1 januari 2020 - Fairtransport
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!
It’s midnight, we wake up. It’s morning light outside! We can clearly see. The deck, the water surrounding us, the faces of my shipmates, the horizon melting in thousands of colors of blue. The moon goes to sleep, the other watch also. We’re alone on deck with a very light breeze. We’re like an evolution […]
Paint and stain possible on this beautiful day. All sails are up, even the jib that the kids painted in Amsterdam. We sat her under the mainsail. We call it the ‘dolphin sail’. Some of the crew members enjoyed cooking yesterday while Soraia had a day off. Her pastas, oignons beignets, pizzas, lasagna and vegetables […]
Fingers grab the outer jib sheet … Are they mine? Hands feel the curiosity Of last year’s boson The mumbling drums of this refit And that refit Echoes of detachment sweat That rinsed all those backs Shaped all those minds Into a pale blue line Man, just had this crazy dream Was it mine? Boots […]