I’m evil and inferior… What’s new, I’m male aren’t I?

Anchorage at Crown Point, Store Bay, Tobago

So this is what life for the wandering sailor is like in Tobago…. Crystal clear waters, sandy white beaches, a protected anchorage with local “watering hole” (aka Bago’s Bar) within swimming distance.

A cruisers paradise?

Unwittingly breaking the law by wearing camo pants!



The following article contains adult themes

and may be detrimental to relationships!

If your wife or girlfriend visits Tobago regularly on “business”,

read no further…


 Where were we… ah, yes, a cruisers paradise?

Not quite… Unless I rapidly age 20 years and swap my Y for an extra X chromosome. Apparently I’ve stumbled across one of the Caribbeans more discrete “sex tourist” destinations, and last time I checked, I’m not biologically equipped to take advantage of it.

Collecting the garbage?

Never fear, plane loads of prospective clients arrive from Europe and the USA on a weekly basis. All seeking a taste of Caribbean surf, sea and sun.

These “garbage trucks” are greeted with open arms!

But what, do I hear you wonder, on earth is a “garbage truck”?

It’s the local term for sugar mummy… Ouch! Do I detect a touch of animosity here?

Evidently Tobago is the place where middle aged women come to find themselves a young play thing to call their own for a week or two. The process is colloquially known as “collecting the garbage” (I live and learn…).

Armed with this inside information, I’ve placed myself at all potential collection points… “Sunday School at Buccoo”, various bars, restaurants and beaches in Crown Point and Pigeon Point, nearby nightclubs and casinos, but despite my eagerness to find a sponsor to pay for “a lifestyle I wish to become accustomed to”, I’ve failed miserably at having myself collected!

Apparently it’s because I’m blighted with skin pigment deficiency… I’m melanin challenged…. or to put it bluntly, just too darn white. Everybody here knows that the discerning sugar mummy prefers her men in black…

Are you being served?

No problem… I’ll just go hang out with the Rasta types instead….

Aren’t Rastafarian’s supposed to be laid-back marijuana smoking, long haired hippie types? Wouldn’t a sailing bum be warmly welcomed as an honorary well-traveled spiritual brother? Apparently not!

According to the Britannica… [ source of all wisdom :p ]

  • Rastafarian’s worship Haile Selassie I, former emperor of Ethiopia, under his precoronation name, Ras (Prince) Tafari. They consider the Ethiopian emperor to have been a divine being, the Messiah, and the champion of the black race. “

So far so good… worship whatever divine being you wish to as far as I’m concerned… but…

  • According to the Rastafarians, blacks are the Israelites reincarnated and have been subjected to the evil and inferior white race in divine punishment for their sins; they will eventually be redeemed by repatriation to Africa, their true home and heaven on earth, and will compel the whites to serve them.”

Wow, heavy stuff man… Not wanting to disappoint I’ve since been doing my best to live up to my evil reputation by subjecting all and sundry (in Tobago) to my degenerate and “inferior” ways.

Don't touch it.... It's evil....

Eileen of Avoca reaches the Caribbean

It's Eileen of Avoca at sea!

Yes, I’m in the Caribbean…. Excuse enough for the increasingly spasmodic postings. But was my sourcing of these wonderful snapshots of Eileen of Avoca at sea not worth the wait?

For six days Thierry on his 41 foot Feeling (called Ti’nga) kept pace with Eileen on route to Tobago. Sometimes I thought it was just to irritate me, but I’m assured his reasons were wholeheartedly altruistic. Not that that prevented me from raving like a madman whenever he came too close… ;)

Madman rages on Eileen.

I think he took a perverse pleasure in literally sailing circles around Eileen in the light winds.

That just about sums up the voyage. Light winds…

I’d have set more sail (including the seldom used topsail), if only I didn’t have to worry about the numerous squalls between calms. One minute I’m motoring at a steady 4 knots (head-sails furled) and the next I’m running before a squall at 8kts adding another reef to the mainsail. Absurd!

Eileen runs from another squall.

I guess it’s all to be expected in a days (or six) sailing.

The good news is that I’ve made it to Tobago. It’s taken some 7000 nautical miles of sailing and almost one year (since leaving Yarmouth) living aboard a 23ft boat, but I’m now in the Caribbean. Reward enough!

Though a celebratory cold drink (who needs a fridge when everyone else has one) is still the order of the day.

A beer aboard Ti'nga in Tobago

Here’s to living the dream (and working those abdominals) on the other side of the pond…

Cheers readers!