The vessel has a wee brake malady that needs to be addressed before we take her up the steep hill to her new moorings, high on the bluff over Mansons Lagoon. My learning curve is as steep as the unpaved road, but at least I know I am well supported in this wild experiment in automotive home ownership.
I am buying her from Hannu, who is a fine carpenter and slings a mean om namah shivaya as leader of the local kirtan circle. Ali is the skilful driver. He plays tabla for the kirtan and has piloted the vessel many times, but he just got back from India and has a spotty relationship with space and time. Richard, the mechanic, cannot legally drive because his Barbadian drivers’ license just doesn’t cut it, but he’s a sweet man with a big hearty laugh who is said to be good with engines.
It’s a good crew and I know everyone is on it, working to get her safely under sail. But this must happen on island scale, in island time. There is shmoozing to be done at the market, a rare length of cable to be located (rare that is, on a small island), and the weather is notoriously fickle.
Word has it that if the part fits and the brake repair goes smoothly and the wind blows from the east and jupiter aligns with mars, we will sail tomorrow. In the meantime I am practicing patience and trust, and sleeping at Moonhill in my little red tent.