In February of 2001, after much hard word and deliberation, John and I untied our 1974 Ranger 32 sailboat from the San Diego dock and literally sailed off into the sunset for Mexico.  This would be the last time in U.S. waters for the foreseeable future. Our offshore sports car gone Winnebago would never be the ideal cruiser, but at least the price was right. A year prior, John bought a boat with the dream of sailing around the world; two months later, he met someone with whom to share it with.  The previous owner named her Dancyn after his two daughters, Dana and Cynthia, and the name stuck.  His years of hard work in the Alaskan fisheries were about to pay off. As romantic as sunsets might be, our late departure meant anchoring at night amidst rocks, kelp and unlit fishing boats.  Fatigued from months of preparing for this unknown journey, not to mention our weeklong departure party, were not the ideal conditions we would have liked while sailing into the setting sun.  We still had lots of work to do--for one, I didn't even know how to sail--but the hardest part was over with. We had untied and were free!  Free from rush hour and car payments; free from excessive consumerism and junk mail; free from the fear of market crashes, gun violence and differing ethnicities; free from 9-11.      

    We could still see the outline of San Diego the next morning from our first Mexican anchorage, only 20 miles away.  But now we could see more closely the brown haze hanging over Tijuana.  Sometime in the night, we had crossed that invisible line and could not, would not, turn back.  From then on we would slide further south towards the tip of the Baja peninsula and up into the majestic Sea of Cortez.  We would ride the wind manipulating it to take us where we wanted to go, often times going where it wanted to take us.

    We figured we would spend a season in Baja Mexico testing our skills as mariners and lovers.  Little did we know we would also learn to be plumbers, electricians, meteorologists, engine mechanics and inflatable repair specialists.  We would learn to use water for the bare necessities, count amperes like calories, and aptly learn to deal with officialdom in a country struggling with corruption, poverty and contradictions.  All the while living in space smaller than our mothers' guest bedrooms, an art form in itself.  We took our time and we're rewarded with the chance to see a place that had changed little even before John Steinbeck and his Cannery Row companions traveled through the area in the 1950's.  It looked like the Grand Canyon had been flooded by Caribbean-clear water.  The people were fantastic, the fishing even better.

    It has not all been downwind, but here we are 2 years later looking to cross an ocean. As we move further from the U.S. and the well-traveled anchorages of Mexico and Costa Rica, we cross paths with people from all over the world.  Loads of French, Germans, Brits, South Africans, Kiwis and Canadians; a rare boat from Ireland, Japan or Turkey.  Singlehanders, couples with kids, others retired, others barely legal. Different backgrounds, cruising budgets, and of course, stories. To our disappointment, there are few people under 40, even fewer under 30.  For the price of a brand new economy-sized car, John bought a boat.  Many of our friends spend more money a year for rent and car payments than has been spent on Dancyn and getting her ready to cruise.  As we are forced to scrupulously examine our living habits, we are shocked at the money frivolously spent at bars, restaurants, the mall and Internet shopping.  Money spent on stuff for the American Dream.  But what is this American Dream if we are just a country full of stuff yet no common sense?  We consume the most resources of any country, produce the most trash, yet we are a country full of violence, depression, behavioral disorders and credit card debt. Already, some of our friends are stressed out over jobs, bills to pay, life in general.  And all before they are 30.
   
    Of course, not everyone may want to just buy a sailboat and disappear into the sunset. But what we could all learn to do is question more.  Question the rising cost of gas coupled with a boom in SUV sales.  Question the amount of packaging and plastic used for one serving of food-plastic that doesn't go away but ends up far from shore or on deserted islands.   Question what comes from the television and politicians mouths.  Question the way we live.  For us, these experiences aboard Dancyn have been the most rewarding, the most challenging, the most frustrating! Some days, the boat is just a hole where you put your money.  Boat projects seem endless and 32 feet of space is too little even for one person.  There are no blocks to walk around when were at each other's throats, no time outs when the seas turn the boat into a washing machine and that leaky hatch happens to be over our bed.  But we have learned to make do with what little we have and to live without the things we don't have.  We question ourselves.  Are we wasting the years that should be spent starting careers, savings, and a family?  Are we deranged for trying to cross an ocean in a sailboat? But as we reach further south to the Panama Canal and further west to the Galapagos Islands, the sense of accomplishment, pride and excitement is ever fulfilling.  Most of the people out here are retired or close to it, yet I admire their guts in trying something different after years of what we call the American Dream grind. Besides, 70-year-old men have drunk us under the table.  No matter the boat or budget, we are all faced with similar issues, and so the accountants, hippies, firefighters and soul searchers are all part of the wacky cruising community working together to ensure we arrive safely to where ever it is we're going.  

    Today's world is strife with conflict and turbulence. Old wounds refuse to heal and new ones surface quickly.  Bearing the stamp of America, we are judged accordingly and so we often hesitate flying the flag for fear of unwanted attention.  We feel fortunate to be from a country where the water is clean, free speech is a constitutional right, and hard work equals hard cash.  It has given us the opportunity to be out here in the first place.  But lately we have questioned what exactly those stars and stripes have come to symbolize, and most importantly, how the world sees them.  Will we be singled out for crime?  Within the insulated boundaries of North America, it is easy to cut oneself off from the rest of the world.  Most of it is a matter of geography, but as we step outside the line, we are learning that America has not played clean ball.  The benefits we feel at home often come from another's disadvantage, often for the sole purpose of getting richer.  So far, our encounters with the "outside world" have been nothing but positive and peaceful.  That's not to say that we haven't been sneered at, ripped off and charged with what we like to refer to as the gringo tax, but we are learning that the world is not the dangerous place filled with theft and violence that people in the U.S. may assume it to be.  For the most part, people are people, and we all eat, breathe, breed, and smile the same.  Those that look like they have so little surprise us with their kindness and generosity.  Many, of course, assume we are the opulent and wasteful wealthy that they view on their television or see touring their neighborhoods in closed air-conditioned buses.  We show up on yachts without jobs.  They don't realize that we are living at a standard that is below the American norm.  And of course, they don't have the advantage of a job that allows them to save money.  These prejudices may be amplified towards Americans, but they are also directed towards most travelers out here that swarm in numbers yet have the options to leave.  It will take all sides to break down the boundaries of prejudice and aggression, but instead of waiting for the social progression of the world, we move ahead to set a different example.  We are not alone.  Many of us out here recognize that we are citizens of the same planet moving toward a day when we are not bound by the flags and countries of origin. 

    This next stretch of sailing will be the most challenging to date.  We hope to cross the Pacific Ocean in a 32-foot sailboat, an average trip of 30 days.  Drinking water will be our biggest issue. Once there, we will contend with coral heads, passes through reefs, monstrous currents, and unexpected frontal systems.  We will be rewarded with visiting some of the most remote cultures in the world and from what the guides tell us, also the friendliest.  It will take everything we have as sailors, humans and companions. 

    The adventure continues! And so we dance