Time has flown; 17 months on GypsyDjango and life definitely is an adventure.
It began with his dream. Or maybe my dream? Regardless, I think it’s called a dream because so often it doesn’t feel real. When you embark on a radical change in your life it has to be with faith as one can’t possibly predict the future and outcome.
And so our dream became a story. A story about adventures, challenges, weather, and different cultures. We left behind one type of life with family, friends, careers, and wealth. Now we are surrounded by salty sailors who run their schedules not by clocks but by the force of Mother Nature. The destination is not the end point but the journey along the way. When I am faced by fear of the conditions we are living in I read inspirational blogs about women who have single handedly sailed around the world on substantially inferior yachts than the luxury of GypsyDjango. It sort of puts things in perspective. And when the conditions are wild I remind myself what a Lagoon 39 is able to withstand and that at this stage in my life I am not yet sailing that part of the world but rather tamer seas.
So it’s been interesting taking stock of what we have achieved and looking back at the numbers. In September alone we visited three countries - Croatia, Greece, and Italy. In October we will add Spain. Since becoming liveaboards we have covered over 6,300 nm (11,700 km) of sea with 1,470 hours active sailing time - which equates to 61 continuous days. At what point do I call myself a sailor? A true liveaboard? Well, it’s certainly not based on hours but rather on the experiences we create from the challenges we face. Why is it that we only grow and gain experience through challenges?
And our experiences are only a drop in the ocean (excuse the pun) compared to those of the other sailors we have been privileged to meet along the way. It’s fascinating and inspiring to track their journies and keep updated with their stories as they literally take their lives into a place of risk to achieve their dreams. For example, the American liveaboards we met off southern Sardegna last year who are currently experiencing the northern lights in Greenland, while avoiding icebergs and surviving 40 knot winds, on their way back home.
It’s these stories that I think have been the best part of this journey. It’s not the access to different countries or the feeling of being constantly on holiday. Rather it’s the exposure to new adventures and people who live inspirational lives - lives that make me want to be more, live more. There’s a quote by Pete Goss which resonates in my core and, in our new unsettled world of Covid, has taken on new meaning:
“If you are going to do something, do it now. Tomorrow is too late.”
As we navigate our way from island to island and country to country, reading, sleeping, or on night watch, we are stretching our abilities and how long we can manage without true deep sleep. I absolutely love these crossings where we get to watch the sunrise, sunset and moonrise over the ocean.
My favorite spot is on the roof with a good book on my kindle while we are sailing 🥂.
We are now able to spend seven days without touching land (and going crazy), getting into a rhythm and responding to the weather and environment as it unfolds in front of us. We have become finely tuned to the slightest shifts in conditions while taking our four hour naps before our next shift. And sometimes we amuse ourselves the best we can and nothing beats stopping in the middle of the oceans, days from shore, with 3000m of water below for a much needed swim. I just don’t allow myself to think of what possibly might, could be below me.
Some of our recent adventures that stand out include almost being boarded by an unknown, unmarked boat that stealthily crept up on us in the dead of night without lights - 24 hours off the coast of Italy. They shadowed us for over 15 minutes, while shinning their blinding spotlight on us, before deciding we were not worthy, killing their spot and speeding off into the distance. They left us shaken and extremely disturbed, but also relieved. Then there’s the story from my previous blog of the brave Saffers coming to our rescue in the inky dark and raging winds.
And, to top it off, we were tracked down by the Croatian police for supposedly violating isolation restrictions. Yes, the port police, after telling us we were free to depart, helping us untie our shore lines, decided in their wisdom that since we are South African we have entered Croatia from a red-list country and should be isolating on their customs pier. Somehow they managed to overlook our Spanish residency and the fact that sailing from South Africa would have taken us two or three months - that’s some serious self-isolation right there. When they told us we had to pay a 3,000 Euro fine on the spot the thought that they were trying to elicit a bribe did cross our minds. Since we knew we had followed entry procedures to the letter, on principle we were prepared to take this as high as we needed. And that was how we ended up in the back of a police car, after first sailing eight hours back to Dubrovnik, to see a judge on a Sunday. The situation did not look positive when our court-appointed translator arrived with his walker and hearing aid, clearly pulled straight from retirement. Fortunately I was wearing decent underwear, just in case we did get locked up. Anyway I digress; the judge quickly discovered that she came in on a Sunday to waste her time since we have Spanish residency, sailed to Croatia from Spain, and Spain was in the green list. She was not impressed and I think she said this was all bullshit and someone’s head was going to roll, but since my Croatian is non existent I can’t be 100% sure. Being dumped unceremoniously from the back of the police car, back at GypsyDjango, without so much as a single apology, did not deter us from making the most of our time in Croatia. At this stage I must point out that I still do not have a criminal record and do not intend to get one. Talk about living on the edge!
But on a lighter note, not all our adventures are dangerous or at sea. For the first time in fifteen months we decided to spend a night off GypsyDjango on dry land. I was imagining a night at a five star hotel but no, my outdoor Kevin had better ideas in mind. Off we went to discover the natural phenomenon that is Meteora in Greece, carrying our tent and all we thought we needed on our backs. With big aims to hike the 6 monasteries we began on a cloudy day in 30 plus degrees and a vague idea of a route. We managed to get lost once or twice, but that’s all part of the experience, right? As it was nearing nightfall and the weather was deteriorating, we decided to call it quits for the day, vaguely noticing that all the other tourists around us on the same adventure were travelling by car 😶. We climbed even higher looking for a level clearing amongst the trees on the mountain to pitch our tent. I must mention we had left GypsyDjango unattended on an un-monitored public pier in a commercial harbor, so my heart was in my throat and the flutterings of panic were never far away.
We found a patch amongst thorn trees and cow dung and settled in for the night. It was with a certain amount of distress that I realized I had forgotten to pack breakfast - so supper was halved. Then to make it worse, our luxury self inflatable mattresses we had bought and transported from Nepal to South Africa, shipped to Spain, sailed to Croatia, back to Spain and Croatia again, and now finally to be used in Greece - no longer worked. Also, our politically correct two-person tent was clearly sized on two child hobbits from the Shire and could scarcely accommodate both of us, let alone two men. Therefore our shoes, along with our backpacks, had to spend the night outdoors. The slight chance of a light overnight drizzle turned into a deluge and us waking, after an uncomfortable night on a hard field without a functioning mattress feeling every piece of cow dung pressing into my hip and back, to miniature bird-baths in our shoes. Oh, and accustomed to the 30 degree heat of the coast, we packed light. Without warm clothes or blankets, in the freezing cold we put on our sopping shoes and headed straight back to trusty GypsyDjango, smiling as the unvisited, unachieved monasteries on top of their stone pillars disappeared into the distance.
I have discovered I am no longer capable or equipped to live on land. But that’s ok.
And so my favorite motto as a salty-sailor-liveaboard (which I do believe I have almost earned the right to call myself) is:
“A sailor is an artist whose medium is the wind. Live passionately, even if it kills you, because something is going to kill you anyway." ―Webb Chiles
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