Dena Hankins's Blog, page 21

January 25, 2020

All the stories in India

Telling stories is a lot harder than I (James) ever thought it would be. I mean, you do something, you live through it, you think about the event, you relate to it and then you tell it as a story… Right? How hard can that be?!






On the bridge...




In the late 1990s I (James) did some stuff that I thought was pretty cool. I traveled a lot, played some music on an illegal radio station (we called it pirate back then) and hung out with some sexy people in a misty rainforest on the other side of the planet from where I am now.





One day, I decided to write that story in a format some of us know as fiction. I wrote some stuff, then I wrote some more stuff, then I did some research and somehow I lost all understanding of the story I was telling.





As it turns out the above calamity is the factory of failed writers.





I got Lost in the Funhouse, the Mobius Strip of creation…The more you research the more you know, the more you know the more you write, the more you write the more research you need, STOP! Then the mirror started to warp and I got further and further away from that little story about the cool thing I did once upon a time.





The next thing I knew I had thousands of words, great words, about some very interesting shit that had absolutely nothing to do with being a cool, sexy pirate in the ’90s.





I got so frustrated with the sheer volume and boring convolution of the piece that I ultimately closed the file, once and for all, with nary a glance for almost 11 years.






At the palace




Here in India they have a storytelling medium that combines music and body movement. The storytelling styles go by many names but they are all told by the Kathakar, the storyteller or, rather, the dancer. It’s beautiful and elegant and very cool looking and, for the most part, it’s direct and to the point, which is a lesson I have been very much attuned to as of late.





Last night we went to the Nishagandhi Dance Festival at the Kanakakkunnu Palace to get a load of some of this cool dance/storytelling stuff and once again had our minds blown by Keralite culture.





We watched a young artist by the name of Reshma U. Raj perform a series of Kuchipudi dances, accompanied by a very tight sextet. I could follow along okay through her expressive body movements but following the story line wasn’t really my main concern. It was about immersing myself in the beautiful art form as opposed to understanding the prose.





Ms. R.U. Raj also did a dance of Simhanandini. A dance that is the exact opposite of simplicity. Check this out, it’s where the dancer tells the story with her upper body while sketching out a lion on the floor with her foot movements, while keeping the beat…Yes, it’s extraordinary, but holy shit, WOW!





Talk about post-modern, meta-subtext… who comes up with this shit?!






Life on Earth




Then there’s the Kathakali! It’s a Keralite traditional story-play of epic proportions that was also going on last night. There are hundreds of these dances and some Kathakali can last up to 14 hours in one stretch with thousands of hand and body movements telling the saga while wearing forty pounds of hat and about five pounds of makeup…the polar opposite of the example I so desperately needed when I approached the rewrite of my little pirate radio tale.






At the Palace, in the street...




So we didn’t stay for the whole thing.






Communism Today




After we finished the re-write of Indoor Boh I felt a strange surge of newly formed literary ambition and reopened the radio story file with every intention of getting frustrated, breaking some shit and ultimately putting it back to death.





But instead I slashed and I burned and I cut and I copied the fuck out of my little (Huge!) story until I had a bursting little seed and, well, I finished it.





Just like that…I finished my little tale of being a cool radio pirate in the ’90s in Seattle. This time I left out all the backwards/forwards post-modern, dream-sequence, meta-drool.





I wrote a book. It’s got a beginning, a middle and an end. It tells a story about a thing and I think it’s pretty good.


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Published on January 25, 2020 21:50

Telling stories in India

Telling stories is a lot harder than I (James) ever thought it would be. I mean, you do something, you live through it, you think about the event, you relate to it and then you tell it as a story… Right? How hard can that be?!






On the bridge...




In the late 1990s I (James) did some stuff that I thought was pretty cool. I traveled a lot, played some music on an illegal radio station (we called it pirate back then) and hung out with some sexy people in a misty rainforest on the other side of the planet from where I am now.





One day, I decided to write that story in a format some of us know as fiction. I wrote some stuff, then I wrote some more stuff, then I did some research and somehow I lost all understanding of the story I was telling.





As it turns out the above calamity is the factory of failed writers.





I got Lost in the Funhouse, the Mobius Strip of creation…The more you research the more you know, the more you know the more you write, the more you write the more research you need, STOP! Then the mirror started to warp and I got further and further away from that little story about the cool thing I did once upon a time.





The next thing I knew I had thousands of words, great words, about some very interesting shit that had absolutely nothing to do with being a cool, sexy pirate in the ’90s.





I got so frustrated with the sheer volume and boring convolution of the piece that I ultimately closed the file, once and for all, with nary a glance for almost 11 years.






At the palace




Here in India they have a storytelling medium that combines music and body movement. The storytelling styles go by many names but they are all told by the Kathakar, the storyteller or, rather, the dancer. It’s beautiful and elegant and very cool looking and, for the most part, it’s direct and to the point, which is a lesson I have been very much attuned to as of late.





Last night we went to the Nishagandhi Dance Festival at the Kanakakkunnu Palace to get a load of some of this cool dance/storytelling stuff and once again had our minds blown by Keralite culture.





We watched a young artist by the name of Reshma U. Raj perform a series of Kuchipudi dances, accompanied by a very tight sextet. I could follow along okay through her expressive body movements but following the story line wasn’t really my main concern. It was about immersing myself in the beautiful art form as opposed to understanding the prose.





Ms. R.U. Raj also did a dance of Simhanandini. A dance that is the exact opposite of simplicity. Check this out, it’s where the dancer tells the story with her upper body while sketching out a lion on the floor with her foot movements, while keeping the beat…Yes, it’s extraordinary, but holy shit, WOW!





Talk about post-modern, meta-subtext… who comes up with this shit?!






Life on Earth




Then there’s the Kathakali! It’s a Keralite traditional story-play of epic proportions that was also going on last night. There are hundreds of these dances and some Kathakali can last up to 14 hours in one stretch with thousands of hand and body movements telling the saga while wearing forty pounds of hat and about five pounds of makeup…the polar opposite of the example I so desperately needed when I approached the rewrite of my little pirate radio tale.






At the Palace, in the street...




So we didn’t stay for the whole thing.






Communism Today




After we finished the re-write of Indoor Boh I felt a strange surge of newly formed literary ambition and reopened the radio story file with every intention of getting frustrated, breaking some shit and ultimately putting it back to death.





But instead I slashed and I burned and I cut and I copied the fuck out of my little (Huge!) story until I had a bursting little seed and, well, I finished it.





Just like that…I finished my little tale of being a cool radio pirate in the ’90s in Seattle. This time I left out all the backwards/forwards post-modern, dream-sequence, meta-drool.





I wrote a book. It’s got a beginning, a middle and an end. It tells a story about a thing and I think it’s pretty good.


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Published on January 25, 2020 21:50

January 12, 2020

A Night at the Opera

We started the day off with a great idly/sambar at Muthoot Homez Akkulam, one of our haunts along the highway.





It’s a cool little place across from the big-ass mall construction site and it’s also one of those quintessential Kerala dining experiences, meaning it’s little more than a lean-to with a kitchen…and totally packed. The food is excellent and fresh and the clientele is always in a hurry. Just our kind of place.





The whole point was to get to the Lord’s Hospital queue early and get a number before the crowds showed up.





Not to worry, friends, we’ve both been wanting to see a dermatologist while we were here to get some things checked out and see if we could get some grooming surgery done. Once one is no longer young, the skin, it changes.





Dena had done some research and found this hospital, which was close to us and had a pretty good rep for that kind of thing.





Anyway, the dermatologist decided to take the day off so we rode away. Since a broken water main had washed out the road to the left, we went back the way we came, headed west. We came to a crossroads and I (James) barked ahead, “You want to go left to the beach?”





I (Dena) smiled and bolted around the auto-rickshaw/Bajaj delivery truck tangle that had held us up.






Us at the beach.




It doesn’t take much convincing to get either one us stoked for a beach adventure.






The Arabian Sea




The breeze was nice, the Arabian Sea was calm and kind, and it was a work day so not many people about.






Corvus




We rode north along the coastal route and dipped into a few different photogenic spots…











And ultimately ended up behind one of the christian monstrosities before shrugging and pointing our wheels back home.





As we were coming around the church a young lady waved us down. We stopped and exchanged greetings. She had an open and enthusiastic air to her and I (Dena) sincerely appreciate enthusiasm. She very nicely gave us a brief background. Her name was Lauren and she was from Canada visiting India as a musician.






James and Lauren




When she asked her hosts in the North where they thought she should go to see some sights in India, they were quick to point her to Kerala! Lauren had been driven down from Hyderabad, where she had finished up her performance the day before, by someone who was getting a flight at the airport, so that’s where she touched God’s Own Country first.





Being the consummate adventurer, Lauren planned to figure it out when she got there. She saw a Tourist Village on the beach and started walking. She walked right past the combo playground-and-worksite and hoofed it all the way to a different stretch of beach…





…where we were standing all misty-eyed, gawking at our one great Ocean!





An anglo looking stranger had registered in the corner of our eyes (yes, in the eyes of each of us), but we do not tend to seek out congress with white folks, India being the place where white people go to avoid each other. An energetic flapping of her scarf seemed like, perhaps, an attempt to dry the sweat of a hot sunny tropical day.





When we turned and started riding off, she hoofed it down from the church steps and waved us down, as aforementioned.





She asked us if we knew of anything cool that she could do in the 24 hours that she had in TVM. Of course we froze and it took a moment to put our thoughts together.





We’ve been curating our lives and our travels for a very, very long time to give us maximum flexibility. Our entire boating life exists because I (Dena) once said to James that I wanted to move and travel without having to pack and unpack. In a larger sense, it’s about being able to have new astounding experiences and then retreat to something familiar, some place that is home and provides time and space for integrating the new.





So yeah. It took a minute. But we directed her to East Fort, where she could see the Sri Padmanabhaswami Temple and cross the street to visit Chalai Market (which I blanked the name of in the moment).





Musician, or right, she’s a musician…





We planned to attend one of a set of ten concerts being given in that very area, at the Kuthiramalika Palace, part of a festival that had been going on since November and which was wrapping up this week.






2020-01-12_09-44-05




Nearly 200 years ago, the Travancore Kingdom had a king who was into music. Reeeeally into it. Composed and arranged it. And did a good enough job that folks get together once a year for a 10 day festival of it.





His name was Maharaja Swathi Thirunal. He wrote lyrics in seven languages.





We recommended that she hit up the free concert that evening and said that we would be going. Only afterward did we wonder what kind of music she did and whether she’d be in to Carnatic music, basically the opera of India.





Hard telling, not knowing.





We went. Sri Saketharaman, on vocals, also seemed to be something like a band leader. He conducted, slapping his thigh to the beat of a one-two-three-and that was actually a 4/4. Sort of. The crowd sometimes clapped along, the three-and done with the back rather than the front of the hand in the palm of the other.





Sri Sampath on violin, wow!





Sri N.C. Bharadwaj on mridingam, fucking wow!





Sri Krishnakumar on ghatam, holy shit, fucking wow!





And a Tambura player that (sadly) got no credit in the literature and quickly disappeared after the show, again with the wow thing!





Dena and I (James) allowed ourselves to be taken by these incredible musicians to the fullest; we were entranced from the moment we set foot in the venue until the very end. They were virtuosos one and all and their love for the art form flowed through everyone in attendance.





About an hour into it I started getting texts from Lauren. It seemed she was pretty happy with hanging out at the home-stay she’d discovered after our meeting so I figured she was looking for a reason to blow the whole thing off.





Well, I wasn’t having any! I was in the middle of a musical experience that was inspiring me and I told her as much.





She showed up at the Temple about twenty minutes later.





She sat in front of us and off to the right so it wasn’t hard to watch her reactions to the whole thing and it was pretty cool. She is definitely a musician that is still inspired by greatness.





I believe Carnatic music covers the entire spectrum of the emotional state of music. Much like European Opera it tosses subtlety out the window musically so the listener can focus on the importance of the emotional message. If you allow yourself to be taken by it the journey can be truly profound.





I (Dena) think that practitioners of both musical arts would take issue with the idea that they throw subtlety out the window, but the point stands. This is not background music. It’s in your face and in your head and in your chest music. It’s unapologetically huge and I think you could really hurt someone with that shit if you weren’t careful.





I (James) totally agree but my experience with the Carnatic trance that night booted subtlety to the curb, replacing it with the boxing glove of white-boy emotion. Okay, enough with the metaphor; the jams were cool and I dug it.






Dena and Lauren




After the show we all kind of fell into each other’s arm and started the talking-all-over-each-other thing that is either really disrespectful or the clue that you may be at home with other people.





Music is the thing that has that kind effect on humans. It’s beautiful in the moment and it’s sublime when the effect is mutually recognized.





Food!





We were all famished and it was the end of the nightly festivities at one of the most popular Hindu temples in India, so it took us a few tries to get in to a place.





We settled in at the downtown iteration of the chain restaurant Shree Sarabanabhavan for some curry, some parotta, a masala dosa, and a juice or two…or three…or four!





(Dena’s internal food critic would like to say that the parotta were sublime — fresh with a crispiness — but the curries were chain-boring.)





During the conversation we all learned some very important things about ourselves. The three of us learned that when you meet someone who feels like ‘chosen family’, you bring it up! We learned that, if you got a cool flat to offer up, offer that motherfucker up goddamnit!






James, Dena and Lauren




(Hi, Krishna!)





When Lauren learned that American Author Dena Hankins wrote erotic fiction, she leaned back in her chair and said, “Really, tell me about that!”





And when Dena and James learned that Lauren sang opera, we leaned back in our seats and said, “Really!? And what do you thing about busting out some opera right here, right now?”





The next thing that came out of Lauren’s mouth flattened the entire restaurant.





Lauren sang us only a short verse from Lauretta’s aria: O Mio Babbino Caro, by Puccini. But I bet everyone within a block of that little restaurant that night will remember that moment for the rest of their lives.





I know I will. That was the night Lauren Eberwein sang opera at Shree Sarabanabhavan after a concert at the temple.












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Published on January 12, 2020 09:23

December 31, 2019

Homes of the Decade Past

Baltimore, Maryland






Brown Reason




Essex, Maryland






Dena




(Baltimore, Maryland)





Edgewater, Maryland






My Feet





Hunker'd




(Baltimore, Maryland)






James And the Constellation




Underway






Dena




Yarmouth, Maine






Happy Dena




Portland, Maine






Anchored




South Portland, Maine






Free Dock Hyjinx II




Underway






Dena




Groton, Connecticut






No




Noank, Connecticut






The Rig




New London, Connecticut






A-Good-Morning-




Underway






DenaHookdown




Jersey City, New Jersey






JamesAndTheLadies




New York City, New York






Our home in Brooklyn NY.




Underway






Oyster Bay




Wessagusset, Massachusetts






Wessagussett NoWake!




Boston, Massachusetts






Close Call




Hingham, Massachusetts






LeavingBackRiver




(Wessagusset,Massachusetts)






WessagussettSet




Underway






Rome




Somes Harbor, Maine






Reflection




Underway






RowToSafety




Southport, North Carolina






Falling In (not really)




Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina






Wrightsville Beach Sunset




Wilmington, North Carolina…too ugly for photos





Underway






Rain




Annapolis, Maryland






Sunrise S/V Crackertail/Gray Matter




Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala (India)






Steps




(Annapolis, Maryland)






Hey, I Didn't Get Wet




Underway






Albemarle Chesapeake Canal




Manteo, North Carolina






right now...




Underway






TheWings




(Annapolis, Maryland)






Off my bow...




Underway






Rhode Island has many lighthouses.




Robinhood, Maine






OneLastRise




Underway






Beating to windward all the way to Broad Cove, Casco Bay, Maine!




(Portland, Maine)






In the morning...




Underway






Approaching New Bedford




Three Mile Harbor, New York






S/V S.N. Cetacea at anchor in 3 Mile Harbor




Underway






Block Island Sound, tonight...




(Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala)






At PTC

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Published on December 31, 2019 04:24

Homes of the Passing Decade

Baltimore, Maryland






Brown Reason




Essex, Maryland






Dena




(Baltimore, Maryland)





Edgewater, Maryland






My Feet





Hunker'd




(Baltimore, Maryland)






James And the Constellation




Underway






Dena




Yarmouth, Maine






Happy Dena




Portland, Maine






Anchored




South Portland, Maine






Free Dock Hyjinx II




Underway






Dena




Groton, Connecticut






No




Noank, Connecticut






The Rig




New London, Connecticut






A-Good-Morning-




Underway






DenaHookdown




Jersey City, New Jersey






JamesAndTheLadies




New York City, New York






Our home in Brooklyn NY.




Underway






Oyster Bay




Wessagusset, Massachusetts






Wessagussett NoWake!




Boston, Massachusetts






Close Call




Hingham, Massachusetts






LeavingBackRiver




(Wessagusset,Massachusetts)






WessagussettSet




Underway






Rome




Somes Harbor, Maine






Reflection




Underway






RowToSafety




Southport, North Carolina






Falling In (not really)




Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina






Wrightsville Beach Sunset




Wilmington, North Carolina…too ugly for photos





Underway






Rain




Annapolis, Maryland






Sunrise S/V Crackertail/Gray Matter




Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala (India)






Steps




(Annapolis, Maryland)






Hey, I Didn't Get Wet




Underway






Albemarle Chesapeake Canal




Manteo, North Carolina






right now...




Underway






TheWings




(Annapolis, Maryland)






Off my bow...




Underway






Rhode Island has many lighthouses.




Robinhood, Maine






OneLastRise




Underway






Beating to windward all the way to Broad Cove, Casco Bay, Maine!




(Portland, Maine)






In the morning...




Underway






Approaching New Bedford




Three Mile Harbor, New York






S/V S.N. Cetacea at anchor in 3 Mile Harbor




Underway






Block Island Sound, tonight...




(Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala)






At PTC

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Published on December 31, 2019 04:24

December 30, 2019

The year, the decade…the fuck?!

I love this retrospective shit, it’s just so… I don’t know, everything!






This morning in 3Mile




…And indeed the teens were everything!






After the dump...




We started the decade off in Baltimore, Maryland, and learned some hard lessons about living aboard in cold climates. We were definitely up for the challenge but a challenge it proved to be.





S/V S.N. Nomad was an awesome boat and Baltimore is a pretty cool place but if we were going to be off-the-grid in cold we were going to have to figure out our onboard heating system.






Stinky the heater...




Once again, the proof was in the solution.





We discovered that living aboard is not about bringing your great big old life down to the water, it’s about the reduction of life’s needs… The smaller your needs, the more manageable the solutions.





…So we went sailing!






Down Wind Delaware Bay




In retrospect, this decade was about the adventure of sailing for us!





We logged countless nautical miles underway from the Chesapeake Bay to the wilds of Maine and south (eventually) as far as Hilton Head, and along the way we learned how to reduce our needs to suit our lives.






Fruits Of Our Labors




In 2014, we became professional sailors as cruising editors for a publication called the Waterway Guide. The money isn’t enough to actually live on and we’ve had our issues with the publication itself but we love the work and it keeps us underway. We’ve edited the guide from Southport, North Carolina, to Eastport, Maine, and it’s kept us yo-yoing the Eastern Seaboard of the US for five adventurous years now.






Dena In Maine




We went back to India twice in this decade. Once to get me (James) some new teeth back in ’17…






For My Mom




…and then again this year to finish a co-written manuscript we started back in ’17.






On the Coast Road to Varkala




The writing turned out to be an incredible experience for us both. We’ve always believed that when two people form a partnership, they form a third being with a personality, needs and desires, strengths and weaknesses. Well, Dena and I actually went as far as giving the third being a name, Rose MacNeil Jr.





Rose MacNeil Jr. is the author of the new meta-fictional novel, Indoor Boh.






Cover




Indoor Boh is the story of two people who, on the worst day of their lives, decide to steal a boat and rob a bank of the most valuable artifact in American history just get away on bicycles. It’s also a story of love and partnership and redemption and the value of righteousness.






S/V S.N. Cetacea at anchor in New Haven




The teens also introduced us to a new kind of sailing, the kind that happens on a Baba 30, our new boat S/V S.N. Cetacea.






S/V S.N...finally, she's got her hailing port!




S/V S.N. Nomad was an amazing boat that taught us so many great lessons about sailing and living underway but, by the time we stood aboard S/V S.N Cetacea for the first time, we knew that it was time for a change.






Reaching into the Piscataqua river, Portsmouth, NH.




Over the last decade, our winter wage-slave thing had us working for employers from the U.S. Census to the Carefree Boat Club, from West Marine to Equality Maine, from Whole Foods Market to Pie Face, from Wyndham Falls to Three Belles Marina, from the Schooner Mystic Whaler to APS, from Watergate Pointe Marina to Bacon Sails, from Hamilton Marine to the Portland House, and the last one so far was the evil S.E.A. Coast Enterprises. It’s roughly a job per year. Each time, we stoically stood our watch to pay our way and live our dreams.






Hard Fucking Core




Along the way we have made some good friends and established a pretty substantial spam-filter. We’ve walked about a thousand epic miles and rode our bikes at least ten times that distance! Dena had seven bikes over that period and James had five.






Biking to work




So here we sit at the top of the 2020’s pushing the teens away like the history-bully it was. Believing in our future not because we have to but because we genuinely live for this shit!





Happy New Year, Y’all!


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Published on December 30, 2019 04:48

November 16, 2019

Writing in Asia

The first time we came to India was way back in 2008 and that move inspired us to actually start the blog that you are reading today.






Taj Mahal South Entrance




It was a momentous decision that led to one of the most inspiring events in our lives.






American Author Dena Hankins




Prior to that first India trip we were down and out, wage-slaving in the armpit of the Pacific Northwest, Moses Lake, Washington, in hopes that we could make some profound changes in our lives. We were apartment dwelling and saving up to get back on the water after selling our boat in Hawaii to pay off all of our debts.






My Feets




The plan worked for the most part. We saved up some money and we even ended up recording some pretty good music with Dena’s dad but Moses Lake is a disgusting well of conservatism and we both felt like being there was a step backwards in our lives.





(I didn’t take a single photograph while we were in Moses Lake…That’s how uninspiring that shithole is!)





One night while grabbing a bite at a local all-nighter Dena said to me (James), “I hate this place, I hate this country and I hate not being inspired. Let’s go to India and write our books!” So we did.






Dena's First Puja




We sold everything we owned that we couldn’t carry on our backs and moved to India. We traveled the northern subcontinent from Amritsar to Varanasi and the experience was a lot less inspiring than we had hoped.






Bike Rickshaw




Dena broke her foot in a bum-fuck little city called Allahabad so we made our way south to Kerala.






Boat Ride




We traveled all over Kerala but ended up loving a little neighborhood in Thiruvanathapuram called Kallatamukku. We rented a flat on the second floor of an empty six bedroom house and wrote our books, though Dena was sick most of the time. She went from broken foot to terrible pregnancy to miscarriage.






Bedroom




Upon our return to the U.S. we bought a boat, S/V S.N. Nomad, moved to Baltimore and onward, and Dena published the book she wrote in India, Heart of the Liliko’i, and two others.






North Sails




We sailed up and down the eastern seaboard of the United States for almost a decade before returning to Kerala in 2017 to get my teeth rebuilt.






The Gang




The second time we were in Thiruvanathapurm wasn’t like the first time for me. I was in pain all the time from multiple oral surgeries and the focus really was on my health but we managed to co-write a wonderful first draft of a novel we called Indoor Boh.






Us




This past year after buying a new boat in Maine and working off some of that debt in the New York Hamptons we decided to return to Kerala over the winter to finish our co-written manuscript and dedicate our lives to doing what inspires us — our art — and what better way to do that than to return to India.






At PTC




…So here we are, back in Kerala, eating the best food in the world and enjoying being inspired by Asia once again.






On the Coast Road to Varkala




We have completely restructured our manuscript, trading much of the original text for an inspired new version. The writing has been consistent and prolific, and we’re both in good health this time!






SeriousBusiness




We have riden our bikes all over Thiruvanathapuram and even rode all the way to Varkala, an 80 km round trip.






https://flic.kr/p/2hAAzNe




We remodeled our apartment here to reflect our inspirations and most of all…






From the Rooftops, printed on canvas and hung in a living room in Thiruvanathapuram, Kerala, Hindustan.




We have inspired each other, once again!






Us at 23





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Published on November 16, 2019 02:46

September 9, 2019

Gone Global

S/V S.N. Cetacea




After a day at anchor in our favorite gunkhole in Jersey City we started to get a little paranoid about the safety of the dinghy, one of the main reasons I (James) hate our inflatable dinghy, I think about it too much. The free dock at the launch has been a low priority for the New Jersey Parks and Rec department for quite a few years now so the rusty spikes and birdshit cakes were enough to inspire us to think in terms of alternatives.






DenaHankins




We have been known to say (or perhaps “repeat ad nauseum” is more accurate) that the most dangerous thing to bring on a boat is an itinerary. This means that whenever we do have reason to be in a specific place at a specific time, we pad our travel with a couple extra adverse-weather days. This, in addition to repetition of the phrase “weather dependent” whenever talking to the friends/employers/etc, is our hedge against making bad decisions about getting underway when we should stay safe on the hook.






JulyIV




This was one of those situations. We were early for the arrival of the Prakash family – Prakash, Lasitha (Lasi), and Madhumitha (Moumi). Moumi just started a master’s program at Columbia University, and her parents flew from Bangalore to NYC with her so that they could see her settled in her new apartment, signed into college, and supplied with necessities like a local sim card.






Hand




Back to the boat. The only alternative to Jersey City that got us closer to our friends, rather than farther away, was the 79th St Boat Basin. We spent some time there once before, and it was pretty terrible then. Extraordinary currents made it terribly hard to row to shore or back to the boat whenever they were turned against us…and we were holding down jobs at that point.






Face




But we wanted to be helpful, as people who’d lived in NYC and were used to what kinds of things were on offer in the city. We hauled the anchor and headed out for the Hudson River. The light was perfect for shooting Lady Liberty, as you have seen.





The new art installation cum exercise venue along the waterfront is called Vessel, and we got to see it from the best angle.






EmpireState




We got the very last transient mooring. Not just the last as in the only empty one, but also the last in line, the farthest from the dock. That made our dinghy ride a long slog, even though we aren’t rowing (weep). After the first trip, I (Dena) started wearing my swim pants for the ride and then changing at the dock. The wind chopped at the current and made short, sharp peaks that washed over the bow of the dinghy so frequently that we started bailing as we went.






YayGay




We’d done the whole…rent a car, drive to the Hamptons, pick up the bikes we left in the middle of downtown East Hampton 3 weeks prior…thing, so we loaded them up on the deck to take to 79th street with us. We’ve discovered the only way to travel in a big city is by bike and let me (James) tell you, New York City is a breeze and a blast to ride a bike in.





But, that meant that our bikes were aboard the boat and the wild waves made getting them ashore one hell of a tough proposition. Long experience, short story. We got it done.





We idled around town for a couple days while the fam got their chores done. We’d thought they’d need us more, but Moumi proved to herself and her parents that she can navigate Columbia University, New York City, and anything else life throws at her.










The Fam- Lasi, Prakash, James, Dena and Moumi. Manhattan, New York City summer 2019




Since we’d only seen them a total of about 10 minutes and weren’t sure when we’d see them next, we decided to get away from the wet, dangerous ride and the unsettled, loud, uncomfortable living conditions alongside the Henry Hudson Parkway. During that whole time, the best moment aboard was the kind of moment that isn’t usually celebrated. The summer afternoon rains provided the best shower we’d had in weeks, sluicing salt from every pore.





The currents rule all scheduling in that area (unless powering your way through life is your calling), and I (Dena) found a moment when we could ride the last of the ebb down the Hudson River, round the Battery, and get sucked into the flood on the East River. Not only did that work, but we were the first of a parade of sailboats to hit the East River. We were followed by five boats of various complexity, age, and speed, and every single one of them passed us because not a single one of them decided to try sailing.






JesusChrystler




We’ve shot the bridges, the buildings, the whole damn town from these angles, more than once. The Chrysler Building is no spring chicken, but the sunlight was particularly engaging that morning.





And of course, in a place that dynamic, new buildings pop up all the time. What’s with this thing for odd angles and making bits and pieces stick out? I wonder how this era of architecture will be judged?






Crooks




In no time, we were past Roosevelt Island…






HellGate




And into Port Washington.





There are a bunch of town moorings (actually belonging to the water taxi guy) that are free for up to 72 hours, and it makes for a nice, easy stopover. We picked it because it’s the end of a train line from Penn Station, and easy for the Prakash family to reach.






TheEnd




We spent the first night alone in the mooring field.






Standing in line




The sunset was absolutely incredible.






PerfectSunset




Port Washington is very much into their maritime history so they do the fire-the-cannon-off-at-sunset thing. It’s pretty cool!






On The Bow...




It’s a rare and wonderful thing to sail into a cruiser-friendly town at this stage of the 21st century and we did take advantage of it.






Moumi on the bow




Then we went sailing with the Fam!





We had a spectacular adventure.






Dena and Moumi sailing together




We’ve been wanting to share this experience with these awesome people for a little over a decade and it worked out famously!





The wind was fresh at a variable 10 to 15 knots with the occasional 20 knot blast thrown in for excitement. We left the yankee furled to keep the amount of heeling to a minimum, and still made reasonably good speed out into the Long Island Sound and back. Moumi loved seeing the NY skyline from the water, and everyone loved seeing her excited.





Prakash and Lasi flew to Toronto after that, and we sailed on a stiff beat eastward in the rain. We had a lee shore for most of the day as we threaded our way between shoals and islands that were all just out of our very limited horizon. Yep…





From Port Washington, we made for New Haven’s harbor, but stopped short of our usual anchorage (in the middle of everything). Morris Cove is easier to enter and leave, and it turns out to be nice and calm during northeast winds.





We woke to a gorgeous morning and did one of my (Dena’s) top 10 favorite things in the whole wide world. We sailed off the anchor.





I hauled the main, then hauled the anchor to a bare 20 feet of chain and waited. James was tending the main sheet and the wheel, and he brought her around to the tack we wanted. I pulled the anchor off the bottom, and we were away!





Quiet, controllable power. That’s sailing.





James took her all the way through the eastern opening, past the breakwaters and the winds ramped up a steady build.






South West Ledge Light




But on this sail, we both got plenty of time to chill along with time at the helm.











The Connecticut River entrance rolled up right where we’d left it, only a couple weeks previous.






Saybrook And Lynde lights




This was one of those sails that was “too efficient”, meaning we went too fast for too long, putting us on the foul current at the river’s mouth to the Sound.






He yBuddy...




So we motorsailed up the Connecticut River to Old Saybrook once again.






Old Saybrook




Our friend and confidant Kate joined us here and we spent the next three days freaking-the-fuck-out on our (no school) adult privilege like the handful of fun-fogies that we are.






S/V S.N. Cetacea in Old Saybrook




This time we took the free (for 72 hours) town mooring. It’s a little bit of a drag being as though it’s situated right in front of the town’s favorite fishing hole.






Cormorant on a ball




We needed to get some of that good clean Hamburg Cove water on the hull (after NYC, ick!) anyway so back to “The Cove” we went…





Holy shit, it was Labor Day Weekend!






Hamburg Cove




We have a rule-of-thumb…





Never sail on the 4-Days-of-Stupids, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, 4th of July and…





…wait for it.





LABOR DAY!






Ice




So we did what any prudent sailors would do, we stayed put with Kate, swam, and got drunk…all fucking weekend!






Next at night




When we got back to Old Saybrook to see Kate off for her train ride home, we realized that there wasn’t really anything enticing about doing an overnight sail with a strong probability of rain, squally winds, and generally uncooperative weather. We decided to take the next good tide, the next afternoon.






Cormorant on a mast




And some more shots of birds thinking they own the place.






Next, next...




Thanks, Kate. What a great weekend.






All the way here from Rebel




After a breakfast out, we readied ourselves to leave. One of the chores was getting a picture of the boat above…because it’s so strange to see it there! When we bought Nomad, this boat was for sale at the same dock in Norfolk, VA, and owned by the marina owner. He debated on telling us she was for sale, but decided that it was easier to keep trying to sell his boat than trying to collect dockage from the guy selling Nomad. Snort. He was probably right. This boat coulda been…





And then we left.











We motorsailed for the first part of the day so that we’d be sure to get through Fisher’s Island Sound before the currents started flooding at Napatree Point. We got a lot of fair current along the way.











And entered the Sound well ahead of schedule.






FishHenge




But then the current really started to scream along with us and our speed went through the roof!






Broad Reaching




We passed all the landmarks of Fishers Island Sound more quickly than I would have imagined possible.






Latime rLight




And got the pleasure of watching all the pleasure boats heading home to the Mystic, Noank, and New London.






Fisherman




Some really lovely boats.











But on the other side, in Block Island Sound for the first time since May, we were alone with the sunset.






The Overnight




Which went on and on in the clear air.






Block Island Sound, tonight...




Then we were sailing at night. Cool but not too cold, not quite windy enough to avoid the motor completely, but also lighted regularly along the way by the shore features. We were not in the deep blue, and civilization in the guise of lighthouses guided us into the Narragansett Bay.






Off Goddard




It was a perfect night-sea-journey as the wind inhaled and exhaled and the seas built and subsided as if we were being cradled by our world. And while we were being ghoasted along at our clipping pace, only a thousand miles south of us Dorian was devouring the Bahamas. Our good friend Benjamin lost his boat in that storm. He survived; his beautiful boat did not.






East Greenwich Bay




When we woke, we were in East Greenwich Bay and it was both the same day we’d arrived and a new day altogether. We were officially in the staging area for our haul-out.





Greenwich Bay is not large, so it would have taken some truly odd circumstances to keep us from reaching Wharf Marina in Warwick, RI. Of course, Dorian was bowling right on by at that point, so odd still could have happened. Instead…






Waiting to haul...




We motored over and took the most in-the-way slip in the whole place. The owner of the marina, Peter, had said we should take the last slip on the right, or the dock right next to the green Downeaster.





Being as though backing our boat to starboard is an exhausting proposition, we took the easy end slip.





And then…











Holy shit. That was our first trailer haul-out and it was super fiddley, getting all the pads where they needed to be.






A girl and her boat 2019




Of course, James had to get the “A Girl and Her Boat” shot. I love that guy.






A storm's a brewing




And bam! She’s ashore.





No blisters, clear through-hulls, and an amazingly clean bottom. We shocked all the life right off of her with those two trips up the Connecticut River. Fresh water on salt slime, fresh creatures eating salt and vice versa, and a whole lot more sailing? Done.






This is how we left her...




And we’re outta here!






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Published on September 09, 2019 09:35

August 18, 2019

Avanti

It’s old home week for this crew. Some old posts are linked multiple times because we tend to do catch-up posts…yeah, kinda like we’re doing here.





From Hamburg Cove to Essex to Old Saybrook, we really experienced the Connecticut River on this trip.






PreDawn




And from there, we took the first available east wind over to New Haven, CT, home of the Yale Peabody Natural History Museum.






AGoodMorning




It was a surprise to us once, and it continues to be a joy. So many of the original paleontological expeditions were undertaken from those halls; so many madmen sending rocks (bones?) back via 19th Century railway car or somewhat-human skulls back on steam ships in the early 20th.






MuseumEntrance




The creepy side of natural history, done in the usual way, is fully on display as well…pinned butterflies, stuffed birds, posed bison and jaguar with eyes of glass…





But also? We rented bikes to ride there after anchoring in the one free spot near the main part of town, off Long Wharf, home of the Mystic Seaport-built reconstruction of the sailing ship Amistad, itself the vehicle for a lucky few Mende from Sierra Leone who took the ship from the slaveholders in 1839 and won a series of court battles, culminating at the Supreme Court, for their freedom to return to their homes. To be precise, 53 abductions; 35 safe returns.






AmistadRig




A few seafood-heavy meals (Lenny and Joe’s Fish Tale – yawn, Clark’s – my new home, Brazi’s – delicious…wait, what did that cost?!?) and we were done with New Haven.






LedgeLight




Then we took another east wind south-southwest to Port Jefferson, which we remembered fondly. However, it wasn’t all that this time.





The charts are wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Do you have any idea how disconcerting it is to have a chart say it should be 10 feet when the depth sounder says 45? Seriously! Wrong! Even with a good-sized high tide, that just shouldn’t happen.





So yeah, we put down 200′ of chain, starting in a 24′ spot and backing into a 45′ hole. We didn’t budge, so all’s well that ends…well, you know that one.





The current was good for a long day down the Long Island Sound, so we left very early and motored, sailed, then motorsailed to City Island, The Bronx, NY. The trip was familiar enough, but the season was odd…usually we have done this at the end of the year, deep into October at least, and the August sailing is strange. It’s bumpy, busy, and only occasionally glorious, but hey! That’s why we like to be shoulder-season sailors.






CityIslandNY




City Island, a new and different place for us to stop, gave us showers and laundry and people-watching. I (Dena) love NYC for the sheer ordinariness I feel. I’m an odd duck (and proud of it!), but I am just part of the flow in New York City. Whether it’s Manhattan or Brooklyn or…come to find out…the very special part of the Bronx that constitutes City Island, I can wear my tightest shirt, go braless, show off my tattoos or my leg hair and, really? No one cares.





Feels good.






CetaceaCityIsland




After all of the cleaning rituals, though, it was just another mooring ball in another busy summer harbor. The weather didn’t cooperate for photography. We left earlier than planned when a neighboring boat started up their generator and stunk us out.






ExecutionRock




The trip through the East River?






AHotDay




Well.






NYC




It was our what, fifth? Well, anyway, we’ve done this before and last time in the same direction. We skipped the whole Long Island Sound last summer in favor of the long overnight passage between Cape May and Block Island (a decision I stand by). Last time, we hit the Battery at fucking rush hour. It was a complete mess – tons of cops, tons of ferries, tons of wake.






RooseveltIsTramway




This time, eh? Not so bad.






LookingBack




And then there was Lady Liberty. Even with a strangely gloomy day, she shows up ready for the cameras.






LibertyToday




And now here. In the Liberty park anchorage that we’ve lived in before. It’s a home for us and greeted us with…






LibertyNow




An absolute downpour that brought the temp down from 96 to 78. We met the shower on the foredeck. Laughing, sluicing ourselves clean, readying ourselves for the next week of big-city life.






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Published on August 18, 2019 17:51

August 11, 2019

The Plan

New London after




New London was a lesson in the reconstitution of our lives, breaking us down to life’s constituent parts once again. Walking, seeing, feeling, tasting, hearing and smelling everything as completely divergent from everything else in the universe, moving toward entropy, willingly.





But then a plan hatched on an epic walk to rediscover southern New England on foot. A real plan…a plan of action, a plan of pro-active profound life change.





Au Groton





…We’re going back to India to finish our co-written manuscript!





This incredibly exciting and momentous decision was taken quickly, but we won’t leave for almost a month. Sure, there are plans to be made, but we also need to meet the Prakash family in NYC!





But first we had to get some fresh water on our hull.






As we speak...




We’d been anchored in the same place for a little over a month, without picking up and going sailing even once since Dean went back to Moses Lake. The 3 Mile bio-hitchhikers were a little more tenacious than the sail to the Thames could clear away so we still had some growth to contend with. The absolute best way to slough off salt-water growth is a good clean, fresh-water swimming hole, just like the one in Hamburg Cove, up the Connecticut River in Lyme, CT.






Lynde Point Light




We reached the Connecticut River entrance channel in a quiet moment, right after a stream of boats exited. We waited until after the weekend, so the boater playgrounds were emptying.






Saybrook Breakwater Light




And though the currents swept us swiftly along, we enjoyed the tree-lined river.






Hamburg Cove




Now, if you know us at all you know that we like to go nice and slow. To really let the local fishies do the job of scrubbing our hull for us, we first need to dedicate at least 24 hours of fresh water to shocking, freaking out and mostly killing off the saltwater bio-mass that has adhered to the hull.





Easy-peasy, we can most definitely do nothing for 24 hours!






S/V Chautauqua




Okay, that’s not exactly true!





A friend of ours sailed into Essex the night before and invited us to dine at the Griswold Inn. Founded in 1776, Griswold’s is a rather famous local tavern/fancy eatery that has an incredible shanty band that plays there every week. After sailing all day and a 3.5 mile dinghy ride, Dena and I were pretty beat so back to the boat we went before the second set began.





Swimming, watching fish uproars, sunsets and sunrises…we had plenty of things to keep us busy for a few days. As the press of weekenders threatened, though, we shifted the short distance from Hamburg Cove down to Essex.






That moment in Essex, Ct.




Talk about sunsets!





This was a better position for doing long walks and checking out the steam train that runs through here. More swimming, this time in a swift river current, and a cool-down of the weather brought us this morning shot…






Alive in Essex




And we’re ready to shift again. This time between leaving and meeting Lasitha, Moumi, and Prakash in NYC is looking good in the mellow department. The wind will turn east in a couple days and we’ll be able to take the better currents and winds on a hop, skip, and jump west along Long Island Sound.





There is, quite literally, no reason to fight our way to a place we can idle towards in comfort…entertained and in love with each and every one of life’s constituent parts.


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Published on August 11, 2019 07:28