After a lovely long sleep at anchor we
awoke to a new day and our mission of getting the gearbox out and
delivered to a local mechanic to fix. Minding my business in the
galley making our breakfast, Dylan disappears into the starboard
locker and fights with a spanner to loosen some bolts when I hear an
expletive followed by 'going to need stitches'. He wasn't thats kidding, Dylan illustrated a whole new meaning to 'showing the whites
of your knuckles'. When wrestling with a particularly stubborn bolt,
the wrench he was using slipped and sent his hand colliding into a
sharp piece of metal (end of hose clamp), opening his knuckle up like
a can opener. Not the prettiest of sights, he started to bleed and go
a little pale. Ever the “macho macho man” he was pretending it
was nothing although you could clearly see that was a nasty cut.
Springing into action, we dropped everything, rigged the dinghy and
sped ashore in search of a hospital. I considered taking a book as I
was packing a bag but thought, nah, we won't be long. O how
wrong was I!
wrong was I!
We get a taxi to the French hospital, scare the receptionist with his wound wrapped in a towel (same one I use to cover bread might I add so I am on the look out for a new one!) and take a seat. Arriving at 10:55 we then wait for 6 ½ hours to be seen. Yes, over 6 hours sat in a waiting room with freezing air conditioning, no entertainment, no food /water and Dylan bleeding into a towel next to me. It was so cold in there we took it in turns to nip outside and warm up, passing the time looking at pictures in the French magazines. I had a purse full of quarters I couldn't get rid of so we had a lovely time eating crap from the vending machines! Finally when we were seen, we got a doctor that couldn't speak English. Soooo they left us in a hospital room whilst he went in search of 'Stephanie', a nurse that could speak a bit of our language. After some translating they diagnosed that nothing major was damaged in his knuckle, he just required 5 stitches to put his skin back together. This is when Dylan turns a little pale when they hook him up to a heart monitor, clean the wound and inject it with saline solution. Although it looked disgusting, I couldn't help but watch as they prodded the gauged skin and flushed out the dirt. By this point they had injected a local anaesthetic so Dylan couldn't really feel anything. Twenty minutes later and he was all stitched up with a tight bandage wrapped around his hand and prescription in other hand to get some cleaning stuff for it. Apparently we will be able to pull the stitches out ourselves so no more going back to that hospital waiting room! 3 people before us just upped and left, clearly deciding their illnesses weren't worth waiting more than 6 hours for. Yes we were waiting a long time but once we were seen the service was excellent and the fee reasonable (80 euros).
Back to the gearbox which is the sole
reason for returning to St Martin, well that and the cheap food and
booze we can stock up on. With Dylan out of action and me not
fancying a similar injury, the mechanic comes out to the boat, takes
the part and returns to his workshop. Turns out the thrust washer has
completely worn so whilst we are waiting for the parts to be shipped
in and replaced we spend the next 2 weeks on the island.
With the impending bill for the gearbox coming, we were
very reluctant to spend any money. As a result we spent most of our
time on the boat chilling out or doing chores. I must have read about
20 books, watched well over 10 movies and baked at least once a day
to try and fend off boredom. The weather wasn't that great either
with heavy rain and strong winds most days, gusts reaching 45 knots
on one particular day! I think this is the first time on the trip so
far when I have been truly bored out of my mind, getting cabin fever
and crawling the walls. Through no fault of their own the gearbox
took longer to fix than expected so each day dragged out as I got
twitchy about hurricane season and still being so far north as well
as limited things to do to keep my mind active. At least I got all
those chores done that I kept putting to the bottom of the list. The
lagoon can now breathe a sigh of relief that I won't flash my ass
every time I get out of the water. My 3 pairs of bikini bottoms had
become uber baggy, so much so they tried to make a run for it each
time I jumped in, swam or climbed the ladder out of the water. Can't
say its the tidiest of jobs but I'm sure getting my money's worth
from those Primark purchases!
When in sunshine I'm ashamed to say I behave like a
typical Brit. Least amount of clothing on, least amount of sun
protection on and maximum amount of time in the sun. On arrival in
the Caribbean I was really keen to get rid of my winter pastiness and
soak up the free Vitamin E. I did change my routine slightly and
ensure that I wore SPF60 on my face but elsewhere I pretty much
didn't bother putting sunscreen on as I rarely burn and it's a
massive effort. Especially when you spend every day outside or in
water. Oooo not a good idea right, well I agree with you now parents!
I found a white sun spot on my chest that gradually increased in
number and was seriously ruining my tan. Likening it to a white
version of chicken pox, through research I've found its a skin
infection (tinea versicolour) caused by excessive sun and humidity
particularly found in young people. Well great, that will serve me
right for taking my english rose complexion for granted! Luckily it
goes away with special creams but it's certainly made me realise how
the sun is no longer my friend and I may even consider purchasing a
hat. I laughed at Dylan doing the shade shuffle around the cockpit
but now I find myself doing it, desperate to keep out of the sun's
strong rays.
I still had one sick puppy on my hands.
After his trip to the hospital, the special one then gets a chest
infection so goodbye to a decent night's sleep. He's constantly
coughing all night and its like having my very own (unwelcome)
furness next to me as he drenches the bed sheets in sweat. In an
effort to make him feel a little less sorry for himself I make bread
and butter pudding. O how resourceful I felt finding a use for the
stale bread we had so I didn't have to throw ¾ loaf away. I thought
it came out alright but Dylan's response was – I now know how the
seagulls feel when picking up bread from the sea. O the cheek, he's
lucky he was ill else I would have tipped the whole lot over his
head.
It seems nowhere we are safe. Anchored
a mile offshore in the middle of a lagoon, our watery moat seems
inconsequential. Whilst completing chores in the cockpit we look up
to spot two kayakers lacking co-ordination appear to be struggling
towards Orion. My first thought was that they were holidaymakers
blown off course until they got closer and offered us a flyer. Never
one for rudeness we gratefully accepted their offering to which it
was an invitation to ram Orion with their double kayak. The husband
and wife team pulled out a waterproof flyer that mentioned something
about a convention, the key words being 'bible' and 'Jehovah'. As I
suppress a giggle, Dylan replies 'thanks but we aren't the least
religious'. Blowing 20 knots with a good chop on the water, we
admired their approach and energy to their cause!
We are hoping to be out of here tomorrow (pending the
successful fitting of the gearbox). With it now being late July we
are crossing a few return visits off our list and shall set sail and
see where we end up although the destination is still Grenada. Maybe
we will pull in of an evening and anchor to get a decent sleep or
maybe we shall just plough on if the wind is in our favour. Who
knows, we have learnt not to make too many plans anymore as Mother
Nature has her own agenda anyway. Goodbye excel spreadsheets (and
yes, I did used to do a spreadsheet for passage planning) and hello
to common sense and winging it. With 6 months of boat ownership under
our belts, I think we can now call ourselves 'competent' sailors...