Sea Stroll

Dear Stroller,

I must apologize for my absence these last few months. I wish I could blame the patchy cell service in Thailand or the phone I lost in Burma. But honestly, I got lazily, got caught up in this privileged voyage and deserted you. I stopped writing with discipline and did it only when convenient.

Last we spoke, I was in earthquake ravaged Lombok. Now, these words come to you from a sheep farm in rural England. I have sailed through the limbs of Asia without inviting you as stow aways.

This blog post is an overdue apology and a pledge to make it up to you. I have not, over the past four months, neglected writing altogether. That would be as impossible as not laughing at the monkey that pissed in my kayak or squealing as the tires of my moped decapitated a snake.

My leather journal is full of tidbits scribbled down while sitting on sidewalks, on the bow of the boat or around the fire at a beach bar. My computer is a flea market of paragraphs typed between sips of gin while watching the sun sink into the horizon. Those musings will be tackled, turned into something readable, followable, entertaining and hopefully, enlightening.

Alot was squeezed into eight those months and you deserve an inkling of the ink to come. Firstly, I sailed out of Indonesia and into Singapor, where I ran havoc on segways and foot. I did both a land and ocean tour of Malaysia then flew to Australia for Christmas. Once the bonbons were popped and gin and sodas were sunk, it was back to Asia. I got to know Thailand more intimately than I would have liked, then spent a month skiing in New Mexico, had a brief stopover in Detroit then New York, then relinquished 24 hour pharmacies and food that didn’t scream through my digestive track to head back to Thailand before picking up our Burmese guide and heading to my favorite country of all, Myanmar.

Every day was an adventure, but when every day is novel, the adventure loses its gloss. The hours spent slightly queasy, bumping along the sea or in the back seat of a sweat-box minivan with a tour guide rapid firing historical facts that can barely be heard over the engine’s rumble all chipped away the glamour of the voyage and my motivation to record and organize it.

My silence over the last four months is not due to a lack of experience, but merely a neglect to write coherently. I promise that over the next 6 months, you will experience the perils, dust, laughter, nausea, sweat, and joys of living on a sailboat in South East Asia.

Please, stroll with me?