Sea Gypsy

I am the first to admit that I fail to adult.
And proud of it.

Every time I begin the job hunt or prepare to "settle down", I get whisked away on magical adventures to far away places I have never heard of (I never paid much attention in Geography)
by means I never dreamed I would dabble with.
(No, even though I fall into adventures seemingly elegantly, none of this was planned).

And that's why I found myself back in Sweden.
Neptune knew I was seeking gainful employment, and instead he threw this at me:



The beautiful Eilean of Rue.
She needed help relocating...

Now, for all of you who have never sailed and don't have salt pumping through your veins,
you have to realize that this passionate love of the ocean is not a choice, it's a disease:
That feel of the breeze on your face as your hair knots with joy.
Your heart races as you heel to the side, holding on as you slice through the water carried only on whispers of wind - across bays, across oceans, across the world...
It's the simplest existence.
It's mesmerizing.
It's a drug.
 Once you have tasted it, you have to have more.



And so, only hours after arriving in Stockholm, we set the sails, and were off.
Fortunately there were sights to see even at sea:

We sailed night and day. Day and night.
And didn't stop till the very tip of Sweden to shelter from a passing storm.
(it generally is so very much nicer being in a safe harbour when a storm strikes).

The calm of the after-storm.

After a few hours rest (and a shower) we continued.



We dodged tankers and cargo boats and tall ships and wind farms as we sailed around Denmark and into Germany.
I didn't know what traffic was until we reached the Kiel canal:

Boats before

Boats behind

Boats along side

Boats we're glad we dodged when rounding corners.

There were so many boats and so much wind that we needed a break and a beer and tied up in Rensburg.

Rensburg is a strange place.

What the flip?

The Kiel canal spat us out into the most spectacular sunset as we rounded the German bite into the Northern sea.



The sun came out and the seas calmed.
We sailed past the Netherlands and Belgium and France.
This, my friends, is what we call the high life!
(Although European summer really ought to be much warmer)

Now picture this with a cup of fresh roasted coffee in hand.

After surviving rush hour in the English channel (even those crazy swimmers were out)
the fog descended and the UK disappeared as we followed her shores.
Surreal eerieness as the sea became the sky.
We drifted.

With fuel levels critical, we were forced to sail into Falmouth.
But tacking your way through boats and buoys has its own set of joys.

All too suddenly, the adventure came to an end.
And while it's always horrible to end one epic (especially a boaty one)
you have to walk away from one journey to begin another.

And they will know us by the Trail of Bread...

 

You know that feeling you get just before you begin a new chapter??

When you hear adventure calling your name and the beckoning is so loud that you have to heed it... even though you're not quite sure where it will take you and what you will find when [if] you get there...??

When you're thrillingly terrified... And you can't sit or relax or even think for fear of what it is that is about to pounce at you??

After 9 years of incongruously traipsing this planet, I'm amazed that I still get the jitters; that exhilaration still pulses through my veins... Actually I suppose it's the bewilderment that keeps me doing this. Yes, I should have it down. I should be mentally and physically prepared and set and... this should be a walk in the park... But still the flutterbys swarm my intestines and well...

...Well yes, it's back into the vortex of sea I go... 

And this time I'll be crewing on my smallest sailing boat yet, a Beneteau First 25; which, as the name suggests, is a "mega yacht" measuring in at a whopping 25 feet (7.62 m). Mono hull.  

I'm still trying to work out my explanation for my choice of vessels (there were a plethora of bigger, flasher, faster boats to choose from and an array of kind and funny and adventurous skippers), but I've learned enough in life to follow my instincts. 

And sometimes you just know something's right. It's infinitely more important to be on the right boat with the right crew - regardless of the destination - than anything else... Boat hopping is as extreme as hitch hiking gets: There is nowhere to just hop off, it's a flipping long way before you get to refeul and replenish, and you don't get bathroom stops... 

Fortunately this time, as I reassured  my mother this morning, we actually even have a toilet aboard.

Although I still maintain that this is the world's best toilet!!!

In fact it's a pretty interesting mix of cultures aboard: The boat (Yacare) and the skipper (Raphael) are French. The first mate (Cocotino) is a young coconut tree. Then there's me, the African. And my first mate, the trusty (little bit crusty) Teddy Teddison. 

To top that we also have yogurt, wild yeast and other foody cultures we'll be cultivating and experimenting with as we continue to cross the Pacific. And, with the lack of fridge and freezer, we'll be forced to be regularly producing sour dough and fermented milk products... 

We may even leave a trail of bread crumbs for you to follow. 

You ought to be able to tell who's who in this picture...

There will be stars. And sea. And whales. And dolphins. Mermaids, and flying fish.

There will hopefully be time to read and write and draw. 

There will be French... a language I don't speak [yet].  

But here we go again... Goodbye Fiji and thank you for a flipping phenomenal time!!!

...Next stop, The Solomons [probably] with it's crocodiles and pirates and malarial mosquitoes and volcanoes... 

Yes, here we go again.

Ahhh, the excitement!!