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For the last three years I’ve been anchored in the South Pacific, writing a book about my voyage. From daunting weather to relationships sweet and sour, wild waves and boat repairs, this very personal memoir shares my many challenges, my search for harmony with nature, and how I come to understand the unity of all things. The team at Patagonia Books, along with illustrator Daniella Manini, bring my story to life with amazing art and four photo galleries! It’s a work of enormous love, with the intention to inspire others to follow their hearts, protect our planet, and live out their dreams. Book is available now in hard copy at most your favorite book stores, as an e-book here or you click on the link to the right to order online with delivery to your address! With love and gratitude, Capt Liz Clark After 3 years of writing, I’m excited to share the personal STORY of my voyage with the world. Book available now!
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Creepy French Kissers

Posted on Dec 24, 2009 | No Comments

creepy

It’s as if I never left the boatyard: Taputu’s still as helpful as ever, midday lunches with the crew, blazing mid-summer heat, up and down the ladder till my feet ache, and how could I forget: the obligatory French kiss-kiss cheek greetings. The boatyard seems like a rather cruel place to uphold this greeting ritual, as 90% of the time people are sweaty and or covered with some sort of toxin. I’d much rather smile and say ā€˜Bonjour’ minus the kisses. I’ve learned now that there are the normal greeting kissers, with whom there is hardly even any skin-to-skin contact, just close-ish cheek-near-cheek head bobs with kissing sounds if you happen to cross that person on your way to do something. And then there are the ā€˜creepy kissers’ who take this cordial French custom and turn it creepy.

They tend to be the older male sailors that are in a constant and prevalent rotation on the boatyard grounds…at the moment this place is crawling with them. They will spot me from across the yard and come completely out of their way to firmly plant two slimy lips on either of my cheeks. It’s awful! My mornings have become a game of hide and seek to try to dodge them. If I’m en route somewhere, it’s often possible to act like I’m really late and just hurry by with a smile and a wave. The unavoidable occurs whenever I try to get anything done on the hull work. The moment I start sanding or chiseling or even setting up my tools, they close in on me and it’s too late: the dreadful ā€˜creepy kisses’ follow. Ugh! And it doesn’t stop there! Because of my rather mysterious leak problem, they gather round and ponder what my next step in the repair should be—all posing different opinions and then arguing with each other in French too quick for me to understand about why their idea will work. In despair, I often flee the scene entirely and go hide in the office with Karin until they disperse.

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