Spring 2002 SEAmester East Journal
Sent weekly from sea by students on-board SEAmester ...
SEAmester Log, Part 4
Day 25 Aboard the Harvey Gamage: En Route to Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
Hello Mutter, Hello Fotter,
We finally made it back to civilization - the good ole USA. Phew...
To catch all youse Guys and Gals up, let's start where we left off: Sailing
into the Dominican Republic.
After docking, (in order to keep us students sane) we were given some free
time to roam around the first real city of the trip - fast food, cheap
street venders and tacky souvenir shops. Chris, our teacher and fearless
leader, commanded our troops into the hustle and bustle of downtown Santo
Domingo, the oldest city in the Americas. We hit the zoo they call the
marketplace, a place where you can buy paintings, machetes, figurines,
cigars - you know, that trashy touristy stuff. AND, if you are an American,
speak VERY little Spanish, and appear to be interested in something,
anything at all, you are greeted by the most helpful, friendliest people.
However, if you refuse what they are selling, well, let's put it this way,
they get a bit less friendly. But, if you can't understand what they are
muttering behind your back, then they aren't really saying it. After that
fiasco, everyone went their own way - some danced, some looked endlessly for
a good jazz club, while others (including myself) played a few grueling
games of Dominoes with the local 'good ole boys' over a few cold beers in
the back corner of a crowded grocery store. It was also the great and
wonderful birthday 21 for miss Jessica - she enjoyed herself, and we all
wished her the happiest. The night was ours - Welcome to the Dominican
Republic.
The next day we ventured out to see the famous Christopher Columbus
Lighthouse. This mammoth of a building, much to the contrary of Spain, holds
the bones of the late Chris Columbus himself. Guarded by men in uniforms and
guns, this shrine is the pride of the Spanish Conquest to the Americas, or
rather, that is what the brochure tells you. It was an amazing landmark and
a beautifully designed museum. You'll see the pictures...
After this, a historical tour through the town ensued. Some of us even
touched the tree that Columbus first moored his boat to. The walk was
interesting, and we got to see the amazing buildings of the early explorers.
Free time was again awarded, and we departed into the busy streets of Santo
Domingo.
The Spirit of Massachusetts, the other schooner in the Seamester fleet,
sailed that day into town with a bunch of high schoolers and docked next to
us. We had much to share as each boat tried to outdo the other. We had a lot
of pride, trying to show up some lousy high schoolers - you should have seen
us...You'd all be proud.
The next day, piling into a crowded bus/van, with blaring Spanish music in
full bloom, we headed out to the mountains to find ourselves a waterfall.
After a haul of about 2 1/2 hours of nodding off, getting passed on hills by
countless mopeds, and looking around the Dominican countryside, we made it
in a whirling dust cloud. It took us 10 minutes to walk to the waterfall -
not too shabby a sight - 30 minutes to take it all in, and 10 minutes back
to the bus. The waterfall itself was quite spectacular, and several crazy
kids (Juli, John, Bill, plus a couple more) jumped in without hesitating.
Me, I watched from the warmth of the rocks.
Back at the boat, a few hours later, some people went out, some stayed in -
but all in all, we spent the last night in Santo Domingo on our own terms.
Collectively we were ready to go. We had done what we had gone there to do -
bought cheap machetes, some rum, learn a bit of Hispanola history, and got
some fast food before venturing to Haiti. The little Spanish we may have
learned in either old high school classes or on the walls of shady bathroom
stalls helped us make it through those few days without casualty. The time
had come to go.
We gathered what strength we had the next morning, said so long to the crew
of the Spirit of Massachusetts, took up our dock lines and hit the open
ocean. Within a matter of minutes on the open water, some of our stomachs
(aka THE BARFING DRAGONS - Stacie, John, and I) headed for the leeward side
of the boat. As a team, we swore to be by each other's side - for a sense of
comradery - all for one, one for all. Meanwhile, the FOXY GYM (Katie G.,
Annelie and Stacie) was open on deck for those looking to stay in shape.
That night was Juli's birthday and the Beatles sang in her 22nd. We all
wished her the happiest.
SET SAILS, STRIKE SAILS...GO TO BED. WAKE UP FOR WATCH - TACK, GYBE, STEADY
THE HELM, KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED, TIE KNOTS, HOMEWORK, SET SAILS, STRIKE
SAILS....GO TO BED.
HAITI
After, I believe 2 days of sailing we arrived off the coast of Jacmel,
Haiti. It was now time to see just how bad, or how good this place really
was. Everyone was nervous. Why? As my wise brother once told me, "The
greatest thing about third world countries, is that they are affordable."
This, well, this is true, but if you have no money left to spend, it throws
a kink in the whole system.
The first day we headed into the town not real sure just what we were
getting into. Apparently Jacmel is the cultural center of Haiti. The trick
is trying to define 'cultural'. Is it a place of great minds and art? Or is
it just like any other small town in Haiti, where women balance large
bundles of clothes on their heads, or even crates of turkeys and chickens?
Well, if you ask me, I dunno, but this is what we encountered over those
couple of days...
The streets were surprisingly busy with a whirlwind of mopeds, children
screaming on bicycles, and as I mentioned before, women with most of their
belongings balanced ever so carefully on their heads. We changed what little
money we could scrounge up at the local hardware store. 5 gourdes for 1
Haitian dollar, and there was 5 Haitian dollars per 1 American Dollar.
Confusing, yes. But try to barter these money values in broken
French-Creole. That's the dilemma. Jacmel was busy, and we really had to
stay on our toes not get smushed by the passing mopeds, bicycles, donkeys,
and other passing traffic. We all made it back to the boat, luckily.
Day 2 in Haiti was marked with a 2 1/2 hour hike in the sweltering heat to
a nearby, or so we thought, waterfall, just over a mountain on the outskirts
of town. The ironic thing was the day before we heard we would be going for
a hike, but no one really new where. There were quite a few laughs as we
pointed to a mountain peak on the outskirts of town - well, the next day we
hiked that there mountain, in a daze of wonderment. To make the trip a bit
better, we were accompanied by students from a local private school. They
were clean, we were, well, not so clean, but excited to be there. So we
hiked, and hiked, and hiked until in the distance we saw a mirage - a crowd
of locals selling ice cold Cokes out of a cooler. In a mad rush we
approached these guys and purchased some drinks. Low and behold, the guys
taking the money were different guys than the ones that were selling the
Cokes. So for about 100 gourds, or about 4 US dollars, I bought 2 Cokes from
the wrong guy...A fight broke out for the change, and needless to say, I
lost. Mike lost some money as well in the same hoopla of misunderstanding.
So we proceeded to hike the mountain to the promised land of the waterfall,
spitting and sputtering the rest of the way. There was also this other kid,
not part of the school, who taught Katie G. and I how to ask for money in
English, French and Creole. Pretty handy trick, and we thanked him for his
help. The entire way back to town, guess what he asked for....money. Ironic,
eh?
The waterfall, Bassin Bleu, was cool. We all risked life and limb, scaling
down a rock face with an old beaten rope to reach the water's edge, and a
several crazies (Tara, Christina, Kaite G, the fearless crew, Drew, Sarah B,
and others) jumped from this 65 foot waterfall to the blue mineral waters
below. The rest of us swam and jumped from a smaller rock's edge, perfecting
grace and elegance with dives and spills. With that we were spent, and
decided to head back to town.
Crossing a muddy stream at the base of this mountain was a stuck flatbed
truck. Without hesitation Katie G, Mike and I headed to help. We pushed, and
pushed. The mud sprayed - we slipped and slid around. Within a couple of
heartbeats, a dozen or so strong willed, able Seamester students came about
and entered the muddy ring. With hand gestures and pointing, I negotiated
with the Haitian man in charge. He returned the gestures in a universal
language. I told the Americans what to do, and he the Haitians. It was a
good system, and after about 20 minutes of pushing, heaving, and swearing,
the truck made it out. In universal celebration, we all shook hands and
howled into the sky. Like a bunch of raga-muffin, dirtbags we got our
pictures next to the truck, and we continued on our way into town and back
to the boat.
Day 3 in Haiti was finally our day to check out the voodoo, whoodoo in the
area - it just so happened that it was Good Friday. We did, however, observe
a Roman Catholic procession through the streets of Jacmel. Mournful
singing, and well dressed locals paraded through the town in a united
procession.
We then took a trip to a voodou priestess - an American-Haitian, who was
actually born in Jersey. She had gotten mixed up with the voodou a few years
ago, and explained the practices and the philosophies behind the religion,
plus we got to eat some good Creole food while we waited for her to get
ready. As we were leaving, a mass of brightly colored, singing, stick
wielding, dancing locals approached us celebrating the voodou holiday of
RARA. The festival happens once a year, and involves just what I mentioned
before - singing, dancing, and celebrating. Little old ladies were seen
taken swigs of rum and passing the bottle onto whoever was standing next to
them - regardless of age. RARA had moved into the area and would last until
the wee hours of morning. A few of us got wrapped up in the festivities, and
were occasionally seen singing, dancing, and taking our own swigs of rum.
The last night in Haiti was a lot of fun, and we all have a few stories to
share - for whoever is old enough to hear them.....
The next morning at 0530 we set sail......
-Nick Flavin
Destination Bahamas- for our deserted island adventure.
We all knew it would not be a short walk in the park, but we didn't plan
for the sail to last a week. Wind. What wind? You need wind to sail? Haiti
was not out of our site for a while, because one of us forgot to put the
quarter or fifty cents into the wind machine. With the Gamage close to a
stand still, we were all waiting for some gusts to push us past Cuba to the
Bahamas.
All realized that Easter would be celebrated on board. Many longed to be
home with family, I for one did. The day started as any other normal day,
but eggs were hidden all over the deck with our numbers, and candy on the
saloon table. We had to find our numbered egg which would grant us a treat
or not. Fists a flying to get to your own personal egg (no injuries were
reported), prizes ranged from breakfast in bed, serving breakfast in bed,
ice cream sundaes--on another's tab, free Gamage postcards, being aloft
sailing into Greenport, and sleeping in on a given morning. Most were
satisfied, and if not with their treats, then with the mouth watering Easter
dinner and I'm not just saying that because I helped cook it!!). Veal,
garlic mashed potatoes, carrots, fresh dinner rolls, toffee bars, and
chocolate chip cookies all piled onto the supper table. It was a fancy
dancy affair, so all broke free from their dirt stained rags and put on
sarongs and Hawaiian shirts. Being galley slave was difficult because I had
to ask some people to roll me back down to the galley for cleanup-I ate so
much! With everyone's britches about to burst, the lucky headed to bed,
others to their watch positions. All in all it was not a bad second to being
at home.
Easter passed, but not the time we still had to reach our island. Watches
were in full effect. Believe you me it's not easy standing watch eight
hours a day with classes in between. You never really sleep a good night's
sleep- it's more of a series of very short naps. Most college students love
the prone position, my dad always says, but that doesn't exist here as long
as we would like. It seems a four hour watch either flies by or drags her
feet under cement blocks.
The Foxy Gym is opened round the clock to all of its members. Prompted by
Jimi Hendrix's singing and the long climb to the top of Saba, Stacie,
Annelie, and I don't need weights and gym machinery to get in shape. Instead
we haul 500lb. anchors, set sails, and sweat lines. The Foxy Gym is open to
all who would like to join the fun on deck heaving and hauling. It's quite
a hopping establishment.
In the mornings we saw waves and sky, by evening waves and sky. Off the
coast of Cuba, the Gamage was accompanied by a circling US Coast Guard
helicopter. Everyone smile for the cameras.
Growing more tired and confined all longed to be on land to run around and
let loose. Flying fish kept the night watchers in check and awake. No one knew when one
will bomb its way on deck- crashing into anyone and anything in its path.
Sea turtles and dolphins were occasionally spotted and sparked interest in
just about everyone.
Finally, land hoooo was screamed from bow watch and the crystal clear blue
waters of the Bahamas were finally ours. Anguilla Cays it is, and raring to
go, we all headed to the postcard picture of an island with sleeping bags
and machetes. We decided to catch our dinner--splitting up into a hunting
crew and a fire burning crew. Snorkeling for anything edible, we came up
with a whopper of a spiny lobster Bill and John), conch Nick and I), and
some mighty tasty West Indian Top Snails (Stacie, Juli, and Katie L). Along
with our prize catches of the day, steak, plantains, and rice were cooked
over the fire prepared by the machete ready rebels. Palms and anything dry
and flammable were hauled into a pit and ignited at once. Our motto: No
Sheath Here. In order to reach the other side of the island we had to plow
right on through.
Compliments to all the chefs because the barbeque was dee-licious and
finished off with roasted marshmallows and shots of Hershey syrup. Some took
swigs of rum, others the chocolate goodness. Shanties and songs were chanted
around the fire with all the stars shining bright. Some combed the beach,
others walked on their own, but all got a dose of what the doctor ordered-
freedom and time alone for a bit. Could have done without the rampant blood
thirsty mosquitoes though.
We left the cay when the winds blew from the East and word of the big storm
simmered. Forecasts had it that we might be sailing straight into thirty
foot standing waves. Safety lines were set and everything on deck was lashed
down with extra caution. Uneasiness set into our eyes as we weren't sure
what to expect. We just wanted to reach the states. Most haven't spoken to
their family and friends since the DR- about two weeks prior. Our cravings
were getting stronger for loved ones, food, a common language, and the
American way. It would still be three or four more days till Georgia.
Sailing at the ships full potential, 12 knots, we flew up the Gulf Stream to
where we are today- the USA.
So far if our Tevas and hiking boots could talk--they would have quite the
tale to tell!!
For now we will all be enjoying the fast food and comforts we craved for
weeks on the ship.
-Katie Granberg
SHOUT OUTS
-Happy Birthday Mere and Cait!! Love, Juli
-Grattis Fredrik! Saknar er alla- kommer snart hem. Puss och kram!! Love,
Annelie
-To Mr. McKay's Navy...Hi
-Happy Marty Boy Bob Day!! Love, Katie Bug
Check out delicious Doxsee Sea Clams on Long Island
Log 1: Tara Wood
Log 2: Jessica Richter
Log 3: Laurie Hall & Stacie Marchionne
Prof. Hamilton's Journal Archive
Fall 2001
Spring 2001
Fall 2000
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