Fort Lauderdale: Mile 1064 on the ICW, and we figure we're done with the waterway. Whew.

Since we came via the ocean to Palm Beach, we didn't see much of the local geography, or perhaps real estate is more to the point. But from Palm Beach to Fort Lauderdale, it was an solid parade of money, money, money. The homes (cheek b'jowl), the pools, the sculptures (think Neverland) the landscaping, the never-ending moniedness of it all. Heather (on Sea Holly, travelling just behind us) and I agreed that we were worn out with it by the time we picked up the mooring at Las Olas Marina. The only thing that was evident across the board was the hurricane damage. Most of the houses and buildings have damage, and the trees are pretty much shredded. This is a good time to be a construction worker in Florida.

Lauderdale is like Venice in that it's planned around canals. I'm assuming this was all planned, cause it must have cost a shitload. The front of the houses face the road, and their backyards face bing-bang right on the canals or the ICW. The houses are fabulous in very many ways -- some modest stucco bungalows, with patios you could picture yourself having a beer on with the neighbour ladies. Others are built for entertaining clients, employing pool boys and gardeners, intimidating passing Canadians, and providing vegetation for enormous iguanas to quaff and then crap. We did see several really big iguanas. One was orange, and about 4 feet long. Alarming, I should think, to find that grazing on your back lawn. But then you could hire someone to wrangle it.

After many many miles of "manatee area" warning signs, we've finally seen manatees. They surface close to the boats on the moorings, roll over once or twice, and then disappear. Thick, fat, round, faces like walruses. Tom says they're like morbidly obese hairless beavers, only missing hind legs. I'll see if we can get them to pose. Their appearances are generally very brief, so this might not happen.

This is a really a lovely place, and up until Tom arrived the weather was so wonderful (Friday and Saturday were cold, as in daytime low 60's). We've been sitting on deck in the moonlight and listening to someone a few canals away practicing their bagpipes. Bagpipes. Everywhere you go in the world, you can find something surreal. This is the least bagpipy place I can imagine, but there you go.

Based on the fella that fishes by day and sleeps on the bench on the shore near us, we've noted that it's a lot more comfortable to be homeless in Florida than in Nova Scotia.

We're parked just about under the Las Olas drawbridge. We spent a part of one afternoon watching a trio of snazzy racing yachts with Italian flags jockeying for a bridge opening (we could hear them yelling into their phones), missing the opening, dashing for the closing drawbridge, hitting the brakes, jockeying again, missing again....finally they gave it up as a bad job and raced off south again. Better than TV.

The first night we were here, there was an aged boat anchored on the edge of the mooring field, and about dusk, the capt was sounding with a long stick, and they decided to up and move. So they moved a bit and went aground, got off, went aground again, and spent the night there. In the morning, they hauled anchor, floated off, and in the process of motoring out of the anchorage, they collided with the bow of the boat ahead of them. It's not that crowded here, about 10 moorings, but this fella was having a bit of a bad week. No damage that either capt could see, so they decided to head on down the road. Hope they have better luck in their next spot. Having the bucks to pick up a mooring ($20 a night here) is probably a luxury for some folks. There have been many nights when it's meant a good night's sleep for us.

Another nice thing that happened, and isn't it nice when there's a list of nice things to report, was a visit from a local in a beautiful launch cruising by to tell us we were the prettiest boat in town. Turns out he has a 1970 Cheoy Lee Clipper as well.

Randy's friends Paul and Julie here in town have been wonderfully helpful, and we've been driving from West Marine to Sailorman to the hardware store to the grocery store in their van. Paul provided a map with all the retail/nautical hotspots highlighted, and drove Randy around to make sure he was well oriented. The first day here, Randy and I also did a big walk (it had been several days since we'd been off the boat) and got a good look at the beach (beauty and beast, the good the bad and the ugly, and another soupcon of surreal) spent lots and lots of quality time at Bluewater Books.

On Friday, we picked Tom up at the airport with no difficulties, had a great lunch at a Mexican restaurant, and for all that it seemed a very chilly day to us, Tom seemed to be pretty comfortable. The next few days will be major work days: installing the bits and pieces for the single sideband, buying and stowing food for the next millenium (TP takes up a lot of room) and trying not to bark at each other. I think we've reached the point where the novelty of living aboard is wearing off, and the dirty underbelly of "I vant to be alone" is occasionally making itself felt. We have most certainly reached the point where the irritation level is high about certain things. I think it's recurring mould, I-can't-find-an-effing-thing-in-this-effing-fridge, where is the *.thingIneednow, and a certain nostalgia for a time when I spent the day doing things I was really quite good at. Also getting in and out of the dinghy can be an assault on one's dignity. After you've been in a place for a day or two, it's like a signal to wake in the middle of the night and worry about money, instead of leaks. And perhaps the retail overload of West Marine making itself felt. You can only take so much of West Marine before you have to either rob a bank or get roary-eyed drunk. Neither has happened yet. Stay tuned.

But lest you think that the dream has soured, we'd like to provide you with this brief look back at Thanksgiving, 2005 - a previously unpublished photo. Go ahead and laugh. We did. Please compare with our xmas photo.

Obviously, travel is better than Botox.