Category Archives: Experiential

Eric's Posts, Europe, Experiential, India, Leslie's Posts, Morocco, South America

Rigney Family 2018 in Review

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In 2018 aboard Kandu, we achieved our most extensive traveling since departing Ventura, February 2015. Starting in Malaysia, after the overhaul of our engine and other repairs/upgrades, we sailed Kandu west to India. With Cochin as our base, we enjoyed three weeks of splendid adventures and discoveries, traveling north and south by tuk-tuk, taxi, houseboat, train, and airplane.

India’s TuckTuck mania!
Holy Cow!
Bryce Rigney at Kerala’s Backwaters

Being late in season for a westward Arabian Sea passage, we were eager to be on our way. Heavily provisioned, water tanks filled, and diesel topped-up including additional 10 deck-tied Gerry jugs, we left feeling fully prepared for our 20-day High-Risk Area (Pirate Zone) passage.

Kandu ready to go loaded with 10X20 gallon jerry jugs

The western Indian Ocean and Arabian Sea gave way to the Gulf of Aden with Yemen in civil war to the north, infamous Somalia to the south. All went well, bringing us unscathed to the port of Massawa, Eritrea. Of the 28 boats that transited the Red Sea, only 8 stopped in Eritrea. Few, if any, explored its awkward interior. We took a public bus up into the highlands to the capital Asmara. Shown the sites by a wonderful local friend, nephew of LA friends, it was quite the learning curve, a city with little operational infrastructure.

Continuing up the Red Sea, two days later we stopped in Suakin, Sudan, poked around the Suakin ruins and nearby village, picked-up Uncle Nick, and sailed North to Egypt, stopping briefly at Sanganeb Reef (UNESCO site), its crystal-clear waters perfect for snorkeling.

Onward north, we motor-sailed several days to Port Ghalib, Egypt. We spent 3 weeks total in Egypt, initially diving the nearby Red Sea reefs and then driving inland to visit the ancient sites of Luxor. From Port Suez, we ventured inland to Cairo and the Pyramids of Giza. Yes, we did the most touristic things, like riding camels below the pyramids dressed in traditional Egyptian garb.

Dendarra
Luxor Temple
Luxor Temple Sphynx row
Luxor Temple Interior
Luxor Temple Interior
Feluccas of the Nile, Luxor Temple in background
Valley of the Kings
Luxor camel ride
Temple of Hatshepsut
Hatshepsut Temple with Eric Rigney
Valley of the Queens
Entryway to Temple of Karnak
Temple of Karnak
Temple of Karnak
Temple of Karnak
Egyptian Museum in Cairo: Akhenaton – King Tut’s father
Gold sarcophagus
King Tut’s Golden Mask
Eric and Nick Rigney, Sphynx wannabes
Leslie Rigney kissing the Sphynx?
Eric Rigney at the Giza Pyramids
RigneysKandu at Giza Pyramids
Look out tourist Bryce!!!
RigneysKandu say “Farewell Egypt!”

With slower moving recreational vessels like ours, Suez Canal is transited in two days. Each day, we hosted a different requisite pilot, stopping overnight in a “lake” at a yacht club in Ismailia. Around the world, yacht clubs are mostly just private ocean-view restaurants with little to no support for transiting yachts. We dropped one pilot off in the evening, picked up the other at sunrise. Transiting the Suez Canal was a thrill, passing large ships within a stone’s throw. The second pilot was dropped off onto a moving pilot vessel so we could continue without delay into the Mediterranean Sea.

Kandu pulling into Lake Ismailia while motoring the Suez Canal

Next stop, 2 days away: Cyprus. After a year in various Islamic countries, it was a welcome relief to land in a Western-style country, especially one so steeped in history and philosophy. There, we said goodbye to Uncle Nick, welcomed friends from Washington. Together, from their rented hilltop villa, we spent 6 days exploring the historical sites of Cyprus – including the Turkish occupied north. Then flew to Israel, drove to Jerusalem (the day after our US Embassy opened), the Dead Sea and Palestine to Bethlehem, and flew back to Cyprus.

RigneysKandu floating in Dead Sea of Israel

From a small fishing port in western Cyprus, it was a quick sail to Rhodes, Greece. The Schengen Visa clock was now ticking.  90-days to see Europe, including their Atlantic Islands, not nearly enough time, but we made the best of it. From medieval Rhodes, we sailed to romantic Santorini.

Santorini Island, Greece

Then to Athens, ground zero of Western philosophy. So rich in history, legends, and lore, like Jerusalem, seemingly every corner beheld another historic treasure. There, Uncle Bill joined us, and Bryce jumped ship to spend more time in Athens with a newfound friend, Alex. Kandu sailed west through the Corinthian Canal to Delphi sans Bryce for the first time in three and half years.

Kandu passing through the Corinthian Canal with Uncle Bill

From Greece, we sailed five days across the Ionian Sea to Italy, arriving near Napoli and Pompeii where Bryce re-joined Kandu, having spent a week and half with his buddy. Seeing Pompeii (prominent site on my bucket list) was just the beginning of a GREAT tour of Italy which would come to include beautiful places like: Cinqueterra, Rome, Vatican City, Pisa, Florence, and Venice. Just WOW! Even with all Eric’s and my previous travels and university studies, we never fully appreciated the extent to which over the centuries Italy had accumulated (pilfered?) the world’s artistic and symbolic wealth.

Saint Peter’s Cathedral, Vatican, Rome

From Northern Italy, it was a few short days to Nice, France and La Cote d’Azur. Here, we bid farewell to Uncle Bill (87 yrs young), crew and traveling companion over 5 jammed-packed weeks, visiting three countries together. Marina Nice is centrally located, making all the fun stuff available by foot. The boys, hanging at the beach and playing beach volleyball pick-up games with locals, serendipitously connected with a school mate from the Marquesas! Small world.

Kandu Crew playing Volleyball in the Cote d’Azur!

We caught up with many dear French friends while in Nice before sailing across to the other side of Southern France to Port Corbière, Marseilles. Safely tucked away, we securely berthed Kanduand drove 9 hours up to Paris to pick up my parents at the airport. We would spend the next 5 weeks together, driving to various countries, spending valuable time with more dear friends. So, directly from Charles de Gaulle Airport, with parents’ bags firmly packed in the trunk of our rented van, we were off to dine and stay with friends in Southern Belgium.

While in Belgium, we were hosted by two families, each with two teenage daughters, together enjoying meals of moules-frites, steak frites, and frite- frites; and outings of the must-see sights, including the Grand Place, Atomium, site of the 1950 Brussels World’s Fair, Brugge, Waterloo (Napoleon Museum) and Bastogne (Battle of the Bulge Museum).

Atomium, Brussels with Lara and Elena Demande
Grand Place, Brussels, Belgium
Ron and Rosie Dennis, Odette et Pierrot Robert chez Thierry Robert

Bidding sad farewells, we set off to Eastern France, via Luxembourg. A bowl of traditional green bean soup and a long stroll around this beautiful city was all the time we could spare before continuing our second, long toll-highway trek, this time to Alsace.

Through the generosity of several family friends, all of whom are connected with Eric’s Alsatian Aunt Annie, we spent 8 fabulous days filled to the brim with Alsatian splendor: food, wine, beer, history, crafts, architecture, etc. As an added bonus, we witnessed France’s 2018 World Cup championship victory with friends in Surbourg and marched through the streets with celebrating fans, demonstrating their “bleu-blanc-rouge” pride! From Alsace, we made an afternoon sojourn into Germany, sipping the gorgeous resort town of Baden-Baden, exploring its castle ruin and a popular beer garden – Wundabar!

Brigitte, Harold and Joris Keizer at Biergarten, Baden Baden, Germany

Strasbourg, Colmar, the wine tour, ceramics, country festivals, a WWII concentration camp, and meals galore with great friends had us on our way with greater awareness and appreciation, warm hearts, and kilos added to our waistlines via tartes flambées, baeckeoffe casserole, and sauerkraut & sausages.

Colmar, Alsace, France with Brigitte Hubert, Myriam Rott and Ron & Rosie Dennis

From Alsace, we headed west to Paris again, but this time to show Bryce and Trent. Again, through the generosity of another good friend opening her home, we stayed at her place just outside Paris.  From there, we drove daily to the nearest metro station to pick up the train into town. We toured many (too many for Bryce and Trent’s taste, but this is their classroom) of the celebrated museums and sites of one of our favorite cities. It’s where Eric proposed to me 25-yrs prior! Eric even drove the boys to the exact spot, at sunrise, just as he had done for me.

Place de Paix at Trocodero, Paris

For their last Parisian evening, Eric and the boys walked from the Arc de Triomphe to a cinema on the Champs-Elysées where they watched the opening night of the latest Tom Cruise MissionImpossible installment. Watching the chase scenes through Paris was surreal as they’d been walking on those very streets less than an hour before. As exhausting as this is to read, it was even more so to live.

Eric, Trent and Bryce Rigney on the Champs-Elysees, Paris, France.

Paris behind us, we headed south through gorgeous countryside to Voiron where we met up with friends with teenage boys. After days of seemingly endless museums, Bryce and Trent jumped on the opportunity to just hang with guys their age, all so handsome, smart, and adventurous. Giving in to pleas to extend their stay, and a promise from the Dad to drop the boys off at Kandu in three days, the four of us left the boys with their new-found friends and headed south sans enfants.

Kandu Crew taking out Serge, Max and Valentin for a ride at Port Corbiere, Marseille.

Not yet done with being spoiled by French friends, we left Voiron for the Southern French coastal town of Meze where we stayed with a couple we’d met in French Polynesia years ago. From their home, we attended a fishing celebration in Meze.

We spent a day at the nearby Medieval town of Arles, an important city in the life of Van Gogh. As with our friends before them, the two nights we spent together felt like a royal affair. After yet another heavy-hearted farewell, we drove east, back to Port de Corbières to meet up with the boys, to explore Marseilles before returning the van, and to prepare Kandu for the sail back to Nice, where Trent had a rendez-vous with an airplane.

In Nice once again, we boarded a commuter train to Monaco…a bucket list destination for my father! Wearing our best “boat clothes” and scrounged up bow ties, we entered the Monte Carlo Casino in style, not “Bond, . . . James Bond” style, but style nevertheless, and basked in the luxury. Castles, cathedrals, and a Formula 1 race track made this a fun, albeit Trent’s last, country visit. By the time he left us, he’d visited 27 since our California February 2015 departure.

Monte Carlo in Monaco with Rosie and Ron Dennis

A bit melancholy, the 7 of us said goodbye to an extremely cheerful (perhaps too cheerful) Trent as he boarded a Norwegian airline plane in Nice, laying-over in Oslo, arriving in Los Angeles to start high school as a freshman. His new home is with his Uncle Nick and Aunt Gita in Calabasas, California. With an abundance of electricity, hot showers, WiFi, Netflix, Mexican hot sauce, and kids his age, Trent is happy.

Nani and Papa still with us, Kanducasted off Nice and motor-sailed 2 days to Barcelona, Spain. Soon after departure, we experienced our first and only crazy Mediterranean wind, quickly rising from 15 to 50 knots of wind with short steep seas and horizontal rain – Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride for one intense hour! My parents didn’t quite know what to think because the captain, Bryce, and I acted as if nothing was unusual.

Our days in Barcelona were exquisite, filled with flamenco music and dancing, delicious Catalan foods, and Gaudi architecture, most notably the Sagrada Familia! Here, after 6 weeks of intense traveling through 6 countries, we bid a tearful farewell to my parents, who flew back to California with an abundance of electricity, hot showers, WiFi, inexpensive wine, and friends their age!

Interior Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain

 In Barcelona, we stocked Kandu for a 5-day passage, checked out of Schengen, and motor-sailed across the Eastern Mediterranean to Gibraltar. The next day, Bryce flew solo to London, England for 6 days to meet with Alex, his friend from Greece. Eric and I enacted repairs on Kandu held off during our Schengen rush through Europe. We squeezed in a bit of fun too, touring the sites. Eric discovered a broken bolt supporting the alternator and engine’s freshwater pump. This kept us in Gibraltar longer than anticipated. Once appropriate bolts were acquired, we carefully timed our Mediterranean Sea exit with winds and currents and cast off the dock lines for the Strait of Gibraltar. All went well. For our first Atlantic Ocean stop, we chose Port Mohammedia, Morocco – a fishing port near Casablanca, to which we took a train, and from where we toured, inside and out, the world’s largest mosque outside of Saudi Arabia, Hassan II.

Magnificent Interior Hassan II Mosque

Sailing further south along the West African Coast, we made our way to Marina Agadir. With the engine’s freshwater pump leaking internally, Kandu ended-up docked in Agadir for almost 5 weeks (a month longer than planned), waiting for the new pump to arrive and clear customs. However, we met lovely people and traveled to various nearby cities, fully immersing in the culture and exploring the environs: Essaouira and Paradise Valley by renting a car, and later to Marrakesh by bus, plus Bryce got a chance to surf to his heart’s content at several renowned surf sites, including Taghazout. Souks, tajine, couscous, and avocado-date shakes we enjoyed a-plenty.

Departing Agadir, ‘We Kandu’ sailed deeper into the Atlantic to the exquisitely beautiful resort island of Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. Volcanic craters and surf are among this island’s treasures. We flew to Las Palmas for boat parts and a tour of the Columbus museum.

Volcanic wine vineyards of Lanzarote, Canary Islands

From Puerto Calero, Lanzarote, we sailed southwest to Marina Mindelo, Sao Vicente, Cape Verde. Porto Grande is Cape Verde’s largest and most protected natural bay.

Sailing Kandu 10 days to Mindelo, Sao Vicente Island, Cape Verde

We arrived just prior to the send-off of 3 world class cruising rallies, organized to help amateur sailors cross the Atlantic, all of which terminate in the Caribbean. It was great fun to be amongst the bevy of so many serious sailors preparing to make an ocean crossing! Thanksgiving, we received spare parts Uncle Bill mailed us, and got stuck an extra week, waiting for replacement bank cards to arrive from Cape Verde’s capital city. Ate lots of cachupa (local breakfast dish) in the meantime. On Dec. 5, we departed Mindelo for what would be our third and final ocean crossing.

Sixteen rock’n’rolling days later, we’ve made it to French Guiana.

Saint Laurent du Maroni Marina, French Guiana.

Whew! We’ll spend Xmas in the country’s second largest city, Saint Laurent du Maroni, then head to Suriname (Dutch) to tour the sites, maybe spy some freshwater pink dolphins, and spend New Year’s. We’ll pass through Guyana (English) before sailing north into the Caribbean, stopping at Tobago/Trinidad (more parts). From there: Grenada, Bonaire, and Curacao. Then entering South America one more time in Columbia, fromwhere we’ll arrange a canal agent to deal with the formalities of transiting the Panama Canal in late February or early March 2019. The only other Central American stop will be Costa Rica. We’ll skip the rest of Central America, sailing directly to Southern Mexico. There are just too many security concerns with coastal pirates and within Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, and Guatemala. Obviously, from Southern Mexico, we’ll continue our northly trek. Puerto Vallarta is where we’ll cross our circumnavigation track. Then it’s a few short weeks, early May, before we clear-in at San Diego, California.

2018 marks our trip’s most prolific year in terms of countries visited (23), oceans and seas crossed (2/6+), and continents touched (4). With about nine more countries, a canal, and a few more seas to cross, we return eager for life’s next adventures. We want to thank you, our friends and family, for following along on our journey, and to so many of you whom we met along the way. Until we meet up again, we send you our biggest virtual hugs and wish those who are sailing, fair winds and weather!

Love Leslie, Eric, Bryce and Trent

REMINDERS

To see where we are on a map in real-time, scroll down on our home page and click on the Delorme link.

We continue to post updates and photos of our travels on our Facebook sites: RigneysKandu, Eric Rigney, Leslie Dennis-Rigney and Bryce Rigney. Bryce and Trent post their favorite photos on Instagram under: Bry.Rig and Tnert_Rigney. If you mostly prefer short video clips, visit us on Youtube.com. Our channels are RigneysKandu and Kandu Crew.

Canary & Cape Verde, Eric's Posts, Experiential

Old Man in the Mirror

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Went to the mirror

And what did I see?

A funny old man

Lookin’ back at me.

*

I said: “Hey, old man,

What ya doin’ there,

Smilin’ back at me

With your fine grey hair?

*

I know you’ve seen things,

Numerous and rare,

Some you can tell

And some you don’t dare.

*

You may not be young,

You may not be fair,

But you’re old enough that

You just don’t care!”

*

That this won’t be them,

The youth might defend;

Yet deep down inside,

They cannot pretend.

*

If you’re so lucky

To live as long,

You just might write

Your own silly song.

*

The EndMiddle

Bryce's Posts, Easter Island, Samoa, Fiji, Vanuatu, Darwin, Experiential

A Surf Day in Vanuatu: Pongo Point, Efate by Bryce Rigney

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June 22nd, 2017 : Bryce’s Journal

On our second day hanging around the island of Efaté, Vanuatu anchored off Port Vila, I called a local surf instructor, John, to see if he could show my brother and I around the local breaks. At the end of the call, he asked if I could come skate around to the café to meet us. Eventually, I wandered upon the shop and found the instructor. He was a small 27-year-old man with dark skin and short dread locks. He looked very friendly. Trent and I introduced ourselves hoping to makes plans for the morrow. It was concluded that we would meet up around 9:30 am at the wharf to skate around with some other kids while waiting for the high tide to crawl in. And then once the tide was close to its peak, my brother and I would fetch our boards on the boat to then catch a mini bus ride to Pongo Village, where John (the instructor) lived. Once all was said and concluded, John and I skated over to ask permission from my parents. Thankfully they said yes, and with that the plan was settled.

Efate Island, Vanuatu

Anxious to go surfing, I had trouble sleeping through the night. Finally, the morning light rose and the timer on the clock began to ring. Before we were allowed to leave my dad gave us some chores. The first on the list was to take out and clean the spark plug on our little 3.3 horse engine, once that was finished we needed to start our reports, comparing the archipelago of Fiji and Samoa. We finished both chores by eight o’clock then commenced the days packing of extra clothes, water bottles and snacks. With our surfboards, board shorts, skateboards, and the bus money all ready to go, we lowered the dingy in the water and putted off with our skateboards. Trent and I waited around the wharf skating for an hour and a half, and right before heading back to the boat disappointed, John and his 8-year old student (Charlie- a girl) showed up. Together we skated around looking for a place to eat lunch. We came upon a place called Nambawun café and ordered protein with a chocolate brownie. An hour later we snatched our boards from the boat, mom motored us back to the wharf and we caught a bus to take us surfing. The four of us arrived to see 1ft waves and hardly anybody out. The tide was not quite high tide yet, so we weren’t completely depressed.

We stashed our things at John’s house and changed into our surf wear. A few minutes later we left towards the beach with hope of high tide to bring bigger waves. As we got closer we saw more and more surfers crowding what was now 2ft waves. So we hopped in the water and all paddled out together to the break. John and Charlie complained from the start that the water temperature of 80° was too cold, but us bros didn’t mind. We surfed around the beginner’s spot for a good half hour trying to figure out the waves’ weird way of breaking. Eventually the group separated and paddled to their preferred breaks, being as their were four different reef breaks all just ten minutes paddle away from each other. I scooted over to a super shallow left reef break where the waves were more my size, and my style. There I could get sets of 4ft waves to shoot down the line and give a big carve at the end of the wave before it got too shallow. The name of this particular spot was called Breakas, and it was my preferred break. The four of us stayed out until the tide once again dropped too far to be able to surf.

Breakas, Pongo, Efate, Vanuatu

Those three hours of surf made us really hungry. We dropped our stuff of at John’s house to grab some money and to head out for fries. Hanging out while waiting for the fries, we talked about the past few hours and enjoyed access to the internet. After gobbling down the French fries we paid at the register and hopped back in the car for a return ride to John’s house. Once arrived at the house we quickly gathered all our things and placed them in a pile near the door. Charlie packed to leave as well since her ride home was coming. Since her mom would be picking her up to take her back to town we asked if it would be possible to give us a lift. As the mom arrived we grabbed our things and asked if she could drop us off at the wharf. She agreed, so we placed our things in her 4×4 and hopped in the back. During the car ride, John, Charlie, Trent, and I all talked and bragged about our day’s best waves. As the car came to a stop we ended the great day thanking the mom for the ride and saying good bye to our new friends John and Charlie.

Once on the shoreline, we laid our things aside down and looked for someone to borrow a phone so I could call my dad for a dingy ride back to the boat. We waited impatiently as my dad motored across to reach the dock. The first thing I said was, “Hey dad, do you think it would be possible to do this again tomorrow morning?” but he denied my request. I already knew it wasn’t going to be possible, knowing that tomorrow morning Kandu (Our boat) was scheduled to leave Port Vila in the morning to head to Pentecost. We got back home and over dinner gave our parents a run down on what happened during our great surf day in Vanuatu.

Bryce Rigney lookin’ at you!

Here are photos and videos of some of the other cool things we did during our tour of the Vanuatu Islands.

Tanna Volcano Mount Yasur upclose!

Bryce and Trent Rigney with the Rom Dancers of Ambrym Island, Vanuatu

Land Diving on Pentecost Island, Vanuatu

After the Land Diving, I helped pound the Kava roots for the adults to drink and celebrate the last diving of the season.

Diving the SS President Coolidge wreck, Espiritu Santo, Vanuatu

Riri Blue Hol rope swinging and swimming, Espiritu Santo, Vanuatu

 

 

Educational, Eric's Posts, Experiential, Marquesas

 Nuku Hiva, Marquesas in Five Days or Less

http://www.noonsite.com/Countries/FrenchPolynesia/french-polynesia-marquesas-nuku-hiva-in-five-days/

Rounding the Southwest corner of Nuku Hiva

This is a posting that Eric sent to the world cruiser’s fabulous resource: www.noonsite.com back in 2016. It was never posted to our site and he thought with the upcoming 2019 Pacific crossing season approaching, our past knowledge might come in handy to the newbie Pacific Puddle jumpers. Some of the details may be a little dated, but things are slow to change in the Marquesas.

Taiohae Bay, Nuku Hiva. We anchored in the little inlet for almost a year: June 2015-May 2016.

 June 2015, Leslie, Bryce (13), Trent (11), and I arrived from the Galapagos Islands in the Marquesas aboard Kandu, our 42-foot Tayana sailboat. Intending to stay only a few weeks, we remained nearly a year, becoming certified residence in the administrative capital of Taiohae, Nuku Hiva. Our sons would be the first Americans to attend Taiohae’s middle-school. Having been in Nuku Hiva as long, we thought it helpful to share some recommendations as to what to see and do were one to have 1-5 days to spend and cooperative weather. A detailed guide written by Rose Corsair points out the nearby historical sites and is available at her shop on the west side of the bay.  So, here’s a short-list, in order of priority.  Of course, spending more time at any one or more of these locations is preferable.  Note: Although many services are described, this is meant mostly to serve as a sailing cruiser’s touring guide, getting the most out of Nuku Hiva in the shortest time, and does not provide a comprehensive list of available services.

Kandu in Taiohae, Nuku Hiva
Taiohae Bay seen from opposite side of the quai.

Standard Polynesian traveling preparations: water, bug spray, sun protection, a good pair of hiking sandals suitable for mud, seawater, and streams, and a roll of toilet paper in a Ziplock.

1st Day, Taiohae, from east to west

Petit Quai dinghy dock (pronounced “per-TEET KAY”), services listed in order of appearance starting from this popular sailors meeting place:

Snack Vaekai aka Chez Henri (among other languages, Henry speaks English and can help solve most any boat problem the Marquesan way) (meals $8-$10): Internet WiFi with food purchase, mostly Marquesan menu, including the classic Marquesan poisson cru(lime-marinated fresh fish in fresh squeezed coconut milk), fresh squeezed fruit juices or citronade (lime-ade), and individual bananas that you pull from any one of the many stalks hanging along the tent’s edge to accompany your meal. Bananas are consumed here like bread or tortilla chips are in US restaurant. For dessert: gateau beurre(butter cake), ice cream, or firi-firi(French Polynesian donut). No alcohol served (BYOB from Kamake, see below).

Welcoming Quai businesses of Taiohae Bay, Nuku Hiva

Next stores to Henri’s, a boutique selling nice shirts, skirts, caps, and Hinano stickers, and a dive excursion shop, filling tanks and taking you out, but no classes.

Henri, like a brother to me, shows off a plate of his poisson cru, lime-marinated raw yellow fin tuna.

Then it’s Yacht Services Nuku Hiva (YSNH), Kevin can help you check in and/or with the authorities and help solve boat problems (the American way).  He sells Marquesan courtesy flags, souvenirs, and houses one of the island’s premiere tattoo artists: Moana.   YSNH can also set you up with one of their many island tours.  Laundry and WiFi are just some of the services he offers.

Trash and oil dump location.

Open Market: Fresh fruits and vegetable stand, daily 6am-3pm except Sundays. (4 a.m. Saturday if you want tomatoes!!!)

Chez Celina, in the market place at the end of the quay, serves local dishes, ($6-$10), cold beer, and offers Wi-Fi with a purchase. Serves standard Marquesan fare as well as Marquesan dishes with international spiced variations

Quay restrooms are now payable ($1, or free when you eat at Celina’s), but not yet well maintained.  We “lobbied” to improve this circumstance, asking that they have toilet seats, doors, toilet paper, soap and drying towels. Would also like to see the showers working too. There’s a place to hand wash clothes behind the building near the toilets.  During rains, the water which is non-potable becomes brown with sediment and can stain clothes.  Currently no potable tap water in Taiohae, except one of the three free filtered water stations, none of which are close to the quai.

Communal artisan center, more active when a cruise ship passes through.  If you see something you like, buy it.  It might not be there tomorrow. When larger cruise ships pull into port, Ua Pou arrives to sell inexpensive black pearls.

Tourist office, with maps and information about the Marquesas.  Speak English.  Can set you up with Nuku Hiva tours: Richard Dean and Jocylene speak English.  Average tour cost $65 pp plus lunch.  Tourist office has the best public restrooms on Nuku Hiva!!!!

Saturday morning flea market (marche de puce), 5-6:30am, fresh seafood and prepared foods. Tuna, wahoo, etc. $5/kilo.  Live lobster, $15/kilo (out of season Feb-April).

General Stores: Taiohae has 5 general stores and 2 hardware stores.  Larssons, next to Kamake sells higher-end items like curries, coconut oil, etc.  The store furthest away, past the pharmacy, is open 7 days a week.  The one behind Socredo, the only bank, across from the stadium field, is open during lunch, Monday-Sat.  Cold anything, including soft drinks, beer ($2.50-$3/can), wine, chocolate, meats, cheese, and ice cream. Fresh baked baguette bread ($0.70) and pastries daily except Sundays and holidays.  Kamake open 5:30-11:30am Mon-Sat, 2-6:30pm Mon-Fri, Larsson’s opens later. Fresh vegetables and inexpensive casse-croute(sandwiches) sold in front of Kamake until 11:30am.  These general stores offer free truck rides to the Petit Quai if you have a heavy or large purchase, but you have to ask.

Kou’eva Ceremonial Grounds, Taiohae, Nuku Hiva

Kou’eva – Inland ceremonial grounds, restored for traditional cultural festivals. To find it, turn right up the town’s center street, main intersection, between Magasin Kamake and Magasin Larsson. Walk about a mile up, not far from the school bus stop, a super small sign on the right side of street marks right turn toward Taiohae’s reconstructed ceremonial grounds.  The walk from the paved street inland along the dirt road is further than you think and which road to take at each informal intersection is not obvious . . . so, ask any passersby, or worst case, walk back and take the other path if you guess wrong.

Magasin Kamake, Taiohae, Nuku Hiva

Chez Bigo Hardware:  Walking from Kou-eva back to the seafront, as you descend, you may notice Chez Bigo, the island’s most comprehensive hardware store to your right, just before the bus stop, across the small bridge.  They serve cold drinks and packaged snacks like candy bars if the Kou’eva walk zapped your energy.

Moana Nui Restaurant, Pension, and Car Rental – on the main drag, further west after the main intersection. More European than Marquesan menu ($12-$30).  Great steak. Serves French-style pizza (no mozzarella cheese for pizza in French Polynesia), beer and wine and mixed drinks. More expensive than the two Petit Quai “Snacks” (cafes), less expensive than Pearl Lodge.

Cathedral Taiohae – Ask permission to enter building.  Strict protocols. Rose Corsair, on the westside of the bay, sells a guidebook for Nuku Hiva that includes descriptions of elements within the cathedral. Beautiful woodcarvings inside and out. Sunday mass begins with meditative chants at 7am, regular mass at 8am, ends 9-9:30am.  Look for the Marquesan version of the Christian cross (previously Marquesan symbol for southern cross, I think). Butted together, the Marquesan cross figures look like a pattern of men.

Cathedral Taiohae with Leslie Rigney

Tohua Temehea – Seaside ceremonial grounds, built for traditional cultural festivals since 1989. Read the informational sign on-site (in French and English) for details

Melville Monument – Tucked in on the shore side, neighbouring the western cemetery.
A wonderfully carved large tree stump with weathered roof top and missing elements, shows the path he hiked out of Taiohae and over to Taipi Vai. The monument is reported placed at the beach location where Melville reportedly jumped ship and headed for the hills.

Joel’s Bella Pizza: Great pizza, ($12.50-$18; $3 delivery to Petit Quai), a less expensive alternative to Moana Nui Restaurant’s pizza.  The “Indian” and “Petit Quai” versions are our favorites. Better than the pizza are the decadent desserts, tiramisu and cheesecake ($4, large slices)

Restaurant and Marquesas Museum at Chez Rose’s.  Rose was an American sailing cruiser who arrived in Taiohae in 1972 with her husband Frank and later returned to stay since 1977. Far west side of bay.  Never know when it’s open.  Knock.  Great exhibit. Sells a great Nuku Hiva guidebook in multiple languages. Restaurant serves an excellent hamburger.  Free WiFi, password-free (some anchor their boats at this side of the bay to get closer to her wifi). A more casual Friday night happy hour than Pearl Lodge, Kevin sometimes arranges a complimentary communal taxi for sailors from his YSNH shop on the Petit Quay.

Pearl Lodge – Nuku Hiva’s gorgeous (expensive) bar, restaurant ($18-$40), hotel ($225/night).  Very nice! Beautiful view of Taiohae Bay. Friday evening Happy Hour, half off beautiful $14 frou-frou cocktails (or as I see it, two for the price of one!)

Swimming
Remember in the Marquesas, beach equals no-no’s. They breed in the sand between fresh and seawater.  Usually, it seems, the whiter the sand, the greater the no-no’s.
Beaches:  Kouvea beach on the eastern side of the bay, in front of the French Administrator’s residence.  To the west, in front of Rose’s place, there’s a beach but more no-no’s than Kouvea. And over the western hill, there’s Colette’s Bay, see “Hikes” below.

Sharks? 

  • Cleaning boat bottoms and swimming in the bay have not been a problem for us or anyone else.  Locals say sharks are a problem, but Kevin from Nuku Hiva Yacht Services and the Fire Dept. haven’t heard of an actual incident.  Kevin says he is never concerned about jumping in to the bay to fix a boat.
  • That said, I would not advise swimming near the Petit Quai as sharks feed on fishermen’s scraps.  Still, many cruisers have dived here, jumping in after fallen items, without incident.

Hikes (Randonee, in French)

Sentinal/East bay mouth

Moderate, but sometimes steep.  Bring water.  No facilities.
Between 1.5 and 2 hours R/T at steady pace.
Leave early in the morning, before it gets hot, before 7 am is best. Take upper road above fuel station to maintained dirt path.  Ask any locals how to get to the start.

 Taiohae overview vista, walk up the center road, as done for Kou’eva, until you get to the top for a stunning view (hitch hike if you don’t want to walk).

 Colette’s Bay, over the ridge on the other side of the bay’s west side, . . . path starts above Rose’s motel. Turn right above the motel, then another immediate right, walking down and curving left.  Stay on main dirt road until your reach top of saddle/ridge.  Turn left, opening and closing the barbed-wire gate.  (If you turn right, you’re on your way to Hakaui Bay, a much further hike, so ask in advance where the paths turn). Colette’s Bay is where Survivor Marquesas filmed their challenges. Great swimming beach.  Remember, beach equals no-no’s.

2nd Day, Car Tour

Pre-arrange a guide in Taiohae for a driving tour ($50-$120pp). Richard, Jocylene, and Kevin speak English.  Ask Tourism Office, Henri, Rose, or Kevin to help you find a guide.  Or go solo, diesel 4×4 rental is about $120/day plus fuel.

Self-guided?

  • Taipi Vai, Tohua ceremonial grounds (toilets often available) w/modern stone tiki.
  • Hoomi, see church and visit with Pena, a sculptor (toilets available in Hoomi).
    Hatiheu Ceremonial Grounds

    Ron Dennis indicating the ancient petroglyphs depicting a mahimahi, Hatiheu
  • Hatiheu
    • Road from Taipi Vai to Hatiheu and beyond becomes rough dirt and washed out rock, requiring 4×4.
    • Once arrived, visit the archeological ceremonial grounds, see petroglyphs
    • Check out the Marquesan history exposition. Great history of Anaho too.
    • Virgin Mary statue atop pinnacle southwest side of bay.
    • Chez Yvonne’s for lunch (toilets available). Feed a piece of baguetteto the fresh water eels adjacent her restaurant.
  • Aakapa vista point, beautiful Attitoka mountain ridge.
    Aakapa Bay and Attitoka Mountain Range
    • From Hatiheu to Aakapa and especially beyond, requires 4×4 driving skill.  If it were raining, I’d pass on going to Aakapa and/or beyond.
    • Some drive from there (Aakapa) directly to the airport, but told the brush surrounding this un-maintained dirt road can scratch cars.
  • Drive across central plateau toward airport (or from airport, depending on how you drove there).  This area is called ‘Too Vii’ or as some call it, mini-New Zealand, with its fresh air and pines. Stop at vista points at the top of the mountain ridge, including Nuku Hiva’s Grand Canyon.

3rd Day, Hakatea Bay and Hakaui Valley

Before sailing over, quickly stop off at one of the nearby stores and buy fresh baguettes in Taiohae to give to Hakaui locals that same day. Nice gift.

Leave Taiohae, sail west to Hakatea, 1-1.5 hr motorsail, and anchor on the eastern bay aka “Daniel’s” Bay, where Survivor was shot.  Daniel passed away a few years ago. This is also the bay where not so long ago a German sailor was murdered by an emotionally troubled man, currently serving time in Papeete.  Careful, lots of no-no’s (noseums), some even fly to the anchored boat.

Walk west along bay’s north shore to Hakaui Bay.

Wade through river to other side (good place to run your dinghy to give it a fresh water internal rinse). Along the start of your way up the path to the waterfall, make lunch reservations for your return trip (4 hrs R/T) with one of the valley families.  Teiki and Kua, as you enter the village, are favorites, but all meals from any family here are great.  $10pp.  Warning: Don’t take Teiki’s picture without permission! Easier if you dine at his place.

Friends Kua and Teiki showed Rosie Dennis Marquesan amity when we visited the Hakaui waterfall.
Hakaui Canyon, Nuku Hiva

Continue walking deeper inland toward one of the world’s most breathtaking waterfalls, following a not so carefully marked path.  Walking through the stream is sometimes safer than negotiating slippery rocks and tree trunks over the stream.  After three trips prior, we went with a guide, Thierry, and saw three times as much, and more safely.

WARNING: Rocks can fall from atop, esp. the open field closest to the falls.  Move quickly and quietly when adjacent cliffs.  Don’t attempt this hike if raining, or rain predicted as flash floods are likely.  Swimming to the very base of the falls places you in danger of falling rocks.  Fresh water eels live in the ponds and stream. Not harmful, but they often nip at your legs.

Wear bug repellent and re-apply after swimming in waterfall pond.

4th Day, Anaho Bay

Sail to Anaho, on the northeast corner of Nuku Hiva. About a 6-hour motor-sail. Careful of the rock on the SE corner of the island, off Controller Bay and Tikapo pt.

One of the most scenic and protected bays in the Marquesas, Anaho is where Marquesans go to vacation.  Can’t help but sing Rogers and Hammerstein’s Bali Hai  when I turn the corner to enter the bay.

To protect the coral, anchor south of the coral-carved dinghy path, cut to the shore.

Kandu in Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva, Marquesas

Good snorkeling, safe (no sharks, sometimes jellyfish), clear, often times manta rays. Don’t eat any fish caught there. (Ciguatera).

Fresh spring water available from a free-running hose on the beach for drinking and bathing.

Anaho Bay

Careful, no-no’s on the beach and even more so to the east. Good surfing and a plantation on the beach over the small hill to the east.  Be warned—mega no-no’s on the beach, so run to the surf. Moana Sr., owns the fruit and vegetable farm and has re-opened a small pension in Anaho that serves meals. This makes two pensions that sometimeserve meals, but difficult to count on.  Usually about $10 a large plate of local fare.

Many artisans live in Anaho Bay, including a well-known Marquesan tattoo artist, Moana (Jr.), when he’s not in Taiohae at Kevin’s YSNH.

Lastly, a nice hike up and over western ridge of Anaho to Hatiheu.  There and back (2.5 hr R/T), start early as it gets hot. Easier coming back than going.  Some brag they walk it in half the time.  Again, Chez Yvonne’s, a restaurant popular with cruise ship tourists, is in Hatiheu.

5th Day, Controller’s Bay a.k.a. Taipi Vai (South) or Hanapani (North), let the swell decide:

If the swell is coming from the north, then better to go south.  Taipi Vai is where Herman Melville lived for a couple weeks and about which he later wrote his first novel, Typee. From Anaho, sail east then a sharp turn south along the east coast toward the SE corner of Nuku Hiva (careful, there’s still that killer rock off the point to watch out for).

Taipi Vai Controller’s Bay, Nuku Hiva

Once in Controller Bay, there are three smaller bays from which to choose: Hoomi to the east, Hakapuvai/Hakapaa to the west (only good if no swell), and Taipi Vai in between. Coral surrounds these bays, so anchor in the middle of them.

Hakapuvai & Hakapaa, are private properties, owned by local families.  Together these two beaches comprise the other Survivor beach.

Hakapuvai waterfall
  • We anchor in Hakapaa, the bay to starboard, more easterly, where you may spot pigs roaming the beach and might fumble your way to the pretty waterfall and pool (easy, short hike) in the back, to the west (left when facing inland from your cockpit).
  • Hakapuvai, to the west, has a beach of shells, excellent for combing.
  • Snorkeling over coral is possible in both bays.
  • Occasionally no-no’s can reach the boat.

If the swell is coming from the south, may be better to go north to Hanapani Bay, northwest Nuku Hiva.

Haven’t visited this bay yet, but have been told by those who have that when the swell allows, for those who prefer remote white-sand beaches and clear water without other boats nearby, this is the place to be.  It’s just west of Aakapa.  Aakapa is not good for anchoring.  Pua, further west than Hanapani, is quiet as well, but its landscape is a tad less “magnifique.”

If you’re planning to visit Nuku Hiva, I hope this little outline helps you get the most from your visit.  If you’re in the Marquesas and not planning to visit Nuku Hiva, I hope this outline entices you to reconsider.  See hello to Henri for me.  I love that guy!

All the best!  Eric Rigney – SY Kandu

While we were in the Marquesas, we sailed over to Hiva Oa to witness the Marquesan Festival that occurs every two years. It was worth planning around!!

Matava’a Hiva Oa Opening Ceremony: December 16th 2015

 

Canary & Cape Verde, Experiential, Leslie's Posts

Pondering Blessings by Leslie Dennis Rigney

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November, 2018 – Looking Back and being thankful

After college, age 22, while traveling on sv Getel across the Pacific with Eric in 1989, I had time to pause from the ‘busy’ness of life laiden full of skills learned across multiple disciplines in order to earn a living, and reflect on how incredibly blessed my path had been up to that point. During that crossing from Hawaii to San Francisco, there was a difficult and rather scary 24-hour period when I pushed myself into a tight corner crevice, crossed myself (unusual for a Lutheran), and prayed. At that moment during the raging sea storm, in the most uncomfortable and frightening circumstance of my life, I thanked God for all the extraordinary experiences that my parents had provided me and the incredible opportunities to learn and to grow unhindered by war, by pestilence, tragedy, sickness, hunger, disability, poverty and even unattractiveness. I acknowledged that I had already lived a terrific life. Overwhelmingly thankful, I was prepared to die. Fortunately, the storm passed and we lived to sail under the San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge.

Pondering Blessings

Today, thinking back at that moment and my life up until then, my life had been truly blessed: born in California in the late 1960’s, healthy, strong of body with a decent brain, and an only child of devoted upper-middle class parents. Truly, I was the princess that most of my high school friends perceived me to be, living atop the hill in a big modern house that my father built. Although I never thought, nor think of myself as a princess. I rarely got new clothes; mine were mostly hand-me-downs. My parents owned a record player with basic speakers, a simple medium-sized television and VHS machine to record shows – purchasing movies was out of the question expensive, and renting movies wasn’t a possibility back in the late 1970’s. Spending time on the telephone long distance was forbidden. My parents didn’t often take me out to eat. We drank milk or water with dinner and ate simply. I learned a great distaste for shopping because while my mother loved to go ‘shopping,’ we rarely bought anything. Our big spending was food on special. Before I was ten, I collected aluminum cans, sorting through trash bins to recycle. When I was 10, I sold mistletoe wrapped and tied with a bow to neighbors for a $0.50. Later in high school, I babysat the neighbors’ children. I never received an allowance.

However, what my parents did offer me, above and beyond any material prizes, were experiences. With my mother, we joined a roller-skating club. I was four. Until I was twelve, I spent most of my after-school hours and weekends at the roller-skating rink, taking lessons and practicing. At age six, I started taking piano lessons. A little later I took-up violin in the elementary school orchestra…I was now taking piano and violin lessons.

My mother was a snow ski addict. During the winter months, we would drive up to the Tahoe mountains on Friday afternoons having packed all our food and sandwich materials for a weekend of skiing. At that time, Squaw Valley attracted families to their ski resort by offering children to ski free until age 14. I skied so much as a youth, that by the time I was 16, I was skiing the most difficult runs on the mountain. My mother’s brilliant idea, I attached a horn to my ski pole. While on the chairlift looking down, I would honk the horn to congratulate fellow skiers on their great form skiing and/or crashing. Haha. I used to ski so hard, that my own crashes were enviable…but fortune would have it that I never experienced a debilitating accident. At that time, we skied without helmets.

Then one day, my father showed up with a modest water ski boat. From then on out during the summer months, we would pack-up the El Camino with a camper top (my cousin and I lounged in the back on a cushion reading books – I became an avid reader – no DVD movie players back then) and headed out on late Friday afternoons to the bay area delta for the weekend.

Around age 12, my mother’s interest in roller-skating dwindled. She asked me if I wanted to continue. I was good enough that if I continued, I would have started skating freestyle pairs – a dangerous sport for girls as they are twirled, lifted, and thrown in the air at their peril. At the same time, my interest and skill at playing the violin had markedly grown. We decided that our roller-skating days were over. Instead, we water and snow skied many weekends, I poured myself into local after school sports (softball and soccer), practiced and played the violin, sang in choirs, and improved my mind through academics and reading. Junior high was marked for me by singing in the choir, the purchase of a good violin and playing in the orchestra at the junior college, but most significantly, having to wear headgear to school; before I smiled I was considered a small, cute girl. Haha.

My mouth was such a tangled mess, that the orthodontist required I wear braces and the worst possible: headgear 24 hours a day – even to school. He was going to wire the apparatus in so that I couldn’t remove it. Fortunately, my mother and number one advocate, protested the wiring and assured the doctor I would wear it. In the bathroom, my mother discovered me in tears trying to hide the headgear under my hair. She held me in her arms and said: “You won’t be able to hide it, instead, flaunt it!” From her crafts, she pulled out ribbons and dried flowers and together we decorated it in style wrapping it with bright colors and festooning it with “charm.” Interestingly, I was rarely pointed out or ridiculed. During those months, we  arranged at school for me to eat lunch privately in a classroom away from prying eyes. The orthodontist predicted I would need to wear the headgear full time for five months. I determined that would not do. The moment my teeth stopped aching, I would tighten the gear myself. Three months later, my teeth had reached their new permanent place and the headgear was no longer required. I wore braces for just a year and retainers every night thereafter.

While I was in junior high, my mother went back to school to San Jose State University. My grandmother would pick me up from school to take me to violin lessons. Other days, I would attend soccer practice and/or walk home, practice my violin and piano, do my homework. A couple nights a week, I was expected to cook simple dinners – rice and vegetable stir fry and/or spaghetti with salad. In eighth grade, I auditioned for Oakland Youth Symphony Orchestra and was accepted into the second violins. For three consecutive summers, I earned music scholarships to attend La Honda Music Camp in the Santa Cruz mountains to improve my skills and make contacts.

La Honda music Camp

Moving forward in time, as a freshman at San Leandro High School, I auditioned and was accepted to sing in the Notables Choir, and continued to study piano and violin privately.

The day I turned 16, I passed my driver’s license test. My parents were so relieved from having to taxi me around to rehearsals, they allowed me to drive their robust El Camino truck to school and to my numerous music commitments. By that time, I was playing string bass in Young People’s Symphony Orchestra, I was 6th chair of the first violins in Oakland Youth Symphony (OYSO), taking lessons in San Francisco, and heading to school for 7:00 am rehearsals for Pirates of Pizazz, our high school “glee” club of singing and dancing. School mornings, I would pick-up two friends who also sang in the group. As might be expected, with all that driving, before I turned 18, I caused two smallish car accidents where fortunately nothing but the cars were damaged. There is a reason why drivers under 25 pay more for insurance. My parents were kind to me about those accidents as I was driving myself from orchestra rehearsals both times. They had the cars repaired, paid the higher insurance fees, and I continued to drive. Through OYSO I got a chance to travel to Europe…travel without my parents. It was my 16th summer. The travel bug hit me hard.

Kent Nagano conducted OYSO at that time.

Time passed musically. I had started taking French as a Sophomore in high school, and became so advanced that in my Senior year, I finished my high school classes at noon and continued French courses at Hayward Junior College. Between my orchestra classes as a junior high student and the French classes, before I graduated high school, I had already accumulated 58 college credits. I then graduated HS with good grades, but earned unimpressive SAT scores. After appealing my application, University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) accepted me as a Freshman.

I could go on about the blessings of my life through University and beyond. I continued to have and to create opportunities. And then I met Eric. Through him, I found the courage to pursue a career in opera which led to more wonderful teachers and eventually to a Master’s and Ph’d in Music supported by teaching voice and a ‘priceless’ 12-year career singing in the chorus of Los Angeles Opera. These incredible opportunities were afforded to me by hard work and great people who helped and nurtured me along the way. I have never been exceptional at anything…even opera singing…but through much perseverance, I have become very good at a lot of things, even typing.

Eric also did well in his chosen career and we experienced an extraordinary boon; Eric and I were blessed with two very sturdy, healthy, and intelligent sons with whom to share our lives.

RigneysKandu floating in Dead Sea of Israel

And you wonder why I wrote this account that sounds a bit like boasting, why I recorded it ‘out loud?’ I wrote all this as an edification for a thought that has been mulling around in my brain for some time, since I was 22 and sailing aboard sv Getel. Now at almost 52 having traveled the world for 4 years, I have seen so many extraordinary sights, experienced incredible cultural events and have witnessed in person war torn countries, very poor people, and interacted with all types from different regions of the world. I ask myself and God why have I been so blessed? Surely, I have had to struggle in my life, but my struggles, in general, have been self-inflicted as I have toiled to grow, improve my understanding in music, language, writing, math, spirituality, singing, sailing, etc. Was it the environment in which I grew-up and the choices that I made along the way that protected me from horrible hardships? Was it luck to have good health and simply good fortune, and that I have not had to battle against oppression of all kinds?

This morning aboard our sturdy sv Kandu, before writing all this, a song was wafting around in my mind from Rogers and Hammerstein’s “Sound of Music: Something Good.” The lyrics repeated over and over: ‘Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.’ I’m not sure if a good life or having many blessings is a reward for good works in this life or another. It’s entirely possible that because of my “good life” or ‘Princess on the hill’ benefits, I still have much to accomplish of good in the future – to ‘pay it forward’ so to speak. I don’t know what that payment is or may be, or even if it’s necessary in the scheme of things. However, it doesn’t stop me from wondering deeply. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. Nevertheless, I feel the utmost gratitude for all that has made this outstanding life possible and to those that have been instrumental in this life I have been living.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Leslie Rigney & Moroccan spices

 

Educational, Eric's Posts, Experiential, Morocco

Importing Parts into Morocco by Eric Rigney, 2018

3 Comments

October 18, 2018

While preparing to leave Agadir Marina, I found our Yanmar freshwater pump leaked beyond repair and needed replacement.  With only 7 Schengen days left on our visa and Spain’s Canary Islands at high season with packed marinas, I decided to take my chances with what I read was a difficult Moroccan Customs. First my experience, then how I should have done it.

Morocco does not allow yacht owners to import parts free of duty “yacht in transit” unless the part is coming in as part of an insurance claim and the yacht’s insurance agency works with one of the many pre-approved Moroccan insurance partners.  Although the US vendor was cheaper, I privately ordered a pump, bolts, plus a spare and all gaskets from dieselpartseurope.com $825 US. Both DHL and FedEx have offices in Agadir.  Dieselpartseurope.com shipped FedEx, 3-4 days, Netherlands to Agadir for $165. Within 48 hrs, the packaged arrived in Casablanca where Customs held it.

Packages above $20 do not transfer within Morocco automatically, and having clients refuse to pay customs fees, FedEx will no longer accept in advance on your behalf and pass on the charges to the recipient at acquisition. Note also that mechanical parts costing more than $1,360 (including freight, insurance, tax), must come with an additional importation permit. Two days after the package arrived in Casablanca, I received a FedEx notification of Customs’ withholding. I called FedEx Casablanca for clarification.  I’m glad I speak some French.  FedEx offered me three options: come to Casablanca and deal with it by myself, hire a broker to deal with it on my behalf, or pay FedEx $60 to broker it on my behalf. I opted for the latter. They asked for a copy of my passport, a copy of the invoice with my ‘ship to’ name and marina address, a photo image of the parts, and a parts description in French. I lost an additional two days due to some minor inconsistencies with my invoice, but fortunately dieselpartseurope.com and I were in similar time zones and they made the necessary modifications. Then FedEx Casablanca asked for a bank transfer to cover the Customs’ costs (23.5% ++, of total invoice including taxes, freight, packing, and insurance), $275. FedEx Casablanca would not accept a credit card. As an American, not easily able to transfer funds as the rest of Europe does, I discovered I could instead pay the FedEx office in Agadir. I paid in cash but I think the Agadir office might have accepted a Visa credit card. Two days later, Casablanca had the package.  The next day they shipped it to Agadir and the next day it arrived, 12 days after it arrived in Casablanca. I then had to pay FedEx a Customs’s storage fee based on weight and duration of $17, not FedEx’s charge.

Water intake pump!

Recommended procedure: contact FedEx or DHL office Agadir in advance for a list of recommended brokers and see how much they charge, or deal directly with Agadir’s FedEx or DHL in advance and pre-arrange payment options, asking them to alert you ASAP of customs duties, taxes, and fees owed.  Exchange with a representative’s contact information, phone and email.  Provide them with the tracking number, a copy of your passport, the invoice, photos of the parts, description of the part in French and why you need them.  Make certain the “Ship to” invoice is to your name, with the marina as an address, not the recipient. My hope would be that by doing this in advance, you’ll save 5-7 days.

One more option: go through the commercial Yanmar dealer in Agadir.  They’re located in the commercial port where foreigners don’t have access, but Youssef Ajewher, a kind local yacht service person, a former merchant ship engineer, working privately at Agadir marina would be glad to assist you. The Yanmar dealer is said to provide you with a quote including freight, time frames, and customs’ costs estimates within 2-3 days.  I didn’t go this way only because on day 1, I had a quote in hand from dieselpartseurope.com, with FedEx 3-4 day.  I don’t know what the cost or experience would have been had I waited for the quote from the Agadir Yanmar dealer.  I may have jumped too soon. I do not know.

Agadir Marina Yacht Services : Youssef Ajewher

+212 (0) 6 77 45 68 87,  aj************@gm***.com

Youssef Ajewher, +212 (0) 6 77 45 68 87
aj************@gm***.com

Eric Rigney, s/v Kandu, Agadir, Morocco

Experiential, Leslie's Posts, Morocco

Laundry in Agadir, Morocco: Saving is a Joke!

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At home in California, I constantly tried to be frugal. I was taught to save money. I didn’t go out to buy coffee and treats at Starbucks. If there were leftovers from the previous night’s dinner, I would eat that for lunch the next day. I packed the boys’ lunch. I bought the grocery store brand that was $0.10 cheaper. And I used coupons.

Then I would get a parking or a speeding ticket.

In my mind, I would think all that saving was for nil. Privately, by myself, I would rant and rave, throw an adult “tantrum” – absolutely pissed off at myself for being so stupid to get the ticket or to have wasted so frivolously, wondering what was the point of saving if the universe or fate was going to take away my penny here penny there savings anyway. After a while, I would calm down and follow my mother’s advice. Immediately, I would pay the ticket and put it in the mail – try to forget about it.

At a certain point early on, I learned that maintenance of ‘possessions’ was much more expensive than the original purchase price. I tried not to buy unnecessary or repeat items.

Once I became a homeowner, the motto “Less is More” rang true in my head…small house, small cars…. Instead of getting pulled into a ‘sale’ item just because it’s ‘on sale,’ I would talk myself out of the purchase nurturing the concept, “if I don’t buy the ‘sale’ item, then I saved even more!”

Like refurbishing a house where we were warned to budget 30% above and beyond the original foreseen/planned budget, traveling on a ‘houseboat’ is similar. However, I’ve come to figure that expenditures on maintaining Kandu account for 3/5 of our annual budget. So, Eric and I and the boys continue to save and make decisions accordingly. Perhaps we eat out too often. Living on the boat, I’ve never cooked so much in my life. But in other aspects, we work to save. In fact, we planned extensive stays in countries where the dollar is strong and prices are cheaper for us: Marquesas, Samoa, Fiji, Indonesia, Malaysia, India, Egypt, Morocco.

Having learned that in non-Western, generally Islamic countries, bargaining from vendors is expected and among locals it’s a skill. We Western tourists are prime targets for milking and paying double or even triple the ‘local’ price which often ends up making the items as expensive as what would be paid in a technologically advanced country.

Yesterday, I wanted to have our laundry done because washing 3-weeks’ worth of clothes and linens by hand is an all-day painstaking job. I had previously researched the Internet to find there were no coin operated laundromats in Agadir. I asked the marina manager for a recommendation. She highlighted an area on the map indicating there was an establishment across from ‘a restaurant’ that some other yachties have used and the prices were reasonable.

Having been heavily ripped off and burned in Egypt over laundry, I was equipped with courage and determination to barter for the price. I was not going to pay US$100 dollars for two bags of un-ironed laundry. In Egypt, with use of a derelict washing machine (2.5 hours per load), I spent 2 days washing, hanging, and folding 5 loads of laundry. Port Suez Yacht Club then unexpectedly charged me US$10 a load. I had spent hours doing all of my own laundry and they charged me $50 in a country where things are supposed to be cheaper? I was beside myself frustrated.

Now in Agadir, armed with a map, Eric and I took off with two bags (3 loads) of laundry filled with 4 sheets, pillow cases, worn but decent boat clothes and underclothes that can all be washed together – no separating necessary. After a bit of searching we found the recommended laundry place (pressing or blanchisserie): Pressing Alwafa located across from ‘SouIaymane Restaurant’ on Rue d’Essaouira just north of the taxi cab  hangout.

Pressing Alwafa, Agadir, Rue d’Essaouira opposite Soulaymane Restaurant

I approached a middle-aged man at the counter and started bargaining in my imperfect French right away. My mistake may have been that I should not have been as assertive. Many Muslim men don’t appreciate strong women, especially those not wearing long non-descript smocks, gloves, and head coverings. He wanted to charge for each item, so I took out all the large pieces and said: “I will hand wash the small pieces myself.” Then he counted the large items as I watched, dropping them in a basket behind the counter, announced it was 35 items and it would be 350 dirhams which amounted to US$38…already expensive! I then asked if I could double count the items – he was annoyed and turns out he was off by five…there were only 30. At that point, he said fine, for another 10 dirhams, he would do all the laundry – a total of 400 dirhams or US$45. I agreed. Then we negotiated when I would pick-up the laundry. The next day was Sunday, so he wanted to give it to me on Monday, but I needed it back the same day since we would be leaving on Monday – we agreed the pick-up would be at 7:00 pm. I mentioned that he didn’t need to wrap the clothes in plastic. Instead, to simply refill my laundry bags directly to on save plastic. He was put-out. Then I asked for a receipt which must have completely tipped him over.

At 7:15 pm Bryce and I returned to pick-up the laundry. Everything was cordial enough. Back at the boat, I started to sort through the laundry and discovered one of my good and hard to find ‘no underwire’ bras was melted/destroyed. Continuing to sort, half the laundry smelled burnt or dirty and felt hard, as if it hadn’t been washed and then I found 4 more pieces melted, burned and/or ruined and three others scorched. Now it was my turn to be pissed. The badly ruined and scorched items with the exception of one of Bryce’s old shirts and a hole in his best Hurley shorts, were mine. Was the damage orchestrated intentionally to punish me specifically because I had ‘aggressively’ tried to bargain? Or since I mentioned I was leaving the country Monday, maybe he didn’t care? On passing us the bags of laundry, the man certainly knew that several items had been ruined and/or damaged and didn’t mention it because half of the clothes were folded and some even ironed! He accepted the full amount of money with a smile. Also, the clothes in one bag were extremely hard wrinkled having been left sitting in a hot dryer – and then not folded. The wrinkles won’t come out even after hand washing unless I iron the items. It was the worst paid laundry job I have ever experienced. I guess I’ll be hand-washing my clothes in the future if I cannot find a coin operated laundromat where I can wash the items myself.

Expensive ExOfficio Specialty capris for sun protection

Recently gifted sweatshirt from Aunt Meg

My immediate reaction to the destroyed laundry was to retaliate. I know it’s sounds foolish and well I felt foolish, but I couldn’t sleep that night for all the possible methods of malice I kept devising in my head. Of course, much of this anger in me is pent up frustration in response to the overall Islamic culture’s treatment of women. It feels like to me that within conservative Islam, women are good only for breeding, cooking, and cleaning. Women should say little and have no opinions. Oddly, only mothers are revered. Not other people’s mothers, just yours. Certainly, a man cannot be friends with a woman…friendliness is interpreted as the woman being open to have sex with the man.

Typically dressed Muslim women in Agadir, Morocco

Eric tells a story about a male public restroom attendant working in the Middle East, filling pitchers of water for patrons to use (they clean themselves with their left hand using the water, no toilet paper). As a business man descends into the attendant’s domain, he grabs the pitcher at the end. The attendant orders the man to set it back down and take the third pitcher from the end. “Why? They’re all the same,” the patron declares. To which the attendant replies, “When I’m up there, I have to do what you say. But when you’re down here, you have to do what I say,” exercising what little power he can. Was this that case? Was the laundry man just exercising his power, because he thought he could? Because I was leaving and had no recourse?

So, my experiment with saving in Morocco was a joke. I tried to save on laundry or to at least get a fair price and I was kicked in the butt. The universe is laughing at me. However, what is the best thing to do? It is to WALK AWAY and let him think he defeated me – that he stole from me, beat me down, won.  To me, he’s a middle-aged man surrounded by ugliness and dirty buildings, usurping his little bit of power over a foreign, modern woman.

What do we truly own in life but our attitude? Everything else can be taken away. I want my attitude to be positive, so I work to reject that man’s actions. Happiness is my preference. I want to be happy, and I will keep trying to save because it’s what I do, but maybe a little less vigilantly. Still, hard as I might, I remain a bit hurt, feeling attacked. I guess he won today since I chose to stay inside the boat, hide away and write this article instead. I also didn’t want to spread any residual bad mojo to those around me. Eric and Bryce went to visit the Moroccan souk without me, which I really wanted to experience, . . . but, well, I didn’t buy anything, so I guess I saved.

Leslie Rigney

Epilogue – Eric and I returned to the pressing/laundry with the worst damaged 4 pieces that I was unable to fix and a pillowcase that was unmistakably browned – the other items I rewashed, pressed and/or mended myself. The shop owner seemed dismayed at the news, as his worker, the man I dealt with, looked on. The owner asked us to leave the items with him to see if he could have them repaired, and for us to return in a couple days. Without me, Eric returned and spoke with the jerk clerk. He said, “We were unable to repair the clothes, but we did clean the pillowcase. We are sorry.” The man didn’t make any special offers until Eric pressed him. Compelled, the man offered to do another load of laundry on the house.  Burned twice having laundry done in Muslim countries, I couldn’t bare the possibility of getting burned thrice. I have since washed the laundry two times myself with a plunger, buckets, cold water and elbow grease. It all turned out perfectly clean, sun-wind ironed and smelling like fresh air. Not only did I save myself cab money and consternation, I got some exercise too!

 

Educational, Eric's Posts, Experiential, Leslie's Posts, Morocco

Mohammedia Docking, Clearance & Casablanca Sights Sept 2018

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An extended versions of this report for cruisers is available on www.noonsite.com. Follow this link: Morocco-mohammedia-report of visit in october-november 2018

September 17, 2018

Unable to reach the Yacht Club du Maroc, a private enterprise, prior to departure, we set sail from Gibraltar in hopes a space would be available.  A forecasted large NW swell had us forego the shallow entrance of Rabat, and Casablanca has no facilities for receiving yachts.  Upon our morning approach, Port Control Mohammedia responded to our VHF call on 16.  We were instructed to enter the port and head directly to the marina where someone would point us to a berth.  Warned in reports of underwater obstructions near the marina, we arrived at high tide. The private marina resides tucked away in the corner of the commercial and fishing port. Seeing no one of authority, we stayed just off the marina’s two large pontoons, toward the commercial portion of the port rather than the likely shallower small fishing port.

Kandu waiting to be welcomed to Yacht Club du Maroc in Mohammedia

Within 10 minutes, an official looking person with collared shirt and long pants, holding a handheld VHF guided us to raft up alongside one of two possible boats, the choice was ours.  They have limited space for visiting yachts.  Looking at our depth sounder during our maneuvering into place, the depths were more than adequate, never below 18 feet.  The official, who we never saw again, asked us to drop an anchor which I said I would do later, but intending only to stay for 2 nights, with no bad weather forecast, we did not.

All officials came to us within an hour or so, boarded our boat, and processed us politely and professionally in English and French, . . . no “gifts” asked, none given.  Leslie offered coffee, which they gratefully received. No charge for clearance. They took our passports for an hour to process, stamp, and return them to us with shore passes (as we were in a commercial port with high security), and held on to the ship’s original documentation to insure we checked out properly.  Check out was as simple and painless after 9 a.m., presenting our passports.  Taking only 15 minutes, we had our exit stamped passports and original ship’s document. Agadir officials said we should have received a blue paper from Customs, but did not belabor the point with us.

The YC charges two fees, theirs and the port’s.  Warned of the high price and that they charge per day, not per night, I was mentally prepared to see a high bill.  Accepting only cash, up front, the YC manager was pleased I had made the effort to have Moroccan dirham on hand, having exchanged in Gibraltar before our arrival.  He charged us for two nights, not three days.  Perhaps because we planned to leave at the same time that we’d had arrived.  The two-night YC charge was slightly higher than the port charge, but for a 12.7m monohull, the charges were about 500 dirham each, 1000 total, or $55/night.  Price includes 220 power and potable (we don’t trust) water, separate men and women’s toilets and hot showers (clean and adequate), excellent security, trash, access to their restaurant across the port, and weak to non-existing WiFi.  Our pontoon was for larger boats and was shared by mostly sports-fishing boats. While there are smaller local cafés nearby, to get to the center of town, a 10-dirham taxi ride makes it easy.  ATM’s are common.  We used the ATAM at the train station and purchased via cash our tickets through the ticketing vending machine.  We hopped aboard the frequent (±every 30-minutes) half-hour train to Casablanca (showing up at least 15 minutes late), costing 32-dirham R/T, and walked 20-minutes to the Hassan II mosque, taking the 100 dirham English-speaking tour, by far the best and most worthy experience we had in our short stay in Casablanca.

Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca, Morocco with Bryce Rigney
Mosque Hassan II Casablanca Morocco
Mosque Hassan II Minaret
One of many entrances
Titanium doors
Mosque Hassan II Interior, Bryce Rigney silhouette
Italian Murano glass chandelier
Magnificent Interior Hassan II Mosque
Intricate plaster carving
Mosque Hassan II Ablutions Chamber
Local Moroccan marble
Exit corridor
Moroccan art at it’s very best: Hassan II Mosque of Casablanca with Eric Rigney

Rick’s Café Americain was charming and elegant, although more expensive than we’re use to paying (4x the cost of the normal hole-in-the-wall places we frequent), very delicious, and the portions are large enough to share between two (wished we had known earlier).  As with most all less technologically developed cultures, non-written prices must be negotiated before you engage in buying open market food items, but especially with taxis, where you might pay as much as 3 times the going rate.  In perspective, sometimes that means paying $3 instead of $1, but it can also mean paying $50 instead of $20.

SIM cards are an excellent deal in Morocco, 20 dirham ($2.25) for the Maroc Telecom SIM which allows you some limited calling then you add separately a top-up at a tobacco/convenience store to acquire data or more phone. 10 dirham per 1 GB data. Valid for 30 days. We bought 50 dirham worth (about $5.50). SIMs are purchased at a Maroc Telecom or other brand store.

Maroc Telecom Sim

In summary, Mohammedia is a friendly, efficient, and secure place to berth if Casablanca is on your must-see list.  Reportedly, the most populous Moroccan city, except for the Hassan II Mosque and the train station, we found this historic city to be unattractive.  The old colonial architecture described in tour guides is not maintained and disappointing to behold. To be fair, we did not pay for a guided tour, nor did we have a local showing us the charm of what may otherwise be a very lovely place.  Bryce did get to surf at Florida Beach, but even that experience was just okay.  Eric Rigney

Dar Bouazza / Florida Beach, Morocco, Sept 2018
Arrive Dar Bouazza, Morocco
Bryce Rigney at Dar Bouazza / Florida Beach Sept 2018
Bryce Rigney waxing his board at Dar Bouazza
Bryce Rigney heading to surf Dar Bouazza, Morocco
Dar Bouazza, Morocco
Leslie Rigney at Dar Bouazza Beach, Morocco
Bryce Rigney, Dar Bouazza, Morocco
Dar Bouazza / Florida Beach Morocco Sept 2018

Leslie’s brief Facebook excerpt:

Casa Blanca on the ocean claims to be the largest city in Morocco. But not having a yacht marina directly in Casa Blanca, we headed instead to port Mohammedia 10 kilometers north from the city. From Gibraltar we left with perfect wind and tide circumstances hopping the Gibraltar straights shipping lanes to the south like a rabbit to avoid the big tanker traffic. With Kandu docked in Mohammedia, we took advantage of the inexpensive train and taxis to see the sights in Casa Blanca. We visited Dar Bouazza Beach for some long overdue surf and the renowned Rick’s Cafe for excellent 1920’s art deco ambience and delicious Moroccan couscous.

Bryce & Leslie Rigney at Rick’s Cafe, Casablanca Morocco
Rick’s Cafe Interior, Casablanca, Morocco

We were spellbound by the most impressive architecture found in the large and beautiful Hassan II Mosque (inside and out as they allow non-muslim visitors to tour the interior for US$11/person). We also walked the city to visit the acclaimed business city center, local souk and the famous Rialto Cinema…all of which were underwhelming. Not a beautiful or romantic resort town, two days was plenty. Sadly, most of the city was run-down and dirty…with hopeful construction everywhere especially on the beachfront which was completely torn up and off-limits except on the outskirts like Dar Bouazza / Florida Beach.

Casablanca city center
Casablanca city center
Casablanca souk
Casablanca street market
Casablanca street market
Casablanca skate park
Casablanca Superior Court
Casablanca Rialto Cinema

 

Eric's Posts, Experiential, Morocco

Estimators, One and All by Eric Rigney

5 Comments

September 11, 2018

Gibraltar City, Gibraltar

One reason I travel is to learn more about us, the people who inhabit this planet.  Recently, here in Gibraltar, an understanding hit me . . . epiphany?

Geographically, Gibraltar is a small place with a population of 32,000. An overseas protectorate of the United Kingdom since 1967, the culture is very mixed; Maltese, Moroccan, Spanish, English, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, something like 61 different cultures in total.  Additionally, a labor force of 12,000 Spanish cross the border each day to work in Gibraltar and 1,000 to 6,000 cruise ship passengers make their way through the streets and sights of the famous “Rock,” returning to their ship each evening. During our stay, Gibraltar held its week-long annual end-of-summer family fair; Ferris wheel, bumper cars, ice cream, churros, beer garden, loud music; you get the picture. At the fair, our son Bryce was doing his thing, trying to meet pretty girls and cool dudes. Just as with other European countries, Bryce thought he’d have no problem meeting young people, especially with English being their primary language. Much to his disappointment he discovered the youth were socially closed off, disinterested in making new associations. “Why?” we wondered.

Gibraltar City with Spain in the background

Surrounded by, but cut off politically from Spain and Morocco, far from Britain, under such unique circumstances, Gibraltar seems to have cultivated a particular breed of isolationist village-type mentality, manifested and simmered over a thousand years of various occupations and waves of immigration. They’ve their own language, Llanito a type of ‘Spanglish,’ Spanish with sprinkles of English. The unusual circumstance of the community thus makes it hyper-confined. Anything a member of the community says or does travels through the gossip channels as fast or faster than any technical version of social media. What is said among fellow villagers matters. When for instance, a young girl was seen talking with Bryce, her phone rang constantly. “Why are you with that guy?” It’s made clear: “He’s not one of us.” To be seen spending time with Bryce, a visitor, places the young lady’s reputation in possible question. Guys are equally as brief and dismissive of Bryce’s attempts to connect. This is an unusual circumstance for us. Visiting country after country, an average of two countries per month for the past year, we’ve learned that lifetime friendships can sometimes be forged within days. People who don’t travel much may not appreciate just how quickly and frequently this occurs. At the same time, we’ve learned that, when it comes to preferences as to which people most people wish to associate, people are simple: they prefer to engage with people just like themselves.

Bumper cars at the Gibraltar fairground

Bryce’s Gibraltar experience sparked broader impressions within me. Obviously the more someone is like us, the easier it is for us to receive them. The more unique a group, the more narrowly it is defined, thus allowing for fewer options for developing associations and/or friendships and the possibility of changing their minds, something they don’t really wish to have happen anyway. On the other hand, any possible differentiation that can be discerned naturally gives us pause, a cause to guard and nurture what is ‘us.’ The distinction can be obvious, like skin color, age, sex, sexual orientation, style of dress, weight, the way a person walks, shakes hands, a visible handicap, the vehicle a person drives. It can be less obvious: religion, geographic coordinates, socio-economic class, occupation, food, culture, language, education, etc. Within each of these categories, there are subcategories, for example: education. We differentiate whether one is a high school grad, the school attended, public or private, foreign or domestic? Did they attend college? Which degree? Degree level? Which college? Ivy league? Which one? Fraternity/sorority? Sports? Scholarships? It goes on and on. And to what end do we differentiate others? What greater good is served by cultural confinement? Survival of our offspring? Of our clan? Could it be simply a case of “I want ‘my’ people to thrive, let the others worry about ‘their’ people?” Is this why humans migrated from Africa, into Europe, Asia, South Pacific, and North and South Americas, to get away from the ‘others’ that prevent ‘us’ from thriving? “To heck with you, I’ll find my own hunting grounds!” . . . I wonder.

While I was in college (American, west coast, California, Southern California, San Fernando Valley, public, Cal State University, not UC, no fraternity, graduate degree, mass communication (not law, MBA, medicine, etc.)), a professor described a study that had participants estimating the number of dots flashed from a projector on a wall. The participants were then isolated into two groups, over-estimators and under-estimators. Unbeknownst to the participants, the purpose of the study was to observe how people would compare their group to the other group, solely on the basis of how many dots they thought they saw. Guess what? Each group could be heard extolling the virtues of being like them and the drawbacks of being like the others. Dots . . . something as simple and benign as estimating dots is enough to create an ‘us’ and a ‘them.’

Sailing around the world, except for the occasional trip to McDonalds, we intentionally cast aside our natural tendencies to seek cultural experiences similar to our own and instead actively pursue immersion within other groups. The less something is to what we’re accustomed to, the more excitedly we pursue it. This approach allows us to meet many wonderful people, briefly experience their way of life, their perceptions; thus, opening-up our perception of the world and/or re-enforcing that which we held. More often than not, we find kind, generous, hospitable people. Mutual respect and admiration (love) seem to melt away otherwise persistent barriers. Likely, those individuals with whom we come to form friendships share a similar type of curiosity and willingness to stretch beyond their comfort zones as well. This exchange can sometimes be made easier among the youth who, through music, movies, and attire trends, share a global ‘teenage’ culture. That’s in part why the experience in Gibraltar was unusual. As with most kids across oceans, and especially Europe, the Gibraltarian youth listen to the same music, dress the same way, speak mostly the same language, do the same things, but yet would not readily open themselves to conversing with a foreigner. Not all “Gibs,” as they call themselves, behave in this manner. As disappointing as the youth experience was for Bryce, I met mostly kind, helpful, and generous middle-aged Gibraltarians. So maybe in Gibraltar it’s a generational thing?  Difficult to know. Maybe Bryce for the first time stumbled into a group of teenagers representative of the average Western teenager: “yeah,” “maybe,” “sure,” “I don’t know.”

As much as closed-societies are disappointing, more troubling are cultures whose mission, in part or in whole, entail the termination of the “other,” non-identical culture. The multitude and quality of positive cultural interactions personally afforded us these past 4 years make the knowledge – that groups exists to destroy the “other” – more intolerable. Take the category of religion for example: history depicts many examples of one religious group trying to exterminate another. To the extreme, Islam requires Muslim societies to force non-Muslims (kaffirs) to either convert to Islam, be enslaved to serve Islam, or be killed. Furthermore, as with other religions, Islam splits into different versions of the faith. Within the different Islamic versions, the difference leads to death and destruction between them. These are just religious examples. Similar lines can be drawn economically, politically, and obviously between races.

In the USA, as with any nation, we find many opportunities to discriminate against “others.” Skin color is an easy one, pick a color, any color, it’s all the same if they’re not your color, your exact color to be precise. Within color groups there’s discrimination (differentiation). Yellow: Among the different ethnic Chinese groups, they might discriminate based on pale versus darker skin tones, freckles vs. clear complexion, eye shape, nose shape, etc. White: How white, red-headed freckled white, Anglo-white, blond blue-eyed, Mediterranean bronze, brunette brown eyed? What’s white? Black: Within their group, African-Americans distinguish how black or less black an African-American is. Traveling around the world, we’ve had the opportunity to observe that dark colored skin isn’t exclusively African and that not all “Africans” are black-skinned. Arabs and Berbers inhabit nearly all of North Africa. Pacific Islander Melanesians share the same features as peoples from central and south Africa; skin color, wooly black hair, broad noses, etc. Should geographic ancestry play a role in establishing skin color, another layer, another dividing line? Besides, genetically speaking, aren’t we all from Tanzania . . . Adli and Eidi, not Adam and Eve?

Marquesan fisherman
Fijian farmer
Vanuatuan land-diver
Egyptian merchant

Skin color and religion aside, globally today no other groups are belittled or marginalized more than women and homosexuals. By limiting half of one’s population, does society not limit half its potential? While women are typically relegated to a lesser societal position at best, or subjugated and/or murdered at worst, homosexuality is treated as an incurable contagion/psychological or genetic defect. In Sudan as in much of Africa, parts of the Middle East, India and Southeast Asia, we read that many to most young women have been circumcised and some received clitorectomies, a mostly Islamic practice that Judeo-Christian nations deem as reprehensible female genital mutilation. In New Delhi, India, Hindus are known to set brides ablaze for not satisfying the dowry demands of her husband; contrasted by the Baha’i Lotus Temple’s prominently displayed poster of a large man seated at one side of a balancing-scale in perfect alignment with a small woman seated on the opposite side of the scale, indicating that in the Baha’i faith, women are regarded as equal to men, possibly the only international religion to hold such a perspective. Yet, when asked about their view on homosexuality, the young Baha’i volunteer explained that they have much compassion for people afflicted with this “illness” and hope for a cure someday soon, a view shared by many cultures around the world. “Nothing wrong with being a homosexual. It’s only a sin to engage in a homosexual act,” Christian friends explain. In Sumatra, Indonesia, they cane homosexuals, as if to beat it out of them. Learning how women and homosexuals are treated around the world, it makes visible how far Western cultures have come, and are coming, to accept and protect “them.”

The list of us-vs-them categories is extensive. But I find myself in a dilemma. Is it hypocritical to hate haters? To be intolerant of intolerance? Does that make me just like “them,” because I “know” “my” side is right . . . truly right . . . right?

Ok, so what have I learned. People make us a “them” for any and all reasons, large and small. I have learned that if I want to get beyond these natural tendencies, theirs and mine; if I want to navigate more freely within “their” culture, it’s easier if I honestly modify what I can to match their cultural tastes: dress like them, talk like them, love their children, make some of their problems mine, watch their sports, listen to their music, eat their food, visit their places of worship, go to their schools, participate in their charities, hang at their clubs, visit often their neighborhoods, in general, show genuine interest in their culture. I can’t change my age, sex, height or skin color, but I can otherwise respectfully play the role of [insert cultural group here] to the best of my ability, without lying or betraying my core self. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best I can do if I want to move more freely in their village and gain the benefit of their different perspectives, their “spice” on life, thus opening further my horizons. Experience teaches that often the better flavors are generated where cultural fusion occurs. I’m told the most nutritious part of an entire carrot is the small purplish line that borders between the flesh of the orange root and the base of the green stems. Likewise, I think where two cultures honestly and respectfully meet is where the healthiest humanitarian perspectives develop. Or, we can continue to be “us,” unadulterated, full strength, “what you see is what you get, take it or leave it (or die?).” And guess what? “Our” people will love us for it, cheer us on. But before we get too proud, we might wish to ponder one simple question: Are we over-estimators or under-estimators?

Sailing around the world from port to port in our little sailboat Kandu, it’s obvious: one race, one planet, one time.

Eric Rigney on Easter Island
Eric Rigney in Bali, Indonesia
Eric Rigney in Egypt
Eric Rigney in Gibraltar
Experiential, India, Leslie's Posts

Sightseeing INDIA from the Bolgatty Palace Marina, Cochin

6 Comments

Feb 10, 2018

We had an exceptional time in India due to the delicious & inexpensive food (that even our 14 year old son Trent loved), the vividly colored clothing, the profoundly different culture, the prolific vegetable and fruit markets, our fabulous tours to the Taj Mahal and Kerala’s backwaters, and the general hustle and bustle.

Still getting our bearings, the second night we got a chance to see the renowned Kerala Kathakali facial dance and costume show along with the pre-show application of the make-up and fitting the costume was amazingly interesting and colorful. The spectacle is offered every evening right at the Bolgatty Palace Resort Hotel for a modest price. The Kathakali entertainment was just the beginning of our great adventures in India.

Instead of flying both ways, we purposefully took a 48-hour sleeper train ride north to New Delhi to observe more closely the countryside, its peoples and to have a true local Indian experience. The Taj Mahal mausoleum, the most important site of our India travels, was as impressive and beautiful as anticipated – all white marble with specially carved and intricately cut and inlaid floral designs. (Definitely one of today’s ‘Wonders of the World.’) The photos say it all!!

We absolutely loved spending Happy Holi day in New Delhi on March 2nd, where people hit the streets with fluorescent colored chalk plastering it on each other while getting lampooned by water balloons and/or water hoses. We enjoyed the wonderfully generous people we met full of smiles and hellos. The four of us are BIG fans of Masala tea (Chai tea) and samosas: potato & veggie filled deep fried savory.

Before….Happy Holi
Fluorescent Happy Holi Chalk
After….

The boys and I especially appreciated witnessing the ‘holy cows’ walking in amongst the Agra car and auto tucktuck traffic. Sometimes huge cows were laying down right in the middle of traffic – vehicles simply drove around them. Bryce spanked the hindquarters of one behemoth that was walking VERY close. Holy Cow!
Driving on the streets in India is all that it is reported to be…hectic, crazy with just a few rules…mostly ‘anything goes.’ The four of us frequently squeezed into auto tucktucks, which are two or three-seater three wheeled motor cabs that can be hailed everywhere. In the city, it is far more exciting to travel around in that cheap and convenient mode as opposed to cars.

India’s TuckTuck mania!

Renting a car wasn’t really an option nor was it expensive to hire ‘tour guide’ drivers with nice cars to drive further than in-town distances like traveling south to the backwaters of Kerala or the two hours between the Taj Mahal in Agra province to New Delhi.

One such driver was so friendly, that he suggested we come visit his home in the older section of New Delhi. A driver/musician, he sang Indian songs in the car for us, and when we arrived at his home, he played all the Indian sounding licks on his keyboard while singing along. In exchange, I sang “O Mio Babbino Caro” to his family’s delight. We would never have gone into that section of New Delhi without a guide – too local and impossible to navigate!

These particular residential New Delhi streets are narrow like in medieval European towns – no cars, just scooters, bicycles and pedestrians. Built on a hill, the small streets are packed and slippery due to running water leaks. Houses are constructed side by side and scale upwards – one floor per family. Our driver is one of three grown sons with their own families all sharing the same parents’ house: the parents’ room is on the ground floor, the 2nd son, wife and 2 kids in the only room on the 1st floor shared by all as a dining room with the kitchen down the hall, our friend and his wife and son live on the 3rd floor with the only house bathroom across the hall, the 4th floor houses the 1st son, his wife and 2 children plus the laundry room down the hall. Then there is the rooftop for drying clothes and seeing the city sights below. Each room is about 600 square feet and much of the square footage of the house is made up of stairways. The ground floor, supporting five stories is only about 1000 square feet. It is tight living – but not quite as tight as living on a 13-meter sailboat!

We had read that one of the biggest tourist attractions of the Kerala state where Cochin city is located (and the region where our boat was docked), is a houseboat ride on the Backwaters. Our 24-hour trip south to hire one did not disappoint. Relaxing on a luxurious riverboat, we floated through the rice paddy levees enjoying the green scenery and fresh air. Occasionally, we witnessed women wading in the water slapping clothes against the rocks and others bathing fully clothed in the brackish waters. Many homes line the levees and many of those are actually large and brand new looking. Maybe the area supports city families’ second homes? Happily, I didn’t have to cook or clean during that relaxing trip.

Bryce Rigney at Kerala’s Backwaters
Kerala Backwaters houseboats
Kerala Backwaters

Clothing – 1/3 of the women dress in the most beautiful saris and men either wear plain sarong bottoms or long pants and plain button down short or long sleeved collared shirts. It’s a little like fancy birds bedecked in colorful feathers except the opposite – the males are plain and the females draw the attention. More modern female Indian style is the ankle length legging and knee length cotton tops with slits up the sides and long sleeves. No shorts anywhere, even in the tropical heat! Fashions are cut conservatively to maintain modesty.

Buying sim cards for phones is like in the United States – you need a permanent address within the country. Thus, it was impossible to purchase our own. Our handy dandy Cochin marina go-to man, Nazar P.M., provided us two of his own for a modest fee (US$15 each) including phone and data. We returned the sims upon departure. He also drove us around in his tucktuck to shop, sightsee, to get to a local restaurant, to go to the post office (which I would never have found on my own), to find ATMs (almost everything is handled in cash), etc. One day he even loaned me local money when I couldn’t pull out enough from the ATMs to purchase my local market groceries. He helped us obtain diesel and drinking water at great prices always showing up with a huge smile. Plus, he invited us to come and dine at his home and to meet his lovely family. He truly made India GREAT for us.

Although more are spoken, there are 23 languages officially declared in India, each protecting special long-standing cultural traditions. But if an Indian wants to communicate widely, English is their go-to language along with Hindi. Ashamedly, I thought most East Indians spoke English, but only the higher educated actually speak some English.

We had a true Indian experience riding 48 hours by sleeper train from Cochin to Agra. Part of the ride was to see the countryside up close, hang with the local Indians and inexpensively make our way to Agra where the Taj Mahal is located, then to make the two-hour drive to New Delhi to tour the environs including a visit to the Parliament House, the Baha’i Prayer Center, a Kashmir rug store,  the place where Gandhi was assassinated and so much more.

New Delhi Parliament
Baha’i House
Baha’i
Baha’i
Indian Kashmire rug
Gandhi

On the train, each sleeper section housed 6 beds. The four of us slept on the top bunks to insure no fowl play, but that meant Eric was separated from Bryce, Trent and me in a different section on the same train car during the night. Of course, he did sit with us during the daytime. Along with us traveled a lovely older Indian couple, retired dentist and wife. He spoke some English. They were very sweet. During the trip, we got off when the train stopped and walked around the quay for exercise and people watching.

One time, Bryce actually climbed off the train, over a fence onto and over an adjacent quay and into the train tracks to take movies and pictures with his ‘expensive’ GoPro and iPhone flashing in his hand. From the train, I was watching him and within 5 minutes, a local man stood up from his perch and started to nonchalantly walk in his direction. I hollered to Bryce to come back quickly. Bryce turned to me and began making his way to our train quay, jumping up and then over the fence down to our train and inside. I watched as that local fellow followed faster and faster all the way up onto the quay – but stopped at the fence grimacing at me. We glared at each other…’Mama Bear protecting her cub!’ Later I discussed the situation with Bryce and explained to him that his actions opened him up to be a target. It was a lesson fortunately he didn’t have to learn the hard way. Hopefully he learned that he mustn’t flaunt his foreignness and prosperity, especially when alone.

Side food markets

It’s definitely true that there are many poor people in India – those we saw while on the train, begging in New Delhi, and working in the Backwater rice fields. However, the upper lower classes are solid workers and eat well…we didn’t see people starving. Even beggars in New Delhi looked good. Their housing conditions aren’t perfect or large, but they aren’t miserable either. Most people have access to water and sanitation, modern transportation: auto tucktucks, cars, buses, ferries, trains, etc. There is a prominent middle class that spends money in modern malls, on cars, on phones and computers, and on nice clothes. The clothes people wear are clean and ironed, unlike mine – which often smell of boat and are never pressed! We found that the people are happy and free to work as hard as they want or not and to move around freely, with freedom of speech!

The biggest bummer was the amount of trash piled up in the waters, along the rivers, in and around the train tracks, and aside the roads. We constantly witnessed all kinds of people tossing trash on the ground anywhere and everywhere – plastic wrappers/bags, paper cups, full trash bags, cigarette butts, boxes, bottles, etc. When asked why they toss trash on the ground instead of holding it or finding a trash bin, they shrug their shoulders and say, “Everyone does it.” Over and over, we explain that everyone makes a difference and the only way to enact change is in their own individual actions and teaching their children not to toss trash indiscriminately.

The only marina in India that can handle cruiser yachting boats is in Kochi or Cochin on Bolgatty Palace Island. It is located within the confines of the Bolgatty Island Resort Hotel that had a fine restaurant, bar and pool. The reception area was so nice and air-conditioned, that it became our office when we wanted to escape the hot humidity of early afternoon. The boys loved the workout room and ping-pong table. We were able to have our laundry washed, charged by the item not by kilos…so I hand-washed the smaller items using the inexpensive but non-potable marina water on the dock. The showers and toilets were clean and in okay condition, the docks were repaired and in working order, not perfect but fine, and the marina manager was effective.

The customs process was straightforward since we hired Nazar to act as our agent, however, it still took all day – everything is done on paper – and at least five people are involved, when only one is necessary – very few computers and modern equipment are used. Our one hiccup was declaring that we have a satellite texting device. The police and customs required that we dismantle it and have it officially sealed by an officer on our boat inside a cabinet. We were not allowed to use it while in India. India has a problem with Pakistani terrorism. Terrorists once used a satellite phone to activate a bomb housed on a catamaran that killed many people. Unfortunately, customs did not communicate with the police that our device had been sealed and so we were hassled a bit by the marine police who didn’t understand English. Eventually, it all worked out, but at the time it was challenging.

Our departure was easy. The morning before we intended to leave, Nazar tucktucked the four of us back to the customs offices and we were relatively quickly checked out. It took only about two hours. All paid up and accounted for, the next morning we departed the marina early without even making a radio call. It was a wonderfully educational and colorful visit. We thoroughly enjoyed our too short but very sweet two weeks in India.

BTW – We hired a tour agent to help us get to the Kerala Backwaters and onto a boat at short notice: Basil Mathew of Tour Green India recommended by one of Eric’s LA colleagues whose wife hails from Cochin. Basil was so great, that we asked him to help us make our way by train to the Taj Mahal in Agra, then to New Delhi where we spent 2 nights in a hotel frequented by Indian tourists, including tour guides/drivers, and then a plane ride home. All our expectations were addressed and handled extremely well. The only frustration was that we couldn’t use our credit card. Everything needed to be handled in cash or bank transfer. Frustratingly, the ATMs at the banks want to earn fees so they force you to take small amounts of money requiring many withdrawls. Fees then accumulate quickly.

Basil Mathew, Tour Green Co, India, tel: +91 90612 58758, email: info@keralatourgreen.com, www.keralatourgreen.com

Nazar P.M.  tel: +91 98951 64090 or +91 97464 62686, Facebook: Nisams, www.yachtsincochin.com, www.noonsite.com/countries/india/cochin

Bob Bechler was an enormous help encouraging us and several other yachts to make their way to Bolgatty Island through the Facebook private group: Red Sea Passage.

Nighil, Bolgatty Palace Marina Manager, tel: +91 97470 57015. He is available at the marina every day except Sunday between 10h00 – 18h00. His English is pretty good.

Immigration Entry Visas: Before visiting India – each person on board must obtain a tourist visitor’s visa. The easiest way to get a visa is online: http://indianvisaonline.gov.in. Each visa cost us US$75. Make sure to provide the right size photos and passport pdfs – don’t make any mistakes – check your work twice before submitting. When done, print out the final versions for immigration to present when you arrive.

Here are some more photos taken the last free tour day in Cochin including the celebrated old-fashioned fishing nets off the entrance of the natural Kochi bay, the incredibly huge monkey shrine, clothes hand-washing, spice galore, Indian children, our tour guide Nasam, and more.

Leslie, Nasam & Bryce pulling up the old-fashioned fish nets
Bryce Rigney on the fishnet apparatus
Indian fabrics
Indian pressing laundry
Indian handwashing laundry
Indian spices for sale
Indian spices
Processing spices
India’s children
Nasam
Cochin produce
Cochin traffic
Cochin Fisherman Boats
Women’s India High Fashion

RigneysKandu East Indian style on Happy Holi Day!