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Sunday November 3rd, 2002
Breathing Deep in the Middle of Nowhere

We've been in Los Testigos now for almost a week. Or perhaps it was a whole week? I could try to figure it out by looking at the papers clearing us from Trinidad, but I sort of like the idea of not knowing. A time will come soon enough when we have to be familiar with time passing and the days of the week- but for now, I will consider my ignorance bliss. Tomorrow, we'll leave and continue southeast for the island of Margarita, just off the north coast of mainland Venezuela. Back to roads, cars, buildings, pollution, and the like.

Los Testigos were an idyllic spot to stop and take a breath from civilization and the hustle and bustle of reality. Trinidad left us flurried and tired after spending weeks trying to make ourselves efficient and useful while we had time at a marina with access to boat parts and provisions. What a strange concept to leave for our "vacation" in Los Testigos, and not bring even a cent of currency with us. For the week we were here, we only survived with whatever we had on Force Five- and lived well regardless, in one of the most beautiful parts of the world we've seen to date.

We've returned to the lifestyle of time passing at anchor. Rising when the sun warms our room too much to sleep, filtering coffee through a strainer into a thermos while we listen to the broken voice of David Jones the weatherman on our SSB radio, and letting time pass without too much scolding of ourselves for it's slipping by without our dutiful worry for its loss. Occasionally, I would begin to fret with consideration of things I couldn't do anything about while here with no phones, internet, mail, etc. And I would remind myself to breathe in and enjoy where we were at the moment without a way to spend a nickel if I wanted to, or send an email if I so desired. We spent our mornings in the quiet: reading new books, brushing up on our Spanish, researching places we've yet to see. The fishermen didn't mind seeing our boats' silhouettes on the horizon of their sea while they gathered up their lobster traps, and if it weren't for the abstract realization that the Venezuelan government "out there somewhere" wanted us to come make our presence known to them and pay our customs fees, we might not have left for a long time to come.

But, even living on a boat in remote places of the world, there are realities to deal with. Tomorrow, we set sail for Margarita to clear into Venezuela. Perhaps we'll come back to these islands on our way north to Sint Maarten and we can revel in the simplicity of letting ourselves do nothing more than enjoy the time passing.

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