‘Dad,’ I shout, ‘we’ve arrived!’
When he surfaces, still blurry from sleep, I throw a couple of fenders into his arms. I’m making the most of his help while he’s still on board. Guppy is allowed to tie up for free at the Portimão marina. We’d been told to go to Box O64, but it doesn’t seem to exist. This we only discovered after having sailed around the harbour four times in the dark. We eventually tie up alongside a jetty near what we presume to be the arrival jetty.
Portugal, Portimão
In the morning, we realise that it’s not the arrival jetty but the VIP jetty, as we are surrounded by mega-yachts. Oops! We move to the correct jetty and are finally allocated a box that actually does exist. I go to the authorities to register while Dad continues to check the last of the equipment and solve the remaining problems on Gup. I’m able to get clearance for Guppy, which is registered in my name, without a hitch. I walk back to Guppy in a good mood, take a shower and do the laundry. We have three whole loads! The bad weather we had getting here ensured that all our clothes and bed linen were covered in salt. We give Guppy a good wash, both inside and out, to get all the salt off her, too. By evening everything is shipshape again.
It’s incredibly hot here and I have exchanged the winter coat that I wore for most of the way for a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Luckily there’s a bit of wind to make the heat bearable. We continue to work hard on Guppy for the next few days, because I want to leave as soon as possible.
We go to the water sports centre to buy the necessary parts, but they don’t have what we need and we decide to go into town. After a long barefoot walk — having forgotten to put on my shoes — an ice-cream and a dip in a fountain, we get back to Guppy. The media have found us and there’s a camera focused on Guppy from behind every shrub. That’s bad news, because now the Netherlands will know where we are.
I hear someone knocking on the hull. It has been dark for a while, and besides Dad, who is working in the engine compartment, there is no one here. I step outside and see two men in police uniform standing in the dim light. As soon as I appear, they turn their heads my way and ask, gruffly, if I’m the captain.
‘I am,’ I confirm after some hesitation.
‘We would like to see your skipper’s ticket’ is the demand that immediately follows.
All sorts of thoughts flash through my head while I sum up these men, but I keep calm and tell them that I passed my Yachtmaster’s Offshore Certificate exams the previous year and that this permits me to sail in these waters. The Dutch authorities, however, had not issued me with the official certificate. I show them the document that says that I passed my exams. Dad now emerges from the engine room and, after sizing up the situation, says that he’s presently the captain and shows them his certificate. After a short discussion, the two of them recede into the dark. We look at one another and understand exactly what has just happened.
The next morning we walk to see the harbour police for an explanation. They have just heard about last night’s visit and say they were given an order by the powers-that-be that I am not to sail out of the harbour. The Customs officials are apologetic about it, but say they have no choice. Damn, when are they going to give up hounding me like they did in the Netherlands? This means I won’t be able to sail single-handedly through the 12-mile zone from here to start my voyage. As long as Dad is on board with his skipper’s ticket, they can’t touch us. We decide to sail to Gibraltar the next day on Dad’s certificate. We had thought of Gibraltar earlier, as this former British colony keeps itself apart from Europe and doesn’t require you to have this certificate. The chances of the Netherlands being able to reach us there in the short term can’t be that big. To minimise the risk, I’ll stay there for a few days before starting out on my own. But what if the media get to learn about our whereabouts? We decide not to take the risk and tell no one of our intentions; especially not the media. It’s my last hope of ever starting on my solo voyage.
Portugal, Portimão–Gibraltar: 200 nautical miles
DAY 1: 18 August
Less than half an hour after our departure from the harbour of Portimão, the Military Police come alongside Guppy wanting to know where we are going, whether we are leaving Portugal, and who is on board. These may have been standard queries, but had I been on my own I am sure they would have taken me straight back to the harbour. When asked where we are going, we tell them we’re doing a trial run and keep quiet about going to Gibraltar. Nobody knows this; not even my grandparents, mum or friends. I’ve worked so hard to make a start that I’m dead scared that the media will get to know about it and, once more, ruin my chances. The media think I’m in Portugal and will wait there for our expected return. After all the incidents of the past year, I really need a break and I’m looking forward to seeing the famous British peninsula with its monkey rock.
Towards evening we experience a headwind and start the engine. We want to get to Gibraltar as soon as possible to prevent anyone from finding out that I might start from this ‘free state’. That night I lie in my cockpit looking at Guppy’s swaying mast and the beautiful starlit sky while Dad is sleeping. As the Strait of Gibraltar nears, the wind shifts and gathers momentum, urging Guppy to take advantage under full sail. She’s having a whale of a time!
DAY 2: 19 August
In the Strait of Gibraltar, I have a wonderful view of the coastlines of both Morocco and Spain. There are high mountains on either side of the strait, which is far narrower than I expected. Halfway through, I’m tempted to sail through the whirlpool that is marked on the chart. Dad doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but, after some persuasion and my query about what might happen, he says: ‘Well, it may be possible, but you could sail around it.’
The whirlpool can be seen from a distance but, before I know what’s happening, Gup is drawn into the current and big splashes half-fill the cockpit.
‘Yes, Dad, I know I’m stubborn,’ I acknowledge, ‘but that was so cool!’
At about 18.00, I sail Guppy through the harbour entrance of Gibraltar.
Gibraltar
They don’t recognise me at the harbour office, but the crew on the neighbouring boat recognises Guppy and me immediately. I clear Guppy in again without any problems, and that evening we enjoy a pizza on the quayside. There are just a few chores to do before I can set off. Topping up the water and diesel tanks are two of the minor ones. Dad is still busy fixing the last of the equipment — work held up by all the distractions. We need to fix the sticker of a new sponsor on the boat, but this turns out to be a disaster. The sticker is much too thin and the heat turns it into a sort of chewing gum. There’s nothing much we can do about it and we leave it as it is.
We enjoy another delicious pizza the next afternoon, and then take a rental car into the mountains to visit the famous monkeys. Within minutes there’s one on top of the car, one on the inside and many more around us. It’s really funny to see them this close; so different to a zoo. After this, I insist on seeing the other side of the mountain, so we try to get as high as possible by car and walk the last bit. There’s a huge drop on the other side and we have a magnificent view. I’ll approach the Rock of Gibraltar from this side when I return, I think, while looking out over the Mediterranean. The Atlantic Ocean on the other side is where I’ll start my voyage the next day. We have carried out lots of improvements on Guppy over the past weeks and she should be ready now. I will say farewell to Dad in the morning.
Gibraltar–Canary Islands: 650 nautical miles
DAY 1: 21 August
I’m on my way at last! Cleared out without a hitch and really on my way . . . Here I go, 14 years old and heading for who knows where. A trip around the world. Fantastic! But first I need to get clear of the 12-mile zone in European waters; only then do all the papers and rules cease to count. Even a toddler is allowed to sail a boat in international waters. My throat is tight with tension. I reach the 12-mile limit and I’m free. At least until the Canary Islands, where there may be tensio
n once again. With my stereo playing full blast, Guppy surges westward at top speed. I’m standing on the bow and feel the tension ebbing bit by bit. Nothing and no one can snatch my dream away from me now!
There’s a following wind of some 20 knots; the genoa is fully boomed out and Guppy is running at 7 knots. Once I’ve left the busy Strait of Gibraltar I’m able to take a break, but I’ve a strange feeling in my tummy. Although I’m really happy that I’m finally on my way, I’m now apprehensive about what’s in store for me once I arrive in the Canary Islands. Do the Dutch authorities have any influence there? I reassure myself that that would really be taking things too far.
I warm up two sausage rolls and try to get some food inside me, but I’m not that hungry and only manage to eat one of them. I’m feeling so weak; maybe a Coke will help, but nothing changes the strange feeling I have in my tummy. I know that many seafarers feel a little nauseous at the start of their voyage, but this is different. Tension maybe? It has been such a difficult time.
It’s not that warm. I put on a jersey and try to find a dry spot on Guppy that’s sunny. Slowly a huge smile spreads over my face and I try to calculate how much further I need to travel on this stage of the voyage. If Guppy maintains her present speed, I’ll be there in six days. A huge cargo ship passes me at full throttle, and then gradually the first day disappears beyond the horizon as night falls over me like a blanket.
The first night I’m on full alert with numerous fishing boats close by and hardly manage to shut an eye. Although I should be able to sleep, I realise how difficult it is even though I am dead tired. The tension I’ve experienced over the past year has taken its toll, and the idea that I’m now below deck in my bunk while no one is on watch keeps me wide awake. There isn’t a ship in sight, however; not even on the radar. The alarm will wake me every 20 minutes, but it’s my first night and I get up every five minutes to take a look. Once I’ve convinced myself that I can shut my eyes for 20 minutes, I succeed in staying in my bunk for only 10. It’s strange that, with all my sailing experience, this is still a new situation for me. When I was 11, 12 and 13, I spent long stretches of time out at sea alone — up to seven weeks, sometimes.
DAY 2: 22 August
While I look out over the ocean, I become aware of a feeling of loneliness. It’s been such a strange time. After working quietly on my own to get things ready for my voyage, I was suddenly engulfed in such media hype, intrigue and false reports that I was almost never alone. It had been really hard to handle, and now that I’ve finally found some peace everything feels different. It feels like a lifetime has passed me by; as if there’s an entirely different girl on this boat. And all that thanks to a year of strife with the authorities. I’m fully convinced that I wouldn’t have had the slightest problem with either loneliness or appetite loss if I’d been allowed to leave a year ago. Fortunately, the feeling of being lonely evaporates swiftly. It’s something that I’ve never really known, but then I suppose there’s a first time for everything . . . Loneliness and sailing around the world.
DAY 3: 23 August
I’m still struggling to eat. It took me a whole night to get a puffed rice cake inside me. All I’ve managed to eat since my departure from Gibraltar has been a few bites of ontbijtkoek (Dutch spice cake) and a cup of tea. I’m too nervous about what lies ahead; will the police try to arrest me again?
The sailing goes as usual. I spend the whole day adjusting and trimming the sails and checking my course. If there’s time left over, I try to eat something and catch some sleep. It can be a bit dull sometimes, especially when all the really simple chores become a real challenge, such as making a cup of tea or going to the toilet.
I’m having a little trouble being on my own. I’d love to be on the phone to Dad the whole day, but that’s not possible. I have a satellite phone on board, but calls are expensive, so it’s only there for emergency situations. I have a tracker on board with a satellite system, and Dad is able to follow me on his laptop. He can see exactly where I am and at what speed I’m sailing.
The sun is out today and I see a ship for the first time in 36 hours. I still have 310 miles to cover to reach my first destination. The genoa is boomed out and Guppy is running at about 6 knots. It’s really going well and I’m feeling better with each mile. I’ve just gobbled up an entire pot of apple sauce and I’m suddenly ravenous. Yippee!
DAY 4: 24 August
With a following wind of 25 knots and an average speed of 6.5 knots, Guppy flies towards Lanzarote. It’s still slightly overcast, but the sun comes through from time to time. At 09.56, to be precise, I have a yacht behind me. It’s also a two-master that’s sailing a little higher than me. I think he’s on his way to Las Palmas. The clouds suddenly disappear and I decide to open a packet of crisps in the cockpit. The crisps are devoured in minutes and I try to take a nap. When I don’t succeed, I go into the cabin and continue to read Joshua Slocum’s book Sailing Alone Around the World. (Slocum was the world’s first solo circumnavigator.)
I have been at sea for four days and am feeling better each day. At last I’ve found my peace and have my rhythm back, and I’m in my element. During the night another yacht crosses my path and I’m accompanied by dolphins for a while. Another 110 miles to Marina Rubicon, the harbour at Lanzarote where I’m going to moor. I call my mum for a few minutes via the satellite phone and it’s good to hear her voice.
DAY 5: 25 August
Today I’ve set the alarm on the chart plotter as I’ve managed to sleep through the alarm clock in the galley before, and now that I’m approaching land I don’t want that to happen again. The radar also sounds an alarm when it receives a land echo, but better safe than sorry. In the morning, my navigation tells me that I’m about 10 miles from the coast. I strain to see land, but can see nothing. That’s when I realise how foggy it’s become. Twenty minutes ago it was entirely clear and now I’m surrounded by a thick, white mass. My mobile phone now has reception, which also confirms that we are close to shore. I see the contours of Lanzarote on the radar and, although I’d like to sleep a little longer, my last nap is now well and truly over. I don’t dare to keep my eyes shut this close to land. Guppy is rolling heavily and I have difficulty writing this.
It’s 09.00 in the morning when I finally see a few mountain peaks jutting through the clouds above Lanzarote. About time, as I’m a mere three miles from shore. It’s another 24 miles to the marina and Guppy surges ahead at 7 knots. Hopefully the mist will recede so that I can see more of my first island. My wish is fulfilled; the mist disappears and it’s suddenly very hot. I’ve hardly seen the sun during my crossing as it hid behind the clouds, and now it’s suddenly burning my skin. The wind falls away and I stay in the shade of the bimini top. I’m slowly approaching my first destination. The wind slowly dies behind the mountains on the last mile. I lower the mainsail and start the engine to cruise the rest of the way. I’ve lost that feeling of loneliness. How I would have liked to sail on now that I have found my rhythm!
When I pass a restaurant on my entry into the harbour and see all the guests look my way simultaneously, I know that I have been recognised . . . Seconds later all cameras are pointed my way, and to my utter dismay the arrival jetty lies directly in front of the restaurant. I moor Guppy alongside, ignore the frantic tourists who want to photograph me, and walk to the harbour office with my papers, in a bit of a daze. There is also a boat full of tourists who seem to know who I am. I decide not to let them annoy me, and greet them. I do, however, ask the port authorities for the quietest spot in the harbour, away from prying eyes, when they enquire where I wish to moor Guppy.
So there Guppy lies, at the rear end of Marina Rubicon in Lanzarote. The first stage of the voyage has been a success and I’m looking forward to the next. It’s certainly a quiet spot and I’m not bothered much in the days that follow. Luckily, it was only a single incident, as I’m sick and tired of all the attention I’ve been getting.
Lanzarote
On my fir
st day, I meet a woman who is also called Laura; she works at the harbour office and was born on Lanzarote. My English is immediately put to the test and I find I’m learning new words fast. Phoning the Netherlands is very expensive and I decide to buy a Spanish SIM-card for my mobile phone. It’s incredibly hot today without a breath of wind, and I have to tear myself away from under the shady bimini to walk towards the harbour office. That’s where I meet Laura, who tells me that I’ll be able to find a SIM-card at Playa Blanca, which is about a 20-minute walk away. Not much fun in this heat, and luckily she reads my thoughts and offers to take me there and back by car.
‘I need to go to the post office anyway, and that’s just opposite it,’ she explains.
I eagerly accept her offer, and within five minutes I’m sitting in a bright-red car on my way to Playa Blanca. It’s the first time I’ve ventured outside the harbour. Amazed, I look around me. The island is rather bare. Some planted palm trees, which need to be irrigated, and some cacti make up the total vegetation of the island. The rest is one black mass of lava stone and volcanoes.
Playa Blanca is very touristy and finding a spot to park the car is an issue — yes, even here! We walk to the shop only to find that it has run out of SIM-cards, but they tell us they will be receiving new stock at six. I’m lucky that Laura is willing to run me back to this shop again. Ten minutes after six and €12 poorer, I’m the owner of a Spanish SIM-card. The €15 call credit on it is used up in no time and I resolve not to buy new credit. People can phone me if they need to. This is one of the better decisions I make. If people ask me why they haven’t heard from me, I just tell them I’ve no more call credit — the best excuse ever. I’ve also just discovered that it’s an hour earlier here than in the Netherlands.
One Girl One Dream Page 3
