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Feeding Starving Cape Verdeans with Santa Gee

Cape Verdean Fishing Village

Yesterday marked the anniversary of our completed circumnavigation. And the relationships made during our 4.5 year adventure continue to this day. Such as with “Santa Gee” in Cape Verde. He’s a story of a(nother) COVID hero and my own GoFundMe campaign link to support him:

COVID19 in Cape Verde

As of March 17, 2020

Confirmed cases: 328

Active cases: 239

Deaths: 3

14 MAY 2020

President of the Republic decides to extend the State of Emergency on the island of Santiago for the fourth time.

The President of the Republic, Jorge Carlos Fonseca, decided to extend the state of emergency for another 15 days on the island of Santiago, to be in effect from 00:00 on May 15 until midnight on May 29. 

“While on the island of Boa Vista the epidemic is controlled, with no new positive cases registered in the last three weeks, the situation on the island of Santiago, especially in Praia, is different, characterized by a daily increase in new cases in more of two dozen neighborhoods.”

The president of Cape Verde has done much good work to save his country from COVID-19. Unfortunately, the poor in Cape Verde’s capital city, although not dying so much from COVID-19, are apparently at risk of dying from hunger.

THE STORY OF CACHUPA & SANTA GEE

The weather on Mother’s Day, Sunday May 10th, was very warm in Calabasas. We’re not quick to spend money on air conditioning. Instead, we open our second-story bedroom window to vent in the cooler night air. We didn’t expect our neighbor to wake us at 3 am with his loud mobile phone conversation. His front door and driveway face our bedroom window. Carrying on loudly for about 10 minutes between his front door and shiny black Suburban SUV, he was oblivious to his rude conduct. Finally, just as I was preparing to step out onto the balcony to ask him to be quiet, he entered his home for good. But the damage was done. Leslie and I were awake and, calmly as I might try, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. Normally I do, but not that night. Trying to be still for Leslie, for some unknown random reason, I acquired an intense craving for cachupa, the national dish of Cape Verde. Cachupa is so delicious that I had it for breakfast nearly everyday the 2 weeks we were there in late November, a year and half ago.

Cachupa, Cape Verde’s national dish

I couldn’t fall asleep. Not wishing to disturb Leslie and with a strong hankering for ‘cachupa, I slipped out of bed and headed downstairs. Seeing my cell phone, I picked it up and saw a minutes-old Messenger text from an acquaintance in Cape Verde. We had met on a beach, randomly starting a conversation together, and had maintained simple contact between us ever since. He goes by the name, Kci Gee. His text asked how we were doing. I said we were all fine, how about him? He explained that with the lockdown, as a day laborer, he was unable to work—no work, no food. That his family, a wife and four kids, was desperate for food and his son needed medical attention for what appeared to be an infection on his upper lip. He had no money. “Only God rite now.”

After several questions, I learned that grocery stores were open, but food prices, as a result of the lockdown were higher, and that customers were required to show cash before being allowed to enter. I also learned that Kci Gee had no bank account (hand-to-mouth living means no savings), but that Western Union and MoneyGram were open. Due to our travels, my wife and I had not earned an income for 7 years. We left our jobs to sail around the world for 4.5 years with our two young sons aboard our used 42-foot sailboat. We lived off the savings we’d set aside for the trip. With our savings nearly gone, we are now dipping into our retirement funds to cover us until we can launch new careers for ourselves. COVID19 hasn’t helped, but we are still better off than most. Our friends, family, and government have generously pitched-in to lessen our financial stress while we retrain and regroup. And we are well accustomed to living frugally.

Mindelo, Sao Vicente

We’ve all seen those scam emails from Western Africa asking for money to get someone out of jail, etc. This was not the first time Kci Gee asked for financial assistance. But this request felt different. Like the CVV security code on the back of a credit card, I felt the ‘cachupa’ craving meant something…combined with the fact that my neighbor woke me up around the same time Kci Gee was reaching out to me. It seemed more than coincidence.

Kci Gee didn’t want to put a number on his request, “Cant tell u the amount cuz I dont know ur standing just want u to help me with wat ever u can to get my kid to a doctor n to buy us food for the time we are i door.” After some more back and forth, I learned $10 feeds his family for a day. Later I learned, the more money he receives, the lower the daily cost because more money affords buying in volume. With that number in my mind, I told him it was still early in the morning in California and that when my wife woke up, I’d present her with the proposition, but I reminded him, we didn’t have jobs, and we were living off savings… no promises. He wrote, “Let God touch her heart.”

Later that morning during our daily power walk, I recounted to her my early morning story, cachupa and all. She too saw the ‘cachupa’ as a sign and agreed to help, but how much? I suggested $150, $145 for two weeks of food and $5 for MoneyGram’s fee. She agreed, but felt a bit guilty spending money that others gave to help us. However, in our hearts the ‘cachupa’ sign seemed to confirm it was the right thing to do, that Kci Gee’s request had somehow been “authenticated.”

Eric Rigney, Mindelo Marina, Cape Verde

Note to the reader: English exists in many forms. I don’t know Liberian English. I don’t know what education is like in a West African slum ghetto where people work 14 hours for $0.65 and kids drop out of 10th grade because their families can’t afford the $150 high school semester fee. When Kci Gee apologizes for his English, I tell him I read his text, not with my eyes, but with my heart, and it’s clear. I offer you Kci Gee’s texts as he sent them to me: typos, abbreviations, and grammar; unedited except in which ones I chose to share. So grateful is he and locked down with little else to do, he sent a lot more texts than I present here. Reading his texts can, on occasion be a small challenge but one I find well worth the little extra effort and I enjoy his flavor of English.

Kci Gee was ecstatic:

“sirGod blbless u n family”

“For remembering us in time like this”

“Am so greatful ne n my family”

“Thanks sir”

“U are so kind in time like this we are so happy da tomorrow we will eat better”

“I will never forget this,u n ur family are my greatest hero”

“Am so happy fill with joy,dont even knew were to turn again went God just brought u online for me to ask u,thanks sir”

He placed emojis of tearful expressions in between his texts.

A little while later, I sent him the wire transfer receipt. It was after business hours there. He would have to wait until the next morning. But, I knew he was relieved, knowing that come dawn, help would be there. He texted:

“Thank u my friend n brother thanks also to ur wife,a woman with a golden heart who care for human,God will bless u all n my greeting to ur kids as well thanks my friend n my hero,will never forget this in my life,I had no where to turn but God brought u in the picture to safe life,wat u n ur wife did,is that u people just safe a hole family from hungry,am tellin u the true.God will protect n keep ur family safe from all evil.we are greatful.”

I shared this text with my 89-year-old uncle and a friend of mine. They both wanted to match our $150 donation. My friend took the money from part of his unemployment check, “He needs it more than me.” I let Kci Gee know more money would be there in the morning, three times the amount we discussed.

“Sir hunger want to kill us”

“U are a great help my friend”

“Don’t even know how much to tell u n ur family thanks”

“We all are in tears,for the wonderful thin u n ur wife did for us today”

“God is inside u”

“U got me crying”

“Wow”

“God is working yesterday we ate bread n water soup to sleep”

“My brother wat u are doin only God will pay u dubble”

“We were dieing n u came n save us”

“U are more than a friend form today u my uncle,I bless God for u n ur wife n kids ur family n friend who have a heart to help us in time like this”

“Many people are hungry n keeping in door cuz they dont have anywhere to get it from”

“U are a blessing”

“Wow”

“Cant stop crying oooo”

“U are a different kind of person I see in u”

“Ur story will be different”

“More Grace n blessing for u”

“Ur family will always see joy,gud health.prospertiy and long life”

“Amen to that uncle”

“Wow my life have just change”

“I dont know how special I will be first thin tomorrow moring in the bank”

“My God u are so gud”

A little backstory: we met Kci Gee in Cape Verde. He spoke English, which was unusual for most Cape Verdeans. They speak Portuguese or Cape Verdian Creole. We learned Kci Gee was from Liberia, a former American ‘Colony’ purchased for the purpose of providing freed slaves a place to live that would be less prejudiced and more free for former Africans or people of African decent than were they to continue to live in the US. Kci Gee discussed in the briefest terms the poverty of his upbringing and how he ultimately wanted to return to relieve some of the pressure his impoverished community was experiencing. He had recently worked with an American woman who got involved in philanthropy after visiting Liberia and saw she could make a difference. He helped her direct and get distributed used clothing from the USA to the slums of Monrovia. By the time we met Kci Gee, she had passed away, ending his ability to direct aid to struggling communities in his homeland.

I wrote back, “Although it arrives in the form of money, what my uncle, my friend, and my wife and I are sending your family is love. You are loved because you love so many, especially those in your homeland. God is just giving you back a little of what you’ve already given so much to your homeland. You’re a good man.” Having traveled the world, I advised Kci Gee, “Please be careful that no one robs you at MoneyGram? Be smart. Be safe.”

He replied, “Okay thank uncle I will be careful my family are crying dancing because of wat ur just did”

“I am tears”

“Wow”

“Man I dont know how to say this”

“My heart is full of joy u make a lot of people happy n u ar giving us food for about two months we can go”

“God bless u my uncle ur wife ur uncle n family who choose to put smile on our faces”

Again he sent a sobbing faced emoji.

He continued to thank us, wishing us good night. It was late there. The next morning, he retrieved the money. I asked if he had slept better knowing help was on its way. He said, no, all he could think about was being early at the bank. He arrived at 6 a.m. and was given number 49. At 9 a.m., he got his money, went home, collected his kids, and they all went to the grocery store. With cash in hand, they were allowed into the store to shop. He took pictures. His kids were smiling, happy. He allowed them to pick a treat. He took more pictures. Then he took his son to get medical attention. Treated, he returned home and took a picture of the $100USD he set aside for emergencies, in case he needed it more urgently for something non-food related, like an unexpected medical emergency. All this happened 6000 miles away as we slept comfortably in our California beds. During our morning walk together, before checking in with Kci Gee, I told Leslie “I’ll bet Kci Gee couldn’t keep all that food for himself, knowing his neighbors were starving. I bet he shared some with them.” When I checked back, I learned he indeed had fed some of his neighbors as well. This impressed me. Throughout our extensive travels I learned that a starving man has a greater chance of a meal from a poor household than from a wealthy one. Those who have often fear more will be asked, and rightly so…give an inch and they take a mile. But what if, asked an inch, he gave a foot? What happens when you give someone in need more than they imagined? What happens then? Well, the answer is: they share it.

“Everybody asking me who u people are”

“And I told them u are the gud smaritan”

“Told them all wat u n ur family just did in a day n half to save a lot of people from dieing from hunger”

“Thank u sir”

“Cant stop saying thanks cuz there few people in a million that will do wat u n ur family just did”

“U put a smile on my kids faces n my neighbor’s as well,u think is small but u have save life n because of this God will keep u all save n give ur long life”

So there you have it. In giving more to Kci Gee, we not only helped him help his family, we helped him help his neighbors. Or as he described it, “put a smile on” his neighbors’ faces.

Kci Gee’s kids first time in a grocery store in weeks, picking their favorite treat

When he wrote that I was a miracle, I needed to correct him. I described to him the ‘cachupa’ story…about the neighbor waking me up so early, tasting ‘cachupa’ in mouth, seeing his message, etc. And I finished by writing, “So I am not the miracle. God heard your prayers and in a clever way suggested I help you. God is the miracle, not me. Take care. And it is you who blesses us. You and your joy make us feel better in our world that is struggling. Stay well.”

What happened next, his response, I did not expect. Not knowing that Kci Gee graduated from a US church sponsored Bible training center in Monrovia, Liberia 20 years earlier, apparently the telling of my story confirmed something deep within him. He asked if the story I told was true. I confirmed that it was. He chose to take my story as divine intervention, as a holy calling from God to him to pursue his greatest ambition. After much praise and gratitude toward me, “Am greatful I didn’t have a dan in my pocket. No food was in my house no money was there to buy my son drugs,but wat ur did get me on n I left with 100usd in my hand keep just incase.” He writes, “After this pandemic we are working together am goin back to Liberia to pland a church,to preach the gosple, and u goin to be the general overseers u n ur wife,I will I make up my mind”

“I sure is the time to do this”

“I want u n ur wife to do that for God to have a church in Africa that can bring people to the true gosple of Jesus in preaching the true n goin against corruption that people practice now n than in churches”

“I know from the way u talk to me just for a few hours I see in u that u want to a change in this world but how? Used the word of God,dont used politics my brother african politics are different n bad”

Stunned, I didn’t reply right away.

He texted, “Say somethin”

I thought, “Uh oh, he wants us to sign up for way more.” Was this the “mile?” That was not our calling. As much as I was impressed by Kci Gee’s new found purpose, it was his, not ours. Instead of being upset, I chose to feel honored that he wanted to share his passion with me. And I would share with him that my passion takes me in a different direction. I replied: “You are correct. I hope to make a difference in the world, a very big difference. But my way will be different than yours. I’m in the process of making plans to create media messaging models and programs that teach communities how to teach their members to improve their lives in simple ways, giving them real information that works in their real circumstances to solve real problems truthfully. You’re a good man. You will do good work to make your world better. We will probably work together in a few years, but in different ways than you may be thinking right now. Your church will be good for you and especially for those you touch.”

He thanked me with profuse gratitude before signing off to make his dinner. He expressed no disappointment in not getting his “mile.” He expressed gratitude for his dinner. So maybe the math is really: asked an inch, gave a foot, generated a mile of gratitude…for us both, and his neighbors. Gratitude equals happiness. I like that math.

So impressed was I about Kci Gee and his story, our story, that I thought the experience might help a friend of mine, a youth minister here in Los Angeles. I thought he might find it useful, a story he might want to fold into his ministry as a teaching tool, a practical demonstration of fraternity and altruism. Indeed, David was touched and impressed by the number of ways one act of kindness was manifesting into multiple acts of kindness. He remarked how key it was that the annoying neighbor woke me up. I responded, “I guess some gifts are wrapped in anger.” My friend said that not only was he going to share the story with his congregation, but he immediately transferred another $150 into my account to give to Kci-Gee. At this point, my verbal brain raced like Kci Gee’s, “Wow, this means a lot to me, and even more to Kci-Gee. He doesn’t even know more help is coming. And to come from a minister will mean even more to him.” Since Kci Gee was flush with food and reserve money for the moment, and knowing how my minister friend devotes his life works to helping others (his day job is representing the mayor’s office, communicating within a specific district as the mayor’s representative and reporting back to the mayor as his eyes and ears), before he even knew the money was coming, while he was still asleep, I texted Kci Gee, requesting that he use David’s money to feed his neighbors, those most in need. What happened that next morning, the power of love that multiplied went beyond my expectations. The money we’d sent the day before, helped Kci Gee feed his family. The money we sent this time, fed his soul, as well as the empty bellies of many more. For the first time in a long time, Kci Gee had purpose. Purpose gave him pride, gave his life greater meaning.

Purchased food supplies prior to sorting and bagging, milk, rice, corn, and vegetable oil

Giving Kci Gee the opportunity to help others in need was more powerful, perhaps more fulfilling to him than was feeding his own family. Without us asking, he took pictures of all the food he had purchased and a video of him blessing the food, “in the name of Jesus.” He bagged the food, one bag per family, 11 families, 3 days worth of food: chicken, rice, corn, milk, and cooking oil.

…and chicken too.

He took pictures and again videotaped his work in appreciation for our trust and the good work it afforded. He also sent pictures of the receipts, explaining he spent all but $10, set aside for the taxi to drive him and his grocery bundles to the needy households and bus fare back. As pleased as we were to have helped him feed and care for his family, the power and feeling of love that emanated from his voice will forever stay in my heart. Forget about miles, Kci Gee’s love for himself and his neighbors brought me to the moon and back.

Bagged and ready for delivery to 11 unsuspecting families in need.

I couldn’t keep quiet the “love story” from my donating group of friends, family and I were experiencing, this story of love multiplied. Sharing it with yet another friend, he generously offered to match our donation. I wired it again to Kci Gee, and again asked him to go to work to help more neighbors, and again he sent pictures and a video, this time spending money on gasoline for a friend’s minivan instead of a taxi and bus. This way, he could take more time making his deliveries and his needy friend received some help too.

Bags packed and ready for delivery to 12 more unsuspecting families.

“…wat u have done also have brought many people to know me n to thank God for using me in this position,off helping people….”

“Thanks a lot u got people blessing me”

“And I told them that the sender is in the United states no me”

“I am so happy for wat u did u n ur family”

“Thank u”

“Brother”

“I already started making me famous in my community every where I pass people talkin about me the help u people send”

“U got me working n loving it”

“This is wat I love doing beat”

“Thank u forgiving me that opportunity”

“I will never in my life let u down or betray u”

“I make that vow to me n God”

I started identifying Kci Gee by a new nickname, “Santa Gee.” He didn’t understand the reference. He didn’t know of Santa Claus. I explained to him the concept of Santa in the USA, about a man we see as Father Christmas who magically delivers bags of toys to good children all around the world, similarly to his delivering food to families in need, without their asking, with nothing asked in exchange. He wrote:

“That gu of u”

“Thanks for that”

“I love it”

“Love the name”

“Will keep it”

There are apparently no Cape Verde state sponsored support programs available. The country is not set up that way. Wondering what more could be done to effectively reach more Cape Verdean families in need, I asked Santa Gee more questions. He figured there are about 100 families, households with 2-6 children that are starving right now in his immediate area. With bulk purchasing, he thinks $100 would feed a family for a month, preventing starvation, $150 would feed them full. So $10,000 keeps about 500-600 people from starvation for a month. Once the lockdown ends and day labors, housekeepers, and nannies are allowed to resume work, the financial assistance would no longer be necessary. In the meantime, it would keep them alive.

“Bad” snacks taste so “good” especially not knowing when you’d ever have it again

Santa Gee texts, “Many see me n asking went”

“They didn’t get”

“I told them to wait”

“Thins will be fine have to talk to my boss”

I wrote Santa Gee that too many in the USA are in need as well. Many do not have homes. Some families live in bushes or in hidden corners in our cities. He apologized, stating he is in Africa and he can only help Africans right now. I told him, I just wanted him to know that US people have problems too, and as much as they might wish, cannot afford to help him right now. He said, any help that is given is a blessing. I reminded him that I was awoken at 3 a.m. with the taste of ‘cachupa’ in my mouth, not a hamburger and French fries. So, I reminded him that I did what I did because I think I was supposed to. I wrote him, “God apparently listens to the prayers of Santa Gee,” so I told him to pray for the 100 families and that I would do what I could, asking friends to help, in hopes that we might help God answer those prayers.

SANTA GEE’S BIOGRAPHY

Anthony Tugbeh Geegbae, born April 2, 1979, created his musician’s name by combining his devotion to his favorite musical group, K-Ci and Jojo with his abbreviated last name, Gee, so Kci Gee. With the recent history of our relationship, his exuberant altruistic giving nature, I call him “Santa Gee.”

Born just north of Monrovia, Liberia’s capital, in the ghetto slum of New Kru, Point4 Zimbabwe, rife with drugs, prostitution, physical abuse, crime, poverty, and hunger. His widowed paternal grandmother, Margaret Munah Blidi, or just “Grandma” as he called her, raised her abandoned infant grandson, Anthony. Years earlier, her husband died of illness. In a ghetto like New Kru, illnesses were not diagnosed. No one could afford medical attention and going to the nearby Government Hospital was a generally a one-way trip because the hospital was too poor to treat any one. The desperately ill went there to die more comfortably. All Grandma had was her small green painted two-room corrugated tin “house,” constructed around bare earth: no electricity, running water, cooking gas, toilet, bed, or flooring. Instead, a single kerosene light, water bucketed from the communal well, charcoal burning stove for cooking, a communal outhouse, and a length of cloth spread over the dirt floor as his bed. He wore his clothes to not feel much the cold from the ground. Each morning, he rolled his “bed,” keeping it in a plastic bag to guard from getting damp when it rained and keep out insects. He and grandma used a bucket at night for peeing, dumping it in the public toilet the next morning. Nighttime was no time to be walking to the public toilet, a hole with a tin box and two horizontal sticks to sit on. Once the “toilet” was nearly full, the community covered it with the dirt left over from the new hole. This was how his grandmother and he lived together for over 20 years, until her death at 67 years of age, when Anthony was 21.

Visiting New Kru in 2015, Santa Gee sees his birthplace, Grandma Margaret’s two-room home.

Grandma, when weather and her health permitted, made and sold typical Liberian doughnuts to local school children and laborers outside her tin shack, on a table just outside her door. Each morning around 5 am, she started the cake dough, built the charcoal fire, and heated a large bowl of vegetable oil for frying.  Well before 7 a.m., she began frying her circular cake-batter doughnuts, roughly the size of an adult’s closed hand with a hole in the center, pulled from the hot oil and touched on both sides with granulated sugar. Around 7 am, the children, around 20-25 of them, ages 1-15, stopped to buy them on their way to school. This was their breakfast, holding them over until noon. Returning home, they bought another doughnut, their lunch. Laborers came too, morning, noon, and night. In the early evening, around 5 pm, older kids and adults, coming home from day of hustling work, stopped in front of her home to buy her fresh doughnuts. She wasn’t alone. Several like her made and sold the same doughnuts. She sold doughnuts each day until she had no more customers, usually by 7 or 8 at night, a 14-hour workday. When it rained, she sold few. Breathing constant frying oil vapors paid a toll on Grandma’s health. Sometimes she was too ill to cook. On those days, a young Anthony would go to school hungry. As he grew more capable, Anthony helped with the fire, fetching water, cleaning the house (emptying the evening’s toilet bowl), and on occasion, selling the doughnuts. She earned about 100-150 Liberian dollars a day ($0.50 -$0.75 USD), about $225USD a year—not enough to keep teenaged Anthony in high school. He attended school from age 4, until Anthony dropped out of 10th grade, unable to pay the $150/semester fee. At 63, Grandma’s poor health prevented her from making any more doughnuts. Anthony learned to “hustle” odd jobs, day labor mostly.

New Kru is a hard place to live, a hard place within which to grow up. Hand-to-mouth subsistence, poverty, drugs, crime, violence, disease, and Liberia’s constant civil wars and coups converting young boys into soldiers. Grandma wouldn’t let her beloved grandson out from her sight for longer than 2 minutes. She adored her grandson and did what she could to keep him from harms way. Her greatest joy in life was a grandmother’s act of tenderness. She loved to bath her beautiful grandson, wringing the soapy water (when there was soap) from her washing cloth and into the large bathing bowl, the same bowl she used to mix dough. Bathing her grandson imparted in her great feelings of love and adoration for her precious Anthony: a simple joyous act for a simple grandmother.

Anthony was the only one of her 7 grandchildren that Grandma Margaret would ever care for. Grandma’s son, Anthony’s father, was a dockworker. A self-described “player,” Anthony’s dad fathered 2 more sons and 4 sisters, each from different mothers. Sometimes his father would attempt to house all his children under one roof. When, against his grandmother’s wishes, Anthony moved in with his dad, Anthony clearly recalls harsh treatment by his step-mothers, and harsher still, from his dad. He recalls his father beating him for smiling. On his own, back to Grandma he went, and there was nothing his dad could say to Grandma to convince her to let Anthony go. Anthony had a special spirit, she knew it, and she would protect it with all her might.

Anthony’s mother was not better, arguably worse. For it oft said, the opposite of love is not anger, but indifference. Similarly to Anthony’s father, from four different fathers, she birthed 3 more boys and 2 girls. Anthony’s father is one of five men with whom she bore children. Both father and mother lived in the same slum as Anthony and his half-siblings. He was 15 the first time he saw his mother, a teacher of children, ages 1-10. She’d ignored him, evading any questions he might have had. He said he saw regret in her eyes. Whether she regretted abandoning her 3-month-old baby or regretted the life her son Anthony represented, he does not know.

Around age 9-10, the first Liberian Civil War broke out. Hunger ravaged the slums. Neighbors died. Seven years later, as the war neared its end, the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL) under Prince Johnson aggressively conscripted young men to soldier. April 6, 1996, having just turned 17, Anthony and others like him sought refuge 1000 km away, in neighboring Ivory Coast, entering as refugees. His grandmother, after years of inhaling heated vegetable oil vapors, was too weak to travel. She did not want to leave her home and her familiar neighborhood. It pained Anthony to imagine her alone. As soon as it was safe, 9 months later, Anthony returned to care for his grandmother.

Around this time, Anthony was growing closer to his Christian faith, feeling touched by what he heard and read to be the message of Christ. Grandma Margaret was a devout Christian and raised Anthony accordingly. Anthony felt compelled by God, a calling, wanting to teach and spread his understanding to his community, especially those closer to his age. In 1999, a friend of his, a young man, recently completed the first year of a three-year Bible Training program. He thought Anthony would benefit greatly from the program and urged him to pursue it. Nothing else in his life attracted Anthony’s ambitions as much. The only thing preventing him from enrolling was money. Appreciating Anthony’s predicament, his friend approached his own mother who, after meeting Anthony, offered to cover his first year’s tuition. Anthony was eager. At age 20, he began his study at Living Water Ministries’ Monrovia Bible Training Center, meeting Saturdays between 8 am and 3 pm in Logan Town on Bushrod Island. At the same time, his friend started his second year. Anthony completed the first year, the youngest in his class, earning an “Ambassador Class” certificate. With no way to fund himself and not wanting his friend’s mother to feel he was ungrateful for what she had already given him, Anthony didn’t ask and she didn’t offer to fund subsequent, more advanced Bible training years. Feeling empowered with his training, Anthony started his own youth ministry in his New Kru community, meeting in open spaces. Having grown up his whole life surrounded by poverty, disease, war with a second one starting, corrupt leaders, drugs, prostitution, and crime, one can easily understand why he recognizes his living circumstances as the very apocalyptic events of civilization’s collapse. Over his 20 years, he felt he was experiencing first hand the prophecies taught in Bible Training; the Biblical foretelling of “the second coming of Christ.” So he called his ministry; “God’s End Times Evangelist Youth Ministry” with plans to spread his ministry across all 15 Liberia counties. He slowly built a following, feeling empowered by the ground he was gaining, when his world imploded. Grandmother, too poor to seek medical treatment, died. The center of his world, the one person that always believed in him, his moral compass, and his emotional gravity . . . was gone.

Year 2000, Grandma gone, disconnected from his parents, with Liberia’s Second Civil War is in full swing, Anthony finds no reason to stay in Liberia, and at age 21, leaves Liberia again to take refuge in Ivory Coast.

In 2000, Ivory Coast was experiencing war tensions of its own. Not wanting to be caught up in anyone’s war, he left two months after arriving. From Ivory Coast, he made his way north to Senegal. Not speaking French, Senegal’s official language, made hustling day labor difficult. After 8 months, Anthony made his way into English-speaking Gambia, a western African country surrounding the Gambia River in the center of Senegal’s Atlantic coast. Gambia offered stability and peace. For two years he worked, mostly as a day laborer. He made a friend from Ghana who had lived in Cape Verde. He told Anthony that with his soccer skills, he could easily get a paying job as a soccer player on a club team in the Cape Verde Islands. With that goal in mind, after a lot of hustling, Anthony saved enough for the $400USD plane flight to Cape Verde. In 2003, he left the refuge of Gambia for the promise of greater financial security and doing something he loved. Soon after he arrived, he realized the reality was different. Yet, finding himself further from African wars, he decided to make Cape Verde his home and has lived there ever since.

As they say, you can take the man out of New Kru, but you can’t take New Kru out of the man. Anthony explains, “I will ever feel really hunger u will under why people committed crimes.” Translated: If you ever experience real hunger, you’ll understand why people chose crime.

Today, Anthony lives in Praia, the capital city of Cape Verde Islands, a former Portuguese colony, part of the Atlantic Slave Triangle used as a maritime weigh station during the African slave trade. Today, Anthony makes a living as a day laborer and, on occasion, as a singer. A mutual friend unintentionally introduced him to Isabella, expressive and smart. It was love at first sight. She recognized his potential and his good heart, and set aside his hard upbringing. They married and have been together ever since. Their four children all attend public school and keep the couple busy. Jennifer (13), the quiet type, is in the 8th grade. Margaret (11) named after her great-grandmother, is a cheerful optimist. “Jr,” (10) like his namesake, loves to play soccer and is quite the dancer. Not to be outdone, Hectoria (7) dances too and loves to sing as much as her daddy does. Her favorite singer is Soraia Ramos. Anthony says of all his children, Hectoria resembles mostly his grandmother; her facial features, her mannerisms, and even her walk, all remind him of his beloved grandmother. Working as a day labor and musician to provide for his family, Anthony’s ultimate goal is to return to New Kru, build a church, and help his ghetto neighbors live better, healthier lives, . . . better than his grandmother and he did.

Santa Gee’s 3 youngest children, pre-COVID-19

ERIC & LESLIE RIGNEY MEET KCI GEE

February 2015, Eric and Leslie left Ventura, California aboard their 42-foot sailboat to sail around the world with their 11 and 13-year-old sons. They returned a year ago, May 2019, with having experienced no major storms, no major injuries or illnesses, no life-threatening breakdowns, and no piracy. Eric’s thorough and diligent, nearly daily, planning paid off. They visited 41 countries, 6 continents, crossing 3 oceans, 10 seas, 3 canals, and the pirate zone between Somalia and Yemen. In short, they introduced themselves to the world, working tight quarters together as a family, delving good-heartedly with an open mind into each circumstance and culture that their water-bound adventure provided. Cape Verde was one of those stops. It’s where they spent Thanksgiving 2018 before setting off across the Atlantic, from Africa to South America, their third and final ocean crossing.

Marina Mindelo, Sao Vicente, Cape Verde, Nov 2018

Cape Verde is a former Portuguese colony, the last African stop for newly captured West Africans on their torturous way to the Americas to be sold as slaves. It’s where Portuguese slave traders sorted and counted people like livestock, provisioning their ships for the transoceanic crossing. South America, the Caribbean, or North America, . . . the destination was unknown to the “cargo.” The end of slavery left newly “freed” West Africans to fend for themselves in the Cape Verde Islands. Several Portuguese remained, making it their home as well, their place of business. The mix created a unique cultural blend, dance, music, art, and culinary staples, cachupa being one. Eventually, Cape Verde gained independence.

Rue de Lisboa buildings viewed from Mercado Municpal

For trans-oceanic sailors crossing the Atlantic, east to west, the Canary and the Cape Verde Islands are the two main jumping off points. Each year, nearly a hundred boats leave from Cape Verde. In part, because every year, three different rallies, organized groupings of individual privately owned and crewed boats, set their fleets to depart on a specified date from the Cape Verdean island of São Vicente, from Mindelo Marina. The groups are mostly separated by language: a French-speaking and two English-speaking groups. Departing from Mindelo, the cruisers arrive at or near St. Lucia in the Caribbean. Planning to land instead in South America, in French Guiana, the Rigneys did not participate in a rally. Waiting for an updated credit card had them in port 10-days longer than planned, plenty of time to tour Sao Vicente and enjoy cachupa and Cape Verdean molasses-based grogue, a locally distilled spirit. Servers appreciated Eric’s enthusiastic grin as he ordered his served in combination with their sweet native lime & molasses ponche (punch) liquer, a cocktail he dubbed, “corps mort” which is French for mooring buoy, but translates more directly to “dead body” which is how his limbs felt after imbibing one (his smile frequently encouraged a more generous pour).

Fishing Boats, Sao Pedro, Sao Vicente, Cape Verde

On one of their morning walks, Leslie and Eric met a friendly English-speaking local near a public beach workout area. Cape Verdeans typically speak a Portuguese creole. He, coming originally from Liberia, wanted to practice his English and was curious about them and their trip. Learning they were from the US, he told a story about a woman from the US who helped him service an impoverished neighborhood in his Liberian homeland. She organized shipments of used clothes and he organized their distribution.  She since passed away, but he suggested maybe they could some day work together to continue her good work. And he, like Leslie, was a singer. They shared Facebook contacts and bid farewell. Days later, the Rigneys left Cape Verde, keeping not only their memories, but also loose contact with their new acquaintance: Kci Gee.

Rue de Lisboa View from the Old Capital building
Atlantic sailing, sv Kandu sunset

Lost Two Anchors in Puerto Escondido, Mexico

Eric:

I’ve anchored cruising sailboats probably close to a thousand times. Although this time was unusual from the get go, but nothing glared at me with significant warning. Puerto Escondido was shown on both sets of electronic charts as a designated anchorage and the two older cruising guides described it as a place to visit, so I felt assured, although our trusted website guru Noonsite.com curiously was silent. Oddities began to present themselves. 1) the position dedicated as the anchorage was occupied by more than 50 pangas on individual mooring buoys. A local fisherman, fluent in English, approached us on his beautifully painted bright green panga advising us no mooring buoys were public. 2) the depths far exceeded the charts’ descriptions; 12 feet was now 80, and 15 was now 150. Thinking our depth sounder was on the fritz, I had Bryce drop a lead line to verify depth. “Line” is a nautical term used to describe loose rope on a boat, no matter the diameter. The sounder was accurate. 3) we were adjacent to one of Mexico’s primo surf sites, on purpose, and the current swell supported it. 4) with all the pangas on moorings and little room between them and the surf, we had to anchor outside their mooring grounds in 80 feet deep waters. Not our favorite circumstance. And, in addition to our bow anchor, we’d have to deploy our stern anchor to prevent us from swinging into the pangas since would have to let out so much chain due to the deepness of the anchorage.

The onshore breeze made anchoring that afternoon easy. We picked our spot, brought Kandu’sbow around, pointing her in the wind, then idled in reverse while in 85 feet of water, Bryce dropped our 65-pound Mantus anchor, the same anchor we faithfully deployed all around the world (an anchor few other long-distance cruising boats possess but wished they did, if only they knew how great it was). Bryce let out 150 feet of chain before we tested whether it would hold us. Most anchors need a chain to depth scope ratio of 3:1 to test, be we’ve found that the Mantus will grab at 2:1.

Mantus anchor

Once satisfied, we drifted back deploying a total of 240 feet of new high-tensile marine chain. Several types of marine chain exist, mostly all are steel galvanized with a zinc coating to protect it from prematurely rusting. Through our travels, we’ve learned that the French and Australians typically anchor with 3:1 scope, 4:1 in a blow. Americans, Brits, and Germans anchor 5:1 standard, and 7:1 in a blow. But at a depth of 85’ on a sharply rising seabed combined with the weight of 240’ of chain, we felt secure with 4:1. A rising sea bottom meant that the depth decreased dramatically, improving our ratio should we drift closer to shore, and such an angle advantaged us as well. As is our practice, Bryce attached our Mantus chain hook and nylon bridle, but with 240’ of chain deployed, we were a little too close to shore to let out all 30 feet of the bridle, deploying only half.

Our primary anchor is attached to all chain, 300’ in total. To prevent the chain pounding that can occur when a boat bow dips and rises, we attach a nylon rope to act as a shock absorber. It’s called a “snubber.” Wet nylon stretches more than dry, and the longer the nylon line the greater the stretch as well. We felt we had enough nylon in the water to give us the desired stretch. A bridle provides additional benefits in that two lines are attached, one from both sides of the bow, centering the pull forward off the bow, distributing the load, and adding security in the event one side should fray and give way, having the second to hold us still.

With our bow anchor secure, we set about the task of deploying the stern anchor, something seldom needed in most anchorages and therefore something we only seldom have done. We were not far from shore. Waves broke on the beige sand beach directly behind us, beach-goers Boogie boarding in the surf. To put out our stern anchor, Bryce and I inflated and lowered our dinghy, a task in and of itself, but one we are very accustomed to. With Leslie’s help too, the dinghy was launched in short order and our small, 3.3 hp outboard mounted to its transom. Seat and oars installed and with Kandu’s engine turned on, I boarded the dinghy, ready to receive and deploy our stern anchor. As agreed, Bryce monitored the outgoing line. “Leslie, reverse idle to port.”

Unlike the steel of our bow anchor, our stern anchor, a Fortress is made of aluminum. It’s the only anchor I know of made of such a light alloy, but that’s precisely the reason I like it as my stern anchor. I can easily “throw” it over board with minimal damage to the dinghy or myself. The proximity to shore and the greater than normal depth of the sea bottom made it impossible for us to first deploy the stern anchor from deck – a technic accomplished by traveling further forward to drop the bow anchor, and then pulling back in on the stern anchor line. Under our current circumstances, we needed to transport the 16-pound anchor and 50 feet of chain to the drop point, “toss” the anchor and chain in without damaging our dinghy, like pulling off an oar or puncturing something, and then have someone else on board Kandu take up the slack from the poop deck hoping it sets quickly. The make of our aluminum anchor, the Fortress, does this very well.

Fortress aluminum anchor

Over the next two days, we had to re-anchor the stern because the surf kept moving our anchor. Each time we brought up the anchor was challenging but we were able to pull up the stern anchor twice successfully. Finally, the third day it stuck. In that case, we anchored it much further away, almost at a 45-degree angle from the boat, directly in the surf.

Puerto Escondido surf right next to Kandu

The day before we were planning to leave this famous Mexican surf spot, a charter sailboat showed up, anchored for four hours, tried to pull up his anchor and couldn’t. He called two different scuba divers to free up his anchor and they both gave him the same reply, “No, I’m not going to do it, because it’s swallowed up by the sand and anything I do will be erased in a second by more falling sand. The only thing you can do is cut your anchor.” His anchor had mostly nylon hooked to little chain. I was hopeful that with our experience with the stern anchor and the fact that our fore anchor was all chain, we’d be successful.

Kandu anchored in Puerto Escondido, Mexico.

Bryce:

“Let’s go Trent” said Dad with determination. Initially, Dad and Trent paddled out in the dinghy to pull up the stern line and anchor while I was in charge of monitoring the line, the release and pulling the line/chain back in. Mom was monitoring the helm. “All good.” “Still good,” I yelled as I studied a fishing panga a little distance away to check the swell movements: whether the up and down movements were gradual or quick – the quicker movements indicated especially large incoming waves. “Still good,” I yelled every minute as I continued the pattern of letting the line out, and then pulling it in as some of the chain was released from the sand. “Outside set,” I yelled, and the two quickly abandoned their tugging in the surf and rowed to safety. This repeated at least five or six times when dad declared: “I’m exhausted, you need to take over with Trent.” As with Dad, Trent monitored the line and chain while I paddled out overtop the anchor which was directly in the break of crashing waters. I was worried about sinking and/or damaging the dinghy with too much pressure. When I grabbed ahold of the chain, due to the swell, I had to release or pull-in how much I had: swell decrease = slack, swell increase = the dinghy flying over top of the anchor, like when you spear a whale and it suddenly takes off. I placed my feet as if getting ready for a car crash to lock myself in. I was getting ready for a tug of war, holding on tightly letting the upward motion of the dinghy do the heavy lifting of the anchor. My position in the boat was far more secure than Trent’s because I was holding onto the anchor chain. Poor Trent was being thrashed around in the back of the dinghy like a malfunctioning carousel. Up, down, whipping all around. At one point, I only saw Trent’s legs hanging onto the back transom, and no Trent. Busy holding the chain I heard behind me: “Hey Bryce, I just fell in the water,” while lifting himself up pushing against the two ends of the dinghy. Trent’s torso and head had been completely doused. He looked quite disheveled. Both of us depleted, that was the last time we tried lifting the anchor with the dinghy. But still not giving up while rowing ashore, I decided that I would scope out the anchor with a mask and snorkel.

Bryce Rigney ready to swim ashore after boarding the waves at Playa Escondido.

Dad and I rowed back out with the dinghy bringing up the line and chain as we went in order to attach a buoy, a floating marker. That was needed in order for me to find the anchor once dad dropped the line. I jumped into the pitch black with snorkel and mask and waited for the stirred-up sand to dissipate. Plunging down into the water holding the lead line, my goal was to see if I could touch the anchor. Once I got past all the floating sand, due to the moonlight and bioluminescence I could see pretty far…like there were stars under water, Van Gogh’s starry night! At the bottom of the chain, I couldn’t see or feel the anchor at all and every time I tried to unbury the sand, I would have to go up for breath. Then returning back down via the lead line just 2 minutes later, my unburied work was gone. I was so frustrated. I felt like all my hard work was for nothing…and I couldn’t change the situation. Like building a big Lego spaceship, while bringing it to your parents to show it off, you trip and drop it.

We figured there was forty-eight feet of chain with two feet remaining. The new plan was to pull up the slack as much as possible and during overnight’s largest swell we had experienced up to that point, the tugging of the chain by the boat would eventually pull the anchor out of the sand. At half past midnight, we went to bed exhausted.

The next morning around 7:00 am, we’d hoped to see the aft line slack, but no, the aft line was tighter than ever. I jumped back down into the water to see, and what I discovered was definitely not inspiring. I told Dad and Trent floating nearby in the dinghy, “We’re so screwed! That anchor is buried even deeper than last night because of the crazy swell we had during the night.” Due to the unbelievable current switches, the chain was buried an extra foot and I couldn’t even unbury the hook holding the buoy marker. Instead, I untied the buoy, leaving the entire marker line behind. I swam back to the boat while Trent and Dad in the dinghy, lifted up the chain and unattached the shackle holding the nylon line to the chain. We ended-up leaving all the 50 feet of aft chain plus the anchor. This whole business took about 45 minutes. We really didn’t want to lose our anchor, but we needed to get busy pulling up the forward anchor in order to depart that day. Trent’s flight out of Zihuatenejo was booked…we had a deadline.

Kandu’s aft positioned toward the beach of Puerto Escondido.

Dad was still hopeful that we could bring up the forward anchor because ours was attached to chain, not nylon line. I remember dad saying: “We have to at least try to pull-up the anchor!” However, we had been anchored there for a week…not just four hours!! I wasn’t very hopeful.

Leslie:

After 4 hours of painstakingly raising chain inch by inch, Eric and Bryce working together the entire time in the hot sun, concluded that it was a lost cause. “In the last 4 hours we’ve brought up just 150 feet of chain and it is no longer coming up. The tension is just too intense. The continued pressure will damage the boat,” declared Eric. Regrettably, he pulled out the bolt cutters and hewed the chain in two. We lost 2 anchors, our stern Fortress anchor and our fabulous 65 lb Mantus anchor attached to 130 feet of expensive new chain, plus 12 hours of concerted effort. Darn, darn, darn. However, on the positive side, during our two-day motor to Ixtapa Marina pointing into the swell, we benefitted from a substantially lighter bow!

Bolt cutters posed to cut Kandu lose from the chain.

Fortunately, we have 3 more anchors aboard. In Ixtapa, just before departing for Cabo, Eric and Bryce hooked-up and situated our secondary bow anchor (now our primary anchor), a Plow anchor, in a matter of minutes to line and chain – not Eric’s preference, but good enough to get us home. It took 45 minutes for them to prep the adequate but much heavier aft Danforth anchor for the stern. We also have a 95 lb fisherman’s anchor stored in the bilge to use for massive storms, which fortunately we have never needed.

Danforth anchor on Kandu

Plow anchor on the bow of Kandu

Example of a very large Fisherman’s anchor

Sail the Wind you Have, Not the Wind You Want!

During our early travels in a moment of crisis, Eric made his way to the mast and had a moment with the powers that be. A message came to him in his mind:

“Sail the wind you have, not the wind you want!”

Very recently, Eric was talking with some close friends about this message. These friends are equestrian lovers – there is a similar idea related to riding horses:

“Ride the horse you’re on, not someone else’s.”

The message Eric received has been an important one aboard Kandu for all four of us. Crew RigneysKandu holds onto that idea along with two others: the Sea Bee motto, “We Kandu!” and the Boy Scout Motto, “Be Prepared!” along with a strong understanding that “Change is Constant.

While recently helping my parents move from their home in Oakland, in conversation with an older gentleman, I recited Eric’s phrase “Sail the wind you have, not the wind you want,” and he immediately started to recite the following poem:

Tis the Set of the Sail: One Ship Sails East

But to every mind there openeth,
A way, and way, and away,
A high soul climbs the highway,
And the low soul gropes the low,
And in between on the misty flats,
The rest drift to and fro.

But to every man there openeth,
A high way and a low,
And every mind decideth,
The way his soul shall go.

One ship sails East,
And another West,
By the self-same winds that blow,
‘Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales,
That tells the way we go.

Like the winds of the sea
Are the waves of time,
As we journey along through life,
‘Tis the set of the soul,
That determines the goal,
And not the calm or the strife.

A similar message rocks and rolls: “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try some time, you just might find, you get what you need.” –The Rolling Stones
Beyond the notions mentioned above, certainly many others exist that depict a similar concept, the same perspective.  “Sail the Wind you Have, Not the Wind you Want,” original in the manner in which it was learned, remains a powerful approach while the four of us Rigneys build our new lives in California.

Bryce Rigney enjoying an open ocean sunset aboard sv Kandu.

Southern Mexico’s Immigration Crisis by Eric Rigney

I apologize in advance for my soap box moment. Hearing local perspectives is a benefit of travel.

Exploring Southern Mexico near the Guatemalan border, the southern gateway into North America, we hear from locals their current immigration concerns. Apparently agriculture in this region depends on Guatemalan illegal immigration for harvests and households depend on them as nannies, housekeepers, and more. Poorer Mexicans prefer the ease of welfare over the lower paying seasonal farm work or menial domestic care positions. Those Mexicans who do take jobs like these are characterized as less dependable, too often finding reasons why they can’t make it to work some days. Guatemalans in particular share similar values and traditions with the people of Chiapas. A trust bond and working relationship has developed over decades of this symbiotic practice.

Two Mexicans fishing in Puerto Chiapas channel

Over the past 2 years, the character of illegal immigration has apparently changed dramatically in Southern Mexico. Immigrants from Africa via Brazil and other South American countries, immigrants from northern South America, and Cubans have flooded the region. Mexicans don’t know the values and culture of these new illegal immigrants. Never before have they seen so many Africans and Maroons moving through or into their region, most, except for the Cubans and Venezuelans, don’t speak Spanish. But this is not what concerns them. What concerns Southern Mexicans are the “caravans,” waves of El Salvadorian and Honduran immigrants raised on gangland thievery and violence. They attack Mexican police and soldiers who block them from crossing the borders. International pressures caused the current Mexican administration to step aside their police & military and allow the caravans, 9 so far, to enter unevaluated. The dress, tattoos, and language of too many of these immigrants indicate gang members. Towns that had little to no crime are now seeing it. “Protection money” and other mafioso-type payment practices are growing. Hoodlums roam the streets at night, mugging, breaking-in, and stealing. Locals are baffled how their federal government can allow this easily identifiable criminal element to invade Mexico unfettered. When the first caravans came, locals stood by with offers of water and blankets for the families. Now when a caravan enters, locals lock their doors.
As we get closer to California, I’ve been reading more US & British news media. I don’t recall any pointing to the Southern Mexico experience, a warning call to all of North America, something so obvious to those who live on this important international frontier. It reminds me of the myopia that often afflicts nations’ news preferences. Not to belittle other illegal immigration concerns and programs in play, but even here, Southern Mexico offers advice to their powerful US neighbor: instead of spending billions on a mechanical barrier, develop and enforce greater procedures, like Germany today absorbing Syrian refugees (“Show me your papers.”), and really enforce those processes and laws, laws that may already exist within the US and/or may need to be established, and illegal immigration will drop dramatically. Simple principles of supply and demand they say. Crossing illegally into another country, a person only makes such sacrifices knowing they have the likelihood of getting a decent job. If employers, even individual households, were held accountable to the employment laws, illegal immigration into the US would practically die. But just as Southern Mexico depends on illegal Guatemalan immigrants, so does the US depend on illegal Mexican immigrants. Thus enforcement is not put in play. No wall will stop this dynamic, our Southern Mexican friends say. “Just listen to President Trump’s advice,” as they play a college commencement address YouTube video of the President encouraging graduates to overcome any and all obstacles in meeting their economic goals, even a concrete barrier. And if the US is not going to enforce employment laws, and if illegal immigrants are allowed to enter, know from Southern Mexico’s experience, recognizing a gang member is easy, and they don’t cross rivers or walk through the desert, they pass through check points.

Thought I’d share what I found to be a fascinating, for me, a less-heard, perspective from my new Mexican brothers and sisters. Having visited many wonderful countries these past two years, I’ve grown even fonder of my amazing neighbor. Mexican food? Don’t even get me started…

Tamales….mmmm good!

Hand-made Mexican corn tortillas…yum!

Leslie’s Letters: Old Haunts and New

Bill Kohut Bonjour from Alsace. How timely and professional the Alsace posts are.

We are at the Hubert’s ghost house and will soon visit Colmar.

Bill and Annie

Chers Oncle Bill et Tante Annie,

You two are so busy running around Alsace, it’s amazing you had a moment to take time to read our Alsatian posts. However, I thought you two might enjoy them considering you’re in Alsace right now seeing all the lovely people we so happily visited last July! Our Alsace memories are still very clear and I am enjoying catching a few moments of your family fun there as displayed on your Facebook account.

The Hubert’s ghost isn’t bothering you, is it? hehe When we were there, I was quietly resting upstairs, stretched out on the modern Ikea bed, and I felt the sheet over me jostle abruptly. I strongly felt a presence and spoke out loud to it that I knew it was there and to go away. Unbeknownst to me, at nighttime, Bryce was in the upstairs bathroom video chatting with a friend, and the lights went out; the switch actually turned-off. Bryce got up and turned the light switch back on, then sat back down on the closed toilet. The light switch turned off again. To his friend Cory, he said “Hey dude, I think there’s an actual ghost here!” Bryce got up and turned the lights on a second time – this time they stayed on. After those two incidents, the subject of a ghost haunting the house was brought up to Brigitte – she confirmed that there have been many such incidents and that the house has a ghost. Neither Bryce nor I were aware of this history before the two incidents happened, so we weren’t inclined to fabricate weird tales. Thinking maybe it was all in my head, I didn’t think much of my incident until Bryce mentioned his. Funny business!

Hubert Family home in Merkviller-Peschelbraun

Presently, we are precariously anchored in Playa Escondido’s very deep fishing port which is located next to some of the best surf in the country, hence the reason why we’re here. The entire port is filled with a minimum 100 colorful fishing pangas attached to moorings or beached…this makes it very difficult for boats like 20-ton Kandu, which normally put out a safe 5 to 1 scope, to anchor without actually being caught in the active surf break and hitting the smaller boats on much shorter leashes.

Colorful fishing and tourist pangas of Puerto Escondido, Mexico

Anchored on the outside of the small port, our forward anchor is at a depth of 85 feet. These last two mornings we had to readjust our aft anchor to keep us pointing into the swell as that anchor is slowly slipping due to the sharp beach drop-off and the substantial current and wave action. Fortunately, our forward anchor is holding fine. Of course, we are not complaining, simply explaining. Such is a small price to pay for being in an active, very pretty place – a local’s hangout.

Restaurant umbrellas galore at Playa Escondido.

We much prefer this type of atmosphere for any length of time to a beautiful solitary bay. City people to the core, hearing blaring emergency vehicles at the wee hours of the morning doesn’t bother us. At seven in the morning, listening to happy voices enjoying the beach surf mixed with the raucous sounds of wild birds waking up, is an absolute pleasure.

Surfers and boogie boarders enjoying Playa Escondido’s wave action.

Bryce is headed-off for the day to the southern end of the long beach, two-mile walk, to catch the best surf at the point. Turns out there are numerous international surfers here, about 20 competing for the best waves. Yesterday, Bryce said he was the most advanced surfer except for one guy.

Bryce Rigney ready to swim back to Kandu after boarding the waves at Playa Escondido.

We are looking forward to having Trent with us starting Monday through the following Monday. Bryce has been pining for his best friend, so we decided to celebrate Easter all-together here in Puerto Escondido. Nice!

Kandu’s Yanmar engine has been running ever so faithfully. Eric and Bryce painstakingly polished all the diesel in the tanks before departing Chiapas Marina on the border of Mexico and Guatemala because while arriving there, the engine started to struggle due to dirty fuel. The fuel polisher you assembled for us in Raiatea functioned perfectly.

Kandu’s fuel polisher and transfer pump system

Thank goodness because we will be running the engine from here on out – all the way home preferably when there is no wind and ducking into bays when there is.

Uncle Bill…forever Kandu’s shipwright! We couldn’t have done it without you!

As you know, the prevailing wind and current is southerly – we’re bashing back to California. So far, so good though. Eric and a good friend of ours acting as our weather guru, have been studiously following the wind. Since departing Panama, we’ve mostly avoided contrary weather, making for generally smooth motoring. We want to avoid beating as much for our health as the health of the boat. Don’t need to be dealing with lengthy expensive repairs at the end of our adventure.

So glad you all are having a fabulous time together in picturesque Alsace…albeit you’re feeling a bit colder than when we were there last July!

Big hugs,

Leslie

Eric Rigney having fun in the surf of Playa Escondido, Mexico.

Leslie Rigney in her stride along the Beach Escondido, Mexico.

 

 

Panama Canal Quest – Part III, Kandu’s Rodeo

Returning from our instructive two-day stint as volunteer line-handlers, we quickly went into preparation, not only for the canal transit, but also for our 4-day crossing to Costa Rica and beyond. Eric and Bryce rearranged exterior gear (extra anchors and outboard motor) to clear Kandu’s topside and provide easier access. They also obtained enough diesel to last through the Canal, into northern Costa Rica, and eventually southern Mexico.

Food preparation we learned was a very important aspect of the transit as it’s a requirement that we furnish quality hot meals to the two advisors and our professional line handlers (2 extra young hungry men), including sealed water-bottles (water from boat tanks could harbor unintended bacteria) plus the ‘quality’ meals needed to include meat, i.e.: breakfasts with eggs and sausage. Because I was also acting as a line handler (Remember: we were required to have 4 handlers plus the captain), I heavily provisioned and pre-cooked several dishes (as Captain Bill Broyle had done) before disembarking from Shelter Bay Marina.

Our rented lines and fenders arrived the day before our departure, giving us plenty of time to set them up. In fact, our passage through the locks would be rather prosaic having already motored through the locks on the same make of boat – Tayana V42’. And unlike our last experience, little wind was predicted to shove us around.

Transit day 1, fully prepared to leave the marina and start our adventure, at noon we welcomed aboard our two hired line handlers. Upon our request, we were thrilled to have Santiago Zorrilla join us. As instructed by our transit agent, we casted off our dock lines around 1:00 pm, left the marina, anchored in the bay off the yellow buoy, and notified the Port Authority of our readiness. They responded with our advisor’s expected arrival time.

Kandu greeting our first advisors on the Caribbean side of the Panama Canal.

Two hours later we received not one, but two, advisors: a trainer and his trainee. “Two for the price of one,” the senior advisor proclaimed with a kindly grin. Once aboard and introduced, we awaited permission to proceed. The advisors combed over their documentation, a list of all the ships transiting the canal that day. Over their walkie-talkie radios, they were told which commercial ship would be our ‘lock-buddy’ and at what time we needed to be at the first lock.

Captain Eric Rigney helms ready!

The advisors kindly asked us to weigh anchor and head quickly to the bridge, several miles away. Having done all this before, but with less wind interference and with two experienced professional line-handlers, a relaxed mood pervaded onboard. We knew the next challenge would be just past the bridge where we’d perform the ‘dance of the raft.’ 

It wasn’t until our anchors were up and we were in motion did we see who our rafting buddy-boats would be: two French catamarans. Would we be the center boat flanked by cats, or would we be on the end? Only time would tell. As we passed the bridge, approaching the first of three locks, with no pesky winds pushing us in strange directions, we were calmly instructed to raft up with the larger cat in the middle. First the little blue cat rafted to the port side of the large white cat. Their line-handlers were not as skilled as ours, and this took a bit of time. The fact that the little blue cat had tires instead of fenders indicated they were on a budget. But we had time. Being large and sturdy, the middle catamaran easily powered and steered the two, holding position as we gently came up to her starboard side and rafted.

Kandu rafted and ready for the Gatun Locks.

Once all were secured into a single raft, I heard the familiar voice of the same advisor that had so adeptly guided our raft with Captain Bill. Our circumstances couldn’t have been more superb. As he instructed the three captains, but mostly the center cat captain, the raft proceeded directly into the locks behind our commercial ‘lock-buddy’ ship. Messenger lines were cast, caught, and tied to our rented dock line bowlines without ado.

Lock line handler running the messenger line down the lock.

The canal workers walked along the lock chamber at our forward pace, holding the other end of the messenger lines. On the advisor’s signal, the lock workers pulled their messenger lines up and with them, our extra-long dock lines as our line-handlers eased them out. Once the bowline of the dock line was draped over the bollard, our line-handlers, one forward and one aft, quickly took in the slack and secured their respective lines. Our line handlers, Santiago and Juan, were in full control, so Bryce and I were able to take videos and pictures to capture the moment.

Lock line handler having secured our bowline around the canal bollard.

Santiago Zorrilla securing Kandu’s bow.

Bryce Rigney transiting the Panama Canal on sv Kandu.

As the water level in the chamber raised, Santiago and Juan compensated by tightening the loosing dock lines, keeping the raft in the middle of the lock. Captain Eric and our advisors hardly had anything to do!

This sequence repeated itself two more times before we exited the third and final of the Gatun locks.

Kandu and crew waiting fo their lock-buddy commercial ship in Pedro Miguel Lock.

Fortunately this time, we had plenty of daylight left to enjoy a bit of Lake Gatun as we motored to the over-night mooring buoy. Surrounded by lush greenery, Lake Gatun is a peaceful sanctuary for water-birds, howler monkeys and alligators (no swimming). Surprisingly, the passing ships make very little noise.

Boats wishing to transit the canal are required to maintain a minimum speed of 5 knots (6 mph). If not, the owner must make other arrangements to transport his/her yacht from one ocean to the other, usually by truck. But even at 6kts, we’re not able to transit the canal in one day. We’re required to moor to one of two mooring buoys specifically designed to hold two sailboats each. Two miles west of the last lock, the mooring buoys are large, made of PVC plastic, and very sturdy. Two to three people can jump onto one without concern of tipping. And the plastic surface makes it possible to tie up without scratching your boat. With fenders positioned amid ship to keep us off the buoy, the professional line-handlers run one rented line from the bow, through the mooring buoy’s extra-large shackle, and back to the center of the boat. A second line is run from the stern through the same shackle on the mooring buoy, and again to the boat’s center. If another boat is to share the mooring, a common occurrence, the line-handlers tie both bows and sterns together, one line each, so that bow and stern of both boats remain equidistant from each other through the night.

Bryce Rigney, Juan and Santiago securing Kandu to Gatun Lakes large overnight buoy.

Kandu moored in Gatun Lake, Panama.

The meals that I prepared in advance turned out perfectly and aplenty especially considering that we had two unforeseen ‘trainee’ advisors to feed. Yes, even on our second day transit, we had the good fortune to have another trainer-trainee set. I served chicken and vegetable curry with rice plus salad for dinner the first night, sausage and egg breakfast with pre-fried onion potatoes for the second day’s breakfast, grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with coleslaw for lunch, and spaghetti with a heavy meat and tomato sauce for the second night’s dinner, all accompanied with tons of salty snacks, cookies, candy bars and even soft drinks. Eric, Bryce and I felt spoiled ourselves with all the naughty eatin’!

The second day offered a little different scenario. Whereas the advisors of the previous day seem to be in sync and in accord, this day would prove otherwise. Unbeknownst to us, the day-two advisor now on the little blue cat had previously been suspended for issues related to his poor advisory skills. This was his first day back after a year. Once each boat had its respective advisor(s) on board, we untied from the mooring buoys and headed off, with great haste, to the first lock more than 25 nautical miles away. Independently but in casual line up, each boat made its way to the Pacific side of Lake Gatun. As we approached another large spanning bridge ahead of the next set of locks, it signaled again the staging area for rafting-up, but unlike last time, the little blue cat didn’t wait for the large white cat, and proceeded directly to the entrance of the first lock, Pedro Miguel. This was particularly odd behavior considering we were nearly 30 minutes ahead of schedule. Our ‘lock-buddy’ ship saw the little blue cat and proceeded to approach the lock, narrowing our gap.

The white cat and we sped up, but the inexperience of the line-handlers on both cats and the naughty advisor acting on his own, nearly crushed the blue cat’s stern into the wall, which delayed their ability to receive us. As we all approached too closely the steel barrier of the lock’s entrance, we were asked by the white cat’s line-handlers to turn around, go out, and come back when they were ready for us. Our advisor spoke via radio to the pilot on our commercial ‘lock-buddy’ ship to ask his/her intentions. The ship pilot said they’d have the tugs push the ship up against the wall to allow us all to exit, re-group, raft, and re-enter. Our advisor thanked the pilot and asked the other advisors to come out into wider waters. At the same time, our advisor asked Eric to motor full throttle away from the lock, past the ship before the thrust of the tugs pushed us into the wall. The advisor on the little blue cat then hailed our ‘lock-buddy’ ship’s pilot and said they were ready to go without us.

Our advisor was frustrated. Considering the erratic behavior of the rogue advisor, our advisor suggested we’d be safer waiting and taking two more hours to transit than if we were to raft with an unpredictable advisor. Eric and I agreed, and besides, the commercial ship’s pilot, having accepted the blue cat advisor’s explanation, had already proceeded to enter the lock, closing us off. Kandu would go through the locks without another sailboat rafted to its side. All four dock lines would now have to be monitored, not just relying on our pros. But having already gone through the process so many times, I was confident in my line-handling abilities and excited by the additional responsibility.

Waiting a couple of hours being tied to the wall, we took the opportunity to video chat with a high school French class at Trent’s school in Southern California. Bryce being of their age and fluent in French, we just handed the phone to him. Not every day does a classroom get to speak with a sailboat in the midst of transiting the Panama Canal, right? Anyway, chat time over, our new ‘lock-buddy’ ship approached and the lock handlers appeared with their messenger lines. It was game day for the crew of Kandu. Bryce caught my messenger line and handed it over to me. I tied my bowline to the messenger line like a professional (even more quickly than the professionals, I think – lol!) and then stayed alert as the lock handlers walked our four lines down the chamber in step with Kandu. When signaled by our advisor’s whistle, I sent our aft starboard polypropylene dock line back to the lock handler which he secured to a giant bollard, then I quickly pulled-in the loose line and cleated it down. Yippee, I did it! And furthermore, I repeated my efforts to great effect 2 more times!

Kandu with Bryce Rigney and Santiago Zorrilla secured in Pedro Miguel Lock.

Juan handling the aft port dock line as our enormous lock-buddy ship approached.

Kandu’s two Canal advisors recounting Panama Canal stories to Leslie Rigney.

Eric actually had a bit of excitement steering us straight in the last lock, which tends to be the hardest. The last lock was squirrely with current not because of wind but because our ‘lock-buddy’ ship, while short, was enormous top to bottom, and side to side. So wide, only two feet of water on either of her sides separated it from the lock’s 100-year-old concrete walls. She encumbered the entire lock in depth and width, so that when from behind us she moved forward like a hydraulic plunger, the water in the lock pushed forcefully forward spiriting us erratically and rapidly toward the closed lock doors straight ahead. Eric steered Kandu in full reverse adjusting for the current, and still we came a little too close. Just 20 feet before the doors, us line handlers halted our forward progress with masterful handling of the lines!!! Whoop, whoop!

Although we had hoped to complete our transit by 4 p.m. that day, the situation with the rogue advisor caused a delay that didn’t have us leaving the last lock until twilight, just as it had been with Captain Bill. Another long day for all of us. Leaving the lock, I served spaghetti dinner to the handlers and the advisors. Now in the Pacific again after having been away for 2 years, we motored near to the Balboa Yacht Club, about 3.5 nm, the rendez-vous spot to drop off our line-handlers and the rented equipment. Once in pick-up position, it was another 45 minutes before our advisors were also collected. Exhausted and hungry, Eric, Bryce and I,  happily alone again on Kandu, proceeded toward the Balboa Yacht Club waters to find a mooring buoy for the next two nights.

That evening, under a full moon, securely moored in the dark water of the Balboa Yacht Club…after we ate our spaghetti with meat sauce and I had my celebratory glass of wine, I went outside for a quiet moment to soak it all in…to reflect on all that we had accomplished since Gibraltar. Somehow, I had the distinct feeling that I had been there before. Well, in fact, I had been there on s/v Taopaowith Captain Bill. Our passage through the canal went so smoothly comparatively, that it felt anti-climactic. I was actually embarrassed with myself for feeling let down. Eric, Bryce and I had talked about and planned our transit through the Panama Canal ad nauseum for five months since arriving in Gibraltar. And WE FINALLY DID IT! We transited the Panama Canal bringing us back into the Pacific Ocean, but now it was done. Mission Accomplished. Fait accompli. Quest over. I felt so weird inside, as if I was missing something. As if I had been engaged in an opera as the lead where the rehearsals and performances were finished and my ‘opera’ family built over three months had split-up. However, fortunately for me, my family in this production was still intact; Eric, Bryce, myself and Kanduwere all still together…for a little bit longer.

Kandu moored at Balboa Yacht Club, Panama, looking back at the Bridge of the Americas..

On shore looking across the Balboa Yacht Club wharf as a container ship passes by.

Two days later, we set sail for northern Costa Rica.

By Leslie Dennis-Rigney with additions from Eric Rigney

 

Panama Canal Quest – Part II, Practice Run

Four days before our own crossing, completely wide-eyed and excited for our educational trial-by-fire transit through the canals, Eric, Bryce and myself jumped aboard s/v Taopao around 12:30 in the afternoon for a two-day, one-night voyage through the Gatun and Pedro Miguel/Miraflores locks of the Panama Canal. Captain Bill Broyles was calm.

Captain Bill Broyles of s/v Taopao, Tayana V42′

He motored Taopao out of Shelter Bay Marina to anchor behind a large yellow buoy to await the advisor’s arrival along with the two other boats who would be traveling through the canal with us. Eventually, just before entering the two sets of three locks, we’d all raft tightly together, advancing and stopping as one unit inside the locks.

In addition to our family of three volunteer line-handlers, Captain Bill hired a professional line handler to complete the required quartet. Santiago was a master at handling the lines having done it 63 prior times. With a calm demeanor and twinkle in his eye, he helped the three of us fasten the rented fenders into the best positions and arrange in unencumbered 4-foot long coils, the four hefty 150-foot, 7/8” rented blue polypropylene dock lines which he purposefully left unattached, stoppered by a 4-foot long bowline at one end. My eyebrows raised in surprise seeing such a large loop not imagining its use. I tried to tie-off the loose ends of the coils to the boat, but Santiago gently stopped me (our communication was hampered by the fact that he spoke a little English and I speak even less Spanish) and signaled to leave it unfastened; that it would be okay. I shrugged and followed his lead.

Two hours after hailing the authorities that Taopao was in requisite anchored position outside Shelter Bay, waiting as the wind increased in force – that wind having already dislodged the anchor of one of our buddy-boats from the seafloor, the advisors finally boarded the three pre-arranged sailboats. Our agent immediately directed Captain Bill to weigh anchor and motor toward the Gatun locks following our commercial ‘lock-buddy’ ship, aided rapidly forward by 25-knot tailwinds. As we passed beneath the massively tall bridge under construction, the advisor alerted us to prepare for rafting.

We watched as the fiberglass cutter from Australia rafted its starboard side up along the port side of the steel ketch from Iceland, the longest of the three monohulls. Once secure, we gently pulled our port side to the starboard side of the steel ketch, without much ado even with the heavy downwind impetus. I attribute this success to the veteran line handlers and advisors who were alert and skillful. Now rafted tightly together, the lead advisor in the middle boat communicated orders to all three captains: “More thrust to starboard, reverse hard, neutral!” etc. Between the wind, current, and prop surge from the forward ship and two large tugs with whom we’d share the next three locks, it was quite the rodeo keeping the three squirrely mono-hulls moving carefully forward as one raft. Yet, steadily, we made our way behind our very large lock-buddy ship, buffered by the two large tugs. As our raft moved into the lock, four dock handlers holding coils of long brown jute-like messenger lines with a heavy ball called a ‘monkey’s fist’ attached to the end, got in position, signaling their readiness for us line handlers to catch and attach.

Center boat (steel) of our three-boat raft inside Gatun Lock with tug and ‘lock-buddy’ ship in front.

As the starboard most vessel, we would have to catch the lock lines and eventually secure the starboard side of the raft. Santiago and I were in the starboard aft position, Eric and Bryce starboard forward. The lock line handlers use a special technique for throwing their messenger lines. You can see the large targets and overhead rails they use for practice.  Frustratingly, our forward lock handler had to throw his messenger line three times before the monkey fist arrived close enough for Bryce and Eric to catch (hmm – that dock handler didn’t play enough baseball when he was young!). Knowing that the aft attachments are the most important in stopping the forward motion of the raft against the strong aft winds, Captain Bill and I were relieved Santiago had secured it as the raft approached closer and closer to the tugboats. However, a loose bow could spell trouble for our port side sailboat buddy. Catching the third attempt, Eric quickly tied the messenger line with a bowline to the head of the heavy-duty dock line as Bryce rapidly fed it out. In short order, the lock handlers on the wall hooked the large blue polypropylene loops around gigantic bollards high above us. Eric and Bryce, Santiago and I, wasting no time, pulled-up the slack and secured our lines thus stabilizing the starboard side of the raft. Whew! That first time was mentally taxing since the three of us, Eric, Bryce and myself didn’t know what to expect. Even though Bill had volunteered a few days before, this was his first time as captain . . . never stress-free.

Panama Canal Gatun Lock Steel Doors closing behind us.

Shortly after, the massive hollow steel doors closed behind us. The surrounding lock waters began to rise requiring constant adjustment tightening the lines until the lock chamber was full and our raft reached its level. This exercise repeated two more times until we exited the last of the three elevating locks entering into Gatun Lake and unhooked from the other two boats. Already twilight, we zoomed over to the large plastic mooring, where we’d spend the night. It was fully dark by the time our three boats were settled down on moorings in Lake Gatun, one of the largest man-made bodies of water. The advisors on all three boats were soon after collected by a pilot boat. I heated up the pre-cooked dinner, served the meal and performed the galley clean-up. Exhausted, we all headed straight to bed in order to be perky for the next day’s adventures scheduled some time after 7 a.m. We would be required to motor full speed for 3 hours through Lake Gatun to the Pedro Miguel/Miraflores locks, re-raft with the other two monohulls, and instead of being brought up into the lake, we would be lowered into the Pacific. The Miraflores locks were reported by other sailors as the most difficult due to a strong surge and a venturi wind effect whistling through the canals.

The next day, following our crew’s sunrise breakfast, I prepared the advisor’s requisite hot egg breakfast for our second-day advisor, a different person from the day before. After jumping from the bow of the pilot boat which had taxied him to us and some quick introductions, we were off and motoring at a decent clip of 6 knots. In the lock chambers, instead of being in front of our raft as was the case coming up into the lake, our ‘lock-buddy’ ship would enter behind us. When getting ready to raft this time, instead of the three of us tying up in the channel as we’d done before, it was decided by the advisors that the most port boat of our raft would attach first to the wall just outside the lock, then the steel boat to him, and then us to the steel boat. This put the port boat in an unfavorable position, with a great possibility of being pushed into the cement wall. The heavy winds at our back turned this into an erratic operation. The middle steel boat approached its port neighbor too fast and the bows almost touched before the aft rafting lines were exchanged and secured. It was nerve-wracking to witness. Our turn also brought us in hot, even though Captain Bill was motoring in reverse. We came together with the sterns almost hitting. I quickly positioned myself to push us off the steel boat and fortunately two other line handlers were alert and stepped in – disaster was averted. As the excitement was occurring, I heard a few expletives shrieked behind me by the mentally stretched Captain Bill. Whew! That was close! Poor Captain Bill was drenched in perspiration!

With our raft secured and ‘lock-buddy’ ship approaching, the port boat cast off its wall lines. After much shouting and orders given, we entered the empty lock: Pedro Miguel. Once lowered to the next lock level, we exited without incident. The lead advisor skillfully guided our raft a few short miles to the Miraflores locks, the final two. Without another hitch, all three boats survived the 30-hour transit experience unscathed. Whoopee! It was a success.

Captain Bill Broyles thrilled to exit the last Miraflores lock just before de-rafting.

Our volunteering adventure was not over. While we packed our day-bags and made sure not to leave anything behind, Bryce transferred our camera’s photo images to Captain Bill’s computer, a great souvenir for the gentle captain. Passing under the Bridge of the Americas in the dark, Eric, Bryce, and I along with Santiago, the 3 other line handlers from one of our partner boats, including all the rented dock lines and fenders from the two boats, were dispatched away by Balboa Yacht Club’s hired water taxi. The advisor remained on board, waiting for the pilot boat to fetch him. Once on the smaller wooden pedestrian dock and overpass, I soon realized I grabbed a bit too much gear along with my own backpack, not realizing how far I’d be carrying the load. Fortunately, most of my burdens were relieved by the other line handlers and I made it across the wharf and up to the top of the street without stumbling in the dim light. Once the rented gear was discharged behind a pick-up truck, Santiago directed us how to make our way back to Shelter Bay Marina by bus and taxi as per agreed with Captain Bill.

Getting home from the Balboa Yacht Club, having never done it before, was its own two-hour adventure. We eventually hailed a wonderful taxi to take us to the bus terminal. After a bit of a broken Spanish scramble in the terminal, we made our way to a local bus, leaving immediately for Colon. The driver motioned us aboard. With no empty seats, we exited the bus confused. However, while signaling us to re-enter, the driver handed us two cloth-covered buckets to serve as stools between the two rows of seats. Bryce sat on the floor.  With recorded Colombian salsa playing, we were off and running. An hour or so later, the bus dropped us three off at a stop where we could catch another taxi to Shelter Bay. We had been warned of the dangers of Colon, especially at night, especially for tourists, so we eagerly awaited the chance to hail a taxi. An older local woman, positioned herself ahead of us. Ten long minutes later, she hailed the first empty cab to pass by. She and the driver spoke, exchanging looks our way. She asked in English our destination and translated to the driver. She motioned us over to take this taxi, she’d catch the next one. We insisted she take it, as I guess she saw “target” written all over our faces. What a kind thing to do. After negotiating the price, we entered the almost working taxi, and were off…never mind that little of the car functioned. What was important was that the driver knew how to keep it running the 45 challenging minutes over windy, pot-holed, unlit, dirt roads. Feeling sorry for him, Eric paid him more than was agreed. We returned to Kandu tired but mentally prepared for our own future challenges.

Panama, Panama City, the Bridge of the Americas (Puente de las Americas) over the Panama Canal access channel on the Pacific Ocean side, the Miraflores Locks in the background (aerial view)

By Leslie Dennis-Rigney with additions from Eric Rigney

Panama Canal Quest – Part I, Arrival and Legend

Arriving in Gibraltar marked the beginning of the back half of our circumnavigation. From Gibraltar on, in conversation with other cruisers, the first question was: “Are you planning on cruising the Caribbean or passing through the Panama Canal?” North or West? Our answer: West with the winds – we were to be carried along those critical westbound trade winds, funneling us across the Atlantic, pushing us over South America’s Northern coastline and brought furiously into battle with Colombia’s Caribbean winter storm-force winds. With a California-bound ETA of May 2019, wanting to arrive prior to the commencement of the Mexican hurricane season (May-Nov), the next prodigious hurtles on the map included crossing the Atlantic, getting past the Colombian coastline, and navigating through the Panama Canal.

OnTheWorldMap.com

Departing from Gibraltar on Sept 15th, we made the customary pre-Atlantic crossing landfalls: Morocco, and the Canary and Cape Verde Islands. We were on time leaving Gibraltar, but were held up in Morocco, waiting for engine parts and installing them. We left on Halloween. Our visit in the Canary Islands went without hitch, but in Cape Verde we were held up an additional week. Our US mail just missed the inter-island weekly flight. While in our marina slip, we celebrated Thanksgiving with Moroccan tagine and pumpkin pie. Once the mail was in our anxious hands, December 9thwe departed Mindelo, Cape Verde; the beginning of our third, and last, ocean crossing.

Eric Rigney holding our snail mail which finally arrived in Cape Verde!

The Atlantic crossing went very well. Sixteen days later, two days ahead of schedule, we arrived in French Guiana, traveling up the muddy river half a day before grabbing a mooring buoy in the currents of St. Laurent du Maroni. Although already behind schedule, we took time to visit a few sites most significantly the infamous prison headquarters or Transportation center where Papillon passed through.

However, we couldn’t dally too long in any one place. Our Caribbean cruising was minimal, remaining in the southern waters lightly exploring: Suriname, Tobago, Grenada, Bonaire, Curacao, and Colombia. Throughout our 1-2 week stays, as sailors exchanged itineraries which sailors often do, our pending Panama Canal transit invariably came up, and along with it their horror stories of other sailboats that had gone before; how boats nearly smashed against the cement walls, into other boats and/or the lock’s massive, 100-year-old steel doors.

After Curacao, the next beast facing us was the Colombian coastline, not pirates, but  . . . wind. Eric and I were concerned about the notorious winds of December-March aka Christmas winds that blow consistently 25-40 knots, often accompanied by a short, steep swell, tuned to swamp boats. An expert Caribbean cruiser and long-time charter captain, Glen Hurd of s/v Sundance who we met while cruising in Indonesia, spoke of them as being the worst conditions he had ever experienced in all his cruising days. To become better educated, I contacted my UCLA college friend Chris Landsea who now is chief of NOA’s marine branch (Tropical Analysis and Forecasting over the Tropical Atlantic, Caribbean Sea, Gulf of Mexico, and Tropical East Pacific). As long as I have known him, his interest circled around weather, especially hurricanes. He was the perfect manto calm our anxiety. Chris suggested that we access NOA weather forecasts at the below following websites, thus augmenting the information we generally gather from mobile weather aps: Windy, Predict Wind, and AYE tides.

https://www.nhc.noaa.gov/marine/forecast/enhanced_atlcfull.php  (Marine Composite page – winds, waves, features out through 3 days)

https://www.nhc.noaa.gov/marine/offshores.php  (Offshore Zone text forecasts – out through 5 days west of 55W)

https://www.nhc.noaa.gov/text/MIAHSFAT2.shtml (High Seas Forecast – warnings and locations of high seas/winds out through 2 days west of 35W)

Wind images in the Caribbean and specifically over Colombia

Before planning to leave any anchorage or port, Eric consults the weather. Our navigation plans are always centered around the weather. We have learned that a forecast is generally fairly accurate up to 3 or 4 days. After that, conditions can easily vary from predictions, that’s why it’s so important to travel during known periods of a region’s good weather. For example, when getting ready to travel into the Mediterranean, we had to forego visiting Thailand and Sri Lanka to insure we would arrive within the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea’s safe seasonal weather window; February through mid-March.

It was definitely windy sailing across the top of Colombia and even when tied up in the marinas. We sailed into Colombia from Curacao with only our staysail flying. In Santa Marta Marina, boats share space between two docks, each tying one side of their boat to a pontoon. Kandu was docked on the leeward pontoon and a smaller, lighter boat occupied the windward pontoon. The marina’s pontoons are short and not supported by pilons, so they move around a lot. Two days later, in 35-40 knot gusting winds and marked swell, 20-ton Kandupopped one of her fenders and was going to get damaged rubbing up hard against and/or break the pontoon. Which, in fact, another boat did break a pontoon that night. We deployed all our fenders, including Big Bertha, our huge red one, and removed much of Kandu’s windage (canopy, tying our dinghy flatter, lifting horizontally the solar panels).

Kandu in Santa Marta Marina, Colombia, proudly displaying Big Bertha – our red fender!

Still, the wind continued to force Kandu firmly against the dock. We had little ability to tie and pull her windward side off the dock. With a bit of ingenuity, Eric unbolted an unused dock cleat from another slip and moved it onto the main dock, and then attached at a 45-degree angle another spring line from the center of the boat. Finally, with our combined strategies in effect, we managed to lessen the amount of strain Kandu placed against the pontoon and her hull side. With stories of Colombia’s Caribbean winter winds firmly validated, we again experienced their force once more tied to a dock, this time in Barranquilla’s Puerto Valero Marina. Attached to the leeward side of the leeward end-tie, the wind now blew Kandu away from the dock, so much so, our bow chock sheared. That same morning, with storm-force winds forecast over the next 10 days without break, we decided to take it on and head toward our next ‘bear in the woods.’ Adios Christmas Winds, hola Canal! Although initially hesitant to leave the marina, once under way, Kandu handled well the 25-30 knot winds with its following swell. Remember, Kandu has a canoe stern, so steep seas wrap unfettered around her backside, unlike flat, open, and sugar-scoop sterns which can get pushed around, or at times, flooded.

The Atlantic crossing and the Colombian Christmas winds behind us, transiting the Panama Canal was now forefront on our minds. Most landing decisions, once made, require some form of preparation and research into requirements and procedures. Coming to transit the canal, first on the list was reserving a slip in the closest and safest Caribbean-side marina, Shelter Bay, and then handling the usual processing through customs and immigration.

Chart plotter image of Kandu on the Caribbean side of the the Panama Canal with AIS boat signatures.

Complications to transit the canal included: selecting and contacting a canal agent, learning how to work with canal advisors who would guide us through the canal passage, obtaining line handlers (volunteer vs. professional), and understanding the various transit charges and costs.

Once we docked in Shelter Bay Marina, Eric met with our agent and obtained our crossing date. To remove some of the mystery, we decided we’d volunteer as line handlers aboard another sailboat. Fortuitously, we found a single-hander Bill Broyles with a boat model similar to ours, a Tayana V42, aft cockpit, named SV Taopao. Even before volunteering as line-handlers, we thought it would be helpful to see the locks up close and learn something about the history and engineering behind this world marvel. So, we took the hour and half bus ride into Panama City and paid a visit to the Miraflores Locks Visitor Center, and also happened to see the adjacent IMAX movie theater Panama story that played a specially created and beautifully executed IMAX movie chronicling its history.

The visitor center is an excellent cutting-edge museum of the Panama Canal’s records starting from the late 1800’s. The exhibit also included material about the newest adjacent locks constructed between 2006 and 2017 built to accommodate the present-day ever larger container ships. I loved how the museum walked me through challenges and frustrations of the early French trials spearheaded by the charismatic diplomat Ferdinand de Lesseps who had led the successful building of the Suez Canal. Shockingly, upwards of 21,000 workers died during those first tumultuous years mostly from yellow fever and malaria. Feverishly scientists worked on figuring out the cause of the deaths. At one point, doctors thought the diseases were spread by ants. Tuna cans were then placed under each bedpost filled with water, which deterred the ants but also provided mosquitos the perfect place to breed…right in the hospitals.

The French government, almost bankrupted in 1889 due to the heavy outlays incurred financing the construction of the canal, was defeated by the challenge and the construction company sold its contract to the American Federal Government; the US financial arrangement was spearheaded by President Theodore Roosevelt in 1903. At the time, Panama was part of Colombia. Colombian leaders refused to support the new arrangement. Americans in their fashion, negotiated with some Panamanian revolutionaries to declare independence from Colombia promising to support them with a navy warship. Colombia sent their own troops, but with the Americans already in position backing the revolutionaries and other smartly played moves by the revolutionaries, Panamanian independence was affirmed with minimal casualties on November 3, 1903.

President Theodore Roosevelt gettin’ it done!

The Americans, with a West Indies labor force, started work on site in 1904. The canal was completed with little fanfare on August 15th, 1914, just after World War II commenced. It cost the United States a total of US$352 million and an additional 5,600 deaths to build today’s 24-hour a day operating canal. Quite the dramatic beginning to mark one of today’s ‘Wonders of the World,’ still considered one of the most extraordinary feats of engineering of all time!

Gatun Locks of Panama Canal from Caribbean into Gatun Lake.

By Leslie Dennis-Rigney with additions from Eric Rigney

Rosie’s 2018 Adventures in Alsace, France con’t

Wednesday was an amazing day touring the only French concentration camp: Struthof in the town of Natzweiler. It was originally a small ski resort, very far from most towns, hidden away from the local Alsatian population. We were totally fascinated by the adjacent museum’s informative displays, photographs of both World Wars including an explanatory video of how the destruction of WWI and ensuing political environment evolved to create the political environment which hatched WWII.

Outside the museum are the concentration camp’s original barbed wire fences along with the watchtowers. There were three barracks open to the public…they were  rebuilt to be like the original ones….this was the very first concentration camp discovered by the Allies…left intact due to a hasty German departure. Unfortunately, most of the camp barracks were burned down more recently by neo-Nazis to hide the truth. A small oven to burn human bodies was intact. Just outside the camp was the commandant’s home appropriated from a local even equipped with a pool. A little drive away, was a building used as one of the first gas chambers constructed to test the efficacity of different air poisons.

This entire area was hidden in wooded foothills. Germans had discovered a small pink granite mine there and determined to turn it into a quarry to furnish materials for the new Regime’s huge buildings in the Alsatian region which they had annexed into a German state during WWII. This concentration camp held strictly political prisoners from all over Europe.

That evening we were invited to Eric’s Aunt’s former sister in-law’s Elisabeth and Andre Claus’ home for a special family reunion hosted in her backyard in the nearby town of Niedershaeffolsheim (now that’s a mouthful!).

Elisabeth & Andre Engel-Claus

Her husband, Andre is so particular with his garden that the grounds seem as clean as a kitchen floor. They invited us to a traditional Alsatian Sauerkraut dinner – one of the regionally renowned dishes complete with various exquisite mouth-watering sausages, smoked pork, lardon, potatoes, sauerkraut of course, and other side dishes all served with traditional Alsatian wines. The dinner started off with champagne. Normally this dish is not served in the summer as it is heavy. Meant mostly for winter, but an exception was made for our visit per Eric’s request. The sauerkraut is Andre’s specialty following a very precise family recipe. Dessert was a scrumptious chocolate cake served with Eau de vie. Joined at our outdoor table were Elizabeth’s and George’s children, their spouses and grandchildren plus Aunt Annie’s brother George who came from Strasbourg for the occasion of our visit. Eric and Leslie gave them gifts from Venice of special Venetian glass which they loved.

Strasbourg was on our menu for Thurs, July 19th. We arrived around 10 am, meeting up again with our tour guide extraordinaire: Miriam, hubby (and baby). The first place they led us was to the Ponts-Couverts. There were several picturesque covered bridges over the Ill River (splitting into 5 branches) which controlled the level of water through the canals via Vauban’s Dam, built during the reign of King Louis XIV. These bridges are presently protected by three remaining out of 5 massive square watch towers complete with archer apertures on both sides. The towers and bridges are the last traces of a wall that surrounded the city in the Middle Ages. When the arches of the bridges were closed, the river water was diverted to flood the land South of the town, causing enemy armies to flounder in mire. During the French Revolution, the towers were converted into prison cells. In the Petite France quarter, we were delighted with the fabulous huge half-timber houses…it is the wealthy section of town. Our visit awarded us exquisite visions of quaint beauty never seen before.  Here we saw how a quaint turntable bridge, Pont du Faison, worked over one of the canals allowing pedestrians and tour boats to pass alternately. Everywhere we were in awe of overwhelming charm. Miriam and her husband, both school teachers, knew well their city’s history, so it was a delight to spend the day with them.

Walking further we arrived at the famous Strasbourg Notre-Dame Cathedral, towering majestically over the local streets. At that point Miriam’s sister Rachel completed our group whom Eric and Leslie had spent time with in Ventura.

Strasbourg Notre-Dame Cathedral

We joined the inside tour of the Cathedral in order to view the working Mechanical Clock, an engineering masterpiece of old dating from the 16thcentury Renaissance with completed restorations in 1842. “Its mechanism is unique in the world and was constructed as an application of a scientific theory. Every day at 12:30 pm its automata come to life in the fascinating ‘Apostle’s Parade.’” It features the rotation of the 12 apostles above the face, with cherubs, death images, bonging and a rooster who pops out to cock-a-doodle-doo! This clock accurately forecasts the date of Easter, sunsets, eclipses, etc. Truly amazing work of art and engineering. An astounding marvel in an age before computers. If it were built today with computers, it would still be considered amazing.

Strasbourg Notre-Dame Cathedral Mechanical Clock

After the Cathedral, we walked over to Gutenberg Square. On the way, we passed by Saint Thomas Church, the first Lutheran reformation church, once Catholic but converted  by Martin Bucer, who’s statue we saw located in the Gutenberg Square. Martin Bucer’s printing workshop is still located outside the city where presumably he printed bibles in the vernacular.

Strasbourg street sign

Saint Thomas Church

Martin Bucer in Gutenberg Square

We met Anne-Marie and Francois Hubert (Nicolas and baby) for lunch. Five years prior, we hosted them at our home in Oakland and we were so looking forward to meeting up with them again. Anne-Marie stayed on to walk with us after the rest of the family left – the baby needed his nap! We later took her home and toured their lovely modern home and garden.

Anne-Marie Hubert and Rosie Dennis

Upon returning back north to Surbourg, we had a light farewell dinner of sausages with the Keizers under the lovely willow tree served with hot pretzels, mustard and more delicious wine! How delightful to be secure with friends under their beautiful weeping tree: cool, refreshing, and comforting after a very full day. Because this was the last time we would be seeing the Keizer family, I gave Brigitte Keizer my bedazzled in rhinestones black hat which she had coveted.

Chez Keizer under the willow tree

On Friday, everyone but me went to see Sandra and Denny’s new house (children of Elizabeth & George (Annie’s brother).

Visit with Sandra and Dany Engel with Papa George Engel and daughter Elena’s new home featured behind

Later met at 7 Fountains Farm Restaurant where we met up with Corinne and Adrian Ruffy, dear niece of Annie whose son Thibault spent quality time with Bryce sailing sabots in Ventura. We enjoyed a tour of their home.

With Corinne and Adrien Ruffy

Corinne offered coffee and busily prepared a delicious mousse with her incredible kitchen machine Thermomix TM 5 (Vorwerk) that both cooks and ices. It’s not sold in the US yet…very expensive…but oh so handy. I want one! The day included a visit to Fleckenstein Castle ruins surrounded by beautiful forest area. They demonstrated the ancient art of making charcoal…not an easy task. That evening, Brigitte joined us at a local restaurant specializing in the boys’ favorite Alsatian dish: tart flambée. Leslie entertained everyone singing her favorite party aria: Quando m’en vo by Puccini. The locals were pleasantly surprised.

Our last day in Alsace, the kids were invited for breakfast with Elisabeth and George’s son Michael, wife and teenage daughter at their home. A very old home, they had painstakingly restored it maintaining an authentic half-timber house exterior, while the interior was completely modern. Neat!

Michael, Danielle and Luna Engel’s home

The afternoon was made incredibly special by Brigette’s next door neighbors, Lili and Francois Werner. This couple have made a museum out of their property…he has collected every known tool and organized them so particularly that it was impossible to not be in awe of his displays. We smiled broadly as we toured through their home decorated with outlandish French furnishings and mysteries. Truly something to be glad that I don’t have to clean….Our “aperitif” meal consisted of about 10 different courses of small bites…yummie, fun, very special experience offered by two completely charming and loving people. I’ll never forget the happiness they shared just to serve us and show us their beloved collections and intriguing decorations. Francois has used his mastery of working with wrought iron to make large pieces as ornaments for his beautiful garden floral displays. They also have a pristine old red car (Peugeot 201,1934) Often they dress in era clothing to drive in special occasions. They surely have all the appropriate, snappy outfits in their closet. Both very talented, handsome, generous friends of Leslie and Eric – now ours also.

Chez Francois et Lili Werner with Brigitte Hubert

Our day was topped by meeting up again with Corrine and Adrian Ruffy first at a local winery called Cleebourg where we got to taste and purchase exquisitely delicious wines. Then onwards to visit the Village de Gites de Hunspach, a sweet old village where Aunt Annie’s godmother Getel came from and where the two got married. Afterwards, they especially wanted to share with us that evening a very special annual event held nearby called Streisselhochzeit à Seebach: an Alsatian festival with parade, dancing, traditional dress, innumerable food choices and many outside open eating areas all held in a residential community in and among people’s precious flower-laden timber homes. Many of the homes had their own specialty food or craft to offer. Beer was flowing, intricate costumes and head dresses abounded with lots of activities, young people and live music… The local turnout was huge! We felt so very privileged to appreciate this event while visiting Alsace.

It was sad to leave Alsace. I never knew how gorgeous the region was. After breakfast with Brigitte, we said our heartfelt goodbye’s and hit the road at 9:00am. Our 8 days in Alsace were uplifting and Loved the beauty of Alsace and will treasure our memories forever.

by Rosie Dennis with additions from Leslie Dennis Rigney

Rosie’s July 2018 Adventures in Alsace, France

July 14 through July 17 –

Arriving in the afternoon at the quaint village of Merkviller-Peschelbraun, Alsace, France, we unloaded our suitcases into an old ‘haunted’ homestead owned by Eric’s Aunt Annie’s cousin Brigitte Hubert. Remarkably, this home held the six of us comfortably, (the boys swore they heard unusual creaking noises) becoming a haven of rest when needed as we were very busy for the next 8 days. Brigitte has four sons. Three of them enjoyed extended stays at Hotel Eric n Leslie over the years.

Quickly we drove to nearby Surbourg to visit other friends of Eric and Leslie, the Keizer family (even Julie their daughter was in town from Australia with her fiancé Blake). Eric and Leslie were so looking forward to meeting the parents, Brigitte and Harold, for the first time. When Bryce and Trent were little, Eric and Leslie hosted Julie at their home twice, initially introduced through Auntie Annie’s Alsatian/California train. They helped Julie obtain an internship at Sony and later aided in getting her a job with one of Eric’s friends who filmed commercials. Never having met the parents, Eric and Leslie then invited Joris, Julie’s 16-year-old brother to come for a summer to improve his English. The exchanges proved to be life changing for all and they have since remained in close contact. So, we now have an extended Alsatian family and they have an extended American family.

Chez Keizer with Joris on the far right

The Keizers welcomed us with refreshments in their gorgeous modern home before we walked to their favorite restaurant to consume many orders of a special Alsatian dish called: tarte flambée…served with wine and beer. Tarte flambée is somewhat like a pizza, but rectangular with a thin, crunchy crust and a cream base instead of a tomato paste base. Yum yum. Because it was their July 14th celebration of Bastille Day, the youngers went off to watch fireworks in the nearby town center with the locals. Ron and I returned back home with Brigette and crashed.

Tarte flambée Alsacienne

Back to the Keizers the next morning for breakfast: Danish lovelies and World Cup cakes in the shape of Soccer jerseys colored bleu, blanc, rouge!!

Celebratory cakes for the 2018 World Cup!

All of us then drove to the beautifully green and lush city of Baden Baden in Germany, a wealthy small city a bustle with shopping tourists. An old fashion car show attracted some of our guys, while the rest of us enjoyed a casual walk along the pristine city center. Our lunch was at a traditional German beer garden, Löwenbräu Biergarten, serving what else? Beer and sausages, accompanied by accordian music.

Then off we went to the ruins of a nearby medieval castle for a refreshing hike in the cooling rain on that hot n humid day. At the top, we could see Baden Baden and the valley up to the Rhine river marking the border between Germany and Alsace.

Baden Baden High Castle

Baden Baden from the old castle

Again, that evening, the Keizers lavished us with hors d’oeuvres, wine and a BBQ of scrumptious local sausages while hotly engaged watching the World Cup. After the fantastic win, the guys went off to Haguenau to watch the crazy French impromptu crowds gathered to celebrate the World Cup French Victory. Whoopee! What a coup to be in France July 15thon such an historic occasion winning the 2018 FIFA Soccer World Cup against Croatia?

On Monday Brigette provided delicious coffee, rolls, and fruit from her own trees. There is a small garden on her property where fruit trees offer small apples, etc. The house is where her parents lived and died. It remains in the family as a summer home. Stairs are creaky, rooms full of Alsatian antiques…boys think the house has ghosts. Perhaps…

Hubert Family home in Merkviller-Peschelbraun

We joined the Keizers to go to nearby L’Arbri War Museum in Hatten, Alsace chuck full of Alsatian historical living and remnants of the WWI and WWII periods. Most fascinating was walking into a large bunker, part of the Maginot Line. About 30 were built along the Rhine, across 100 miles. Inside were many war machines left by all countries involved in both wars.

Maginot Line exterior bunker

A huge lunch of baeckeoffe casserole (3 kinds of meats and vegetables baked all day) like a stew, was held at the Keizers’ again. Then off we went to another small village called Betschdorf known for a traditional Alsatian homestead open for tourists and colorful Alsatian pottery, where we got a chance to view the workers painting the charming scenes and flourishes. On the way home, we stopped off at a park created especially for their endemic bird: The Stork. We had no idea how large the birds were.

Rosie exiting one of the many Alsatian pottery stores

There were two parent storks feeding two adolescents. The big nest was crowded when everyone was home. At one point an adult, angered at something, starting screeching and flapping its wings making a loud ruckus. What a performance!

Alsace Mascot: Stork

With Brigitte on Tuesday, we had planned a tour of Colmar, the second largest city in the area. On the way there, Leslie and Eric’s friend Miriam from Strasbourg met us in Kaysersberg to give us a tour of the darling village where old homes were actually built right over the rather fast flowing tributary. So utterly charming. Geraniums flourished in front of shuttered windows…bright red flowers everywhere. Half-timbered homes on the bottom, half plastered on top. Leslie and I bought the cutest white paper luminaries in the shape of Alsatian girls for keepsakes and Eric just had to purchase a beckoning Mirabelle berry tart. Forced to share a bite with each of us, it tasted so good we went back and bought out half the store!

Then off we went for a winehouse tour in Mittelwihr, a renowned wine producing area. Purchased 4 bottles for later. We also quickly stopped off to view the picturesque town of Riquewihr: a picturesque walled-in village that you had to enter via drawbridge. Some of the houses and structures were built in medieval times but most were built in the 18thcentury and are now meticulously maintained and colorfully painted in yellows, oranges, reds, and even pinks. The towns we visited are in the southern section of the famed Alsace Wine Route located as far north as Strasbourg. The northernmost section of the wine route is just west of Strasbourg, with the largest northern wine town being Marlenheim. Colmar in the south is the capital of Alsace’s wine production.

RigneysKandu with amazing Colmar guide Suzanne Dietrich-Spindler & Myriam Rott

Once in Colmar, we met up with Brigitte’s Mother-in-law, Suzanne Dietrich-Spindler, a professional tour guide of Colmar still. She was a very stately lady, 89 year-old strong, who outwalked us all which was especially amazing since it was her second walking tour of the day!! We met her in the  lovely Restaurant Pfeffel serving traditional Alsatian dishes like the popular tarte flambée which the boys and I ordered. Eric ordered the pig’s ankle with mustard seed sauce. Yum? Our guide explained that the region of Alsace was one of the richest regions of France and was constantly fought over between France and Germany. Upon visiting the region, the French King Louis XIV declared it: the Garden of France. It has an extensive canal system that taps into the Rhine. The town was divided in quarters based on services provided. Tanning, one of the most lucrative but most smelly, was as usual located on the river but further from the center of town. Colmar’s Tanner’s district was restored between 1968-74 and is now considered upper class living. Dating from the 17thand 18thcentury, they are narrow, deep and tall buildings with half-timbering on the upper floors. They stand on a stone base with no foundations or cellars (too much water underneath).

As merchants became more and more successful, their wealth was shone in their construction. A new floor was added with every generation. Thick wooden beams can be seen bending under the pressure of supporting the new construction. The type of wood used denoted the value of the house. The harder the wood, the more valuable the house. Interestingly enough, at some point, the tax man decided to assess the value of the property based on the number of windows. Thus instantly, windows began to be bricked off and disappear, and or painted over in a trompe l’eouil fashion.

Constructed between 1292 through the early 14thcentury by Franciscans, St. Matthew’s Catholic church came under Lutheran protestant domain in 1543 when the Franciscan monastery closed. The protestants remodeled half of the structure into a protestant church, thus it’s the world’s only ½ Protestant ½ Catholic church under one roof with two separate entrances.

Colmar is considered the most picturesque example of the combination of Colombage or Fachwerk (timber framing, “post-and-beam”) house construction butting up to the canals. There is a dam higher in the river that controls the level of the water ensuring that the water remains the same height at all times. It is with great pride in maintenance that Colmar is a star tourist attraction in Alsace: A Must See!  Over each of the stores could be seen an artful depiction of their service: pharmacy, butcher. Colmar is also home of important museums. Unfortunately the Hansi Museum, home of Jean-Jacques Waltz’s famous ‘Hansi’ watercolors that depict delightful Alsatian scenes mostly of children in traditional Alsatian dress, was closed.

Hansi familial art

We did get to visit the birthplace Museum of the sculptor Bartholdi who sculpted the Statue of Liberty, France’s gift to the USA. It was Eiffel who provided the engineering aspect of the statue. The Dominican Church unfortunately was also closed which houses Martin Schongauer’s masterpiece: Virgin in a rose garden. Darnit!

Creation by Bartholdi

by Rosie Dennis with additions from Leslie Dennis Rigney