Since we last wrote we experienced a tornado, a birthday celebration and we came to terms with the fact that we are not sailing to the tropics this year.
With Covid wreaking havoc in some parts of Australia all the Trans-Tasman bubble discussions have now stalled and our zest for moving has stalled with it.
Fiji has opened its borders, however the entry requirements are tough and costly. Furthermore there is no guarantee that the few sailors that took the risk to sail up will be able to find refuge at the beginning of the cyclone season in less than 3 months.
Most sailors we were hanging out with have taken the risk of flying home with no guaranties that they will be able to return to their boats. Our gang is becoming smaller but stronger!
The jobs on Mehalah are finally few and far in between. This means we have time in abundance. On the rare occasion when it happens to be sunny we take advantage and drive somewhere for a walk in the wild or for a paddle on the kayak.
A few weeks back we had one of these many days with torrential rain, to which ‘volens nolens’ we’ve got accustomed to. It was chucking down with rage and the wind was howling. Nothing unusual for NZ at this time of the year… I was on Mehalah on my own. It had gotten dark. The darkness was interrupted every now and then by flashes of light – surprisingly a rare occurrence in NZ thus far despite the incessant rain.
At one point things took a different dimension for a few seconds. Too quickly for me to even realise what was going on. But not to quickly for me to think:- ‘OMG, am I safe in here?’ Mehalah had entered in epileptic like convulsions, shaking from every corner. The wind was hauling like hell rattling the rigging that would have been under tremendous pressure as the base of the mast in the saloon was visibly shaking…Flashes of lightening were giving to the whole picture a Hitchcock-ian like dimension. In seconds things returned to normal. A tornado had just passed.
Later that evening we received a call from a sailing buddy enquiring about their friends’ boat that had been knocked down by the enraged beast…
All the trouble was forgotten whilst my birthday was approaching and we were trying to figure out how best to mark the occasion. In the end, we arranged for it to be a much needed mental and physical MOT.
When life is living the dream in exotic destinations surrounded everyday by an azure paradise under the sun, intellectually stimulated by the myriad of cultures your come across an MOT becomes redundant. But when the dream is forcefully put on hold and you have to face the struggles of daily life, bad weather and other frustrations, an MOT is a great way to reset.
This was exactly what my birthday was all about (except when we needed to repair Sorin’s phone after landing in the water from his kayak?). A flash back from the times in fast paced London when needing regular resets, we were booking a weekend break at one of the Handpicked Hotels and were spoiling ourselves with all sorts of spa treatments and beautiful landscapes.
I am blessed with a man that appreciates our needs and does his utmost to fulfill them. Thanks, Sorin.