Note: Typically I record these meanderings in a studio environment away from ambient noise but I wrote and recorded this on my deck overlooking Chacala Bay. The noises you hear are the waves rolling in, the sound of children squealing with laughter and if you listen closely, the metronomic ‘bloomp, bloomp bloomp’ from an amplified tuba. Such is a Sunday afternoon in Chacala Bay. I hope you enjoy it.

“Hello?” I called out and getting no answer, tried one more time.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi there” came. a friendly voice. A man American by accent, waived me closer, clearly keen to talk.

And that was the answer to my question. Whenever I greet someone like that, I think of ‘Hello?’, some version of which is a universal salutation, as more of a question, one which the subject of my attention is more than free to respond to however they wish. And so much of it is tone. Any child who has been at the wrong end of a parents anger understands tone, any teenager who has been told ‘”I love you”, understands tone. It is the great finesse of the spoken word, our ability to give the same word many meanings. Had he no interest in speaking with this intrusive visitor, I would have heard that in their tone long before any other words were necessary. So it is, whenever I approach a stranger and shout out ‘Hello?”, I listen for the tone.

“Oh, where did you come from?”, a woman ‘s voice preceded her from downstairs, or I suppose I should more properly say ‘below deck’. She was very friendly and in quick succession told me that she was from New Zealand, that they had been married for thirty-five years, had lived on a sailboat for thirty and had sailed across the Pacific when they were first together. I made mention that the Kiwi Women’s 7’s Rugby team had just defeated the Canadian Women’s Team at the Hong Kong 7″s, a moment of national supplication which immediately endeared me to her.

She smiled, “Oooops, sorry”

“That’s okay” I replied.

Neither of us meant it, but it had served its purpose, a common cultural touch point.

But in my world this was a jackpot of information, so freely given, it spoke of a couple who had let their guard down to the world a long time ago. How refreshing. Their keen engagement also suggested to me that they were eager to talk, thirsty for the conversation with a perfect stranger. That has never surprised me about those who choose to sail for months or even years at a time. Were that me, I would be parched for human company and conversation, two days into the voyage.

I hadn’t even told them my name yet, nor they, theirs. It hadn’t seemed necessary, but by now I realized I’d be leaving soon with a great story to tell and I needed their names.

“”I’m Tony by the way”.

“Yeah, we’re Bob and Miriam, so glad you dropped by.”

“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion” I added, knowing that I was the one who had interrupted their peaceful morning coffee, on the deck of their sailboat moored in Chacala Bay. It is a beautiful place to visit, if you have never heard of it, a very safe natural harbour for sail boats and a big favourite of Mexicans because of the safe, walk in beach. Behind us hundreds of Mexican families played in the sand, while bands with amplified tubas played for hours on end. It is, in short, wonderful.

“No, we love it when people visit us.” and then she added with a laugh “but most of them come by dinghy, they don’t swim up to us.”

I laughed. Waking up each morning we’re in Chacala (we stay at Villa Celeste, if you are interested to learn more), I get my coffee, wander to the patio overlooking Chacala Bay and survey the new arrivals, deciding on which boat I will swim out to. I have been doing it for years and can’t recall the time I came back empty handed, always enriched by meeting perfect strangers.

But she was right. It had taken me twenty-five minutes to swim out to their boat, the ‘Phoenix Rising” and I had been treading water for some fifteen minutes by now. It is one of the reasons most people are happy to speak with me in those situations. A seventy-five year old man, treading water, for extended periods, easily eight feet below them, could not be more harmless. I mean how much ‘stranger danger’ do I look like.

“So a nod to the mythological bird or you live in Arizone?”

They both laughed.

“We have named all of our boats ‘Phoenix RIsing’. It symbolizes new beginnings, a fresh start.” Miriam said. She gave a quick glance at Bob. as she spoke. It was none of my business, but it was a very human moment between the two of them. We all have stories, We all have fascinating stories, and these two I have no doubt are no exception.

“You’re better half has come to rescue you.” Miriam said with a twinkle in her eye. And she was right. My wife Mac, had been swimmig in the bay with me as well but had lost rrack of me when I swam over to the the ‘Phoenix Rising’. I may not have shared that with her.

“More like to save you from me” I replied with a laugh. But she was right, these ‘Hello?’ visits are best kept short, and I am definitely best experienced in small doses.

With a friendly wave I turned away and swam back to the shore. It had been a great visit.

I called out to Mac, as she swam ahead, keen to get her seventy-five year old talker safely back to shore.

“I loved that Mac!”

“I know you did honey, they’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Did I tell you I invited them to join us for a glass of wine on our patio?”

Mac’s reply was lost to the washing waves between us.