<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405</id><updated>2011-07-30T16:50:44.723-04:00</updated><title type='text'>NOTES FROM AFLOAT.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>35</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-8484986261418274229</id><published>2010-03-13T22:11:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-13T22:20:30.314-05:00</updated><title type='text'>From Aussie, with love.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/S5xVfx2NMQI/AAAAAAAAARI/etTUbh-EfMo/s1600-h/IMG_4719.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/S5xVfx2NMQI/AAAAAAAAARI/etTUbh-EfMo/s200/IMG_4719.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448323653656457474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/S5xVfVkeLRI/AAAAAAAAARA/dejAZ1iuSOw/s1600-h/IMG_2707.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/S5xVfVkeLRI/AAAAAAAAARA/dejAZ1iuSOw/s200/IMG_2707.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448323646065880338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/S5xVe6lpzyI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/gi5di2wCSFE/s1600-h/IMG_2786.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/S5xVe6lpzyI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/gi5di2wCSFE/s200/IMG_2786.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448323638823079714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tis been a while, maties...but I am back and coming to you from a place where the beer flows like wine, where venomous creatures abound and where life is just great.  And for the record, yes, I have had a few beers, yes, I have encountered at least one venomous animal (brown snake to be exact), and life really is great down unda.  More updates to come soon, but I just wanted to check in for now.  xx&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-8484986261418274229?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/8484986261418274229/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=8484986261418274229' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/8484986261418274229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/8484986261418274229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2010/03/from-aussie-with-love.html' title='From Aussie, with love.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/S5xVfx2NMQI/AAAAAAAAARI/etTUbh-EfMo/s72-c/IMG_4719.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-9074548326771487485</id><published>2009-09-19T15:29:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-19T15:53:57.117-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Land is good...real good.</title><content type='html'>Just a tid bit ago, we watched our home/workplace/nemesis, of the last 6 months....float away back to Florida on a big yacht transport ship.  Ah, the wonders of maritime engineering.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Therefore, yes, you guessed it..., these postings of mine shall no longer be titled, 'notes from afloat'.  I will continue the notes, yes indeedy, but they will be coming to you from a much more stable place.  A place where personal thoughts abound, where beds are wider than 2 feet, where the weather report has no direct effect on the potential churning of stomachs, where simple pleasures like walking in a patch of grass are never taken for granted....i'm talking about a little place called land.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been here for a couple of weeks now, and I plan to stay.  One more week of Italian land and then it's off to test out the greener pastures of the County Berkshire...England that is....sheep-hearding, Stilton-making, Berkshire pork producing, cider-drinking paradisio.  And although I would honestly have nothing against spending a month eating blue cheese, sipping tea, wearing wool sweaters, exclaiming "poppycock," and roaming the lands in knee high boots and burrets in search of wild foul (although my boyfriend may just be doing that)....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I come in search of culinary knowledge.  Learn me, Mr. Blumenthal.  The opportunity I have been given is to cook and learn in the kitchen of one of the greats, a master of his craft.  Why would they take me in?  Not sure.  But if you are wondering what mischief I will be getting into starting on September 29th...think culinary shammy: the absorber.  Boat term.  Full circle, folks.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-9074548326771487485?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/9074548326771487485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=9074548326771487485' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/9074548326771487485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/9074548326771487485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/09/land-is-goodreal-good.html' title='Land is good...real good.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-7631876205178068405</id><published>2009-08-04T08:42:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-19T07:44:07.495-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a marvelous night for a moon-swim...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SrTD4_-ugsI/AAAAAAAAAP8/Uyh7OxmkUqU/s1600-h/IMG_1730.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SrTD4_-ugsI/AAAAAAAAAP8/Uyh7OxmkUqU/s200/IMG_1730.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383142838629204674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt;    Inga and I have a little routine now...after the gym, we sweatily strut back towards our boat, which we bypass and take to an adjacent seaside path which brings us to what i like to call..."the crown jewel of Monaco."  Although some may not agree, amidst the Casinos, the designer stores and the illustrious palace of Monte Carlo, there lies a hidden beach.  Merely a little gem of natural formation, a smooth-rock infested, cliff surrounded "a la plage", if you will.  Perhaps it is due to the influx of fresh water and it's outlying, non-stagnant water dwelling location, but the water is clear, I mean, gin clear.  And it laps upon the shore of this jewel, where we spend time diving down to hang with the fishies, minor spelunking around the surrounding rock formations, arms behind the head lounging moments looking up at the sky with tunes in our ears, and the best so far...swims in the late dusk with the moon on the water.  And yes, I did start singing "Moooon Riveeeeeerrrrr" the other night whilst partaking in this activity (to myself, of course). And did I mention, it's only a 4 minute walk from the boat.  Lucky girlies we are...true story.    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-7631876205178068405?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/7631876205178068405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=7631876205178068405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7631876205178068405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7631876205178068405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/08/its-marvelous-night-for-moon-swim.html' title='It&apos;s a marvelous night for a moon-swim...'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SrTD4_-ugsI/AAAAAAAAAP8/Uyh7OxmkUqU/s72-c/IMG_1730.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-4848482995344477126</id><published>2009-07-12T06:38:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-19T07:40:52.225-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And away we go...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SrTDNB_BSjI/AAAAAAAAAP0/ECBEmMu6ydU/s1600-h/IMG_1343.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SrTDNB_BSjI/AAAAAAAAAP0/ECBEmMu6ydU/s200/IMG_1343.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383142083253062194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally set sail from the great safe harbor of San Remo, Italy, a coupla weeks ago.  And in retrospect, our time there was nothing less than fantastic.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; As we take to the deep blue, I will be dreaming of bike rides at dusk along the sea-side path, cappuccinos in the swingy chair at the Anchor Bar in the port, morning runs and saying bonjourno to the cute oldies walking by, after-work swims at the rocky beach, Tuesday night barbies with the crew in port, Marina-side guitar jam sessions with the crew of Sarita Si ;-), vino and pizza at the G-Lounge, late night (early morning) dancing at Morganas, "girls" pizza night at Quatro Amichi, many good times at the Mushroom Restaurant, the incredible produce of the Mercato,  late-afternoon crew lunches in the Medieval village of Bussana Vecchia, our aft deck Chumbawumba dance party, moonlit music sessions on the sea wall, etc.... and lest we not forget, what made the experience so unforgettable...the people.  Proving, once again, that life is, in fact, all about the people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  More posts to come soon....lots of inspiration, love and heaps of funny shite to report on....wait for it.... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ciao, San Remo.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-4848482995344477126?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/4848482995344477126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=4848482995344477126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4848482995344477126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4848482995344477126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-away-we-go.html' title='And away we go...'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SrTDNB_BSjI/AAAAAAAAAP0/ECBEmMu6ydU/s72-c/IMG_1343.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-4974605815939255462</id><published>2009-06-15T16:24:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T16:49:37.564-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Completely, whole-heartedly, seriously....inspired.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;  One of the greatest aspects of this job (and perhaps what has kept me coming back for more), is the people I have met along the way.  Fellow swashbucklers from all walks of life, with skills ranging from underwater welding, bilge scrubbing, expert iron-creasemaking, diesel engine reconstructing, stain removing, big ass boat driving, white glove table service, and alas, my fellow cheffies.  Many have I met this year over in Europe, and I have been humbled by their knowledge, acquired skills and above all, their willingness to share.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; Which brings me to my new cheffie friend who let me borrow the Big Fat Duck Cookbook, even before he could get his fingers flying through the pages, he insisted that I spend some time with it...(maybe because I was drueling when he mentioned it was on order, hmmmm).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  This book speaks to me, like nothing else I have EVER read.  I can only imagine a similar contentment achieved by young protogees of a master such as Mozart or Beethoven....as those perfectly constructed melodies flowed into their ears for the first time, leaving that one word internally screams throughout the soul, "YES!!!!!!!!!!!!"  He gets it.  This is what it is all about.  Passionate, questioning, inventive, reasonable, unreasonable, crazy, beautiful, sensory-encompassing, etc, etc.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  For that reason, I have to stop blogging now and get back to reading.  I miss it already.  However, in the midst of inspiration, I came across a very fitting quotation by a girl my age, who completed a stage at the Fat Duck (tempting)..... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I think one of the greatest things a chef can do is let those around influence you. Otherwise your kitchen becomes a vaccuum and your cuisine grows stale. Look, listen, taste, sponge up and experience as much as you can. Know the names, know what they do, look at their food. You begin your career like that, at no point should you fix and lock up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-4974605815939255462?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/4974605815939255462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=4974605815939255462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4974605815939255462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4974605815939255462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/06/completely-whole-heartedly.html' title='Completely, whole-heartedly, seriously....inspired.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-2723577003969355118</id><published>2009-05-14T16:43:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-14T17:29:18.465-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Early mornin jaunts.</title><content type='html'>Newfound revelation:  early morning workouts are the way forward.  Here is why: you are not awake enough to over think it.  The hardest part is getting yourself out of bed, but the promise of good music on the headphones and the rising of the sun, are some pretty good motivators.  &lt;div&gt;  I've been running the same path for a few weeks now (only in the early morn) and its quite an amazing little route....a reconstructed train path, that runs the coastline where San Remo meets the Mediterranean.  Not too shabby.  Is that the reason I am able to motivate?  Hmmmm....  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-2723577003969355118?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/2723577003969355118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=2723577003969355118' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2723577003969355118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2723577003969355118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/05/early-mornin-jaunts.html' title='Early mornin jaunts.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-5678180924996610103</id><published>2009-04-16T08:35:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T08:55:15.678-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Es un bella journata....</title><content type='html'>  Bella Journata is my new favorite Italian phrase (one of few that I actually remember), and it basically means, "damn, its a freaking beautiful day"....or something along those lines.  &lt;div&gt;  And yes, you guessed it, today is for sure a Bella Journata.  Though some folks here in San Remo would surely disagree, the rain is falling outside and it's great.  The galley has been active this morning with yours truly feeling a sensation of the rainy day spent with grandma...in which she, well, bakes.  And so I did.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  Fresh banana bread came out of the oven right before our 10 am tea break.  (Tea breaks are a new found tradition on our boat, due to the addition of our Scottish 1st mate) and everyone is over the moon for them.  For the record, tea breaks unofficially happen around 10am, following lunch and 3pm.  I recommend that you incorporate tea breaks into life....they are little 15 minute gems of relaxation in our crazy lives.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  So anywhoo, back to the baking grandma.  As the rain continued to fall outside and the boat was filled with essence of banana bread, I stirred up some flour, olive oil, sugar, salt and yeast and made some fresh pitas.  These were filled with fresh chickpea falafel, cukes, tomatoes, green onions and yogurt sauce, served with Tabbouleh and fresh greens.  Twas a winner.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  Fresh pitas are really so exciting to make.  Creating a pseudo hot stone in the oven is easy, just flip over a baking sheet and set in the hot oven for about 20 mins.  Then lay the unbaked pitas onto them, and they puff up in a matter of minutes.  This process creates the lovely little air pocket which can be filled with whatever tempts your tastebuds at that moment.  For severe authenticity, drizzle the baked beauties with some good olive oil and a sprinkle of Zataar spices.  It will transplant your tastebuds to Marrakesh, for real yall.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  Whaddya know, its time for another tea break.  Important business to tend to.      &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-5678180924996610103?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/5678180924996610103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=5678180924996610103' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5678180924996610103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5678180924996610103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/04/es-un-bella-journata.html' title='Es un bella journata....'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-7319609033914197086</id><published>2009-04-03T18:33:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T18:38:52.419-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Italian bday and France for the weekend...</title><content type='html'>Headed to France tomorrow, for a weekend of wine-drinking, train-riding, who knows what!  Will update soon with more specific shananigans and some photos.  Birthday was incredible, champagne toast in our boat's lounge bar, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.  Lucky gal, that's all I know.  ;-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-7319609033914197086?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/7319609033914197086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=7319609033914197086' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7319609033914197086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7319609033914197086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/04/italian-bday-and-france-for-weekend.html' title='Italian bday and France for the weekend...'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-6416850972184990337</id><published>2009-04-01T16:58:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T17:13:53.776-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Get back to work young lady!</title><content type='html'>Arriving back to Europe yesterday was epic.  After being greeted by the Captain in Nice, we drove east for an hour and a half along the winding coastline of France and Italy, eventually making our way to the boat in San Remo.  As the fresh sea air poured in through the car window, our eyes were graced with massive valleys, hilltop medieval towns and outstanding views of the Mediterranean Sea, in all its glory.  The grey skies only highlighted the vibrant colors that make this land what it is.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The boat is beautiful.  The galley is insane.  But most importantly, it seems like I will be, yet again, graced by the presence of good people, aka: the crew.  We are still waiting on 2 more crew members to arrive, which brings us to a total of 8.  Crossing our fingers that the dynamics work out and that we can achieve the ultimate goal: having fun while working.  Have a really good feeling about this one though, really good.  Plus, one of my favorite people is on board, so that helps.  Thanks Inga.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Time to catch some z's now.  Off to the market in the early am, and I have been asked to make a Tiramisu for a favorite Italian worker coming onboard tomorrow.  This is like making a croissant for a Frenchman!  Wish me luck.  Arrivaderci lovies.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-6416850972184990337?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/6416850972184990337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=6416850972184990337' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/6416850972184990337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/6416850972184990337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/04/get-back-to-work-young-lady.html' title='Get back to work young lady!'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-7732076076695914907</id><published>2009-03-27T07:17:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T07:40:47.453-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Back for more, y'all.</title><content type='html'>  Howdy peeps.  My lack of bloggin in the past 6 months leaves me a tad bit regretful...but it's back, and for good reason.&lt;div&gt;  In a very small nutshell, the past 6 months have been fantastic...transitional, but fan-freaking-tastic.  Mainly due to the great people who have entered my life in this time.  Kari, Inga, Alex, Jimmy, Bec, Staci, Romy, Nancy, Christine, Bob, Coral, Tarryn, Cuppy, Max, David, Mikey, etc. How can a gal be so lucky?  For reals.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  Here's what i've been up to....Finished the Med season in Spain, spent a few days in Barcie (Barthhhelona), landscaped a friend's yard (well, trimmed the hedge with sheers), learned to paddle board in the Outer Banks, drove cross-country (well, Jesse drove, ha), spent Thanksgiving in Seattle with fam, did a freelance trip in Bahamas for 45 days, lived in a crew house with my 2 best girlies, drank too much Strongbow at Waxy's, took a roadtrip to the FL Keys with my favorite kiwi, had an epic cheese, wine and guitar strummin party, took a surf trip to the land of Pura Vida, hung with friends in Charleston, surfed in some cold ars water, more great times in FL, awesome trip to Seattle, worked a dinner party on a boat in FL, coffee time with my Kar-Bear, picture sharing with my best mate Ben,  came back home to yogify and hang with mum and dad.....and here I am, sitting at the island, getting mentally prepared for leaving on Monday, and seeing (and working with) one of my favorite people on earth!     &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;     Kay, now that i'm caught up, it's time for s'more present-time thoughts....coming soon they will.  Lots o love and thanks for reading this craziness.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-7732076076695914907?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/7732076076695914907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=7732076076695914907' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7732076076695914907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7732076076695914907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2009/03/back-for-more-yall.html' title='Back for more, y&apos;all.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-671603219617995302</id><published>2008-08-08T15:31:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T12:52:18.024-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Amalfi Coast, By Sea.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8ckZPFo7I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/n0zU9zSnRZo/s1600-h/IMG_1458.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8ckZPFo7I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/n0zU9zSnRZo/s200/IMG_1458.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232932703602844594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJygzuJQFyI/AAAAAAAAAIY/JYHUPyRURZo/s1600-h/IMG_1435.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJygzuJQFyI/AAAAAAAAAIY/JYHUPyRURZo/s200/IMG_1435.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232233677518280482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJygz4PuJpI/AAAAAAAAAIg/Id15CcwzYQk/s1600-h/IMG_1511.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJygz4PuJpI/AAAAAAAAAIg/Id15CcwzYQk/s200/IMG_1511.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232233680229770898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJyg0HfvojI/AAAAAAAAAIo/MPgStDTTs1k/s1600-h/IMG_1460.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With guests aboard now, we have left Naples, and the trip begun with a few days, cruising and anchoring throughout the Amalfi Coast.  Anchoring in front of Positano, we were graced with glassy calm waters, and a morning sunrise to die for, hence the second photo.  The first photo is a massive cave along the Amalfi coast, quite incredible to see!  And the beach is a Positano "Spiaggia" which is only accessible by boat.  The trip continues and the views remain epic.  Bella, Bella!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-671603219617995302?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/671603219617995302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=671603219617995302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/671603219617995302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/671603219617995302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/08/amalfi-coast-by-sea.html' title='Amalfi Coast, By Sea.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8ckZPFo7I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/n0zU9zSnRZo/s72-c/IMG_1458.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-8972492225848079009</id><published>2008-07-30T14:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T15:36:48.411-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Amalfi Coast, by land.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJC7CB9nMpI/AAAAAAAAAHw/ldVSc8GqHkE/s1600-h/IMG_1370.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJC7CB9nMpI/AAAAAAAAAHw/ldVSc8GqHkE/s200/IMG_1370.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228884810938135186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJC7CdqhCCI/AAAAAAAAAH4/9tKfTdZJ3n8/s1600-h/IMG_1395.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJC7CdqhCCI/AAAAAAAAAH4/9tKfTdZJ3n8/s200/IMG_1395.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228884818374232098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJC7Cm-jtSI/AAAAAAAAAIA/w7mLNzrC23o/s1600-h/IMG_1381.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJC7Cm-jtSI/AAAAAAAAAIA/w7mLNzrC23o/s200/IMG_1381.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228884820874212642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Our last crew day off was spent driving the Amalfi Coast.  Traveling among the narrow and winding roads bordering the coast, was incredible in every way.  After a lunchtime stop overlooking the Mediterranean and eating a genuine Caprese salad, we found a local beach wedged between two huge cliffs.  Pictures don't do it justice, but these were some of my pictoral attempts.    &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-8972492225848079009?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/8972492225848079009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=8972492225848079009' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/8972492225848079009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/8972492225848079009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/amalfi-coast-by-land.html' title='Amalfi Coast, by land.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJC7CB9nMpI/AAAAAAAAAHw/ldVSc8GqHkE/s72-c/IMG_1370.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-5965423504595303026</id><published>2008-07-30T14:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T14:46:34.551-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wining and Dining</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJCw_4nXUbI/AAAAAAAAAHY/Gbi1PlZdB3o/s1600-h/IMG_1259.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJCw_4nXUbI/AAAAAAAAAHY/Gbi1PlZdB3o/s200/IMG_1259.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228873778952884658" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJCxAHr7cPI/AAAAAAAAAHg/K6UmnYDoM7k/s1600-h/IMG_1263.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJCxAHr7cPI/AAAAAAAAAHg/K6UmnYDoM7k/s200/IMG_1263.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228873782998561010" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJCxAtJwPGI/AAAAAAAAAHo/ijypMrHEocM/s1600-h/IMG_1312.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJCxAtJwPGI/AAAAAAAAAHo/ijypMrHEocM/s200/IMG_1312.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228873793055767650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About an hour outside of Naples, is the Mustilli Family Winery.  Situated inside of an ancient Medieval town, this little jewel of a winery, is run by Mr. Mustilli himself, an expert of the grape, who is carrying on his family's age-long tradition.  Our second day off was spent with this incredible man, walking through the underground wine cellar and tasting the fruits of his labour (the best part).  Just making wine, spending time with his family and living the simple life, beautiful.  The good wine was followed by great food at a local eatery, dining al fresco, ahhh yes.  The rest of the day was spent driving around the Campania countryside, a place laden with grape vines, ancient towns and truly down to earth Italian folk.  Love those Italians, I tell ya....proud of my Joely and his roots :-) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-5965423504595303026?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/5965423504595303026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=5965423504595303026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5965423504595303026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5965423504595303026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/wining-and-dining.html' title='Wining and Dining'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJCw_4nXUbI/AAAAAAAAAHY/Gbi1PlZdB3o/s72-c/IMG_1259.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-7244014041544523033</id><published>2008-07-30T05:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T05:35:38.258-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pompeii and Mt. Vesuvius</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJAxnsMn-aI/AAAAAAAAAHI/A3SOJtbJPSs/s1600-h/IMG_1119.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJAxnsMn-aI/AAAAAAAAAHI/A3SOJtbJPSs/s200/IMG_1119.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228733725325916578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJAxnxnFFlI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/GU8IEoeLjhU/s1600-h/IMG_1192.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJAxnxnFFlI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/GU8IEoeLjhU/s200/IMG_1192.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228733726779053650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mt. Vesuvius: the nemesis of Pompeii.  When this mountain blew its top in the year 79 A.D., the thriving and mischievious town of Pompeii was buried, only to be discovered hundreds of years later.  It was only fit that our first day off was spent walking around the uncovered town of Pompeii, and then followed by a hike up to the top of Mt. Vesuvius: which was my first experience hiking an active volcano.  The fear of liquid hot magma exploding from the crater at any time, was in the back of my mind...but I think that drinking an Italian beer at such an altitude, and looking out onto the Coast of Napoli and its surrounding islands, eased the worry.  Pompeii is truly a masterpiece of art and history.  Makes me wish I would have payed a bit more attention in my European history class, but then again, I will never be a "read every plaque" kind of gal.  What we did appreciate was just walking around the town, imagining what it would have been like, way back in the day.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-7244014041544523033?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/7244014041544523033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=7244014041544523033' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7244014041544523033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7244014041544523033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/pompeii-and-mt-vesuvius.html' title='Pompeii and Mt. Vesuvius'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJAxnsMn-aI/AAAAAAAAAHI/A3SOJtbJPSs/s72-c/IMG_1119.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-2541589946854653167</id><published>2008-07-30T04:58:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T05:04:04.279-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Capri and me...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJAuaTDnLpI/AAAAAAAAAHA/rNHMI21pmWc/s1600-h/IMG_1020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJAuaTDnLpI/AAAAAAAAAHA/rNHMI21pmWc/s200/IMG_1020.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228730196704046738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;&lt;span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Georgia;font-size:16.0pt;"&gt;The Isle of Capri....swimming pools, movie stars, and deserted beaches.  The beach I found was just a jump over the marina wall, and there it was...aquamarine water lapping onto the shores of an untouched smooth stone and sea glass covered beach, situated next to a jutting cliff and a world away from Prada.  The water was pure, clear and cool, and especially fantastic on a steamy Mediterranean day.  And for a gal who spends most of her time in a oven-heated galley, looking down upon sautee pans, the beauty of a refreshing dip is never taken for granted.  Saltwater therapy, Capri-style.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-2541589946854653167?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/2541589946854653167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=2541589946854653167' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2541589946854653167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2541589946854653167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/capri-and-me.html' title='Capri and me...'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJAuaTDnLpI/AAAAAAAAAHA/rNHMI21pmWc/s72-c/IMG_1020.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-1655100721202670207</id><published>2008-07-21T16:27:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T17:03:44.436-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The island life on Ischia...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJTKUIx1SeI/AAAAAAAAAII/htlucEACMlI/s1600-h/IMG_0989.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJTKUIx1SeI/AAAAAAAAAII/htlucEACMlI/s200/IMG_0989.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230027514586679778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJTKUteLK6I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/uxaNj-PRbio/s1600-h/IMG_0971.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJTKUteLK6I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/uxaNj-PRbio/s200/IMG_0971.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230027524436339618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This little volcanic island situated at the Northern end of the Gulf of Naples, was our home port for one night.  Home to some of the finest spas and thermal baths in the world, and i'm not speaking from experience, unfortunately.  But we were able to go for a little late night stroll around the waterfront downtown area, which was fairly fabuloso.  Cobblestone streets, lined with cafes and shops, and unfortunately, many a tourist.  But the beauty I saw was in the local people...older Italian folk, who could be seen sitting on benches or outside tables with their croanies, in a totally relaxed and fulfilled manner, not being phased by the craziness that abounded.  Another great scene was this local artist in the midst of his work, being watched by his cute little son.  Just enjoying their company, and being happy with what they had.  The place had a fairy tale feel to it, as tourists whizzed by on horse driven carriages, and went for rides around the fountain in the center of town.  Brief stay in this fantasy land, but priceless, nonetheless.  Take us to Capri, Captain!    &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-1655100721202670207?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/1655100721202670207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=1655100721202670207' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/1655100721202670207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/1655100721202670207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/island-life-on-ischia.html' title='The island life on Ischia...'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJTKUIx1SeI/AAAAAAAAAII/htlucEACMlI/s72-c/IMG_0989.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-5695161659427482935</id><published>2008-07-21T16:19:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T16:26:51.795-04:00</updated><title type='text'>In Ole Napoli....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SITv_4bAJBI/AAAAAAAAAGY/JNnQWO7g9hE/s1600-h/IMG_0940.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SITv_4bAJBI/AAAAAAAAAGY/JNnQWO7g9hE/s200/IMG_0940.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225565348413056018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we cruised our way from Roma to Naples, the outline of Mt. Vesuvius moved its way into view.  And this pic was taken the next early morning, during my coffee-drinking wake-up session.  The infamous Mt. Vesuvius, most noted for covering up the little town of Pompeii hundreds of years ago.  Looking forward to exploring Pompeii and other little jewels as soon as this trip ends! &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-5695161659427482935?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/5695161659427482935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=5695161659427482935' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5695161659427482935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5695161659427482935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/in-ole-napoli.html' title='In Ole Napoli....'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SITv_4bAJBI/AAAAAAAAAGY/JNnQWO7g9hE/s72-c/IMG_0940.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-4217333838546305344</id><published>2008-07-18T16:46:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T17:07:57.854-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Have skateboard, need pizza.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SIEFk52SM5I/AAAAAAAAAGI/Oes0slD14E0/s1600-h/IMG_0762.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SIEFk52SM5I/AAAAAAAAAGI/Oes0slD14E0/s200/IMG_0762.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224463174288421778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon our arrival into a the Porto di Roma, and after powering through 2 weeks of this 3 week charter, we declared it pizza night for the crew....and in Italy, everyone gets excited for pizza.  So i took the skateboard to the streets of the port, and rode into town, passing Vespas and many a pedestrian and young bambini.  After fetching this lovely delicacy of bread and cheese, these little rippas went into my backpack, and off we skated, back to the boat.  Just a girl, a backpack full of pizza, and a skateboard.  So, maybe I stuck out like a crazy Americano, but it was well worth the laughs.  Nothing like a good Italian pizza before a long night crossing to Naples....When in Rome...  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-4217333838546305344?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/4217333838546305344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=4217333838546305344' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4217333838546305344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4217333838546305344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/have-skateboard-need-pizza.html' title='Have skateboard, need pizza.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SIEFk52SM5I/AAAAAAAAAGI/Oes0slD14E0/s72-c/IMG_0762.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-3380280131213838491</id><published>2008-07-14T17:06:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T11:42:23.830-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Under the Tuscan sun.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8LgtVbI8I/AAAAAAAAAI8/bA7pipkQ3c0/s1600-h/IMG_0888.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8LgtVbI8I/AAAAAAAAAI8/bA7pipkQ3c0/s200/IMG_0888.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232913948580979650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SHvAg3GSamI/AAAAAAAAAF4/5h8Xayz5684/s1600-h/IMG_0832.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SHvAg3GSamI/AAAAAAAAAF4/5h8Xayz5684/s200/IMG_0832.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222979863644891746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon entering Porto Venere, after a daytime cruise past the Cinque Terra, I had a geographic realization that we were in fact, in Tuscany!  Wow.  My first reaction was to step outside the galley door (what I call "my porch"), and let the gals know that I was just going to have a bask under the tuscan sun.  Cheesy, I know.   But the real Tuscan realization came when I hit the market one morning in Porto Venere.   The best of the best in produce.  Tomatoes, melons, raspberries, peaches, apricots, cucumbers, heads of lettuce...the most flavor packed ingredients I have ever tasted.  The crew and guests had a lunch tasting of these little beauties, on a platter filled with rotisserie chicken, buffalo mozzarella, tomatoes, cucumbers, avocadoes, fresh focaccia, local pesto, and tuscan Balsamic and Olive Oil.  Ahhh, Tuscany.  Can't wait for a Belini!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-3380280131213838491?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/3380280131213838491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=3380280131213838491' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/3380280131213838491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/3380280131213838491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/under-tuscan-sun.html' title='Under the Tuscan sun.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8LgtVbI8I/AAAAAAAAAI8/bA7pipkQ3c0/s72-c/IMG_0888.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-6576732135550577232</id><published>2008-07-14T16:47:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T17:06:12.086-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Santa Marguerita.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SHu8Ujby5ZI/AAAAAAAAAFw/ZbJdh_AhNS8/s1600-h/IMG_0734.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SHu8Ujby5ZI/AAAAAAAAAFw/ZbJdh_AhNS8/s200/IMG_0734.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222975254161450386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our first destination in Italy: Santa Marguerita.  Having a few days here without guests, we seized every opportunity to soak up the best of this quaint little seaside village that is nestled into the Italian Riviera.  Here you will not find camera wearing tourists, but rather a truly local vibe, filled with teeny focaccia shops, cute little old ladies perusing the markets, fresh pasta and mozzarella vendors, outdoor cheese and vegetable markets, open pedestrian squares, historic and ornate churches...and the best part of all are the little smooth rock beaches where the Mediterranean calmly laps onto the shore.  One night in particular sticks out in my mind, as some of the crew and I took a bottle of local wine to the beach, went for a swim in the cool Med, and consumed the vino....livin la Dolce Vita....when possible, that is :-)  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-6576732135550577232?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/6576732135550577232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=6576732135550577232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/6576732135550577232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/6576732135550577232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/santa-marguerita.html' title='Santa Marguerita.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SHu8Ujby5ZI/AAAAAAAAAFw/ZbJdh_AhNS8/s72-c/IMG_0734.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-6001675391650280484</id><published>2008-07-01T15:29:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T16:37:27.831-04:00</updated><title type='text'>When the moon hits the eye....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SGqGCaXk2mI/AAAAAAAAAFo/HqfKsXHApNI/s1600-h/IMG_0694.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; "&gt; My favorite part about this boat is that the galley has a door to the outside.  And it came in handy today, as we pulled in to the little port here, and we had "You can't always get what you want," blasting on the speakers, as the warm wind blew in our faces, and the view of Italy was upon us.  It was one of those moments.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-6001675391650280484?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/6001675391650280484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=6001675391650280484' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/6001675391650280484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/6001675391650280484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/when-moon-hits-eye.html' title='When the moon hits the eye....'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-7119801754190585524</id><published>2008-07-01T01:48:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T11:58:59.074-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Au Revoir France, Bonjourno Italy.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8NwExRmjI/AAAAAAAAAJE/u0XwzB_KShg/s1600-h/IMG_0640.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8NwExRmjI/AAAAAAAAAJE/u0XwzB_KShg/s200/IMG_0640.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232916411593103922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8Nwv6AmfI/AAAAAAAAAJM/libY1tLIpdI/s1600-h/IMG_0670.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8Nwv6AmfI/AAAAAAAAAJM/libY1tLIpdI/s200/IMG_0670.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232916423172463090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the sun rises behind the city scape of Monte Carlo, we are just about to head out to sea, next stop, It-ly!!!  Very excited for the voyage and especially for the destination.  So, we say our "Au Revoirs," and start to practice our "Bonjournos," knowing that the Italian Riviera will be our home for the next 2 months.  What lucky birds we are.  Bella, Bella.     &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-7119801754190585524?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/7119801754190585524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=7119801754190585524' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7119801754190585524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7119801754190585524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/07/au-revoir-france-bonjourno-italy.html' title='Au Revoir France, Bonjourno Italy.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SJ8NwExRmjI/AAAAAAAAAJE/u0XwzB_KShg/s72-c/IMG_0640.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-4680273064522143026</id><published>2008-06-28T18:43:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-28T18:47:31.216-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Land of the high rollers</title><content type='html'>Pulled into Monaco yesterday, and it is quite a site, y'all!  The natural grandeur is what most fascinates me, as we are sitting in the Harbor looking up at everything, because, well, Monte Carlo was apparently built into a mountain.  Haven't had much of a chance to explore yet, but perhaps in the next few days.  Until then, it's Monte Carlo livin for a bit, we'll see how it goes down!  Only 3 more days until It-ly!!    &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-4680273064522143026?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/4680273064522143026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=4680273064522143026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4680273064522143026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4680273064522143026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/06/land-of-high-rollers.html' title='Land of the high rollers'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-3380537483541674796</id><published>2008-06-28T18:28:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T14:07:26.047-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Nice was Nice</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SKhowcKwpWI/AAAAAAAAAKY/x08GB_2Cdh4/s1600-h/IMG_0604.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SKhowcKwpWI/AAAAAAAAAKY/x08GB_2Cdh4/s200/IMG_0604.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235549748222535010" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SKhow03pisI/AAAAAAAAAKg/5YQutC2Fcf0/s1600-h/IMG_0597.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SKhow03pisI/AAAAAAAAAKg/5YQutC2Fcf0/s200/IMG_0597.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235549754853264066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yessiree, I am a fan of Nice and that is for sure.  As we pulled into the Nice Harbor, I had goosebumps as the real and historic France was surrounding us.  Multi-colored ancient buildings, a hugely wide boardwalk which spans the Mediterranean Sea, a sand-less beach covered in smooth stones, and the best farmer's Market I have been to yet.  Whats not to love?  As I approached this incredible Outdoor Market, the smell of fresh Provencal lavender wafted in the air, as did the strong aromas of the Herbes de Provence, at the spice vendors stand and the smell of Croissants from a nearby Boulangerie.  Every day in Nice, this market spans a long section of a pedestrian mall in the Old Town district, and it is unreal.  Tears were shed as my eyes gazed upon baskets of fresh zucchinis with the flower attached, rows of blueberries, raspberries, red and white cassis berries and more, rustic but fresh harvested Garlic bunches, fresh Figs, Provencal Peaches, Cherries, Potatoes, Tomatoes...and the most beautiful sight of all: bunches of fresh-picked Squash Blossoms.  Not to mention the Artisanal cheeses, cured meats, bakeries, etc, etc.  Ahhhh, so Nice and so Nice.   &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-3380537483541674796?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/3380537483541674796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=3380537483541674796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/3380537483541674796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/3380537483541674796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/06/nice-was-nice.html' title='Nice was Nice'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SKhowcKwpWI/AAAAAAAAAKY/x08GB_2Cdh4/s72-c/IMG_0604.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-5380825955397332618</id><published>2008-06-22T17:59:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T18:16:36.564-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Let them eat Cake!</title><content type='html'>Yes, you may have guessed, we made it to France!  Its been about 2 weeks here now, and it feels good to mingle with these laid back country French folk.  They have been quite accomodating, especially to gringos like myself, and the food..and the wine.....ahhhhhh, so nice.  &lt;div&gt;  Seriously, the quality of food in France is unbelievable.  Ummm, can we say, baked goods!!!!  holy #&amp;amp;%&amp;amp; they are good.  Produce has flavor here people, and it makes my job very easy.  And good quality ingredients really should not be messed with too much.  I ate a raspberry this morning that knocked me off of my feet.  Each little pocket in the little fruity was packed with what tasted like fake raspberry flavor, and when eating these little morsels, each pocket simultaneously explodes in your mouth, and leaves you with a lingering taste of sweetness.....similar to a fine wine.  Seriously, it is amazing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  Guests on board right now, and its very busy here (which explains my lack of bloginess in the past week), but we are headed to some really cool places, and looking forward to a few days between the next trip, spent in Santa Margarita and Portofino, Italy.  Ciao, Bella!  The crew is freaking awesome and we are all good little team together, and we all maintain the "work hard, play hard" motto.  Okay, more info very soon, as I vowed to post more often.  Love and miss yall!  Au revoir, mon cheris! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-5380825955397332618?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/5380825955397332618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=5380825955397332618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5380825955397332618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5380825955397332618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/06/let-them-eat-cake.html' title='Let them eat Cake!'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-2674865356642893992</id><published>2008-06-18T10:02:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T04:53:36.285-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ode to a Picnic.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SKqJSWEhkcI/AAAAAAAAAKo/aSUq5ZVwJhY/s200/IMG_0309.JPG" style="width: 100px; height: 149px; " class="preview" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;About a week ago, at a park in Barcelona, a few crew members and I experienced a seemingly outdated, yet way under-rated activity:  a picnic.  On a grassy knoll, amidst the cool ocean breezes from the coast of Spain, we spent a late afternoon drinking good wine, eating rustic food (bread, cheese and tomatoes), and making music with our guitars, harmonicas, and voices: the finer things in life.  The best part about a picnic is that there are no rules.  But personally, I think that they work best when done outside, with at least one good friend, maybe some good food and wine, some good laughs, and no worries.  No picnic basket required.   &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-2674865356642893992?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/2674865356642893992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=2674865356642893992' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2674865356642893992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2674865356642893992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/06/ode-to-picnic.html' title='Ode to a Picnic.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/SKqJSWEhkcI/AAAAAAAAAKo/aSUq5ZVwJhY/s72-c/IMG_0309.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-7930023816948597003</id><published>2008-06-08T17:55:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T18:19:35.309-04:00</updated><title type='text'>From the coast of Barcelona.</title><content type='html'>Coming to you live from the country of Spain.  Upon arriving in this cured ham-eating country, the crew and I were instantly thrown into work mode.  Yet, flying into Palma de Mallorca on a blue-sky day, was incredible in every sense.  As one of the Balearic Islands, Mallorca is composed of green covered cliffs, jutting out from the sea, as well as a plethora of seaside fishing villages; some of which truly encapsulate the Mediterranean seaside settings I had envisioned in my mind.  Cobblestone streets, fish shops, teeny tapas cafes, rustic fishing boats, and daunting mountains in the near distance.  Ahhh, Europa.  Another day was spent on the island of Ibiza (and yes, we listened to the vengaboys song "we're going to ibiza" in the galley, on the way there).  Beautiful place, and since we were anchored out, I had my first opportunity to go for my first swim in the Mediterranean...and I could not pass that one up.  The Med is purty chilly, but the clarity is nice and my snorkel gear proved useful, as I swam through schools of some beautiful European fishies.  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  Finally made it here to Barcelona (Barcie, as I call it), and finished our first guest trip this morning.  The rest of the day was spent rambling around this increible! city on foot, soaking up the scenery and history, with some tapas to keep us going throughout the day.  Just had a crew dinner with my mates, and I washed down my first real Gazpacho with my first glass of real Spanish Sangria.  Que Lindo!  Feelin lucky, I tell ya.      &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  As for my lovie in the Southern Hemi...he is currently anchored out in Bali, about to continue their trip north, with guests on board.  And before you start feeling bad for his busy schedule, don't worry, he will be surfing G-Land for the next few days.  Surfers, you know the power of that statement.  Damn, ey?  Miss the heck out of him though.  That's all for now, but i'll be back very soon with more updates of these floating times.  Love you guys.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-7930023816948597003?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/7930023816948597003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=7930023816948597003' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7930023816948597003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/7930023816948597003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/06/from-coast-of-barcelona.html' title='From the coast of Barcelona.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-5680064246604523238</id><published>2008-05-22T17:43:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T17:55:36.256-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't ya hear, can't ya hear the thunda'!</title><content type='html'>Jolly Roger, I am a bloody Aussie again!  After battling with the details of my expired Australian passport, I have been approved once again.  An Australian citizen am I.  What does this mean, you may ask?  Well, unless you are in Australia, if you want to have an excuse to get belligerent on Anzac day, answer your telly saying "g'day mate," or if you want to justifiably place an Aussie sticker on your car, hmmm, not much, technically.  But I feel like the proudest Aussie, ever!  And plus, my subconscious has been telling me that now is the time, mate!  My lovie is in the Southern Hemi, and well, yeah, who knows?  Time will tell, but for now, I am just feelin darn lucky to be an official sheila from the Land Down Unda.'  Naooooo Waaaaaries, mate.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-5680064246604523238?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/5680064246604523238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=5680064246604523238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5680064246604523238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5680064246604523238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/05/cant-ya-hear-cant-ya-hear-thunda.html' title='Can&apos;t ya hear, can&apos;t ya hear the thunda&apos;!'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-1499268927715773739</id><published>2008-05-22T17:27:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T17:41:47.897-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Home, where my thoughts escape me.</title><content type='html'>Sorry for the huge gap in my entries, I guess that Simon and Garfunkel had a point!  The irony of the "notes from afloat" blog is that I am not exactly afloat at the moment.  Downtime is good for the soul, especially when your work is very full on and consumes a lot of your personal time.  But the catch-22's of my career are many.  The travel, excitement, luxury, and adventures of the yachting lifestyle are incredulous!  But the sacrifices you make, really force you to appreciate the simple things in life (if you did not already).  The simple pleasures of waking up in a non-bunk bed, walking around outside, going out with old friends, joining friends for a barbeque, being able to leave work, seeing your family, settling into a place and becoming part of a community....ahhhh, these things are precious.  And we salty people discuss this often, trust me.  But the beauty of it all, is that you learn to appreciate the little things.  And furthermore, being away from the boats for a couple of weeks has been awesome.  Starting to feel refreshed and getting really excited for the new adventure!  I will greatly miss my friends though, as always.  And maybe at the end of this Summer, maybe, just maybe, my love life will be waiting, silently for me.  Where, is the question of the moment?  Have faith in the mystery of it all, y'all.     &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-1499268927715773739?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/1499268927715773739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=1499268927715773739' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/1499268927715773739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/1499268927715773739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/05/home-where-my-thoughts-escape-me.html' title='Home, where my thoughts escape me.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-2298649131490069929</id><published>2008-04-27T18:44:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T18:50:21.964-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The man returns...</title><content type='html'>Yes, he came back.... and we have re-united.  It makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.  It was really sad seeing him walk through the security checkpoint today, on the way back down to the Southern hemi... but I think that our tears were filled with sadness, happiness, excitement, and more emotions than I can explain.  Above all, I am so proud of the man.  Keep the faith Kimbo, keep the faith.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-2298649131490069929?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/2298649131490069929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=2298649131490069929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2298649131490069929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2298649131490069929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/04/man-returns.html' title='The man returns...'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-1655599700696151336</id><published>2008-04-06T08:26:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-06T08:46:57.040-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of Ouzo.</title><content type='html'>   If my calculations serve me right, as of April 2nd, I have officially lived for 26 years.  And for that, I feel lucky.  What does that mean?  Have I surpassed the potential of a quarter-life crisis?  Have I unofficially entered a new ilk of young professionals, which are supposed to be at a certain point in their life?  Nah, I don't really think so.  Everyone is different, and after all, its just a damn number.  Tell me what you think....&lt;div&gt;   The crew on my boat greeted me with a rapping balloon and a bday cake at lunch, during which I made one epic wish, and blew out the candles with a full exhale.  The night of April 2nd was spent at a this great little Greek restaurant on the Inter coastal Waterway, which is a great place to go, if you are not in the mood for heavy conversations.  Rest assured that the loud Greek techno music, the belly dancers, the uncontrollable desire to dance on the tables, and the endless shots of Ouzo, will drown out the need for talking, and let you focus on the pure fun of it all.  Damn, it makes me want to go to Greece.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  In the word of my sis, "its going to be a great year." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-1655599700696151336?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/1655599700696151336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=1655599700696151336' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/1655599700696151336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/1655599700696151336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/04/yo-ho-ho-and-bottle-of-ouzo.html' title='Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of Ouzo.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-5709069409967853425</id><published>2008-04-06T08:15:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-06T08:26:21.440-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Go get em, Tiger.</title><content type='html'>Although I just missed out on being born as an April fool, the rents really got me this year, and made an April fool out of me.  Call me gullible, but they did a purty damn good job when they called me on the morning of April 1st, explaining how their old sports management company (IMG) had contacted them a week prior to catch up on the happenings of our family.  While in this conversation (which of course, never really existed), the President of IMG found out that I was a yacht chef, and mentioned to my dad, that Tiger Woods was looking for a chef on his 160' private Yacht named "Privacy."  As my dad was explaining this to me, I was trying to formulate how I could get up to West Palm to interview, how I could make the transition, what kind of food Tiger likes to eat, and all of the other crazy details of this seemingly excellent adventure which spontaneous Aries' always hope for.....until he exclaimed the two-word declaration of "April Fools."  I was speechless.  Good one, ey? &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-5709069409967853425?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/5709069409967853425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=5709069409967853425' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5709069409967853425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/5709069409967853425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/04/go-get-em-tiger.html' title='Go get em, Tiger.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-67127148465967470</id><published>2008-03-31T22:48:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T22:59:26.354-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Goombay Smashed!</title><content type='html'>The Bahamian term "Goombay Smash" is not a term at all.  It is, in fact, a delicious libation which will knock your socks off, in the likely case that you drink one too many.   After enduring our recent charters in the Bahamas, we are all a bit smashed, and by that I mean tired.  Just to clarify, when I say that I am "goombay smashed," it means that I am just one tired gal.   I recently took the job with my old captain and his wife, and we all moved to another boat together.  Feeding 8 crew every day, is a lot of work, but its a great group of people, which makes it all the more fun.  We are back in the FL now, undergoing some projects and things... before the summer season begins for us.  Aside from my work life, this ole gal turns the big 2-6 on Wednesday.  Purty excited for the partaaaay and looking forward to dancing on the tables at one particularly fine Greek establishment here in South Florida.  I will keep you posted.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-67127148465967470?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/67127148465967470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=67127148465967470' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/67127148465967470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/67127148465967470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/03/goombay-smashed.html' title='Goombay Smashed!'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-2659379556442707706</id><published>2008-03-04T19:57:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T08:27:16.141-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ssssssoak it up.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Lucida Grande';font-size:11px;"&gt;Me gusta mucho cocinar.  I didn't grow up in the kitchen or anything, but I did used to experiment with healthy cookies on my family.  They called my creations "field grumpies," which I thought was a compliment at the time.  I give serious kudos to my parents for many things.  I used to think that fly-casting into a hula-hoop as a 12-year old girl was normal, but now I realize that it was really just Raz's way of letting us in on an underestimated activity that will be with my sister and I forever.  And my mum is a fair-dinkum Aussie, who reminds us that laughter is always the answer, mate.  The athletic genes were passed on to my sis, but I do love being active.  I am way too antsy to sit on the couch all day (unless I happen to be in a cabin, in front of a roaring fire, with a bunch of friends, drinking cheap wine, playing music and planning our next day's adventure...or something of the sort).  But the laid back lifestyle suits me just fine.  Not that I have achieved it yet, but I am striving for it.  Looking forward to having a garden of my own, one day.  Some say I drive like a grandma, and I think its just my way of telling the world to take it's time.  I miss my sister a lot, and my parents and friends as well.  The greatest thing ever would be to gather up all of my scattered friends, put them on a sub-tropical beach, and have a huge fiesta.  Maybe thats what my wedding will be like, hmmm.  Not that I have any plans for that yet, sorry guys.  Right now, I cook for at least 6 people every day, and its purty fun.  Cooking on a boat presents its own obstacles, but the galley is 5 times the size of my bunk room, and I have a window....which is nice.  I believe that you can have fun anywhere, as long as you are with good people.  It's all about the people.  Soak it up.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-2659379556442707706?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/2659379556442707706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=2659379556442707706' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2659379556442707706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/2659379556442707706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/03/ssssssoak-it-up.html' title='Ssssssoak it up.'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1594869334030954405.post-4273990583190491217</id><published>2008-03-03T20:52:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T08:53:15.339-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Untie us, please!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/R86lvcWLExI/AAAAAAAAABk/L1wzUJHvc_k/s1600-h/2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/R86lvcWLExI/AAAAAAAAABk/L1wzUJHvc_k/s200/2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174255256376906514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being tied to a dock seems like such a luxury when you are out at sea, craving the basic necessities of life: solid ground, going out to eat, driving a car, walking around, seeing new faces, etc.  However, being a sea-loving swashbuckler-type, one quickly begins to crave the salty freedom of being out on the open water.  There is something great to be said about safe havens, but that's not what ships are meant for, right?  If you really love working on boats, then you know that feeling when the dock lines have started to house spiderwebs and dust particles.  Untie us, please!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1594869334030954405-4273990583190491217?l=notesfromafloat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/feeds/4273990583190491217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1594869334030954405&amp;postID=4273990583190491217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4273990583190491217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1594869334030954405/posts/default/4273990583190491217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notesfromafloat.blogspot.com/2008/03/untie-us-please.html' title='Untie us, please!'/><author><name>Ms. Pickle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16703999231968944947</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_eIKnCiKmC-E/R86lvcWLExI/AAAAAAAAABk/L1wzUJHvc_k/s72-c/2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
