We decide to go to some people Mum met yesterday and ask if they can help us. Of course they will! We all climb into their car, but it doesn’t want to start. Someone has left the car lights on all night and the battery is flat. Eventually someone from the village helps us, but when we’ve driven quite a bit more than 8 kilometres to the station, there’s no sign of our car . . . The policeman tells us to go back to the parking area outside the Spar and look for it there.
We drive all the way back and, indeed, there’s our little black car with a notice written in Spanish on the windscreen. It’s probably a long explanation about moving the car but none of us can read it. We step in and drive to Anfi but don’t get there at four as promised. Fortunately, this isn’t a problem. I introduce my mum to Beau, Didier, Antonio and Reggy. Beau, Kim and I go swimming. Kim has forgotten to bring her swimsuit and is asking herself if she should swim in her underwear. I help her to make up her mind by giving her a little shove into the water.
She leaves the pool earlier than the rest of us, and when we get back I find that she has accused me of throwing her into the water. Sisters! Oh well . . . We eat all sorts of things and eventually also a potato tart which my mum immediately renames piepertjes tart. I suspect we are going to hear about piepertjes for some time . . .
The next morning Mum and Kim get ready to go back to the Netherlands; their holiday has come to an end.
The 10 days of luxury at Puerto de Mogán are also over, and I sail back to Anfi together with Beau. I now spend most of my time getting Guppy ready for our voyage. She has to be in good shape before I cross the Atlantic. I make one more trip with Beau to Puerto Rico to fill up with diesel and we load all the groceries on board. When I have everything that will sustain me until I get to the Caribbean, we sail back. There’s a lovely breeze, and because Beau has never sailed before, we go for a little excursion. We’re still about four miles from the coast when the sun sets. We decide to pump up the dinghy in the meantime, but can’t find the tube of the foot pump we need for this amongst the mess in the aft cabin. We eventually just use our lungs. Half an hour later we are dizzy from the effort, but the dinghy is inflated. It’s pitch dark as we near Anfi, and we decide to use only the mooring without dropping anchor. No wind is forecast and I now trust this mooring. Once Guppy is moored, we get in the dinghy, which is the size of a liferaft according to Beau, and paddle to the beach. We have forgotten our flip-flops, but decide not to go back for them. Dinner has been waiting for us for some time when we enter on our bare feet.
Later we take their dog, Boss, for a walk and it reminds me of my loyal friend, Spot. It has been a long time since I walked a dog and I lose myself in happy nostalgia. On the sledge, in the snow, on the boat, in bed with his muddy paws; having rolled in stinking fish, bowling me over in his enthusiasm. Spot features in all the memories of my youth. I miss my life with my loyal old Spot. He’s now with Dad, and I don’t think the long crossings I’m about to venture on would have suited him. I need to do this on my own, however tempting the idea of having him with me may be.
While I really want to do some proper sailing again, I’m going to miss the life that I’ve built up for myself here and the people I’ve come to know. I feel at home here and everyone is so friendly. It still upsets me to think back on everything that the Dutch authorities put me through in the past year before my departure. I try to suppress these thoughts, but they continue to surface from time to time. It is and remains a part of my life, but now I have left and have what I really wanted. I’m living the way I dreamt and fantasised about as an eight-year-old. The freedom is wonderful. I enjoy every day, every hour, every minute of this experience, and it seems as if I’m part of a dream; as if it’s not quite real. It’s weird to think that I jumped from the hell that the Dutch authorities had turned my life into, to this heaven that I’d only dreamt of; from that dark place to this warm light. I’m so glad I’ve persevered and that Dad supported me at all times.
But everything is not always sunshine and roses. I’ve had a bad earache for a couple of days and have decided to see a doctor. He diagnoses an ear infection and gives me an injection in my backside. Now I have more pain from the injection than my ear! I also get some pills and eardrops. I hate taking medicine, but by the end of the day my earache is a little better so it hasn’t all been for nothing.
I pack the most into my last days on the island. I have a fun day at the Palmitos Park with Ido and Dedy. The Palmitos Park is a zoo with dolphins, and we have a great time. But the hurricane season is coming to an end, and the day soon arrives when I decide to move on. That afternoon Guppy and I say farewell to all the kind people on this wonderful island.
Gran Canaria–Cape Verde Islands: 780 nautical miles
DAY 1: 10 November
Guppy and I are on our way to the Cape Verde Islands. I’ve prepared well for this voyage but soon realise that the batteries are almost empty. It’s probably because I left the fridge on while Guppy lay at anchor. Stupid! The solar panels just aren’t able to supply enough power for the fridge in this heat.
The route I’m following is calm and I don’t expect to see any other sailors on my way to the Cape Verde Islands. It’s great to be sailing again, but I also have a lump in my throat as I watch the coastline receding slowly. I have been on Gran Canaria for two months and the past few weeks have been amazing. Saying farewell to the island and the many people I met there was really difficult; more difficult than I’d ever have imagined. It feels strange to be on my own again after such a busy time and to have no one around to talk to, but the dolphins playing around Guppy’s bow soon make me forget my sadness as we sail into the sunset.
DAY 2: 11 November
Wow, it’s a hundred days since I left the Netherlands. A wind has sprung up and it’s coming from just the right direction. It still feels a little weird to be on my own, but familiar at the same time. When I look back, I have a problem letting go of that thin strip of land I called ‘home’ for a while. This morning I saw the last of the mountain peaks on Gran Canaria disappear. There are a few clouds on the horizon, but the morning sun is nice and warm. Guppy is sailing at 5.5 knots after a night of little wind. The windvane steers Guppy and I can sit and enjoy the view over the endless expanse of undulating blue waves. I pass two cargo ships sailing in opposite directions. The increasingly high temperatures are an indication that we are nearing the Equator.
DAY 3: 12 November
There’s a strong wind blowing and Guppy is running at 7 knots with the occasional 8 knots. Last night I passed another ship. It’s still a bit cloudy and fairly cool. If Guppy continues at this speed, I should get to the island of Sal in four days’ time. It’s great to feel the wind in my hair and to see Guppy cutting through the waves . . . Guppy and I are a team chasing the horizon. It’s 13.30, ship in sight; 231 miles sailed and another 536 to go. Today we completed 131 miles. I lower the foresail and we are now sailing only on the jib and reefed mainsail.
DAY 4: 13 November
Yuck, it’s really overcast today. The radar and even the Echomax, my active radar-reflector, don’t give any sign of ships. I switch off the radar and switch on the Echomax alarm. I’m going to stay in bed until the sun comes up, I tell myself. The sun stays hidden and, after checking that all is well on deck, I go back inside to lie and read on the couch. This sombre weather always makes me a bit grumpy. My thoughts drift back to the awful year I had when I was under the supervision of the state and it upsets me all over again. I try to read some more, but my thoughts are somewhere else. Better catch up with my schoolwork because I’m falling a little behind on that score.
It’s 17.15 and I feel we’ve achieved something. Guppy and I have completed 400 miles and have another 380 to go; that’s well past the halfway mark. The sun has started to shine and the wind has dropped a little, which means that the cockpit remains fairly dry now. Guppy is now sailing with mainsail, mizzen, flying jib and genoa, averaging 6 knots. It’s going well and I’m feeling a littl
e better.
I’ve just had some ravioli on deck and succeeded in getting most of it into my tummy instead of on the cockpit floor, so all is well. Now to write up my blog and send the text to Dad via the satellite phone which he’ll then place on my website. Back in the Netherlands I’d wanted to install an SSB radio with an email facility on Guppy, but this wasn’t possible as you need a special licence to own a radio with such a high transmission power. They thwarted every attempt I made to get one and I ended up leaving without one. So the only means of communication at sea is via the satellite telephone. I still hope to buy an SSB radio somewhere along my route so that I can send my emails and also receive weather charts.
DAY 5: 14 November
What a feeling! I managed to sleep well last night; an hour at a time. Guppy’s speed has dropped a little and we are now making headway at 4.5 knots. If we continue at this speed we should arrive on the night of Tuesday going into Wednesday, but I’d rather not approach an unknown harbour in the dark. Guppy is sailing gently and I have to accept that we won’t be going at top speeds for a while.
Compared with yesterday’s blues, I’m feeling really well today. The sun shines almost constantly and Guppy is under full sail with flying jib, jib, mainsail and mizzen. I’ve started reading Vrijheid en Eenvoud (Freedom and Simplicity) by Ben Hoekendijk. He sailed around the Atlantic, but the old man wrote a little too much about religion for my taste.
I keep hoping that Guppy’s speed picks up so that I can reach the Cape Verde Islands by Tuesday evening. A little later, my wish is fulfilled and Guppy is sailing at 6 knots in the sunshine. I’m enjoying her motion and am proud of her. She’s brought me this far and will bring me to many more places on this earth. I look out over the endless sea contentedly while Guppy ploughs through the infinite salty water to show me a new island. I ask myself if Guppy has seen any of these harbours before. Who knows where she’s been in the past 33 years of her life. I wish she could speak and tell me all about her travels . . . Instead, she plunges into the next wave wearing a white foam moustache. This is an absolute ‘top of the world’ feeling. How often had I been able to feel this wonderful warmth and exhilaration in that now far-off, sombre country, the Netherlands? Guppy has covered 500 miles and there are 280 to go.
DAY 6: 15 November
It’s 02.30 and — argh — what a night! I can’t sleep and am playing on my portable PlayStation in order to get through the night. The sky is pitch black and while I’m looking at it, it suddenly begins to pour. This is followed by an unexpected squall and then the wind drops again . . . All very annoying, but the sky behind me begins to clear. I try to catch up on some sleep, and two hours later I wake up fairly refreshed.
With 635 miles now completed, there are 140 to go. During the last 24 hours, Guppy has managed to cover 135 miles, despite the unhelpful winds last night. If I maintain a speed of more than 5.5 knots, I should reach Palmera, the capital and only harbour on Sal, by daylight, so let’s hope the wind doesn’t drop. I see flying fish for the first time on this voyage, some 30 of them in total and they certainly are strange creatures.
It’s almost 18.30 and time to write up my blog, struggle with the satellite phone and send my message in one go. In the evening, the wind drops and I try to hoist the code zero. In the process I knock my little toe. Oh well, let’s put a plaster on it. While I’m fixing up the code zero, I find two dead flying fish on deck. I know they are edible but choose to give them a burial at sea. Guppy is actually running a little too much before the wind for the code zero, but she’s moving in the right direction at a speed of 6 knots.
DAY 7: 16 November
During the night the wind drops gradually, and at 03.00 I start the engine. There’s no chance of sleeping with this noise. The engine is also making an irritating squeal because of the alarm signal that goes off when the voltage is too low in the almost-empty batteries. Guppy has a huge battery capacity, but when they’re all flat even the 110-amp alternator on the Volvo can’t get the voltage up quickly enough for the alarm not to go off. In total, I manage to get less than two and a half hours’ sleep.
The wind picks up a little as the sun rises and I’m thrilled to cut the noisy engine. Guppy is soon sailing at about 6 knots under full sail with mizzen, mainsail and code zero. Awesome! I’ve spotted a yacht on the horizon. It’s a small white dot and I leave it at that. I’ve managed to bump my toe again and it’s bleeding.
10.45 hours: Land in sight! The island of Sal is appearing on the horizon and it looks like an egg-shaped sand hill. Hmm.
13.34 hours: There are now three sand hills in sight. Why does it always take so long before you actually arrive? I’ll probably only reach land by 16.30 and then it will take another two hours to the harbour of Palmera. I hope there’ll be enough daylight.
Late in the afternoon the three sand hills are now connected and slowly houses and more land emerge. I’m nearing my goal. On closer inspection, the island doesn’t look very promising. I see a few square concrete houses, an old cargo ship and some gas reservoirs. I’m wondering if there’s another yacht in the area, but as soon as Guppy turns into the bay, I see dozens of them.
It’s wonderful to be out of the wind, but I have trouble finding a place to anchor. A cheerful Cape Verdean approaches me.
‘I you help,’ he says in broken English.
He ties his boat — a wonder that this contraption still floats — alongside Guppy, climbs onto the foredeck and gestures.
‘OK, this way’, and then ‘that way’, he says, leading me closer and closer to the beach. Worried about running aground, I tell him that Guppy is 2 metres deep. He assures me that all this is ‘no problem’. He eventually points out a good spot where he drops the anchor for me. Great, it means I don’t have to exert myself! I ask him if he knows Carlos, a man who works for Trans-Ocean.
‘Yes, of course,’ he says, and tells me he’ll take me to him.
I’ve once again inflated the dinghy by mouth (I still haven’t found the tube for the pump), and paddle after the wooden contraption in my little red dinghy to step onto Cape Verdean soil.
Sal
This place is unbelievable! The crooked streets are full of well-fed dogs and Cape Verdeans who just sit and talk as I pass. What a wonderful, relaxed atmosphere! Strains of reggae music echo through the unpainted, broken-down concrete homes. Most of the doors — and not all the houses have doors — consist of a mere piece of wood. It’s pretty primitive here.
Carlos isn’t at home, and so my friendly helper, whose name I’ve managed to forget again, takes me to the Customs office — a yellow building containing one desk and one Cape Verdean. It takes him 45 minutes to make a copy of my passport and to fill in a short form. Then I need to go to the Harbour Police. In this derelict, unpainted concrete hovel, there’s a table, a chair and an antique television. All they have to do is stamp my passport, but it takes them more than an hour to do so due to the fact that the four of them can’t tear themselves away from the television.
On my way back to Guppy I meet Carlos, who runs the Trans-Ocean sailors’ support station. I drink some water and chat to some Dutch people who run a charter business here, and they invite me to join them for a meal on the wharf at 19.15 that evening.
‘And what’s the time over here right now?’ I ask.
They tell me that it’s an hour earlier than on the Canary Islands. That’s two hours earlier than in the Netherlands. At 19.00, I paddle to the wharf with the bar where the crew has gathered. We go to an Italian restaurant that doesn’t have pizzas, but we’re served all kinds of fish followed by spaghetti. It’s great to be able to talk Dutch again. It’s now 21.30 Cape Verdean time, and time for me to catch up on some sleep as I’ve quite a bit to do tomorrow.
I set the alarm and am rudely awakened at seven in the morning. I feel I could still sleep for hours; just sleep without interruptions from waves, wind or passing ships. I get up anyway. Still half asleep, I eat a sandwich and then go to check up on the en
gines; the oil, coolant, filters and V-belt. The V-belt needs to be tightened after all the hours of heavy duty trying to get the batteries charged, but otherwise everything seems to be in order.
I then decide to tidy up and empty the last box of provisions. While I’m stowing these supplies away under the bunks, I come across a bag of rotten potatoes that has been lying there for some time. I lift the bag and it’s followed by a swarm of flies and other crap. I clear the entire storage space, clean it and then pack everything back again. I’m not fond of cleaning work and enough is enough. Time for some schoolwork now.
In between these chores, I paddle back to the wharf for my last stamp at the Clearance Office. At three o’clock, I drag my dinghy onto the foredeck. Zidane, the cheerful Cape Verdean whose name I now remember, insists on helping me heave up the heavy anchor and takes all my refuse and empty boxes with him. I show my appreciation by giving him a large packet of liquorice sweets.
Sal–São Nicolao: 85 nautical miles
DAY 1: 17 November
When it starts to get dark, I steer Guppy seawards again for the 85-mile voyage to São Nicolau. There’s a strong beam wind, and the waves frequently throw Guppy heavily onto her side. The wind comes and goes throughout the night.
DAY 2: 18 November
At daybreak, we are 15 miles from our destination and I can see the contours of the island. São Nicolau has enormous mountains covered by a green haze. I’m hoping to anchor Guppy off the village of Tarrafal in a few hours. Although I’m miles from home, it doesn’t always feel like it. That’s because of the communication systems I have on board, such as the satellite phone and VHF. You don’t often come across another ship at sea, but when you do it’s nice to have a chat. At most harbours, I usually have a fairly good internet connection. I email and Skype and manage to see my dog, Spot, on the screen a few times. He barks when he hears my voice, looks for me behind the PC screen and then whines softly when he can’t figure out where I am. I feel guilty about having abandoned my faithful friend. I have so much to thank him for.
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