After days of waiting for suitable weather to set sail, the time has finally come.
On December 15th, 2019, we, the skipper and I, will board our stuff. The Tunisian officials come on the boat to give us the exit stamp. From now on, the African continent is barred from our feet.
The lines are loosened. Unfortunately, no sails set, because the order is to make the crossing by motor. The catamaran should arrive in Italy as fresh as possible. This means that the rolled sails are securely attached to the deck. A second catamaran, also with two people on board, transits with us under the same conditions at the same time.
We estimate that we will arrive in Genoa in four days. That means being surrounded by water day and night. That means an irregular sleep pattern so that one of us always keeps watch. That means a constant movement, sometimes more, sometimes less.
What I don’t know is what it means to me.
Water. As far as the eyes can see. No matter which direction I look: water. I watch the sea. The skipper closes his eyes. I have the responsibility. The skipper deserves rest. I wonder that he has been awake for so long. Now the skipper is sleeping and I continue to wonder. I wonder about the sea. That power that’s in it. This vastness. That depth. This beauty. The secrets it holds. This diversity. And constantly: everything new.
I wonder about the sea routes. About the traffic here. One cargo ship after another. And cruise ships as big as hotel complexes. Small, ramshackle fishing boats that make us aware of their nets with hand signals and shouts. That was a few hours ago, but I’m still amazed because: Everything new.
I still wonder that I’m in the middle of the sea now. I. Get out of the big city life on a boat for two. From the hustle to silence (the engine noises are now so integrated that I no longer notice them). Far from everything that is close to my heart. Cut off from the rest of the world. Familiar with the element of water, but unusual. Somehow: Everything new.
I wonder what thoughts come up in me. From a bygone era. Thought they were buried for ages. But the water is stronger than me and rinses it to the surface. And I’m starting to play with these thoughts. Until I finally let go of them and they go down in the sea and disappear. Thoughts that are of no use to me, the sea grap it mercilessly. New rooms open up that are filled with clear, clean water. I feel fresh. As if a polish of my inner life takes place and then a sign is hung with the inscription: Everything new.
It is also new for me to run into the drawing port after such a long time on the water. In the middle of the night. Harbor lighting. A protected space. Without waves. With humility and gratitude, I perceive the sounds, smells and visual impressions. The feeling that comes up in me is indescribable. Tears roll down my cheeks. I enjoy this moment without a word.
And it continues. We are allocated a berth in the port. While the skipper is behind the wheel, he tells me what to do. Everything works like clockwork. The boat is safe in port and we are happy and tired.
So it’s done. I get an imaginary stamp that confirms my seaworthiness. I am glad that I took this route before going to Latin America. The Mediterranean crossing was a foretaste of the Atlantic crossing. This can now come. With a catamaran. In a group of four. This time with sail. From Tunisia to the Bahamas. It will start in a few days. At least, that’s what we thought. But life thought otherwise.
