The Martins have Landed #2

By Dave and Jaja

I can think of no greater jolt to the senses than stepping ashore after a long ocean passage. In March 1995, aboard DIRECTION, we made a landfall in Barbados following a 28-day, 3000-mile, nonstop passage from Ascension Island. The day we stepped ashore also marked the end of our circumnavigation. Six years and 35 days earlier, Jaja and I had eloped on Barbados. For our honeymoon we set sail from Carlisle Bay for the Pacific Ocean. At the time, we thought we would breeze around the globe in a year or two--sow our wild coconuts--then settle down somewhere ashore to raise a family. It actually happened the other way around. We kept cruising and our offspring raised us to new plateaus of awareness by adding riches to our lives.

After the 28-day passage to Barbados, I was leery about checking into customs because six years and 35 days earlier, in January of 1989, we had had a big argument with the port captain. We'd left Barbados without clearing out--or paying the 25 dollar departure tax.

This is why. We had sailed DIRECTION from Carlisle Bay to the main shipping harbor with every intention of clearing out and paying the tax. Unfortunately, there was a two-foot surge rolling into the harbor and I knew that if we tied up to the tire-clad wall, DIRECTION's lifeline stanchions were sure to get snapped off like trees in a hurricane. If we tied to the coastal steamer, our mast's spreaders were likely to get broken off against the side of the ship. So we sailed back to Carlisle Bay, reanchored, then walked to the harbor with our paperwork.

The port captain was not pleased. He looked out to the harbor. "Hey, mon, where's yo bo-oat at?"

"Carlisle Bay," I said."You see..."

"Hey! You gotta bring dat Bo-oat of yo's into dis main po-ort!"

"It's impossible. You see..."

"Hey! If you don't bring dat bo-oat'a'yo's into dis main po-ort I gunna call the authori-ties and they gunna lock you up!"

We bolted. When we checked into Bequia the next day the customs official was so stoned he didn't notice that our paperwork from Barbados showed we had cleared in--not cleared out. There are gray areas in every situation. Cruising is not exempt from free thought and butt-saving tactics.

Anyway, on that day in March of 1995, six years and 35 days after our run-in with the unreasonable port captain, Jaja, myself, three-year-old Holly, and four-year-old Chris arrived in Barbados. There was no surge rolling in that day so we tied to the high, tire-clad wall. We stumbled across a broad parking lot, between the main wharf and the custom and immigration office. Our heads were spinning and our stomachs were jumping. Twenty-eight days at sea on a 25-foot boat is a long time. We were experiencing reverse seasickness. One of my legs seemed longer than the other. It felt as if we had cotton in our ears. Our mouths were dry. I thought my eye balls were going to fall out.

We entered the cruise ship/customs facilities and nearly fainted. Bright lights, neon signs, tiled floors, glass, and Bali art assaulted us. We staggered through the customs and immigration door, closed it, then stood at attention in the fluorescent-lit room. I glanced to the corner of the room and locked eyes with the port captain. His curly black hair now had strands of gray at the temples, and he still looked like a complete terror.

He spoke. "Hey, mon, where's yo Bo-oat at?"

"Here in the harbor," I said.

He stared hard at Jaja and me. "Ain't I seen yuse bot' befo'?"

"This is our first time in Barbados," Jaja said.

The port captain shook his head and rubbed his rheumy eyes."Thought'cho wus som'budy else. Been waitin' years. But this couple I plan to bust heads wit' ain't got kids."

"Too bad for them," Jaja mumbled.