We are so thankful for the little place we found here. It’s a lovely two-story, three-bedroom, two-bath house with a yard just across from the beach. Unfortunately, with boat projects taking longer than expected, we have to move out today into an apartment for eight days and then move back into this little house on the 29th.
If it weren’t for a friend recently telling me a story about her son throwing everything from their playroom out a second-story window, I probably wouldn’t have laughed nearly as hard when Leif and Ori opened the kitchen window, grabbed all the produce from our little produce stand, and started tossing it out the window.
I truly have no idea where it came from.
One minute I was doing something in another room, and the next I heard strange noises and thought, What is going on? Then I walked in to find produce flying out the window.
Maybe it’s developmental. Maybe it’s just boys. I’m not really sure. When I asked, “Why?” he said, “Because I wanted to have a turkey sandwich, so I had to set a trap to catch a turkey and slice it up.”
But I had to laugh.
There have been so many moments during this adventure where we’ve had to be serious, focused, and attentive—making sure everyone is safe, cared for, and okay. Lately, though, I’ve started realizing how much joy there is in leaning into the silly with my children instead of constantly resisting it. Sometimes their laughter cuts through tension like a knife.
And honestly, I think we all need that.
The boat projects themselves are hard to explain without going into overwhelming detail, but essentially, the previous owners had the boat repainted. Since the boat is aluminum, paint adhesion can be tricky, and unfortunately, the job had been done poorly. The paint was flaking and rubbing off in places where fenders touched the hull.
The yard hired a surveyor to determine whether it was a warranty issue or user error, and ultimately concluded that the original paintwork had failed. The surveyor was then hired to oversee the repainting process to ensure it was done correctly this time.
However, once the boat was hauled out, they also found areas of physical damage in the paint—places where the anchor had chipped the bow, for example—and those areas were considered outside the warranty.
At that point, we had a choice.
Because of my broken wrist, we already knew we couldn’t realistically take possession of the boat any sooner anyway. I needed time for my hand to heal enough to regain some strength. So we could either continue paying storage fees and delay the work, or move forward with the boat freshly painted under the survey company’s close supervision.
We chose the latter.
The interesting part is that before we arrived, we had been told the project was already underway. In reality, we later realized the work didn’t truly begin until about three days before we got here, despite being told it would be a month-long project.
So now we wait for the literal paint to dry.
Truly, though, we can see the progress each day, and they are doing very good work. In some ways, it’s been nice being here in person. We can walk around the boat, notice small things that may have been missed, and slowly ease ourselves into understanding the systems and needs of such a large boat.
So far, our biggest task has simply been inventorying everything from bow to stern and making endless provisioning lists of things we need—or think we need.
I think one of the biggest differences between sailing with kids and sailing without kids is that you prepare the boat differently.
The boat is older, but still beautiful, and we would love to keep it that way. I’m currently having a wonderful seamstress make waterproof elastic covers for the cushions—something easy to throw on, pull off, wash, and put back again.
When I was talking to Wade about it, I told him the reason behind all these efforts is simple: I don’t want the boys to feel like they’re living in a glass house.
Even though the boat is large, I want them to feel free to run around, explore, create, and simply be children without constantly worrying they’re going to ruin something beautiful. I want them to be able to paint, use markers, build forts, and make memories without fear of damaging nice wood or upholstery.
Because honestly, even for me, life on a boat can sometimes feel isolating. At anchor, there are days you can’t easily go ashore or walk around. I never want the boys to feel trapped.
I want the boat to feel like freedom.
Another thing we’ve done differently while sailing with children is to use car seats on board. I know not every sailing family does this, and it probably sounds odd at first, but our boys are genuinely comfortable in their car seats. They nap in them, relax in them, and, during passages, often prefer to sit there.
On our old boat, SV Just Drifting, we secured the car seats by running ratchet straps through a hatch opening. It worked surprisingly well and never moved.
This boat required a completely different solution.
We needed special U-bolts long enough to go through the wood, tall enough for the car seat clips to attach to, and narrow enough that the clips would actually fit. That led to days of driving from store to store throughout Herceg Novi, trying to find the right hardware.
And shopping in a foreign country with two little boys is… an adventure all its own.
Thankfully, we found an indoor playground near one of the stores, so Wade and I took turns. One of us would stay with the boys while the other went shopping. I’ve realized that when the boys are with me, my brain simply cannot focus on details the same way. If I already know exactly what I need, that’s one thing. But trying to translate labels with Google Translate while simultaneously making sure nobody disappears down an aisle is another challenge entirely.
One of the unexpectedly wonderful parts of being here has been buying bicycles.
Every evening after dinner, the boys go for bike rides while we walk alongside them, and it has honestly become one of my favorite parts of our days. The other evening, after it rained, the boys spent forever riding back and forth through giant puddles, laughing the entire time.
And moments like that remind me that this whole adventure isn’t really about perfect plans, perfect boats, or perfect timelines.
It’s about learning to embrace the silly.
Even when produce is flying out the window.
Cheers,
Sara
One random Montenegro tip that has completely changed the way I shop: use the “Detect Language” feature in Google Translate.
The official language here is Montenegrin, which oddly isn’t available in Google Translate. Most people also speak Serbian or Croatian, so at first, I would translate English words into Serbian or Croatian and try searching stores that way.
But I kept struggling to find things.
Once I started using the “Detect Language” feature, shopping became so much easier. Eventually, I realized many product labels in the stores were actually written in Bosnian.
Now I can type something like “waterproof mattress cover” in English, let Google Translate it to Bosnian “vodootporna navlaka za madrac”, and suddenly I can actually search local stores successfully.
Enjoy this oddly specific but genuinely life-saving Montenegro shopping tip.
