April 24, 2016: Port Antonio, Jamaica

We were fortunate to have the opportunity to visit Cuba on a people to people exchange.  It is about 180 nautical miles from Great Inagua to Santiago de Cuba, with no place to stop along the way.  The route goes south 100 miles through the Windward Passage, and then turns west along Cuba's mountainous south coast for 80 miles.  The forecast called for east winds at 20 knots.  Perfect.   On April 12, we left Man of War Bay and sailed 100 miles south on a single port tack.  The first night brought stronger winds, uncomfortable seas, a squall, and scary ship traffic.  (I wish I'd added that AIS.) But the following day and night were wonderful sailing along a beautiful, seemingly uninhabited range of mountains. We found that the wind was more favorable, and the sea flatter, if we sailed close to the coast, so we gradually steered to within a mile and a half of land.  Then, we were honored to have the U.S. Coast Guard escort us 4 nautical miles offshore as we passed Guantanamo Bay.  They had a fast boat and a big gun, but were quite polite, so I put up no argument.  We arrived outside Santiago Harbor, below Castile de Morro, at daybreak.  We had some difficulty starting the motor, but finally dropped anchor at the marina at Punta Gorda by mid-morning on the 14th.

Cuba is a beautiful, fascinating country.  Unlike anywhere else on our voyage so far, Santiago de Cuba is surrounded by gorgeous mountains.  Nearby Pico Turquino is as tall as Clingman's Dome.  Santiago de Cuba has a reputation as a filthy industrial harbor, but we found it to be clean and attractive.  The people are friendly and hard-working.  Crime is essentially non-existent, and we always felt safe.  Of course, the socialist system works poorly and is rife with low-level corruption.  (A small tip here and there makes the system work better.)  Regular jobs don't pay enough to survive, so everyone - everyone - has some hustle going to make extra money.  Offering tourists special deals on cigars or rum, or leading you on a tour, or doing your laundry, or delivering jugs of diesel fuel, or bringing customers to a paladar (a privately owned restaurant, usually in someone's home) are common.  These are very enterprising people.  

A highlight  of our visit was being invited for dinner to the home of Pedro and Rosa and their three children Pochito, Roxanna, and Clara.  We had roast goat, a beautiful tomato and cucumber salad, potatoes, and rice and beans.  Maribeth brought a pasta salad and a bottle of wine.  Pedro poured two fingers of rum, straight up.  We struggled with language (our Spanish is worse than their English,) but managed to have a delightful evening, even managing conversations about religion and politics.  By our economic standards, Pedro and Rosa are quite poor.  But they are well-educated, curious about the world, open-minded, and amazingly resourceful. Wonderful people, and not so poor, really.

Shopping district in Santiago de Cuba

The Cubans have devised a rather clever money system involving two currencies.  There is the "CUC," pronounced "kook," exchangeable for other currencies and used by foreigners.  And there is the "peso national," used by the Cubans.  The effect is that foreigners pay much more than do locals for the same goods and services.  After a few days, we learned how to play the system and things got drastically cheaper for us.  We bought pizzas for 32 cents, ice cream cones for 8 cents, and splurged on large bottles of Havana Club rum for 6 dollars.

Regrettably, La Peregrina's motor issue got worse.  I could no longer start the motor.  The marina provided a diesel mechanic (no charge, though I privately tipped him $20) who determined that sea water was getting into the cylinders (but not, thank goodness, into the crank case.)  The diagnoses ranged from "motor finit," to a blown head gasket ("junta",) to a bad mixing elbow. 

So there we were in Cuba without a functioning motor, and no way to get parts.  (Americans cannot have parts shipped into Cuba.)  The Cubans assured us they could fabricate a head gasket or a mixing elbow, but they couldn't say how long it would take, or how much money.  Or, we could sail to Jamaica.  

As much as I despise running the motor, the prospect of sailing 115 nautical miles over open ocean and then entering an unfamiliar harbor in Jamaica without a motor was rather daunting.  There was no other good choice.

The wind blows out of Santiago harbor each morning, and the tide would also be falling on the morning of April 20.  We ensured the batteries were fully charged and the water tanks full, and unfurled the genoa at 9:00 am and drifted slowly toward open water.  In an hour we had sailed through the narrow harbor entrance and sat just offshore, bobbing for 2 or 3 hours in dead calm air.  Frustrated at noon, I opened a beer.  Immediately, the wind rose and we set off on a southerly course toward Jamaica.  Who says they don't brew good beer in Cuba?

The passage between Cuba and Jamaica was very pleasant.  Maribeth has been a very competent sailor for a long time, but now has gained confidence, and she put her skills to good use on this crossing.  We did 2 hour watches, and sailed fast through the night.  At dawn, we were three miles north of the Jamaican coast, with its tall mountains and, that morning, looming clouds and rain.  There, we hit a wall.  The wind suddenly died, or blew on our nose, though 8 foot northeast swells remained.  The current pushed us west.  We tried hard to make way in the right direction, but could not.  We sailed back north again, where we found the wind and made a second approach.  Once again, we got close to shore and we could see the waves crashing on either side of the entrance to Port Antonio, but we could not get there.

I surmised that we were fighting the morning land breeze and that the afternoon would bring a more favorable wind.  But Maribeth, who is smarter and less stubborn than me, chose not to wait.  She radioed Port Antonio's Errol Flynn Marina and soon the Jamaican Coast Guard was on its way to rescue us.  Four young men in an old 20 foot center-console motor launch soon appeared 50 feet to starboard. They had no lines, nor a proper cleat on their boat, and none of us knew precisely what to do.  I rigged a bridle on the bow, attached a spare halyard, and with all my strength tossed the loose end into the Jamaican boat.  Suddenly we were being towed, through the pouring rain, into the blessedly protected waters of Port Antonio.  I sat on the bow, watching the tow line go slack and then tighten like a guitar string.  Would it snap?  And if it did, which way would we drift?  "Joe, let's not tell anyone about this," Maribeth pleaded.  (Ah, but the truth will set us free.)

By 10:00 on the 21st, we were tied up at the Marina.  The senior coast guard officer, who may have been 25, came by our boat and had me sign a report describing the morning's event.  He was professional and friendly.   There would be no cost to us.  "This is our job.  We would do it again if you needed us."   Maribeth offered his crew a small bottle of Jack Daniels, which they accepted graciously.  I hired a mechanic, who has determined not only that the mixing elbow is bad, but that the turbocharger has been gone for a long time.  Parts are not available in Jamaica, so we must find parts and get them shipped here.

Errol Flynn Marina in Port Antonio, Jamaica.  La Peregrina is at bottom left, partially obscured.

In the meantime, Port Antonio is a gorgeous place; a beautiful harbor surrounded by the Blue Mountains with peaks more than 7000 feet tall. It has rained for three straight days, a radical change from the past three months.  The town is reported to have a population of about 13,000, though it seems smaller.  This is not where we planned or expected to be, but it is a good place, and we're having a blast.  

Clive the Banana Man stopped by our boat every morning, offering bananas and mangos for sale.

We are very hopeful we can find crew for our trip to Guatemala's Rio Dulce.  If you have interest, please let us know and we'll talk dates and locations.  We miss you all a great deal. 

Joe

April 8, 2016: Man of War Bay, Great Inagua

In a straight line, it is about 225 nautical miles southeast from Georgetown in the Exumas to Providenciales in the Turks and Caicos Islands.  But since the wind blows from the southeast, it is not a straight line, and therefore many more miles.

These are the remote out islands of the southern Bahamas.  They are largely unpopulated, and few sailors linger here.  To get to the Turks and Caicos, a sailboat must devise a zig zag route from island to island, using the available wind and considering tides and available daylight.  The islands are separated by 20 to 50 miles of deep open water.  Each leg is a serious passage, with no place to hide along the way.  After lazing around the Exumas for more than a month, this was a challenge for us.

We left Georgetown and Elizabeth Harbor at daybreak on Good Friday headed northeast.  La Peregrina was on a close reach and moving fast.  We sailed past our planned anchorage on Long Island, and arrived instead at Conception Island before cocktail hour.  

Conception Island is a very special place.  A Bahamian national park, it is uninhabited, completely undeveloped, and pristine.  It has amazing water colors, even by Bahamian standards.  The beach has the finest, softest sand I've ever encountered - like talcum powder.  We found an amazing petroglyph on a high rock overlooking the sea.  We saw nesting white-tailed tropicbirds and brown boobies.  We took the dinghy up a tidal creek full of sea turtles. On Easter Sunday, we built a fire on the beach as the sun set.   It was a moonless night, and while walking the beach under the stars, we kicked up thousands of tiny lights!  Bioluminescence in the sand!  Pixie dust!  Who knew such a thing existed?

My girls at Conception Island

From Conception, we had a pleasant day sail south to Rum Cay. But the islands were farther apart after that.  To have daylight both for leaving and entering anchorages, our sails became overnight passages.  It took four overnight sails spaced over six days to get from Rum Cay to Providenciales.   

On one of those overnights, I made a terrible mistake.  La Peregrina arrived just north of our planned anchorage at dawn in  25+ knots of wind.  I turned the key to start the motor, but nothing happened.  I was annoyed, but not terribly concerned.  Our chart book indicated a straightforward entrance to the anchorage from the north.  We decided we'd sail in without motor, drop anchor, get some sleep, and then figure out our starter problem.  

We were under reefed main and reefed jib as we approached the bank from the deep water, but we came in at more than 6 kts, with big winds and big waves.  It was light now, but the sky and the sea was grey.  Suddenly, we were in 20 ft of water, then 10, with poor light to see the bottom.  We furled in most of the jib, and Maribeth was at the mast, ready to drop the mainsail.  Without warning, there were breaking waves dead ahead of us!   Reefs all around!  MB shouted, “Tack.  Let's get out of here."  But there was not enough sail up, and not enough time.  I turned hard to windward, trying to stall the boat, but there was nothing to do at this point but hope the reef was deep enough.   It was not.   We hit hard, and spun sideways.  The boat made a terrible grinding noise, lifted high up, then leaned grotesquely.  Oh my God, we're shipwrecked.  So this is how our trip will end.   

Suddenly we were moving again.  A wave had picked us up and carried us off the reef.  We somehow managed to steer around a few more monster coral heads before finally finding a sandy spot to drop the anchor.   We were hobby horsing in 3 foot waves, but we were not taking on water and we had no apparent damage.  Soon, I found and repaired a loose starter wire, and got the motor running.  I had made a huge blunder, but had been given a pass.

In hindsight, it was foolish to enter an unfamiliar anchorage without a motor, without good light to see the reefs, and in heavy weather.   I should have hove to and fixed the starter, and had a "Plan B" anchorage lined up.   I learned, again, that you can't trust the charts or your chart plotter.  Trust only your own eyes! 

* * * * * * * * * *

Providenciales, more often called "Provo" by the locals, is a British possession, though their currency is the American dollar.   It is a significant stop for a couple of reasons.  First of all, with a population of 30,000, it is far bigger than any town we’ve visited since we left the U.S.  Maribeth did major provisioning for the first time in more than two months.  I gave La Peregrina some overdue attention.  We docked three nights at Caicos Marine, and I even hired a diesel mechanic who did in three hours what I would have spent a week figuring out.  Together with the crew from another boat, we rented a car and explored the island.  

Second, Provo is Important because it is where we had to decide which direction we go in the coming months.  Though most boats we've met are heading to the eastern Caribbean, we have decided to turn south and west through the Windward Passage with the goal of reaching Rio Dulce or Panama by the start of hurricane season.  This means we'll finally have the wind behind us, and it means we'll need to practice our Spanish.  Yesterday, with La Peregrina busting at the seams with food and supplies, we left Provo and sailed overnight to Great Inagua, where we will rest up before heading south again.

There will be opportunities to join us in the next 2 or 3 months.  We'd love to share our little adventure with you!

Joe

p.s.  Molly helped us set up an Instagram account.  Check us out at SailLaPeregrina.

March 24, 2016: Fowl Cay, Elizabeth Harbor, Exumas

We were sad to see Molly leave us yesterday, after 10 wonderful days of Bahamian adventure. We sailed back north, this time in familiar waters.  We chased eagle rays at Lee Stocking Island, saw a mermaid playing piano at Rudder Cut Cay, celebrated St. Patty's Day with rum punch at Staniel Cay, explored underwater caves at Rocky Dundas, cleaned up at Rachel's Bubble Bath, and snorkeled with turtles, squid and a hundred variety of colorful fish off O'Briens Cay before completing a 60 mile overnight sail back down Exuma Sound to Georgetown. 

Georgetown is a fascinating place.  When we first arrived in early March, there were 500 sailboats anchored in the harbor.   At night, the anchor lights resemble a small city.  And like a city, the days here have a predictable rhythm.  At 8:00 am each morning, the "cruisers net" - emceed by a rotation of volunteers - starts on VHF 72.   Hundreds of sailors huddle by their radios to get the latest secondhand weather forecast, discover what specials local businesses are running, and learn what time and on what beach someone will be leading yoga lessons or organizing a volley ball tournament today.  Boats newly arrived in the harbor are invited to introduce themselves, and departing boats can say a public goodbye.

I listen with interest when sailors are invited to announce what they'd like to buy, sell, or trade.  Copper Penny is leaving and has unneeded crackers.  The crew of Last Tango will fly back to the states for a few days and needs someone to look after the boat dog.  Tacks Free is renting a car today, and will be heading to the airport at noon if anyone needs a ride.  Mother Goose needs a rigger.  Morse Code needs parts for his Raritan toilet (Still? Poor guy.)

It has been 75 days now since we left New Orleans aboard La Peregrina.  During this time, we've spent 9 nights in a marina (all in the first month,) 6 nights underway at sea, 5 nights on mooring balls, and 55 nights at anchor.  We've put 254 hours on the motor and used 140 gallons of diesel.  We arrived in the Bahamas on February 4th.  In the 50 days since, we've had 20+ kts of wind on 28 days.  It has rained twice, both times lightly and for less than 30 minutes.   We've had a bunch of little mechanical, electrical, and plumbing issues, but nothing significant.  Yet.

It is time for us to leave the Exumas. We're anchored tonight off Fowl Cay, at the eastern edge of Elizabeth Harbor.  The swell from Exuma Sound swings around this little island.  La Peregrina rocks and rolls, and her spars and halyards slap and bang.  But the anchor is well set, our stomachs are full, there is wine in our glasses, and a giant moon just rose in the east.  It's not a bad evening.

At dawn, if things go as planned, we'll set sail for Calabash Bay, on the north end of Long Island.  

We miss all of you, and continue to hope you'll find a way to join us.  To our Nashville tribe,  don't forget that Saturday is the annual Spring Walk from Percy Priest Dam to downtown via Nashville's greenways.  We regret we can't join you this year, but we'll drink a beer and think of you.

March 11, 2016: Georgetown, Exumas, Bahamas

We spent two and a half weeks island-hopping south through the Exumas.  No longer focused on a far-off destination, our pace slowed significantly.  We slept late, lounged with coffee in the cockpit, and each day eventually went somewhere or did something.  Some days it was walking the trails on nearby islands.  We saw iguanas on Allan's Cays, and climbed Perry Peak, the highest point in the Exumas at 123 feet.  Some days it was a boat chore.  We scraped barnacles off the bottom one day, and cleaned stainless steel another.  Some days we sailed to the next island.

The Exumas are a chain of many islands running more than 100 miles from NNW to SSE in the central Bahamas.  To the east of these islands is Exuma Sound, many thousands of feet deep and completely open to the prevailing winds.  Deep blue and windy.  To the west is the Bahama Bank, rarely more than 20 feet deep, sometimes less than 5 feet deep, and protected from waves if not wind.  Every shade of blue, green, turquoise and white. There are many cuts allowing passage between the Bank and the Sound, so the sailing route can vary day-to-day, depending on the latest weather forecast. 

Mostly, we sailed down the west (Bank) side of the Exumas.  Most islands are uninhabited.  They offer gorgeous anchorages, with empty beaches, palm trees, reefs, and caves.   A few, like Staniel Cay, Black Point, and Little Farmer's Cay, have tiny settlements.  Little Farmer's, we were told, had 39 people "including the children."  You can buy Kalik for $5 a bottle in any of them.

Typically, we anchored with 5 or 6 other sailboats.  Many became familiar.  There was Last Tango (Texas) and Pepper (Montana) and La Luna (Holland) who had been with us at Gun Cay more than a month ago, and who we had cocktails with tonight.  There was Lala and Oddysey (both from Ontario) who we grilled dinner with on the beach.  

The one discipline that unites all Exumas sailors is 5:00 cocktail hour.  The default, if no specific arrangements have been made, is to meet on the beach.  Everyone brings a beer or a glass of wine or a rum drink.  We stand in the sand, or ankle deep in the water, discussing our plans and seeking advice.  At 6:15 or so, we marvel at the sunset.  Then everyone climbs back in their dinghies and returns to their boats.  

Cocktail Hour at Big Major's Spot, Exumas

For the past week, we've been in greater Georgetown.  With a population approaching 1000, Georgetown is by far the largest community in the Exumas.  The town is fronted by Elizabeth Harbor, where a few hundred sailboats are anchored.  A dinghy ride under the 8 ft high, 10 ft wide bridge into Lake Victoria brings you to the Exuma Market dinghy dock.  Here, you can get all the free water you can carry.  And it's a very short walk to a grocery store, hardware store, gas station, liquor store, hamburger joint, internet cafe, and hair salon.  What more could you possibly want?

Georgetown is a pleasant town, full of pleasant people.  Businesses are creative:  The woman who cut my hair (finally!) also sold us some grouper her husband had caught.  And the Internet cafe I used to upload a video also sold snacks and offered "crystal hair treatments with Indian Henna," whatever that is.

We thoroughly enjoyed a Friday evening at Redboone, a roadside beer and hamburger stand where a local band played standards under the stars.  Locals and sailors talked and sipped and tapped feet and danced together.  The Bahamians were black, happy, loving, well-dressed, welcoming. We sailors were unshaven, sunburnt, sloppily-dressed (except for Maribeth, who was absolutely stunning that evening,) tight with our money, and thrilled to be there.   Fun, it seemed to me, was had by all.

Don't worry

About a thing

'Cause every little thing's

Gonna be alright

Molly arrives on Sunday!  We can't wait to see her.  We plan to sail back north, hoping to show her parts of the Exumas we've enjoyed the most and, maybe, discover some new favorites.

We hope everyone is doing well back home.  Come see us!

Good night.

March 5, 2016: A video for you

Sorry it's long.  We miss you all.  Let us know when you might join us.

February 24, 2016: Staniel Cay, Exumas, Bahamas

We finally got water today.  The reserve tank ran out a couple days ago and we've been carefully rationing our last six gallon "emergency" jug.  I've never been so happy to pay $0.40 per gallon for water.  Showers at last!

We've been anchored the last three days near Staniel Cay, in the central Exumas.  The 100 or so residents here scrape a living together selling diesel fuel, very meager groceries, and very expensive alcohol (I refuse to pay $35 for a 12-pack) to passing sailors.  And water, when they have it.  Until this morning, they haven't had it.  The pump, which supplies the whole community, has been broken since we arrived on Sunday.

Except for the worsening stench that has been following me around lately, we've been enjoying our stay here.  A nearby island is populated only by feral pigs and chickens.  The pigs swim out to approaching dinghies looking for handouts.  Meeting for sundowners on the beach involves mingling with pigs.  I blame them for the smell.

Thunderball Grotto is also nearby, where they filmed a scene for the James Bond movie about 50 years ago.  (That long ago?  Really?)  By all accounts, it's a great snorkel, so we're heading there this afternoon.

We arrived in the Exumas on Valentine's Day after a rowdy sail in 25 kt ENE winds.  We celebrated our anchorage at Allan's Cays with steak and veggies on the grill.  We spent four days in  Exumas Land and Sea Park, first off Warderick Wells, and then at Cambridge Cay.  It is a gorgeous place.  The water is every conceivable shade of blue and clearer than any swimming pool.  The islands are covered with cabbage palms (aka palmettos.)  Trails lead to untouched beaches and high scenic ridges.  Birds and lizards abound; no snakes, and very few insects.

The wind has been unusually strong this winter.  The Bahamians say they've never seen it like this.  We've  spent many days pinned down, and many nights on anchor watch.  So far, we've had no trouble.  (Ground tackle was the best investment we made, by far.)  Our wind generator produces more electricity than we can possibly use in these heavy blows.  So I've taken to keeping the instruments turned on all night.  I call it "watching the arc."  A quick glance at the chart plotter confirms we're not dragging.

The Exumas are a fabulous cruising ground.  The water is amazing.  There's a gazillion anchorages.  The scenery and wildlife is beautiful.  The winds have moderated in recent days, and the sailing is excellent.  We have resolved to get to know the area, so we're committing a month to it.  We'll dawdle on the trip down south to Georgetown.  When the wind blows from the south, we'll sail back north to see things we missed.  We might even do some boat maintenance if we get motivated, which seems doubtful at the moment.  Molly's flying into Georgetown in mid-March for 10 days.  We can't wait to show her some Exuma highlights.

In late March and into April, we'll head towards Mayaguana or Providenciales or Matthew Town. 

We hope all is well back home.  We're looking forward to your visit.

La Peregrina at Allan's Cays, Exumas

February 12, 2016: Nassau, Bahamas

We arrived yesterday in Nassau, the big city of the Bahamas.  I'll confess right away that I'm tempted not to like this place.  The economy here is built completely, it seems, on separating cruise ship passengers from their money.  Several thousand arrive each morning on 3 enormous ships.  They crowd the sidewalks, their t-shirts and sundresses stretched by healthy American bellies.   Attractive and determined young women, many not quite as thin as they imagine, hang out of their bikinis, even when it's 60 F and the locals are wearing long pants and jackets.  Some shriek and laugh unnaturally, carrying huge plastic cups filled with neon liquid, or wearing knots of balloons on their heads.  It must be easy work for the booze and trinket sellers. 

But at 5 o'clock, the business day is over.  The passengers dutifully queue up to re-board their ships.  The shopkeepers sweep the sidewalk.  Tranquility and sanity arrive.  A quiet dinner out can be had.  

The Bahamians of Nassau are gracious, generous, forgiving.  Some are beautiful.  They earn their profits.  I have been frustrated by friends who, after a walk down Bourbon Street, condemn my beloved New Orleans as "Sodom and Gomorrah on the Mississippi."  I have not spent much time here, so I will reserve judgement on Nassau.

Getting here took much longer than we had hoped.  Stuck by high wind, we spent four days at the marina in Alice Town, Bimini.  It's a one-day kind of place. 

Finally, we had one day of tolerable weather.  So, after spending half a day repairing the solar cover on the genoa, we made a quick sail south 9 miles to Gun Cay.  La Peregrina's knucklehead captain managed to run the poor girl hard aground on the way.   Fortunately, it was low tide.  I threw out the anchor and we settled down with sandwiches and waited for the tide to rise.  Two hours later, we were sailing again, and we arrived in a rising wind at Gun Cay before sunset.  

The wind blew like stink that night, and all day the next day and night.  The anemometer showed winds above 30 for hours and hours.  The rigging howled and rattled and squeaked.  And it was cold.  Gun Cay at this spot is only 30 feet wide and 2 feet high.  At high tide, the waves crashed on the west side of the island, and water poured down the east side.  But we were 100 yards to leeward, in 8 feet of water, with our 44 pound Rocna anchor and 120 feet of chain out, and we felt secure.  We listened to music, played cards, prepared and consumed a feast, and checked the weather forecast obsessively.  

We awoke at 5:00 a.m. after our second night at Gun Cay.  The wind was down to 18 knots from the west.  It was 80 miles east across the Great Bahama Bank to the Berry Islands.  So we raised anchor and eased out the genoa in the dark.  

It was a glorious sail.  The wind was behind us, the water was an amazing light turquoise, and the featureless Bahama Bank slid effortlessly beneath us.  The sun set shortly after we passed the Northwest Channel Light.  It was a new moon, and it was pitch dark.  We relied totally on the chart plotter to guide us to 7 feet of water off Frazer's Hog Cay, where we set the anchor and collapsed into our bunks about 9:00 o'clock.

The wind turned out of the north overnight, and the next day's sail to Nassau, 35 miles to the SouthEast, was fast.  7.8 kts at one point!  Great fun.

Very early tomorrow morning, Cousin Cindy boards an airplane and leaves us.  We never got her to the Exumas, as we had hoped.  But we had a great time.  She taught us most of the words to American Pie.  And we taught her how to survive on a boat without a microwave.  

With another weather problem forecast for Sunday, Maribeth and I are hoping to make an early start for Allan's Cay tomorrow.  It's about 36 miles to the SouthEast, and the winds are forecast to be 15 kts from the North.  We must cross the Yellow Bank, an area of shallow coral heads, so it may be a tedious crossing.  We'll let you know how it goes.  

Somehow it has gotten to be the middle of February already.  We are excited that Molly is joining us in about a month.  Otherwise, we have no scheduled visitors.  When are you coming?