation.

However, a cyclone was forming in the Bay of Bengal—not that far away, but heading north. Its tail was sucking all the energy out of this side of the Indian Ocean, and we were about to get hammered. Our agent, horrified at the videos sent to him showing our tenuous anchoring conditions, immediately called the embassies on our behalf to try to get them to put pressure on the government to give us permission to move to other anchorages for our safety. It wasn’t granted, turning it into a wild week of broken rode snubbers and open-sea-passage conditions in our anchorage.

With a combination of the restricted-movement order and bad weather, our supply boat had not made it up this far north. Our supplies were dwindling. We continued to wait for news of any path to open up. The confinement and constant weather worries had surely tested our patience and our mental health.

Finally, we were given permission to move south to Malé. This had become the epicenter of COVID-19 in the Maldives, so we sailed there with some trepidation. Still, it felt wonderful to be on the move and at sea. With the assistance of our agent, we were able to resupply, collect our parts and get our medications. There are four boats remaining here in Malé. After 90 days of being in lockdown, the restrictions were lifted. We will stay here for the time being while we seek permission to go to the Seychelles. From there, we will decide where to go next: South Africa if it opens, the Med via the Suez Canal, or back across the Indian Ocean to Asia. Our uncertain travels continue.

Judy and Sherman Sundin, an Aussie and American, respectively, met while working for American Express in Sydney. They purchased Fairwinds 1 in 2012, and set sail for the Caribbean. They’ve been living aboard and exploring the world ever since.

Isolated on the Intracoastal

By Tory Salvia

When Tory Salvia set off down the ICW last winter, he hoped to see countless fine sunsets like this one. (Tory Salvia/)

On December 6, 2019, I awoke aboard my Mariner 36 sloop, Sparkle Plenty, to sun streaming into the cabin, totally unaware of the crisis that would unfold in the months ahead. Outside, a chilly Chesapeake Bay wind blew out of the south. With two crew, we soon motored out the narrow creek on the West River, about 10 miles south of Annapolis, Maryland. I contemplated the voyage ahead to Georgetown, South Carolina. There I would spend the winter in relative warmth. My plan was to return in April and resume my life.

After a rough three-day trip to Hampton, Virginia, we carried on to the Elizabeth River and into “the Ditch.” On the FM radio I heard something about “China” and “virus” but paid no attention. My focus was on bridge openings and making our designated anchorages before the early winter sunset. Our trip south was relatively uneventful except for one grounding on a mud bank that required a tow, my first ever in nearly 45 years of sailing. Soon I would be aground again.

In Georgetown, South Carolina, on December 21, I docked at Harborwalk Marina, just 100 yards off Front Street, the town’s main drag. I flew home for Christmas and returned at the end of January. By then, Wuhan, China, was starting to appear in the news with reports of a new virus. “Just another flu,” I thought.

By the end of January, the Wuhan outbreak was starting to make international news. In the US, February was a lost month. Even though the number of countries reporting the virus had exploded, locally it was business as usual. Then in early March, the country seemed to wake up. Once the focus shifted to “community spread,” I suddenly realized the virus might be here. Perhaps aboard the next transient boat? My slip mate’s boat? My boat?

Until now, our small group of liveaboards had shared drinks and cooked dinners together. As COVID-19 became a local issue, we started looking at each other with apprehension. What effect would the virus have on our plans? What about Intracoastal Waterway bridges? Would the Corps of Engineers close the Ditch? What about the hundreds of boats about to head north? Should we sail or remain in port? As public health officials called for people to stay home, I decided to remain in Georgetown through April, for my own safety and the general good. Soon marinas started closing along the ICW, local businesses shut down, and social distancing became the new mantra. Few transients passed through. Cruisers went into hunker-down survival mode.

With cases spiking in Maryland, I extended my stay in South Carolina through May. Each morning, I awoke early with plans to accomplish several tasks, but my energy quickly dissipated. I experienced what many have described as “COVID-19 malaise.” In the evenings, I walked the historic district. The streets were deserted. I had a cab deliver provisions purchased online. I did laundry at midnight. I avoided my slip mates. I wore a mask and gloves whenever I left the boat.

Once Maryland allowed recreational boating to resume in late May, it was time to return home. But my June voyage was not what I had envisioned. I had wanted a leisurely passage, visiting towns and isolated anchorages along the ICW, followed by a week or so of cruising the lower Chesapeake. But that was the pre-COVID-19 world. Now, a fast passage was in order, with limited to no external contacts. Then, suddenly, my local crewmember became unavailable. I immediately put out a crew call on my social media and crew finder sites.

It turned into a different trip for the filmmaker. (Tory Salvia/)

The first reply was from Bill Cullen, an extremely experienced sailor known for his gear talks at boat-show seminars. Our passage would be a delivery with as few outside interactions as possible; we would sail as many miles as possible during the long summer days before dropping the hook. During the entire passage, we stayed at only one marina, in Myrtle Beach. From our departure, we raised sail whenever possible. Contrary to some “experts,” you can sail or at least motorsail much of the ICW when the wind is off your stern quarter.

With two weeks of provisions stowed aboard plus extra diesel and water, we made 12-hour runs and 70-plus-mile days; consistent southerlies allowed us to keep sail up along much of the Ditch. We free-sailed the wider rivers, sounds and the Chesapeake. Sailing added 1 to 2 knots to our motoring speed and more to our morale.

It was a fast but eventful trip, so quick that my relief crew was unable to join me, but Bill carried on. Ten days out of Georgetown, we pulled into my slip in the small village of Galesville.

As I write this, I am nearing the end of my self-imposed 14-day quarantine aboard. I made this decision long ago to protect my family and friends once I returned. Outside the marina bubble in the village, most people are not wearing masks. What are they thinking? In rough weather, sailors wear PFDs to protect themselves and their crew mates. If you go overboard without a PFD, you make a rescue much more difficult, putting yourself and other crew at greater risk. Right now, because of COVID-19, we are all experiencing some very rough weather. Like PFDs, we need to wear masks to protect each other.

Once my quarantine ends, I am apprehensive about leaving the boat. I feel like a singlehander returning from a long voyage at sea, unsure of my land legs. I am already weary of constantly being on guard. I am unsure about my future. Will I remain here, or will I sail south again? The only certainty I have is that Sparkle Plenty still pulls at her dock lines.

Filmmaker Tory Salvia specializes in nautical productions and is the president of the Sailing Channel LLC.

Quiet and Connection Down Under

By Lin Pardey

Meanwhile, in Australia, Lin Pardey found the silence in Sydney Harbor spooky. (Lin Pardey /)

Cruising on,” I wrote to my family in the early days of the pandemic. “Not much has changed.” And in most ways, despite the COVID-19 restrictions here in Australia, that was true.

In mid-March, after a two-and-a-half-month layover near Melbourne to spend time with David’s first granddaughter and to welcome his first grandson, we set sail east and then north aboard his 40-foot cutter, Sahula, slowly meandering toward Queensland’s Great Barrier Reef. “Slowly” is the operative word. We didn’t want to get into the tropics before the end of the cyclone season. We enjoyed beautiful, isolated anchorages near Wilsons Promontory National Park and the excitement of crossing the shallow river bar at the coastal village of Lakes Entrance. Because we had little internet access, we enjoyed days of solitude, reading, catching up with onboard projects, and walks on shore.

Only when we ran low on provisions and headed into the town of Eden two weeks later did we learn the government was ­clamping things down to contain the virus. Self-isolation was to start the very next day. The last nonessential shops were being closed indefinitely as we walked through this normally vibrant little town. The market shelves had dozens of bare spots as I topped up our supply of fresh food. I was thankful I had ­previously done a large reprovisioning, so didn’t need toilet paper or paper towels.

We carefully read the new regulations and found no direct ­reference to people living on yachts, other than to self-isolate and go out only to exercise or buy food. As we journeyed northward, we tried to avoid shopping for groceries more than necessary and took the recommended precautions when we did. The only other times we were within 100 meters of another person was when we topped up on water and fuel.

It was three weeks after the self-isolation orders had gone into effect that we reached Sydney Harbor. And there I had a small taste of how difficult the COVID-19 restrictions were for most other people. Since it was legal to take walks ashore together for exercise purposes, we called David’s daughter, who lives in an a very small terrace house only a few miles from where we anchored. “Come on down to the park here at Blackwattle Bay. Bring Peaches (the dog) for her walk. We can stroll and talk as long as we stay 2 meters apart.” My arms actually ached from wanting to give her kids, Emily and Lachlan, hugs when we met.

Fortunately for us, Sydney Sails was considered an essential business because the crew there makes safety gear bags for the ferry fleet. Thus we were able have the boat measured and a sail fitted, then test the new nylon drifter Sahula needed. Kale, a fine marine electrician, was another whose occupation was declared essential. He did yeoman duty when we accidentally roasted our house batteries. The comings and goings of these tradesmen helped us feel little had changed as we had contact with other people.

It did feel spookily quiet on Sydney Harbor: almost no city sounds, only the occasional rumble of a truck across the normally traffic-laden bridge only a few hundred meters away from our anchorage. And almost no wakes to rock the boat as local yachts stayed tied up, and only a fifth the usual number of ferries crisscrossed the harbor.

When we went ashore for a walk, we did chat casually to half a dozen local liveaboards we passed. “As long as we spend most of our time on board, the local authorities don’t care if we move from anchorage to anchorage,” one told us as we lingered alongside in our dinghy.

The marine police in some of the ports to the north of Sydney had different interpretations of the regulations. On April 28, six weeks after the self-isolation period began, we left Sydney to continue northward. At a small market in the Pittwater region on Broken Bay (about 20 miles north of Sydney Harbor), we chatted with an American sailor who had been told he must find a mooring and not move from there until the lockdown was over. But no one approached us during the two weeks we spent in the isolated-feeling rivers and creeks of Broken Bay.

Lin was heartened when she could spruce things up down below and entertain again. (Lin Pardey /)

The American sailor was the first of almost two dozen overseas cruisers we met who were questioning their next moves. They were all stuck meandering the coast of New South Wales as Queensland closed its border to everyone other than residents. Many of these cruisers are having to fight for visa extensions to keep their stays legal. Because I hold both an American and New Zealand passport, David is a returning Queenslander, and Sahula’s hailing port is Townsville, the two of us can sail on to the Barrier Reef, then back to New Zealand.

It was also in Broken Bay that we heard what to me felt like exciting news. As of the next day, anyone in New South Wales could safely and legally have two other adults over for a visit. I immediately invited two Sydney friends to join us on board. Suddenly I realized just how much I missed entertaining, having an excuse to dream up special treats, give the boat an extra bit of sprucing up. When Ben and Di climbed on board, and Di reached out with her elbow, I began to do the same.

“No, that doesn’t feel right tonight,” Di said. Then we both shook our heads and eagerly grabbed each other in a hug. Now I knew what I had craved most of all in these strange COVID-19 days: the warmth that comes from true human contact.

[scootoaster]

Five stories of sailors who weathered COVID-19 out at sea

Storm on the ­horizon: For the Kiwi crew of <em>Telasker</em>, the dark skies served as a COVID-19 metaphor for their strange South Pacific odyssey. (Courtesy Talasker/)

Two-time circumnavigator and prolific sailing writer Lin Pardey is a longtime, cherished and regular contributor to Cruising World. This story originally featured on Cruising World.

The novel coronavirus sent the entire planet, including the sailing world, into a complete tailspin, and at least temporarily altered or even erased the very freedom we enjoy while cruising under sail. The following five COVID-19 dispatches from both near and far-flung waters are a testimony to the resiliency and fortitude of sailors everywhere, serving as snapshots of our time.

This past spring, the global pandemic resulting from the novel coronavirus upended the world—­including the cruising world—as sailors around the planet scrambled to seek safe harbors and dash together new plans even as borders and waterways slammed closed and the notion of “quarantine,” always a feature of the conclusion of a long passage, took on a whole new meaning.

There was nowhere, literally, that was not affected in some way, shape or form. Working from home here in Newport, Rhode Island, the stories began trickling in. Some of those filtering back were troubling; others were inspirational, bordering on outright heroic.

Take the case of Argentine sailor Juan Manuel Ballestero who, as reported in The New York Times, was stranded on a small island off the coast of Portugal in mid-March aboard his Ohlson 29, Skua, when the pandemic struck. Desperate to see his father, who was soon to turn 90, Ballestero decided to sail home. He was denied entry to Cape Verde to reprovision and pressed on anyway, ultimately spending 85 days at sea before reuniting with his dad in Mar del Plata, where he did receive a hero’s welcome.

Or what about the great yacht designer Rod Johnstone, one of the principals of the family-run J/Boat company. According to an account in The Royal Gazette, a Bermuda newspaper, Johnstone’s friend Jean de Fontenay was visiting the US, with his 67-foot boat, Baraka, docked on the island nation in St. George’s, when everything closed down, including all international flights. Hurricane season was approaching. What to do? Well, Johnstone, de Fontenay and two crew hopped aboard a new 33-foot J/99 and sailed from Connecticut to Bermuda. They were never allowed ashore, but a Bermudan friend left groceries in their dinghy, and the four sailors split up and doublehanded the two boats back to the States. They were not to be denied.

What follows are five more dispatches from around the globe, of sailors facing and reacting to unprecedented circumstances in this dreadful season of COVID-19. They speak for themselves. And they make us proud to be members of the community of cruising sailors.

Problems in the Pacific

By Alvah Simon

The Walker family from New Zealand had set out on a long voyage around the Pacific Rim aboard their 57-foot <em>Talasker</em>. (Courtesy Talasker/)

The best-laid plans of the cruising sailor oft times go astray. But no matter Mother Ocean’s wind or waves, tides or tantrums, bluewater sailors always knew that somewhere on that distant shore, a port of refuge awaited them. Then along came COVID-19.

Perhaps most illustrative of these dystopian times is the saga of New Zealanders Daryll and Maree Walker and their two children on board their 57-foot yacht, Talasker. They had set off on the trip of a lifetime: a clockwise voyage around the Pacific Rim, up through the islands to Japan, over to Alaska, down the West Coast and back to New Zealand via the fabled South Pacific.

Things were rolling along splendidly but, while in Micronesia, rumors of a global pandemic began to filter in. They headed straight for Guam, arriving a mere three hours before the borders closed. They hoped to push on to Japan but began to suspect that the Japanese government was underreporting COVID-19 cases because of the effect on the coming Olympics. In any event, they could not be sure that the Japanese border would not close while en route.

They made the hard decision to turn around; as it turned out, it was much harder than they could have imagined.

For added safety, they chose to voluntarily isolate on board for two weeks before departing Guam, thus depleting their supplies. They sailed to Ponape, where they were flatly refused entry. Using dwindling fuel supplies, they soldiered on to the remote Kapingamarangi Atoll. The locals were friendly but firm: no entry. Understandable when put in historical context; the Marquesas Islands had a thriving population of over 100,000 when they first allowed foreign sailors to enter with inadvertent but devastating diseases. Their numbers bottomed out at 4,000 souls.

Talasker headed south to the Solomon Islands, emailing ahead for permission to rest, refuel and resupply. Not only was this denied, but they were even refused permission to transit Solomon Islands’ waters toward another port of refuge. Then they were commanded to stop and were visited over several days by police and immigration vessels who threatened fines, jail and impoundment for ill-defined violations. After several days of fear and confusion, they were told they could proceed through Bougainville Channel. But at nearly 100 miles out, they were ordered back to Honiara. They wisely ignored these orders and pushed on toward New Caledonia.

There they were told they would be granted only 24 hours in an isolated anchorage and then must depart. They were tired, low on everything, and dangerous weather was predicted near New Zealand. “Bureaucrat” is actually a French word that roughly translates into English as “cover your butt.” Those were the “official” restrictions, but they were granted two days of glorious rest before they were even approached by officials, then given access to fuel and limited supplies, and allowed to await a safer weather window. Viva le France! Ultimately, they stayed 10 whole days before a weeklong sail to New Zealand. There, after nearly two months at sea, they gratefully dropped their lines on the immigration dock.

When their journey was derailed by COVID-19. Their voyage home was difficult but successful. (Courtesy Talasker/)

But what of the future? While Daryll said that they are raring to head out again, many cruisers are nearly crippled with uncertainty. There are presently 40 foreign vessels “trapped” in Whangarei alone because all Pacific islands and Australia have closed their borders. Many sailors who landed in New Zealand flew home to the States or Europe and now cannot return to their vessels. The New Zealand government has extended all visas and customs exemptions for foreign sailors but, frankly, many skippers feel they are in the safest place in the world and are in no hurry to depart. In fact, normally each year the town of Whangarei hosts an appreciation party for the 100 visiting yachts that contribute an estimated $20 million to the local economy. This year, however, it is the cruisers hosting the party to express their appreciation for their treatment by the town and the Kiwi government.

For local sailors, such as myself, the lockdown was fast and furious. The restrictions were so strict as to prevent me from even rowing out to my yacht to check the mooring and bilges for an agonizing six weeks. Those who were genuine liveaboards—along with those who, against government directives, fled their land homes to self-isolate on board—were given an almost hostile reception by locals in more-remote anchorages such as Great Barrier Island. The locals felt that the yachties were depleting the island’s limited supplies and unnecessarily exposing them to possible infection, and perhaps resented the appearance that while people on land were being desperately inconvenienced, the sailors seemed to be enjoying a holiday of swimming, fishing and moving from anchorage to anchorage. Finally, the police were asked to intervene.

The New Zealand Marine Association last year sent out emissaries to Fiji and Tahiti, and as far afield as Mexico and Panama, to entice cruisers toward New Zealand for the Southern Hemisphere cyclone season. Presently, 300 westbound yachts are waiting in Tahiti for the gates to open. The Whangarei Town Basin Marina receives daily inquiries from the Americas saying: “The Galapagos is closed. Can we come if it is nonstop?” Any response would be obsolete before the ink was dry because the situation is too fluid.

Soon, as a French Territory, Tahiti will open. But New Caledonia, while sharing the same status, will still require a ­14-day isolation in a hotel at the owner’s expense and then a further seven days on board without credit for time at sea.

The point is, there can be no real clarity while nations differ in pandemic strategies, bend to political and economic pressures, brace for the dreaded second wave, and await results of vaccine research, production and, undoubtedly, uneven distribution.

But take heart: By nature we cruisers are an adaptable lot. This COVID-19 crisis will test our patience, but in time we will once again escape to the boundless blue.

Two-time circumnavigator and author Alvah Simon is a contributing editor to Cruising World.

Offshore in the Blue Atlantic

By Hank Schmitt

Hank Schmitt has spent the past 15 winters aboard his Swan 48, <em>Avocation</em>, in the Caribbean. He won’t soon forget his “COVID-cruise” home to New York this past spring. (David Lyman/)

I have been fortunate to spend the past 15 winter sailing seasons in the Caribbean. My regular port of refuge is St. Maarten, with numerous flights and a high level of quality marine services. Most fellow veteran sailors thought the challenges inflicted by the one-two punch of hurricanes Maria and Irma were insufferable enough. But it turns out nobody had a pandemic plan in place from the smallest Caribbean island to world leaders. The quick shutting down of borders caught many skippers by surprise, locking many in place. Those caught at sea, as islands closed entirely, were in double trouble.

Obligations to departing charter guests in Dominica, along with confusion over the ever-changing closing dates of borders, caught me solo-sailing 180 nautical miles in 24 hours from Dominica to St. Maarten…arriving 11 hours after the island had closed. A 48-hour reprieve under Q flag only deepened the resolve of customs and border patrol to enforce the closure, which led me to Plan B: a sail to the United States Virgin Islands. I could not get into St. Maarten, but with my Swan 48, Avocation, being an America-flagged vessel, and me being an American citizen, I would be guaranteed entry.

In my mind, onboard email capability is not a necessity. So, before leaving St. Maarten, I therefore had to relay by text to friends ashore my answers to the COVID-19-related questions that US Customs was posing that were required 24 hours before arrival. After another solo overnight sail from St. Maarten to Charlotte Amalie, I dropped anchor off the Customs office located at the Blyden Ferry Terminal to clear in. No one in the office had received my pre-arrival health declaration, but no matter. Ten minutes later, I was legally welcomed back to US territory with no quarantine, no restrictions, no fee—not even a temperature check.

This is not to say that everything was normal. At the airport, the National Guard was performing temperature checks for passengers arriving by plane. The cruise-ship terminals were empty, hotels closed, charters canceled and the nearby British Virgin Islands under a no-sail edict. Seeing zero sails traversing Sir Francis Drake Channel at the height of the Caribbean sailing season was somewhat apocalyptic.

Finally having an island to shelter in place allowed me to watch from afar via The New York Times app and WhatsApp video calls as the world changed under pandemic lockdown. As the days turned to weeks that were closing in on insurance-­policy-imposed deadlines for moving to safe harbors ahead of the impending hurricane season, I was witness to the looming logistical nightmare of stranded boats within closed islands with no way for owners or crew to board. Some owners chartered planes—and in one case an entire cargo plane—to get to their boats via St. Thomas.

The group that runs the annual Salty Dawg Rally quickly pivoted to invite boats to join a loose federation of yachts departing weekly over several Sundays, helping roughly 185 boats get home. Almost all chose to listen to weather routers who decided the safest way to return to the States was through the Bahamas to Florida and up the coast. Since many were cruising couples sailing shorthanded, this seemed a safer choice. One big COVID-19 change: Sailors were setting sail shorthanded and not flying in additional crew to help.

Off the coast of St. Maarten, a patrol boat shadowed <em>Avocation</em>, making sure her skipper did not come ashore. (Hank Schmitt/)

I have made the passage from the Caribbean to New England every year since 1999. Normally I sail with a full crew of paying charter guests, but this year I decided to return doublehanded. Most years, I stay east and sail almost due north on a beam reach to Bermuda on the first stretch before making the second, more-challenging leg from Bermuda across the Gulf Stream to Newport.

This year, with a departure from Red Hook—100 miles farther west from my usual departure point—we were lucky to not have to maintain easting to get to Bermuda (which was closed anyway) and were able to sail a relaxed broad reach. I seldom set a waypoint sailing offshore, but rather try to find a comfortable and quick sailing angle for the first half of a passage. If you are within 20 or even 30 degrees of your desired course, you are OK, as long as you have a good idea of the next wind shift. It gets even more important to follow a compass course to a waypoint the last couple of days.

By the time we hit the latitude of Bermuda, we were 160 nautical miles west of the island, and had shaved 100 miles off the traditional passage. After four days of trade-wind sailing, the breeze kicked up from the northeast above Bermuda, which allowed us to crack off and sail west on a broad reach to set up our Gulf Stream crossing. When the winds went southwest a day and a half later, we were able to tack over and sail north to cross the Gulf Stream with the winds and current running in roughly the same direction. Our course was north, but we were making northeast over the ground while in the Stream. We rounded Montauk, New York, some eight and a half days out and were docked before noon, just shy of a nine-day trip dock to dock.

Now that I am home, I look back on my shortened COVID-19 Caribbean season and am trying to predict what next season will look like. Will there be the same rallying cry to return next winter or will many cruisers feel required to stay close to home as a theoretical second wave reels up? Or will more sailors than ever choose to social distance by taking off on their boats looking for safer places to shelter until a vaccine signals the all-clear? At this moment, who knows?

Veteran voyager Hank Schmitt is the founder and proprietor of Offshore Sailing Opportunities, a networking service that links boat owners with prospective crews. For more, visit its website.

Marooned in the Maldives

by Judy Sundin

After six weeks on board, a walk on the beach was pure bliss. (Courtesy The Sundins /)

We are a couple, Sherman and Judy Sundin, sailing the world on our Bristol 41, Fairwinds 1. We arrived in Uligan in the northern Maldives on March 15, with plans to continue to transit the Indian Ocean and then sail back to the southern Caribbean, completing our circumnavigation. In the three days it took to sail from Sri Lanka, so much had changed. The check-in was unusual with our temperatures being taken, but the masked and gloved officials did not come aboard.

At midnight on March 20, the Maldives closed its borders. Several boats that arrived after the closure were provided with a brief time to rest and take on fuel, food and water, but were then asked to leave the Maldives. Borders were closing like falling dominoes, and we were grateful we could officially stay put. Access to shore was prohibited, but we could swim around our boats. SIM cards for cellphones and other supplies were provided. Then we waited. As the weeks passed, our small home became even smaller: 36 steps for a round-trip spin around the deck; seven and a half steps from bow to stern belowdecks; two paces across.

We looked at our options. Tanzania was the only country open, but with our own health care concerns, we couldn’t go to a country that had basically ignored the virus, other than suggesting that herbal tea and prayer were a cure. After 20 days, we were given permission to mingle with other cruisers in the anchorage but were not granted shore access. Just how serious was this situation? How long would it last? Had the world gone mad?

Lots of questions, no answers.

COVID-19 cases started to explode in the capital city of Malé. A city of approximately 220,000 people on an island measuring a little over 3 square miles, it is one of the most densely populated cities on Earth. In the meantime, behind the scenes, many of our fellow cruisers were toiling away tirelessly, organizing supply deliveries and searching for alternative anchorages that we might get permission to go to. With a strict no-movement order in place, the latter was not getting any traction.

We once again made contact with our respective embassies to see if they could seek permission for us to return to Malaysia. No luck. We had to stay put. Yet the southwest monsoon season was approaching. The weather was clearly turning and the wind shifting, so we moved across to the western side of the lagoon and found some protection behind the reef and the small island of Innafinolhu.

The COVID crisis put Judy and Sherman Sundin’s circumnavigation on hold in the Maldives. (Courtesy The Sundins/)

Several boats successfully sought and received permission to sail to Malé and prepared to continue on their journey. Some had permits to go to the British Indian Ocean Territory in the Chagos Archipelego, while other EU-registered vessels received permission to sail to Reunion Island. As US sailors, both of those places were still closed to us. The rumor was that the Seychelles would open up on June 1, but where to after that?

Our agent was able to secure us permission to go ashore on Innafinolhu. After six weeks of limited exercise, my first walk on the island was blissful. We had turned a corner somehow, and the fact that we could once again resume sundowners on a beach felt like life had taken a turn for the better. Our conversations could be about trivial things instead of our stagnant situation.

However, a cyclone was forming in the Bay of Bengal—not that far away, but heading north. Its tail was sucking all the energy out of this side of the Indian Ocean, and we were about to get hammered. Our agent, horrified at the videos sent to him showing our tenuous anchoring conditions, immediately called the embassies on our behalf to try to get them to put pressure on the government to give us permission to move to other anchorages for our safety. It wasn’t granted, turning it into a wild week of broken rode snubbers and open-sea-passage conditions in our anchorage.

With a combination of the restricted-movement order and bad weather, our supply boat had not made it up this far north. Our supplies were dwindling. We continued to wait for news of any path to open up. The confinement and constant weather worries had surely tested our patience and our mental health.

Finally, we were given permission to move south to Malé. This had become the epicenter of COVID-19 in the Maldives, so we sailed there with some trepidation. Still, it felt wonderful to be on the move and at sea. With the assistance of our agent, we were able to resupply, collect our parts and get our medications. There are four boats remaining here in Malé. After 90 days of being in lockdown, the restrictions were lifted. We will stay here for the time being while we seek permission to go to the Seychelles. From there, we will decide where to go next: South Africa if it opens, the Med via the Suez Canal, or back across the Indian Ocean to Asia. Our uncertain travels continue.

Judy and Sherman Sundin, an Aussie and American, respectively, met while working for American Express in Sydney. They purchased Fairwinds 1 in 2012, and set sail for the Caribbean. They’ve been living aboard and exploring the world ever since.

Isolated on the Intracoastal

By Tory Salvia

When Tory Salvia set off down the ICW last winter, he hoped to see countless fine sunsets like this one. (Tory Salvia/)

On December 6, 2019, I awoke aboard my Mariner 36 sloop, Sparkle Plenty, to sun streaming into the cabin, totally unaware of the crisis that would unfold in the months ahead. Outside, a chilly Chesapeake Bay wind blew out of the south. With two crew, we soon motored out the narrow creek on the West River, about 10 miles south of Annapolis, Maryland. I contemplated the voyage ahead to Georgetown, South Carolina. There I would spend the winter in relative warmth. My plan was to return in April and resume my life.

After a rough three-day trip to Hampton, Virginia, we carried on to the Elizabeth River and into “the Ditch.” On the FM radio I heard something about “China” and “virus” but paid no attention. My focus was on bridge openings and making our designated anchorages before the early winter sunset. Our trip south was relatively uneventful except for one grounding on a mud bank that required a tow, my first ever in nearly 45 years of sailing. Soon I would be aground again.

In Georgetown, South Carolina, on December 21, I docked at Harborwalk Marina, just 100 yards off Front Street, the town’s main drag. I flew home for Christmas and returned at the end of January. By then, Wuhan, China, was starting to appear in the news with reports of a new virus. “Just another flu,” I thought.

By the end of January, the Wuhan outbreak was starting to make international news. In the US, February was a lost month. Even though the number of countries reporting the virus had exploded, locally it was business as usual. Then in early March, the country seemed to wake up. Once the focus shifted to “community spread,” I suddenly realized the virus might be here. Perhaps aboard the next transient boat? My slip mate’s boat? My boat?

Until now, our small group of liveaboards had shared drinks and cooked dinners together. As COVID-19 became a local issue, we started looking at each other with apprehension. What effect would the virus have on our plans? What about Intracoastal Waterway bridges? Would the Corps of Engineers close the Ditch? What about the hundreds of boats about to head north? Should we sail or remain in port? As public health officials called for people to stay home, I decided to remain in Georgetown through April, for my own safety and the general good. Soon marinas started closing along the ICW, local businesses shut down, and social distancing became the new mantra. Few transients passed through. Cruisers went into hunker-down survival mode.

With cases spiking in Maryland, I extended my stay in South Carolina through May. Each morning, I awoke early with plans to accomplish several tasks, but my energy quickly dissipated. I experienced what many have described as “COVID-19 malaise.” In the evenings, I walked the historic district. The streets were deserted. I had a cab deliver provisions purchased online. I did laundry at midnight. I avoided my slip mates. I wore a mask and gloves whenever I left the boat.

Once Maryland allowed recreational boating to resume in late May, it was time to return home. But my June voyage was not what I had envisioned. I had wanted a leisurely passage, visiting towns and isolated anchorages along the ICW, followed by a week or so of cruising the lower Chesapeake. But that was the pre-COVID-19 world. Now, a fast passage was in order, with limited to no external contacts. Then, suddenly, my local crewmember became unavailable. I immediately put out a crew call on my social media and crew finder sites.

It turned into a different trip for the filmmaker. (Tory Salvia/)

The first reply was from Bill Cullen, an extremely experienced sailor known for his gear talks at boat-show seminars. Our passage would be a delivery with as few outside interactions as possible; we would sail as many miles as possible during the long summer days before dropping the hook. During the entire passage, we stayed at only one marina, in Myrtle Beach. From our departure, we raised sail whenever possible. Contrary to some “experts,” you can sail or at least motorsail much of the ICW when the wind is off your stern quarter.

With two weeks of provisions stowed aboard plus extra diesel and water, we made 12-hour runs and 70-plus-mile days; consistent southerlies allowed us to keep sail up along much of the Ditch. We free-sailed the wider rivers, sounds and the Chesapeake. Sailing added 1 to 2 knots to our motoring speed and more to our morale.

It was a fast but eventful trip, so quick that my relief crew was unable to join me, but Bill carried on. Ten days out of Georgetown, we pulled into my slip in the small village of Galesville.

As I write this, I am nearing the end of my self-imposed 14-day quarantine aboard. I made this decision long ago to protect my family and friends once I returned. Outside the marina bubble in the village, most people are not wearing masks. What are they thinking? In rough weather, sailors wear PFDs to protect themselves and their crew mates. If you go overboard without a PFD, you make a rescue much more difficult, putting yourself and other crew at greater risk. Right now, because of COVID-19, we are all experiencing some very rough weather. Like PFDs, we need to wear masks to protect each other.

Once my quarantine ends, I am apprehensive about leaving the boat. I feel like a singlehander returning from a long voyage at sea, unsure of my land legs. I am already weary of constantly being on guard. I am unsure about my future. Will I remain here, or will I sail south again? The only certainty I have is that Sparkle Plenty still pulls at her dock lines.

Filmmaker Tory Salvia specializes in nautical productions and is the president of the Sailing Channel LLC.

Quiet and Connection Down Under

By Lin Pardey

Meanwhile, in Australia, Lin Pardey found the silence in Sydney Harbor spooky. (Lin Pardey /)

Cruising on,” I wrote to my family in the early days of the pandemic. “Not much has changed.” And in most ways, despite the COVID-19 restrictions here in Australia, that was true.

In mid-March, after a two-and-a-half-month layover near Melbourne to spend time with David’s first granddaughter and to welcome his first grandson, we set sail east and then north aboard his 40-foot cutter, Sahula, slowly meandering toward Queensland’s Great Barrier Reef. “Slowly” is the operative word. We didn’t want to get into the tropics before the end of the cyclone season. We enjoyed beautiful, isolated anchorages near Wilsons Promontory National Park and the excitement of crossing the shallow river bar at the coastal village of Lakes Entrance. Because we had little internet access, we enjoyed days of solitude, reading, catching up with onboard projects, and walks on shore.

Only when we ran low on provisions and headed into the town of Eden two weeks later did we learn the government was ­clamping things down to contain the virus. Self-isolation was to start the very next day. The last nonessential shops were being closed indefinitely as we walked through this normally vibrant little town. The market shelves had dozens of bare spots as I topped up our supply of fresh food. I was thankful I had ­previously done a large reprovisioning, so didn’t need toilet paper or paper towels.

We carefully read the new regulations and found no direct ­reference to people living on yachts, other than to self-isolate and go out only to exercise or buy food. As we journeyed northward, we tried to avoid shopping for groceries more than necessary and took the recommended precautions when we did. The only other times we were within 100 meters of another person was when we topped up on water and fuel.

It was three weeks after the self-isolation orders had gone into effect that we reached Sydney Harbor. And there I had a small taste of how difficult the COVID-19 restrictions were for most other people. Since it was legal to take walks ashore together for exercise purposes, we called David’s daughter, who lives in an a very small terrace house only a few miles from where we anchored. “Come on down to the park here at Blackwattle Bay. Bring Peaches (the dog) for her walk. We can stroll and talk as long as we stay 2 meters apart.” My arms actually ached from wanting to give her kids, Emily and Lachlan, hugs when we met.

Fortunately for us, Sydney Sails was considered an essential business because the crew there makes safety gear bags for the ferry fleet. Thus we were able have the boat measured and a sail fitted, then test the new nylon drifter Sahula needed. Kale, a fine marine electrician, was another whose occupation was declared essential. He did yeoman duty when we accidentally roasted our house batteries. The comings and goings of these tradesmen helped us feel little had changed as we had contact with other people.

It did feel spookily quiet on Sydney Harbor: almost no city sounds, only the occasional rumble of a truck across the normally traffic-laden bridge only a few hundred meters away from our anchorage. And almost no wakes to rock the boat as local yachts stayed tied up, and only a fifth the usual number of ferries crisscrossed the harbor.

When we went ashore for a walk, we did chat casually to half a dozen local liveaboards we passed. “As long as we spend most of our time on board, the local authorities don’t care if we move from anchorage to anchorage,” one told us as we lingered alongside in our dinghy.

The marine police in some of the ports to the north of Sydney had different interpretations of the regulations. On April 28, six weeks after the self-isolation period began, we left Sydney to continue northward. At a small market in the Pittwater region on Broken Bay (about 20 miles north of Sydney Harbor), we chatted with an American sailor who had been told he must find a mooring and not move from there until the lockdown was over. But no one approached us during the two weeks we spent in the isolated-feeling rivers and creeks of Broken Bay.

Lin was heartened when she could spruce things up down below and entertain again. (Lin Pardey /)

The American sailor was the first of almost two dozen overseas cruisers we met who were questioning their next moves. They were all stuck meandering the coast of New South Wales as Queensland closed its border to everyone other than residents. Many of these cruisers are having to fight for visa extensions to keep their stays legal. Because I hold both an American and New Zealand passport, David is a returning Queenslander, and Sahula’s hailing port is Townsville, the two of us can sail on to the Barrier Reef, then back to New Zealand.

It was also in Broken Bay that we heard what to me felt like exciting news. As of the next day, anyone in New South Wales could safely and legally have two other adults over for a visit. I immediately invited two Sydney friends to join us on board. Suddenly I realized just how much I missed entertaining, having an excuse to dream up special treats, give the boat an extra bit of sprucing up. When Ben and Di climbed on board, and Di reached out with her elbow, I began to do the same.

“No, that doesn’t feel right tonight,” Di said. Then we both shook our heads and eagerly grabbed each other in a hug. Now I knew what I had craved most of all in these strange COVID-19 days: the warmth that comes from true human contact.

[pussymagicuniverse]

A Small Contemplation of the First Harvest Season

Six years ago, my sons and I were on what used to be our annual mid-August visit to north Wales, where my best friend lives. This was just under a year before I met my husband, before I would have even imagined having my daughters (I wanted more children, but I didn’t think it was in the stars or on the cards). We – my friend, and me, and our combined children – went for regular walks in a large park local to her house at the time, and I happened to take photos of the landscape, and my boys. And the energy they radiated felt so purely like the month itself, if such a thing is possible.

The Irish pagan festival of Lughnasadh is celebrated on the last day of July or the first of August, depending on your source. Some call it Lammas, which is a lot more English and a bit more Christian… but it’s also ok if it’s just the beginning of August. Growing up in a village in rural Ohio, our county fair was always at the end of July, and it’s around this time when my grandpa would start bringing vegetables in from his huge garden for canning – all based on the first harvests. Before I knew I was a witch, or understood any specifics about paganism, I was living a somewhat pagan life – because that’s a country upbringing for you (and the word pagan does come from paganus, meaning ‘villager’ or ‘rustic’): whatever the earth is doing, you’re right there with her.

I love it because it’s the perfect blend of the end of summer and very first nudges of autumn after what is always a seemingly endless July – the month starts out with the warm glow of Leo and ends with the abundance of earthy Virgo. While the world in the northern hemisphere sees the equinox, around 20-22 September, as the beginning of autumn, the season starts to turn in mid-August for me. It’s always been the same, wherever I’ve lived, but it does feel especially true in Britain. I don’t believe the seasons can be confined to pinpointed days, and my body goes by this odd clock, like I’m dangling somewhere between the earth and sky and subject to their whims. (And I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.)

With inner work, which also inevitably affects our outer work, this is a time when I think about the months since the last Lughnasadh, what projects and situations can now be gathered in, celebrated, or even what feels complete, and what needs a little more work, or time to mature. This August it’ll be a year since I was welcomed to the fold by the lovely coven here at Pussy Magic, and this place has become another home. It’ll be a year since I finished a book that is now about to be published.

And years after the trip to Wales with the summer-autumn orchard photos, I wrote a poem about one of them. It’s a picture of my son, walking through grass taller than he was, examining and communicating with the young apple trees. I’ll leave you with the photo, and the poem, and the question – what is ready for picking and collecting right now, and what do you need to tend a little longer so it can ripen and reach its potential? I’ll be considering the same for this new moon, at this start of the harvest.

Bruton Park 

Summer hangs over  the edge of the orchard

grasping at autumn’s scarf-ends  and ripening apples        coax you from each adolescent branch. 

My boy departs       from the path: 

the hood up on his black sweatshirt a druid to scale creeping amongst the poppet trees— he respects, inspects. 

Hands in pockets, he returns – face glowing like a harvest sun. 

•

First published in Kate’s collection, The saint of milk and flames, Rhythm & Bones Press, 2019.

Born in Southern Ohio, but settled in the UK since 1999, Kate is a writer, witch, editor and mother of five. She is the author of several poetry pamphlets, and the founding editor of four web journals and a micropress.

Her witchcraft is a blend of her great-grandmother's Appalachian ways and the Anglo-Celtic craft of the country she now calls home – though she incorporates tarot, astrology, and her ancestors, plus music, film, books, and many other things into her practice. Her spiritual life is best described as queer Christopagan with emphasis on the feminine and the natural world. She believes magic is everywhere.

Find Kate on twitter and IG - @mskateybelle - and at her website.