1st Place:  Stag, 85 points

2^nd Place:  Heineken, 70 points

3^rd Place:  Hairoun, 69 points

4^th Place:  Carib, 55 points

Kids pick up a lot by experience and osmosis. But picking up books along the way perks up their sense of place—and increases their vernacular vocabulary. Wandering in little island book stores is a treat, too. The better ones do a fine job of providing local lesson materials, and make book browsing fun. 

Here’s just some of the stuff we’ve stumbled on that even the parents can appreciate…

• Children’s Stories.  Often written with some dialect and new words, they bring a child’s perspective to the big, old world.  “Away to Bequia” takes a quirky family sailing from St. Vincent to little Bequia.  “The Nutmeg Princess” features three haunting, local legends that make CurlyGirl’s blue eyes go wide open. 
• Adventures.  AllBoy devours anything with some suspense and sea drama.  An adapted version of “Treasure Island” made him love a book his dad has never finished, while a Hardy Boys saga set on St. John brought new drama to familiar sites. 
• Reference sources.  Fortunately, the better places you stay have stacks of guidebooks, nature books, maps, atlases, and more.  We thumb through those, plus pick up the likes of “A B Sea” for the little one and “Beneath Tropic Seas” for the tween.
• Art materials.  Just handing out paper and pens to the kids brings forth some impressive interpretations of fish, plants, and local colors.  A coloring book like “Wet, Wild and Rare” not only provides fun drawings, but brief copy about the wildlife (non-human) of the Caribbean. 
• Music.  Ears getting filled with song is the most ongoing and obvious proof that we’re far away.  It’s everywhere, all the time.  And although there is surprising variety, most of it is island-centric.  We pay attention in the buses and stores, go to hear it live, buy CDs, and even make our own with guitar and riddim instruments. 

“I’d rather be at work doing nothing than sitting at home spending money.” 

Leaving the past behind…”  

What I get is the feeling that folks are happy to see me, even if they see me on occasion as a human dollar sign.”  

The intervention.”  

Islanders have savored relaxation so heartily…”  

An air of gratitude that suggests they couldn’t have enjoyed the freedoms of today without the despairs of yesterday.”  

We stop half a dozen times.”  

More hypocrisy in the churches than in the rum shops.”  

From the hilltop jail, convicts enjoy the best view of the island.”  

I could spend all night at Patrick’s, and with Patrick himself.”   

Put simply:  We had the exact opposite experience.  The worst night, worst food, worst encounter with a Grenadian.  Maybe it’s because I don’t write for The Times?  Or perhaps it was just fate. It matters not.  Travel teaches us that bliss comes in 555 forms.  And letdowns happen.  Even his waitress couldn’t handle Patrick that night, and our cabbie (nobody special) was embarrassed upon hearing our story.  We were the only table in the joint that evening.  But were also told that the previous night had been packed with naughty yachties.  Hmmm.  I’m glad the NYT writer had a good experience; that gives me simultaneous skepticism, hope, and—maybe—a reason to try again.

…endure a lot of stares and the occasional shout of ‘White man!’ even as I sit safely in One Dog’s passenger seat.”  

We reach a spooky town…”  

Obama!”  

              

Frank, France, Juliette, Jeanne & Colin, Lifehackers extraordinaire

At first it was just my dream, but then it got shared by the whole family.  I wanted to show the kids that if you have a dream, it takes time—year after year.  It’s important to keep it, even if you’re not realizing it.  But if you want it bad enough, and work hard, you can usually achieve most of your goals. 

 

My dream was a big sail.  I’ve had it for 20 years.  The family became part of it 10 years ago, because we had children.  5 years ago, I made it a real project.  And three years ago, I told my business partner and company we need to make this possible.  To not disturb the company was important.  And yet, my customers were actually impressed, not upset. 

 

I made a deal with my partner:  I do this, and you can also have a year off to use however you wish.  He still has that to look forward to. 

I work a lot.  The average week is 60 hours, I’d say.  A big awakening moment for me was realizing that I’d almost missed the births of two out of my three children.  I realized:  These are the big occasions of your life.  You have to be there.  They won’t happen again.  I decided if I wanted to see my children grow up, it was time to recalibrate my priorities. 

The timing was based largely on the children.  We figured that our oldest, 12, would be harder to remove from her social life at 13 or 14.  During planning, she did think a year would be too long.  But now that we are doing it, she keeps asking if we can keep sailing for another year! 

 

We had to convince them that this was our big chance for time together.  For exciting exploration—which I think is more important than school. 

 

The transition was difficult for all of us.  Being on a boat 24/7 with no escapes, well, sometimes that led to big explosions.  It’s easier now.  We’ve found ways to give free space and time.  Navigating.  Photos.  Art and play.  We all work on a website about the trip.  And of course, home schooling eats up a lot of time. 

As French citizens, to leave for a year, we MUST educate our children through a program called Centre Nationalee D’Enseignement a’ Distance.  There are 200,000 French students all over the world!  It goes as high as Ph.D.  We are registered to two different schools.  We belong to classes with teachers.  It’s very challenging and administrative. 

 

There are many, many books and supplies on board.  We have to do things like record music lessons on cassette and send it to France.  There, a teacher listens, records comments, and sends it back.  They even expect us to do chemistry experiments!  We’ve gotten bad grades and been scolded in e-mails for being late.  It’s taken much more time and focus than we expected, but we keep at it and do our best. 

The nice thing about life on a boat is that you can go anywhere.  It’s like having a move-able house on water.  We started from France, of course, and have done stops in Spain, the Canary Islands, Senegal, the Capo Verde islands, Barbados, the Grenadines, and Bequia.  We’ll spend some serious time in the French-Caribbean islands and Cuba before crossing the Atlantic to go home again. 

 

As for rough moments—besides privacy and home schooling.  We did have a medical emergency while crossing in September.  For a few hours, it was very scary.  One daughter got seriously ill, with many symptoms, and we thought it might be appendicitis.  That would NOT be easy to handle alone in stormy seas. 

 

Another terrible moment was going through customs on one particular island.  We made a simple mistake:  We had a friend on board—who had helped us cross over.  We arrived late, after customs was closed, and he had an early flight out the next morning, so we didn’t declare him.  Bad idea.  Customs figured that out and five agents surrounded, shouted, and grilled me for thirty minutes, like a scene from Midnight Express.

 

They told me the penalty is $5,000, one year in prison, or both.  Somehow, I kept my cool.  And they eventually backed off.  The calendar helped save me because, in the end, they said, “You’re lucky tomorrow is Christmas and we’re closed, so we’re going to drop the whole matter.”  That is NOT a good memory, though. 

First came planning, and then the trip itself.  But the part that may be most difficult is going home.  We get back in July and school begins in September.  So for the kids, that transition will probably be easier.  But some of their friends may have moved on, so there could be other issues. 

 

I fear going back to work, I guess.  What if people have taken on too much autonomy and won’t listen to me any more?  I may have to refocus some people, or even ask if the company still needs me at all.  And my partner and I will need to learn to work together again after all this time and change. 

 

I don’t look forward to the weather, of course.  Where we live in France has a long, gray winter.  Would you believe I prefer this beautiful tropical season? 

 

• But more than anything, I worry about ennui—being bored.  After a dream-come-true like this, will routine and work feel worthwhile and satisfying?  We will see. Perhaps to start thinking about the next big dream will be one way to survive the transition…

Thanks for the reminder.  Our Sabbatical ends months before you sail back across the big pond. So yes, it’s time to savor every setting, prepare for the impending re-entry, and start working toward the next big BreakAway.

What a glorious Sunday!  Days like this—exactly like this—float like fantasies in the mind when one is plotting a BreakAway.  So when they finally happen, the pleasure feels both familiar and profound.

Grenada’s sailing festival is a big event, running over several days, with yachties from all over the world filling the harbors, hotels, and bars. That’s fun.  And in our resort, it was easy to make new friends.  Heck, a team from the Shetland Isles of Scotland invited me to join their team for two races.  Unfortunately, the timing didn’t work out. Dang!

But the real action—at least for the locals—is the “work boat” races on Grand Anse beach.  These are traditional, home-made boats, with plywood for the body, bamboo for the mast, and sponsor-donated sailcloth for the one mainsail.

The towns and outer islands (Petit Martinique and Carriacou) race each other, and yes, there is rivalry!  The race begins on shore with a LeMans-style start, heads out to sea for three turns around buoys, and then returns to shore again.  When the boat hits sand, and a sailor scrambles out and crosses the finish line–and runs to the stand for a shot of rum–we have a winner.

The festival features all the sights, sounds, and smells that make events like these so sweet…

• An MC sets the stage and keeps things moving and dancing; his subwoofer is the size of an SUV and keeps all three miles of the beach bobbing in riddim.
• There are junior races (sorry, no rum for you), so the families can get giddy and noisy.

• There are rivalries, sure, but also times when a whole team goes missing and the race gets delayed.

• The occasional “man overboard” makes for lots of excitement, as the waterlogged sailor swims as quickly as he can to catch up with his craft.
• Kids play in the sand and swim right around the start and finish lines and couldn’t care less about no races.

• Vendors line the beach selling bbq, oildown (the national dish), souvenirs, hand-made crafts, cold bevies, and lots and lots of beer.
• Young men gather in groups under seagrape trees to catch a buzz and be cool.

• Pale tourists chase around with bazooka-sized cameras choking their necks.

When it’s time for this fam to sail away, this guy doesn’t want to.  But our bags are again packed, and it’s time to move to our next home in Gouyave, a little fishing village half-way up the island.

Frustrations proliferate, from kids over-acclimated to island time to music books lost in the mail. Still, we agree with the many (also biased) families we meet who say, “Kids get more education from seeing the world than from sitting in a classroom.” And a beloved part of this trip is watching them take it all in. Let us count a few ways…

• AllBoy has become a master snorkeler who can dive deep and spot findings he will research later.
• CurlyGirl has gone from water-wimp to water-bug, calmly jetting underwater like a little dolphin.
• AllBoy can be a finicky reader, but he’ll now rip through a book in one day if he likes it.
• CurlyGirl writes with confidence and abandon. In BB’s Crabback—where guests write on the walls—she grabbed that marker and left a legend.
• Both enter “local” places without a flinch. Before this trip, such atypical settings would have given them pause for concern.
• AllBoy explores new surroundings by himself, blind to fears and stereotypes.
• CurlyGirl’s self-reliance has also exploded. When we lost her on a crowded ferry, she showed up after being in the lady’s room with the message, “No toilet paper!”
• They both eat countless things they would have only sniffed at before: Conch, okra, curry, soursop, and much more.
• They now effortlessly leap over language barriers that previously would have stalled them. In the past 3 days, they’ve found ways to communicate–and play–for hours with children from France and Sweden who speak very little English.
• They (finally!) assist with domestic gruntwork. She likes to clean and help with clothes; he loves to cook and tends to their endless snack needs.
• While they still enjoy their digi-toys, their favorite things of late have become coconuts, seashells, strange fruits, a feltboard—or activities that aren’t “things” at all.

This blossoming has its poignant moments; it happens so fast, a doting parent can begin to feel obsolete. Like a slap to the head, it hit me yesterday that AllBoy will likely be leaving the house in just over six years. That’s too soon. Better start scheming another Sabbatical—before it’s too late.

Only rarely can I offer them a stretch of time to grow like this BreakAway. But how sweet it is to see that their minds, bodies, and hearts are expanding in ways that only such experiences can provide.