Midnight is a Place

I’m wincing at the weather forecast. Tomorrow looks the same as today. It will be 31 degrees Celsius, but don’t worry – the forecast says it’ll feel like 34 in the shade. I was wondering why it felt as though we were going to melt earlier.

Out on the mooring we don’t run our air-con. Instead we have all our 12-volt fans trained on us like snipers. The heat’s ok for lying around, but for us it’s been an intense week of studying for upcoming mock exams. So the heat’s been combined with flashcards, past papers and an up-and-down internet signal.

For the internet, we’ve discovered a Bonaire peculiarity. Even though our phones tell us we have a full signal, turns out we don’t have one. At all. And our phones take turns doing this, so when mine goes down, Jack’s stays good. We all move the hotspot over to his phone – only to discover mine has recovered and his has gone down.

We’re also still enjoying the recent explosion of mosquitoes. They have enjoyed finding every nook and cranny to obtain access into Quest – to feast on juicy flesh. Which we often leave uncovered for melting reasons. Yep, this is turning into an interesting week.

I’ve just woken up now – past midnight, to see the sky performing a spectacular light show. The whole sky is lighting up. Uh-oh. It’s still calm, but other boats have seen it too. Navigation light after navigation light is quietly making its way to the marina. These are the boats which normally sit on the town dock. The town dock gets pummelled in a storm.

The last wind reversal was a couple of weekends ago. Brought on by the same conditions – a tropical wave of low pressure passing to the north. We don’t get a direct hit from these tropical waves, but we feel it with all the wind being sucked out of the air. Hence the ‘feels like 34 degrees’. In the absence of any wind, thunderstorms build up to the south of us, off the jutting coastline of Columbia. They tend to drift over to say hello.

Boy oh boy. An hour-and-a-half has passed. l started by taking all the washing down. Wetsuits, cozzies. I managed to lift the kayak out of the water myself. I allowed myself a small smile; it felt a proud, post-yoga moment. All those plonks. At least I’ve never done it alone before.

I strapped it to the deck and went down to wake up Jack, but he’s not the preparer of storms. He processed the info in his dreams. I went back up, checked the mooring lines with the head torch, our front awning and Edna. Then I came down and secured everything like we were going sailing.

When the storm hit, we were spun around like a penny. It was quite something. We had 30 knots blow through us for thirty minutes or so. Plus the rain. The storm is just dying down now. The wind is gone but the lightening is still lingering. Like it’s the end of the disco. Somebody put on Dancing Queen – for the mozzies. Hopefully it’s their last dance.

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