Thanks to Spot, Dad let me go on the first holiday on my own for six weeks when I was 10. Spot protected me and was always at my side. He was my shadow. If anyone dared to even point at me, Spot would immediately jump between us. We did everything together; sail, swim, build huts, and he always knew when I would be back from school. He would be there waiting for me and would run to greet me. Spot has a good life with Dad, but it feels as if I’ve disappointed a very good friend who’s been at my side since the age of six.
When it comes to communication, I realise that I have a far easier time than my parents had on their world voyage. They’d have to write lengthy letters that would take weeks to arrive and would have to dive into a telephone booth as soon as they came on shore. It may be easier now, but it can also be annoying for people to be able to reach you day and night. Now that the internet is available, I’m able to look into people’s living rooms via Skype, just as if I were there. Sometimes that gives me a feeling of not really having left. I certainly haven’t had the wish to step through the screen and back into the Netherlands; especially now that it’s so cold and wet there . . . Brr! Viva Africa!
A beautiful, rugged, mountainous landscape is unfolding before me. I spot some yachts and it gradually grows warmer. The VHF is on and I hear the German Trans-Ocean sailors’ support station’s contact person on São Nicolau. I peer through my binoculars but can’t see their office. Once I’ve moored, they call again. They’re coming over by boat. When I’ve checked and closed up everything, I go and have my clearance stamp checked by the police on shore.
São Nicolau
We walk to the office-cum-guest-house that’s right on the shore. Many seafarers make use of its services and I’m able to take a shower here. Alas, no hot water, but after seven days of saltwater this doesn’t worry me in the least. While I’m sitting on a bench, some Dutch sailors arrive from a yacht called Mirus that’s anchored close to Guppy. We arrange to go for a walk the next day, then return to where our dinghies are beached and they tow me back to Guppy. It’s not possible to fix my outboard motor to the dinghy I’m using now, so I appreciate their help. Back on deck, I slide the covers over the sails to protect them from the sun and sit and enjoy the view. São Nicolau is a beautiful island, much prettier than Sal, with tall mountains and much more vegetation.
After a night of unbroken sleep, I face a busy day. The alarm goes off at eight. I eat, drink, pack my bag, and, just as I’ve finished, Henk and Miranda Wallet from Mirus arrive in their tender. We’re going on a mountain hike today with another German woman and two Frenchmen. We’re squeezed into a small bus and taken along winding gravel roads to a village from which we can only walk. It’s a small, pretty village with gravel roads. While we’re in the village, a bunch of inquisitive kids on their way home from school offers to show us the best spot to cross the river. Two kilometres further on, they jump into a lake with a beautiful waterfall and carry on up the mountain. We walk past donkeys that are grazing, small houses and women who are cooking outdoors while trying to keep children, goats, pigs and chickens under control. We begin the real hike up the mountain at the start of a valley surrounded by high cliffs. The heat makes it quite a task, and each time we think we are nearly there, it continues to rise until we finally reach the summit after about three hours. Our hard work is rewarded with a magnificent view of the entire valley.
Finally we start on the next part of the hike. We fill our water bottles at a waterfall high in the mountains where a man lives on his own, and begin the next ascent. When we reach the top, we find a beautiful forest. The light begins to fade a little when we emerge from the forest, and we make a steep descent until we see our village and a car and walk the last bit in good spirits. Exhausted, we sit on the roadside while our Cape Verdean guide looks for a taxi. A little later a pickup arrives with wooden seats in the back. We all find a place to sit and wind our way back to Tarrafal at 70 kilometres an hour as the sun sets.
Tarrafal is one of the biggest villages on São Nicolau. The streets are pitted with potholes and the houses are made of concrete blocks, often without doors or windows. If you want to buy something, you really need to know where to go as there are no signposts or names on shops or streets. This may look like a developing country, but there are phones, internet, football fields and other Western elements that look out of place here. The people seem to be outdoors all the time and laugh a lot. When I ask them if they’d rather live in Europe, I get a steadfast ‘no way’.
The island is beautiful. I accompany a taxi driver to the airport with five hotel guests, just for the ride, and manage to see some of the island in this way. We drive past lovely valleys and green mountains that rise along the roadside. After an hour of travelling along narrow, often gravel roads, through villages and across streams, we arrive at the airport. It has a small building with two doors showing two signs — Arrivals and Departures — above them. The luggage that arrives is passed to the passengers through a window. When a plane arrives, loud salsa music is played to welcome the passengers. What more could you want? They have two planes, one of which is on Sal, broken. The other plane is due to arrive at five, but according to the locals the plane is always late. They are right about this one and it gets quite tense while we wait, as the plane is unable to land in the dark. Luckily the plane lands just before dark. Back in Tarrafal, I’m dropped off at the home of a Cape Verdean family with a 15-year-old daughter. I’d met Kelly before, and she’d asked if I’d like to join her and her family for a meal. She’s invited a few of her friends along, too. The girls come in one by one and serve some delicious snacks. I don’t speak a word of Crioulo and they’ve hardly any English, but with a few words and many gestures we manage to have a great evening.
I paddle to the black beach next to the wharf where the fishermen’s boats are moored a few times a day. I’m often at the Trans-Ocean support point where I can shower and make use of the internet. Guests and sailors walk in and out and I greet them all cheerfully. After having done my updates on the internet, I go to the beach. I meet Kelly there and she asks me if I’d like to play football with some of her friends. They’re all about my age and most of them seem to have children who are parked on the sidelines while the game is in progress. Playing football in flip-flops isn’t a success. It’s really not my sport and I have trouble aiming the ball in the right direction, but it’s great fun and we laugh a lot.
At 07.30 the next morning, I’m paddling to the shore again. Today I’m going on a tour of the island with Henk and Miranda from Mirus, Conny and Henk Werner from Amygdala, a man from the yacht Deep Blue, as well as two Dutch and two French people. Eventually all 10 of us depart in a pickup taxi. Whether you are crushed or suddenly find you have a lot of space depends on which way the road curves as the vehicle swings through the many bends. We drive over a bumpy, stony route, and after half an hour the driver makes a sharp turn over the verge and into the grass. We continue downhill, through a dry river bed, uphill, downhill again, and then he thunders down a steep drop that looks as though it ends in the sea. There are anxious looks on everyone’s faces. What’s he up to? Where are we going? He’s still driving at full speed; another 1000, 800, 700, 600 metres to go before the edge—
Suddenly the truck grinds to a halt and we’re told to get out and follow the guide. We’re all pleasantly surprised when we reach some beautiful cliffs. The water has eroded the cliff face and freshwater seeps through different layers in the rock. I don’t exactly understand where it comes from. At some spots the sea throws itself against these cliffs and then recedes. I could stay and watch this for hours, but we continue our tour. We drive back a short distance and decide to split up and continue in two cars. I end up with three Germans and a Frenchman in the Ford truck. We follow bumpy, winding roads to a pretty lagoon, and en route stop for some punch. Well, everyone except me; I have a Coke. Some people are very cheerful after only one glass of punch. The Frenchman tries to make a yacht in the back of the pickup by picking up a log a
nd pinning his T-shirt to it like a sail. Edson, the guide who’s also sitting at the back of the vehicle, speaks no English, German or Dutch, and most of us don’t speak any Crioulo, French, Portuguese or Italian, but by gesturing with our hands and feet we are learning a lot from each other.
The heavy rains of the past months have swept away big chunks of the only tarred road on the island. So we tell Edson that the road is kaput. In response, he looks at us and imitates a goat. In this way we learn that ‘kaput’ means ‘goat’ in Crioulo. And a koe — Dutch for ‘cow’ — means ‘backside’ in the local language. This I gather when I shout koe on seeing a cow and our guide turns to give me a strange look. And so I pick up my first words of Crioulo . . . the first and the last.
The next morning, I’m up on deck early to watch the sunrise. I’m reading a book called Her Name is Sarah. A beautiful but sad story about a boy who is hidden in a cupboard by his sister during a razzia in the Second World War. The family is moved to a German concentration camp and the boy is left behind to tragically die in the cupboard.
By the time I’ve finished the book, it’s half past four. At five I’m going to eat pizzas with Conny and Henk on board the Amygdala. Fortunately, my German is fair and we manage to have a good conversation. Conny is happy to hear that she isn’t the only one to sometimes ask herself what on earth she’s doing when she’s at sea. While I can relate to books about people who complain for hours about being at sea, I personally find time on land really dreary. It’s not always fun at sea, but sailing usually gives me an enormous kick. Just sighting one dolphin is enough to make my day.
At nine that evening I paddle back to Guppy. I want to do a little work on my own book. When I plug a USB stick containing my text into the computer, I’m distracted by all the photographs I’ve taken over the past year. The time of the battle with the Dutch authorities over my voyage. I see a pale, tired girl and find some lines I wrote at the time. Here are two fragments:
. . . My life is such a mess. I have the feeling that I’ve fallen into a deep abyss and don’t know how to carry on with my voyage. Just when I’ve met all their requirements, they go and invent new ways to stop me. Sometimes I’m the Laura with courage and faith who never gives up. That Laura says: Think about all you have been through. Do you want to give the Netherlands the satisfaction of seeing you give up? No, of course not, I won’t give them that pleasure. But I’m being harassed on all sides, and if I don’t find solutions I won’t be allowed to go. The authorities are trying to weaken my resolve. I can’t honestly remember one night when I slept well or woke up rested. For almost a year, I’ve been feeling unwell, tired and weak. What can I do? I no longer know. I’ll explode soon; that should solve the problem. HELP!!! I cry, but besides Dad there’s no one to hear me. Dad is just as depressed and doesn’t know what to do either. Now I’m sitting at home instead of going to school. I’m feeling so weak that I think I’ll fall off my bike if I try to cycle to school. I can’t even stand up properly. I hope I’ll find a way to get out of this situation. It’s a good thing I’m a fine actress, but I sometimes fear that I’ll never ever be myself again . . .
More than a month later, when I am tricked into losing my boat, it really gets too much for me. Just before Christmas, I write a farewell letter to Dad and flee to Saint Martin. This is what I write, amongst other things:
. . . And now that I’m on Saint Martin my name is Jessie Muller and I’m 17 years old. I’m almost the new owner of the Duende, a 9-metre Dufour Arpège. Saint Martin is great; everyone is so friendly here and the palm trees, white sands and azure blue waters are so beautiful. In that cold, unfriendly country, the Netherlands, this island seemed like a dream, but it’s real; it exists! It’s wonderful and I love it here. In the Netherlands it’s snowing, but here it’s warm and the mosquitos are swarming around me. I’ve just spent a few hours on my new boat. Tomorrow I’ll clean it up inside because it really is a mess . . .
When I read this text again now, it’s as though it’s about some other girl’s life. Since my departure, I have tried not to dwell too long on my life over the past year, but now I can feel my pain and despair again in this text. When I wrote this, I couldn’t have dreamt that I would ever be happy again and that I would be reading this now that it’s all in the past. But it’s over; thank goodness, it’s over.
Quite a number of yachts have anchored in our bay over the past few days. Most of them are French. They’re easy to recognise because they are usually catamarans or fast monohulls. The French aren’t often that fluent in English and my French is not brilliant either, but even without conversing it can be fun being amongst them.
In another week or so I want to make the crossing from São Nicolau to Saint Martin in the Caribbean. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll be out on the ocean for three weeks. It shouldn’t be that difficult with no islands, reefs, tricky harbours and little shipping traffic to contend with. Even a storm is better out at sea than close to land.
For most of the time it will be downwind sailing, which helps. There’s little to do before I leave as I got all the necessary food supplies on Gran Canaria. I just need to check Guppy thoroughly.
There’s no wind and all the boats are lying scattered across the anchorage. There’s a cargo ship approaching in the distance. It’s probably going to the dockside and a few of the yachts will have to move. If the captain knows how to steer, Guppy shouldn’t be in the way. There’s enough space between Guppy and the wharf, and so I stay where I am. I’m eating Spanish bread with Dutch speculaas (spicy Dutch biscuits). I’ve sneaked them out of the Christmas parcel that I’ve opened a month before I should have . . . Half an hour later, I get a fright when a huge wall of steel glides past Guppy. I look to see where the other yachts have gone and notice that they have raised their anchors and moved to a safe distance. The ship is painfully slow in passing Guppy and I’m tense until its stern passes and I can read PANAMA in huge letters and know that we are safe. I promise myself never to expose Guppy to this kind of danger again, and will be more careful about her safety from now on.
Towards evening, I paddle to shore to enjoy a meal at the Aquarium restaurant at the Trans-Ocean Sailing Association, as I often do. The food is great. Henry, the Dutch owner of the joint, was a chef and is training some of the Cape Verdeans to cook. There are now two Dutch tourists staying at the guest house. After the meal, they help me get the dinghy back in the water. Carefully I paddle back to Guppy, leaving a green, phosphorescent glow in my wake. It’s so incredibly beautiful. I beat the water with my paddle to create more sparkle, but unfortunately half the water lands on me. Not a clever move, Laura! What a great life I have here. This is what I’ve always dreamt of, and it makes me happy to be here. I think of winter in the Netherlands, Spot, Dad, Kim and Mum. I really did have a great youth there. Sometimes it was difficult, but it was good too. The past year, with its six court cases, is like a black stain on my memory. I can recall every moment and every emotion. If I hadn’t been able to leave, I’d have landed in a dark hole from which I’d never ever have emerged. That year had almost finished me off, and I’d escaped by the skin of my teeth. Thanks to Dad, Gran, Granddad and my lawyer, Peter de Lange, who all helped me. Now I have something that I could only have dreamt of and it’s wonderful. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I’ve really left. It still feels like a dream in which I can wake up again at any time and find myself in a courtroom across from three judges who seem to listen only to what the lawyers representing the authorities, the Child Protection and Child Care organisations have to say. The judges who didn’t take the trouble to listen to what Dad and I had to say, and who rashly accepted everything the state lawyers told them. But that is all behind me now and I am free.
After getting to the beach and back by dinghy and staying dry at least 50 times, it suddenly goes wrong. I’m on my way to get my outward clearance when two big waves turn the dinghy upside-down and I land in the water. Luckily my laptop is in a waterproof bag, but I ca
n’t present myself to the officials soaking wet. Other sailors witness what has happened and feel sorry for me. I bail all the water out of the dinghy while they tow me back to Guppy. I then change clothes and give it another go. This time I reach land dry and walk to the Harbour Police office. After waiting for hours, I’m told that I need to go to Mindelo for the clearance outwards. No way am I going to another island for one stupid stamp! I’m sure they’ll let me enter Saint Martin without the stamp and not force me to re-cross the Atlantic Ocean. At the Aquarium restaurant, I chat to Dad via Skype one last time before I start on my big ocean crossing the following day.
São Nicolau–Saint Martin: 2223 nautical miles
DAY 1: 2 December
I get up early so that I can eat leisurely, deflate the dinghy, tidy up and pull the covers off the sails. Finally, I heave up the 30 metres of anchor chain and anchor with sweat running off my brow. There’s little wind and the sun is searing hot. After completing all the hard work, I pour some water down my parched throat and continue to hoist the sails. It’s not much use as there isn’t much wind and it’s coming from the wrong direction. That doesn’t make Gup and me very happy. But when Guppy emerges from behind the islands, there’s a wonderful beam wind. Yep, Guppy just glides away.
One Girl One Dream Page 8
