By sailboat to the Caribbean – Part 1
When the wave comes, I'm sitting on the toilet. The toilet door flies open and I try to grab it. I slide so far forward that the toilet seat falls violently into my back. With a pained expression on my face, I try not to lose my balance. Then my gaze falls on the floor, where a lot of things have literally gone wrong in the last few seconds. It's only the second of 24 days out here on the Atlantic. I curse like a sparrow and briefly wish I could return to the shelter of the harbor basin of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria.
Sailors: the slightly different tourist species
The main holiday season in the Canary Islands had already started in November. Millions of people flock to the beaches here year after year, fleeing the gray cold of the approaching winter. You collect sun rays on your skin and holiday memories in the souvenir shops. We, on the other hand, pursued a slightly different agenda at the end of last year. Instead of greedily soaking up the Canary Islands warmth, we prepared for weeks to simply sail after the sun. Just like numerous other sailors, we carted tons of food around. Bought medicine we hoped we would never need. And systematically searched every boat supply store that wasn't closed for siesta or fiesta. We: that's Alex, captain of the sailboat Cold Feet, and me, the full-time vagabond. Our destination: palm trees, beach, Caribbean. Around 3000 nautical miles and many, many waves away.
24 days of digital detox on the Atlantic
The first day of our big adventure flew by. No wonder: instead of enjoying our departure, we greedily soaked up the last of Gran Canaria's mobile phone rays like addicts on the verge of withdrawal. Sending messages, photos, and satellite tracking links to everyone we could think of, whether they missed us or not. When the wind picked up towards evening, sailing demanded our full attention. And a few hours later, the night had not only swallowed the last bit of land, but also the Internet.
Since then, we have only communicated sporadically with a small group of people via satellite radio. Also present and indispensable: our wonderful weather whisperers Michael and Sheila, who regularly keep us up to date with short messages about the moody trade winds.
How space and time change on an ocean
Every now and then I pick up my cell phone. Take a photo or a short video. And put it away again. Aside from the occasional cursing tirade against the waves, I'm surprisingly calm and focused most of the time. The absence of the internet, coupled with nothing but the open sea around us, creates a lot of space and time. Out here we can have non-stop conversations until every single word is said, considered and truly meant. When we are silent, thoughts drift unchecked. You don't get caught on any billboards or buildings, you don't have to take into account the buses and cars driving by, or the opening times of the supermarket. Our chart plotter alone is vaguely reminiscent of a world in which speed, beginning and end play a role.
What there is to see and hear out here
During many glorious hours of sailing we listen to the sound of the sea and the tingling bursting of the air bubbles on our hull. Then it sounds like every mile is worth pouring over a glass of Prosecco. On other days the wind howls menacingly in the rigging. The most unpleasant thing, however, is when he almost completely abandons us for two days and we are at the mercy of the waves with flapping sails. But we quickly get used to the absence of silence. For 24 days it is not quiet on board for a single minute.
Most of the time we see nothing but sky, clouds, moon, stars and water. Birds rarely come by. Every now and then we are accompanied by pilot whales or dolphins and we see flying fish almost every day. To escape from predators, they jump out of the water and often rush through the air for several hundred meters at speeds of up to 70 kilometers per hour before diving back down. We sailors feel strangely connected to them. We are also quite a strange species. And in our own way, we are also on the run.
Goodbye consumer and performance society?
Every few days, large cargo ships appear on the chart plotter. Fittingly, they are always traveling in the opposite direction - and not just on the compass. It's everyday work on these ships right now. The goods in their containers will soon reach our consumer society, satisfy needs and awaken new ones. Meanwhile, we do the exact opposite of work and enjoy turning our backs on our consumer and performance society for a few weeks. But do we really have that?
When we first discovered another sailing boat on our plotter on the fourth day, the mood on board suddenly changed. A catamaran is traveling on a similar course to us. We raise the mainsail and stare at our speedometer more often than usual. In our minds we imagine how much space they surely have on board and that with their two hulls they certainly sway a lot less than we do. All our lives we have been conditioned to compare and win. You don't get rid of that so quickly out here either.
Minimalism meets cruise ship
Shortly behind Cape Verde, the lights of “Mein Schiff 3” flash on the horizon at night. While we can only manage 3 knots under full sail with a hint of wind, the cruise ship rushes towards the island of Boa Vista at a smooth 17 knots. The Automatic Identification System AIS tells me it will reach its destination at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning. The contrast between our boat and “Mein Schiff 3” could hardly be greater. It is 293 meters long and 36 meters wide. It has its own theater, an indoor and outdoor pool, a hairdresser, a shopping arcade and even a jogging track. And numerous bars and restaurants leave no culinary wishes unfulfilled for its approximately two and a half thousand passengers.
Today I, on the other hand, meticulously lined up our last twelve Canarian mini potatoes in an empty egg carton. So I hope they last a few more days until they start to germinate. Tomorrow is the last hour for the bananas. And it was with genuine sadness that we had to give a rotten pepper a burial at sea yesterday. We don't know when we'll arrive or how much food and water we'll have left. Instead of a sophisticated entertainment program, our recent highlight was a container ship that had forgotten to turn on its navigation lights at night. We shower with Atlantic salt water, which we pour over our heads with buckets. “Are you happy?” Alex asks me the next morning. “Absolutely,” I say boldly. And mean it.
About energy and adequacy
Our lives are slowing down. Normally, every person makes around 20.000 decisions a day, most of them unconsciously. Yes or no, this or that, now or later, and if so, how many? On a 15 meter long sailboat in the middle of an ocean, many of these decisions are completely eliminated and we concentrate on the essentials. Do we have enough sun on the solar panels? How are our batteries? Are you hungry? How many oranges do we have left? Do we have too much or too little wind? And are we making the most of it with our sails? Do you want to get some sleep? Or at least try?
As our supplies and strength gradually dwindle over the days and weeks, the wind picks up, the sun's rays intensify, and temperatures and humidity rise. Our waterproof and windproof clothes are stowed away and forgotten and by the second week it is almost too warm inside the boat to sleep. Using the power of the wind, we sail 3134 nautical miles through four time zones. And feel the proximity to the Caribbean on our skin before we even see it.
“Appropriate” is one of the words that keeps coming to mind when I’m out and about. I think it's appropriate that we prepared so intensively for this trip. That it takes so long until we finally get there. That nature has a say in its weather phenomena. And that we have to test physical and psychological limits that go beyond jet lag.
...However, I would have liked to have dispensed with this limit test...
You can read what happens next in our next blog post: Ina by sailboat to the Caribbean “Part 2"
© Photos: Daniel James Cook, Ina Hiester
Ina Hiester
Ina is a digital nomad and travels through Europe by land and sea. The journalist is always on the lookout for special places for Good Travel, philosophizes about travel in her column, takes photographs, makes music and writes articles on all kinds of environmental and sustainability topics.
6 Comments
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Ina
Thank you, Suzy!
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Katzinger Rudolf
Unfortunately, I'm already too old [83] for a trip like this, but I'd love to go with you.
All the best!-
Ina
Thank you very much, Rudolf, I'll be happy to keep you in my thoughts!
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Roswitha Etges
Dear Ina,
I wish you a happy Easter wherever you are right now.
Your look is very interesting.
Please come back healthy.-
Ina Hiester
Dear Rosi,
Thank you very much, I'll do that!
Happy Easter
Ina
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Susi
Wish you a good and eventful time.