From the Galley

And all of this for a cooking class! Before Captain Merle's eyes flashed the four ways he was briefly taught to stop on water.  As the instructor went through these, he could remember the faint smile on his mustached mouth when he confirmed the fact as best he could that a sailboat is not a car with brakes.  In fact, he said, one of the little pleasures of sailing is knowing that the only way you can really keep control is by maintaining some speed, otherwise, by definition of water and wind, you are no longer in charge.  Capt. Merle tried his damnedest to navigate a series of S-turns, creating drag from the rudder, as he hauled in toward the beach at however many knots.  By the time Her Bounty first felt the (thankfully) soft undersand of the beach, it was angled and landed at the starboard beam. He clenched his body, looked up, avoided the random swinging of the beam, and the sails had only luffed, not yet completely collapsed.  He looked up to his nonchalant neighbors in the boat across the dock, notched his cap, gave a sailor's smile, then dug out the anchor dutifully, yet as red-faced as a beach bum who forgot his sunscreen for a day.  He desperately wanted to make his jaunt now up the road to

Chez Nanou in order to tell his tale over a shared bottle of vintage Caribbean Rum, but he felt along the pockets of his shorts only to realize that the square lump otherwise known as his wallet was still sealed down on deck below the helm.  He tucked his head back down into his chest, gave another nod to his more skilled boatmen, then dashed up the aluminum ladder – it dangling half cocked onto the sand, digging a small pit slowly to emerging water – then shuffled back toward the street carrying not only his wallet but precious cargo of sealed rum.  As he approached Chez Nanou, the quaintest little French Bistro this side of the Siene River, he could see the collection of grandmothers and girlfriends already tipping large glasses of thick red wine through the window.  His watch was back on the boat, but by

the look of the position of the afternoon sun, he was at least fifteen minutes late to class...yet how many others here had wrack a boat and shun a dock to get here?  All the others, cars, bikes, buses, with wheels that adhere to the street and stop on command.  How silly such ease!  The small white folded sign outside the door read today's class full: Coq Au Vin!