Aboard Django

We’ve been in residence since January 25—Burns’ Night, which can only be auspicious—which means this (Jan 29) is our fifth day.

After depositing our belongings and making a brief inventory of boat and galley contents, we headed to Miami to pick up our SAT phone and lifeboat. Navigation was made exciting by extensive construction around the airport. WW, who likes his meals On Time, was ready to crash through the median to find food. Fortunately, I convinced him to press on. We did, eventually, feed the inner wolf.

Then it was back to Fort Lauderdale for basic provisions and a few other bits and pieces.

I was instructed in the use of the head (for those who don’t know: that’s the toilet; it’s very manual).

We went out for dinner and, on the way back, picked up a bottle of wine from the wee corner store. Since we didn’t know if we possessed a corkscrew, we insisted on the finest Château Screw Cap. We poured a libation to the gods of wind and sea from La Dolce Vita’s starboard trampoline (slung between her two bows so water can make its way upwards, rather than slapping the bottom of the boat; also, I am assured by WW, for naked women to lie on). We drank a libation to Rabbie Burns. Then we headed to our berth and slept the sleep of the virtuous.

We still haven’t received official notification of her Canadian registration, so the boat remains La Dolce Vita for now. But from here on in, I’m calling her Django.