Don't get me wrong - I love Malta. But I never expected to spend almost a month here. The rest of the Maverick crew is as thrilled as I am to be departing Malta today.

 

On the leg of the trip from Sardinia, the fresh water pump on our starboard engine started leaking. As soon as we arrived in Manoel Island Marina (which has really inconsistent internet - arrghh), we stripped the pump off the engine and gave it to mechanics.

 

They had to order parts from Germany. It took forever. The worst part is that the pump should've been rebuilt before we left Florida. It wasn't. At some point, we have to rip off the same pump from the port engine and rebuild it, but not now.

 

Egypt looms. It will take four days - 1,000 miles at about 10 miles an hour - to go from Malta to Port Said, Egypt. We will fuel up in Port Said and then head through the Suez Canal, then go to a half-built marina, Port Ghalib, in southern Egypt.

 

I'm not sure when we will have internet access that's even as good as this crap here in Malta. So, I am posting a bunch of stories that will run here before they hit print in the Hartford News. But I won't be updating this site for a few weeks, at the earliest.

 

So enjoy. And I'll be back when we have legit internet access again, which may not be until Salallah, Oman.

 

Cliff Thornton, Green Party candidate for Connecticut Governor in 2006, has just received word from the nation's leading drug policy reform organization, the Drug Policy Alliance, that he has won a prestigious honor.

 

In the effort of full disclosure, I ran Cliff's campaign for governor. But no matter. I'm proud as hell of Cliff and he deserves a free trip to New Orleans for the DPA conference December 8.

 

Cliff, a tireless spirit in the fight to legalize, medicalize and decriminalize, will receive the Robert C. Randall Award for Achievement in the Field of Citizen Action from the Drug Policy Alliance.

"This award honors citizens who make democracy work in the difficult area of drug law and policy reform," according to a letter Cliff received from DPA head Ethan Nadelmann.

Link...

 

Thousands of pedestrians crowd Republic Street, the main avenue in central Valletta to shop, to meander, to gawk, to soak in the history. Among the cobblestones and the tourist traps, nestled next to a bank stands a sign over a door, in red lettering on a white field, that reads "Malta Labor Party – Restaurant & Bar – Tourists Welcome."

 

Alex, the mate on board Maverick II who replaced Tim and his broken leg, always wants genuine experiences with real people in the places we visit. He came back one night after a few pops and talked about Charley, a rotund Maltese man holding court at the second-floor Malta Labour Party bar.

 

Charley bought us all drinks, Alex said. Walking around the boat, Alex kept saying, "Heeey buddy," imitating Charley's deep voice and second-language slang. Alex's ad was too much, so I had to meet him. On our first night off, Alex showed me the scene.

 

From Gzira, where the boat is docked, we took the 62 bus to Valletta, strolled down Republic Street, walked up the stairs and found a dozen man hanging around a spacious 1,000 square foot restaurant and bar.

 

Most of the tables were empty. On the televisions hanging in the corners of the room, commercials pantomimed the sales pitch, because Hank Williams "Okie from Muskogee" dominated the bar.

 

On another wall sat stately photos of the leaders of the Malta Labour Party. Who would've thought it – a political party owning a bar and serving drinks?

Link...

 

Fat Charley, the man we came to see, sat at a table across from the bar. On either side of Charley sat two skinny Maltese women with long brown hair, maybe in their early 20s. The one sporting a blue body-hugging Adidas sweatsuit featured black teeth.

 

The other wore jeans and a leather jacket, and she had a few teeth remaining. While Charley regaled us with stories of his trips to 12 different states – Louisiana, California, New York, New Jersey, Florida, and Chicago, and a bunch of others he couldn't remember, the girls sat quietly playing with their cell phones.

 

"They don't speak English," Charley said, then he said something to the girls in Maltese.

 

He must have ordered us a round, because the black-toothed woman in the blue sweat suit served Alex and I another pair of Cisks, the local Maltese beer. After she returned with an appetizer: the Maltese bruschetta that features butter beans, red peppers, onions and capers, she sat down with a Pepsi.

 

As we sopped up the olive oil with the fresh bread, Charley announced, "They're hookers."

Link...

 

For months, friends of mine have been telling me that I. Charles is the man. Then the New York Times said I. Charles was the guy. Again, on Sunday, the Times said I. Charles was the best choice.

In August, Clarke King threw the weight of the American Federation of State, County, and Municipal Employees behind I. Charles.

The thinking Democrats of Hartford in September said I. Charles was the next best choice.

Mayoral contender Art Feltman wisely backed I. Charles. He deserves thanks for that, because he showed true leadership – he sacrificed his personal goals for the greater good. He recognized the reality, and did what he thought was best for the city. So kudos, Art.

Now, I’m jumping on the bandwagon. Consider this my endorsement.

Link...

 

Strike the European Union part of the following sentence, and try to imagine it gracing a sign announcing road construction in the United States:

 

"This project, part financed by the European Union, is helping to reduce economic and social disparities among citizens of the union."

 

What kind of a massive shift in transportation policies would it take for the Connecticut Department of Transportation to acknowledge not only that transportation is a source of economic injustice, but that we can use tax dollars to lessen the gap between rich and poor?

Link...

 

Hooray! I got a stack of mail from the U.S.A. today. An American contractor coming to work on the boat acted as a courier. Alitalia lost his luggage, but phew, he put the treasures from my mailbox in his carry-on.

Among the items he carried from the post was a sad one: the obituary for Joseph Charles Barber, a great citizen from Winsted who passed away August 23. The line in the obit that got me: “Joe’s commitment to civic engagement and service was a lifetime affair.”

 

And, it should have added, that Joe’s commitment lives on in his son, Hartford champion Joe Barber,and to him and his family I send my deepest sympathies.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there. It’s things like this that make me hate traveling.

Next, my mail featured the ever-interesting must-read, Ballot Access News, mailed monthly from San Francisco.

In September, BAN reported that although the populations of all 435 Congressional districts for the U.S. House of Representatives are roughly equal, the amount of petition signatures an independent candidate needs to gain ballot access to run for the House of Representatives ranges from zero to 20,131.

Link for more mail about Hartford's mayoral election...

 

Okay, granted for that the 25 feet before you walk up to this biodiesel pump in Gzira, Malta, the air smells as if every blackwater tank in the marina has been emptied and sitting in a corner of the harbor for three weeks, and that the water regurgitates enough plastic and crap in some places look like this:

 

But jeez, they are selling biodiesel at pumps. This particular pump is in a Shell station, which means that on some level, the world oil giant can probably do the same thing in America if it wants.

 

Instead, Shell is trying to foist upon Connecticut and New York an LNG filling station. I don't think it's fully Shell's fault, though. It falls upon the shoulders of the people of Connecticut and America that we don't force corporate giants to bend to our will. We bend far too easily to theirs.

 

Sure, there are McDonald's and KFC's here in Gzira and a Burger King in the historical walls of Valletta. But in no way have any of these fast food corporations gotten to build their signature buildings. No, they shut up and take a slot in some building that is 450 years old and live with it.

 

The fast food giants are forced to do their destructive business in a pedestrian environment with no drive thrus (but they do deliver with scooters), no parking. They still generate the litter, but the Europeans have been a little smarter in maintaining their small market local economies.

 

I'll get into that later. It's a day off today, and I don't want to spend it blogging. To Gozo it is.

Link...

 

The surprises that arise on this boat never stop. For example, the original route has changed so many times, I never often know what we will be doing from one day to the next.

 

When we arrived in Gibraltar, we - being the crew - labored under the impression that our next stop was Malta. The boss announced a small change in plans. The boat would re-route to Sardinia to pick up a guest, much to all our chagrin.

 

This is kind of supposed to be a straight delivery. But, hey, if I bought a $10 million boat, I'd want to go anywhere on a whim and subject anybody on my payroll to my desires.

 

So, I understand it, and I partly appreciate it, because were it not for this spontaniety, I would not have gotten a chance to visit Italy - land of my ancestors.

Link...

 

About a week and a half ago, U.S. Rep. Chris Shays proclaimed that maybe Broadwater - the private liquified natural gas regassification factory proposed for the middle of Long Island Sound wasn't such a bads idea.

 

Among the dozens of reason why privatizing a chunk of a priceless estuary, the danger of LNG itself is near the top of my list. We just need to look half a world away in Gibraltar to realize why we shouldn't have LNG in LIS.

 

The good ship Maverick II pulled into Europe and on our way through the bay of Gibraltar to moor, I counted no less than 35 ships of 100 meters or more anchored in the bay. The real monsters, though, are the LNG tankers, which push almost 400 meters.

 

The Spanish and English authorities have so much respect for the destructive power of an LNG tanker that they force the huge ships to anchor outside the bay, in the open Med, on the east coast of Gibraltar.

 

Now imagine the LNG tanker pictured above in Long Island Sound, and think of all the recreational boats that will surround it in the Race, on its way to 11 miles south of East Haven. Something that big will absolutely be visible from the Connecticut coastline.

 

Aesthetically, it will be terrible to have LNG tankers in Long Island Sound. The ocean's visual beauty once sacrificed for industry will not be easily reclaimed.

 

Link to gorgeous picture of a sunset and more photos from Gibraltar...

Editor's Note: This column was published in the Hartford News the last week of September, but since I have been on delivery with the good ship Maverick, my website maintenance has been lacking. But the event I wished for in this column did not occur, unfortunately, as Art Feltman has endorsed I. Charles, and Frank Barrows inexplicably has thrown his weight behind Eddie. The world is as *&*^%^ as it seems.

 

Imagine this scene, at the breakfast counter at Rajun Cajun: over orders of sausage, eggs and grits, cups of coffee and the morning din, I. Charles Mathews, Frank Barrows and Art Feltman discuss the results of the September primary.

 

I. Charles, the clear winner among the also-rans, offers Barrows and Feltman positions in his administration if he should win.

 

He proposes to Feltman and Barrows that they pull out of the race, and publicly pledge their support to Mathews.

 

It is clear that with I. Charles’ 29 percent, Feltman's 13 percent and Barrows’ nine, they have enough between the three of them to knock out Eddie’s 49 percent.

 

While those numbers are among Democrats, the general population in Hartford will likely go that way, too. Call it a triumvirate, like Caeser, Crassus and Pompey.

Link...

 

O n the list of "Things I Never Wanted To Do," I can now check off "Cross the Atlantic In A Sub-Tropical Storm."

 

Slogging through seven days in 10 to 15 foot seas is as little fun as it sounds. I don't get seasick, but imagine a dull headache, a lighter version of the dizzy kind you got as a kid when you rolled down a hill too fast.

 

The payoff, though, was spending three days in Horta, a small port city on the island of Faial in the Azores – the Portuguese archipelago of volcanic mountaintops sitting two-thirds of the way across Atlantic.

 

Faial is an island of some 12,000 people. At one point, more than twice that number populated it. But 50 years ago, in 1957, a volcano erupted, and made life on the island difficult.

 

Sen. John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts responded by welcoming Azoreans to Massachusetts. Kennedy work magic with the federal bureaucracy and managed to invite 12,000 or so folks to the Bay state.

 

A sea-faring people, the Azoreans moved to coastal cities like New Bedford, but they also moved inland to Springfield.

 

So it should have come as no surprise to me, but when I sat down at the seaside restaurant Quebra Mar for a dinner of the local delicacy Guelly Fish with a special sauce, the owner Ernaldo turned out to have visited his cousin in Hartford during Christmas a few years ago.

 

He remembered how beautiful and cold and white and snowy it was, very different from the temperate island climate of Faial.

 

In Horta, if you look west and can see Pico, the next island, it is going to rain. If you can't see Pico, it is already raining, said one local, a transplant from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He moved there 16 years ago, and hasn't looked back once.

Link...

 

O n the list of "Things I Never Wanted To Do," I can now check off "Cross the Atlantic In A Sub-Tropical Storm."

 

Slogging through seven days in 10 to 15 foot seas is as little fun as it sounds. I don't get seasick, but imagine a dull headache, a lighter version of the dizzy kind you got as a kid when you rolled down a hill too fast.

 

The payoff, though, was spending three days in Horta, a small port city on the island of Faial in the Azores – the Portuguese archipelago of volcanic mountaintops sitting two-thirds of the way across Atlantic.

 

Faial is an island of some 12,000 people. At one point, more than twice that number populated it. But 50 years ago, in 1957, a volcano erupted, and made life on the island difficult.

 

Sen. John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts responded by welcoming Azoreans to Massachusetts. Kennedy work magic with the federal bureaucracy and managed to invite 12,000 or so folks to the Bay state.

 

A sea-faring people, the Azoreans moved to coastal cities like New Bedford, but they also moved inland to Springfield.

 

So it should have come as no surprise to me, but when I sat down at the seaside restaurant Quebra Mar for a dinner of the local delicacy Guelly Fish with a special sauce, the owner Ernaldo turned out to have visited his cousin in Hartford during Christmas a few years ago.

 

He remembered how beautiful and cold and white and snowy it was, very different from the temperate island climate of Faial.

 

In Horta, if you look west and can see Pico, the next island, it is going to rain. If you can't see Pico, it is already raining, said one local, a transplant from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He moved there 16 years ago, and hasn't looked back once.

Link...

 

Words can't always describe the enormity of something entirely visual. So, here is a photo essay of the work of hundreds of sailors who visit the port of Horta on the island of Faial in the Portuguese Azores.

Looking south down the marina dock. This is just one wall, and there are multiple other veins of paintings like this.

Link...

 

S top one, the Bahamas, provided more adventure than I signed up for. While on shore leave on a small island called Guana Cay, the First Mate Tim - enjoying his first night off in three weeks - was walking back to the tender and he fell down and broke his right ankle.

 

Of course, the Guana Cay is so small that it has no medical facilities to speak of, and not at 10:30 at night. We didn’t know how bad the break was, only Timmy – a 28 year old former college hockey player from Rochester, NY - telling us that he was no girly man, but boy it hurt.

 

In the dark moonless night, some local paramedic volunteers strapped him onto a stretcher, carried him to the nearby dive boat/nautical ambulance and ferried him the 30 minute ride across a choppy bay to the Government Clinic on Marsh Harbour.

 

The Captain and I followed soon after in the tender from the yacht Maverick II. When I walked into the Government Clinic, four black Bahamian men were sitting in folding chairs watching white Republican presidential candidates debate on Fox News.

 

We found Tim laying on an exam bed, heavily sedated. Medical equipment that was 20 years old and had seen it better days surrounded him. The physician on duty at midnight wrapped Tim’s leg in a splint, but had no x-ray machine to diagnose the problem other than it was a fractured leg.

 

The Clinic had no overnight beds, and it shut down at 1 a.m., the good Doctor suggested that we get Tim a hotel room, and put him onto a commercial flight in the morning to Nassau.

 

Doctors’ Hospital, a private hospital, would have the best care, The MD said. At the government hospital in Nassau, he said Tim might wait all day.

 

I kept asking the doctor if he could give Tim more drugs to ease the pain, but he ignored it. He gave us a pair of crutches at 1 a.m, and sent us away. So we took Tim to a hotel, and left him with another deckhand.

 

The Captain and I returned to the boat at around 3:45, navigating foreign waters in pitch blackness.

Link...

 

Law school is really expensive, especially at a private university. Like $23,000 a year for part time night school pricey.

 

I graduated from Syracuse University in 1994 with more than $10,000 in debt, and it took me until 2002 to finish paying it back. When I wrote my student loan checks, I often wondered if I was paying for classes that I skipped, was stoned for, was hungover for, or fell asleep in, and if I was there, had I done the homework?

 

From that student debt encumberance, I learned that financial freedom is intellectual freedom. Since I don’t see myself raking in the big bucks at a firm like Dewey, Cheatam and How after I pass the bar, I am taking that lesson to heart.

 

Once I finish school, I want to be able to apply my newly acquired legal skills to battles that I want to fight, not ones that the senior partners assign me to.

 

Combine that entrepreneurial spirit with my bad case of wanderlust - one that has plagued me for years – and I need to do something to finance my education and travel. The solution is simple: I am taking a semester off to work as a crew member to deliver a boat to Thailand.

 

The yacht – owned by an obscenely wealthy white man from Britain – will start the journey to Southeast Asia from Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

Link...