Ahoy.

Sailing. Who doesn't love it?

That's right. Me.

I think in my life I've had two enjoyable sailing excursions. And by enjoyable, I mean tolerable. From an early age I have experienced colorful degrees of motion sickness varying between semi-queasiness to full blown projectile vomiting. Planes, trains, automobiles and naturally; boats. Growing up on an island water travel was inevitable, and dreadful. However one of my earliest memories was heaving into a paper bag as our plane touched down in Cape Town. It's less embarrassing when you're 5. Kids are always doing disgusting things like throwing up.

Since reaching what they say is adult hood, I've learned to manage those feelings of nausea. I can generally struggle through it in cars and on planes. But boats are a different story. Read: Maui. After that most recent and horrifying experience I was a touch apprehensive about setting out on a sailing adventure a few weeks ago on the Sunshine Coast. As it happened, the water was like silk, so it was literally smooth sailing. That is if you ignore the part where I jumped off the side of the boat in lace underpants then panicked as the boat drifted away from me. It was toasty warm and I needed to cool down. In theory it was a great idea. Boyfriend was with me and tried to tow me back to the boat, but I got fussy and in a classic movie rescue scene, kicked him away. This is why people drown.  

Fortunately I did not drown. I just showed a boat full of men my underpants. It could have been worse. And then it was. When apparently my underpants became increasingly revealing when wet. However the sailing part was great! I got to drink cold beers and soda pop and eat fried chicken. I got to jump off the side of a boat and go swimming. All good things. When a few weeks later we were invited to go on another friend's boat for the evening I was totally up for it. I survived my last trip, plus it was boyfriends birthday and he loves this crap. The craft seemed sea-worthy and was bigger than the last one we were on. What could possibly go wrong? 

The ocean. That's what.

Turns out last time I wasn't actually sailing. In order to sail there must be wind. There wasn't. That's why I had such a great time. As I would soon find out wind changes things. Boats tilt, pitch and bounce around like crazy. It seemed okay at the beginning, I was even steering, and didn't hit any freighters or wind surfers. Then we hit open water. Open water being a few more hundred feet off the shore. That's when everything went sideways. Literally. The boat tilted (heeled) and one side of the boat was 6 feet in the air and the other was within inches of the water. I clawed my way to the "not so bouncy" part of the sailboat. But within 15 minutes or so was told to shift position because the wind needed to be on the other side of us or whatever. I was being jostled. While friend #1 was white-knuckling it back to a non boom-y spot friend #2 was trying to feed me dry crackers and make me laugh. Boyfriend was asking me if I had taken good photos of him captaining. I told him to stuff it, then proceeded to scramble to the starboard side where I vomited for 15 minutes straight. 

I felt awful. I looked awful and I had successfully ruined my boyfriend's birthday, as well as my friend's sailing adventure. Boyfriend was great and convinced Cap'n to ditch us on a near by dock as we were likely going to be on the water for another 2 hours. We drifted into a super fancy marina thing and without slowing down were told to jump off the boat onto a rickety looking dock. "I hope the gate's unlocked!" yelled Cap'n as the boat gently sailed off into the sunset. Our friends waved to us as we stood on a dock in the middle of nowhere.

We found a cab about an hour later and were back at our car about 45 minutes and $70 later. We exited the cab to see a lit mast floating into the marina in the distance. I ate nothing but soda-water and saltines for about 24 hours, and text boyfriend mid day the next day. "remind me I hate sailing"

Maui Lassitude

Spotted: 11 rainbows, 1 thrashing marlin, 4 sea turtles, 1 stingray,  1 pacific ocean,  throngs of tourists and the sun.

We touched down in Maui at 10:00 at night. We were not immediately adorned with fragrant flower leis by Tom Selleck. But the good news was it was warm. Well, warm enough that when we fetched our little Jeep we could drive to our condo, roof and windows down. Try that in Vancouver in May. Heck try it in August. Arriving there at about 12am we hit the sheets right away.

In the blissfully harsh light of day I was able to observe my surroundings. The theme in our condo seemed to be pineapples and early '90's plantation style on a budget. I counted 6 decor pineapples and one edible one. After surveying the room it was time to venture out and familiarize ourselves with the wilds of The Island. 

In terms of sights, there were a few. High on my To-Do list were waterfalls. Other than that I really didn't care. Actually I did. As long as I got sun and sea in excess I was A-ok. Or so I thought. Within 5 days I would eat those words, then promptly regurgitate them. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Five hour boat ride to a secret snorkelling spot, on the way the promise of dolphins and breakfast. After snorkelling, an on-board BBQ and all the Mai Tai's you can drink. Unfortunately for me, a half hour in the nausea took hold and didn't let up until I was back on the dock. The parts I remember are the parts of papaya and pineapple I threw up over the side of the boat. As I heaved over the railing I watched a pod of spinner dolphins doing their best to make me feel even more queasy. I did not partake in the BBQ.

My other watery experiences over the two weeks were more controlled. They involved dashing from sandy towel to splashing surf and back to towel again. Sometimes with flippers, sometimes without, but always with a harpoon. 

Speaking of deep sea fishing. Because of a certain person's aversion to seafood of any kind, I tried to respectfully avoid the piscine items on the menu. Two days later I aborted that mission. Not because I wanted to see my boyfriend vomit in front of me, but because I fast realized that seafood is what Hawaiians do best. And by best I mean adequately. If you like Cactus Club you'll like Maui. Except the food is better at Cactus Club. I had more than one extraordinarily terrible meal. I had a handful of palatable meals. Maybe 3 good meals. And one great meal, and that was a BBQ the family threw together poolside at their hotel. To sum up, I found Maui food to be underwhelming and gave it an overall rating of 2 meh's and a scrunched up nose.

But then we were not there for the food. We were there for the booze. . . . Wait, no. We were there for a wedding. Which by the way was lovely. The bride wore white, and the groom wore his heart on his sleeve. Perfect, tasteful, warm and romantic.

While we're on the subject of perfection. Turns out not only am I prone to bitchin' tans, but my hair looks awesome in Maui. Humidity, sun and salt are my new BFF's. My hair waved, bleached and volumized itself. Had I not been very careful I could have ended up about 3 days away from dreads. But that my hippie friends is what shampoo and basic hygiene is for. . . What am I saying? I don't have friends that are hippies. 

Boyfriend and I saw those photoshopped sunsets, and a handful of the cliched Hawaiian rainbows. We both successfully burned portions of ourselves. But with a healthy slathering of Maui Babe, those pesky burns glazed over and became fetching tans.

To sum up the vacay and Maui in general: It does what it says on the tin. 

If you're expecting sunny warmth, postcard worthy beaches and relaxation, this is the place for you. Culture and food, not so much, although if you look hard enough there's a sprinkling of both. But you need to look pretty hard. Personally I came away with a tan and an unhealthy love of palm trees and 1960's resorts. As well coming back from paradise only to find your home city is still shrouded in clouds and gloom can be more than a touch depressing. Siiiiigh*

But, we'll always have Maui.

For JT

I hear Avatar is a rip roaring good time. I wouldn't know because I spent the duration making a concentrated effort to not throw up.

An elite few are fortunate enough to know about my exceptionally weak stomach. At age 12 I spent 85% of a Fijian cruise sleeping in the bunks of the ship. My earliest memory of being in an airplane was yakking my guts out at age 4 as we landed in Cape Town. The ferries were always unpleasant, although I think the only time I vomited was because I was coming home from seeing Nirvana on the mainland and was still a little drunk. Busses, I remember a particular trip heading up island on an excruciatingly long ride, I believe I spent 45 minutes or so in the can. Motion and me do not mix. This is another genetic gem I can thank my father for.

With the rejuvenated popularity of 3D films I have been forced to view movies through nausea colored lenses. I was prepared for the worst on my first outing. Shockingly Bolt was great. I laughed, I cried (seriously) and best of all, I did not toss my cookies. Up was also great, again, laughed, sobbed uncontrollably and kept my lunch down. Avatar. What could possibly go wrong? It's animated-ish? I survived the others . . . . ? Of course I can handle James Cameron's latest sci-fi epic Avatar. Here's the difference. With my first two 3D experiences I was not in the very front row of the theatre. I was also not subjected to constant (although I'm sure effective, if I had been able to focus) running, jumping and flying scenes. Scenes padded heavily with sweeping panoramic shots of levitating mountains, dive-bombing dragons and disorienting chases through jungles. I am amazed I remained in my seat for as long as I did. I only ate a quarter of a bag of pop-corn, which is unheard of, and I left half my soda-pop, also unheard of. I know the film was long, so I can't be sure if I got up an hour before the end or a half hour. All I know is when I came back from the bathroom I stood happily at the back of the theatre and enjoyed a civilized 3D experience from a tolerable distance. What I did see, which was A LOT of blue knee-caps, was terrific. I think I'll really enjoy it when I illegally download it on my computer next week.

The End of Summer

Just your average Sunday. It began with plans to test drive various city toilet facilities after the Chili and Blues Fest here in Gastown (appropriate locale). 18 types of chili for the bargain price of $15. What goes better with chili than Blues? I don’t know sour cream, toilet paper, avocado, cheddar cheese? Plans were rearranged 45 minutes into the day when all of a sudden out of nowhere came the offer of an intimate flight for 7 up to a secluded lake in the mountains. By 3:00 we were soaring up into the wide blue yonder. It was in fact blue, and wide. Few clouds plenty of sun, and little white paper bags for yours truly to heave into should the fancy strike her.

A 25 minute flight and we were at 5000 feet altitude in a float plane landing gently on the azure waters of Phantom lake. No shit. For a couple delightful hours a group of 7 enjoyed a picnic, some swimming and some feeble attempts at fishing. It was suggested next time we fly up to this particular lake we figure out what sort of fish are calling it home ,and pack lures and bait accordingly. One of my fellow passengers idea of digging for worms was only slightly overshadowed by my idea to stab a small chunk of my roast beef sandwich onto the hook. That worked ok until the line broke. Still, a more successful try than when I tied a string to my finger and tried to lure fish to the surface with that.

I am happy to report I only felt truly nauseated once when we were landing on Phantom Lake. I am also happy to report the Chanel bag I happened to be carrying when we were hijacked to go flying survived the trip. There is photo documentation of some twit hauling a Chanel bag onto a float-plane to god knows where. As we all stood on the dock I felt like we were about to embark on what so many misguided groups do. That being a run of the mill horror movie, where by the group of us would be murdered gruesomely and indiscriminately. By the end of the day we’d (the prerequisite two of us that remained unscathed-ish) end up with at least 5 unexplained disappearances on our hands, and multiple chases through dark and branchy woods.

As it turned out this aforementioned scenario did not happen. But in keeping with my cinematic imagination, I was also reminded of the film classic Lake Placid. As I dangled my dijits in the gently lapping waters surrounding me I asked my boat-buddy over my shoulder “what was it . . . . . (pausing to adjust the string on my finger, as it dripped on my silk blouse) an enormous crocodile?” (delicately splashing the surface again, not noticing the sinister yellow eyes that had just broken the surface 15 yards away)

This also did not happen. What did happen was simply lovely. Not in the slightest dramatic or bone-chilling. We flew to a lake, we landed, we snacked, we “fished”, we left. A delightful Sunday to be sure. The perfect way to celebrate one of the last weekends of Summer.