Paralipsis

Leaving is not an easy thing for me. I was emotionally distressed seeing Las Palmas getting smaller and smaller. While I looked at large, my captain touched me on the shoulder and said, in that very Germanic English of his: "do not worry, you shall never see this man again".

First thing that came to me mind was the image of myself swimming, holding on to a drenched passport.

But I didn't jump. And that is how the hardest month of my life started.

In the beginning I tried to ignore the situation and cook. The pork with chukrute and mashed potatoes made me sick. All were ready made, and desert was canned fruit salad. Needless to say I got really thin.

The boat was equipped with a radio and the captain would speak to his wife everyday at five. At that time he forbid me to talk, saying "she's very jealous". Things were starting to feel weird but there was still some really twisted behavior to come. On the third day of sail he asked me to cut his hair. He prompted me to do it in the heads. It turned ou when I showed up with the scissors in hand he was naked.

I always think abusive people don't now the risk they run, cause in their ignorance they never expect to be facing someone with rage.

But I didn't react then, so I just ignored that odd situation and cut his hair. After drinking a few cartons of wine, captain called for me and said I was to sleep in his bunk from then on, which I promptly refused. He then told me, fine, I was to sleep outside. And so I obeyed.

The captain started drinking himself silly every other day. That made things easier, cause all we had to do was to steer the boat on course, be ourselves and ignore him. Whenever he fell to the ground the Berliners would take him to his bunk and we already expected him to wake up in a rage two days later.

Even though the Berliners didn't speak a word of English I could still relate to them. Seeing me crawl inside a black plastic bag every night and shiver, they offered me to sleep in their bunk while they were doing their shifts, which really saved my life and health.

In one of those return-of-the-Jedi furry tantrums, the captain came outside with a gun. The Berliners promptly ran and started convincing him to put it away. The next day he showed up at the bow and tried to make amends. He was drunk again, and swayed hanging on to the stanchions. I remember having to make a real effort not to push him overboard.

Yes, I now realize that's also my nature.

It was the closest I came to killing someone in my life. 

So one beautiful sunny day of that 28-day-trip, I saw Barbados upon the bow. I promptly ran downstairs, packed my bag and said goodbye to the Berliners. As they tied up the ropes to the dock I jumped off Caroline and never looked behind. It was November 1988. Bloody happy to be in the Caribbean.

Barren Land

Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, a whole island of dry air and touristic schemes. 

The race across the great big blue was to happen in two weeks time when we arrived. Most people had already found their places and as we wondered around the quay, nowhere would a boat take a single crew, let alone two!

Let me clear that this race is just an excuse for European boat owners to go the same way - catching the trade winds - at the same time. There's no true racing involved. 

So after many days asking around and strolling, we eventually found a guy who said he'd take one of us. The boat was fiberglass, custom build in Hamburg, by the Frankfurt owner-captain himself. Paul preferred to stay behind and let me go. Later, this proved to be quite correct, for only one month later did he find a position.

I was just turning 22 then.

Cell phones didn't exist at the time, and we had no address. We were taking our chances and would probably never see each other again.

The German captain already had two crew aboard: Berliners. At that time the wall still existed. He talked to me in rugged English and explained he expected me to do the cooking. That's always more than fine with me.  He also allowed us both to sleep aboard, which we thought was very kind on him.

A couple of days before leaving the captain took me to El Corte Ingles to buy provisions for four for the one-month trip. We returned with two full supermarket trolleys of canned goods and potatoes, and two others topped with carton wine.

I remember being quite amazed at that, but what the hell, I thought, it's European nature.

So that's how I sailed off Las Palmas de Gran Canaria aboard Caroline, bound for Barbados.

Champagne, Sex and The Will to Move

To spend days picking meunier, pinot noir and chardonay grapes to make champagne, with people coming as if from a Fellini movie, and together with good wine and sex...  seriously, I miss it.

Frenchmen from there start early, in the bar, and they drink something made of anise, or maybe some Calvados. At 8 we are already at the vineyard, no breakfast. Its quite fresh - around 10 to 15 Celsius. Grapes grow low, to benefit from the heat coming off the hard calcareous ground. So, the whole day is spent working on a bent position, or else squatting. A real physiotherapist's heaven (or hell)! All is done in a rush, because the bureaucrats from Paris define when it is time to produce that nectar, and that is to be followed with rigor. At ten we have a break at the vineyards and suddenly, we find wine (coffee? tea? give me a break!) and some patisseries, bread, and fruit. Working continues until midday, when we return home, starving, as we are really well served with starters, meat, vegetables, cheese and desert, all well dressed with champagne. At the end, we're left with the difficult task of having a nap. I love the sign of civilization contained in a two-hour lunch break.

Is there a better job in the whole wide world?
And in the afternoon it all starts over again.

All kinds of people came for the picking: humble French and Italian people, eastern block people, even Brazilians. One of these groups was unforgettable - the Polish. Last time I saw them they had arrived in an orange BMW and they had many liters of vodka and pickles, and also marble tombstones and a stuffed head of a moose for sale. Most amazing thing is, they managed to sell it all! Their genetic combination included the huge albino father, the supposedly French mother, the spoiled-brat son, and the really tinny daughter who was married to this rude guy - his is the recipe below. All stayed in the same room and they never seemed to sleep or stop drinking.
And on the next day, they worked the hardest and were the fastest. 

But all good things must come to an end - autumn and the vindange, too. So we went to Brussels and to Holand, from there... and flew to the Canary Islands.

As we say in Portuguese: "navigation is definite, but living is not".

 

On a fingertip

After Lisbon, my objective was to reach Vinay, a small village 100 km to the east of Paris. Paul was there, and also the perspective of working picking grapes in Champagne. I had 500 dollars to get going, I had youth and lots of boldness. 

At that time France required a visa for us, so, at the embassy, the very short attendant made it clear that nothing would happen without a return ticket, money and hotel address. I sat at that square next to the embassy and though, what now. That's when I saw our dear friend coming out for lunch.

Luck moves in mysterious ways.

After a few days selling Brazilian indian's crafts on the Cascais beach, being hassled by a crazy Finish guy, and making friends with the son of a Brazilian diplomat, I returned to the embassy - at lunchtime - taking documents that proved I would go to France by car. That sweet lady then gave me the visa.

So I hopped my rucksack on my back and off you go to the highway, direction East, to hitch a ride.

First car that stopped for me was a Masseratti. The businessman was going to Madrid. He really needed company, cause he talked about all sorts of things and told me live of Spanish history. He would stop here and then to have a coffee with cognac. I was so happy with that History lesson in Spanish, that the gentleman got out of his way, on the E-80 to show me Salamanca, Ávila and the Valle de Los Caídos, the very impressive burrial place for Franco. It stands carved into a mountain and is surrounded by gigantic angel statues each with a different demoniac expression. 

The next day I left Madrid and went to the gasolinera - in Spain no one will stop for you on a highway. An old man in an old car saw my sign and waved for me. He was Moroccan. I stared at his face and decided to get in. On the road the man would talk French and I answered here and there with a "ha-ha", "ouí" and "merci". As far as I could go, the man was returning from his daughter's marriage in Morocco - and his car was filled up with rabble. He drove nonstop  and once in a while asked me to serve him a cup of coffee from a large thermal flask. It was autumn in Europe. The scenery was fascinating. The whole road was tainted yellow, red and orange. So that's how I went from Madrid to Paris - I couldn't understand a word the man said. When we arrived there he stopped at a service station. I reckon I had a helpless look upon my face, cause he decided to take me all the way to my destiny - which is an hour from Paris! 

I could never thank enough those people.  If I was ever afraid to hitch, I lost that fear on that trip. After all I was lucky enough to be welcomed by two gentlemen, albeit from totally different cultures, languages and beliefs. 

Years afterwards, I was at some highway in Germany. It was snowing. A couple stopped and asked if I wasn't afraid to hitch alone. I was quite honest and told them I was - but after all, they ran the same risk as I did. That was honestly dumb of me: they left me shortly afterwards in the middle of nowhere.

When I arrived in Vinay, a small town with a church and three streets around it, I looked for the maison where Paul told me he would be. When I arrived he was outside. Thanks to his strong temporomandibular joint, his jaw didn't fall and break to pieces on the ground.

E La Nave Va

We disembarked on a floating pontoon with stairs. What a challenge. After many days at sea one walks in a zigzag, with no booze - the famous seaman walk. We all fell down the stairs.

I stayed for a full month at Paul's father - Dr. Scher's - in Claremont. 

Saw Mandela being released from prison after so long, and how people respected him. Apartheid revealed seats with signs for whites and blacks, different charges on the buses, and an incredibly compelling look on the "colored" people's faces. So submissive. And also huge miserable slums.

A gentle Indian girl became my friend . She sold clothes at the local market. She taught me how to make samoosas and gave me the passage out of that place - which was really important, for I only had 500 dollars on me. Paul planned to fly to France to do the grape picking in Champagne. 

That was how I got aboard a merchant ship with Burmese crew. It was bound for Lisbon. An old Scottish couple, a German man, a young South-African couple and I all joined in exchange for work. We did all sorts of tasks, such as peeling lots of potatoes, painting the hull, cleaning, etc. That exchange went on for many years until some idiot decided to smuggle ivory.

Almost all of those Burmese men were Buddhists, really peaceful creatures who wore a type of sarong, the longyi, which is tied with a sort of knot for men, and another knot for women. I received a checkered green one. Wore it for many years. I was really well treated by all of them, except for a brief action from the cook - a Muslim who tried to grab me while I searched for samoosa pastry inside the freezer. The tragicomic siege didn't last long: he promptly begged me not to tell anything to the Captain.

Except for this episode it was a very smooth 12-day sail until we got to Portugal.

When we arrived in Lisbon, just next to the mouth of Tejo river, I looked at that piece of land and couldn't handle the emotion...  while I tried to hold that stubborn tear the longshoreman helped to moor the ship. He threw the fine line with a monkeys fist at the end...

...and of course it hit me on the head. I fell back and the crew rushed to my rescue.

I burst in laughter and thought: "Welcome to Europe".

The Huge African Sun

It takes more than traveling to be a nomad. It requires changing views on time, space and people. You must want less and love the creative void.

The middle of the ocean is perfect to live the void. Food is rationed. Hygiene is restricted because of there's little fresh water. We sleep lots between shifts. Harmony is fundamental for everybody's health. Sails push you forward according to the winds' will, and so time becomes relative - with little wind, you move a little, or not at all. Simple as that.
In the middle of the way we had engine trouble - a cracked head. So, no motor to enter Cape Town. That's it. No problem! Aboard a sailing boat, the engine is only a gadget to facilitate maneuvering in smaller spaces - it isn't essential. Much on the contrary: it kills silence.
As we couldn't predict the time it would take, we had to ration food and water. Being the girl of the boat, Robert granted me an extra share of water for personal hygiene.

The trip to Cape Town from Rio is one of the most beautiful. In low latitudes there's a lot of marine life and few people. Wise nature. The "roaring forties" is a strip where winds get more intense. Night shifts in this place make you see the boat as a nutshell and yourself as almost nothing. This feeling can set you free. 

Commotion, in a beautiful new moon shift: I see lights on our bow - Table Mountain lit up at night. That was approximately 100 nautical miles from Cape Town. Wind was really dim- around 15 knots - so, it still took us two days to get there. In the middle we started facing 4 to 5-meter waves with no wind at all. When the boat was at the lip, that brought hope. The sight was beautiful. But when the boat went onto the base, we all felt fear.

Cape Town is a must to those who love nature. We where greeted joyfully by seals and sea lions. This was just a sample of the force of nature at the Cape of Good Hope (or Agulhas) - wild and powerful. Those who have seen the sun shine in Africa know what I'm talking about.

And there's much, much more: strong flowers like artichokes (Protea), delicious peaches, moving sand, baboons, whales, penguins, sharks... and the African people.

Nomad

Summer in Recife can be so hot, I got severely dehydrated. After a bad seafood experience I had two convulsions, cured solely with magical coconut water.

That day, however, Recife reminded me of its Dutch origins - rainy, almost cold. The dense fog covered the entrance to the Recife port - the mouth of the river that originates at the Eco Reserves of Manassu, Mata de Mussaiba and Mata da Jangadinha. I played with the bright yellow binoculars when I saw a boat arriving. "It must have come from far"- I thought, cause no one would go sailing on a day like that. I looked it up again. The bowman saw the yellow piece and waved. I waved back.

When I woke up the next day the gringos were anchored beside us. They came rowing  to ask if we knew where to sell whiskey. We didn't. After a few days we moved to Cabanga Yacht Club, on the other side of the Brasília Teimosa slums, where we could have a bit more comfort, such as fresh water.

While we waited, the word came of a great show at Campina Grande, in the state of Paraíba, where Brazilian artists Gilberto Gil, Caetano Velloso and Chiclete com Banana would play. I invited the gringos who had also moved beside us. They all went, but my captain stayed. He didn't want to leave the boat unattended.

The show house was right in the middle of nowhere and as we arrived, the local girls managed to invite each of the gringos for a dance at bullet speed. I was having loads of fun watching the totally embarrassed guys trying to dance forró, a quite sexy Brazilian dance. It basically requires you to couple your legs between the girl's legs and shake your hips. The American was the funniest. The other men came from Belgium, Wales, South Africa and the skipper was Australian.

When we returned, people sang MPB (Brazilian Pop Music) in the bus. The music had an effect on me, cause I suddenly saw myself involved in a romantic flare with the South African guy - Paul. He was the one who waved at the bow. That lasted for a few days and had obvious consequences, and also an unexpected outcome: he invited me to go with them. I was just 21.

So that's how I joined the Berg Wind crew. Our destination was Cape Town. On the way to the southern seas, we left towards Rio under the command of Robert Hossack, and later, down to the "roaring forties".

Miss Global got to the Caribbean later, with a new crew member - Fabiana.

And I became a nomad. I've been a citizen of the world ever since.

That is why I want to nurture it.

 

This telegram says: 

Letters received on the 4th. Convulsion is normal. Avoid dehydration.

The sea is not large enough to bare our love for you. 

Good winds, good luck.

Directions

My memory of exciting days has included this one at the top.
You could see also the phosphorescence reflected on the waves, because of the moonlight shining on krill. Its is something sublime, magical. Navigating captivated me so much, we never stopped.
After a few months working between Angra and Búzios, to get experienced, I left aboard the  Miss Global bound for the Caribbean. At Cape São Tomé we met a moon fish and some manta rays that jumped out of the water. A bit further north we saw a lightning storm.
In Recife the stay lasted a few months, for we waited a sail to return from Rio. It had been sent back to Rio for repair - ripped at the leach. That was the result of my inexperience, for I left the leach line too tight while the wind picked up.
And while I was comfortably waiting at Recife, everything changed again... including direction.

I must admit, this also feeds my nature. 

 

Bioluminescence

July 1987. At the bare 40-foot racing yacht "Miss Global", equipped solely with a VHS radio, a sextant and a solar panel, I first had a clue of life at sea.
There are many superstitions among sailors, and also one great truth: there's no space in the sea for the indecisive. Either you love it or you don't. Cause it can shake you to pieces. It also does remind of the womb experience.

The first night at sea was vigil. My very experienced captain showed me how to work the compass, handed me the tiller and said 'look out for any approaching lights'. It was my first shift! With double attention and eye on the horizon, the sun was setting, and I saw a red light. My heart rushed. Suddenly it got bigger and bigger.

It was the moon.

And so I left

Mine is an extremely volatile nature. Whenever I live something unfair or amoral, it can blow me out. As a result, the top of my head feels ready to explode. The air pressure can certainly do me harm, but we should remember there's always a bright side to everything - it also gets me going. At the end, this is a balance to another side of my nature, which is quite comfort-prone.

And so I left. Couldn't stand all that inequity in my country. I was also sure I wouldn't have the chance to make a difference after graduation - in Biology, that is. I was wrong, cause twenty years later I saw all my college mates where very well, and they do make a difference. But there was also an intimate and familiar inequity. This added to the curiosity of going for something new - something different.
But the first spark was set by my sister.
There she was, working at this famous salad bar restaurant, and so she pronounced: "Daniela, you're going to Europe." I though, what a joke, and answered cunningly: "Oh, yeah? And how?". She told me she had a friend who wanted to take his yacht to Europe, and was looking for a crew member. Right that moment I took a phone token and called the lad from the nearest public phone. This move changed my life.