Love in the strangest places

Almost four years ago now I joined my first yacht. I remember being in a lounge area of Mt. Royal college in Calgary. I was sitting and chatting with my college friend Adelle about an Indian restaurant her friend had just opened. I was on my way to getting a second job to help pay for my student loans.
That’s when I received a somewhat unexpected text from my Aunt in Dubai who was working on the 150 foot, teak hulled luxury yacht Ashena.
Knowing that I had always been interested in her lavish yachty lifestyle, she came to me to exchange favors.
“We need someone to come work on the boat in dubai. But we need you by next Friday. You in?”
Those may not have been the exact words but it’s the gist of the text.
Without a thought of what my family, friends or (casual) boyfriend at the time would think, I typed back: “I’m in!”

I called my boyfriend, so excited I was shaking and my voice was cracking. He thought something was wrong. And it probably was—for him. He was not happy but unfortunately I didn’t care as much as I thought I would and in the end convinced him it would be Ok if I left. That was probably the foreshadowing on how our relationship was going to turn out.

I called my mom, she too knew something was up and knew exactly what it was by the tone of my voice. She was concerned about my relationship with my boyfriend and pondered out loud whether or not I was going to be single for the rest of my life. I told her my views were still unchanged on my goal of having a normal family life... when I was a little older.

As I walked to the registrations office I sent one last text to my aunt, sealing my fate: “OK, I’m about to quit all my courses, I need to know for sure I will be on a plane to Dubai next week!”
Her reply pushed me through the door where I dropped 5 courses and officially became a college drop-out. I knew I would regret it at some point, but this was a chance of a life-time, I could always go back.
I knew then that my relationship was over, but I was too much of a chicken to admit it at the time. I could have saved a lot of heart-ache for alot of people--especially him, if I had just ended it before I left.

The next week I stepped off the plane in Dubai. It was late at night but the air still held the humidity like a sauna. My skin grabbed the water from the air and held it just as tightly. I had never felt a heat like this before, and it was WINTER!

I spent 7 months in Dubai, partying, shopping and breaking hearts; some on more than one occasion. I learnt the very loose ropes of yachting and that long distance relationships don’t work, this also proved to be true with the boyfriend that I held on to once I left Dubai and yachting all together.
Apparently, not working in the same industry qualifies as being “long distant” as well. We lived in the same city and his neglect that I tried to hide behind his charm was enough to kiss two other guys.

I spent a few months back home learning that I would rather be back yachting. And that I would rather indulge in a meaningless affair than be with my boyfriend’s less than frequent online charm. I realized then that any straying had to stop in this relationship and any future ones. I was playing with Karma and I knew if I didn't stop, it would come back around.

Being unhappy at my job at the bank, I made the decision and wrote my aunt an email stating that I was going to go get the qualification I needed, the STCW and start looking for a job yachting again. I also asked that if she knew of anything, or had anything on the boat she was now on, if she could help me out. My aunt, being in the industry for over 15 years was a huge help to my yachting career.
She emailed back that she did have something on her boat, Intuition II, and the sooner I could get my course finished the better. I gave my month’s notice to the bank I was working at and waited my last month out.

February 2nd 2008 I flew to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida to get my STCW certificate in fire fighting, first aid and sea survival. Then 8 days later I was on a plane to Antigua to meet the boat. I had been told of the people on board; what they were like. I was told of Adam and how he was cute and my age. Me and my relationship as I knew it were doomed already at the thought of a cute boy living and working in my new home. How convenient!
When I arrived, my aunt and I went for a drink and she showed me pictures of the crew on her camera. “Oh here’s Adam, the Texan.”
I took one look and thought “Oh No.” But I said “Hmmm.” And I think I commented on how he looked like some actor from Karate kids or something. I don’t remember what I said because I was too busy thinking “I’m doomed! I already know I’m going to be with him! My relationship will be over soon!”

I spent two weeks in agony I have never felt so nervous around someone and probably looked like a totally idiot, blushing all the time, fumbling and tripping over my words. I’d sit outside and read and he’d come out for a smoke and we’d chat for awhile, or rather he’d chat and I’d drool and ask stupid questions like “do you like Texas? Have you ever been to Canada?” The whole while I’d be thinking ‘He probably has a girlfriend’ or ‘he doesn’t have ANY interest in me AT all!’ I would try and find flaws in the way he looked so I wouldn’t be attracted to him so intensly. Even reminding myself, or calling my boyfriend didn’t help.

Finally two weeks later, the fateful drunk kiss happened and it was all over, my knees didn’t shake around him, my heart still beat just as fast, but that was just the love talking I think. After that I was more comfortable than ever around him.

We hid our relationship from everyone until April when I broke-up with my boyfriend. We watched movies together at night and had sleepovers. It was perfect! Even despite living, working and sleeping together in a smaller than average bed, we made it work. I was pleasantly surprised on how easy it was.

A year later we left Intuition and 2 months after that we started looking for work again. We were told by the agent that there was no chance we would get a job together. We walked out of her office shattered but with a string of hope holding the pieces together. Somehow I was fine. I thought, “OK, well maybe we’re just not meant to be together” I didn’t believe it myself and I know that’s a harsh statement to make right off the bat, but like I said; long distance relationships (at least ones with an unknown result to them) don’t work.
We sat down, I was calm until Adam started talking about how he still wanted to make it work. Even if we were on different boats. He didn’t want to break-up. Obviously neither did I and I felt so ashamed to have the thoughts I did and yet so relieved he didn’t have the same thoughts.
That’s when I broke down and started crying. We decided to wait a month before we started looking separately. That was my glimmer of hope sparkling in the distance.
Within two weeks luck stuck us in the ass and we had a job together on Athena, a boat that Adam was lusting over and that we visited almost daily to take in the length of her and the height of her huge 3 masts.

Its been 4 months of trying to live together in the confines of a cabin smaller than my parents bathroom. Despite being in each other’s face literally and metaphorically, we still make it work perfectly.

Recently Adam volunteered to help our sister boat, that night I realized why my dad would track my flights and travels via the internet-- and it wasn't because he was bored. I found myself trying to track the sister boat online and getting frustrated when I couldn’t. It’s just plain love for that other person. Wanting to seem close no matter how far the distance and It’s amazing how a little distance can you bring you so much closer.

Hey sarong sarong; whatever will be, will be

I first realized about 3 years ago that I have a security blanket; better known to little kids as a Binkie, or Bah Bah, or whatever they may have tried to call it when they couldn’t quite form the words 'my confidence-inducing-snot-rag-and-chew-toy'. Mine is just called 'a sarong'. Yes, one of the cotton beach wraps that you use when you need to leave your lounge chair and want to seem somewhat discretionary to the other public.
This weekend I found the unthinkable; the disease to the sarong; the slow death of my love affair, leading to the resentment of the beginning of a new love affair (sooner or later). I found a HOLE! A 2-finger-round sized hole—no not a hole, a rip, a tear. Not one that I can fix with a simple stitch; it’s too fragile and has too many strings: like 10 little Moses’ parting 2 inches of my sarong.

I never grew up with a security blanket so I never knew the feeling that my friends had when they talked about the blanket they loved so much, with the frayed ends and perhaps a chewed corner or two. I had quite the opposite feeling about those particular blankets actually.
When I was about 6, my best friend would tell me that when she slept she liked to lace her fingers through the holes of the afghan her grandmother knit for her when she was a baby. I didn’t particularly like that specific blanket much either; it was itchy wool, I could barely touch it, even when she forced me to try putting my fingers through the holes like some perverted initiation to her Binkie.

However; my love affair with my sarong started about 10 years ago when my parents took my brother and me on our first real (by ‘real’ I mean we had to take a plane to get there) vacation to Maui Hawaii.
When we were in a souvenir shop that had many of these sarongs, I was fascinated by the multitude of ways it could be worn. I had seen the women on the beach wearing it as a skirt or as a tube top dress, or a criss-cross halter dress. It was later shown to us by a Hawaiian man at a luau, that it could be wrapped around the mans hips and between his legs in such a manner that the end product was something like a skimpy and form-fitting man-skort, with only half the skirt portion covering the front—But still with the shorts for full coverage (obviously). I have photographic evidence of my dad and brother (who was probably forced—despite the smile on his face) wearing just the sarong and posing on out hotel balcony like some under-tanned Hawaiian wanna-bes doing the “Hang-loose” sign.

In the end I found the perfect one, the one that caught my eye: Blue with white flowers that look like they were tie died, but in reverse, so: white flowers with blue die.
I could wrap it twice around me and it dragged on the floor, but I didn’t care; I wanted it! I wanted it even more because my mom was getting one too. I knew one day it would fit me; one day when I was grown-up like the women on the beach.

The sarong followed me on later family journeys to Cozumel Mexico, then back to it’s birthplace of Hawaii—well actually it was made in Indonesia (says the tag), so back to where it grew up and calls home. It came with me to Spain and unfortunately I look back and realize I was a total bitch and neglected it in these locations. In fact, I felt like it was too old for me. It was a heavy burden to me.

When I got to Dubai on my first boat, I brought it; more out of habit like I always did; if there’s a beach there, the sarong must be there too. In Dubai I started paying more attention to it; now that I was 21, I could use it like all the women on the beach in Hawaii. I was using it like a towel to lie on; it didn’t carry the sand as much as a towel, or sometimes as a means to stop my ass from sticking to chairs.

When I needed peace in my cabin, or the boat got infested with small flies that I was afraid would fly into my nose and ears at night, I would tuck the sarong around my bunk and make a fort. If the AC turned off by itself as it did, it doubled as a thinner blanket.

It’s soft cotton feel would many-a-time be the sponge to my tears when I was sad. I think I may have even used it as a humongously over-sized tissue when my nose was runny or boogery from crying. Even at this time I didn’t realize we weren’t just friends anymore; it wasn’t just a shoulder to cry on, it became the boyfriend that was too polite to say anything about the dripping snot flowing from my nose. And after, it didn't care if it was washed and hung out to dry.

The time of ‘Binkie’ realization was in Thailand. It became my necessity to all forms of comfort. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Thailand is HOT. At night time, it’s almost impossible to sleep; if it’s not the bugs, or dogs barking, it’s the dampness of the warm night’s air sticking to your skin making you feel like a fruit roll-up when you get caught up in your sheets.
I started using it on an all-day basis; during the day: beach wear; I would even wear it to breakfast then take it off and drape it over my legs like a blanket (wow, the more I write, the more I can’t believe how evident it was). At night it was my leg cover to stop the ants from feasting on me. It's just thin enough to keep the chill off my damp skin.
I started staying in a place where the ants were so small that the mosquito net was just a pain in the ass step between their pincers and my flesh. I became less bothered when they bit my stomach, legs or arms; I was able to feel the little bastards and kill them. I know: not very Buddhist of me in a very Buddhist country.
Again; I was more afraid of them crawling in my ears and nose, mouth and possibly eyes. So I used my trusty sarong to wrap around my head to cover my ears, then going over my eyes, down to my mouth and wrapped back up; only leaving a small opening for my nostrils—they wouldn’t find my nose there: It was too tricky. I even put the burqa to shame.
But, every morning, somehow I would wake-up with the sarong covering only my pillow; I had wrestled the thing off me in my sleep and was easily getting fresh air all over my face.

So, the end is near and I will have to replace it with a younger, more sturdy model. If only it had a twin brother…
Wait: Can you patch a Sarong?

On our way we arrived.

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We FINALLY left Newport 2 days after it snowed in Boston. When I say snow, I mean big F$%K OFF snowflakes. I was there with Adam and 2 friends of ours attempting our luck at staying warm at a patriots snow game. We tried everything from eating excessively to drinking hotchocolate-- it was really good hot chocolate too. We did not pass go, we did not collect $200. But we did leave early.
I...AM...not...CANADIAN!

At 0900 sharp on the 20th of October, we left the dock at the shipyard to head to a much warmer shipyard in Freeport, Bahamas. It just so happens that Adam and I have already been there just a few months ago on Intuition II, so we’ll know our way around the local watering holes—the only and the most important form of entertainment they seem to have in Freeport. Hello frozen drink so neatly packed in a coconut! They should put that on the brochure, and "ONLY $8.00!"!!

The boat we’re currently on; Athena is a sailboat. A BIG one. I’m not quite used to sailboats that motor and I expected the rolling to be far worse than it has been. But So far in the beginning, it seemed to be the most stable boat I’ve been on…so far... We don’t pitch much, but we roll ever so slightly, but not enough to make anyone seasick…yet (Thank God).
The 1st night, I had the best sleep imaginable. I think I could have been sleeping on a cardboard box with the homeless person in it and it would have been an extreme pleasure. As well as an interesting introduction.

I can only imagine that feeling is reminiscent of being in your mother’s womb; the continuous, dull ‘womp, womp, womp’ of the engines below beating like a heart—or maybe it’s something else in the boat, but I’m no mechanic.
That practically puts you to sleep alone, but along with the slow rocking it’s better than a good dose of Ambien injected straight to the head...well, almost.
It’s no wonder I become sleepy everytime a boat’s engines start up.

After work, at about 13:45 (1:45), us girls ventured outside to bask in the slightly chilly sun. Hard to believe only one day’s cruise from Newport puts us from 8 degrees to 25 degrees.
We got to sit in the bow nets. I won’t lie: I was just a little afraid; Despite not being strapped onto the boat, we were willingly suspending ourselves above the passing water in nothing but a net that, if I happened to slip through, I would easily fall through up to my knees. We were like lazy trapeze artists with a twist.

It was exciting and even more so when Kay ‘dolphin whispered’ us a school of dolphins.
We saw them a few yards off jumping and breaching in the water. After just a couple minutes, they swam straight towards us. We were cheering and beckoning them to come closer. Then they started chasing the bow of the boat-- Right beneath my ass in the net! I laced my fingers through the net and balanced my knees on the knots and gazed through at the sheen of water on their grey backs. I could have looked straight into their blowholes, but some how that seems almost a little perverted.

I have never had such a dolphin experience! And doubt any other will compare. It was amazing to look through the net and see the dolphins just under the surface, racing with each other and keeping up with the boat. They played in the spray of water coming off the bow and breaking the surface. There must have been 6 of them dodging each other and passing back and forth from each side of the boat. After a few exciting minutes, they disappeared into the waves that were breaking off the boat. We never saw them again. *tear*.

Unfortunately the next day was an extremists meaning of the word “rocky”. Lets say you’re chillin’ in your mother’s womb enjoying the womp, womp, womp of her heart. She decides that she wants to jog, then over a couple more hours, she’s full on sprinting a 24 hour marathon and jumping over hurdles at a regular pace.

Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling too great when I woke up the next morning. My seasickness was accompanied by a feeling that I’ve never felt before. The only thing I could deduce was that it was a case of acid reflux caused by the combination of stuffed salmon, cake and trail mix the night before. The previous Womp that was so musical to my ears became a dull, head-ache inducing, nauseous thump that was highlighted with the bow of the boat (where our cabin is) slamming down onto the water after it pitched.

I seemed to be the only one struck with either of these conditions so I knew I had to at least try to work. But in the 1st hour, I had already visited the toilet 3 times and went to sit outside to get fresh air every 20 minutes.
In between trying to feel better, I would return back into the nauseous sweat-box known as the laundry room on any other day and I may have been able to get a shirt or 2 ironed.
I was sent to bed at 11am and didn’t re-surface until 4:30pm. This is when I decided to make a run for the crew mess: the least rocky/noisy spot on the boat (accessible to crew).
As I was lying there, deep breathing like I was in labour: in through the nose, out through the mouth. I pulled a pair of acceptable looking pants on—- as exciting as it would have been to see the look on the faces of people I’ve known a mere 2 months when I rocked up to the crew mess in a pair of tiny girl-boxers and a tank top, that would have been inappropriate-—I grabbed an apple that I had beside my bed (the first thing I was hoping to eat and keep down all day),I clutched my throw blanket, counted down from 3 while still doing my Lamaze-like breaths and jumped up from bed, ran—or more like stumbled quickly to the crew mess and planted myself on the seat until further notice. I managed to eat dinner, help clean up, watch a film (Gray Gardens, encase you wondered) and go to bed.
We woke up on the day of arrival to the same conditions, but I think my inner-ear surrendered to the motion of the ocean, threw in the towel and allowed me to work the rest of the day when I stopped at Beer-O’clock when everyone had a refreshing cocktail on the dock before going for a night on the town in Port Lacaya. We followed this with a day off at the beach and the Raddisson Hotel pool sipping cocktails and getting a mild form of skin cancer-- a tan.

Here I go.

Well, this is more intimidating than I expected; putting myself out there to anyone who manages to stumble upon this blog-- probably accidentally too. It feels like I have to live up to something, like I'm suppose be a role-model to people. I'm not, so stop reading if that's what you're looking for. :)

What a better way to start a blog than to use one of those cheesy and fairly annoying forwarded emails that require you to cut, paste and ‘reply to all’ so that all your friends who already know you can learn more about you. You know the ones I’m talking about.
How original of me right? But, if I want anyone to know me that doesn’t already this IS the way to better understand the un-understandable things I might—no: I will say. So, here we go:

1.) Name: Kristina B. Warnick
2.)Nickname: DeeDee—from birth, don’t know how it was aquired—kinda like the birthmark I have. Krissy, also acquired at birth but by different relative. Krist—the typical shortening of the already shortened name “Kristi”. Kris—an even more shortened version. Kay—pure laziness of the tongue.
3.)Hair Color: Mostly changing, and always different, but is says on my driver’s license: Brown. Ha, that’s funny.
4.)Eye Color: Green, but more grey’ish when I’m unhappy.
5.)Single?: No, Not for almost 2 years now.
6.) Birthday: ---wait a minute; I have a feeling I’m, setting myself up to potentially lead to identity theft!
7.) Tattoos, what, Where?: 6 and counting (sorry mom). 1. Back of neck—all seeing eye. 2. lower back- -a celtic mistake I made when I was 17, 3. Side of my chest—sweet twirly design I got by the bamboo stick when I was in Thailand. 4. Back of my shoulder—my tribute to the motherland (Canada): snowflakes and falling leaves. 5. Side of my calf—a frangipani flower: red. 6. Inside of my ankle—Palm tree (my favorite thing).

8.)Can you juggle?: You mean like men? Hmmm, I used to be able to. My mom once said “you go through boyfriends faster than underwear.” Bit of an exaggeration. No, I can’t—well not the proper way-- real juggling I mean.
9.)Favorite sex position: I’m still a virgin……..right mom and dad?
10..)Favorite sleeping position: On my side curled in a ball with my hands tucked under the pillow…alone; right mom and dad.
11.) Occupation: woman slave on a private yacht. Aka. Stewardess. I clean toilets, serve champagne and live with 20 other people that I work with. I get to travel to really cool places and live like the rich and famous..without the gold card.
12.)Pet Peeve: How come this one isn’t plural? This is a loaded question. I hate when people chew with their mouths open. Especially when they make odd smacking sounds with the back of their tongues like they speak some alien language. Gum is a bad one. Also, people who whistle nothing tunes; tunes that you can’t make out and just sound like someone whistles because they’re TRYING to piss someone off. Wind is a bad one for me as well. It ruins everything: hair, warmth, first kisses when the hair blows into both party’s mouths—I think that’s where this pet peeve originated. AND folks, I have a new one I decided this weekend:
I first walked into the house party, barely made it through the door before he ( a guy I met the other weekend-- who knows I'm in a relationship) saw me. He bee-lined straight to me giving me a hug and one of those awkward cheek kisses: when you don’t know which cheek they’re going for. I managed to get my jacket off and Adam got me a drink. I unfortunately put it down on the counter. Everyone filed past me to join the party where I had barely had a chance to say ‘Hello’. He then cornered me by the door, putting one hand on the counter and one on the wall. He would ask me questions and tell me stories. Every time he reached for his drink, he would almost grab mine.
“That’s mine.” I said every time, reaching to grab it just in time for his hand to return to the now familiar spot between my Sangria and I.
All the while I can hear the jovial beer-pong and camaraderie happening in the other room. Short of the long is: Let me join the party first before taking me away from it.
13.)What would you do if you won the lottery?: Vague. Depends how much. 1 million I would buy a nice house and work part-time living off the interest. Tens of Millions: buy a small house everywhere, give money to some family and friends and live my life traveling between the houses and just LIVE!
14.)Favorite place you’ve been: Not on a boat: Barcelona hands down! On a boat (working): Charleston SC and Key West (So far. Since we’re going to across the Pacific I have a feeling that will change soon) It used to be Newport until I lived here for a few months. Now I just really like it.
15.)Best friend: I have a few, a few in the making and more to make.
16.)Favorite article of clothing: When it’s on or off? Because if it’s off I love bikini’s and underwear-- until I put them on. On, hmmm…none I think. Pajamas maybe.
17.)Favorite drink: Coffee. I have a new relationship with ginger tea that I’m really enjoying. Drinking it right now actually
18.)Something people accuse you of all the time: I usually get told to smile more (so don’t feel bad if you’ve told me this already), But that’s just my face if I’m not overly happy or already smiling. This also leads to people thinking I’m a Bitch right off the bat. Which in some people's cases I am or can be.
19.)Something people don’t know about you: Too many; I suppose you’ll find out in this blog…Segway

I know that wasn’t as exciting as you were probably hoping, but I promise I will try and make the following blogs more exciting and enjoyable.
Come and take a journey with me through my job as a stewardess or "yachtie", visiting exotic—and some not-so-exotic places.

-K