Big Bald Bob the Budgie Smuggler
Friday, August 15th, 2008
This is the last message from Kate on this leg of her low carbon travel adventure, as the sad truth is that she is going to fly the last leg of her journey to Australia (boo!).
For those of you who are just joining this story, Kate started travelling in August 2007 when she got on a cargo-ship from England to Costa Rica. Six months later she took the bold decision to carry on towards Australia, this time sailing. After getting side-tracked in the delightful paradise of Tonga, Kate has finally set sail again. This is the latest installment, and probably the last for a while.
This week signified the beginning of another leg of my round the world adventure as I finally dragged myself away from my home in Tonga and put myself back on track to reach Australia. I have not only found a new boat with which to continue my journey, but have pulled off the nautical equivalent of being picked up by a limousine, and am currently heading west on a yacht which represents all that is indulgent about being rich.
My new home is a 47-foot catamaran with my own cabin and private bathroom, a flat screen television and DVD player, 3 showers, 6 fishing rods, umpteen bottles of wine, and crisp gin and tonic on tap. Apart from the copious amounts of rum on board this vessel is much more “fabulous darling” than “yo ho ho” but the saving grace of life aboard Averone - which should earn me at least a little piratical kudos - is the presence of our captain, big bald Bob the budgie smuggler. Sounds good doesn’t it? However, I think that I may be one of the only people in the history of sailing to step aboard a huge luxury catamaran for an all expenses paid cruise to Fiji and immediately burst into tears.
What an opener, I know you’re all on the edge of your seats now; how did she end up on a luxury yacht? Why was she crying? Who is this Bob and what has he done to the poor budgies?
But before I open that can of comedy worms let me start with an apology for the radio silence which has accompanied my Tongan escapade. It seems that being on dry land was just too damned exciting to allow any kind of major email writing during my two month stay on the island, so now we must all suffer the consequences as we embark on a journey through time:
Previously in Kate’s life…
Having sailed across the Pacific with a motley crew of strangers and an increasingly grumpy captain I decided that it was time to explore the South Pacific on my own and thus made the courageous decision to abandon ship in the Kingdom of Tonga. However in comparison to the likes of famous castaways and mutineers such as Robinson Crusoe and Fletcher Christian, I was faced not with a gang of angry islanders and the prospect of surviving on a diet of coconuts but found myself in a little corner of paradise which is full of lovely people and where you can buy all kinds of delicious treats including brown bread, vegemite, and tea bags. For those of you who know me well the abundance of tea and toast should give you the first clue as to why I loved Tonga so much.
My Tongan life was characterised by a healthy dose of good wholesome fun, which is in no part due to the abundance of glorious sunshine and the distinct lack of mind-numbing imagination-slaying popular entertainment. Television in Tonga doesn’t start until 5pm Mon-Sat and is totally non-existent on Sundays which is reserved for church-going and divine celestial singing. There’s nothing like trashy TV shows to destroy any desire to do get out of the house but there is no such distraction in Vava’u. So, in alphabetical order here is a list of everything I have done over the last two months:
Beach (that was a given really)
Dance (regularly at my favourite bar Tonga Bobs)
Explore (including climbing a mountain and investigating bat filled caves)
Fly a kite (on the beach)
Free dive (I can now reach 10metres)
Hermit crab race (you guessed it, on the beach)
Host the pub quiz (in Tonga Bobs)
Impersonate Yorkshiremen (on the beach and in the bar)
Jump off the jetty (surprisingly not near the beach)
Kayak (into the unknown, and to the beach)
Limbo (also at Tonga Bobs)
Sail (in dinghies and in the weekly yacht race)
Scuba dive (ooooh fishy) 
Snorkel (roughly three times a week)
Whale watch (those whales sure are massive)
and some other things I can’t think of right now.
So, in a nutshell I was having a ball, a good old fashioned hoot full of childish glee which is how I managed to lose two months of my life in Neiafu. But the icing on the cake was the friends I made, some real legends that I am going to miss loads. This made leaving Vavu’a a little problematic and led me to turn down several good opportunities to take to the sea again. My attempts to seek passage towards Australia bore fruit on more than one occasion, but there was always another reason to put my departure off, a birthday party, quiz night, a Tuesday…the list goes on. So when I eventually did summon the courage to leave it was with great regret and that is why I spent the first hour aboard my new yacht crying my eyes out like a total loser and waving as my friends became mere specks on the horizon (cue the violins).
International hitchhiking is something that I had never really considered before I set out on this adventure. It sounds like the sort of thing that would be impossible, especially as someone who prior to sailing from Mexico had no experience at all. But actually I had numerous offers of passage to Fiji and beyond. Some were more promising than others and some were basically just sleazy old dudes hoping to entice young women out into the vast oceans. You have to stick to your gut instinct with these things so when Bob approached me in my local pub I almost thought it was too good to be true; free passage to Fiji you say? On a luxury catamaran no less? I don’t have to pay for food? You insist on doing all the cooking? It just didn’t sound real, but two days in and life aboard Averone couldn’t get much sweeter.
Big bald Bob is a brilliant bloke, a very rich moustachioed Englishman who sold his business at the age of 42, relocated to New Zealand and swore never to work again, opting for opulence and extravagance at every opportunity. He is of the opposite school to me when it comes to comedy beards and claims that these “gnome-like sailors” have got it all wrong. This morning as I tucked into my weetabix he strolled into the galley in nothing but a pair of Speedos, worn in the embarrassing Dad style and announced “I hope you don’t mind my budgie smugglers at this hour”. This is a man who claims that the smell of cigarette smoke before lunchtime makes him vomit yet he will quite happily catch, kill, and gut a fish before breakfast. He makes my former captain seem uptight and ridiculous, and has totally changed my outlook on sailing as he serves champagne and sushi for lunch, or stops everything to watch the sun go down with a nice cold drink.
Yesterday Bob caught yet another fish on one of the many rods which are permanently streamed from the stern of the boat. Vegetarians looks away now: this one was a Mahi Mahi, a massive square headed beast of a thing which flashed a vibrant display of blue and green as it tried to fight off the hook before being hauled onto deck where it proceeded to thrash wildly spraying the entire deck, and all of us with its blood, charming. But when that same fish becomes your lunch only a few hours later it’s pretty hard to complain.
As I sit here writing this email I am sporting a rather fetching gimble belt which for those of you no familiar with fishing accessories (such as I was only days ago) is a belt into which you put a rod when you are trying to pull a fish in. That’s right folks, Bob is teaching me how to catch fish. So hopefully I will soon be recounting you with tales of my triumphs over nature and the many fish dinners I have created.
We’re half a days sailing away from the shores of Savu Savu in Fiji where we will stay for a few days before heading off to cruise the islands. I will probably stay on Averone for a couple more weeks taking in the sights and sounds of the many Fijian islands before I finally bite the bullet, swallow my pride and (possibly, maybe, if it’s the last resort, because I am ridiculously broke) fly to Australia where the grown up world of jobs and responsibilities await me.
I can almost hear you all draw breath, that’s right, Kate ‘I’m never going to fly again’ Andrews may be on the brink of admitting defeat and taking to the skies for the final leg. Oh well, no shame, I’ve managed 11 months, 17 countries, 14,000 miles and no flying to date so I am going to shelve my ideals momentarily in order to get my bank balance out of the red. Please send all gloating emails to www.at-least-i-tried.com.
Images courtesy of Johnanlb and joeforjette.
This is the last message from Kate on this leg of her low carbon travel adventure, as the sad truth is that she is going to fly the last leg of her journey to Australia (boo!).
For those of you who are just joining this story, Kate started travelling in August 2007 when she got on a cargo-ship from England to Costa Rica. Six months later she took the bold decision to carry on towards Australia, this time sailing. After getting side-tracked in the delightful paradise of Tonga, Kate has finally set sail again. This is the latest installment, and probably the last for a while.
This week signified the beginning of another leg of my round the world adventure as I finally dragged myself away from my home in Tonga and put myself back on track to reach Australia. I have not only found a new boat with which to continue my journey, but have pulled off the nautical equivalent of being picked up by a limousine, and am currently heading west on a yacht which represents all that is indulgent about being rich.
My new home is a 47-foot catamaran with my own cabin and private bathroom, a flat screen television and DVD player, 3 showers, 6 fishing rods, umpteen bottles of wine, and crisp gin and tonic on tap. Apart from the copious amounts of rum on board this vessel is much more “fabulous darling” than “yo ho ho” but the saving grace of life aboard Averone - which should earn me at least a little piratical kudos - is the presence of our captain, big bald Bob the budgie smuggler. Sounds good doesn’t it? However, I think that I may be one of the only people in the history of sailing to step aboard a huge luxury catamaran for an all expenses paid cruise to Fiji and immediately burst into tears.
What an opener, I know you’re all on the edge of your seats now; how did she end up on a luxury yacht? Why was she crying? Who is this Bob and what has he done to the poor budgies?
But before I open that can of comedy worms let me start with an apology for the radio silence which has accompanied my Tongan escapade. It seems that being on dry land was just too damned exciting to allow any kind of major email writing during my two month stay on the island, so now we must all suffer the consequences as we embark on a journey through time:
Previously in Kate’s life…
Having sailed across the Pacific with a motley crew of strangers and an increasingly grumpy captain I decided that it was time to explore the South Pacific on my own and thus made the courageous decision to abandon ship in the Kingdom of Tonga. However in comparison to the likes of famous castaways and mutineers such as Robinson Crusoe and Fletcher Christian, I was faced not with a gang of angry islanders and the prospect of surviving on a diet of coconuts but found myself in a little corner of paradise which is full of lovely people and where you can buy all kinds of delicious treats including brown bread, vegemite, and tea bags. For those of you who know me well the abundance of tea and toast should give you the first clue as to why I loved Tonga so much.
My Tongan life was characterised by a healthy dose of good wholesome fun, which is in no part due to the abundance of glorious sunshine and the distinct lack of mind-numbing imagination-slaying popular entertainment. Television in Tonga doesn’t start until 5pm Mon-Sat and is totally non-existent on Sundays which is reserved for church-going and divine celestial singing. There’s nothing like trashy TV shows to destroy any desire to do get out of the house but there is no such distraction in Vava’u. So, in alphabetical order here is a list of everything I have done over the last two months:
Beach (that was a given really)
Dance (regularly at my favourite bar Tonga Bobs)
Explore (including climbing a mountain and investigating bat filled caves)
Fly a kite (on the beach)
Free dive (I can now reach 10metres)
Hermit crab race (you guessed it, on the beach)
Host the pub quiz (in Tonga Bobs)
Impersonate Yorkshiremen (on the beach and in the bar)
Jump off the jetty (surprisingly not near the beach)
Kayak (into the unknown, and to the beach)
Limbo (also at Tonga Bobs)
Sail (in dinghies and in the weekly yacht race)
Scuba dive (ooooh fishy)
Snorkel (roughly three times a week)
Whale watch (those whales sure are massive)
and some other things I can’t think of right now.
So, in a nutshell I was having a ball, a good old fashioned hoot full of childish glee which is how I managed to lose two months of my life in Neiafu. But the icing on the cake was the friends I made, some real legends that I am going to miss loads. This made leaving Vavu’a a little problematic and led me to turn down several good opportunities to take to the sea again. My attempts to seek passage towards Australia bore fruit on more than one occasion, but there was always another reason to put my departure off, a birthday party, quiz night, a Tuesday…the list goes on. So when I eventually did summon the courage to leave it was with great regret and that is why I spent the first hour aboard my new yacht crying my eyes out like a total loser and waving as my friends became mere specks on the horizon (cue the violins).
International hitchhiking is something that I had never really considered before I set out on this adventure. It sounds like the sort of thing that would be impossible, especially as someone who prior to sailing from Mexico had no experience at all. But actually I had numerous offers of passage to Fiji and beyond. Some were more promising than others and some were basically just sleazy old dudes hoping to entice young women out into the vast oceans. You have to stick to your gut instinct with these things so when Bob approached me in my local pub I almost thought it was too good to be true; free passage to Fiji you say? On a luxury catamaran no less? I don’t have to pay for food? You insist on doing all the cooking? It just didn’t sound real, but two days in and life aboard Averone couldn’t get much sweeter.
Big bald Bob is a brilliant bloke, a very rich moustachioed Englishman who sold his business at the age of 42, relocated to New Zealand and swore never to work again, opting for opulence and extravagance at every opportunity. He is of the opposite school to me when it comes to comedy beards and claims that these “gnome-like sailors” have got it all wrong. This morning as I tucked into my weetabix he strolled into the galley in nothing but a pair of Speedos, worn in the embarrassing Dad style and announced “I hope you don’t mind my budgie smugglers at this hour”. This is a man who claims that the smell of cigarette smoke before lunchtime makes him vomit yet he will quite happily catch, kill, and gut a fish before breakfast. He makes my former captain seem uptight and ridiculous, and has totally changed my outlook on sailing as he serves champagne and sushi for lunch, or stops everything to watch the sun go down with a nice cold drink.
Yesterday Bob caught yet another fish on one of the many rods which are permanently streamed from the stern of the boat. Vegetarians looks away now: this one was a Mahi Mahi, a massive square headed beast of a thing which flashed a vibrant display of blue and green as it tried to fight off the hook before being hauled onto deck where it proceeded to thrash wildly spraying the entire deck, and all of us with its blood, charming. But when that same fish becomes your lunch only a few hours later it’s pretty hard to complain.
As I sit here writing this email I am sporting a rather fetching gimble belt which for those of you no familiar with fishing accessories (such as I was only days ago) is a belt into which you put a rod when you are trying to pull a fish in. That’s right folks, Bob is teaching me how to catch fish. So hopefully I will soon be recounting you with tales of my triumphs over nature and the many fish dinners I have created.
We’re half a days sailing away from the shores of Savu Savu in Fiji where we will stay for a few days before heading off to cruise the islands. I will probably stay on Averone for a couple more weeks taking in the sights and sounds of the many Fijian islands before I finally bite the bullet, swallow my pride and (possibly, maybe, if it’s the last resort, because I am ridiculously broke) fly to Australia where the grown up world of jobs and responsibilities await me.
I can almost hear you all draw breath, that’s right, Kate ‘I’m never going to fly again’ Andrews may be on the brink of admitting defeat and taking to the skies for the final leg. Oh well, no shame, I’ve managed 11 months, 17 countries, 14,000 miles and no flying to date so I am going to shelve my ideals momentarily in order to get my bank balance out of the red. Please send all gloating emails to www.at-least-i-tried.com.
Images courtesy of Johnanlb and joeforjette.
