Fort Lauderdale, known as the ‘Venice of America’ is the most extraordinary, flat city, the seaboard side sliced up with hundreds of canals, bordered by palatial expensive-looking waterfront homes. Actually, anything waterfront was horrendously expensive.
We weren’t really prepared for it and entrance by yacht was alarming and confusing, particularly as the Americans use slightly different navigation symbols and light colours to the rest of the world. Fortunately, we had hooked up our computer charts to the boat GPS and the chart for the area was VERY detailed so we were able to follow the boat’s progress accurately (Forever’s mast managed to just slide under the first bridge) down this maze of canals all the way along the New River till we got to the down town municipal docks near the 3rd Avenue Bridge. This was right in the centre of town and sliding alongside into an empty berth, the top of Forever’s mast hit the branches of the lovely shade tree growing on the banks, breaking our wind instrument. So busy making sure not to ding the side of the boat, we just never thought to look upwards! We never did manage to find a replacement wind instrument and sailed the rest of our journey taking wild guesses at the wind speed – we got quite good at it actually.
In the city itself there are about 85 miles of canal but in the greater FL area there are 300-plus miles of navigable inland canals - part of the Intracoastal Waterway – which stretch from the Atlantic Ocean to the Everglades. Alongside the beautiful homes is a sophisticated high rise city, the whole stretching along miles and miles of beautiful beach.
We were too late to check in with the municipal marina, so secured the boat and went out to dinner in the charming Downtowner pub – we downed Buds and clam chowder. I had been in touch by email with the Zimbabwean sailors, Malcolm and Marilyn on the yacht Grace, who we knew were in FL, but our latest news was that they had left. We phoned the marina where they had stayed, Riviera Marina on the Isle of Venice, who quoted an acceptable (groan!) price and we moved there two days later. On this journey we had to call up the bridge attendant at the Las Olas Bridge to open up and let us through. By chance we took the empty spot vacated by Grace.
Heading down the canal to Riviera Marina
Isle of Venice - Forever at the arrow
The Isle of Venice was tranquil, full of live-aboard yachties, and very conveniently situated off Las Olas Boulevard between the beach and the city centre. Our marina was small, just 14 boats, and all our neighbours were good people. On shore were two small blocks of apartments, each with an ablution block, a bbq area and swimming pool surrounded by lawn. Each yacht had shore power and cable tv. Yachts were also supposed to be connected from their holding tank to a pump-out facility - this was to prevent the black toxic water in the canal being further polluted by our waste. Our holding talk wasn’t the correct sort that can be pumped out, so we simply attached the fitting to our diesel inlet (which looked the same) and made sure we always used the shore loos.
Once settled in, we took a long bus ride over to the main port at Fort Lauderdale, produced our passports and got grilled at the port entrance, after which followed a long hot walk through the port which covers a massive ground area till we found the Customs and Immigration offices. Immigration gave us six months, although we had ten year multi-entry visas. Tongues lolling from thirst and heat exhaustion, we started plodding back again but soon got stopped by a police car, lights flashing. Walking towards us - a pair of middle aged yachties in shorts and baseball caps - I heard this stout little cop mutter anxiously into his radio for back-up! He stood off from us, asking questions about who we were and what we were doing in the port, until his ‘back up’ arrived – another car, lights flashing. Only then did they pluck up the courage to approach us and demand our passports. Still not satisfied, they called up the Immigration office to check we had actually been there, and searched Mike’s rucksack – aha, I think it was the rucksack that frightened them. Eventually, they let us go. Personally, I thought they could have offered us a lift at that point as we still had a long way to walk! Mike’s a bit of a mad dog when it comes to long hot walks.
So, we had missed our one ex-Zimbabwean friend in FL, but happily the other, Prue, was still living there and was incredibly kind, driving us all over the place, showing us where everything was and we had lots of fun with her. She lent us a mobile phone for which we bought a sim card. We had one bike and Prue lent us a second so we could cycle around together. At that time she lived in a lovely condo in a high rise building with fabulous views and she entertained us there on a few occasions. She and her brother and partner also came to several parties and gatherings at our marina.
View from Prue's balcony
We finally, through Prue, got to meet Rob and Liz Fordred, who also proved to be excellent friends to us and so kind. They came to a couple of bbq’s at the marina and we went to parties and dinners at their house on many occasions. Liz signed our copy of her book, ‘An Ocean to Cross’ – highly recommended reading and you can find it on Amazon.
Our neighbours to starboard were Chris, Paula and 5 year old Brittannie on Jayhawk. Chris had wireless internet on his boat and gave me his second card so I had continuous connection the entire time we were there. I had to sit in the cockpit to get reception, but that suited me as it was cooler up there under the shade canopy. When Melanie came to visit, Paula took her under her wing and she and Brittannie took Mel out and about.
It was full summer now in Florida and hot as Hades. All our neighbours had air conditioning on their yachts and they tended to stay indoors all the time with their hatches closed. The marina manger arranged to install 220 volt on our boat which meant doubling the normal American 110 volt. Sadly, our air conditioner, in the aft cabin only, worked directly off the batteries, so even with shore power we could only use it for a very short period. We’d put it on for about half an hour before bed time to cool our cabin down. Evenings were a blessing when the sun sank and temperatures eased. Even so, we found it too hot to cook on board so we’d take our beers to the garden area and cook our food on the bbq. Slowly but surely, the rest of the marina – the more friendly ones that is – came out and joined us. They were all great but we were particularly fond of Bob and Deb, Bob and Trissa, Nick and Thea, and Richard and Mary. We had good fun and remain in contact with most of our American friends to this day.
One day we scrubbed the decks, and lifting the life raft discovered it was heavy with water. So we opened it up and were appalled – everything was soaked, rusty or ruined. We washed it down as best we could, spread the raft itself and the usable bits in the sun to dry and then repacked everything. We were both quite positive that the gas cylinder would not open when required, but as we had already decided that our chances of survival in a life raft were slim and we’d rather take the dinghy, we didn’t really care.
We worked, briefly and illegally. Mike sanded beautiful wooden artwork for a French artist, Philippe, whereas I cleaned yachts. The pay was pitiful and the work was hard, but it brought in a little money. Later, Liz and Pete gave me a job at their annual stock take – it was only two weeks work but I was grateful as it was in-doors and less fatiguing than cleaning. The marina was expensive and the cost of living in America was fairly high so money was becoming (even more of) a serious problem.
Hey Peggy / Mike. Another great posting.
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