Tag: sailing

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 3

Sailing Solo Across the Atlantic Ocean – Part 3

Continues from Part 1 and Part 2

When I notified the Marina da Horta of my arrival I learned that I wasn’t allowed ashore until I took a Covid-19 test the next day and waited 24hrs for the result. This was hardly unexpected. Sara thoroughly researched the matter and kept me informed through our texting device.

The worst case scenario I was prepared for consisted in receiving a resupply of water and food from a launch service and continuing without even putting a foot on land. After watching the green and fertile south shore of Faial passing on Tranquility’s port side the desire to visit the island grew very strong and the idea of waiting 24hrs to go ashore became intriguing.

The free Wi-Fi signal made it at times to the anchorage. I started to notify friends and family of my arrival, sending selfies and making video calls to the closest people. After 34 days of no internet I was back to day 0. It was definitely refreshing not to have to deal with the internet for more than a month. Even if I was communicating with people through the InReach device, it only allowed the pre-smartphone SMS type of communication.

The first night at anchor was uneventful. I woke up many times to check the holding of my anchor. The wind whistled in the rig as strong SW gusts were finding their way into Horta‘s basin. Feeling the pressure of the wind on the rig while at anchor was unfamiliar after more than a month using the same force to move forward. But my preoccupation were light and I fully enjoyed the pleasure of a long night of sleep.

The next morning I asked the harbor master for a pick up at the boat to go for the Covid test. I assumed they had a launch and I was trying to avoid deploying my own dinghy for….well… for being lazy. They told me there was a space for me to move to the quarantine dock, on the inner side of the quay.This was very fortunate because it was protected from the swell of the basi, and I could wait there for the result of my test.

I droned the electric powered Tranquility to the mooring assigned in the quarantine dock. I was then met by a Policia Maritima who was tasked to escort me and another Dutch solo sailor coming from Aruba to a public Gym where a line of people was waiting for their test.

THE FIRST EVER COVID TEST

Talking with the policeman I learned that he spent time in Italy serving in the Portuguese army during the war in the Balcans. He had then moved to Faial to work in the police force with the plan to retire and possibly remain to live in the island. Few signals here and there where suggesting that his decision could be a very good one.

Even if I can’t really picture the financial reality of my own retirement I could still use my powerful imagination and see myself retired in the green and quiet Azores. But maybe this was too early of an assessment. This sleepy, not so socially entertaining place looked brimming with life after 34 days by myself in the ocean, but that can become a bit bleak over time. It was also probably unfair to base my impressions on the summer months, the time of the year when tourists come to the Azores.

A public gym was the location of the massive Covid-19 testing. Tourists and locals alike where required to take the test at intervals of 7days. After the second negative test there was no requirement for further testing, unless there were symptoms.

The line was long but the test was surprisingly quick and after being stabbed in the nose and the throat with an earbud I was escorted back to the boat. I had to spend another day onboard attending to few cleaning tasks but mostly chatting with friends and family as I could connect to free WiFi reaching anywhere in the bay.

When I came in the anchorage and doused my mainsail I noticed a small tear on the leech. It was a concerning discovery as there were at least 1000 miles still to sail. My first reaction was to deploy my sewing machine and attempt a repair to the damaged portion of the sail. However, while in line for the Covid test another sailor praised the sail repair service on the island for being quick and inexpensive.

Tranquility’s mainsail, getting ready for pickup

Sara was putting an extraordinary pressure trying to convince me to keep my stay in the Azores as short as possible. That request was very uncommon as she is usually very patient and compassionate. What a couple of days more would change in an Atlantic crossing? My birthday was also coming up in a couple of days, I had the VHF antenna to replace, grocery to do and propane to refill. Giving the mainsail repair to the sailmaker would help keeping the stop in Faial, quick and efficient so I called and agreed for them to pick up the main sail.

Things looked well, and I was excited to have put together a plan for the next days, despite the uncertainty of this all pandemic. The philosophy of What If everything was going to be OK? is a mental discipline that I try to practice despite the dire times we are in. Imagination can really take you places and help build a meaningful life. And maybe a bubble of OKEITY could burst and infect other people or areas. Maybe.

The Covid-19 result came as expected: negative. The opposite result would be utterly incredible as I had just spent 34 days alone on a boat in the Atlantic Ocean. Solo sailors are one of the most uncommon typology of human beings and for this such an insignificant part of the world population no special treatment or rules are to be expected.

BEM-VINDO AO FAIAL

After docking Tranquility to the floating pontoons of the marina I got finally access to all the facilities and to the entire island. I went to check the bathroom showers and laundry, which were at the opposite side of the marina and discovered they had very bizarre opening hours. They opened at 10, closed for lunch time and closed terminally at 4pm each summer day. This strange hours coupled with an active scheduled made me miss many showers, and I ended up using taking cold shower from the hose on the dock. The last thing I was expecting from this stop was this inability to enjoy hot showers…

I found a replacement for the VHF antenna I lost during the crossing at the local chandlery. The problem was fixed with a quick travel up my mast to put the new antenna in place. I also brought my propane tank to get filled, just in case.

The trip to the first fully assorted European supermarket in the last 6 months was mind blowing. I was glad to find all the delicious products I wasn’t able to get at WalMart or WinnDixie in St.Marys. The rule ”don’t go grocery shopping while hungry” should have the addendum: “particularly after a long ocean crossing”. Two big full size grocery bags filled to the brim with fresh vegetables, shelf stable goods for the rest of the trip, and a bottle of red Portuguese wine, bread, cheese and jamon serrano that became my dream dinner came in result of disregarding the rule.

I also stopped at Peter’s Cafe for lunch on my way back. Peter’s Cafe is an institution for sailors coming to Horta. They have very good advertisement campaign and offer different services. They also claimed that the first beer after reaching port is on them, but the waiter who served me at the table didn’t seem to agree with this information. I did’t want to argue. After all the food was nothing special and quite pricey too. I think Peter Cafe’s won’t hold the institution tag in my memory of this visit, and not only for the missed free beer.

Lunch with NO FREE BEER

Horta is sailors oriented as it is the main port of call for people crossing the Atlantic during the summer months. The reason is the good harbor, the ample marina and the services available. But if I come in the archipelago again I would love to see other places, as each island seem to have its own character: They all share look green, wild and beautiful.

I enjoyed being able to solve the few problem I had in little time. Even having to cope with the Southern European concept of time was not a too big of a deal. It is interesting how soon we get used to the type of service from the place we live. I feel naturally inclined to island time even if I grew up in a big city in the part of the Italy which is obsessed with time, punctuality and long hours of service.

The Azores gently reminded me that problems can wait and that not everything is an emergency all the time. In my traveling and sailing career I kept moving into different time-space continuums, learning to appreciate the cultural differences in regards to the concept of time. After Honk Kong and the USA I was reminded I needed to re-adapt yet to another conception of time. The showers of the marina were the first reminder that I was entering a strange territory in the space-time continuum.

MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT

Saturday 1st of August was my birthday. I rented a scooter to Be able to roam the roads of the island and celebrate my 39th year on this planet. Completing my errands helped me enjoy a time that was only for myself. I headed up toward the Caldeira (cauldron), the crater of a spent volcano that harbor a very peculiar ecosystem of plants, and perhaps small insects and other animals. The mere ride towards the top was an experience in itself as during the 1000meters climb I passed many differente ecosystems: From cactuses, to cow pastures, to beautiful forests. For the first time in a while my nose was stimulated by several pleasant smells coming from plants and flowers, a symphony of olfactory stimulation that made me appreciate this underrated (art least for me) sense.

A skinny trail runs on the edge of the volcano’s cone

I hiked the rim of the volcano about 7km on a narrow track that passes through reeds, flowers, shrubs, and oleanders. My body memory of walking in mountainous landscapes brought me back to my youth. The excitement and gratitude were so strong that my muscles didn’t protest for this extra effort after long days on the ocean where they were underutilized.

The inner part of the Caldera

If my daemon took me to live a life of work and pleasure on the ocean, my brightest moments and memories are when I walk in the mountains. Growing up in the outskirts of Milan put me in close reach to the Italian Alps, with their incredibly beautiful and steep valleys and peaks. This paradox is at the very core of my soul. Is this why I am heading towards an island with a 3700m high peak like Tenerife?

The hike around the volcano took time. I realized I would not be able to complete the ambitious tour of the small island I was set out to accomplish in one day. Sometimes I am still possessed by the desire to see as much as possible and to check all the landmarks and attractions. This picture-snapping tourist mentality is the heritage of a culture that I learned to leave behind. It is still active but it easily surrender to the mindless stroll of the saunterer who navigates by random cues.

This attitude guided me while buzzing around the beautiful landscape. The Azores are nice, green and fertile specks of volcanic land that creates ideal ground for cow grazing. The blue Atlantic is always on sight and the juxtaposition of the green and blue is a balm for the mind.

On the way back to the marina I stopped in the cafeteria of a supermarket for my birthday lunch. The place looked like a regular and clean European restaurant, nothing fancy at all.

I didin’t see many alternatives on my route, so I gave it a try. I ordered a plate of local goat cheese with pepper sauce and honey, a mixed salad and a generous grilled tuna steak served with sautéed onions and roasted potatoes, all washed by a pint of Super Bock and capped by dessert and coffee. The bill was 18 euros. The picturesque supermarket cafeteria was an experience in itself after months of grabbing lunch in strip mall America.

I returned to the boat just in time to receive the mainsail with a couple of extra fixes and reinforcement. I was feeling alright despite not having seen much of the Azores. I would have to go back for another pass. I quickly hoisted the mainsail back on its mast tracks and prepared Tranquility for sailing before my last night at the docks.

BACK IN THE MINDSET

A little wind forecasted for Sunday, the insistence of Sara that I would resume my trip, and a promising full moon conjured to set departure to the next day. After just 4 days in the island I was ready to face the last 1000miles of the trip. This quick stop barely affected the sailing rhythm of the past weeks, and Tranquility was still in sailing configuration.

Tranquility ready to bite the waves

It was nothing compared to what I had just passed, especially with the possibility to have a more consistent wind forecast, but still it was no joke, another portion of the North Atlantic Ocean to cover for me and Tranquility. A good dose of fear and expectations was resting on my chest as it often happens when I prepare to set sail.

Departure was set in the afternoon, when the winds would pick up more consistently, and I could point Tranquility’s bow toward the final destination of this ocean crossing.

TO BE CONTINUED

Farewell to Americas

Farewell to Americas

Way overtime, overbudget and over any attempt in predicting, controlling and scheduling boatwork Tranquility and I finally hit the water.

We dance with the natural change of the tides and the winds in a quasi stationary equilibrium tethered to the muddy bottom of the North River. Here we are merging again, as she is back doing what she was designed for and I reunite with the familiar feeling that I had not experienced since Hong Kong: The sensation of resting on the surface of water supported by the Archimede’s principle is engraved in my vestibular system as for the most part of the last 11 years I lived on floating objects.

Tranquility is not just my home, my mean of transportation and my survival pod, she is an extension of myself through which I explore the cosmos, and now that we are back in our element the senses are enhanced.

Since floating in the river dreaming activity surged together with levels of relaxation that I have not felt for months. Tranquility rig are the strings that capture atmospheric variations, the hull a sound box that amplifies the waves of the liquid environment. Her shell enhances my connection with the environment: enough to be dry and comfortable but inadequate to mask environmental changes around me.

The preparation to voyage has officially ended. As other times before I pushed the bar a little over my actual capacities, tried some weird experiments and dealt with the consequences. I take all this as a game. It is serious playing because financial risks and potential danger are part of it, but my inner child would not let me play safe or lower the bar. I like to keep learning so I push a bit over the comfort zone.

Andy, a very generous solo sailor and pizza tinkerer here at the boatyard, allowed me to use his dinghy to move back and forth to the shipyard for the last showers, laundry, errands and farewells. Rowing to get ashore is a degree of separation that helps detach from land life.

In few hours I will bring onboard the line that ties me to the muddy bottom, brave few shoals and turns for roughly three miles before I enter the St Marys river. There the outgoing tide and the favorable SW winds should push me effortless East through the inlet and out in the Atlantic Ocean en route to the Azores lying some 2700 nautical miles away.

From the Azores I will point to the island of Tenerife, where a special person has been waiting for too long for me to reunite in that wonderful place. This is the main aim of this voyage, the energy that kept me motivated to overcome the endogenous and exogenous variables I encountered, and for which I am extremely grateful.

There are however other reasons behind this voyage. One is that I am moving my home from America back to Europe. I spent more than a decade in the New World an exploration that put me in touch with new experiences.

I had the fortune to be welcomed wherever I went and be brought into homes regarded as a family member. The level of generosity I experienced is overwhelming and when I tried the exercise of bringing to mind all the people that helped me on this side of the world I felt overwhelmed and tears came up.

In the Americas I encountered the most friendly and generous people, people who never hesitated in making me feel welcomed and at home. For seven wonderful years I also had in Kate a generous, loving and brilliant companion and wife who shepherded me through this unknown continent. Adoptive parents and family, mentors, friends and comrades, they all allowed me to see life through their eyes and opened up their hearts to my presence.

I am not painting an idealized picture of my recent years. There has been incidents, suffering, discomfort and cultural shocks. Positive experiences though outweighed negative ones by far. This continent is still vast and rich and mysterious, full of magical energy, both good and bad, and I bathed in it.

Welcomed by the bald eagle, I am ushered to the door by the vulture. This magnificent bird, so ugly and clumsy on land and so graceful when it glides, is a rare sight in the Old World where I come from. In North and South America different species of vulture are instead very common. I grew accustomed to see them on the side of roads taking care of the business of life, dismembering corpses, removing harmful bacteria and diseases from the environment, and complying with the rules of transformation we all obey to.

I will leave part of my soul to the spirit of this bird for it to be digested into the ethereal connections of my legacy, so the last remaining ties will be severed.

After more than ten years it is time to move on. My rootlessness is taking over supported by the desire for more solo sailing, this uncommon human experience full of discomfort and awe. It will take few days of laziness and uneasiness for my vestibular system to incorporate the sudden changes of direction and acceleration experienced on a vessel that sails offshore and to fall into the routine of the watch system.

The southernmost outpost of Europe is waiting for me. It will be a long journey during which I will be removed from the usual flux of information that connects us all, suspended in the parallel reality of this planet without the chatter of society, to exercise my right and responsibility to awe in this incredibly beautiful universe.

Follow my dot….

Disentanglement

Disentanglement

Every Tuesday I connect with the kind and fun bunch of Rebel Writers. They meet face to face in a secret location in Hong Kong and write. I used to take part in those meetings face-to-face while I was living there. Now I can only connect from afar but I still enjoy to participate. In the end when you become a Rebel Writer, you will be one for the rest of your life.

So every Tuesday I get up on my boat check in with them and start my writing as well. This weekly appointment is what gets me writing no matter what, despite the fact that I am running against the clock to get in the water and get going. Having this sacred, personal moment of messing about with words has a healthy effect on my mind.

During last meeting we decided to video call for a little catch up. Also the daughter of one of the Rebels was present so I thought it was a good idea to give them a tour of my boat. I realized how messy my boat really was as soon as this idea left my brain, it converted in vibrating air captured by my microphone and was sent all the way to Hong Kong. All I could do was to justify myself adding that I am tearing apart close to 30% of the total internal space of the boat and that I was living in a construction site. Which of course is true and normal these days.

Despite the clarification I felt a rush of shame pervading my body and I tried pathetically to limit the visual of messiness through camerawork, with little success. Not even a square foot of the boat was tidy. I consider myself lucky I don’t suffer from the paralyzing, debilitating type of shame that would shut you down and make you stutter and say stupid things. I still held face and walked them through my messy yet very interesting boat.

The sensation of shame continued after the video call as my eyes were contemplating the explosion of boat parts and tools around me. I have been in this condition for a couple of months now, but even if I am used to my mess sometimes it exceeds my own tolerance.

The previous day I worked on my water tank in the v-berth, then rushed onto the boat to prepare the dough and toppings for our Monday pizza night at the boatyard, then worked a little more while the dough was raising, to again rush and pick everything up and carry it to the breezeway on the other end of the boatyard. When I came back it was dark already and with a full belly and first signs of a carb crash I went quickly to bed. The next morning I woke up to the mess of cooking and working and everything else.

In this particular phase of working there is no place onboard that stays the same. Things keep moving and shuffle around from one surface to the other. This happens even if the majority of my belonging are stuffed under the boat in the squatter camp, a sprawling of boat parts and materials that allows for great boatwork and creations and that also has a post-apocalyptic aesthetic, so appropriate during current times.

I am fortunate I got to be in a very private corner of the boatyard so my mess is hidden. Tranquility is parked stern to the edge of the property, against a fence with climbing vines and tall trees. My port windows face the North River and I can observe the marsh and boats at anchor from where I sit at my table. My only neighbor in a radius of 80ft (25 meters ) is Bill, who is a long time friend, solo sailor, inventor and “connazionale” (he is American and he also holds an Italian passport). He tolerates my mess and contributes with his own, although I have to say I am undefeated to this day.

For a coincidence of life I am right under the tree where four years ago Beta was spotted the last time before he decided to take a two week vacation from the boat. This tree dumps leaves, branches and staining berries onto my deck and used to block the sun from reaching my solar panel, but I still love it. It harbors a quantity of animals and insects that are my companions during my work days.

The boatyard is encased in maritime forest and it opens on a winding river that leads all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, separating Georgia from Florida. Its magical powers are beyond comprehension and the enchanted forest attracts a community of boaters that end up taking residence in the boatyard.

This special corner in this special county of this special state which is part of this special country is where I prepare my farewell. The Americas, North and South, have been particularly welcoming to me.

The people I met during my travels invited me in their lives with generosity and a sane curiosity for a man with a weird accent. They were able to make me feel important, even when I came empty handed. Here I met new fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters, teachers and peers.

From all the encounters I learned that we have one blood if we are willing to meet eye to eye and heart to heart. I received way more than I gave, and per the rule of life, whatever is left in the account I will pay it forward, wherever I may roam.

It is hard to detach from people that were so friendly and generous to me. I made this vow to follow the tides of life, those bigger than myself forces that right now are pushing me away from this land. I am also sure that the people who love me would be disappointed if I retreated from this call.

I thought it would be easier to leave, just pack the boat and go. But I am not just crossing an ocean for the sake of adventure. I am realigning and dealing with with this surge of mess around me, this puke of threads, stories, connections I need to transform, purge, celebrate and disentangle from. I went deep into this territory, now I am climbing up from the hole I digged, carrying my treasure.

The Ocean is calling, and the Ocean always punish messy people. Even if my mind tolerates mess it comes a moment when clutter becomes a real obstacle, and that moment is when you are underway and your entire world starts moving up and down and back and forth and left and right. A messy boat underway is a recipe for disaster. Curbing my mess is my main job now.

As the tendrils of the spiral of chaos agitate in this magic forest things start to fall into place, messages are exchanged, clarity is achieved. The unnapetizing concoction made out of who I was and who I will be is brewing. As the agents of change are doing their metabolic work I try to keep things under check, put away stuff and tidy up. It looks like a Sysyphean effort, but there is no way around it and the reward is immense.

As Robert Frost put it, “the only certain freedom is in departure”.

Keep Swimming, Keep Rowing, Keep Sailing

Keep Swimming, Keep Rowing, Keep Sailing

Building the hard dodger for Tranquility is a project made possible by a chain of events that stretches several months in the past. A key element to this transformation was the dinghy, also knows as auxiliary boat or tender.

Tranquility in Fairhaven MA

Looking at this older picture of Tranquility you can notice that the plastic Walker Bay dinghy sat on top of the companionway, in a very secure spot, but making it impossible to protect the cockpit and companionway, and forcing the crew to duck considerably to get in and out. On small boats like the Columbia 29 the stowage of dinghies is not a trivial matter, as the auxiliary boat is an indispensable tool on any cruising vessel and the space on deck is limited.

The 8 feet long Walker Bay is a dependable and solid dinghy, and I grew accustomed to its carrying capacity and good rowing abilities. I was not ready to renounce such luxury. The solution to this problem appeared to be a nesting dinghy, an auxiliary boat that is comprised of two parts that can be nested one inside the other, reducing its length when stowed. It was basically impossible to find a nesting dinghy where I was on the Atlantic Coast of Panama. Building one became the only option.

I built that boat out of fiberglass and nida-core panels while in a secluded marina surrounded by jungle, a project that took a lot of time, money and energy, but that unlocked the possibility to both have a decent size dinghy (8 feet in length) and a future dodger. As I was building it from scratch I decided to make it also a sailing dinghy, putting together pieces that people almost spontaneously donated.

I have never shared the details of the building in this blog and I will not do it now. Those months spent in the Panamanian jungle coincide with a very difficult time for me.

As many key moments in one’s personal life those times are colored by often extremes emotional tones that progress on their own course. Kate and I were finding more and more difficult to work as a team in life and the dinghy project became for me both a refuge and a statement of identity.

What I will do instead is telling a story that came from that time. It does not describe technically the building process nor the chronology of the events, but it gives an idea of the motives and the discoveries that happened inside and around me while building a small boat.


THIS IS THE STORY OF ARCTIC TERN

Arctic Tern is a little boat.

She was born near Nombre de Dios in Panama, under a roof between two containers, surrounded by a 15 meter mast and assorted junk coming from boats in advance state of abandon.

Kind souls donated the elements that put together gave her wings: A fiberglass tube that a Spanish Explorer had no use for, a beautiful sail with the emblem of a horse offered by an Argentinian Sailing Teacher, a dagger board forged by a Polish Engineer in the sultry womb of a steel ship, a weird looking rudder from the nautical collection of an Australian Firefighter.

Giving birth to Arctic Tern was a lot of suffering and pain. It of course cost a lot of money to buy the materials, a lot of sweat in transporting them, and to put them together.

Arctic Tern was also the last nail in the coffin of a failing relationship. She gave her creator spiritual and physical wounds, broken hands and even a chemical burn in one eye from a drop of resin. Many tools broke and clothes were destroyed in the process.

But it was also fun. In those long weeks that stretched into months the creator was busy overcoming design and construction problems, in endless discussions with curious standbyers, crossing all the boundaries from feeling hopeless and stupid to be elated and proud.

When Arctic Tern was born she was ugly.

It is better said she was not symmetrical and she was on the heavy side, definitely sturdy.

Ogni scarrafo’ è bello a mamma soia” say people from Naples. Every cockroach looks beautiful to its mom.

She was immediately loved. Not just by the creator who built her from stem-to-stern, but from the neighbors who saw the long process unfolding, both the enthusiasts and the naysayers.

It was a fool’s idea, with no logic whatsoever and it could not be stopped. The mothership Tranquility was ready to let go of Walker Bay, the reliable companion of many landing and explorations, and she welcomed the weird looking boat made of two halves.

The launch was a long awaited moment.

When Arctic Tern touched the water she started flying. She is very good at it.

The creator sat in her lap and he was very afraid of going out in anything blowing stronger than a mild breeze, doubting the abilities of his creature and his own’s as sailor.

Arctic Tern was born ready.

Her flat belly dances on the surface of the ocean. She almost takes off when her two wings start to act in harmony in a lively wind.

The big one opens catching the breath of the sky, the small one points down in the deep ocean gripping invisible streams.

The two wings balance each other and so the dance is possible.

The creator took Arctic Tern out for more and more dances, sitting in her lap while she was doing what boats do.

Through Arctic Tern the creator is learning to fly, and when he is with her out In the ocean, the real teachers come to see them.

Ospreys, terns, pelicans, the graceful gliding vultures. The masters of Air.

They look down to watch Arctic Tern and the creator progress.

They show them how to dance in the currents, how to float about.

They are always vigilant as they glide undisturbed.

The creator down below feels very nervous, scared of the big waves, afraid of breaking a bone or a wing of Artic Tern.

They see each other and a feeling of communion is established. They are the same even if they fly for different purposes.

They are all part of the Great Dance, a dance that follows different rhythms and that contains them all.

THE GREAT DANCE

The creator of Arctic Tern learned that in those very moments on the surface of the ocean by the rocky headland all the freedom lanes become one.

How simple it was just to be out there doing their part!

He understood that we share the dance with everybody even those who try to be small and invisible, and that everything, even his sturdy little vessel and not just himself, is temporary.

It doesn’t matter if you are on a tiny sailboat on the surface of the ocean, a petrel swooping on the crest of a wave or if you are a bluefin tuna just below it.

You are just doing your part, so why worry?

It was then that he felt bizarre thoughts invading his head, as if they were coming from the outside. He felt a question brewing.

What if the Mighty Tuna comes and swallows us all? The Slim Sardine asked in the Creator’s mind.

After few second of perplexity he welcomed this alien consciousness as a guest.

What Can you do about it? Not a whole lot, Slim Sardine. Yes, you can swim away from the Mighty Tuna mouth and look for shelter in tube-like swirling spirals, with family and friends, in your community of sardines.

But when the The Mighty Tuna is coming for you… What you can really do Slim Sardine is keep swimming, keep rowing, keep sailing.

You’re doing it good or doing it bad, but you’re doing it, as long as you won’t stop dancing.

Be a little patient and keep swimming. keep rowing, keep sailing.

It is as simple as that.

The same is true for me, thought the Creator. My hands will hurt, my eyes will be dry and red, my buttocks will be sore and sun and dry air will crack my lips and tangle my hair.

And when the storm comes I might drown. What can I do about it?

Keep swimming keep rowing, keep sailing.

The creator’s eyes turned wet by the upwelling of emotions. Salty jewels from the body poured back into the ocean.

The Heron taught him how to be patient, that good positioning and one precise strike is worth much more than a lot of fussing around. He heard the Heron’s thought merging with his own’s.

He felt this idea was beautiful and true, so he decided to address the Mighty Tuna itself…

Do you Mighty Tuna worry about the little sardines you’re swallowing whole? You follow your hunger Mighty Tuna.

But look behind your back, the Savage Shark may be coming soon for you. So what you can really do is to keep swimming, keep rowing, keep sailing.

After all, even if the shark may never find you, nothing’s going to change you are still going to disappear. Maybe you’re good. Maybe you swim fast because you are mighty. But if you’re in the wrong place then you get swallowed.

You may think you have to leave the dance floor because there are more important or more urgent things do. Serious business.

You are running and you are doing a good job, and maybe you are so good that the shark is going to miss you, and you’re not going to bite the hook. You know better than that. You’re faster than the spear. You’re the best. Nothing can touch you.

You are just fooling yourself Mighty Tuna, you’re going to end up digested by something. Microbes, bacterias, mushrooms, something is going to chew you to bits.

And even when you are the Savage Shark you are not safe. Maybe you will bite a hook on a fishing line. Maybe it’s the Killer Whale. Maybe it’s a disease, or some plastic in your guts. It doesn’t matter.

Swimming, rowing, sailing… you skim the surface and participate in the Big Dance.

Everybody’s dancing. Birds in the sky, people holding cocktails, monkeys in the jungle.

So again Mighty Tuna, Savage Shark or Slim Sardine. It doesn’t matter what you do or what you think.

Keep swimming.

Keep rowing.

Keep sailing, and keep dancing.

Escaping death just for one day wont’ grant you a special treatment. Just do what you want. Somebody is going to swallow you and there are no medicines, Science can’t stop that.

Nothing can cure you from the disease, because there is no disease.

There’s enough beauty in a single note of the music and in each single step of the Great Dance to keep you raptured forever. Every day is a gift, and for every bad day you can be happy that you don’t have to live it again.

Keep swimming, and stretch your wings

Keep rowing, and learn

Keep sailing and dance with me.

The music keeps playing. You want change. Everybody is still dancing and you can decide to do whatever you like because this is not going to affect the dance, it keeps going with or without you

You can be in the dance or out of the dance.

It doesn’t matter what you do, all you have left is to keep swimming, keep (G)rowing, keep sailing.

The Slim Sardine, the Mighty Tuna and the Savage Shark said goodbye to Arctic Tern and the creator and swayed back into the Great Dance.

The creator realized he just lectured a bunch of fishes and a heron, who could care less about the lecture as she was catching dinner. For some reason it didn’t feel as strange as it sounds.

The creator eased the line that controlled Arctic Tern’s air wing to catch the following breeze while he raised the water wing. He felt the acceleration radiating through her solid belly as they bounced on the surface of the ocean.

He understood that the logics he told himself and others behind that building endeavor were nothing but wishy washy rationales encircling a deeper motivation. He acted and then needed to justify his actions.

He was doing his thing, taking part in the Great Dance.

Keep swimming, keep rowing, keep sailing.

The inadequate identity of Sailor (or of any other…)

The inadequate identity of Sailor (or of any other…)

I always suffered of identity problems.

It seems self explanatory that identity is the sum of the qualities, mostly beliefs, that define a person’s image. The role this person has in society also feed the sense of identity. It is a common human perception to feel we are individual, unique beings, and we look for evidence to support this perception.

I am walking a very perilous philosophical path here, a walk that I will abandon for now while I keep pondering on it. The identity example serves me to bring you the latest news about life in the boatyard, although in a very elaborate way. This blog used to be about sailing but this deviation toward self questioning and rumination has been evident for quite a while now. Thanks for your patience. Sailing will resume as soon as possible.

Why all this fuss about identity?

I’ll answer saying that is a conceptual element that always puzzled me. I never bought the assumption that we have a true identity that define us and that we have to discover, or better assume.

Take first names. They are the first element of identity, clearly stamped on an ID card. You didn’t even pick it yourself, somebody gave it to you even before they could know anything about you. How much a Fabio am I in the end? This is a silly example that shows how identities are imposed by family and society, they depend on the fortuitous place you happened to be born in and often times they all clash with whom you really are. I can continue bringing more evidence. Are you defined by your job title? Your nationality? The color of your skin? Your gender? Your bank account balance?

Of course the answer is yes and no, and that’s why I find this fascinating. Because who we really are is way more vast than our identities, and it is our job to find out. Or not.

Deviation from the route #2

My tiny sailboat Tranquility is going through some serious transformations and I obey as her temporary keeper. Sometimes I believe the fantasy that boats find their servants by mean of seduction. Once they hooked their victim firmly they start to extract resources in form of time, dedication, labor and most of all money. The servant is usually unaware of the asymmetry of power at work and think they are the one in charge of the situation. They are not. However this relationship of convenience is one to be trusted, as usually boats give back love and dedication in time of need.

Likewise this physical transformation of the watercraft I inhabit reflects an inner transformation. I sense that from weak signals I receive from my surroundings. The fun thing about transformation is that we cannot foresee the outcome, or you would not go that way. Once you have the future it is already the past. It is like playing chess, when you know what is going to happen the game is finished and you have to start a new one.

I met a sadhu high in the Himalayan mountains long ago. He was summoned by a guesthouse mate who was very into spirituality and had met the fella on a bus station earlier that week. The guy was thrilled about the meeting and I was hanging around curious about what a mendicant dressed in orange had to say.

The sadhu looked at me in the eyes for five second at most, then uttered these words: “you are about to jump on the next level” or “this life is taking you to the next level” or something like that. The other guy received the response that he was a fresh soul, coming to earth for the first time and he missed to be with god very much. That explained why he was so spiritual at least in my mind. He was trapped in an unfamiliar reality and wanted so badly to be one with god. Then we asked the sadhu what was his duty in this life: he was here to learn how to convey the “grace” (the best word I can recall) not by words as he just did to us but by staring at people in silence.

The colorful scene happening in a cafe of a barren Himalayan village could be just a travel annedocte from long ago. It took me ten years to realize that the transformation he was talking about had happened not even one year after that “prophecy”.

One day of 11 years ago after a conversation with a friend during Easter holiday I quickly took the decision to leave my career, family and friends to move to a Venezuelan archipelago and run a sailboat charter business. We can ponder a lot about if all this is coincidence, self-fulfilling prophecy, magic, destiny and such without getting a spider from the hole (transl. of an idiomatic Italian phrase). What is evident is that the before and the after look quite different from each other, they are two completely separate identities. So which one is the right identity? Both? None?

I’ll borrow an image that Alan Watts borrowed form Buckminster Fuller (feel free to borrow it as well):

“ suppose we have a rope, and one section of this rope is made of manila hemp, the next section is cotton, the next section is silk, the next section is nylon, and so on. Now we tie a knot in this rope—just an ordinary one-over knot—and you find, by putting your finger in the knot, you can move it all the way down the rope. Now as this knot travels, it’s first of all made of manila hemp, it’s then made of cotton, it’s then made of silk, it’s then made of nylon, and so on. But the knot keeps going on. That’s the integrity of pattern; the continuing pattern, which is what you are. Because you might, you know, be—for several years—you might be a vegetarian, and you might be a meat-eater, and so on. And, you know, your constitution changes all the time, but your friends still recognize you because you’re still putting on the same show. It’s the same pattern that is the recognizable individual.

The pattern stays the same even when conditions change.

If I looked at myself before the event horizon of my departure for Venezuela all I was good in making with my hands was rolling cigarettes and playing basketball. I was a discrete cook, a good basketball player and I smoked way too many cigarettes. In every other department my hands were clumsy, slow and uneffective.

In my childhood I used to play with my father’s tool. In the courtyard of the apartment building where I grew up I would shape scrap pieces of baseboard into medieval swords and play with other kids, or cobble up a rubber band slingshot out of wood, nails and clothes pins. It excited me but I quickly lost interest in working with my hands. I substituted it with daydreaming.

Wasn’t it much better to imagine to be a mechanical engineer and design and build car engines in the comforts of my mind rather going through the troubles of doing it for real? I had landed with both feet in the world of abstraction and I was very happy in it.

What kept me solidly anchored in the world of abstraction was another element. I was fascinated with the study of language. I took pride of reading books when I was a little kid and I would devour many good and not so good novels and stories and when I earned the title of kid who read the most I went to the trouble of lying about reading a long not so exciting novel about a prehistoric saber tooth cat to keep said title. The teacher gave me a pass on that but I remember from a look in her eyes that the jig was up.

Writing was a direct consequence of it. I of course dreamed about being a writer, and particularly a famous novelist. Not a best seller writer but a novelist whom both critics and public praise for depth of thought, irony and for creating marvelous worlds that stretch our sense of reality. Maturity and input from society values quickly made me understand that investing in such a path would be risky in its outcomes and very likely lead to being poor (something tells me that it was my destiny anyway…). I resorted to other occupations, deciding that being a psychologist was a good way to use language for something socially useful and make a living with it.

Life decided otherwise and this process of transformation brought me back to use my hands in conjunction with my mind to transform reality. The smooth surface of my palms began to show sign of hard spots. Knuckles quickly developed wounds one after the other, with open ones taking the place of old scars. My nails became in need of serious cleaning all the time. The perfectly comfortable dreams of designing custom made objects and structures faced the obvious lack of experience, training and skills. I learned that sailing is hard on your hands, and hard on your mind.

This transformation for sure affected the reality of my identity in a deep way and it was not foreseeable when the sadhu spoke to me. If I knew what was going to happen I would have started to ask myself questions, make judgements and ultimately give up the entire idea thinking that I could do better taking a different path. I am happy I did not, because ultimately I am at best marginal if not naive when it comes to making judgement on what’s good or bad for me.

Putting it all together

The liquid consistency of contemporary life finely expressed in language by Zygmunt Bauman certainly affects identity, it stretches boundaries and allows degrees of freedom that were unthinkable in the past. At surface this whole identity business is still chaotic in my mind as I reject definitions of nationality, age and such as important individual traits. However I recently realized that the knot that slides through the imaginary rope, the never changing pattern, the ultimate identity that works no matter what changes I go through in life is the identity of Writer. Writing has always accompanied me and it will, both as an urge and as a pleasure.

The fact that I am without any doubt a Writer is corroborated by at least four other people. One is a talented world creator who weaves poetic images and hallucinatory quests in the realm of fantasy. Another is a published science writer who likes to express his talent in fictional adventures. There is also a professional designer who uses words to draw humorous and moving pieces. Finally, a student and teacher of language in a rogue mission to shock and awe you through a mix of erotism and wit. They are the Rebel Writers, and I am a proud member. The proof that I am a writer is that I belong to this group of writers, because only writers, and a very special kind, are allowed.

Whatever the next level, whatever transformation is happening I will keep writing about it.

Estuarine Ode

Estuarine Ode

Beneath spanish moss and up in reeds

My soul runs over

moments of wonder

Communion of intentions breeds


A place unifies souls

Another tears them apart

The recursive spiral path

From tender love to brawls

Whatever longing I trace

Cools down and dies

Where the huge owl flies

And the storm takes place

Binding metal hoops sink

In a muddy tidal pool

As I emerge anew

Grieving songs unwind


Ceremonies over and over

Witness the ascending of soul

And take me past the shoal

Where reigns the plover


In mud and tide and sweat

Gnats and dust above

The juicy terroir of love

Forgiven is all debt


Spent passions fertilize

The ground I walk on

In mud I bury the carrion

All things the tide equalize


New structures sprout

Over good old bones

While a solid form arises

A bird of prey comes out


On a ocean journey I go

Transforming once again

All the crap I am carrying

Away I vow to throw

Does this sailing thing make sense?

Does this sailing thing make sense?

It is forty days since departure deadline, and things start to look busy here at the boatyard.

The Covid-19 arrived in the US in full blown mode as it is in the rest of the World. Italy just confirmed that school will be closed till April 15th. They have been closed since February. Friends from Hong Kong tell me that the country is fearing a second bout of infections brought by people coming from abroad. As I am writing the Azores are closed to arriving vessels, as many other countries are denying arrivals to sailors. This concerns me a little since the Azores are my next port of call.

I’ve been dodging this Coronavirus since my departure from HK in February. Then I got out of Italy just in time before the great lockdown. Now it has finally caught up on me, even if in this dire scenario my life changed very little. I noticed that by talking with friends whose life have radically changed since it has been confined between four walls. For one time I feel my experience to be more similar to other people’s.

Maybe the difference is just that I was already self isolating in an old boat in rural Georgia. My day goes by tending to a small vessel by myself, I move stuff around, build things, repair objects, redesign systems. I consume my meals alone or seldomly with other self isolated sailors. My life changed very little because my plan to upgrade Tranquility and cross the Atlantic is still underway.

The past weeks were key in trying to get everything here, materials, tools and equipment, and I am still planning ahead and guess what I exactly need in case distribution grinds to a halt, a remote possibility to be frank but I prefer not to take chances. Now I am finally putting things together slowly and painfully as usual, trying to cram together way too many projects.

It is a process I know well since it is the fourth time I take apart and put together this boat in order to make her better. The first time was when Kate and I bought Tranquility as an unfinished restoration project in Fairhaven, MA. The second time in the marshes of Glynn where we performed the heaviest rebuilding. The third one in Panama where it became clear that this crazy project was becoming mine only as I could not stop messing around with this boat despite my failing marriage. Maybe because of my failing marriage I found solace in even more boat projects. It is hard to tell which. The current refit is getting bigger than expected, which is not a surprise as my imagination often gets wild when it comes to boat improvements.

This thing called sailing

After ten years of this sailing life spent repairing boats and sailing them I still struggle to explain to others what is this thing I am doing. My family has still not gotten used to it either, in fact they met this whole idea of an Atlantic crossing on a small boat with skepticism, worry and even anger.

What is this thing I am doing?

I feel I am moving between an obsession that forces me to isolation and a blissful existence in Nature that for one time help me stay away from the danger of human contact. It makes financially no sense as the money poured into my old boat will never come back and it keeps me away from employment for long bits. It is not a socially relevant quest as it involves mainly myself and I. It adds very little to the progress of human knowledge as sailing is an obsolete technology. All these sound like red alerts and yet I can’t keep away confronting this questionable choice.

To be honest I am not completely alone. Bill my neighbor is doing exactly the same thing. He is also fixing his boat all over again, to take it across an ocean once again. The same is true for some people I have met of that I am aware of. We are a small number but we tenaciously stick to this nonsense.The comfort of knowing that others are engaged in a similar pattern is not enough and questions keep showing up.

Even if I can’t understand what this is, I know where it comes from.

It comes from visions inside my head, daydreams which I am not fully responsible for that clog my judgement and hijack the focus on building a socially respectable life. Those are visions that taken literally would drive you to madness but if harnessed with caution can propel you to great achievements. Or at least this is my hope.

The technical finesse behind the discipline of sailing is a never ending climbing route to perfecting many skills. It is so incredibly vast involving knowledge that span through so many departments that an expert sailor becomes close to be a master-of-all-trades. I like this idea.

Sailing takes you in the heart of the present moment, as you insert yourself in the ever changing reality of water and air, the breathing apparatus of planet Earth. This experience reminds me that I grew out of it and I am equipped to find my way between wind, waves and currents. I can say that I have the biggest home there is.

It can be done. Necessary knowledge can be acquired, discomfort and fatigue are a just transitory moments and we as humans can adapt and thrive in many situations. These experience are good tests to take and help building personal resilience. Resilience and resourcefulness is becoming so important in the current world where reality changes at a very fast pace and we are often not prepared for what comes next.

Despite the isolation from common human experience and the difficulties of this life I take great pleasure and pride in what I am doing. The effort of writing and documenting my experience are an attempt to fill this communication gap. So maybe for one time my family or friends will tell me: ”I understand what you are doing and I am proud of you”.

In the meanwhile I look for other signs that tell me I am on the right route. I think I found one in the irony of sailing. Contradiction and Paradox are the essence of life and the ironies of sailing, one of the most expensive way to feel uncomfortable and risk your life, expose its nonsensical nature.

If years ago sailing was the only way to move people and goods across long distances, today sailing loses its meaning and role. Is sailing a sport or a hobby? Is it both? If so, why all this discomfort and even danger? Despite these drawbacks sailing did not disappear in history because it still has a lot to say about us as human beings. There is a community of people involved in this nonsense, so there must be a little sense after all.

And if all this fails to provide sense, I will stick with Good Old Gandhi, who seemed to have learned quite few things about life and humans beings:

Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”Mahatma Gandhi

7 ways to waste your time during Coronavirus lockdown

7 ways to waste your time during Coronavirus lockdown

“THERE IS NO WAY OF WASTING TIME BECAUSE WHAT ELSE IS TIME FOR EXCEPT TO BE WASTED?” Alan Watts

Some friends made me notice that I am very well equipped to face a quarantine lockdown during a group video call. Italy and other countries are in lockdown and people cannot leave their homes if not for very special cases. With many people working from home or not working at all these group video calls became a nice reality for me. It is usually hard to pin down friends on a phone because everybody seems to be too busy for that. Well thanks Covid-19!

I read a certain implication in those statements about my ability to comfortably be in a confined place with nothing to do for long periods of time. I suspect it has something to do with the fact I am very well versed in wasting my time. Maybe I am a bit paranoid here but this could likely link to my habit to spend a lot of it messing about on boats for no particular good reasons.

So yes, being forced to be home and not having important or socially valuable things to do does not scare me at all. I could go ahead and tell that this has always been in my chords and that wasting time is one of my many talents. Now that many people are forced to live this reality in first person I finally feel that my uncommon way of life can bring valuable lessons. Paradoxically it can be used for the social good.

Here are 7 ways to waste your time during a coronavirus lockdown for people who are forced home. To everybody else whose life continue despite this grave situation goes all my respect and solidarity, particularly to workers of public health systems in all capacities for spending so much energy to save as many lives as possible.

DAYDREAM

DISCLAIMER. Daydreaming is dangerous and can use up a lot of time and resources. Use with care.

First of all let’s be honest, everybody daydream. We may have different reactions to it, from shushing it away to complete abandonment. But when there is nothing left to do, when windows are shiny, dishes done, squeaky doors oiled and so on, there is a good opportunity for daydreaming. Daydreaming can be disturbing, daring, too exciting. But when you are in a safe space and with time on your hands it is nice to watch your mental television. At least I enjoy mine. Before smartphones it was my only resource against waiting in any line, and waiting has never been a problem to me. So relax grab some popcorn and let the show begin.

CLEAN

Have you noticed that when you spend more time home, the house gets dirtier? Or maybe it is because the domestic helper is in lockdown as well and working from home is not very useful? Maybe only boats require constant cleaning and you are sitting in a spotless home with no cleaning chores. Although I spend a good amount of time cleaning I am not a pro and it seems things never get clean. I know some tricks passed down from family and learned from various online videos by expert cleaners but it is not enough. Lockdown seem like a good opportunity to step up your cleaning game, or to learn how to make yourself like tidying up, because you need it more than ever.

COOK

We tend to make sumptuous meals only when we have somebody to impress, like a new date, a group of friends or coworkers. Why is it so? Because cooking takes time, especially if we are trying something new or going for multiple courses, and there is nothing better that share a delicious meal with people. During a lockdown time is not an issue (provisions could but this makes for extra creative challenge) so I see no excuses for not cooking. Living alone or sharing the house with a small family is an opportunity to treat yourself more often than usual. I have many memories of cooking the most delicious food just for myself. I often regretted not having anybody to share it with but the culinary joy nonetheless invaded my tongue and body. I remember a peculiar one. I had just finished a trip with guests on a sail boat in the San Blas Islands. I had some tomato sauce I cooked fresh caught lobsters in the night before. An indigenous fisherman sold me a giant red crab for 5$ while going home from fishing. With those ingredient I concocted a Crab and Lobster red sauce I poured over spaghetti. It was two to three star Michelin restaurant worth. This memory still gives me joy. Cooking can at times be considered an art so check the next way of wasting time to know more.

MAKE ART

Another activity that does not require a public is art. It may sounds strange but you don’t necessarily have to show your art. Why very little people see what I draw? It takes me maybe an hour just to draw a face if I try to make it right. And the result is still quite ugly. The ongoing trauma of growing up with a truly genious sister who graduated in Illustration and Design makes it even harder. So I don’t share my drawings but I do draw when I have time. It takes very long to create something very basic when we are not competent in an art. Many of us have unfulfilled passion or dreams because it’s hard to find time for it. Please thank the Covid-19 for another opportunity and get going with your creativity.

LEARN

Nowadays resources for learning are basically infinite and free. I am pretty sure there is always something you wanted to learn but never had time for and many education providers are offering online resources for free, for both solidarity and marketing reasons. It is an opportunity to take advantage of because learning takes time and effort and we are usually short on those in non Covid-19 times. I am currently studying Celestial Navigation because I want to get an upgrade of my current sailing license. I am glad I have time to do it, rather than trying to study while having a job, and falling asleep on the course.

SOCIAL CHANGE

Homo Sapiens is often called “the social animal”. This definition always show up in scientific works on human behavior and biology. Lately in human history it appears that our sociality became a great problem for the system which supports us. Many understood that and tried to course correct our behavior acting on the institutions that oversee it with very little success. Movements, activism, ideologies and political theories all failed to slow down our innate frenzy despite being armed with the most obvious and self evident truths. The Covid-19 an invisible short sequence of genes inside a protein shell was able to slow down the economy, grind to a halt air traffic, decrease pollution, and convince many businesses that smartworking is a viable way of conducting transactions and get things done. I find this pretty remarkable. There is an opportunity here and we are using it against our own will. The opportunity to learn from this forced stop. This could only happen if we see the benefits of this situation, instead of only crying out its downsides. The opportunity of Social Change is a present we get from a fellow microbe, instead of a brilliant idea coming out from our human mind.

MEDITATE

Never meditated before? Then you should know that meditating is a very good way of taking time off your long and boring day. The secret is to stop everything you are doing and make it even more boring. Bathe in your own boredom! Of course there are courses and tricks and classes ready available at no cost to learn meditation. Just look for it. If you don’t mind a little swearing here and there I kindly suggest this short guided meditation (10 minutes). It is easy yet powerful. I started leaning into meditation when I was alone on a boat in a tropical paradise (the same where the Lobster Crabetti dish happened). With some time on my hands I would sit still on the bow of the boat at anchor to watch the horizon. Now It is almost ten years that I try to meditate and even if it’s still hard to build a continuity in the practice you get nice presents from this very boring activity.


THE BIGGER PICTURE

I had a vision during the meditation time I give myself every Sunday evening. I saw myself as a beautiful root, with many branches expanding rhizomatically into the universe. Each branch touched a person, a place, an object. Every point of contact was a relationship. Every relationship, even painful and difficult ones, had a mutual exchange of resources, a “do ut des”. This root of mine, this branch of Life itself, is extremely intelligent and it follow its principle of growth. I ended up thinking that as a branch I am not fundamental, I am rather expendable, and I become valuable for the whole if I develop my unicity so I can bring novelty to the system, if I do what I was conceived to do which is happening as we speak. At the same time when I am too old or if an accident happens I will disappear and make space for the new and this won’t stop things. It will create space for the new. The network will mourn and incorporate what learning I created then things will continue to grow. The same as when you cut a branch of a tree, there is pain but in the end it is not a big deal. Life goes on.

This thought made me feel nonessential and instead of being terrified by this perspective I felt a relief as I am able to pursue my own growth, I am free to experiment. The Covid-19 experience is not only confronting us with social distancing. It is making us face our own mortality. That’s why it is so scary and moves us from within.

It is certainly our duty to do everything we can to live a healthy life, this will increase our chances against any illness that would hinder growth. It means following the rules that experts are constantly studying to minimize the impact of this new disease. We are a distributed intelligence and should act likewise.

However there are moments when despite all our efforts death cannot be prevented. We are mortal beings even when we try not to think about it. The Covid-19 as many other deseases is killing people. Somebody’s mother, brother, friend or colleague will not make it. If not the Covid-19 something else will at a certain moment take life away from individuals. That’s why we should not panic, and enjoy the life we are having right now, even when it feels boring and when it goes against our own will. A free mind does not see any prisons

I suspect this vision came as I was working on the problem of trusting my own’s decisions. A little over a month ago I left a well paid job and moved across two continents to end up again in a small boat, bleeding money and having to figure out a lot of difficult problems that contribute little to the life of our species. I don’t let judgements clog too much my mental space, as often decisions are just the storytelling of actions that spring freely. However I do watch my own actions and receive feedbacks about them. Doubts sometime arise.

Learning that Life is intelligent and that I am just a branch growing on its path of unicity helps me letting go and trust my feelings and instincts. They keep pointing me in the direction of making this little boat safe and beautiful and to sail her across the Atlantic Ocean to rejoin with Sara, to visit new beautiful portions of this planet and enjoying every bit of it. If this vision does not happen for any number of reasons I won’t feel that I wasted my time.

Because I truly believe there is not such a thing.

Going Solo

Going Solo

I don’t feel I am alone in life, but I am definitely alone on my boat, planning and working for long distance sailing.

For many people and culture facing challenges alone is regarded as a horror story experience, the Robinson Crusoe’s tale of isolation from his fellows. American individualist heroes like Emerson and Thoreau, whose experience with solitude and self-reliance inspired generations, were still fully engaged in public life and very hardly removed from society. Going alone in daring endeavors is exclusive business for heroes and fools. Heroes usually face solitude for necessity, while fools choose it as a free individual choice.

Following this narratives, it is not surprising that my parents are concerned about my wellbeing and my friends struggle to understand why on Earth I would want to spend days at sea by myself (even without Internet!). Despite the ever growing tendency toward individualism, almost every society regards the common good and community life as morally superior to people doing things on their own. Many of the problems in society are attributed to the collapse of family and community life, health problems, school failures, depression among those (check out Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam)

Ask Italian people that are forced not to interact during this lockdown, or the Chinese who experienced it in Wuhan how they like being isolated. All my friends and family in Italy are struggling to cope with this forced removal from others. However there is a big difference between choosing to be alone and be forced to do so. In this sense I am totally free in making this decision, it is something that I really look forward to.

After all at the present moment my solitude is relative. My friend Bill is my next boat neighbor and accomplished solo sailor. He also lives alone on his boat. We visited in Rome while he was spending the winter time with his girlfriend who lives there. We speak Italian and English while we talk boats, politics and other interesting topics as we tinker around our floating homes. So does Andy, another neighbor on a Wharram catamaran who sponsors the Monday Pizza Night where we share the love for pizza making and sharing meals with fellow boaters in the yard.

In Brunswick, not far from here, there are good friends and former neighbors I get to visit now and then. James and Mei who I had the privilege to work with, Susan who was my roommate while I was living on land with Kate and all the people of my former neighborhood, Chip who is a living institution as dockmaster at the Frederica Yacht Club (where Tranquility spent considerable time) Anne and Elliott friends and fellow boaters. The list is very long. The network of relationship that spread from the cabin of an old boat dry docked in rural coastal Georgia is very impressive. It is the web of Life I am grateful for everyday.

Going Places

After months in Hong Kong working mostly on motor yachts and sailing around coastal waters, the desire to sail in blue waters far from land finally creeped up. Tranquility sat for long time in the yard, growing mold and becoming a condominium for insects, slowing rotting away. It would be a shame to waste such a fine vessel.

The desire for sailing and pity for an aging vessel was not enough to break the momentum. After all in Hong Kong I was making money and having an interesting life in a very special place, and I was still messing around with boats. It was when suddenly a destination emerged that things started to roll very quickly. Isla de Tenerife is now where I am going to point Tranquility’s bow. Technically I cannot sail directly there, I will have to draw a wide arch, but you get the point.

There is a very special person waiting for me there I will be happy to reunite with and enjoy time together. The highest island of the Atlantic (mount Teide’s peak is 3718m/12,198ft high) itself has a series of attractions that make it a worthwhile landing spot for some time. A diverse set of environments and microclimates,  relative vicinity with my family in Italy (4h30min flight), presence of sailing yachts and constant wind, also the scary and exciting perspective that the next downwind destination would be the American coast again (Brazil?), all concur to make Tenerife a very interesting place to be.

En route to Tenerife obligatory stops will be the Azores and Madeira. Those Portuguese islands are a fascinating mixture of nature and culture, that I really look forward to experience, and that has been on my chart since the first moment on Tranquility in Fairhaven, MA. In that region of New England  many families immigrated from those Portuguese islands, bringing with them their traditions and food.

Getting there

For the first time in my sailing life I gave myself a precise deadline for departure. I chose it trying to accomodate a good weather window with the time necessary for preparation of the boat and her skipper. The best time to leave for an Eastbound Atlantic crossing is mid April to mid May. During this time of the year the cold fronts and the associated northerlies become less frequent, and S – SW winds are predominant. Also the likelihood of hurricanes is still very low, even though early tropical storm are still possible.

May 2nd is a reasonable date in my opinion. It is challenging because I have a lot to do to prepare, but it is not unreasonable. For sure if I have too much left undone approaching the date I should seriously reconsider my plan. However if just few important things will be still needed, it allows me a cushion of few days to stretch the departure.

What’s missing

Tranquility’s passage from Panama to Georgia proved that the vessel itself is ready for a long journey in open waters. However during that passage I found few problems that require modifications and tune ups, and also upgrades that would make the boat more fun to sail and easier on the crew.

One problem to address are minor leaks that damaged some equipment. Some of them came from the deck grab rails, others from deck hardware. I will take the opportunity of the much needed re-painting of the deck nonskid surface to re-bed all deck hardware. The teak grab rails are already a distant memory while I wait to install new stainless steel ones.

I am going to purchase and install a brand new roller furler, retiring the continuous -line furler that served me well but that is showing signs of age and malfunctioning. With that I am replacing head stay and backstay, that came under high stress during the mishaps I experienced with the furling system during a squall in the Atlantic Ocean.

I also now have the opportunity to keep shaping this boat, fulfilling the dream of making her a badass bluewater boat. I am planning to build a hard dodger out of fiberglass and foam composite as previously envisioned after building the nesting dinghy in Panama.

Showing the Work

The list is long and goes in great details. I will try to keep this blog as much up to date as possible on the constant projects happening on Tranquility. This is probably a way to overcome isolation and bridge communication gaps. If I want other people to understand what moves me and what does it mean to take a boat alone across the Atlantic the only chance is to show how this is made. I am trying to spread this effort through diverse media. For example, If you want to have a quicker view of what’s going on check out my Instagram @sailwithfabio where I post pictures of my work on a daily basis.

I overcame my writer’s block and got to write this blog post thanks to the support of fellow writer and friends in Hong Kong. There I used to attend the weekly meeting of this group where people gathers to write and then read their work. Despite 12hours and 13,913kms difference between us I decided to synchronize with their meeting and spend two hours writing. Thanks Bernard, Holly, Kathrina and Toni to be awesome writers and great people!


The title and some of the ideas on this post are from an interesting book I am reading:

GOING SOLO, The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone, by Eric Klinenberg, The Penguin Press, 2012

Reaching the goal (part two)

Reaching the goal (part two)

To read Part One click here

As I only read in sailing narrative before, I brought the jib all the way down into the main cabin to fix it. I pulled out the emergency repair kit and the Sailmaker’s Apprentice book that I put aside after reading few paragraphs. Instead I cut a couple of patches of dacron I carried for repairs and started to improvise a hand stitch.

It was a slow operation that took all my poor sewing skills. For two hours Tranquility continued diligently on course all the way to Cabo San Antonio. Beta, entertained by the novel configuration of the cabin, hung out on the jib spread out on the bed.

Stitching the damaged jib
Stitching the damaged jib

Eventually I concocted an ugly repair that made me feel like a hero. Unfortunately the worst had yet to begin.

It turned to be impossible to hoist the jib onto the furler alone, in the dark and with fifteen knots on the nose. I tried a couple of tacks, to see if I could get a little more shelter from the mainland. I tried again and again.

I managed to pull the sail two thirds of the way up after many attempts, cursing aloud and pulling hard on the halyard while feeding the bolt rope through the groove of the furler. Nothing more.

Exhausted I decided to wait for the daylight and milder conditions. I put Tranquility again on a NNE Course with only the staysail and the mainsail to propel us, drifting a little away from my intended course.

The following day I gathered my energy, oriented the boat downwind and eased the mainsail all the way out to shade the foredeck. With daylight and more clement seas the operation was a success. I enjoyed the fruit of my hard work for a little while before going back to my napping routine.

During the trip my sleep cycle varied depending on how safe my mind would feel. I can usually judge in advance where marine traffic concentrate: straits, approaches to busy ports, capes and other obstructions.

Sailing way offshore scares most people but it is in fact the safer option for a singlehanded sailor. While offshore the risk of hitting an object while sailing is minimum but it cannot be reduced to zero. It is something I learned to accept or I will be terrorized to go anywhere.

It is closer to land where I get the least sleep, a maximum of 20 minutes intervals between trips on deck to check for potential danger. A minutes or two is sufficient to scan the horizon and check the chartplotter.

The journey continued with a steady beating against NE winds. I was focused on gaining miles to the North before the wind would shift allowing me to sail East. Another cold front was forecasted to reach me while approaching the Florida Keys, and I could use that to get East again.

Kate on the shore team arranged a stop on Stock Island, right beside Key West. I was trying not stop if possible, but the northerlies were forecasted to blow for three days more before a shift to the E and the S.

With some time to kill it would be a perfect opportunity to clear in the country, and possibly have a sailmaker check on my homemade repair. And of course to enjoy a night of rest while docked and a meat based meal in a restaurant. Stopping appeared to be the right choice.

Passing the Florida Keys

Tranquility approached Stock Island on a close reach, while the cold front was blowing from the NNW. I let the wind take me to the front of the channel before packing the headsails and leave the electric motor and mainsail complete the approach to the basin.

Kate’s formidable skills as a researcher helped in finding just the right spot for the job, 3D Boatyard. Tranquility ended tied up to a sea wall alongside an unoccupied powerboat after a three point turn aided by line handlers. In order to get ashore I had to climb onto the neighboring vessel and jump a good three feet from its stern onto the concrete bulkhead.

As I stepped from a rocking boat to the solid ground of the dusty boatyard I immediately felt the mighty presence of Florida Men around me. Harleys and street bikes and giant trucks and beards and sunglasses provided the Southern Florida flavor. It was good to be back.

The inexpensive and busy boatyard allowed me get enough internet to video call the Custom and Border Protection Officer. I downloaded the CBP official app for my Android phone in Panama and I was ready for the operation. To my surprise the officer waived me in without further need for inspections after I showed my green card to the phone camera and answered few questions.

With that resolved I quickly walked a few hundred yards to see if the sailmaker was available to fix my ugly hand stitch. Interrupting his nap was a clear signal of availability and he accepted to pick up my sail and delivered it fixed at the end of the day. The only thing left to do was to grab a substantial lunch at the nearby Cuban restaurant. After 12 days at sea on a mostly vegetarian diet I selected the beef stew special from the menu and enjoyed my gigantic meal.

I was eager to make progress to the East while it was still blowing from the North so the very next day I was already underway . I was hoping to get past the Keys and snug the Gulf Stream in time with a wind switch to the SE and S to get a slingshot effect up the East Coast.

Out of Stock Island the gusty cold front was still active, but the protection from land made for some exciting close hauled sailing in flat waters. I sailed till the night came, and I was determined to keep moving.

The constant presence of crab traps, buoys and markers and a marine traffic altough made me realize that I would not spend a very restful night. It was getting a little cold too, as the National Weather Service on the VHF informed that the temperature will drop to the lower 50s.

I opted to spend the night at anchor without risking collisions or sleep deprivation. After finding a suitable point on the chart I approached the anchorage under sail, with a little help from the electric drive. Few feet from where I was heading to drop the hook the propeller came to a sudden stop,

The line of one of the crab traps had fouled the prop and I hurried to quickly deploy the anchor. The 22lbs Bruce anchor set as usual bringing the boat to a stop. I played a bit with the throttle but the prop would not turn. It was too dark to dive and deal with it. I decided to prepare a meal and to sleep till daylight.

After a comfortable night snug in my sleeping bag I went out to felt the morning air in the cockpit. It was chilly and still breezy. I reluctantly undressed, donned my mask and snorkel and brought a knife with me. The water was warmer than the air and I quickly freed the propeller from the line, without the need for cutting it. It took few minutes to recover from the chilly swim and got underway.

I spent the following day and night tacking my way East close to shore. At night I slept very little because of heavy traffic and the need to tack every half hour or so. Slowly clearing Key Largo Tranquility finally got a good position inside the Gulf Stream, right when the winds started to help.

In this area of the Gulf Stream current can attain speeds of 3.5 / 4 knots. When the wind blows strongly from the North the Gulf Stream becomes a hell made of steep waves climbing one on top of the other. I had the luck to get wind and current in favor and so Tranquility started to travel fast northbound.

It was exciting. With 20 knots on my back, Miami first, then all the other landmarks on the coast passed by quickly. I recorded a progress of a 145nm on day 14 and the next day an incredible 201nm. It felt like a sort of reward after many days of slow and laborious progress upwind.

In front of Cape Canaveral at night I had to be vigilant and consult the AIS receiver quite a bit. I counted 5 cruise ships going in and out of the inlet.

singlehanded sailor

The night of my 16th day at sea, I came to an abrupt stop in front of St.Augustine. A band of thunderstorms from the West chased out the Southerlies and brought confused winds, sudden gusts and periods of calm. I had to reduce sail, let the squalls pass an then let more sail out again. Then the wind will drop to almost nothing.

One of those thunderstorms hit while I was napping down below. The boat jerked and started running pushed by the sudden strong winds. I was quickly in the cockpit to bring in the jib. I could not furl it, it was once again jammed.

As a final desperate measure I put the furling lie on the winch and applied the extra mechanical force. I felt the halyard snap at the top of the mast and the sail furling in quickly. The problem was fixed, but once again I was left without my main headsail. If I tried to open the jib it would just fall on the deck as no halyard would keep it hoisted.

At day break I put as much sail area out as I could, including my reaching Gennaker. It was still possible to fix the halyard situation if I could send up another line to the sheave. I had a mouse line running through the mast and a suitable line to use.

Once the line was all the way in I noticed it was just few feet too short. I had used part of the same line to make the mainsheet of my sailing dinghy, so if I connected the two parts I could have a brand new halyard and use the jib again.

The Ditty Bag Book had a good illustration on how to join temporarily two ropes through a double whip. With needle and thread I attached the two ends of line. For the third time in this trip the jib was down on the foredeck. This time it was quickly up again after the new halyard was attached to the swivel. By then I knew how to run the operation alone and smoothly.

Day 16 was the slowest of the trip but nonetheless we were getting there . The tide tables gave 9 am as the beginning of the incoming tide in St.Simons Inlet so I felt right on time on my approach. The last thing I expected was to feel the effect of the outgoing tide 15 miles from the entrance of the Sound.

The boat was pushed toward Fernandina Beach and with light wind there was little I could do but try to motorsail until the change of the tide. Progress was slow and the generator that I hooked up to the battery charger to support my electric motor started to act wildly, despite my pre-departure maintenance.

The battery charge was getting lower and lower and still the destination was out of reach. I started to worry that we could not make it before the tide will turn again against us. I started to contemplate calling a tow, even if the simple thought made me feel a bit ashamed. I was curious about their rates and wondering how much money I was willing to trade to end the trip.

The answer came from a council of guardian angels on the Delorme. They called the Tow services asking for an estimate. 900-1200 dollars was the answer, a steep enough price to make me go all the way and devise an alternative plan. If I could not clear the inlet before the turn of the tide I would anchor by one shoal and rest. Waiting for the next tide change.

Then I gave up motor sailing and started to fully tack. At the same time the wind started to increase. It was coming right from the inlet, straight on the nose. I kept tacking, the wind kept blowing stronger.

The channel that leads to St. Simons Sound is wide enough to allow big ships in an out, but it shoals right off the markers. Thanks to Tranquility’s shallow draft and the raising tide, I had a little extra room for my tacks. Still it was hard work as I would tack every four to ten minutes.

The tacks leading to St.Simons Sound

I had full sails ups. In a regular situation I would have reefed the mainsail. This time I could not leave the tiller while tacking s hand between shoals. I could only dunk the bulwarks and all the leeward deck in the waves, while everything inside the boat fell and crashed at every tack. I was racing high tide at 3 pm to get to the anchorage.

At a certain moment, on a port tack, I had the certainty that I was going to make it. I knew the inlet and St.Simons Sound very well . I was close and the energetic sailing was paying off.

The entrance to Frederica river was waiting for me, and of course I would sail all the way to the anchorage. It only got easier as I was finally pointing N to the end of my journey.

The boat enter Frederica river on the last tack, still heeled under the pressure of the wind. I was confident that anchoring under sail in the familiar anchorage would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

At that realization, relieved from the tension of the arrival, tears started falling on my cheeks. Tears of joy, tears of completion. All the fears, all the excitement and expectations became a liquid film that filled my eyes and dripped on my face. The familiar landscape moved me, like a long forgotten song, attached to a strong memory.

The long day spent at the tiller, exposed to the sun and the wind without eating, had not crushed me even after 17 days spent at sea since Puerto Lindo. I felt energized and alert.

Once the hook sunk in the soft Georgia mud, I took extra time to carefully flake the mainsail, put on the sail cover, organize the lines at the mast, and clear the deck, savoring the afternoon turning into sunset. I cooked a big pot of pasta, gave a extra can of food to Beta, and opened a bottle of white wine that my friends Simonetta and Piero gave me in Panama to celebrate my arrival.

My journey had ended, where it started long ago. The famed marshes of Glynn took us in their protective embrace without asking questions. I was glad because I had no answers for them.

Singlehanding my way back: from Panama to the US

Singlehanding my way back: from Panama to the US

As usual departing was laborious. Breaking the inertia was necessary to abandon Panama, a place that ended up feeling like a trap. Maybe I am just not that good with change anymore, and everything seem like a struggle. Or maybe I hit a dark spot while drifting about on the Atlantic coast of Panama and dealing with its fascinating cultures.

Sort of Heart of Darkness feeling, if you know what I mean.

Eventually, I found myself alone with Beta on Tranquility pointing North under full sail. I left Linton Bay in the early afternoon of the 28th of November. Hurricane season seemed to had finally cooled off, and the strong trade winds had not arrived yet.

It was the first time I sailed singlehanded in a long passage. I felt both excited and worried. My mind was more concerned about discomfort than personal safety. I trusted my boat. I couldn’t say the same about myself.

Selfie of a singlehanded sailor

Final destination was Brunswick in Georgia and, another first time for me, I had a schedule. I had booked a flight to Italy leaving from Jacksonville on Christmas Eve. There was enough time to make it… if everything went well.

Set on a close reach, I let the boat going more or less the direction I wanted. I forgot how easy is to pull the anchor and sail. The complicated stuff has always to do with land based activities.

I kept an eye on my new AIS as well as doing frequent scan of the horizons. For a hundred miles or so all the inbound and outbound traffic of the Panama Canal funnels in this stretch of water.

Thanks to the little dAISy 2+, the inexpensive dual channel AIS receiver I had just installed, I could see traffic around me. With the name of the vessel coming up in the information I even dared to establish radio contact with the ships that had a close CPA with Tranquility.

CPA stands for Closest Point of Approach and refers to the minimum value between two dynamically moving objects. Surprisingly the officers on watch picked up my calls, assuring that they were aware of my presence.

Soon the wind increased to 15-20 knots, still blowing from the NE. I kept the bow of the boat as close to it as possible. Soon the impacts with bigger waves started to shake the hull. Every loud hit shook me until I realized that this was what the boat is designed for. The adaptation to open waters took some time, after months spent in a protected basin.

At first it felt bad. Lack of appetite, boredom, struggle in reasoning were all the symptoms of too much time spent attached to land. I did the bare minimum, enough to keep Tranquility as close to the intended course as possible.

Sailing-Panama-to-USA

I wanted to sail straight to the Cayman Islands, almost due North from Puerto Lindo. Winds blew from the NE, perhaps NNE. The combinations of the 5 ft waves and the breeze made us drift towards the West, but we were still able to make northerly progress.

I avoided to sail too close to the Nicaraguan/Honduran coasts, as piracy was reported along those shoals. The crew of fishing boats were often looking for a way to make something on the side of their miserable incomes.

I am always comforted by the modest appearance of my boat, but I can’t always factor the level of desperation some people live with. Unfortunately even my small and old 30 footer can look like a luxurious target in certain situations.

The first problem arose soon in the trip. I tried to unfurl the jib after rolling it away for an incoming squall that ended up being not a big deal. The sail won’t unfurl, no matter how hard I pulled the furling line on the drum. I immediately suspected the swivel and the halyard up on the mast were misbehaving.

Two hundred miles or so in a seventeen hundred nautical miles passage and I could not use the jib. It was no bueno.

Determined to solve the problem, I donned my harness and my tethers and started climbing the mast steps installed on Tranquility’s rig. One third of my way up a bigger wave shook the boat and I found myself hugging the aluminum profile like a baby koala on mother’s back.

That scared the living crap out of me. Up higher the oscillation of the mast in such seas would be even greater, something I would not dare to try.

I immediately computed that my best option was to find a protected bay in the San Andrés archipelago, a group of islands off the Nicaraguan coast that belong to Colombia. It would be a deviation from my intended route and a delay I hoped not to incur in.

Kate, checking on me on the Delorme, put me in touch with Mike and Laura, friendly cruisers I met in Turtle Cay that were frequent visitors of the archipelago. They spoke with the immigration agent they use to clear in, who suggested I anchored for 48hrs in plain sight claiming the need for rest or even better illness.

Then I had the idea to try and release the halyard to see if that helped. Once I got some slack on the line the furler started to work again. I was elated! No need to stop, no delay and no dealing with authorities!

When I put the sail up in Turtle Cay after keeping it stowed for months, I must have put too much tension on the halyard, making the furling difficult. At least this was my quick diagnosis.

With the jib now back in service the boat continued as if she had a mind of her own. Tranquility quickly moved away from the San Andrés islands, tracking steadily as she usually does on a close reach. On my side, I was still trying to find my own rhythm.

The second scare came right after. I was cooking a meal when I went out on deck to deal with the autopilot that needed adjustments. After a little I noticed black smoke coming out of the companionway.

Fire on a boat is possibly the worst situation a sailor could face. If a fire gets out of control the only option is abandoning ship, with very limited time to act and collect gear.

The source of the fire was a plastic lighter I used to light the stove with. I found it on fire and jammed between the burner and the pot after falling on the stove from the shelf right behind in a strong wave. Still a small fire, I immediately realized that using water was the best way to put it out.

Had it been an electrical or liquid fuel fire I would have used a fire extinguisher. A splash of water I collected from the nearby sink put an end to the threat.

Once the danger was over I realized how lucky I was. For just a second I got very scared, probably the most scared I had been in my life. It could have been the end of me, Beta and Tranquility.

Now black sooth from the burnt plastic was all over the boat, hard to clean. I felt like a stupid, and decided that now on I would not go on deck if the stove was on down below. Safety rule for singlehanded sailors!

Chatting on the Delorme, I asked Kate to check if she had any information about Thunder Knoll, which I intended to sail by. She came back to me with a story from a cruising blog that reported an attempted act of piracy by local fishermen.

Immediately I became worried that a similar fate was awaiting for me on the shoals. Too late to set another course, and with really no other options, I started to watch frantically with my binoculars, while keeping my navigation lights off, a trick used years back when sailing in Venezuela. That night I did not dare to sleep or nap.

Nothing happened, as I did not spot anybody fishing around Thunder Knoll. Instead, I broke Tranquility’s personal record, aided by favorable current and by a wind angle that finally shifted a little more to her beam. The fear of piracy contributed to record, making me sail a little harder than I would in normal conditions.

153 nautical miles was not a bad 24hrs log for a 53 year old boat with 22,5 feet at the waterline!

Being by yourself makes you realize how vulnerable you are. At the same time it awakes awareness and sharpness in the senses. Walking on deck my steps were conscious, my hands holding tight to the boat, my vision and my hearing focused on the surrounding ocean. I did use my harness and my tether at discretion, knowing that I was vulnerable when I wasn’t attached to the boat.

Sometimes dark thoughts came up in unison. I felt very vulnerable to fire, a fall overboard, a debilitating injury, all the way to fear of bankruptcy, and other existential worries. The dark thoughts came and go. I felt surprisingly comfortable being hundreds of miles away from any land, especially when I focused on the boat, on her secure and steady progress. I was finally feeling used to being at sea.

No marine traffic came my way since the approaches to the Panama Canal, the AIS receiver remained silent. Every night I clocked good hours of sleep, broken up in smaller chunks to allow a quick scan of the horizon in every direction. During the day I also kept napping.

Finally I understood Beta’s behavior, the feline necessity of long rests in case something happens and immediate action is required. It resonated with my naps and lying down, interrupted by burst of activity.

I had windy conditions for most of the trip, manna from heaven when you sail a boat with limited auxiliary propulsion like Tranquility. The noises on the boat, at every wave, roll or pitch became familiar. I could judge the intensity of the wind by the speed of the wind generator and by the pressure on the rig. For the first time I noticed how the boat is more silent in dry weather. Sheets and lines squeak louder under load when it’s humid and rainy.

I finally felt myself entering the middle zone, accustomed to the pure chaos happening on the ocean’s surface. The swell followed a regular pattern, disturbed by waves coming from different directions, separating or building up one on top of the other. The boat just tried to dance on this mysterious rhythm, sliding on an invisible track, sustained by forces that I can’t understand completely.

This middle zone of the passage had no specific duration in my memory, and time ceased to be a factor. It was too far to think about the arrival. A lot could still happen, and the decisions taken in the present may not count in the end. I focused on making steady progress, and I relaxed. I was finally far from the abundant lush of Panama. It was time to move over, even if the next move had not yet a clear path.

In the middle zone I accepted this and accepted the waves’ gentle lulls and ferocious spanks. It’s the temple of nothing, built nowhere. I breath calmly. I am breath.

This ephemeral mental state could vanish unexpectedly. I could suddenly find myself fretting about the arrival or feeling that again that the trip was just started. Then worry faded again.

Cayman-Islands-to-Cuba

Following this spell I decided that stopping in Cayman Islands was not necessary. Weather was good and winds finally moved onto Tranquility’s beam. The boat stopped pitching and started rolling. Neither one is comfortable as the trade winds raised waves up to seven feet, but the progress was encouraging.

A warning from afar awoke me from my meditations. Elliott, who kindly fed me weather forecast through the Delorme, alerted me of a cold front moving from the US and reaching as far down as Honduras. Right were I was.

Even if this added extra miles to my trip, I decided to shoot for the Cayman Islands for two reasons. It could be a port of call for problems on board. It was also putting me more on the lee of Cuba in case of a cold front. As the feared cold front was bound to show up, I kept my course North trying to hug the Coast of Cuba

As expected the wind calmed down, and veered around the boat. Finally the fair winds and following seas visited me, after many people tried to send them my way. I prepared the whisker pole to keep the jib open and catch the following breeze. The operation took me a good half an hour. It was the first time I did it singlehanded on a rolling deck.

That night I was completely becalmed, on a flat ocean. I rolled the jib in, reefed the mainsail, and set up to sleep while the boat moved at less than a knot. At dawn light NErlies started to blow, destined to intensify. I hurried to get as close to the southern coast of Cuba as possible.

With sunset the squalls came, bringing rain and gusty winds. A little after they dissipated the wall of the cold front hit us, with 25 to 30 knots from the NNE. Getting the jib back in as fast as I could, the furler was giving me problems again, and the operation lasted more than necessary with the jib flogging badly.

I eventually packed the sail away, and kept the minimum sail area. Only a deep reefed mainsail and the staysail drove the boat. The night became quickly dark and a little chilly, and I tried to spend as much time as I could down below.

Cuba’s landmass was acting as a wall that protected from big waves. Only fifteen miles separated us from Isla Juventud, offering little fetch to the wind. The rig turned into a whistling symphony I listen to in the breaks of my slumber.

The following day I kept the boat on a slower pace while approached Cabo San Antonio and the Yucatan Channel. During the cold fronts the passage between Cuba and Mexico funnels big waves originating in the Gulf of Mexico. I figured that spending extra time in the lee of Cuba could be beneficial to have the seas calm down a bit.

Before sunset, as the winds decreased further I took courage and opened the jib. The speed immediately got up. Happy about my schedule and the successful trip so far I started to take a closer look to the charts to see where it was convenient to cross the Traffic Separation Scheme that runs along the North coast of Cuba. All the efforts to avoid dealing with shipping are rewarded by more rest on passage.

While touring the foredeck for the last check before darkness, I noticed a small vertical slit in the the dacron of the jib, close to the reinforced area of the clew. My heart sank in my chest. It must have happened with the flogging of the sail while furling the jib in the squall. What was maybe a four inch tear could easily spread and render my headsail useless. My satisfaction for how I dealt with the cold front turned into a sour feeling.

The damaged jib

Continuing the trip without the jib, meant slow progress and less windward ability. Florida was still more than 300 miles to the NE and the forecast anticipated the most difficult upwind leg of the trip. No bueno, again

[TO READ PART 2 CLICK HERE]

Embracing the ocean again

Embracing the ocean again

The sky is cloudy and the temperature quite cool while I get ready to depart the Linton Bay anchorage in Panama to sail back to the US. Last minute issues got me a little delayed but now everything seems quite ready.

Kate is in NYC and I waited for hurricane season to cool off before sailing back with Tranquility and Beta. We are going to meet for Christmas which we will spend seeing my family in Italy.

Yesterday I did the clearance papers that grant me 48hrs to leave and I am at anchor tending to final preparations, setting up the dAISy 2+ (AIS receiver) with my navigation app, cleaning and organizing stowage, but mostly resting.

Emotions go all over the places, from abysmal fear to sheer joy, from dull apathy to total fret. Luckily this turmoil balances itself as I do a constant effort to find a middle point while I complete the last tasks and catch brief naps.

Hopefully I will depart tomorrow. I plotted a straight course to Cayman Islands and the Yucatan Channel then around Florida and up the East Coast.

If weather cooperates, and the humane/feline crew can handle it, I will attempt a non stop passage, at least to the US. Other convenient points of refuge could be Cayman Islands and Isla Mujeres Mexico depending on the decisions I will make about weather routing with the data that my friend Elliott will kindly provide through the satellite messenger.
I will keep the InReach on throughout the trip. Here is the address:
https://share.garmin.com/sytranquility

On the website you can see my position in real time and you are welcome to send me a message anytime of the day. Hopefully I will have plenty of free time and hands during the passage. Just make sure you write your name so I know who I am talking to.

Now I go back to clean some coffee spilled by the wakes of a passing speedboat. <<beeeeep>>
See you on the other side.
El Norte: a Song of Inexperience

El Norte: a Song of Inexperience

 

Quicksands in Panama provided plenty of

Despair of not moving

Confusion and bulimic crawl

 

I dream of ocean running under the keel

The bubbles of vanishing inertia

Washing through the soul

 

The comfort of a tropical embrace

The indecision of fear

Lasted for too long

 

So the bug bites

And even if I have never been there alone

There is the same craving

 

In the repository for the unsung stories

Locked into the consequences

 of the Universe spinning

 

I start to push

Kick doors in

Bug out

 

What life will make of me?

The monotony of waves

Aren’t you scared they say?

 

Why? I answer

It’s only a ride

And even if I was scared to death

 

Why not try?

The boredom in offshore sailing

The boredom in offshore sailing

People have always a lot of questions about sailing. The most frequently asked I believe is the one that tries to shine a light on why one spends a long while out of touch, traveling slowly through a deserted place aboard an uncomfortable vessel.

The question comes in many forms, and I think the following blunt example is a good one: Don’t you get bored out there in the ocean?

Sooner or later everyone who seems to enjoy longer offshore sailing becomes the recipient of this inquiry, as the use of this uneconomical and obsolete form of transportation puzzles the majority of non-sailors.

The question throws me a little off every time, but I have been asked it often enough that I developed a set of responses.

At first I try to describe the experience of crossing an expanse of water by exalting the fact that the ocean is never really the same and every wave that comes and go, every cloud in the sky, lightning, fish jumping or bird gliding is a gift of an ever changing earth.

If that does not do the job, there are some iconic examples I throw in to illustrate the attractive of ocean sailing, i.e. how spectacular and inspiring is to witness the darkest nights unveiling our vast universe, or the poetic and astounding reflection of the moon on the black sea, images that invoke the feeling of being in connection with nature, a nurturing experience that grants access to a sense of cosmic fulfillment.

Then I surrender and admit that yes, it’s pretty boring out there.

sailing is boring

SAILING IS BORING

There is nothing to do, you are too far away from the coast to check Facebook or Twitter, shuffle around shows and movies, you can’t really call anybody as it’s way too expensive, you can’t buy anything nor read the latest news on your favorite topics, or any topic, and the beauty of the environment can and will get shadowed by its monotony.

I can sympathize with non-sailors’ bewilderment, as I recognize it’s a behavior so very hard to understand. Why would anybody undergo this deliberate exposure to boredom?

Well, one reason could be the sense of accomplishment. If the voyager wants to reach the intended destination which sits across a long stretch of water – conventionally sailing a boat from point A to point B – the boredom of standing watch hour after hour, day after day, week after week becomes a necessity.

The goal itself must be so rewarding that the atrocity of the experience surrenders to its intrinsic reward, otherwise soon enough something more entertaining will take over. Flying is also a more convenient way to achieve the same result.
This may explain the motivation of a certain type of goal-oriented sailor that value the discovering of a new place, but it does tell nothing about who truly enjoys being out there for an extended period of time in solitary confinement.

This second type of sailor may respond better to the argument that sailing is so good that every minute is totally worth it. During an ocean passage there is very little actual sailing happening, with the main tasks consisting in watching the boat doing its job. It is more or less like driving a car with cruise control on a straight highway with no traffic.

The experience and the work to sail a boat change with weather conditions. Storms and other natural fluctuations give a momentary burst of adrenaline and actions, sails gets changed or furled or reefed, to an otherwise monotonous overall experience. Even in the case of the crazy sailor who seek to sail in year long stormy places like the Southern Ocean,  a situation of normalization takes place and the stormy weather turn into the only reality, dull and repetitive.

French ocean voyager Bernard Moitessier once wrote; “I hate storms, but calms undermine my spirits”. Not very many people can claim to be more at home on a boat in the ocean than the French sailor, who once, out of disgust for celebrity and maybe society itself, did an extra half a lap around the globe after pulling out of the Sunday Times Golden Globe Race he was winning. But even Moitessier, apparently, was challenged by boredom at sea.

Single-handed sailors might get the full deal, but other crew member don’t necessary become source of relief, as soon as the days pass, the arguments and stories become trite and superfluous to the point that silence becomes preferable.

Early existentialist Søren Kierkegaard pointed out a while ago how company is not alone sufficient to contain boredom:

“Adam was bored because he was alone; therefore Eve was created. Since that moment, boredom entered the world and grew in quantity in exact proportion to the growth of population. Adam was bored alone; then Adam and Eve were bored together; then Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel were bored en famille. After that, the population of the world increased and the nations were bored en masse.” Either/Or, 1843

In a sense, offshore sailing becomes a perverse activity as the seafarer would deem a passage successful when there is as little intervention as possible. Uneventful becomes the highest grade allowed for judging an ocean passage. For exciting and action packed sailing one should look into afternoon sails in a busy bay or taking part in a club race.

Another objection to the fact that sailing is not so boring in the end, is that on a sailboat there is always a job to do, either because every activity is difficult and takes longer – every task has to be accomplished while simultaneously hold onto something – or because things tend to break quite regularly. Even when no immediate action is required there is a lot of preventative maintenance and routine checks to keep you entertained and busy.

But boredom still gets you in this scenario, you don’t feel like working all the time as it’s true in many different settings in life. Checking and tightening that bolt again, or making sure that valve does not leak soon becomes very tedious. Procrastination finds its prominent role even in the middle of the ocean, and having nothing better to do does not seem to act as motivation to keep you busy.

There is not need to cross an ocean to embrace such experience. A 48 hours passage can be dull and uneventful enough to provide some serious boredom and challenges.

During many miles at sea, the mind focuses obsessively on the destination even when there are still miles to cover, or indulges in considering past events, problems, ideas, injustices, hatred, remorse a collection of forgotten episodes of life that come back in wave trains. Self-examination becomes unavoidable and open the doors to some very uncomfortable thoughts and feelings.

American author Robert M. Pirsig who struggled with mental health throughout his life, had tried sailing crossing the Atlantic twice on his Westsail 32, and leaving behind a brief and exemplary short essay written for Esquire in 1977.

As one lives on the surface of the empty ocean day after day after day after day and sees it sometimes huge and dangerous, sometimes relaxed and dull, but always, in each day and week, endless in every direction, a certain understanding of one’s self begins slowly to break through, reflected from the sea, or perhaps derived from it. “Cruising Blues and Their Cure”

sailing is boring

BOREDOM IS GOOD

I understand this is a blog about sailing, and that maybe a long dissertation about boredom may not be of general interest. Going a little deeper in exploring the relationship between time and boredom may help in the end to underline the totally boring character of offshore sailing, and why it makes it so good and sought after, at least by a small group of dedicated people.

I am also tired to give fake answers about starry skies, moonlights and ever changing waves, and I am myself looking  for a better explanation.

My biggest surprise when I set to write this post, is that there is a ton of material online about boredom, some coming from the most brilliant minds that had ever stepped on this planet.

Contrary to common sense, boredom is also hip, boredom is cool. The wishy-washy entertainment and news publishers make boredom look not boring at all, worth to win a click by a bored audience. Apparently among the benefits of boredom I found that enhances creativity, promotes pro-social behavior, and changes of behavior in general.

But the greatest help in understanding boredom’s realist and mechanics comes from extremely boring people, philosophers and authors in general, people who spent a lot of their time escaping boredom and pondering about stuff.

Martin Heidegger is probably the author who dedicated most pages to the topic. Trying to summarize (and banalize) the German philosopher’s conception of boredom it would sound a bit like: I am bored, therefore I exist.

He makes the example of waiting for a train: In doing nothing on the platform, without distractions saving from the passing of time, boredom becomes so evident that acquires almost physical substance. What in reality is happening is that we are experiencing time itself, which for some reason we are not equipped to understand or dominate. It is also curious that in his native language the word for boredom, Langweile, literally means “ a long while”.

Without boring you too much, Heidegger strongly believed that boredom was the perfect way of access to “the essence of human time”, which access could lead to “waking up to ourselves”.

Luckily commuters who use trains often learn how to cope with this sensation and become better and better in absorbing its impact. However most of it is in reality just cheating. A book, newspaper, the smartphone, mp3 players and such, all avoid rather acclimate us to the feeling, contributing to strengthen the allergy to boredom. All this Heideggerian “waking up to yourself” is rejected completely by contemporary commuters.

For the severe moralist Bertrand Russell, the more we escape this fear the more difficult is to develop a character. The British philosopher,  who also did some prison time, considers boredom something that toughen you up:

“A generation that cannot endure boredom will be a generation of little men, of men unduly divorced from the slow process of nature, of men in whom every vital impulse slowly withers as though they were cut flowers in a vase.” Bertrand Russell

In this inability to withstand the attack of boredom, he sees the danger of excitement, of consumption of objects and experiences that make people more and more desensitized and also exhausted, as the search to increasingly intense forms of excitement is never ending.

Raw time doesn’t bode well for people, and at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it, or better said by it’s avoidance. It is also the case of being busy no-matter-what, which is incredibly easily exploited. This was the opinion of home-schooled French mathematician Blaise Pascal who famously wrote in his Pensées:

“All of humanity’s problem stem from man’s inability to sit quiet in a room alone”

Despite all our efforts boredom will find a way in. It will make binge watching TV shows tiring and dull, reading another page difficult, going out for a beer with friends the same old story. We can escape boredom only to a point.

Russian-born Nobel Prize Josef Brodsky dedicated a whole commencement address at Darmouth College to the topic of boredom, in which he encourages to embrace it, go through it, to hit the bottom with it, instead of making the research for alternatives a full-time expensive activity.

“[boredom] is your window on time’s infinity. Once this window opens, don’t try to shut it; on the contrary, throw it wide open. For boredom speaks the language of time, and it is to teach you the most valuable lesson of your life- the lesson of your utter insignificance” Listening to boredom, 1995

Academics tell us it is important to deal with boredom, but its consequences are dire and unpleasant. Boredom deprives us of basic emotions like fear, joy, anger, delivering an internal landscape of vast platitude and deafening silence. We resort in looking outside for a stimulus, something to grip on to be carried away to a more pleasant, less empty reality, even watching season two of Westworld becomes entertaining, while in reality it’s a dreadfully useless show.

This is the power of boredom. It’s a reset, a cleanse, an update of meaning bestowed upon us by the meaningless time.The deprivation of stimuli forces the mind to stay awash in the passing of time, it gives us back control on our own mind, which can be consciously directed, instead of followed unintentionally to the next source of excitement.

SAILING IS GOOD

Sailing is seen as an escape from the monotony of the rat race, and while novelty and excitement will improve mood and lookout on life in the short term, soon an even graver monotony and inescapable boredom will creep in.

Paradoxically the biggest lessons I got from offshore sailing came from its boring parts.

When I am removed from the media pipeline, the joys and miseries of human contact, and I’m confronted with the indifference of nature I have little that shelters me from face-to-face encounters with boredom. The day and what to do with it is my responsibility, so it’s where to direct my mind. Control is still an option, it becomes the only option.

Matt Rutherford which I interviewed for Psychology of Sailing, described his attitude during his solo Round the Americas when he spent 309 days non stop at sea. He said that during the exploit he consciously tried to be in a sort of middle zone, a mental state that would not bring him too high in the joy realm, or too low in the upset pit:

I got bored out of my mind crossing the Atlantic at one point during both trips. You don’t want yourself go in a certain place mentally. You don’t want to be in extreme joy because if you do you can open up the doorway to extreme depression. If you go in one direction then the pendulum will swing both ways. I was trying to stop the pendulum staying in the middle. It’s a bit of a blasé attitude you accept that whatever happen happens. You have to be very accepting, accept when things break without being too upset, and be thankful when something good happens. Matt Rutherford

Offshore sailors go through the troubles of hard work, organizational hassles and costly preparation to experience days of unobstructed contact with time, almost impossible to replicate in other settings where a minimum of involvement with Society is required.

Many who love this activity feel at ease in that setting, and they look forward to it. The ocean is a space that cuts off from both what it had been and what it will be, where monotony becomes a resource, and where time is abundant, eternal, infinite. It’s a great opportunity to learn how to deal with time, rather than fill it in.

 


 

RESOURCES:

 

Martin Heidegger:

  • Heidegger, M., (1983)The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics,
  • http://janslaby.com/downloads/slaby_heideggerboredom.pdf
  • https://philosophynow.org/issues/65/Bored_With_Time

 

Kierkegaard:

  • Kierkegaard (1843), S., Either/Or,
  • https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/01/14/kierkegaard-boredom-idleness-either-or/

 

Bertrand Russell

  • Russell, B.,(1930) The Conquest of Happiness, 1930,
“The Canoes of Guna Yala” is online on Small Boats Monthly

“The Canoes of Guna Yala” is online on Small Boats Monthly

I recently published an article for the web-based magazine Small Boats Monthly.

The magazine is about small boats and publishes some adventure narrative. I pitched the article I wrote about a traditional ulu race Kate and I sponsored and witnessed to editor Chris Cunningham and he was very interested not only in my writing, but also in the Guna Yala region its people, and of course in the ulus, the sailing dugout canoes they accompany Gunas in their everyday life.

He wanted me to expand the article including more info about Gunas, their traditions, and helping with very good editorial inputs that really improved the article.

I wrote about ulus before on this blog, but I am glad Small Boats Only would give to these wonderful boats a wider audience.

You can read the full article and the photos at this link. Enjoy.

Sailing on the classic sailboat Joana

Sailing on the classic sailboat Joana

Freelance working can be tricky. It comes suddenly after periods of calm, and it forces to reshuffle my schedule to fit jobs and other life commitments. The month of February looked already busy enough for us when Maria contacted me asking if I was available to help her with two charters aboard Joana. We had to make a total revolution to our plans, but the opportunity was too good to let it pass.

I’ve been introduced to Maria and Cathy, owners of Joana, by Kirk, a friend of a friend who I briefly met in Georgia and then finally again in Puerto Lindo. At the bar of Linton Bay Marina, getting to know each other, they told me that it was good that I charter experience as they could use some help on their ship Joana, a beautiful 72ft gaff rigged steel yawl. Of course, that help could be needed in a non specified time in the future, as life afloat is all but easy to plan.

I had admired the lines of this ship from afar when she dropped the hook in Linton Bay anchorage, particularly liking the low freeboard of the steel hull, the classic rigging and the general rugged appearance. In a world of mass produced, performance-oriented plastic boxes, Joana stands out like a rare gem. If you don’t trust my words, check out some pictures of Joana on their website.

Zidars touring Panama City (photo credit Sue Zidar)

The job offer had to be fit into an ambitious plan, with the imminent Kate’s parents visit to Panama, our plan to haul out Tranquility on the hard for bottom paint and yard work, and an again postponed visit to Italy. I remember having meeting after meeting with Kate trying to fit everything in the short month of February, not without stress. What we would do with our boat and our cat?

Eventually we found a solution: I would spend few days in Panama City with Bernie Sr. and Sue and Kate after we made arrangements with our Guna friends and local authorities in Islas Robeson, to leave Tranquillity safely anchored and Beta earning his board on shore, helping make a Guna house  pest free. Then, I would travel back to Guna Yala and start working on Joana.

I joined Maria aboard her ship in Esnasdup, a quiet anchorage in the vicinity of Green Island. In Guna Yala there are more than 300 islands and little cays, all with both local and Spanish names, and Attilio, the lancha driver, had a little hesitation when I told him where I needed to be dropped off.  Lanchas are the taxi-boats that move people, goods and everything else from the arrival point of the only road in the ports of Cartì to the numerous islands.  The reshuffling of our plans involved me taking many lanchas, from and to the port.

One of the many islands in the Guna Yala archipelago

 

I could only arrive to Joana one day before the beginning of the charter so I needed a crash course: anchoring, sailing maneuvers, food and other supply stowage. Maria is very patient, and gave me a good tour and tutorial of my duties in the fore deck area, where my main actions would take place. As we left for our sailing training, she showed me how to set the gaff rigged mainsail, the cutter (that’s what she calls what I call the staysail) and the Jib.

Joana’s gaff rigged mainsail

Joana underway, mainsail, cutter and jib flying

Setting Joana under full canvas requires quite some sweat and fine technique compare to what I am used on Tranquility. By owners’ choice the running rigging has no mechanical help other than the purchase system of hand carved blocks. Without winches, everything has to happen in a specific moment, with a thoughtful planning ahead and sometimes with Maria leaving the helm for few moments to give a hand forward.

It all looks like a little ballet, as one of Joana’s guest once noticed, a sequence that I practiced everyday as we moved from one anchorage to the other. By the end of the trip I felt very at ease on the job, also learning few tricks of the trade that could be definitely used elsewhere.

The cruising area

Joana’s route for these two trips was in the area between Salardup and Rio Diablo. This chain of more than 30 islands stretches a mere 15 nautical miles but offer countless opportunities for snorkeling, laying on the beaches of uninhabited cays and fishing, all in the protection of coral reefs that create flat and crystal clear waters, a very relaxing and comfortable place to be even when the trade winds pick up to 30 knots as it happens for few days at the time during the dry season.

Maria fileting the snapper she speared few minutes earlier

In the galley there was another kind of ballet happening. There was always activity down below, even under way, to make sure our guests received everything they need in therm of meals, snacks and drinks . During the charters we were blessed with good fishing, and we could put on the table a selection of seafood and fish, from lobsters and crabs, to red snappers, Spanish mackerels and conch. Maria and I served the catch of the day in many different ways, including sashimi, sushi, ceviche, grilled baked and steamed dishes.

Surf: snappers ready for the grill

Turf: Chicken Curry

Baking time

In Green Island I had a particularly prolific fishing night, with four good sized red snappers brought on board. Also, we had the opportunity to spot the infamous two meter long crocodile that lives in the area, and that twice came alongside Joana before being scared away by our enthusiasms/excitement. Fishing is good where crocodiles live!

It is always a pleasure to see happiness on the guests’ face while they enjoy sailing in this environment. We surely do our best to help realize their goals and accommodate their needs, but the Guna Yala islands do us the biggest favor, as they naturally make one feel comfortable and surrounded by pleasurable experiences. Maybe it’s not a case that I keep coming back here, to absorb the good energy that are so plentiful in this corner of the World.

My new friend Turk naps on my bunk

 

More islands…

February is not ended yet and a new chapter awaits me. Work commitments will keep Kate here in Panama this time, while I will solo travel to Italy for a brief visit to family and friends. As I stated before, life on a boat is not as easy as one may think, compromise and complicated life arrangements are mandatory.

The last item on the list will be the yard period, that we hope to start around mid March. Tranquility needs some attention after being basically trouble free for a long time. Fatigue is unsparing at sea.

Impossible at the moment to make any further plans.

 

The importance of foolish acts, a Kafkian explanation

The importance of foolish acts, a Kafkian explanation

On Tranquility I often indulge in the luxury of early morning reading and scribbling over coffee and the quiet sound of wavelets lapping over the sides, with Beta running and jumping around for his morning workout and Kate beside me laying still in her slumber.This morning it was windier than usual and I was reading The Castle by Franz Kafka with the soundtrack of the rig whistling.

There are books that I constantly re-read because they are like labyrinths, offering every time a fresh point of view and a chance for meditative inquiry. The Castle, an incomplete novel published postumous by Kafka’s friend Alex Brod, is one of those.

The twisted snow-covered roads of this imaginary place and the grotesque behavior of the community that inhabits it make this book a literary puzzle, that sits in my memory as a real place that I like to go back to and visit, and the trip is never the same.

The following passage of the book, never really struck me as particularly poignant before, but this morning, during the umpteenth visit to the castle, I could not help but transcribe it in my notepad, amazed by what I found in it for the first time:

“And they indeed were walking on, but K. didn’t know where they were going he could make out nothing, and did not even know whether they had passed the church yet. The difficulty he had in simply walking meant that he could not command his thoughts. Instead of remaining fixed on his goal, they became confused. Images of his home kept coming back to him, and memory of it filled his mind.There was a church in the main square there too, partly surrounded by an old graveyard, which in turn was surrounded by a high wall. Only a few boys had ever climbed that wall, and K. had so far failed to do so. It was no curiosity that made them want to climb it, the graveyard had no secrets for them, and they had often gone into it through the little wrought-iron gates it was just that they wanted to conquer that smooth, high wall. Then one morning -the quiet, empty square was flooded with light when had K. ever seen it like that before or since?- he succeeded surprisingly easily. He climbed the wall at the first attempt, at a place where he had often failed to get any further before, with a small flag clenched between his teeth. Little stones crumbled and rolled away below him as he reached the top. He rammed the flag into the wall, it flapped in the wind, he looked down and all around him, glancing back over his shoulder at the crosses sunk in the ground. Here and now he was greater than anyone. Then, by chance, the schoolteacher came by and, with an angry look, made K. get down from the wall. As he jumped he hurt his knee, and it was only with some difficulty that he got home, but still he had been on top of the wall, and the sense of victory seemed to him, at the time, something to cling to all his life. It had not been entirely a foolish idea, for now, on this snowy night many years later, it came to his aid as he walked on, holding Barnabas arm.”

The foolish goal that K. achieved it was not only a mere itch that needed a scratch, but a pillar of his life, something he finds himself going back to in a moment of difficulty, following his confused thoughts during the hard walk in the snow. It was a small insignificant victory, but it was important to him, and the teacher’s blame and the hurtful consequence of K.’s act did not cancel the emotion of feeling greater than anyone in the present moment, the sense of victory over an ordinary desire, that proves to be useful many years later.

This passage reminded me of the importance of such foolish events in life, and that what we consider lacking good sense or judgement, may be exactly what we need. Similarly, I often ask myself about the sense of what I am doing afloat on the ocean in this small boat, if what I am doing is anything but a foolish act.

I try to rationalize and find excuses, motivations, sometimes to answer other people’s curiosity, sometimes for my own dead reckoning. The easiest, maybe the only true answer is that this is what I want to do, and I am lucky enough to have the opportunity to do it. Why not?

Keeping up on an unscripted path is a difficult thing, as goals and specific objectives may fade into the background and the everyday happenings are hard to put in perspective. I look around me to find outside affirmations that I am on the right path, to shake off doubts and fears.

Don’t we all struggle, one way or the other, to find a way in life? How can we understand if our inner voice is telling us the truth? How do we learn to trust ourselves when it’s so reassuring to listen and follow other people’s opinion?

Maybe foolish, sometimes unimportant acts can be what we truly need to walk on.

An example of this intrinsically human condition came from a tall, white-bearded guy that we once met over soft drinks in front of a gas station.

Kris Larsen struck me as an absolutely eccentric and resourceful voyager, and only after he was long gone, sailing his way back to Australia, I found out that he was not just an old sailor with rather interesting stories, but also a terrific writer, fine artist and craftsman.

Serendipity introduced me to Kris for the second time during a recent Vietnamese dinner with sailing voyager, author and friend James Baldwin. He had also met him long ago in Madagascar during one of his circumnavigations, and shared more interesting stories about this unique human being.

Later, reading James’ article, I found this beautiful passage of his book Bicycle Dreaming, a tale of his trip across the Australian outback on Kracken, a recumbent bike he assembled out of scrap parts:

This whole ride from Darwin had no meaning for anyone besides myself. I achieved nothing worthy, yet it filled me with pride. It’s a shame that these days you can’t just put on your shoes and go on an expedition any more. It has to have a socially relevant goal, it has to be in support of some charity, dedicated to some noble cause, well connected, word has to spread out, blog, website and school curriculum informed regularly by satellite phone, sponsors roped in. Why can’t you just stand up and say: ‘I am going because I feel like it. Because I’ve been dreaming of it for years?

I smile when I read this passage, as I also am trying to do my thing, run my own race, and even if sometimes it does not make any sense, I am confident that maybe one day, some of its foolish episodes, its unique lessons will come to aid in the moment of need or give unexpected inspiration. Or not.

In any case, I am pretty sure I will remember it as a sweet ride.

The first time I fell in love with sailing

The first time I fell in love with sailing

Sailing happened to me. It was never something I was inclined to, not even interested. My first love has always been the mountains.

In Italy sailing is thought to be an activity for rich people. It is of course a prejudice, as there are ways to make it more affordable, but on average the costs are pretty high. I too fell into the power of generalization and thought that sailing was an activity exclusive to a group of snobby rich obnoxious people. Of course I was not part of this group and I preferred the cheap and harsh alpine terrain, where I hiked and sometimes skied.

The first time I step on a sailing boat it was ten years ago, aboard Bicho, a Beneteau 51 designed by German Frers, that a friend of mine recently purchased to run charters in Venezuela. Bicho was big, comfortable, elegant, and she was waiting for us on a dock in Higuerote, to take us on a cruise of Los Roques. The owner invited me and other friends to celebrate the recent purchase and the beginning of the charter activities.

Aerial view of Archipielago de Los Roques, in Venezuela

We had an overnight sail offshore in the Caribbean Sea, which during peak season of the trade winds has some serious waves, and you feel them all when they hit you on your beam.

I slept in the forward cabin, rolling left and right and sometimes finding myself in midair. Because I was not sick as other of the passengers, I had to keep the helm for  a little bit, after receiving vague instructions on how to steer a course following the compass.

Once in the protection of the islands we enjoyed a week of island hopping, sailing through flat and crystal clear waters powered by a steady breeze, and surrounded by a wonderful scenario. Sitting on the rail on the windward side of the boat I let my legs dangle off the side while keeping my sight on the liquid horizon, enjoying a sensation of peace that I grew accustomed to during these years, and yet still so hard to describe.

Sailing time aboard Bicho

Back to Good Old Europe, in the gray and busy Pianura Padana, I resumed my job of building and delivering courses for employees and manager of various companies, helping them navigate through the treacherous waters of corporate life.

A year passed by, and I enjoyed the mountains more than the ocean. I realized my dream to take a solo trip to India and explore the Himalayan regions of Kashmir and Ladakh. I also decided to move from Milan to Turin and that put me even closer to the Alps.

A fertile valley in the arid Ladakhi Mountains, in India

Until one day, serendipitously, I left it all behind and moved to sea level, again in Los Roques, where I started a new professional path that I had never thought could be suited for me.

It was only after months there that I realized how those islands were nothing but a series of very high submarine mountains, with their peaks piercing the surface of the ocean, providing beautiful beaches and habitat for marine life and humans engaged in tourism. Once again I could feel that my attraction to mountain peaks

And yet in my mind I was no sailor. I still thought of myself as a manager running a business, until one day during a period of shipyard refit for Bicho in Curaçao, I met a person that challenged this view and planted a seed that would change my life.

I was living on a gutted charter boat in the Tropical heat. Only one cabin, where I slept and kept my belongings, was left untouched. Everything else was dismantled and under reconstruction, covered in dust and grease, and littered with tools and building materials. The project was very ambitious and I was doing my best to keep it underway while the chaos was unraveling around me.

My workplace in Curaçao

In that shipyard I met a young guy who was doing the same thing, only on a smaller boat. He was fit, fun to be around and hard working, and he was outfitting his own boat to sail across the pacific to Polynesia, where he had a seasonal job as crew of a luxury Motor Yacht.

We were the two youngest people living in the yard and we quickly bonded. He had a temper and was very energetic, I am low key and relaxed, so we found a natural way to coexist. For me he was an encyclopedia of boat work and I couldn’t restrain myself from asking him about anything sailing related and observing his work.

He would also share his sea stories with me, on how he sailed that old leaky wooden racing boat, bought sight unseen, straight from Nova Scotia to Saint Martin during the winter, with a couple of backpackers that had never sailed before, or how once he got dismasted in the Caribbean Sea and decided to decline rescue and instead drifted back from where he started to fix his mast and sail again.

His stories were eye opening for a rookie like me that thought boats only meant business and plummeting bills. He also debunked some myths about sailing that I had taken as axioms, first and more important that you need a big boat to sail across oceans.

Sailing lessons underway

I immediately identified with him. He was a young guy enjoying life on a boat on the cheap, and this was a revolutionary idea for me. Beside his long sailing experience, we were not so different.

After few months of hard work in the yard and long night talks he set off solo from Curaçao, to his destiny across the ocean, but before leaving, he gave me a suggestion. He told me that Back in Los Roques there was a good old boat, perfect for me. It was a Rival 32 that his friend was selling for 10.000$. When I got back to Los Roques I quickly found the boat. It was in need of a bit of TLC but that was not so important as visions of a new life afloat were flooding my daydreaming.

There was another option, which I also took from his personal example, that had a similar price tag: to take a professional license and make sailing my new career.

I chose the second option, because I knew that eventually another boat would show up at the right time and in the right place, and I would be better prepared to take on the challenge.

At least this is how I prefer to tell the story.

The real cost of Cruising

The real cost of Cruising

“Se fosse facile, lo farebbero tutti” says Max, a good friend of mine,talking about sailing and cruising. In English it sounds more or less like this: “If it was easy, everybody would be doing it”. I have been working on sailboats for 8 years now, but only after three years sailing on my own boat I am starting to realize what Max’s words really mean.

Despite what people who push their books, websites and youtube channels tell you,sailing is not for everybody. Like anything else, sailing and cruising has a cost that not many choose to pay.

What I didn’t know is that is not merely a financial cost. It is more complicated than that.

Sailing per se is easy. In my humble opinion and personal experience, there is nothing too difficult about it. Despite the complicated jargon and the many moving parts involved in sailing, it’s no rocket science, and with enough practice and dedication it is possible to quickly become competent in using the wind to move through water, to navigate across oceans and near shore and to keep your vessel in good working order

However very few people seem to be out there enjoying the cruising lifestyle. That stands true even if today we benefit from a lower knowledge barrier than 30 or more years ago, thanks to the GPS, reliable auxiliary propulsion, step-to-step DIY resources like youtube. It still takes effort and dedication to learn how to sail, but that’s the easy, even fun part.

The cost of sailing

A recent article by Fiona McGlynn on BoatUS magazine takes a wide look into this subject while trying to answer why the so-called Millenials don’t own sailboats as much as the same age group did in the past.

When focusing on age groups there is a risk of evoking stereotypes and prejudice (see ageism), but I think the author did a good job collecting different voices on the matter, drawing a comprehensive picture of the phenomenon, and leaving open questions.

According to the article, the main reason for fewer young boat owners is a financial one. Today salaries are simply not enough to take on an expensive hobby like sailing. But despite this economical barrier, we still meet younger people on the water that get away with the costs of ownerships adopting a shoestring approach.

This was definitely what we did when we bought Tranquility. We bought the boat that we could afford at the moment, cash, and we slowly put her and ourselves in the water, instead of taking a loan or waiting to save a huge cruising budget. We ended up with a small old boat, but at least we could pay for it.

Unfortunately, there are also other dimensions that are easily overlooked. Those as well add up to the cost of cruising, and they can be as limiting as the financial one.

PERSONAL SACRIFICE

The workplace is becoming more and more competitive as the adult population increases and works longer in life. Having a good job today could be a good enough reason to stick with it. Successful careers entice people with status, income and a sense of a higher purpose. Workers without access to good jobs live with the expectation of finally landing one and focus obsessively on their career path and skill set, to the point to make it unthinkable to “lose ground” joining the time consuming sailing lifestyle, like cruising your own boat on a sabbatical. The time we pass in school to develop these skills also extended, and an activity like sailing can be hard to justify in the overall picture, especially at a younger age, when students are challenged to think about their future.

FOMO

The Fear Of Missing Out while cruising means much more than losing the last trend or gossip on websites and Social Media because of limited internet access. It means fear of missing the joyful and sad events of one’s closest family and friends. Cruising distant destinations puts more obstacles between family visits, that require expensive airfare and logistic hassles. I sometimes regret not being able to participate to a group vacation, celebrate births, being close to beloved ones in face of deaths or personal needs, attending family celebrations like Thanksgiving or Christmas, or simply reaching out to a friend for a chat and a bite of food. While traveling it is always possible to meet and enjoy the company of interesting like-minded people, but the disconnection from family and friends is definitely an emotional cost of this lifestyle.

RELINQUISHING ASSETS

The assumption that you are able to keep your car, your apartment, health or dental insurance, retirement savings and also take off for a long distance cruise is an illusion for most. There is definitely who is able to go sailing and take care of assets as well as a safety net back home, but most of the people we meet cruising don’t have such luxury, and have to risk and sacrifice their security for an endeavor that could end in a hole in the water.
On one side this situation is a gift, because it could bring a reboot of the system, and open up space in life for new and interesting projects. On the other side there is the risk that the “economy of staying afloat” could prevent any future move for lack of funding.

DISCOMFORT

There are good reasons why human beings evolved in the direction of living indoor and on land. Excessive heat or cold, light or dark, avoidance of bugs and parasites and bothersome if not dangerous wildlife, impacts from severe weather are some of the nuisances of outdoor life in general, and cruising in the specific. As you learn while cruising distant locations, this is still an inescapable reality for many people on earth, and you could learn from their example how to deal with it.

One clear example is the simple act of bathing. What we perform everyday in our home bathrooms mutates when you step on a boat. It becomes more similar to what I learned from my grandmother’s stories. From the expectation of having pressurized heated water, you are happy when you find clean, spring water to fill your jugs.

Even if this experience can be eye-opening about the insane consumption typical of our developed societies, you find yourself thinking a lot of times about the long hot shower you can’t have, an air-conditioned room or the full collection of snacks and leftovers waiting inside a refrigerator.

CONSTANT PROBLEM SOLVING

Problems are the salt of life, but self-reliance on a boat that visits remote areas means being able to cope with various number of problems. I learned it the hard way myself, as I watched my hands change look when I started to use them for manual hard work, instead of just for typing on a keyboard and playing basketball. It was a painful process like most of changes in life.

On a positive note, I discovered how rewarding solving problems can be, especially if you have to find creative ways and have limited resources. It enhances self-perceived efficacy and pride. As a downside, the feeling that reality constantly put you under test and challenges generates stress that could provoke avoidance of the problem in the first place and high doses of frustration and procrastination. A boat not able to perform can be a haunting entity and diminish the pleasures of cruising. While you grow in resourcefulness and competence, you definitely go through moments of feeling stuck and unable to progress, as it appears that there is always something unexpected that has to be taken care of.

I hope my words don’t sound excessively like a whine or a plead for pity. In this blog I attempt to overcome the solitude of my own thoughts and to help the process of sense making, a process that have to pass necessarily through the difficult parts as well as the good ones.

I can assure you that overall Kate and I are doing great and we feel very fortunate about our decision. I also want to avoid depicting us as martyrs or heroes because we deal with such harsh condition. I feel very privileged for being born in a certain geographical location and family, both of which I did not chose nor I can say that I deserve. I am blessed that because of this special situation I have the opportunity to travel and to gift myself with time and new experiences.

The reason I wrote about the less desirable parts of this lifestyle is because I wanted to be honest about it. There is a tendency to depict the entire thing as an endless vacation, full of awe and unforgettable moments. Worst, there is another assumption that you can only do it if you have the money, but as I hope to have shown in this post money is not enough.

I love sailing, but I would be a liar if I tell that it’s only fun. It is expensive, uncomfortable and demanding. Part of it is fascinating, but another part feels unnecessary and masochistic at times. Everything has a price. The cost of cruising lifestyle has its own way to charge for the experience, but we are happy to pay this price because we really like the rewards. As one of my readers wrote: “once you are hooked, there is nothing like being out there with just the wind and the waves”.

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