Bermuda is special

It just is. It was the first real “foreign country” I visited (as a 23-year-old) wannabe sailor/adventurer/runaway. Bermuda’s round “entry by sea” stamp was the first one, in my first passport, way back in nineteenhundredandnintythree when I sailed there aboard a mighty Swan 651 from Newport, Rhode Island, bound for the painful destiny that was waiting for me in Antigua.

I drank after almost 2 years of fragile sobriety in Bermuda too. I drank shortly after I arrived on that character-forming trip way back when Nirvana was like…contemporary. All I had the bright idea that the cute kiwi cook on the yacht we were delivering would like me better if I drank. Brilliant, I know, but that’s the simple truth!

The Swizzle Has Landed. And I’ve already put like 100 kilometers on my trusty Bermuda scooter!

So why am I telling you all this? I’m not really sure except that maybe, I’m simply just so grateful to be back again (I’ve been lucky enough to return many, many times as a tired and salty sailor and as a semi-respectable “journalist”) and I’m so grateful to be welcomed at the super swish Loren Hotel with a killer balcony that’s wide open to the soothing sounds of the sea. And maybe I’m simply writing this for my little one at home.

I hope he will always know that he’s loved, and safe, and that the world is a big beautiful place, and that we trust him to go off and have his own adventures and make his own mistakes and even be mad at us when he needs to be. And to find his own spot in the world. It’s out there.

And wait till you see what I’m up to tomorrow! Touring the crazy/amazeballs/classic Bermuda oceanfront estate that’s worth like $25 million and at the end of this driveway…

that I passed on my freaking awesome sunset run is on the schedule for tomorrow.

Watch this space, little ones!

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