He who has a why to live, can bear with almost any how -Nietzsche-
CHAGUARAMAS BAY
We sail into the sunset in hardly a breeze enough to fill the sails. Much to my surprise the wind wakes up and we have a great night sail. Paula falls asleep and I enjoy the 15 knots on the beam for most of the night. As the wind dies early morning, I start the engine and we drive into Chaguaramas.
No surprise, there are about 60 yachts out at anchor or in moorings, about 100 in the six marinas and about 800 in the various boatyards. Much to my disappointment, the bottom is rocky and holding is poor. There's bugger-all wind and we settle outside the others and get used to the rattling of the chain. Check-in is a breeze, there's a good little supermarket and we are ready to enter the danger zone - a ship chandlery. Excercising great self control, I only buy two buckets, a led head lamp, a swivel for the wind vane rod, a new light for the life ring, some whipping twine for sail repairs, a new solar shower bag and 10 meters of 6mm sheet rope for the vane-wheel connection.
We meet Cameron, Sharon and Lou. The Big Aussie, his lovely Scottish partner and her 12-year-old son in their 30-foot fibreglass ketch on their way to Australia. Cameron provides ample distraction for me and I spend a few afternoons onboard "Timella" with a carton of local beer and rum.
Chaguaramas Bay is lined up with boatyards, I think there was five or six. Travel lifts are big enough to handle just about anything, everything is available expect the idyll of a Caribbean island.
I find a Raymarine dealer and order a new motor to replace the old one. Raymarine orders them from China and that is the reason I need a new one. The technician admits that the motors are not designed to operate in two directions and also suggests that to gimbal the control unit might help with the erratic behaviour in rolly seas. In my books Raymarine joins the growing list of companies that gain their reputation and market share with quality products and then gradually replaces all the parts with cheapest shit and continues to make profits by selling spare parts. Nothing wrong in trying to make a buck but selling crap gets no points from me. Integrity. Where is the integrity?
We meet Seppo and Anneli. A Finnish couple who have lived in Trinidad for 15 years in their home built "Sampo". They have decided to sell their yacht and fly back to Finland. The timing is impeccable. There is plenty of room in Aliisa to carry some of Sampo's heavy gear - tools etc. - to Finland. We give little Anna, our plastic dinghy to go with Sampo to the new owner. We receive a huge bag of warm clothing, rubber boots (finally I can put the boots on and go!) and other goodies. The most important trade is the stack of charts covering all the way from the Azores to Helsinki. All original charts and although 15-years-old, well kept and in good condition.
MARTINIQUE
Aliisa's waterline is sinking in the Chaguaramas Bay. We have stocked up for the North Atlantic in Trinindad before heading out to the more expensive islands further north. 25kg of spuds, 20kg of onions, 10kg of garlic, some tin food and a fair bit of treats. We pull anchor early Sunday morning and motor out. We struggle the afternoon by motor-sailing against the westbound current and only just manage to make it back to the Atlantic, on the east side of Grenada. After a good 24 hour sail upwind, I motor again as the same current is trying to push us against the Grenadines. The weather turns squally and the wind picks up to 25kn. Good sailing but with grey and rainy skies life seems a bit miserable.
We slip back to the Caribbean Sea and passing St.Lucia we decide to pull in for a night's sleep. I hate these 200-300 mile passages. They're not long enough to relax into it and not short enough to avoid settling into watches and cooking meals at sea. Next morning it's upanchor again, into light winds.
In Martinique Paula decided to make Aliisa look a little less sad. Scrubbing the sides made her look much better, from a distance. A cat-ladder for Charlie, hanging over the side, was a kind donation from a Norweigian boat "Bika" who sadly lost their cat on passage across Atlantic.
Martinique is big and with no idea where to go, no cruising guides or other information, we drive straight to Fort de France harbour. Only a handful of yachts there. Constant wake from the ferry traffic but a short walk to town. I'm reluctant to check in at all, but decide to do so to avoid arguments with Paula and to get another souvenir stamp in my passport. We get directed to a local chandlery where the sales staff gives me one form to fill. We check in and out but get no stamps in our passports. Paula buys a tear gas bottle from a.. what do you call the shops that sell guns, knives survival gear and camping stuff?
ST. BARTHELEMY
Perhaps one of the most expensive islands in the Caribbean, St.Barths is the only one that once belonged to Sweden. Swedish street signs still remain under the french ones in its capital Gustavia. There is a reason for our visit here. I want to meet my old "best friend" Markku. He lived in the same neighborhood when I was a child and we spent a few summers together in our parent's summer cottages at the age of 10 to 12?. Markku has been living in St.Barths for years and is married to a local girl. He runs his own business as a sailmaker, is the President of the local Yacht Club and a keen racer, including transatlantic races.
The anchorage is busy but well sheltered on a clear sandy bottom. The best so far. The clearing in is a joke, again. The friendly man in the port captain's office doesn't even look at our passports. We have a departure stamp from Trinidad and nothing since then. The charge is 4 euros per day to stay in the Gustavia harbour. Including cold showers and a large rubbish bin.
We meet Markku - a kinda weird experience for both him and me. A couple of beers and a quick chat. He's very busy finishing his last orders before skippering a delivery to the US a few days later. Paula and I return to the boat and start thinking about the last jobs before hitting Atlantic. One of the main tasks is to hide all the stock and other gear which is still crowding the floor under the saloon table. I check my e-mails on the SSB and Paula retires to bed. Just as she's falling asleep I get a message from her sister: "Call home as soon as possible".
The Caribbean Hurricane seasons have left a few reminders of the importance of getting the fuck out of the area in time or to find a secure (very expensive) spot in some of the boatyards.
The message is short an unpleasant. Paula knows that something bad has happened. We drive the dinghy across to town and find a phone box. Paula makes the call. Being prepared for the worst is not enough. Nothing prepares a 26-year-old person for the sudden death of her healthy 50-something dad. We cry on the jetty and then quietly drive the dinghy back to Aliisa. We play a game of backgammon and drink a bottle of red wine, as a distraction. "Can you help me to pack" Paula says.
Next morning Paula gets up early, after only a few hours of sleep. We go to the travel agent. The lady has never heard of Brisbane and we spell it for her. After a while she quotes 5200 euros for the flights. Thank you, Merci. We get Markku's car and visit the island's second travel agent near the airport. This time the quote is reasonable, at least within the credit limit of Paula's visa card. Ferry to St.Maarten, then fly Brisbane via Jamaica and L.A., 1700 euros. We return Markku's car, cancel the dinner with him and his wife and rush to the last ferry across to St.Maarten, 13 miles away.
Next day I return to Aliisa alone. Very alone. During our arguments there has been many times in the past when I've quietly wished Paula would go home. Now that wicked wish had come true. But I didn't mean it like this. I didn't mean that to really happen like this. The whole cruise changed in 24 hours, but I would have to continue.
ST. MARTIN
I pull anchor early morning and drive 25 miles in calm weather to Marigot Bay, St.Martin. My passport is still not required in check-in. I walk the small town up and down, left and right. People are mostly French and many of them unfriendly in my standards. Asking for directions will get you a silent arm pointing some direction or a passing, non-elaborate: "It's next to the post office", leaving me standing alone in the street wondering where the fuck is the post office?
The blacks are friendlier, as usual, though many of them too seem resentful towards another white yachtie. Atleast I've learned the caribbean hand-shake: hand clenched into a fist and gently pushed against the other person's fist. (If you're really friendly, you follow that by moving your fist on your heart.) The friendliest contacts with the locals are by the Indians who run many of the islands retail outlets. (What is it about Indians and Chinese - they run the shops in half the world...)
I add items to my job list and get busy. A spring clean, vacuum, scrub the floor, secure the cushion backrests with velcro, hand-wash laundry, fix the wind wane, go through the lockers (to get familiar with what used to be Paula's department), check oil, add battery water, tighten altenator belt, make a non-skid fabric cover for the toilet bowl rim (for Charlie), go through the tool boxes, grease and clean the tools and leave all commonly used tools at easy reach, take trips on the dinghy to fetch 80 litres of diesel and 150 litres of water.
There will be no-one to throw me the life ring so I decided to convert it to a life raft for Charlie. A piece of catamaran trampoline netting in the centre might keep her alive until I find the attached light at night. (She sleeps all day...)
On Wednesday 17 May the list is getting shorter: Clean fridge, scrub the hull, secure the decks and do the last fruit and vege shopping. Thursday is too early, Friday is bad luck, so the departure for the Azores is on Saturday 20 May. Me and Charlie.
I notice that this writing is avoiding feelings and just dribbling shit about unimportant things. Jobs and so on. So, how do I feel?:
It's a mixed feeling. I feel alone but at the same time I take a lot of pleasure from my solitude. I can go ashore without any arrangements, get lost in town and turn left or right on any street corner without any further discussions, I can move around the boat and start any project that create a mess without any apologies and best of all, being able to take the rest of the afternoon off without cleaning the mess.
The loneliness is worse when I go to town. St.Martin is not super friendly and full of other yachties and tourists, all sitting in cafes and bars in small groups, talking and laughing among themselves. At home, onboard, I can at least fell at home. That's what it is, you know.
Do I miss Paula? Yes, I miss the company and yes I miss her but my heart never fell completely. Our companionship has always been - in my mind - a friendship rather than a true romantic relationship. I like debating things, to challenge views and opinions. Paula often felt that I was just pickin a fight. Maybe I was, but not to put her down but to have a real stimulating debate, to test my views, to have a mental and verbal fight without any hate. It didn't work. I admit that since she left I have - not surprisingly - started to appreciate more all the work that she has done onboard. Yet, I have found new energy in taking total control of everything again, to put things where I want and run the whole household the way I want. Control freak? Me?
The North Atlantic is a Bitch. Apart from a lot of lows and cold fronts, it also has a lot of calms. 130 litres of diesel complements the 260 in the keel, giving me a range of nearly 1000 miles in calm seas.
Will Paula come back? I don't know. At the moment she sounds like she would like to. The way her life changed from sitting in a yacht in Caribbean, back to Australia to attend her father's funeral and starting afreash with nothing but the contents of her backpack was abrupt, unpleasant, dramatic and unwanted. Time will tell. We are keeping in touch frequently. Despite anything that I have said, we are very close. Jesus man, what else do you expect after 18 000 miles and two years in a 32ft yacht!
How do I feel about continuing alone? I feel surprisingly confident, even when I wake up in the morning with no rum whatsoever in my body. I know I will feel different when I'm out at sea in bad weather, but I really want to take this challenge, to sail the next 2400 miles alone. I often have fears of course, but generally I have faith in both the boat and my own ability to sail her. How I deal with the solitude is one to be seen. No-one to talk to. Well, I do talk to Charlie and even sometimes to myself. I'll let you know. I have spent the last five days keeping the boat very tidy and making sure everything is shipshape for the passage. While I don't have a radar, I do have the luxury of a SSB, Pactor for e-mails (sorry, restricted access to close friends only...) and now also a working wind vane and the electric autopilot for motoring. This is how feel: I'll fucking get there, no matter what it takes!!
Well, folks. Thank you for sharing this chapter. I know you hope there's some really good stories to follow. I hope not. I hope the passage will be so placid, winds so steady and the whole 2400 miles so uneventful that I won't have anything to tell.
