The Voyage of Spectacle

Our original plan, made some 12 months ago, called for a stop in the Dominican Republic around now.  Although this stop was later revised out of existence (until, of course, we ended up halfway needing to stop), I still remembered that baseball season was in full swing in late January.

Upon our arrival in Puerto Plata, I immediately checked the internet to see what the beisbol happenings were, and I was pleased to see that we were just a two days away from the beginning of the Dominican championship series between Licey and Aguilas Cibaenas, the two most storied teams in the Dominican Republic.  This is a major rivalry – trust me and this two-year-old article from the S.F. Chronicle (although they are dead-ass wrong about who the “Yankees” are).

Aguilas is the “new money” club.  Although they have been around for 70 years, eight of their 19 titles have come in the last 12 years.  Of the two, they have a richer owner and a more mercenary attitude – a bit like the Yankees. 

Licey is the more “old-school” of the two clubs.  In existence since 1907, Licey also has 19 titles, but most of theirs came back when the Celtics were good at basketball.  Licey also has a reputation of being much more community friendly and having a stronger interest in developing young talent.

The winner of this series goes on to play in the Caribbean World Series, an annual tournament between the D.R., Mexico, Puerto Rico and Venezuela.  The Dominican champion has won six of the last 10 Caribbean World Series titles, so one could make the argument that the Dominican championship series is the “real” Caribbean World Series.

It would be hard to find something more “up our alley” than this.  Obviously, we had to go.

This is a best-of-nine series, and Game One was played at the 18,077-seat Estadio Cibao in Santiago, about a one-hour drive from Puerto Plata.  Given the insane nature of automotive transportation here, we opted to pay to have Roberto (our “fixer” – more on him and his family later) rent a car, and he came with us to Santiago.

Roberto is a Licey fan.  Given their (1) underdog nature, (2) general “good-guy” role, and, most importantly, (3) lovely blue uniforms, Melissa also became a “Liceyita” after stating “I like blue.”  I, on the other hand, decided to try to experience what it’s like to be a Yankee fan.  I became an “Aguilucho.”

Roberto has been absolutely fantastic, and one reason for this is that he really knows where the good restaurants are.  About 15 minutes outside of Puerto Plata, he pulled off the road and down a dirt driveway.  At the bottom of the driveway was a pile of burning trash and about 25 cars parked in a disorganized jumble.  This is where we’re having lunch, eh?

We walked up the hill to the jam-packed Restaurant Jhony, which was tremendous.  Delicious grilled lobsters all around, cold Presidentes, cheap bill.  Perfect.  Roberto is a wise man.

Eventually, we made it to Santiago, the Dominican  Republic’s second-largest city.  I can’t say I’d recommend Santiago to you.  Puerto Plata has poverty and garbage (we’re not staying at the surrounding Potemkin tourist villages, but its character more than compensates).  Not much character in Santiago.

As we tried to park the car and scalp some tickets, we were absolutely mobbed – and this was four hours before game time.  After we picked up some hats (Licey for Melissa and Roberto, Aguilas for me), it only got worse.  Random men on the street would (good naturedly and always with a smile) make all sorts of throat-slashing gestures at Melissa and offer concomitant comments regarding Licey’s chances.  Trying to scalp tickets in a foreign language is tough enough if you have a seating chart of the stadium; without one, you’re just asking to be ripped off.

Eventually, we convinced some Aguilas officials to let us in to see the stadium so we could figure out the section in which we should buy tickets.  They were very nice, and it was cool to see a bit of batting practice with essentially no one else inside.

We headed back outside, negotiated with about eight different scalpers, and secured three tickets about 20 rows behind the first base dugout for $40 each.  Tickets in hand, we decided to walk through Santiago in search of a pre-game libation.  This proved surprisingly taxing.  In our quest for a beer, we walked over a bridge, looked to the right, were startled, and had to take a picture.  I’ll let it speak for itself.  We ended up at a surprisingly charming car-wash-by-day, roadhouse-by-night establishment, had a few Presidentes, and made it back to the stadium.

Inside, the atmosphere was great.  Melissa took extensive video, and eventually we’ll get some of it up on the site.  Santiago native Jose Lima (yes, that Jose Lima) was on the hill for Aguilas, clearly “representing” for his people, and soft-throwing journeyman (to say the least) left-handed gringo sacrifice Lindsay Gulin was pitching for Licey.

In the top of the first, Lima took his usual histrionics completely over the top, nearly being ejected for arguing balls and strikes.  He then proceeded to set down Licey in order and mostly shut them down for nearly seven innings. 

Señor Gulin didn’t have such a nice time.  Before leaving the game, he faced four batters. Two of them hit home runs and all of them scored.  Aguilas ended up with a 6-0 lead by the end of the first.  Given that (a) Estadio Cibao has 18,077 seats and only one gate, and (b) everyone here is on “Island Time,” the game was essentially over when the stadium was no more than 1/3 full.  These people make Dodgers fans look prompt.  This wasn’t a problem for us.  Roberto had clearly never seen either of these teams play in person.  He was thrilled just to be there, even if his team was getting killed.  Melissa and I were able to enjoy the Aguilas mascot (easily the greatest, most arrogant and aggressive sports mascot I’ve ever seen).  This guy is awesome enough that he has a real chance of being killed in the line of duty.  He taunted Licey batters in a manner that would get him fined/expelled in any American major league sport and placed him well within blast radius of a late-fouled pitch from a right-handed batter.

We also were able to enjoy the Aguilas Cheerleaders.  I will not in any way be in trouble with Melissa for telling you that the women in the Dominican Republic are beyond beautiful.  The Dominican is also a highly machismo culture in which female beauty is overly exalted (not quite like Venezuela, but you get the idea) and other female contributions are mostly ignored.  Given these circumstances, let’s just say that jobs with the top-of-the-dugout-dancing Aguilas cheerleaders are certainly hard to get, and the talent on display reflects this.  If any American Major League Baseball team instituted dugout-top dance teams, you’d think it was stupid, even if the dancers were this caliente.  And, yet, this certainly was not stupid – along with the mascot, it helped create a home-field advantage that you otherwise simply can’t get in an 18,077-seat stadium.  It was intimidating.  Licey was in big trouble.

After a few innings, the only Aguilas player not to have a hit was Miguel Tejada.  Yes, THAT Miguel Tejada – 2002 American League MVP Miguel Tejada.  This was Major-League caliber baseball (with at least 8 Major Leaguers on the field), and these fans know what they are expecting to see.  By the 8th inning, Tejada rectified the situation, golfing an ankle-high fastball over the left-field wall for a two-run homer that put the game out of reach.  Aguilas ended up winning the game 9-3 and winning the series five games to two.  Damn Yankees.  More Pictures

Episode I – Fiasco Autopilot

“If you had told me two years ago that I’d have a tranny-adjacent, Bahamian auto-pilot repair man who shares my name climbing around on my bed (that’s where the access to the autopilot is), I’d have suggested you get your head examined.”

At long last, the long-promised first installment of “Tale of the Twin Fiascoes” has arrived.  Given its length, we’ve posted it on a separate page, which you can find here.

Episode II — Big Wind = Not Fun

At one point, Erik was wretching over the starboard cockpit combing, and I was puking away over the port cockpit combing.  Only Melissa emerged unscathed.

Again on its own separate page, you can find Episode II of “Tale of the Twin Fiascoes” here. 

Episode III — The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat

So as we bashed upwind through the night, I thought about the apologetic phone call I was going to have to make to my mother in which I was not only going to have to explain that Erik wouldn’t be home for Christmas but that the reason for this was that the boat had no engine and was losing power.  I’m sure just having two of her sons out sailing on the open ocean already had my mother replaying  Ordinary People in her head.

For the latest in our continuing saga, check out Episode III here.

Episode IV — Christmas Really Is a Holiday in the Turks and Caicos

“Get the flares,” I told Erik.  We proceeded to shoot two flares at this plane.  We waved our arms in a distress motion.  We couldn’t possibly have been more obvious in trying to convey that we were indeed the boat for whom they were looking.

Why are we shooting flares at planes?  Read on to Episode IV, which you can find here.  

Episode V — A Retrieval With “Flare”

Of course, after firing off 5 cannon flares, 4 pistol flares, all sorts of smoke flares, self-firing parachute flares, an assortment of handheld flares, and plenty of duds — well, after all that you begin to feel like you know what you are doing.  You also get trigger happy.

For the exciting conclusion of “Tale of the Twin Fiascoes”, click here.

To be honest, Tortola has been a somewhat weird stop for us.  I think that yesterday I figured out why this is.

It’s hard to think of a place where sailing is more of an “end” than it is here.  Scads of people fly in here, charter a sailboat, go sailing around the Virgin Islands, return the boat and fly home.  The trip is about the sailing — and the sailing IS indeed great.  Throw in a few rum punches at Foxy’s and Soggy Dollar Bar, and that makes for a pretty nice getaway — I get it.

But, for us, our trip isn’t about the sailing – and it isn’t for a week or two.  Sailing is, for us, a “means” to see the world.  This is a trip around the world that happens to be on a sailboat.

And, speaking of sailing, not much of that is happening for us right now.  You may recall that our original plan was to sail the boat from the Bahamas straight to the Virgin Islands to have some repairs done.  After the Twin Fiascoes and the trip to Puerto Plata, we have even more repairs to add to the list.  Here’s a PARTIAL list:

• Replace entire battery bank (5 new Lifeline 8D AGM batteries).  Four of the 5 current batteries are shot.  No sense in replacing   just four.  Good news … they’re only $675 each (not counting labor).  Ouch!
• A new forward hatch, replacing the old hatch which (inexplicably) had a little solar fan on it, which  ensured that the whole forward cabin would be under 4-5 inches of water if you were sailing upwind.  This is a straight-up design defect – you aren’t doing much upwind sailing with that thing on there.
• A new companionway slide (which I accidentally broke on the way to the D.R.).
• Repairs to the companionway screen (another “oops” moment).
• Reattachment of the autopilot rudder return indicator mount, which spontaneously disintegrated just as we were landing the boat here in Tortola.
• Repairs and steel reinforcement of both salon tables (these were ridiculously flimsy and had obviously been broken multiple times before).
• Freezer repair (this has never really worked very well).
• Fridge repair (ditto).
• Fix both air conditioners (the forward one needed a new pump, the aft one only minor repairs).
• A comprehensive rust removal/polishing of all the stainless steel on the boat.
• Sanding and oiling of the toe-rail (we’re removing the varnish and returning the teak to a natural finish).
• Yet another diagnosis/repair of the generator (we  have some sort of oil pressure problem).
• Repairs and batten replacement on the mainsail  (thanks to my stupid Christmas Day furling maneuver).
• About a dozen more “do it yourself” jobs, including sourcing and installing a new, proper-sized fuel-filter head to swap for our emergency, over-sized replacement from the D.R.

Obviously, this is going to be shockingly expensive (probably five figures).  But almost all of it simply HAS to be done.

Given the extent of the repairs, we have workmen coming to and from the boat basically every day.  This means that, by and large, we are stranded in the marina.  Even today (Sunday), we have a guy here working on the boat.  Aside from boat repairs, there are basically two things to do here: sail and drink.  We can’t really sail.  Fortunately, we’ve made some good friends here.  More on that in the next post.

We took a day to meet up with the aforementioned Bumfuzzlers, who are just finishing up their trip.  This turned into quite a long day/night/morning of boozing it up.

We started out at Quito’s Gazebo, a relatively famous bar at fairly scenic Cane Garden Bay.  Quito is Quito Rhymer, a local reggae star, who plays live most weekends.  We were there during the day, and it was dead, but I’m sure it’s pretty hopping when he is playing.  We then ventured on to the fairly famous Bomba’s Shack, a beach bar made mostly out of driftwood.  It’s probably great for the Full Moon Party, but it’s otherwise just license plates, underwear, graffiti, business cards, and drunk charter vacationers – bars like this are, sadly, a dime a dozen.  We had a great time with Pat and Ali, but none of these bars is reason enough to re-route one’s boat (or life) toward Tortola.

A different day, we also made it out to the infamous Willy T. at Norman Island.  I totally loved it – my favorite watering hole we’ve yet visited. Melissa doesn’t agree – at all.  As I said before, there are only two things to do in Tortola – sail and drink.

As far as we’re concerned, Tortola really is no better than O.K.  We both doubt that we’ll ever set foot on the island again.  It’s totally skippable unless you’re coming specifically to GO SAILING.  Once you put all the sailing business to the side, it is not somewhere I’d choose to be stuck for longer than an afternoon cruise-ship excursion (not that cruise-ship excursions are in our future, but, boy, there sure are a lot of people taking them in Tortola).  Road Town, the main town, is decidedly not charming.  We were told that Tortola is a sailing “Mecca.”  Indeed it is – we’re just not that kind of Muslim.

We decided to leave Tortola around 2:30 p.m. yesterday and head for Jost van Dyke, the nearby “out island” that is home to two legendary beach bars – Foxy’s and Soggy Dollar Bar — and very little else.  The thought was that we’d get to JvD around 4:30, anchor the boat, dinghy ashore, check out of BVI customs and immigration, have dinner and a few drinks at Foxy’s, dinghy back out to the boat, and sail overnight to St. Martin.

We actually managed to get off the dock just after 2:30.  It was strange saying good-bye to three different boats we had encountered in multiple locations already, knowing that, this time, we were unlikely to see them again.  I suppose we should get used to that.

Having FINALLY gotten our batteries replaced, we now no longer need to be tied to something hard – we can finally “anchor out” like proper sailors.

Anchoring is surprisingly difficult for many, many sailor – it is probably the one thing that most boat owners are slightly afraid of, and for good reason.  People often times make complete … well … spectacles of themselves as they attempt to park the boat.

I am pleased to report that our maiden anchoring was absolutely flawless.  We planned it out well and executed it perfectly.  This was a strong point for each of us back in sailing school, and, apparently, we remember what we were taught.

Our maiden post-anchoring dinghy ride, however, was not so flawless.  We managed to get the dinghy to Foxy’s dock right at 5:00.  Melissa jumped off and sprinted for customs.  Alas, we had missed them.  So, we’d have to stay overnight – no big deal.  St. Martin can wait one more day.

Foxy’s might be the single most-famous beach bar in the entire Caribbean, if not the world.  We felt like we “needed to do it” but expected to be put off by excess commercialism in the vein of Hard Rock Café.  Boy, were we wrong.

Yes, it has a very large T-shirt shop/boutique, and they do a very brisk business.  But Foxy’s puts out a tremendous product.  The bar is great.  The drinks are creative and tasty.  The staff is fantastic and professional, and the food was surprisingly delicious.  We were a little bit hesitant to pay $28 apiece for a “Beach BBQ,” but this was fantastic food – ribs of near-Twin Anchors quality, the best jerk chicken either of us have ever had, corn that was downright memorable (now that’s saying something).  It was a bargain at twice the price.  Foxy’s certainly doesn’t need me to tell you how great it is.  The word is already out.  But it isn’t popular by accident.

“Several” (ahem) Dread Fox cocktails later, we walked down to the dock to get on the dinghy and head back to the boat.

It was sinking.  Seriously – it was SINKING!  The left pontoon was basically flat and submerged.  We got into the boat, thinking we might just be able to make it back to Spectacle.  Totally wrong.  All we did was make it worse, instantly.

Melissa jumped back on the dock, losing a flip-flop, grabbed the waterproof bag, as we prepared to “save” the outboard.  I jumped into the water … which, thankfully, was only about four feet deep.  I managed to wrestle the outboard off the boat and onto the dock, and we eventually retrieved the boat as well and dragged it onto the beach.  However, it’s pretty clear that we’ve got a fairly meaningful “slow leak” in the dinghy (and not that slow, apparently).  Add that to the list of repairs.

We caught a ride out to the boat, slept pretty well (no paranoid middle-of-the-night dashes on deck to check the anchor), and caught a ride back in the next morning.  After reinflating the dinghy and checking out of customs, we marched (sans dinghy) over the hill to Soggy Dollar Bar.  This was quite a hot, steep and lengthy shlep, but it was worth it.  The bar is not really the allure – it’s just ok.  The beach, however, is fantastic.  We put away a few Painkillers, opted for a cab (pretty tough to find on a tiny island) back to Foxy’s, and managed to get the dinghy towed back out to Spectacle.  Then we put the dinghy on the davits, pulled up the anchor, and headed off for an overnight sail to St. Martin.  More Pictures