The day finally arrived. I was strapped in with the large aircraft rolling down the runway and gently going up. The blue ocean and “my beach” was visible through the window. Familiar landmarks appeared below me. Yet the reality that I was truly leaving all this behind still did not sink in. It still feels that I will soon be waking up in my familiar bed, look at my bright yellow curtains. Go through my familiar morning routine of making my coffee and settling into my chair for my quiet time, while looking out to palm trees and blue sky.

But the truth is, this is now someone else's view. I have begun the journey of a major crossroad in my life. It is now time for new rituals and routines. It is a time of change. There is a time in life to leave behind that which is good to reach something better. It is a little scary and very exciting at the same time.

The last few weeks preparing for my departure has been very hectic. The fact that I felt disconnected from the reality that I am really leaving helped me cope. Funny enough my dear friends all felt that same disconnect with reality. Nobody really believed I was leaving. Even as I was doling out the contents of my apartment and shipping luggage home. It may have had something to do with the fact that I have been talking about my plans for so long that, well it seemed like some vague distant event related to some distant future time.

I have been quite a little diva the last few weeks – a lady with a full dance card. Between packing up my life I had my days mapped out around lunch with so and so, dinner with another. I have been trying to spend a little bit of time with all of those near and dear to me. And of course, I had to cram in all those touristy things one never get's around to when you live somewhere.

From St Maarten one can see five other islands if you drove around the island. Anguilla, Saba, Stacia, St Kitts, St Barts. It continues to amaze me that despite their close proximity each island is very different from the next. Some hilly and green, some flat and dry. Different languages, cultures, architecture and atmosphere. All just inviting you over to explore its unique characteristics.






So with a group of friends visiting St Maarten I sailed over to the anchorages around Prickley Pear with their kaleidoscope of blues and amazing beaches in Anguila. On another day we zipped over to Saba in the high speed ferry to savour the beauty of the mountains and rain forests. We started our day with a hike up the mountain, then lunch at the eco lodge nestled in the forest. Even the taxi ride there and back was a memorable. The hills are dotted with little villages, all with quaint red roofed homes and buildings. And naturally from that elevated position the ocean vistas are amazing. Saba stole my heart, and I hope to come back for a more extended visit some day.

Once I saw my friends off I was immediately immersed back in the reality of packing up and giving away – with the emphasis on the latter. I arrived with nothing but a backpack nearly two years ago. Now, I had gone as far as buying a set of suitcases on wheels. Growing up? Nahhh. Just too much stuff. Quite an unthinkable thing for a gypsy girl. Perhaps a sign of a desire to hang up those gypsy boots and put roots down? Certainly. But ironically a lot more travel is needed for that to be possible.

And being in my jet setting diva mode, I squeezed a down island sail in my busy calendar between all that packing. So off I set to Grenada and further island explorations. Over the next few days I sailed through the Grenadines with a good friend. It felt good to take a break away from my hectic attempts at reducing my life to as little as possible. Maarten. I felt relaxed and slept well, finally shutting off the the milling thoughts of logistics still needed in wrapping things up before my departure. I woke up in a different anchorage every morning. We set about to explore the different islands with taxi rides in the country side, strolling through colorful markets and lunching and dining on local cuisine – often with fabulous views.



Naturally, all good things must come to an end, and in the blink of an eye I was back in my own little rat race. But little by little all the pieces of the puzzle came together. My apartment emptied out and my suitcases filled up. Reality slowly caught up, despite the fact that I still felt no connection to it. All to soon after the last kisses and hugs I was alone in my airplane seat, watching my island home disappear from view.

And now I am sitting in the transit lounge in Paris sipping an overpriced latte. Waiting on my connecting flight home. The next year in my life will be a transit lounge. An in between, a crossroad. I have plans of where I intend to head as I near the next junction. But I fully accept that life sometimes takes a different course from the one we planned. And sometimes, those deviations are far better than the plans we made . . . .

Back home and day dreaming

Those long days running around cleaning ashtrays, serving drinks, making beds, ironing seemed to never end. While the owner was around I worked 16 hours on a good day, on a bad day 18 hours. I started feeling rather Cinderella like. Where was that fairy god mother?

Visions of sitting under a palm tree with a book and generally being very unproductive for at least two weeks kept me going. Maybe paint a little, listen to my French tapes . . .

We finally saw the owner off and headed back to St Maarten. The trip was quite restorative. I slept ridiculously long hours, and read a book cover to cover. My excitement grew as I started
seeing St Maarten get closer on the chart. Finally we where anchored in the bay, with the lights on shore beckoning me. Oh what mixed thoughts where going through my mind. Sheer joy at being home. But along came the realization just how much this has become home, and soon I will be giving it all up. But I do confess, along with a bit of melancholy feelings and apprehension about all the changes in progress, the Gypsy girl within me is excited about all the new unknown adventures ahead.

I started thinking back about the owner and his rather unsuccessful attempt to walk off the beaten track a little with his oil down on the beach. The truth is most of my travels over the past two decades have been off the beaten track.

My mind wandered to past travels with Gypsy Boy. A camp outside Chitwan National Park in Nepal. For ten dollars a night we had a basic room with mosquito nets and ceiling fans. The showers and bathroom where outside. In the day we went exploring on rented bicycles, surrounded by endless fields of yellow mustard flowers. We even had an elephant ride in the forest. Quite an experience. The animals in the forest are not aware of you as you are high above them. We came very close to a Rhino with a calf, and deer quietly lying under a bush. I would recommend bringing a pillow along though. At lunch we felt quite extravagant dining on water buffalo steaks that cost more than our room did. And back in the city of Katmandu we stared in awe at the beautifully preserved temples with their elaborate teak carvings. When Marco Polo saw them for the first time centuries ago, he described them as ancient.

Or Dahab in Egypt. The half moon bay is nestled on the Sinai Peninsula. The center of it a back packers haven, the edges for more upscale resorts. In the middle camps with modest rooms that consists of a cement slab with mattress on. Naturally we packed our own sleeping bags for such situations. Colorful paintings of sea critters decorated the walls, the rooms could certainly not be described as dull. And such a room set us back around $4 dollars. For breakfast we sauntered over to the restaurant in front of the camp. You simply sit on the floor on cushions covered with Egyptian weavings around a low table. Breakfast did not cost much more than the room. And unlike western culture, it was considered perfectly acceptable to stretch out with your book and spend the rest of the day there. Each restaurant has a section of beach that is considered part of it, complete with its low tables and woven kelim cusions to sit on. The waiter may even join you for the odd game of back gammon. And if you feel like cooling off, you can rent a pair of flippers and snorkel, wade in and immediately you are snorkeling on a coral reef. The little village is powered by two rather dilapidated generators. In anticipation of the nightly power failures, the restaurants start placing candles in sand filled cut off soda bottles around the beach. When the inevitable power failure does happen, the entire half moon of beach is lit by flickering candles. . .

Now my mind travels to the lofty mountains of North Pakistan. The worlds biggest mountain ranges all converge here. The Himalayas, the Hindu Kush , the Pamirs from Russia and of course the Karakurum mountains. The winding road that starts in Islamabad where it is only a few hundred meters above sea level just keep on creeping up and up. It may be called the great “Karakarum Highway” - but the engineer that was with us on the bus assured us that this narrow two lane road was not carefully engineered – it was simply blasted out of the mountain. He was proved right by the many landslides we came across. The local busses are the most colorful I have seen in the world, perhaps to distract you from their suicidal driving. Particularly disturbing as we race around hairpin bends is the sight of wrecked busses and trucks in the ravines.

But, o, the stunning scenery. First there where soft rolling hills in front of is. Heading around a mountain a village would suddenly be revealed with its beautifully cultivated green terraces. The road just kept on going up and up, and the hills turned into higher and higher mountains. The stark black basalt rock contrasting against the blue sky you now have to look up to to see. At this point they are not infertile, they are simply to steep, to shear for anything to grow on. Until you are once again surprised by a sprawling village. They carve channels out of the sides of the mountain, providing a constant flow of water to the villages from melting snow. Terraces are then carved out of the mountain sides that are intensively cultivated over summer. Because in winter the roads completely get covered by snow – leaving these high elevation villages isolated and needing to fend for themselves. To my amazement ancient apple and apricot trees flourished at these elevations. All the crops are dried and preserved for the harsh winter months.

Our second overnight stop was the village of Gilgit. By now we where more than 3000 meters above sea level. While Gypsy Boy went off the climb mount Abdigar, I sat of the roof terrace of the little guest house admiring the most beautiful view on earth I have ever seen. A grapevine and the overhanging branches of an apple tree provided both shade and delicious fruit. Occasionally a loud bang could be heard in the distance. The glaciers in this region are the biggest outside of the polar regions. Like a living creature they are always moving, sometimes a piece the size of the house would come crashing down. And here too, our room was a modest price. The food was mostly lentils and overcooked spinach, but at this elevation we where so ravenous we wolfed it down. We did try and buy a chicken in the village, but no one was prepared to sell one. Animals are hard to replace here as they, like humans have to get used to the elevation. And in a poor community the hen is needed for her eggs, the yak for its milk, curd and butter and the water buffalo is needed to plow the fields. So they just cannot afford to slaughter them.

I have never had the unlimited financial resources that the boat owner I have been working for has. I could count the times I have slept in a four star hotel on one hand, never been in a five star hotel. But I have am abundantly wealthy in experience and the ability to enjoy life. Weather in a poor village in the highest mountains of the world, bicycling through fields of yellow in Nepal or playing back gammon with a waiter on the Sinai Peninsula.

A billionare's beach party

In the taxi ride from the airport the owner listened to to the description of the local island tradition – an oil down.

Oil downs are basically beach parties where a large pot of food is cooked over the fire while revelers party the night away. Layers of local fruit and veggies, as well as a bewildering array
of meats are packed in the pot, and this is then cooked in coconut cream. It is a poor man's feast. Breadfruit, christophene's, green banana's and calaloo might seem exotic ingredients to the the outsider, but these and most of the other ingredients are staples that would be found in many islanders back garden.

The owner was most intrigued by the description and requested that arrangements be made for his family to have an oil down the next day. He was going to go off the beaten path a little and have a true taste of island life.

All of us where involved in preparation for this event. We carefully planned for all the things he might possibly need for his epic journey. Fine linen table cloth & cutlery and crockery, mosquito spray, all the beverages they might possibly need, candles, lamps, ice and such. And naturally we could not expect the family to be without servers to make sure that the necessary standards are upheld. The captain and myself, his stewardess, went ahead to make preparations.

The oil down was arranged at a spot where such events are regularly held – often for up to a hundred people. We sanitized the tables, created a little bar, and I did the formal table setting they are used to. The jovial if somewhat tipsy local prepared his pot and fire with gusto. He glanced longingly over to the J & B whiskey.

The owner arrived shortly after with his wife and son. They smiled and nodded as they stood around the fire and the chef explained his concoction. This did not hold their interest for long. A quick stride over to the beach for a glance at the view and a few photo ops. A light rain sprinkle sent them fleeing for the table setting that was under cover. We covered the wooden benches with towels, could not have their nice clothes ruined.

I poured everyone their desired drinks and realized this party was pretty stiff. Thus I encouraged
the taxi driver to move his car closer and turn up the volume on the local music he was playing. The volume of course in moderation, we would not want to overwhelm the owner . . .

I finally relented and poured the chef a J & B on the sly. I think he found the concept that the captain and I where working and not touching alcohol a little strange. And the fact that there was no table setting for us.
“You not eating?”
“No, not with the owner. If he invites us to eat now we will, but alternatively we will pack a little left overs for us to take back to the boat.”

I am sure the chef must have been thinking - “Dem rich white folks strange people”. He did become alarmingly well lubricated and to our horror came to chat with the owner waving around the glass of whiskey I poured him. He had no idea that the owner would be mortified to know he was sharing his glassware and whiskey. At least he provided humor to a rather formal occasion as
waved his arms and proudly discussed his prowess as island style chef.

As the captain and I sat on more modest chairs around the fire and tried the cuisine out we had a quiet snicker. We where imagining the same location with a hundred islanders dancing to blaring
music. Perhaps, if they saw the owner and his rather formal beach party, they would envy him his money. But in truth, they have far more quality of life and have a much better idea how to let their hair down and simply have fun.

In the end we asked the owner, did you enjoy you oil down sir?
His reply: “The location was great – the food disgusting.”

O well. I guess back to the five star dinner the chef prepares for him rather than a venture into the unknown for him.

A month of Monday's

I started December as a volunteer at the boat show for mega yachts. The boat show was pretty hectic, but included fun events such as a yacht hop. The boats where all decked out on a theme and it was a festive occasion hopping from one to the other. And of course, I got the opportunity to dress up in black with splash of pink for the gala event. The only thing missing was a handsome gent by my side . . .

On the last morning of the boat show I got a phone call out of the blue. That Christmas charter I had been hoping for suddenly came through, and of course they needed me asap. Very unceremoniously a new era was heralded in my life. Quick goodbye to all and off I went.

Pretty short notice! With a huff and a puff I reached the airport. They where boarding early so I did not even have time to grab the nice lunch I was looking forward to. Once through customs had to proceed to the gate immediately so I grabbed a cinnamon pretzel as that was the stand closest to the gate. Food did not get better over the next few days.

Juliana is obviously a beautiful airport - but the same cannot be said for the smaller Caribbean airports. Off to Antigua for a long wait for the next connection - Grenada. Arrived at around 11pm, found a taxi to take me to a a la cheapy hotel. They did have internet though, and just as well. For in my inbox was an email telling me the boat owner had changed his mind - he wanted to stay in St Lucia a little longer, could I fly there. After a brief rest on a hard and uncomfortable mattress off to the airport again. Managed to get a ticket for the ten thirty flight to St Lucia.

The friendly young South African captain met me at the airport and filled me in on details of the boat and owner during the taxi ride home. At least I got a good look at the beautiful countryside before falling straight into a pretty hectic schedule. I got to bed between midnight and 1 am most nights - someone had to be up to pour the owner his J&B's on ice and empty his ashtray (chain smoker that does not like a dirty ashtray). And of course hollering occasionally: "Can you switch on the TV", or some similar menial task.

A week ago the owner left for ten days - and we have had a breather. We sailed down to Grenada, so am getting another chance at seeing more than just Grenada's airport. We are still busy on the boat, but with a more relaxed atmosphere and more reasonable hours.

A few days ago I was surrounded by a mountain of laundry that needed ironing. Not my favorite task I confess. However our Turkish deck hand put some haunting Turkish music on. Thus my mind could happily travel to distant places while my hands ironed. I remembered crossing the border into Jordan on a cool desert evening - with the haunting prayer calls echoing through the night air. I walked down narrow cobblestone streets in Istanbul, or visited a busy market in Egypt with all its smells and sounds and sights. And in between I looked up and saw the reflections of the sun playing on the water and remembered the beauty of the here and now - despite the pile of laundry. At the end of my workday I sat at the sky bridge writing e-mails and watched a stunning sunset. Several crew members have picked this spot to sit with their laptops, so we have jokingly dubbed the sky bridge the "Internet Cafe".

I actually had a day off the explore the island with some of my crew mates. We where quite a multicultural expedition. An Israeli, a Turk, and naturally myself. Unfortunately the day was rainy and foggy, meaning we missed out on some of the more exotic hikes to waterfalls and rain forests. But for a day, I was a tourist. Just the driving around the island and seeing the lush green hills was a great break from the boat.

In a few hours the owner will be here. I have been preparing their rooms, shining up the brass and all such last minute touches. Naturally the Internet cafe is being dismantled as we all prepare for "owner mode". So - I will continue my tales when he leaves again and the Internet cafe re-opens.

The silence before the storm . . .

For a long time nothing happened . . .September I went back to my St Maarten life. Life rolled on in its normal tracks. No noteworthy events. October however heralded more unpleasant events. First a nasty sinus infection then hurricane Omar came to disturb our lives.

As I was house sitting for my neighbor I tucked in with her kitties after a hectic day of hurricane preparation. I did not need to do much more than close her and my shutters, collect spare water in containers and do some emergency provisioning. So I spent most of the day helping friends. But by the evening, all hatches battened down, the kitties where huddled as close as possible to me. Lulu decided to curl up on my chest. The rest where in close proximity. I am not sure who got more comfort from whom as the rain lashed against the windows and ominous howling winds relentlessly blew. Darkness naturally added to the sense of doom and gloom. I was very aware of being alone - and thankful for the warm bodies curled up against me. Hurricanes I thought, was no fun to go through alone.

By the early morning hours the sounds became less threatening. At 7 am I peeked outside hesitantly. It seemed much calmer and the rain had stopped so I ventured to the beach. All around me people looked equally dazed. Thundering waves crashed over where the beach used to be. Within hours the sea receded and calmed down - and someone who did not see it earlier would have thought a description of the waves where tall tales. Except for the evidence left. Later, I saw to shipping containers washed straight across the road. And heard the harrowing tale of the mini tornado that passed over the lagoon. A catamaran overturned with a couple in it.
They managed to open a sliding door and swim out. A nearby sailor saw them clinging to the boat and went to rescue them by dinghy. Another catamaran described how a heavy table, chairs, and toolboxes where sucked right out of the cockpit without leaving a scratch on the boat.

However, as we all counted our toes and fingers as an island, we realized that God certainly protected us and spared us. There where no deaths or serious injury. And while there was damage, there was not devastation. We breathed a communal sigh of relief and everybody started cleaning up around them. A few days later it was not even obvious there had been a hurricane.

My life started getting back into its normal rhythms. But a week later I had the tel tale rash and high fever. After the hurricane we had hordes of mosquitoes. I had Dengue fever. Through a night of high fever I truly felt the power of prayers for me from near and far. I recovered remarkably quickly but was left feeling week.

By November my energy returned, and slowly slowly work was picking up again. Once again I was comfortably in my predictable routine. However throughout these months I had the knowledge that major change lay ahead. I had been offered a position on the mega yacht I helped out on, and said yes. My new job was due to start in the New Year, as soon as the boat returned to St Maarten after a major shipyard period. This meant I would be giving up my apartment, moving into a tiny cabin, and a few months later leave St Maarten. So while on the surface it was just mundane life as always, I was slowly preparing for this drastic change. These months where the silence before a new storm of change. Gypsy girl is about to get on the move again . . .

Life in elf land

For the first time since May last year I was leaving St Maarten behind. This time joining the boat was different. I knew the boat, several of the crew members, and even knew most likely which cabin would be mine. But there was still a lot of unknowns as I saw the lights of St Maarten disappear behind me.

I arrived in Caracas, Venezuela around ten o'clock in the evening. I produced my ships letter and seaman's book along with my passport to customs. They politely took me to a little office obviously for marine affairs and pretty much left me there. Nobody spoke English. I was reasonably certain that the problem was that my letter was in English. As they often passed me as I was sitting at the desk - I mimed if I could make a phone call to the boats Venezuelan agent that was supposed to meet me at the airport. I was certain he could clear up the issue. I was however told to wait for an superior. And I did wait - for hours. Finally after midnight, a gentleman escorted me out through customs and immigration. He spoke English quite well, so they obviously could have communicated with me if they really wanted to. I was very grateful to find the waiting agent - he had pulled some strings to get me out of there. He whisked me off through the quiet night streets to a lovely hotel. By this time it was around one am. He the informed me that he had arranged breakfast for me at 4:45 am, and that would be there at 5 am to pick me up for my flight to Los Roques. So I had about three hours of sleep in the beautiful and comfy bed .....



View from the window of the plane. Some of the many islands of Los Roques








The flight to the islands was probably in the smallest commercial aircraft I had ever been in. I feel as excited as a little kid with the sensation of flying in small planes. As we skimmed through the clouds an amazing visa was revealed. Little atolls and coral reefs dotted the ocean with varying shades of blue in swirls around them. This string of islets just kept on going until we finally descended on the only mountainous island. I unfolded myself out of the tiny plane to find the captain and first mate waiting to meet me. After a few brief minutes ashore I was in the tender and on my way to the yacht. The chief stewardess put me to work straight away, giving me a little nap time later in the afternoon as I had very little sleep that night. Seems like I always start out on this boat with a little jet lag!

I soon became part of the routines on board. We are so isolated here and we seldom get the chance to get off the boat much, it feels like I am on another planet. We are like little elves quietly bustling about to make life easier for the guests. seldom seen or heard, but leaving
evidence behind like made beds, fresh towels and so forth.

Here would be a typical day for this little elf. (OK, OK, I am not really a little elf, but you get the point)











07:45 am Vacuum the sky bar. (other elf preparing breakfast setup on the deck outside of the
sky bar) Vacuum and tidy saloon. Fluff pillows just so, place nice and square.

08:15 am Start cleaning guest cabins, starting with the master cabin. Open the curtains.
Make sure those pleats are neat . . .Make beds, clean bathrooms . . .



09:00 am Laundry, including ironing. With seven crew members there are many uniforms to wash and iron, then add sheets, table
linen, towels ...... Some days I feel surrounded by a mountain of laundry.



10:30 am Guests usually on the beach this time, vacuum their cabins

11:00 am Back to the ironing . . .

12:00 to 12:30 Lunch break. Crew off course eats separately in the crew mess, but the chef
prepares our meals too. Naturally not what
the guests are eating.

12:30 pm Assist chief stewardess with setting up the table for guest lunch, and help with
serving lunch at 1 pm.

01:30 pm Clean and store lunch wear.

02:15 pm - 4 :00 pm Guest service. In other words, between ironing and other miscellaneous
tasks check on the guests every 20 minutes or so to see if they need any thing. The rest of the day the chief stewardess kept and eye
on them.

04:00 pm Break till 5:45 pm Some days I would be too tired to do much more with my break than have a nap in my cabin. A few times though I would take a swim off the aft platform or get a lift in the dingy to go to the beach. Despite the fact that we are anchored off beautiful little islands or atolls and surrounded by amazing light aqua blue seas we seldom get out of the hermetically sealed air conditioned interior. The sun shines almost all the time, yet I feel like I am having vitamin D shortage since I get outside so seldom. O, I long for my chair facing an open door and coconut palms and blue sky ..... fresh air ......

06: 00 - 06:30 pm Dinner break

06:30 pm Evening turn down of guest cabins.

07:15 pm to 8:30 pm Set guest dinner table, assist with dinner service, clean up after.

Done for the day! Make a cup of tea, hang out in crew mess or cabin, take out that book and start reading. Or, grab your laptop and write about life in elf land . . . .

Musings from my chair

As I am sitting in my chair facing Coconut palms and blue sky I have plenty to contemplate about.



I have a pretty laid back island lifestyle here in St Maarten. The charter catamaran I work on does a variety of charters. Three times a week we do a pub crawl around the lagoon taking our guests to different restaurants for drinks and appetizers. We also do sunset cruises and day charters. The atmosphere is totally different to that on board the mega-yacht I worked on before. I meet happy and fun people with whom I sit and chat and tell gypsy girl stories. By the end of the day as they get off the boat we exchange hugs and warm greetings, many have become fast friends. The contrast could not have been greater. On the mega yacht you only spoke when spoken to, and never actually held a conversation with the guests. I will never forget, after the two and a half week charter in the British Virgin Islands 'Madame' finally showed emotion. After beautiful weather, beautiful anchorages with hardly another boat around, she was jumping up and down and saying "Paris, Paris ....". She could not wait to get home after two weeks being coddled in Paradise. I often repeat this story to remind my guests on the charter catamaran that money does not buy you happiness .

Since it is not a full time job I fill the rest of the time with my sewing projects. I could have made a lot more money if I spent the last year working on mega yachts, but could never have had the quality of life. I needed having my own physical and emotional space. I needed to learn gypsy girl can do just a fine job looking after herself. It has been a year of emotional and spiritual rebirth.


Even my neighbor's kitty thinks
I have a pretty comfy space.









In this time I went to a lot of trouble and expense to officially start my canvas and upholstery business and to go through a mile of red tape to establish myself here for residency. After I started the process, the rules suddenly changed. The Lord opened so many doors for me here, that I did not believe this was an oversight on His side. Everything happens with a reason. I have been praying for God's guidance in my future. Is St Maarten merely a stepping stone in my life? A place where I learned to change the focus of my life to a God centered one. A place where I have learned to love the Lord my God with all my heart, all my soul and all my strength. I joined a little Baptist church, where I soon felt like a family member. I developed a hunger for God's Word. Because of my flexible work schedule I could spend a lot of time doing Bible study. I became involved in the youth leadership, and later the planning of the Vacation Bible School (VBS).

In the last year I have investigated immigration to Australia. After all my gypsy years I am ready to settle down long term, even if it means giving up my easy island life, and everything I have built up here. For it seems unfortunately St Maarten holds no long term future for me. I have prayed earnestly about this matter in the last year. One of the verses that came to me was Jeremiah 6 : 16

'Thus says the Lord:
"Stand in the ways and see,
And ask for the old paths, where the good way is,
And walk in it:
Then you will find rest for your souls."

In the last few months I started having more certainty about heading to Australia. I suddenly look at my apartment that has been such a cozy nest with different eyes. I look at an object and think - should I leave that behind? I will need to reduce my life back to bare essentials. It is always best to travel light. I have started developing a plan of action to depart early next year. Most importantly i need to save money. I was not sure how I was going to make it work, yet I felt in my heart of hearts if I am on the right road all will fall into place. Logically, with my current earnings there was just now way the numbers would tally.

In between all this my church had taken on the mammoth task of organizing a Vacation Bible School for the neighborhood kids. I took a week off all my jobs for the actual event. Giving up my income made the numbers tally even less, but I simply placed my faith in the Lord and gave my time and energy wholeheartedly. The event was an important milestone for me. I am beginning to feel more and more that God has something in mind for my future that involves youth ministry.

After VBS I was just starting to get back into my normal rhythms. I was back on my day charter job, a girlfriend covered for me while I was doing VBS. Sitting in my favorite chair the phone suddenly rang. A year later, the mega yacht captain suddenly called me out of the blue. Could I possibly fly to Venezuela to join the boat for a few weeks - they where having a crew crisis. He would pay me 50% more than last year. I just so happened that my girlfriend that did my job during VBS was still available to cover that. And the sewing project I was getting ready to start was not urgent. My faith was rewarded. God was giving me the chance to make my lost income back five fold. The pieces of the puzzle is slowly falling in place.


Within a few days my life that had become fairly ordinary and predictable was suddenly upside down again. I was boarding a plane headed for Venezuela. But this is a whole other story ............