Finding the key

As we made our way back to Shiloh across the bay in the dinghy last night, moonlight bathed us in an indigo glow. Everything was awash with light, dancing on the little waves, bouncing back up at the huge disc of light above us. The bay was quiet. Cruisers having switched off all lights but the mast heads, serving as tiny reflectors to mark their spots in the world.

I was in awe of the weather, the beauty, the peacefulness. But mostly I was in awe of all the people, asleep in their tiny cabins around us.

Since we arrived in Grenada – by plane – we have met countless travelers, having sailed from the UK, from South Africa, some from as far as Australia.

When we hear these stories, I can’t help but gaze deeply in the storyteller’s eyes, to look at their hands, their clothes, their gestures. Could there be a formula that gives people the strength, determination, zest for life, that indescribable something that makes them pack up the family or set aside the lazy retirement and face the unknown of a sea-journey of the world?

Some people look weathered and strong, while others look timid, plain, ordinary. In my mind I wonder, “How did they cross the world by sea?!” What skills, demeanor, training, lack of judgment do they possess?

Last night’s jazz performers at the marine were a talented German duo, having sailed the world for over 27 years, circumnavigating many times. They were nearing, or into their 70’s and not planning to quit anytime soon.

As we were losing stamina for the evening, a friend in his sixties was doing a tequila shot and talking of hanging up his rugby jersey at 52. Since then he’d sailed pretty much around the world.

Earlier in the day, a family with two kids under 5, living on a tiny monohull, had arrived ashore on Hog island with their picnic basket, ready to set up a barbeque.

“How do you watch your toddler on the boat?”

“We have nets around the outside and boats are small, he doesn’t get out of my sight really, he keeps me busy!”

I couldn’t imagine it. Her husband works on the island, and they have sailed from South Africa.

A few minutes later she was swimming back to the boat, way out in the bay to bring their second dinghy back.

This morning we arrived (by dinghy to shore) and as we came around into the second bay, we passed a small old man, rowing his dinghy. He arrived about 30 minutes later. We said hello. He explained that he rows around daily It can take him one or two hours. He must be 70+.

All these stories and the many many more, are inspirational.

A few cruisers had congregated around a palm tree at Roger’s beach bar the other day and they were commiserating on having to visit ‘home’ back in Australia/South Africa/Europe.

“People just compare their ailments and complain about getting old!”

This was the general gist of the conversation. And I could relate. Sitting back on land, where we could jump into our car, everything at our fingertips, we became lazy. We stopped appreciating the little things. We stagnated.

 Yesterday, after a couple hours with my shoulder holding up the engine cover (while JW plunged in below), huge flashlight in hand, passing tools and sweating through my t-shirt, we finished ‘work’ for the day, peeled off the sopping clothes and decided to explore the island, Take a refreshing swim. It was a day of physical work, physical play, and when we did hit the pillow I slept soundly.

This morning we are at a boat jumble sale, surrounded by so many people who are living life in the moment. I don’t know what they have that makes them special. Maybe it’s something that’s in all of us. They’ve just found their key. And I think we’re finding ours.

Rainy Thursday

Half an hour ago I was on my feet, flittering between rooms to close the hatches against the downpour above. Warm water trickled down my face and arms. Now I lie dry and warm and cozy in our little cabin below.

It’s a Thursday morning. I know this because the Cruiser’s Net broadcast it on the VHF system a while ago. They also reminded me that it’s cooking class day at True Blue Bay in the afternoon. Nothing else is pressing.

Months ago on any given Thursday morning, I’d have been sitting at my desk, tackling hundreds of e-mails, fighting the incessant fires of accounting and service delivery problems, and planning to face the bumper to bumper, hot honking black fumes traffic of Accra.

Now, as the pitter patter of rain on the window hatch above reminds me of all that uncaptured water, I’m thinking we’ll need to measure for our makeshift rain catcher and head back to the hardware store at some point for a tarp.

Wondering how much bailing we’ll have to do if the dinghy is full of rain. Hoping with relative confidence, that the sun will come out with a force later to dry our towels and outdoor cushions.

All my thoughts converge and hover above me, but for now Shiloh lulls me with the gentle ocean waves and the sound of rain. It might be 9am by now. It might be later. Coffee can wait, the plans for the day can wait. For now my eyes are closing, JW lies beside me, his steady breath a familiar comfort. And I am savouring the moment. 

day 1

While other writers huddle in Starbucks outlets, nose in their computer screen, tall skinny mocha at the ready, coat layers bunched up beside them…. I am barefoot, typing away on a dock bar, peering through the wooden planks under me, to the crystal clear water lapping over the bright red crabs on the rocks below. 

White gossamer curtains hung from rustic wooden poles separate the tables and blow gently in the breeze. Beyond, the catamarans bobbing on the jetty provide the backdrop to a shimmering ocean. Shiloh is amongst them. In the galley JW sits surrounded by cables and wires and tools. He is fitting out the boat with all the systems and gadgets that will either be necessary or nice to have. Either way, I’m at a safe distance.

Holiday makers in bikinis and wraps pass me now and then, to and from the Dodgy Dock Bar. They are sandy toed and pink shouldered. They are enjoying a relaxing holiday. They probably assume I’m doing the same, or even that I SHOULD be, instead of sitting at a computer! But this is not a two week getaway for us. This is day three of the rest of our lives.

We have left everything behind and started life on a boat. It is still pretty surreal to me. I have precisely three weeks sailing experience and can barely tie the knots in my shoelaces. But I have known for years that I wanted to travel the world. I have never felt security in having a homebase, I would always have the feeling there was somewhere more interesting to live, so many more things to do and see that there would be a sense of longing, of restlessness.

Living on a boat, I reasoned, would allow me to travel the world cheaply, and not have to spend thousands on flying, living out of suitcases. JW concurred. Sailing has been his dream since he was 10 years old, helping out on a friend’s tugboat in Cape Town’s waterfront. Luckily his dream is accompanied by his skills as a captain!

To get here, to this very spot I’m in, has taken more than a decade – from planning to purchasing the boat, to seeing our kids off to University and quitting our jobs. It was a long time coming, but it all fell into place perfectly. Five years ago we bought Shiloh in the British Virgin Islands, and with the help of our kids, sailed her 700 nautical miles, to her current home at True Blue Bay in Grenada.

Since then she has been in charter, and we have been longing to be back here, to start our journey. To live out a dream, to truly enjoy… We’ve had so many reactions from family, friends and strangers. Most are incredulous – either they can’t believe we would do it, or wonder why the hell we’d want to. And there are those who would love to do the same, but see so many obstacles. In all cases, the prospect is something imagined, something mysterious.

For us it has always been romantic, inspiring, our main motivation. It has been the topic of so many conversations for us, so much planning, so much thought. And Saturday March 31st our plane touched down.

We managed the immigration hassles and made it to Shiloh’s welcoming saloon. ... And to a guy dressed head to toe in a white jumpsuit, eyebrows and hair a matted white, mask covering his face. Fiberglass work. No water onboard since the tanks were emptied to fix the crack with the fiberglass. No curtains, no galley couch cushions, and more wear and tear than we’d contemplated.

We walked onboard and began to turn green. The rolling waves and the moving jetty worked together to ensure instant seasickness. As we ingested our second round of Gravol Saturday night, we looked at each other in a drug induced fog.

Is this what our dream has led to? But day ones are always the most challenging. We’ve already been for drinks on a new friend’s yacht and managed to pack away the mountain of clothes. There is a real satisfaction in completing each task. It brings you back to the basics in life – taking each day at a time and appreciating each accomplishment.

In a couple of weeks Shiloh will be fully kitted out and ready to sail the ocean blue – and we will too!!!