The Greatest Gift of All

At some point during the night, the boat quieted and the ocean settled to a soft lull of ripples not waves. As we woke from our Dramamine stupor, we heard shouts of urgency "Pack up! We are going to land!". The motor had blown the day before so we relied strictly on sailing which slowed our progression and lengthened our journey. It was now Christmas Eve and we were "hell and gone from Cartagena" to quote Romancing the Stone, when the wind died. It's called "the doldrums" when the wind dies completely, but should be called the 'you-gotta-be-freakin-kidding-me-drums'. We sat at a stand still until the Captain called in a small boat to rescue us. The relief poured over us like a sip of chilled white wine on a hot summer afternoon.

It is interesting that the part that broke on the motor was an easy fix. It is interesting that the 1st mate said he could fix it. It is interesting that most boats carry the spare part needed. It is interesting that the goodbye from the captain was "you finally can get off the boat since I know you all hate sailing". What a jerk! How could he not want that part fixed? Had he made the choice to keep us rocking on the wild ocean an additional 13 hours for his amusement? Was it a punishment? What was this guy's deal? The truth is, after that 48 hour crossing, we all hated sailing, every single one of us. It had been in the Captain's hands to explain what was happening, to tell us about what we were seeing and experiencing, but he did not. We loaded into the small motorboat that delightfully played next to our boat and flew through the water toward land. I am surprised there wasn't a full boat of single finger salutes to the Captain.

An hour later and we saw the dock. Saw the dock, but couldn't get to it. The small boat would now be forced to surf crashing waves, waiting for an opportunity to smash onto shore. Ya, the fun was not over yet. Each of us looked at each other in disbelief, land was so close yet our death seemed immanent. Screams echoed as the boat leaped into the air and dropped back into the water over and over. Then suddenly we slid ferociously toward the shore, men that had been watching us jumped into the water to help guide the boat. It was amazing to see so many people there to help; my gratitude was immense.

Cartagena would be a 45 min taxi and 4 hour bus ride...followed by another 1/2 hour taxi from the small village we crash landed in. A shower was within reach and felt like the best early Christmas gift in the world.

Our hotel, located in the old town, was clean and spacious. The area was alive with cafes, mini markets and restaurants. The light was golden in color and the humid, hot air hugged us. Colorful flags draped from building to building over our heads feeling like a joyous welcome.  That evening we met up with our co-survivors at a hostel for drinks and a loving goodbye. Everyone would be travelling in different directions from there, but the bond was beyond words and we made promises to visit each other in the future.

As my hubby and I strolled the one block back to our hotel and waiting son (a shower, clean bed and WiFi was pure heaven to him and there was no way he was leaving that cradle of comfort), we stopped in little shops and collected a pitiful selection of items to put under the "Christmas Tree" for a surprise the next morning. In an attempt to buoy our child for the rest of our trip, we wanted to give him some amount of a Christmas. We had celebrated at home before we left, but in a household that goes over the top for celebrating, we couldn't have nothing happen on the actual day. Our son's maturity always surprises me, wise beyond his years, he said gratefully that the gift was being off the boat and being on this vacation. His 11 year old eyes reflected the hardship he had been through surviving the boat and it pierced my heart sharply. Quietly I wrote on pieces of paper promises of gifts to come, a new book of his choice, an activity for the family, an ice cream...simple little things, then once he fell asleep, I created a sad little "tree" from water bottles and littered the few items we'd collected along with the pieces of paper at the base. I laid down in the crisp sheets, air conditioning battling back the warmth of the colorful city; I still rocked as if on the boat, not fully acclimated to land yet. That night we slept deeply, appreciative to be where we were and together. it was a truly Dickens Christmas moment.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!