Turning the Tide

A couple devoted to exploring the world finds a place to come home to in Sausalito’s houseboat community.

The floating home shared by Carol Angermeir and Wilford Welch is full of objects, including a Tibetan begging bowl fashioned from a human cranium; a Japanese cavalry banner from World War II; carved wooden neck rests used by Ethiopian men to protect their elaborate hairstyles while they sleep; photos of the couple with the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu; masks from Mali, Ghana and Guatemala (all of which have been used in ceremonies); Balinese paper lampshades; a mobile by Bay Area artist Tim Rose; and a Russian oxygen tank that Welch picked up during an expedition to remove trash from camps on the Nepalese side of Mount Everest. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Angermeir and Welch—who spend about one-third of the year in places like Thailand, Morocco, India and Afghanistan —have covered a lot of ground, both geographically and professionally. A single-engine pilot with a background in anthropology, Angermeir is the founder of Cross Cultural Journeys, a company that organizes trips where groups can learn from indigenous peoples. Her affiliated foundation finances programs that help women in countries in Asia and Africa to become financially independent (a recent grant helped construct a teahouse in Ethiopia). Welch, a former diplomat with a degree in Chinese law, is currently working on a book about social entrepreneurism. He also sits on the board of the Headlands Institute, which offers environmental education for children.

How the couple ended up a part of Sausalito’s houseboat community has to do not only with a desire to shake things up but also the challenges of real estate. “We were living on the lagoon in Belvedere and looking for a life change,” says Angermeir. “We wanted a cabin in the woods, but couldn’t find anything we liked. Then we saw this place.”

LEFT: The curved wall designed by architect Sim van der Ryn defines the kitchen and helps soften the hard angles throughout the space. RIGHT: Welch and Angermeir in the doorway of their floating home—the door is painted red for luck.

In trading a view of the water for a house on the water, the couple found diversity and a sense of community: “qualities more common in the countries we visit,” says Angermeir. They also embraced a more elemental existence, where one is not buffeted from every whim of nature. “You know your neighbors here. We have parties and potlucks, and we look out for each other—we all know how to pump water!” says Angermeir. Adds Welch, “We’re trying to walk the talk. Living here, we feel more connected to a community and the natural world. And where else on earth can you be in the center of a cosmopolitan city, or hiking to Pt. Reyes passing bobcats and deer, in twenty minutes?”

On a recent winter day, the motley row of floating houses—with its patchwork of colors and styles—feels like a village. Shoes echo on the wooden walkway leading to the Angermeir-Welch abode, whose red door is crowned with a huge butterfly mask carved by the Dogon people of Mali. The couple has named the house Dol Kyam, meaning “place of serenity” in Tibetan.

The main floor of the three-story home opens into an atrium, which flows into the kitchen and dining and living rooms. A guest room and Angermeir’s study are downstairs. The third floor houses Welch’s home office, which shares a fireplace with a bedroom furnished with pieces from his family’s former hunting lodge in Connecticut. A wooden staircase in the hallway leads straight up to a renovated roof deck, which harnesses the sunlight even on chilly days. Throughout the house, the ’70s-era architecture is expressed in a preponderance of interior wood and the whimsical geometry of variously shaped windows. When the water rises, Angermeir and Welch can push open the living room windows and climb down to their kayaks. With the light flooding in, and gulls and egrets outside the window, the house has the exhilarating air of a vacation home.

LEFT: The great room displays the couple’s collections, including a diverse array of masks arranged on the far wall. RIGHT: The master bedroom feels like a log cabin on the water.

Previously occupied by a set designer for the San Francisco Opera (reportedly, Pavarotti slept here) and before that, the development offices for a waterfront high-rise that was never built, the house needed some tweaking to make it hospitable. The couple consulted with Inverness-based Sim Van der Ryn, a pioneer in sustainable architecture who runs the interdisciplinary EcoDesign Collaborative. As it happens, Van der Ryn also spent two decades on the 1920 Ameer, the oldest floating home in this community.

“It needed smoothing on the inside. There were all these hard, cold angles and the kitchen was boxy,” says Van der Ryn of Dol Kyam. “We wanted to soften the space, render it a little more timeless.” His master stroke was the curving wall that now defines the semi-open kitchen and gently guides visitors from the entry into the living areas. Reclaimed from an old ship, the kitchen’s new teak floor with traditional pegging suits the house’s nautical nature. Van der Ryn also added a triangle of glass to the north side, opening up the living room to a framed view of Mount Tamalpais.

Another collaborator, Larkspur-based interior designer Jessica Hall, became immersed in the color selections. “It was so dark,” she recalls. “It didn’t harmonize with their lives.” Seeking to unify the design of the space without domesticating it or making it showroom slick, Hall lightened all the wood paneling and installed wall-to-wall sisal carpet. The designer then worked with what she calls a  “geographic palette” of saturated colors that reflect the couple’s travels: deep saffron, Turkish red, pomegranate, eggplant and a dusky blue in Welch’s office that unites sky with water, interior with exterior. “The colors create a context for the objects, pulling them together,” says Hall. “Rather than feeling random or choppy, they are part of a cohesive story.”

Now when the couple returns from a trip, the bright colors and their collections help cushion the transition, taking the edge off any culture shock. “We travel so much, the re-entry can be difficult,” allows Angermeir. “The houseboat assures us a soft landing.”

Taken from the February 2008 issue of our sister publication, California Home + Design. For more than a decade, CH+D has informed, celebrated and inspired the nation's most influential home and design market. Subscribe now.
 

The floating home shared by Carol Angermeir and Wilford Welch is full of objects, including a Tibetan begging bowl fashioned from a human cranium; a Japanese cavalry banner from World War II; carved wooden neck rests used by Ethiopian men to protect their elaborate hairstyles while they sleep; photos of the couple with the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu; masks from Mali, Ghana and Guatemala (all of which have been used in ceremonies); Balinese paper lampshades; a mobile by Bay Area artist Tim Rose; and a Russian oxygen tank that Welch picked up during an expedition to remove trash from camps on the Nepalese side of Mount Everest. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Angermeir and Welch—who spend about one-third of the year in places like Thailand, Morocco, India and Afghanistan —have covered a lot of ground, both geographically and professionally. A single-engine pilot with a background in anthropology, Angermeir is the founder of Cross Cultural Journeys, a company that organizes trips where groups can learn from indigenous peoples. Her affiliated foundation finances programs that help women in countries in Asia and Africa to become financially independent (a recent grant helped construct a teahouse in Ethiopia). Welch, a former diplomat with a degree in Chinese law, is currently working on a book about social entrepreneurism. He also sits on the board of the Headlands Institute, which offers environmental education for children.

How the couple ended up a part of Sausalito’s houseboat community has to do not only with a desire to shake things up but also the challenges of real estate. “We were living on the lagoon in Belvedere and looking for a life change,” says Angermeir. “We wanted a cabin in the woods, but couldn’t find anything we liked. Then we saw this place.”

LEFT: The curved wall designed by architect Sim van der Ryn defines the kitchen and helps soften the hard angles throughout the space. RIGHT: Welch and Angermeir in the doorway of their floating home—the door is painted red for luck.

In trading a view of the water for a house on the water, the couple found diversity and a sense of community: “qualities more common in the countries we visit,” says Angermeir. They also embraced a more elemental existence, where one is not buffeted from every whim of nature. “You know your neighbors here. We have parties and potlucks, and we look out for each other—we all know how to pump water!” says Angermeir. Adds Welch, “We’re trying to walk the talk. Living here, we feel more connected to a community and the natural world. And where else on earth can you be in the center of a cosmopolitan city, or hiking to Pt. Reyes passing bobcats and deer, in twenty minutes?”

On a recent winter day, the motley row of floating houses—with its patchwork of colors and styles—feels like a village. Shoes echo on the wooden walkway leading to the Angermeir-Welch abode, whose red door is crowned with a huge butterfly mask carved by the Dogon people of Mali. The couple has named the house Dol Kyam, meaning “place of serenity” in Tibetan.

The main floor of the three-story home opens into an atrium, which flows into the kitchen and dining and living rooms. A guest room and Angermeir’s study are downstairs. The third floor houses Welch’s home office, which shares a fireplace with a bedroom furnished with pieces from his family’s former hunting lodge in Connecticut. A wooden staircase in the hallway leads straight up to a renovated roof deck, which harnesses the sunlight even on chilly days. Throughout the house, the ’70s-era architecture is expressed in a preponderance of interior wood and the whimsical geometry of variously shaped windows. When the water rises, Angermeir and Welch can push open the living room windows and climb down to their kayaks. With the light flooding in, and gulls and egrets outside the window, the house has the exhilarating air of a vacation home.

LEFT: The great room displays the couple’s collections, including a diverse array of masks arranged on the far wall. RIGHT: The master bedroom feels like a log cabin on the water.

Previously occupied by a set designer for the San Francisco Opera (reportedly, Pavarotti slept here) and before that, the development offices for a waterfront high-rise that was never built, the house needed some tweaking to make it hospitable. The couple consulted with Inverness-based Sim Van der Ryn, a pioneer in sustainable architecture who runs the interdisciplinary EcoDesign Collaborative. As it happens, Van der Ryn also spent two decades on the 1920 Ameer, the oldest floating home in this community.

“It needed smoothing on the inside. There were all these hard, cold angles and the kitchen was boxy,” says Van der Ryn of Dol Kyam. “We wanted to soften the space, render it a little more timeless.” His master stroke was the curving wall that now defines the semi-open kitchen and gently guides visitors from the entry into the living areas. Reclaimed from an old ship, the kitchen’s new teak floor with traditional pegging suits the house’s nautical nature. Van der Ryn also added a triangle of glass to the north side, opening up the living room to a framed view of Mount Tamalpais.

Another collaborator, Larkspur-based interior designer Jessica Hall, became immersed in the color selections. “It was so dark,” she recalls. “It didn’t harmonize with their lives.” Seeking to unify the design of the space without domesticating it or making it showroom slick, Hall lightened all the wood paneling and installed wall-to-wall sisal carpet. The designer then worked with what she calls a  “geographic palette” of saturated colors that reflect the couple’s travels: deep saffron, Turkish red, pomegranate, eggplant and a dusky blue in Welch’s office that unites sky with water, interior with exterior. “The colors create a context for the objects, pulling them together,” says Hall. “Rather than feeling random or choppy, they are part of a cohesive story.”

Now when the couple returns from a trip, the bright colors and their collections help cushion the transition, taking the edge off any culture shock. “We travel so much, the re-entry can be difficult,” allows Angermeir. “The houseboat assures us a soft landing.”

Taken from the February 2008 issue of our sister publication, California Home + Design. For more than a decade, CH+D has informed, celebrated and inspired the nation's most influential home and design market. Subscribe now.
 

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