Aye, Aye brother Shackleton

Despite having had my share of adventures worth telling over a cold pint, I don’t consider myself to be much of a seaman, somehow I don’t feel I fit the mould. I sail a boat. I live on a boat. I raise my kids on a boat. I transit oceans by boat. But seasoned seaman? I don’t think so.

But for the first time I felt like I’d earned that status as I sat sipping a frothy pint in Peter’s Bar, with decade upon decade of captain’s hat (and the occasional captain’s bra) above my head. Peter’s Bar is as old as the volcano it is built on, currently run by its third generation of Sr Azevedo, who continues to supply transiting mariners with more than just ale: for generations Peter’s Bar has been the sole support for ships and people passing through, supplying provisions and parts, mail collection and delivery, medical supply and local gossip. It might’ve taken me 10