Making an Offer on a Lagoon 380 sail catamaran

Searching for our Dream Boat

We had spent the last year or so scouring Yachtworld constantly (I mean non-stop), dreaming about “the” boat. At my annual performance review, my boss noted the considerable lack of focus on work. He said my co workers found my constant mumbling of, "Manta, Lagoon, Leopard, must have now", bizarre and upsetting. He also mentioned that the IT servers, which can handle 10 billion searches a second, kept crashing due to too many hits on yachtworld.com. Is this all connected? Why are you asking me! (This is a joke, haha, I do actually work at work!)

We contacted a broker who had shown us some cats before we sold the house. We talked about our timeline - 6 months to a year - and he wanted to show us a Manta. Now, every time I thought about my dream boat, it was always a Lagoon 380. Even when I knew we couldn't afford it. Even when I thought a Gemini was out of our price range and a 26 ft monohull would be in our price range. We both kept coming back to a Lagoon 380. And, if we are really talking dream / fantasy, not at all grounded in reality? A Lagoon 380 S2 owners version. Thanks.

I had lusted heavily over a listing for a Lagoon 380 S2 Owners Version that was in the BVIs, but it would be such a pain to even look at, let alone deliver, from so far away. It had also been on the market a long time, so there must be something wrong with it. I watched as the listing changed to Ft. Lauderdale. Too bad we don’t really have the money - and it’s such a bad time for us personally. Quickly the listing changed to “Under contract”. Not to worry, there are plenty of boats in the sea. Ha!

We moved forward with getting in touch with our broker and spoke to insurance and loan people (we wanted to figure out if sane, spreadsheeting individuals would realize we were poor and crazy and set us straight. Weirdly, they didn’t.) Everyone says they spend 6 to 8 months searching for "the" boat. The next evening, I noticed the Ft Lauderdale boat wasn’t under contract anymore. Matt wrote to our broker, who urged him to sign a contract right then and there. And then actually see the boat the next day. We wrote back and said it wasn’t the right time, but we hoped to find a similar boat in 6 months. He recommended we make an offer and request 6 months of dockage; he was planning an African safari and he really needed the commission.

Surely boats don’t fall into your lap? Surely we needed to look at 269 boats all over the country before finding “the one”?

Making the Offer

We didn’t think the owner would accept the offer - but it was so tantalizing - this boat was right here, not 1,500 miles away. And it was an owner’s version. We couldn’t help ourselves. It was over. It didn’t matter how much she was going to cost us, how much pain and suffering was ahead, whether or not there was a better deal - we were buying this boat. We submitted the offer. I drove to the bank on the way to work and wired the deposit. Now all we had to do was see the boat! Ha! Matt picked me up from work and “Cool Change” was playing on the radio. Oh, we are caught, hook line and sinker. Well played Mr. Yacht Broker, well played.

Seeing Independence for the first time

First Impressions

Walking up to the boat, she seemed huge. Ridiculous. What would the two of us ever do with such an enormous boat? She is way too fancy for us. Out of our league. Is this real life? We’re not trust fund kids. We eat PB sandwiches for breakfast, PB sandwiches with chips for lunch, and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. On Friday nights, we split a beer. I wear clothes I bought from the thrift store 10 years ago.

Matt tore apart the boat and took pictures of questionable items. We negotiated the offer, and she was ours, pending sea trial and bank and insurance approval. Our broker said the bank was no problem, he had spoken to them and our docs were in perfect shape. Is the bank looking at someone else's docs?

Yuck! Nobody is perfect!

We entered a dream like state, talking to the insurance people, the surveyor, the bank, waiting for someone to stop these  maniacs from walking this path.

What will happen next? Will Matt and Lucy go bankrupt? Will the boat sink as soon as they leave a dock? Will picking up their first mooring buoy end in divorce? Stay tuned!

Sailing Lesson 3: ASA 103

Another sailing lesson, another wager: who is going to bleed, what is going to break, who will get the dog in the divorce? 

Before we had any idea that we would actually jump in with an offer on a boat, we had scheduled a Thanksgiving week sailing lesson to complete ASA 103 in St. Petersburg.

Enjoying St. Petersburg

Horse drawn carriage - how romantic!

St. Petersburg Municipal Marina

ASA 103 was pretty much like 101, but more in-depth. We tacked and jibed and did MOB drills, and covered right of way, nav signs and basic navigation.

The second day began with fog, so we took the test while waiting for the sun to burn the fog off. 

Morning fog

We reviewed the previous day's maneuvered and then practiced anchoring and picking up mooring buoys.

Sailing

We were going to do more docking, but the engine stopped peeing over the side so we called it a day. The instructor started to bleed while cursing at the engine. I magnanimously offered Matt the dog in the divorce.

Our instructor thought we did OK and encouraged us to take a 25 ft sailboat out for day sails. How about we buy a 38 ft catamaran and sail to the Keys for two weeks?

Sailing Lesson #2: ASA 101

Undeterred by the misery inflicted upon us by our previous instructional experience, I booked us an ASA sailing course in St Petersburg to coincide with our 10th wedding anniversary. Matt wanted to revisit the basics that were lacking last time - tacking, man overboard, etc. My take: how hard can it be? Pull on a rope and the big white thing goes up. And don’t fall off. Am I missing something?

I was resigned to weathering a storm of horror and confusion in the name of “learning”, but figured it would make for a good war story (better than “that time the oil pressure light was stuck on”) and a mini vacation. The sailing school we picked allowed students to stay aboard their sailboats. This satisfied the Chief Bean Counter’s intense frugality (aka cheapness), put us right downtown, and on the water!

Lesson boat and boatel

We met our instructor, settled into the boat (a 36 ft Hunter) and walked downtown to an English pub. Does it get any better?! Wait, it does: the boat didn’t smell! We didn’t sink it or set it on fire before lesson time!

St Petersburg

The next morning, the on the water class began. We were joined by a lovely woman. Our instructor was very thorough and gave step by step instructions and explained the terminology. I have to say, it is actually very difficult to be a professional and teach a complete beginner. Teaching is an art and you either can or you can’t - we were SO lucky to have an actual teacher! The day went well and we both gained confidence. We tacked and jibed as a team, and learned words like “leech” and “luff” (these are parts of a sail and not a blood sucking creature and a drunk English person). I had read the books, watched videos and I could not for the life of me figure out these stupid made up words and how it all fell together. However, by the end of the day - I could. Like a miracle.

As soon as the first day was over, I was wiped. It wasn’t even that late! Now a big decision was to be made: do we try another restaurant that might not be as good, or do we go back to the pub? We went to the pub. :-)

The second day, we went over the maneuvers and tacked and jibed by ourselves. At some point, Matt self-identified himself as a flight instructor (see sailing lesson #1: how to identify a pilot). Then he threw me under the bus too. Unfortunately, this revelation made our instructor think we were smart. It’s a real problem, cause we are not.

Matt at the helm

There was a written test, taken in the salon, and graded immediately. We all passed and were sent out into the world to make our own mistakes and inflict misery upon ourselves with no one to blame but each other.

Sailing Lesson #1

I have had many instructional experiences in my life, most of them inspiring fear and phobias. However, it was with unbridled enthusiasm that I approached an “Introduction to Sailing” course offered through the Miami Boat show. We met our motley co-sufferers at the dock, and our instructor got us settled on the boat. He immediately informs us that he was a flight instructor. Oh dear, this is going downhill fast. I hate pilots. They are socially defective imbeciles who have no conversation topics other than “war stories” of “that time” the low oil pressure gauge came on. (It was a faulty sensor, but you'd think they'd survived the Titanic sinking). Now I know you are saying, “Lucy, please help us! These pilot people sound like the worst. How can we identify them before they suck us into their vortex of poppycock?” I am here to help. These deranged lunatics always, and without pause, introduce themselves. You can see them at the Publix check out line: I'll be paying by credit card, Im using my AOPA card - see that? I’m A Pilot!

Here’s the dreadful truth: My name is Lucy, and I’m a pilot (yeah, Matt is too). Excuse me while I wipe away my tears of sorrow. 

Enough about me - yes, let’s do a tour of the boat. We: myself, Matt, a healthy Hungarian who struggled with English, a “I already know everything because I charter” American with a baseball cap, and our sailor pilot instructor. I'm instantly transported back to our first sailboat, the IZ1. There were a myriad of reasons we had to sell her, but the most vivid was patent-pending old monohull smell, currently in experiments to use a biological weapon. It’s a pungent mix of diesel, teak, mold, and nasty holding tanks. Fighting panic and nausea, I scramble to the cockpit. I’ve had a lifetime of trauma and we haven’t left the dock. Focus.

We leave the dock. Victory! I’m at the helm first, due to an archaic “lady’s first” system, which suits me until it doesn’t. We weave out of the marina and into the bay. I’m instructed to steer perilously close to land to raise the sails, in 20 kts of wind, which seems stressful. But hey, it’s not my boat!

Now, I’m instructed to steer through the bridge, and I’m not doing a good job. All 4 men, none of whom are small, have lined up in front of the helm, blocking my vision entirely, but providing a good vantage for the men to judge. It’s now 25 knots of wind and our instructor tells us that we would be safer and more comfortable if we reefed, but we won’t reef. That’s good, I don't want to be safe or comfortable or learn how to reef (jokes!).  Thankfully, I get to pass the helm off to someone else, and all the men disperse to give him a clear view of where he is going. How thoughtful. Next up its time for a man overboard drill. We don’t go over the maneuver or assign roles, but simply toss poor George over and manically scramble to figure out what we are doing. Poor George - it took us several goes to collect him and we ended up confused and depressed.

Thankfully, nothing lasts forever and we made it back to the dock in one piece.

So, what did we learn? That we could probably remember the basics of sailing by ourselves. That instructors personality and fit with the student comprise 99% of the teacher/student relationship and the success of the lesson. For the most part, sailing is so fun and so easy, it’s a real shame that one bad experience could put someone off. That the smell of a boat is something that cannot be seen in pictures or videos, but is the number one cause of abandoned boats and crushed dreams. The smell, and getting on a boat with a pilot.

Selling the house

My mother always said “If you’re not married, don’t get married. If you don’t have any children, don’t start now. If you don’t have a pet, don’t get one.” Sage advice. I’ll add one more. If you don’t own a house, don’t buy one!” Why? Because it will be the bane of your existence and then you will end up selling, which could well be the death of you.

Florida Pool House: Living the Dream! 

If you are going to live in Florida, you need a pool home. So we bought a pool home. Our house also had a hot tub to get us through the bitter winters when the pool temperature would drop to 72 – a good 10 degrees below Floridian’s freezing level. Everyone in Florida has to have a pool; presumably to post pictures of it to Facebook and make their northern friends jealous, but no Floridian actually uses their pool. Most don’t even look at it. Floridians also don’t go to the beach. We don’t want to see the brown potbellied Canadians in G-strings. It’s not good for our psyche. Since my main use for the pool was to cool down after mowing the lawn, it became clear that it was time to sell the house.

Florida house

Getting The House Reading to Sell

Here’s how it works: you meet with a realtor, decide he is just as weird as every other realtor you’ve ever met, but no weirder. Charge around, paint, clean, decide to paint the intricate steel patio railing, decide this is the worst day of your life, plot ways out, start pulling the patio railing down to avoid having to finish painting it, receive tetanus when the rusty pointy bit impales you, prop the patio railing back up since it seems to be supporting the whole house, paint the patio railing for the entirety of your 2 week vacation, be informed by the weather channel that Florida has broken heat records, seemingly because someone had decided to perform outdoor manual labor. But you already knew that. 

Decide to replace those horrid old fashioned switchplate covers. Oh, how you hate those switch covers. Tear out a huge chunk of drywall while removing said switchplate. No problem. Trip to home depot. Patch, putty, sand, putty, sand, putty, saint, paint. Now wire the new switchplate. Nothing. Fiddle. Curse the day you were born. Reminisce about how wonderful the old traditional classy switchplates were. They don’t make them like they used to! Luckily, it will only cost you $2,685.23 to finally update that $2 switchplate. No problem.

Showing The House to Buyers 

Ask for 24 hours notice to show so you can remove the demonic pet your mother warned you about from the house. Get 24 minutes to absolutely 0 notice to show. Hussle the dog out while he tries to eat the weirdos. Go through elaborate morning rituals which include hiding all your valuables, never to be seen again. Scream at your spouse (the one your mother warned you about) for walking mud over the floor you have just finished cleaning. Develop a hate for your realtor and all buyers. Insanely stalk them from the street as they flush your toilets and then complain that your toilet flushes loudly. Wonder what on earth they could be doing in your house for 45 minutes at a time. Is this a scam? Are they looking at houses just so they can do their filthy laundry in your washing machine? Is this a front for a triple blind toilet flushing decibel level nationwide survey? Will there be a YouTube video of toilets flushing across America in houses for sale in March? Is this part of a Ph.D. study? Is the study just to see exactly what rate and intensity house sellers eyes twitch when you report that their toilet flushes loudly?

All Important House Inspection

Finally, get ahold of someone who is willing to look past the obnoxiously loud toilet flushing. Thank the Lord! The night before inspection, your house will revolt. It will basically attempt to collapse on itself. It’s happy with the way it hasn’t been used, and it certainly doesn’t want these Canadians buying it. These Canadians will surely use the pool. They will surely use the pool with their potbellies sticking out of their G-strings. Canadians do not know about the no pool usage in Florida rule. Their thick blood thinks 72 is not unsurvivable, but that it is almost too warm! That switchplate that cost $2,685.23 to update? Well, you didn’t wire it correctly after all. It’s been waiting till the Canadian’s inspect the house before finally deciding to quit and blow the circuit breaker, pitching the house into darkness. Total cost of said switchplate? 291,685.23. Worth every penny! 

SOLD! 

Apparently, Canadians like mood lighting. They still bought the house. Just think, all these problems would have been solved if I had only followed my mother’s rules: Don’t get married (no spouse to traipse mud through the house, come up with brilliant ideas like painting the patio rail and updating the switchplate) don’t get pets (no dog to shuffle out of the house) and don’t buy a house!

Sailing a Lagoon 440 in Cancun

July 2013

A Free Vacation

Cancun, Mexico conjures up images of crazy spring breakers and all night clubbing. And terrible stomach bugs; don’t drink the water! Not necessarily my vision of paradise. However, when my brother purchased a sailing charter in Cancun, was unable to attend, and gifted it to us – we couldn’t turn it down.

Arriving on a Lagoon 440

We had no idea what to expect when we arrived. Would we be on a Gemini – Matt’s dream catamaran? Imagine how blown away we were when we stepped onto a Lagoon 440 sail catamaran! This thing was like a floating city! We were immediately served welcome cocktails and soon thereafter set sail for Isla Mujeres, stopping for a snorkel (and an amazing post snorkel fresh made guacamole snack!) along the way.

Arriving to Isla Mujeres

We arrived just in time for a stunning sunset – is this real life?

Day 2: Sailing Clear Electric Blue

Javier cooked an amazing breakfast – complete with fresh fruit. We wandered Isla Mujeres for the morning and then set sail. The water was incredible – bright luminous blue and crystal clear.

We sailed to a secluded anchorage. Javier and Fernando free dove for hours for lobster and octopus. I became more and more horrified as lobster is neither mine, nor the boat’s sensitive plumbing systems, favorite. How am I going to eat 9, 10, 15 lobster?

Imagine my relief when I realized the guys were freezing the lobster to take home to their families. Matt was highly entertained by the poor wretch who pretended to be thrilled while eating a cockroach of the sea. Its cold dead eyes were trained on me! (The plumbing system was not entertained by the results.)

Sunset

Day 3: Whale Shark Lookout

After another great breakfast, Captain Fernando whisked us and a honeymooning couple from Texas who anchored next to us off to an old Spanish church. Now, this church was very far away, through a maze of mangroves. Are we part of Survivor Mexico: unwitting vacationers abandoned in mangroves; who will survive? No one!

Maude

The honeymooning couple were the first to succumb. They looked cute and were upbeat in the morning, then got sunburned, then a swarm of hungry mosquitos attacked and feasted on them. By the time the dinghy engine didn’t start for the return, they were mere shells of their former selves, only able to mumble humble appreciation for Maude’s foresight.

Bats had overtaken the church

Yes, this was horrible. Yes, he got eaten :-(

Luckily Fernando and the dinghy engine lived to navigate back to the boats, and then we were off in search of whale sharks.

We went out into deep water, out of sight of land. Javier was looking for a change in water color that would indicate plankton.

Sadly, I’m sad to tell you the sad news. The whale sharks were saved from our exultant cries of joy; they were left to enjoy their plankton without interference. Gutted, crushed, destroyed, we picked up the pieces of the ruined vacation and tried desperately to re-find the meaning to life. Through bitter tears of disappointment, a pod of dolphins appeared to frolic in our bow wave. Whale sharks – now you’re just somebody that I used to know.

We sailed to a reef for a final snorkel. Javier caught a Bonita tuna and we ate it for dinner. Then we sailed to Cancun for a night at the dock amongst partiers on speedboats. 

After a final amazing breakfast and sad goodbyes we were off into the hustle of the airport to pick up our rental car.

Beach Bungalow

I quite enjoyed the drive to Tulum while Matt was disturbed by the other drivers lack to attention to signs, lanes, and general societal norms. It was a little different driving through armed checkpoints – what are they all so worried about?

We stayed in a sweet bungalow on the beach with windows for a breeze, candles for light, and shared bathrooms. We watched turtles beach themselves to lay their eggs under the stars

Beach bungalows

Tulum and Coba Ruins

We went to Tulum ruins, and then to Coba so we could sweat and climb Nohoch Mul’s 120 steps up. It was easily 650 uneven, steep, terrifying steps down, which I tackled one at a time on my bum. Young gazelle like people giggled as they leaped over my head, taking two steps at a time.

Cenotes Dos Ojos

Our final stop was a cenote. We hired a guide to take us into "the bat cave" where you swim underwater in complete darkness to gain entrance. Equal parts terrifying and thrilling. At some point, Lucy's head went full throttle into a stalagmite. She did not die.

Into the darkness

Totally enchanting

Back to Real Life

Then, it’s back to real life via a car rental and an airplane. No, we didn’t immediately start boat shopping for a Lagoon. It was completely out of even my delusions of grandeur to imagine buying our own catamaran and continuing adventures like these. So, no, we didn’t drink the water,  but we did swim in it and picked up an insipid bug that grew until we were up all night; not clubbing, but scheming.

Grab your towel!

This is the story of Matt, Lucy and Hastings, the crew of the sailing catamaran “Independence”. “Inde”, as her friends call her, is a 2005 Lagoon 380 S2, a 38 foot long French-built beauty. 

During a late-night, can’t-sleep internet walkabout, Matt found the blog of a couple who quit their jobs and sailed to Australia. We realized all our favorite memories were from time spent on our 21ft powerboat cruising the waters off south Florida, and made a 10 year plan to buy a live-aboard sailboat. With some sacrifice and quick maneuvering, the timeframe shrank to 1 year. You only live once, right? We sold our house, ditched most of our stuff, and moved into a cheap apartment while getting to know Independence. 

Does this sound like a great idea to you? Grab your towel, your flippy floppies, and your nautical themed pashmina afghan, it’s about to go down!