I pay for an extra international wire, sending the owner's money directly to him in order to save the broker $400 in bank fees.  At this point, I still thought he was a stand-up guy.

The Caribbean airlines seem to carry most anything.  Our flight had most of the front end of a car waiting to be loaded.  Kim (wife), Kyla (kid), and myself were checked in by the official poster child of the "I am a proud Puerto Rican and how DARE you ask me to do my job" Society.  The three of us got on the flight, but Jeff (my sailing buddy from college) was bumped and stuck in the airport for four hours until he could get on the next flight.  Welcome to Puerto Rico.

We got to St Martin and (surprise!) there was no broker to meet us at the airport.  Took a taxi to the marina and climbed aboard our new project.  The cleaning crew had done the First Impression cleanup very well, so we had a good first impression.  Our broker came in later and gave us a sob story about how he had been up all night washing our sheets for us.  Boo Hoo.  To his credit, he did arrange for the guy who had done work on her engines to give me a rundown.  During this introduction, the mechanic noted that the port engine had been submerged at some time (News to me - the broker must have forgotten) and the throttle was frozen at 1000 rpm as well as having a broken control lever in the cockpit.  Oh yeah, and the mechanic couldn't get the water pump off 'cause the bolts were frozen so here are a couple extra impellers since it throws one every couple days.  And the refrigerator does not work.  (Later, we discovered this is because the cooling water pump for it died and most of the refrigerant leaked out.)  And there is no propane or regulator.  But the sheets were clean.

We guessed that Jeff had been able to stand-by on the next flight and ran to the airport to get him.  For once, our plans worked; he came out of customs and said "What is the name of the boat and where is it?".  Then he took this information back in to customs to trade for his passport.  We went back to the Yacht Club and devoured our late, cold pizza.  But it was still good.  Went back to the boat and crashed for the night.

Poor Jeff and Kyla woke up covered in bright red welts - we couldn't figure out what is was, but they sure looked silly and were very uncomfortable.  We never saw the culprits, but later in the week decided it must have been mosquitoes that left before dawn.  Jeff had come down from Seattle and couldn't sleep with a sheet on, and Kyla thrashes too much to stay covered.  Kim & I were not bitten - we had stayed covered all night.

Mom shows up minus her luggage.  Let me note at this point that if one's mother has never really been sailing and one should happen to invite her for an ocean passage, that one should be prepared to hear some substantial worrying.  One of the best gems stemming from this worry was when we were spot lighted by two cruise ships in the channel between the USVI and Puerto Rico. After asking if the ships were going to Puerto Rico, to which we responded 'Probably', she mentioned that maybe we should follow them (we could already see the lighthouse off the tip of Puerto Rico).  They were going to San Juan at 25 knots and we were going somewhere else at 5 knots and we tried to explain this to mom. Not really sure if she ever believed us...

Kim & Mom went provisioning.  Jeff, Kyla & I puttered around the boat finding broken things and leaking pumps (usually by operating them and then stepping in a puddle).  Our dinghy leaked like a sieve.  The gas can for the outboard was mysteriously gone.  So I went shopping at the marine store.  Finally found the broker and had this conversation through his car window.

Went to Texaco and bought a full tank of propane.  Still no regulator.  The kid who had lived on the boat stopped by and I told him he could have the 230v gas generator (although I still have a sneaking suspicion that it was a dive compressor - I could never get anyone to show it to me - it was in the lagoon on someone else's boat) in exchange for a propane regulator. At the time, I had never priced a propane regulator and didn't know they were worth every penny of $10.

For some reason that escapes me now, we decided to just hang out for Sunday. We rented a car and went to the beaches. The best beaches are on the French side of the island, and the French have different ideas about public nudity than my two girls from Oregon. As we walked along the cliff above the beach, mom's eyes kept popping out of her head in surprise and amazement (and she _still_ talks about the one guy she saw!). I guess the French have different ideas than the people from central Pennsylvania, too. Our first beach attempt was not a great success. Kyla, who was 9 at the time, was very uncomfortable around all the naked people so we decided to walk on. We asked one of the beach chair boys where we might find a family beach and he directed us further down the path. It was a family beach, all right. The families were naked. This was no more OK with Kyla than the previous one, so we kept on going. We finally found a hard-to-access beach which we had all to ourselves, and a good time was had by all.

Check-out time at the marina was noon, and we cut it pretty close. I had time to pick up some fittings for the outboard gas tank and the correct wrench for the impeller. Then we were off. There was a _beautiful_ catamaran from South Africa (with the perfect Hawai`ian name "Pau Hana", or "Done Working") and a home port of Honolulu, Hawaii. Quite a contrast from our beastie.
We headed out and towards the small islands at the south end of the BVI, finally stopping at Salt Island just before sunset. I spent a good part of the afternoon in the engine room trying to change the impeller. Have I mentioned how much I hate diesels set _below_ the access holes? Dropped the hook into a sandy spot about 40 feet down and could see it clear as day. I took off my sunglasses, made a running start from the top of the bridgedeck cabin and leapt into the water. Man! did that feel good! Almost made the upsidedown-afternoon-mechanicking worthwhile :-) Had a nice relaxed evening meal, with the peace only broken by the howl of the runabout towing waterskiers from the 100 plus foot yacht sharing the bay.

Come morning, we finally feel like we are on vacation. Kim plays martyr and volumteers to cook breakfast for us.  She did an incredible job of cooking for all 5 of us onthe one burner stove.  Jeff, Kyla, Mom, and myself put on our snorkel gear (no, I didn't snorkel naked; that was my bath the previous night, after hanging upside down over the engine for half the day) and hit the water. There is a great selection of soft corral and fish; the tourists don't come here and stand on the coral. After too short an interval, Kim calls us for breakfast. She feeds us then dons her gear and snorkels for a while. I think she would have liked to play some more, but it is getting time to move on. Haul up the anchor and motor out of the bay. Set sail and head downwind towards Puerto Rico. At this time, our plans for the rest of the week are up in the air. About mid-afternoon we pass St Thomas and decide not to go in, considering our engine situation. Instead, we just head straight for Puerto Rico. Nightfall launches the cruise ships from Charlotte Amalia in St Thomas and brings about the previously mentioned encounter. They also were kind enough to dump their sewage in the channel between the USVI and Puerto Rico, so we got a good whiff, even though we were upwind.
Night saw us heading through the area between Culebra and Vieques and sailing by the markers. Jeff and I, being the only sailors on board, shared all the night watches on the trip. He woke me up inthe middle of one of his watches 'cause he couldn't figure out some buoys to our right. Although we were moving, they were not changing configuration; almost like they were pacing us. We finally figured out it was a circular ring of lights on a large reef, but not until after serious thought.

About dawnbreak, we were in position to tun north along the coast of Puerto Rico towards our marina. It is amazing how polluted the water is near that island. As the other members of our gypsy band came on deck, they all made faces at the gross water color. I was just idling around and not really paying attention, being too complacent with our proximity to land. I just happened to glance to windward and saw a BLACK cloud ripping towards us. We had just enough time to roll in some of the genoa and it hit us with winds of over 40 knots and gusts over 50. Let the main slip, fought in the rest of the Genoa and off we went under main alone, throwing up roostertails and hitting record speeds for our trip. The squall soon passed and we were back to business as usual.
Soon after noon we arrived and tied up at the marina. I think my mom was hoping the adventure was over. Boy, was she wrong. First we had to get a taxi to come to the marina. An old american fullsize car with many battlescars finally rumbled into the parking lot. We squeezed teh 5 of us and all our luggage into car, with surplus luggage on laps and headed out. Every time the driver hit the brakes (which is approximately every 10 seconds when driving in PR), the whole frame would shudder and swerve. We hadn't been in the car more than 10 minutes when Jeff piped up and commented that he had absolutely no reason to ever come back to Puerto Rico unless it was a transfer at the airport. The rest of us agreed, but three of were trapped into living there. As we neared our neighborhood, mom started yelling directions to the driver (in english, of which he spoke little) if he didn't react rapidly enough when I gave him instructions. What a hoot. As we passed through the fence and guard checkpoint into our neighborhood, there was complete silence from our visitors. Even deeper silence when they saw the bars on the windows of our house and the barbed wire on the roof. Needless to say, they were not impressed with the living conditions in PR. We showered and lounged for the remainder of the day.

Saturday morning, it was decided to go to Viejo San Juan (Oldtown San Juan) and El Morro, the fort guarding the entrance to the port. A rather uneventful day by most standards, but neither visitor could get over the driving conditions (anarchy). They were, again, disgusted by how filthy the island is. Neither one suggested staying longer.

The visitors were very glad to get on those planes. Mom made a comment about how, now that she had sailed inte caribbean, she didn't ever need to do it again. Jeff was nicer and said at least it was warm. I shouldn't expect much gratitude, what with the primitive conditions we had. Did I mention that the head broke the first day out and we had to bail it out the hatch to empty it? After that, it was the "Spronk" head on the dive platform (one board was removed to create a gap).