After a nice stay on Martinique and a fair bit of necessary maintenance on the ship, we set sail to Grenada.
In passing first behind St Lucia, we ended up behind Saint Vincent without any wind, and the starboard watch spent six hours bracing non stop in the scorching heat looking for even the slightest breeze, to no avail. after another couple of hours, we finally caught some wind again and continued to Saint George, Grenada, where we were tugged in with the help of local fishermen.
I think its safe to say none of us knew much about Grenada before arriving there. At just over 112.000 inhabitants, its’s the 10th smallest country in the world. Famous for its valuable spices, its unsurprising that Grenada was heavily colonized from the 16th century onwards by the Spanish, the French, and finally the British until its independence in 1979.
The island has everything from beautiful beaches lined with palm trees, to tropical forest inland, and the way to get around is by the little minivan buses that drive at breakneck speed down the winding narrow roads. The Grenadians are friendly and easygoing people. Music is always coming from all directions, the smell of spices is in the air, the sun is blistering hot every day so we decided to start work at 6 am and finish earlier so we can go to the beach or out for some ice cream or a local Carib beer.
The new trainees that came on board in Martinique are getting their first sail training and climbing instructions. We visit the Grenada Chocolate Company, that makes delicious organic chocolate, and after a guided tour of through factory, the staff treats us to a huge cookout of the national dish ‘the oil down’ a sort of giant stew.
For me, Grenada is an unsung Caribbean paradise, a land of spice, hidden treasures and smiling faces. I have many fond memories of it as we set sail to our next destination, Colombia.
Amber Grootjans, Trainee.
We got through Europa with strong storms and we’ve been crossing the Atlantic, with burning sunny days. We got through a crazy time in Barbados, with exhausting anchor-maneuvers and an environment that left not so much space for a good rest. And then finally we reached St. Martinique.
The island made us a nice welcome, with the refreshing smell of wet Forest wood of the huge green landscape. The green grass around the little hills and the nice Forest were the refreshing views, which we were longing for. After our successful anchor-maneuver, we were looking forward to the art of French baking. The word croissants were in everyone’s mouth. Nice food and good drinks became the basis of our arriving-party. We were happy to be in beautiful surroundings like this island.
We all felt a big change was about to happen. Almost half of us had to leave…
We became a family when we did this big crossing together, but now this amazing journey is ending for some of us. Their time on the ship is over, they did their duty and left their footsteps in our hearts and on this ship. It will be different for us, and hard for them to leave. We keep them in our memories.
The happiness of arriving on a nice and friendly island and these moods of change. Made space to mirror the passing events on this ship for me personally. I am now over three months on this ship. I started in November in Den Helder, crossed the channel and reached the “other side” of the world and became a part of the ship. I learned to fear and respect the water. I solved being afraid of heights and became the climbing instructor. I faced my inner demons on the crossing and shook them off.
Three words became really strong for me: faith, hope, and love. The faith grew about my knowledge, my abilities, and my spirit. The belief in a bigger thing, like this project and that a small change can become a big wave. Every star night and beautiful sunrise gave hope and created greed for the next day.
The strength of the mates, the captain and our beautiful ship Tres Hombres gave me hope that after every suffering comes a breath-taking moment around the corner. And I felt strong love. Love for the ideals of this company, to her our wooden home and our amazing crew. I am really proud to be a part of this.
I arrived finally at a place where I always dreamed about to be. Since I was a child, I was reading books about sailors and pirates. I collected bottle ships and on every holiday on a coast, my parents had to fight me away from the harbors after hours of watching the sailing-boats. And now at the peak of my life, I finally got the opportunity to make this dream come true. To sail on a tall ship across the Atlantic, to climb into the rigs and stand on a yard and all this with a good ethic idea in the background.
I had plans. I wanted to cross the ocean to visit friends in Mexico and my lovely family in North Carolina. I was looking for adventures on the way through America. A country that is full of western society. But in this arriving-night on Martinique, it changed my mind totally. The Idea to stay on board grew out of a little talk with the galley cook some months ago and became my biggest wish. I saw myself more on this ship than traveling thought another western society. I miss my cousins and uncle who have been waiting for me, but I need to bring this sacrifice.
I am looking forward to new opportunities to face my fears. Out of the fear of storms became a longing for it, the stress with climbing grew the lust for it and the bunch of crazy people which I met for the first time in my life found a big part in my heart. These old planks, the rusty metal, the tared rig, and the shining white sails became my home. And I will stay until I have to leave in Amsterdam. The present on this ship became the biggest present of my life.
I would like to thank Raphael and Guillaume for the help for Tres Hombres!
Make fast slowly! Arrival in the Caribbean
The last two weeks were arrival weeks for the crew of Tres Hombres. After 22 days we saw land again: the island Barbados was in sight in the morning of the 9th of January. Hotels! industry! cruise ships! We had a 25 knots of wind, so to reduce speed for the anchor manoeuvre we took down royal, upper bob, outer jib and course.
Close to the entrance of the river of Bridgetown we tried to anchor and for two times the anchor was not holding. Pump the anchor up by hand 2 times, set sail, tack back into the bay: we were busy with that for 7 hours. The 3rd time we were doing 3 knots again but then she stopped: we had 4 shackles in and where holding. This is how to make fast slowly I guess.
Soraia and I went into Bridgetown to clear in and get some fresh food. What a world we are living in! Music, car sounds, the smell: unbelievable after such a long time at sea. In the cruise terminal we cleared in and went to the fishing harbour after to get cold beer, veggies and some fish.
The weeks after were real organising weeks, talking with agents, rum distillers, harbour offices etc. etc.
In the end, we could go into the cargo harbour on the 17h of January, just for 10 hours. Make slow-fast!
At 5 o clock, we got tugged in by our friend Randall and at 9 o clock, we had the rum on the truck.
At 12 we were filling up the barrels in the Four Square distillery and at 14.00 we were back on the ship again. At 16.00 all barrels were back onboard filled up and sea tight. After that we unloaded wine, seaweed and olive oil for a slow food restaurant on Barbados and we picked up a new trainee from the Cruise terminal. I cleared out and at 18:30 we had all sails up and sailed out of the harbour of Bridgetown. Bye-bye Barbados! Seventeen hours later we arrived in the bay of St. Anne Martinique and we had a meeting with our friend Raphael. We cleared in and believe it or not: they have a pizza catamaran in the bay here: you order on a VHF channel and they come by with a tender to deliver the pizza. This was a good, goodbye party: with pizza, wine and rock ‘n roll music. 6 trainees are leaving and we get 6 new ones on board.
During this week we unload wine and Armagnac for Raphael, we unloaded empty barrels of rum on the beach and Friday we gonna load full barrels back on board. When I wake up and look around me, see the sun go up, drink a coffee, have a chat with the crew on deck in the sun, do a swim I can only admit that this life is like a dream.
It was in the afternoon on Saturday 4th of January when our watch got woken up from our precious sleep half an hour before wake-up time. No explanation, only the message that the captain required our presence on deck immediately. Now, if you finally can sleep for a meager six hours after a tiring double night watch, this half an hour seems like an eternity. You can imagine the look on our faces when we appeared from the Foxhole.
The scene we were treated to on that moment seemed surreal, as if we were still dreaming. The crew had put the dinghy, a small motorboat that normally is stored on deck, overboard and now the captain and some other crew members were driving circles around the ship, taking pictures, screaming like madmen and jumping into the water. The past few days the temperature had been building up slowly and we’d been longing for a refreshing swim between maintenance jobs for a while now. Unfortunately (and fortunately), the ship always has too much speed to be able to do this.
It seemed they had found a very entertaining way to overcome this. I couldn’t wait to get into that boat! When the first group returned, I grabbed my chance and jumped in. While we drove away, swimming was the only thing I could think of at first – until I turned around. There she was, in all her glory, fully rigged with all her sails, as if she came straight out of a kick-ass pirate movie. How different things can look when you change perspective! This had been our home for the past few weeks now, but it was the first time we all could see her how our surroundings see us: simply magnificent. At the same time, it stroke me that the ship somehow looked very small. At that moment, it seemed almost impossible to me that fifteen people could live together for so long on such a small patch of surface. Yet, we do.
Sailing this ship, that patch of surface and the people living on it turn into a world where all the things you knew before seem to disappear into the background. Life becomes beautifully simple: eat, sleep, work, repeat. Everything becomes a group thing, we all depend on each other. The wooden railing becomes the physical border with the only thing that is outside: the ocean. Literally stepping out of that world felt liberating and scary at the same time. Knowing that there is about 4,5 kilometer of water underneath you when you dive in makes you feel very, very tiny. But boy, did we enjoy it! We all returned back to our world soaking wet and with a huge smile on our faces.
We are three weeks on the water now and it won’t be long before we will see land again. I feel unsure if I will enjoy our re-entry in civilization. This world of ropes, sails, wood and steel and the family we made here are growing on me. But I’m sure I’ll adapt again. It’s just a matter of perspective.
We are crossing the Atlantic Ocean from east to west in the moment, which means we are sailing more or less downwind in the Trades, just north of the equator. Stun sails are up, tropical nights the norm and we have at least 3 weeks to find our rhythm. The mood in the crew could not be better, we are deep in the performing phase of group dynamics. The inevitable nitty gritty conflicts bubbling up when living in a community get solved in some way or the other. Last midnight we all watched “Rounding Cape Hoorn” by Irving Johnson, together on top of the chart room during the gained extra hour due to crossing time zones. Pure awe, we are just children playing with a toy compared to the sailors of yore! But enough of that, just be assured: life is great and here nobody cares about Trump. I wanted to write a bit about the Sounds of the Sea.
We are travelling in an engine less ship. Trivial as it is: that means there is no engine, no internal combustion happening to move along. In the modern world we are very used to the constant background noise from fans, equipment or machines — our brain successfully blends them out. So at first you don’t really notice the absence of an engine, but as soon as our generator is running (a regularly necessary evil to power the ships computer and radio) you appreciate the sweet sweet silence. In Santa Cruz de La Palma we visited the Alexander von Humboldt II while she was moored next to us. Beautiful ship, impressive rigging and modern interior. But multiple decks and modern living standards also result in a continuous ventilation humming along. The need for electricity means her engine room is always noisy and her steel hull carries the slight vibrations caused by active machinery as a sign of being alive.
The sounds of sailing on the Tres Hombres are very different and diverse, surely depending on the situation, wind and swell. It ranges from the mighty bellowing of the Mainsail, when big swell and low wind causes it to flap. On the other end of the spectrum you find for example the faint metal clicking of the Forestaysail sheet tackle, located on the Foredeck directly above the Foxhole. There is the regular whirring of the tow generator when it is tailing behind the ship and the swishing of the windmills which in concert with the mute solar panels try to magic up enough electricity so that we do not have to endure the generator too often. Waves rushing along the ship or the ship crashing into waves, the wind howling in the rigging. Crew yelling in excitement when dolphins play under the bowsprit and flying fish suiciding on deck with a confused splash. The *pluuumpscht-ratratratrat* of dropping the anchor, the *prrrrrrrr* of turning the steering wheel or the *chrrrrruut* of a successfully doused Mainstay sail. The chaotically mad symphony of the pots and pans swinging around in the galley, conducted by the ship itself. The sweetest sound of them all is the food-o-clock bell while the sad burbling of an empty coffeepot can ruin the start of your watch.
Wear and tear is the biggest enemy on the ocean, and some chafing also creates a noticeable sound. So it is always good to have a sharp ear to the small and tiny sounds that were not present last night. Try to mentally locate every muttering of the ship while staring up into the night sky. And not to be underestimated is the effect of the low pitched but regular banging and bashing onto the sleep of the other watch below deck. When you lay awake in bunk the tiniest sound from above is amplified by the wooden structure, and can easily rob you of your sleep. You might know where a specific sound is coming from, you might even know which tracing line has to be adjusted in order to silence the damn thing. But finding your headlamp and getting up to fix it yourself is something else. Deck rounds in the night additionally keep you occupied, help passing the time 😉
Sounds I do not miss in the slightest: Lonely TV’s running in the background of a café. The metal-on-metal screeching of the Tram passing by on a busy four lane main road. The nagging *pling* of an incoming Whats App message, begging for attention. I will hear them again, but for now the sounds of silence have to suffice.
Martin Zenzes. Tres Hombres. 2020.
Vandaag 2 januari vier ik mijn 30e verjaardag, voor de 3e keer mijn verjaardag op de Tres Hombres voor het eerst midden op de Oceaan, voor het eerst als kapitein. En de dagen zijn als alle dagen op de oceaan, een alweer prachtige zonsopgang terwijl de portside watch hun ochtend wacht beëindigd, pap met gebakken bananen eet als ontbijt. Dagelijkse kleine beslommeringen als: de koffiefilters zijn onvindbaar dus moeten we met de herbruikbare filter koffie op schenken (wat een paar minuten langer duurt), we kunnen er tijdens de nachtwachten uren over praten.
Een wachtoverdracht tussen de Port en Starbord. Een plan voor de dag met de stuurmannen en de bootsman. Nog meer zeilen willen we hebben, dus worden er plannen gemaakt voor extra zeilen rond de Royal. Ik lees de verzamelde werken van Toergenjew, luister naar Leonard Cohen, kijk uit over zee. Happy birthday wordt gezongen en verder? Verder golft de oceaan wel door, blijven de tradewinden wel waaien.
30 jaar, mijn twintiger jaren zijn over: tien jaar geleden zat ik nog op de kunstacademie, vierde eindeloze feesten op het havenpark Zierikzee, zeilen deed ik niet eens zo veel in die tijd. Na de kunstacademie was ik ziek van de hele kunstwereld en wilde alleen maar nog varen, varen, varen. Ik was niet op zoek naar roem maar naar vrijheid. Varen deed ik eerst in Nederland: in de Zeeuwse Delta, Ijsselmeer en het Wad en toen mijn kennismaking met de Tres Hombres. In Vlissingen lag het schip op het Sail de Ruyter festival waar ik ook lag met een tjalk. Of ik niet eens een keer mee kon, ja morgen was het antwoord. En daar begon het allemaal, van Vlissingen naar Den Helder, kruisend in een drukke Noordzee. Nog dat jaar zou ik mijn eerste oceaan oversteek doen en ineens was het allemaal duidelijk. Die ongelofelijke leegte, buiten de maatschappij, dagen alleen maar water: dit was het! Noem het romantiek, noem het het besef dat de mens maar zo iets kleins is in een groter geheel.
Nu meer dan tien oversteken later, vaar ik als kapitein op dit mooie schip. 30 jaar en zoiets moois mogen doen, dit had ik tien jaar geleden nooit kunnen bedenken. Ondertussen zoveel ervaringen verder, Suzan leren kennen, een dubbeldekker omgebouwd tot huis, muziek spelend waar het maar kan, zoveel reizen, zoveel mensen ontmoet, zoveel zee gezien.
En dan is er nog een groot nieuws wat ik graag zou willen delen vanaf zee, juist voordat ik vertrok voor deze oceaan rondtocht met de Tres Hombres kwamen we er achter dat Suzan zwanger was. Dit geeft ons een ongelofelijk gelukkig gevoel. Het is raar om op de Tres Hombres te zitten terwijl bij haar de eerste echo’s worden gemaakt, ze het hartje voor het eerst heeft horen kloppen, het is onwerkelijk om haar pas in Mei weer terug te zien op een of andere kade in Holland met een dikke buik, maar wat zullen we wuiven naar elkaar.
Eind Juni zal ik vader worden. Hier op het dek bouw ik samen met Jeroen de bootsman een wiegje. Hoe het wiegje er uit ziet? Als een schip: een zeilschip natuurlijk, gemaakt van spoelhout gevonden op de verschillende eilanden die we aandoen deze reis.
En waar zal ik zijn over tien jaar? Of als ik 60 ben? Misschien op een van de Ecoclippers die Jorne aan het voorbereiden is? Zeilend dicht bij huis door Nederland? Muziek en gedichten makend struinend door Nederland, door de wereld?
De toekomst ziet er misschien wel een beetje uit als de oceaan vandaag: vliegende vissen, blauwe luchten, 15 zeilen van dit schip gevuld met wind en verder 15 gelukkige mensen slingerend over een eindeloze zee. Het kan, en omdat dit nu is, dit nu echt is, dat er ondanks al die ruis als bijproduct van onze kapitalistische samenleving projecten als dit schip mogelijk zijn. Dat er nog steeds mensen zijn die op staan, de vraag stellen, energie steken in de bouw van zoiets prachtigs als dit schip, dat geeft hoop: hoop op een mooie toekomst. Hoop dat mijn kind later ook zal kunnen varen, zal kunnen leven op een planeet die er hier vandaag ook best mooi uit ziet.
In the vast Atlantic Ocean lies the secret of the strong spirited. A gift available for whom has left shore and all things known. A side of sailing only truly appreciated by those who have seen the other. Without contrasts in life we easily become accustomed to even the most magical things.
We started the crossing 16 days ago. We are now more than half way through.In the meantime, life has completely changed. We went from survival mode to actual living. I mean, literally, our safety nets are now mostly used to hang our clothes to dry.
I feel peace. A peace that derives from the simplicity of life on board and the constant contact with nature. We cook, we clean, we fix, we sail. We sleep, we eat, we talk, we stare. We made it so complex on land. So many worries, so many things abstract. We have become slaves of things thought to free us. Emails, cellphones, property, money. Life here feels more real and concrete. I miss nothing, even having so little. I have a meaningful existence. My meaning is to feed 15 people. Yet this is an oasis, drifting towards shore again. One can’t be in the sea forever, alienated; but one could try to bring this knowledge and the quest for a simple life back home, and remember what was important and what was superfluous. One could look deeper into old habits and dependencies, understand where they come from and maybe brake free.
Happy New Years!