If you’ve been reading regularly, you’ll know I’m stuck here in Gran Canaria waiting on equipment to arrive via the worlds most aggravating postal system. Obviously post is still delivered by horse, cart, and steamship… I’ve been expecting this stuff to turn up any day, and every day I’ve anxiously done my run-around, looking and worrying, and getting increasingly concerned. A friend offered to lend me a Gennaker (a large sail, like a Spinnaker) for my crossing, so I could speed across the Atlantic in 24 hours (no, not really), but unfortunately this package ended up becoming cursed, with couriers unable to find the pickup address, to getting stuck in a warehouse for lack of bureaucratic paperwork. In the end, I just had to tell the courier to send it back - It was becoming a very unfunny comedy of errors. If I had known from the beginning I was going to be here for a month or more, I guess I would have made an effort to actually do some interesting things. On occasion my anxious personality overrides everything else, and I can do little else but busy myself with concern. I could have sailed over to the other islands, done some more exploring here in Gran Canaria, worked harder on learning Spanish, taken up ocean swimming (!), or a myriad of other interesting activities. But instead, I just spent the last three weeks thinking I would be “leaving any day now”…

So this morning Paul came with me to the post office, to help translate my postal worries. Eventually after what seemed like at least 15 minutes of rapid-fire Spanish, the women decided to actually look into the problem, and finally found the last received information on the whereabouts of the item was on the 13th of Feb, in Madrid. She said it was on a container ship headed for the islands, and expected it to be awhile yet… So I finally resigned myself to just getting on with things, and letting the parcel arrive whenever it felt the need. Most people probably would have come to this conclusion somewhat earlier, but what can I say… I have accepted my fate, and started filling my day with interesting jobs and activities instead of needless worry. Over the past few days I have begun listening to Spanish learning tapes, dusted off my German book, and even begun listening to a 20 hour French course. I bought a cheap set of computer speakers, and mounted them in the cabin, which has been probably the greatest improvement to general living aboard so far. I’m also becoming acutely aware of my unique situation, and rather than waste my days away with impatience, I could really be more productive on many different levels, taking care of all those things I’ve been putting off.

In an attempt to do some exercise, The Austrian (now referred to as Chris) said I should come swimming with him. Sure I thought, why not, the weather is nice, and the office hasn’t called, so hasta luego, I’m going to the beach! I borrowed my next door neighbors hot pink flippers, grabbed my shorts (or rather jeans with the legs cut off), and we set off. After an incredibly lengthy walk through Las Palmas, finally we began to descend down to beach level, and resume the days swimming activities. As I stood there in my unevenly cut shorts, pink flippers on, about to jump in and act like an Otter for the next 20 minutes, Chris donned a special wetsuit, goggles, and informs the lifeguard that “he might be a while” and proceeds to vanish off over the horizon. As I stood there at waste level, tripping over myself, Chris had already vanished beyond the breaking waves and turned right, for his daily three hour swim! Some people like to sail away from land, and it seems others enjoy swimming where land is but a dot on the edge of the sky. Chris is one of those crazies I keep managing to attract (and hey, don’t say they’re mirrors!) who both pique my interest and test my human sanity detection circuitry. Chris is out here looking after a boat, which seems to have had one of the saddest fates I’ve heard. A German father and son team sailed down here, on route to a Caribbean circuit. The father stood out the front of the toilets here in the marina, smoking, and suddenly died of a massive and entirely unexpected heart attack. The trip was clearly off, the son going back to Germany, agreeing to let Chris look after the vessel until arrangements could be made. What a horrific end to the trip of a lifetime.

When you loiter around a place long enough, people eventually become familiar faces on the street. You start remembering the names of the little French kids playing on the dock, notice the recent German ship has a new crew, and people start asking you about your missing post or finally inquire as to what your name is. Two weeks ago I met Carl at the infamous Sailors Bar, after subconsciously noticing we were both out here alone. There must be an unspoken rule, in that there is a period of time in waiting before one makes the effort to strike up a conversation. Because sailing is so transient, sometimes it’s almost a fruitless exercise making any kind of connection with someone, because it’s highly likely they will be gone the next day, never to be seen again. Nevertheless I was glad to have met Carl, a singlehander doing a delivery of his former yacht to the new owner in Guadaloupe. We spoke casually on and off, but I recognised there was something more to him, and I was unusually disappointed to see him off yesterday. It was really an unexpectedly intense experience, as I stood on the pontoon watching him sail out through the breakwater, I really felt a pang in my heart for his undertaking. Not a feeling of fear for his safety, but really just a level of understanding in what he was doing, and even a glimpse of what was to come. There was such a quietness in the air, and even an early onset feeling of solitude to his departure; this act of a lone person sitting there in the cockpit of their boat, in something so small, about to voyage across such a great expanse of ‘nothingness’. I could sense his nervousness as I pushed his bow off the pontoon, even though he was highly experienced. I watched him sail out without glancing back, departing sans spectacle, as people nosily watched from the cockpits of their boats with disinterested looks, as another boat left the marina. The problem is, some boats are so incredibly different than others.

Out here you meet all manner of folk, but only very rarely do you meet someone who speaks not of theories, ideas or stories, but someone who only exudes their experience. These are the most exceptional people you can ever hope to meet, and if detected, must always be given all manner of questioning, in order to learn as much as you possibly can. Carl spent ten years sailing around the world with his wife and three children, but did the journey with immensity, surviving quite literally by his own wit and hard work, feeding his family at times with only fish and island fruits. He is the type of person that no matter what you did to him; whether you dropped him the desert, or threw him on a rickety raft in the Atlantic, he would survive and carry on with little fuss. I guess in a sense, this is one of the reasons I’m out here myself; to build the kind of character that is strong, experiential and effortless - An attempt to wash away those illusions we’ve encased ourselves in, whether we constructed them on our own, or had them thrust upon ourselves by others.

It would be nice if everyone who reads this, could spare a thought for Carl, because right this very second, he is out there alone, fishing, reading, tending to his vessel, wholly insignificant, and blissfully in the middle of nowhere; metaphorically like each and every one of us.

nick

It’s the 21st of Feb today, which means, in five days I will have been here for one entire month. I’ve only spent that long in two other places so far, the last La Coruna, and the one before that, Amsterdam. So far, Amsterdam/Holland was the most interesting place to be stuck. No offence to Spain, but I haven’t exactly been stuck in Barcelona or Madrid, which I think would both be pretty interesting places to spend a month. In La Coruna or Las Palmas, there is only so much one can do without a penny. I’ve done all the exploring I can, I’ve done all the park bench sitting you could ever want to, and I’ve sampled all the 50cent ice creams you can buy.

Lying in my bunk, I remembered back to my brief encounter with Montreal, back in 2004. I travelled up from New York City, and found myself in a city I couldn’t speak the language, wondering how I got there. Which is a lot of what I do these days… But I was so excited at the time, it felt like the train had gone across the Atlantic, and I really was in Europe. After eating a croissant and finding my Hostel, I explored the city like I always do: By walking and getting myself lost, and avoiding anywhere that might have tourists. As I did so, I learnt about the Quebecois, or more specifically, the strong undercurrent of locals who wanted to separate from Canada and become and independent country. I searched out these revolutionaries, but since all I could say in French was “Hello, Good Night, and I can’t speak French”, my investigations were severely hindered. Not to give up, I visited a small record store, asking for music on the subject, and bought a hip-hop CD which was supposed to be all about the fight. Of course, I couldn’t understand a word, but it had a nice beat track, and we all know how stupidly hip it is to be listening to French lyrics you can’t understand - It’s some weird anglo saxon thing. Anyway, I know, you’re wondering where the hell this can be going…

There I am, hobbling about my boat (shuffling around with my head down, because there is no standing headroom), when wondered if there might be an undercurrent of people wanting independence from Spain, here in the Canaries. I mean, look at the map - The Canaries are nowhere near Spain, and I can’t really imagine there is much economic importance for either country. Or maybe mainland Spain has a hankering for Canarian bananas, i don’t know. The Canaries surely make all their money from German tourists, requiring little if any handouts from the mainland.

So I went hunting for Canarian Revolutionaries. I started my survey with the people I had met, and they laughed at me. So i went to the marina office, and asked the marina guy. Now he fancies me, and thinks I have nice eyes. But, he does think the Canaries should be independent. “Great”! I thought, there is the possibility for leading a revolt! I had decided I would write up a manifesto on small vessel naval warfare, and test it out here in Gran Canaria. Since my gift to the Canaries would be to lead the naval arm of the fight for independence from Spain, I thought I would ask for naming rights of the islands. I think it’s a fair trade for my skills in sea based fighting. Other decisions will include the official language becoming a cross between Esperanto and Gomerian mountain whistling. I’ve been practicing my Gomerian whistling, and I can now understand myself. I’m not sure if it’s just me whistling, and then talking to myself, but it certainly feels like I’ve mastered the craft. If you think I’m just pulling your leg about the whistling thing, do your research. As for Esperanto, I’ve had a long standing love of this curious language, because it was such a brilliant but failed idea. All those old text books will be on eBay somewhere, so changing languages for the people should be relatively cheap. We will use all profits from the sale of German sausage on the islands to fund the new linguistic program.

Any good navy revolt must also involve an overland mission. This is to rustle the feathers of my overland detractors, and also to give Constellation an opportunity to be the first boat in history to do a Sea to Summit in honour of Timothy Macartney Snape. Remember, the tallest mountain in Spain, is on the Canarian island of Tenerife.

Here is the proposal for the order in which I will conquer the islands, and also my renaming scheme. I think some of you will recognise my naming format. As you can see, I had some trouble with New ACT. Back home in Australia, we had a similar problem with the original ACT… In this case, New New South Wales (more on that later) and New Victoria were fighting over who would be the capital. I made the executive decision to just build another island in the middle. In the design of New ACT, you can see that the island is a perfect sphere. All roads are also circular, and lead nowhere; it is a purpose built island for Government officials, and has no laws, a large red light district and is also the place where the New Years fireworks are launched from, for all the islands to see.

I made New Queensland the smallest, in hopes that it will curb the breeding of any possible political leaders. New Western Canaria is just far away off in the corner, New Northern Territory, is, well, North, and New South Canaria (which erm, isn’t south…) is quite large, because they will be the main grape growing producer, making crisp white wines, since it is the perfect climate for such beverages. New New South Wales was a bit of a naming issue, and I spent a lot of time thinking about it. In the end, I decided that it would be local law to abbreviate it as New² South Wales. New Victoria is central, easy to get to, and generally the best island of the set. What about New Tasmania you ask? Well, it’s the island everyone always forgets…

As the captain of HMS Constellation, I’ve also had to consider who may strike out against the revolt. I’ve done a lot of research, and believe the authorities of differing ranks, are so caught up in their own policing, that I should be relatively safe. I’m quite convinced that there are so many minor authorities (Port Police, Local Police, Guardia Civil, Minor Military Units etc) that they will all be looking after their own concerns, unable to comprehend the goings on of the revolution. Any thoughts of policing outside of the pre-described arena would probably result in some kind of bureaucratic hernia, considering the Spanish have a deep love of red tape.

At this stage, I only seem to have piqued the interest of the marina guy, and I think he has other things on his mind. But I will keep recruiting, searching and planning, unless of course the damn package I’ve been waiting for suddenly arrives. If that’s the case, I’m really just going to have to leave in a hurry. I’ll have a lot of time to hone my skills for the Australian War of Independence on this trip, so not all will be lost.

My apologies to the people of the Canaries, and also to non-Australians who probably don’t get this post at all. It’s really just to articulate how the mind wonders when stuck in warm climates, alone, with little to do. I get a ton of email saying “oh you’re living the dream”, or “you’re so lucky” etc etc. Which in some cases is right, but my god, I promise you it’s not all amazing. Some days I want just go into work, see a movie, see my long lost friends, drink overpriced coffee, or be a vegetable on a comfortable couch somewhere. I would never trade this for the world, but it’s certainly not easy at times, and it definitely is not an incredible adventure every day.

The Germans have a saying, that goes something like “may you always have a handspan of water under your keel”, which basically means don’t ground your boat. My saying is a derivative of the German one, and goes “may there always be at least six knots flowing beneath your keel”. I think for someone who has money, spending a lot of time in port, is an enjoyable thing. You can go do things, like see movies, buy books, spend loads of time sampling restaurants, go shopping etc. But for me, its becoming more and more about the sailing, than the landfall. I think back and almost regret (but not enough to actually really regret anything at all) doing all that damn coastal hopping. I had my reasons, but I’m beginning to think my route should have been: Amsterdam->Brest->La Coruna->Lisbon->Canaries. I don’t have the cash to be a tourist, I only have just enough to keep going… Funnily enough, it’s actually cheaper for me to be making progress, which is what I want to be doing anyway - I’m going to make a concerted effort from now on, to spend more time offshore, making heavy miles. Thankfully I have the Atlantic in front of me!

Nick.

(Happy Birthday Celeste).

It’s been a long week in Gran Canaria. A long week indeed. I must pre-warn you, that this post isn’t going to be particularly long or interesting. Just a brief note to say I’m still alive, and contrary to popular opinion, I do actually want to leave. It’s also a note to say, I haven’t given up at the gateway to my longest voyage to date. The reason I’m here, is because I have equipment coming in the post, and it hasn’t arrived yet. There are a ton of people mailing me, saying “when are you leaving?”, or “why haven’t you left yet” etc… Talk about pressure!

Last Sunday I started feeling a bit weird. My legs hurt a lot, and by evening I had a migraine. That night I had a fever, and those things all became worse right up until yesterday (Saturday). I think I just had a cold, but, I must admit, by the fourth day of sleeping poorly, and having a high fever, I was beginning to wonder if I had something worse. I stayed in my cabin the whole time, drinking only water, with no appetite. I didn’t eat anything for four days, and felt dreadfully sorry for myself. Oh woe is me, sweating away in the dark, watching borrowed DVD’s for days… Such classics as Cool Runnings, Dances with Wolves, Executive Decision. Thinking back, maybe it was my chosen films that were making things worse? If anyone is going to make you sick, surely its Kevin Costner… Then again, I did find myself chuckling away, nibbling on my sleeping bag like a child as John Candy encouraged his Jamaican bobsled team down the cavernous Canadian ice, in Cool Runnings. It’s so damn hot here in Gran Canaria, I might watch that film again…

The minor fiasco over the new route I’d like to take has brought all sorts out of the woodwork. The closer I get to the US, the more email I’m receiving from the continent, and this recent idea has created a new burst. American hospitality is already turning its bells on - 99.99% of people are really excited by the idea, and are offering barns for any storage requirements, meals, beds, berths, parties and all sorts. It’s a crazy world, and I can’t wait to keep sailing so I can experience more of it.

Since I’ve had so little this past week to inspire a post of great significance, here are some other things about my trip by other people if you’re interested: I forgot to mention on the main blog that there is a new article about my trip on TheOceans.net, visible here. There is also a small mention and following discussion about my site on the Messingaboutinships.com Podcast. Download the MP3 or subscribe to the podcast here. Thanks to the previous two publishers!

I really, really hope everything arrives soon - If my packages arrive early in the week, and there is good weather, it’s possible I could be gone by the weekend… Fingers crossed.

As an aside, fellow aussie Rob, is also just trying to get home, and has had his method of transport stolen… Check out his story. We’ve made a pact to have a beer on home turf, when we eventually make it. Thanks for the link Ben!

Nick

So The German returned two nights later, having hitchhiked back to Las Palmas without any money, even managing to get two bus rides for free! I told you he was resilient… He stayed with me for a few nights, before I had explain that the boat was just way too small for two people to be living in. I’m not sure where he is now, but I suspect he’s probably living in a really nice house somewhere… Rent free.

Las Palmas has been kind of getting on my nerves. I have some things coming via mail, and I met someone in the Sailors Bar who said I will need to hire a customs agent to get the package released. I tell you, bureaucracy makes me so mad, my face goes red just thinking about it. There is little I can do but wait, so wait I will… I guess I chose a good place to be sitting around twiddling my thumbs though. It hasn’t been all bad, I just think I’m frustrated with not knowing when I can leave, and sitting here waiting feels a lot like being becalmed on a sunny day. I think I have some kind of nervous personality that insists I must always be on the go…

Last Friday, I met two British sailors, Richard and Carole who emailed me a couple of weeks back, writing, “Nick, we’re flying to Gran Canaria for a holiday, we’d like to meet you!” to which I responded “Of course, tell me when and where!”. So on Friday I finally had the opportunity to meet them, where they shouted me lunch at my favourite bar, where we talked about sailing, Australia and my new route plan. Thanks guys! I also met a Psychologist named Ariel in Triana for Gran Canarian potatoes and local beer. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, “Nick should have seen a psychologist months ago”, but really, he was a very nice chap who contacted me via Couchsurfing.com, which is a great place to meet people from around the world if you’re ever stuck in a strange place. When I was house-bound in Berlin, I had Surfers in and out of my apartment like a supermarket. It’s like traveling without leaving home! Cheers Ariel!

So, I’ve been sitting around scheming, looking at my lovely new Ocean Routes of the World book, by Jimmy Cornell, which was graciously donated by Vera, in Belgium. I’ve been wanting a copy of this book for so long, but I was never really able to afford it. Thank you so much Vera! Up until now, figuring out when I can do passages has been a result of walking around, looking for someone that knows what they’re talking about (which is in itself a challenge) and asking a lot of questions (that’s not entirely true, but it makes for a good narrative). If I’m not asking people when the best time to cross an ocean is, I’m shuffling up to strangers in dark streets, trading waypoints written down on cigarette papers for my next port of call. I actually navigated down the coast of Spain with a map a teenager made for me on a napkin. The conversation was something like “Oh, yeah that pointy bit (Finisterre), uh huh, yes, round that, follow the fishing boats, look to your left for pilgrims waving on the hilltop and then go straight”. But now, I’m a competent ocean sailor because I’m armed with a book who’s tag line is “Featuring nearly 1000 sailing routes in all oceans of the world”. Even if you don’t sail, I recommend this book just to read on Sundays afternoons. It really has the potential to be a dreamy coffee table book, but without any pictures of minimalist furniture or Zen gardens. Perfect!

Now you’re squirming in your seat, wondering… Wondering where Nick the napkin navigator will take his mighty bathtub next? Cape Horn? Oh sure, why not? What about the Northwest Passage? Speaking of the Northwest passage, has anyone noticed there have been no singlehanded voyages up there by small sailboat? Find me a sponsor and I’ll bolt some steel plates onto the bow and do it! Anyway, who put this enormous continent in the way of my route home anyway, it’s so irritating (I suspect I’m not the first to have such feelings)! Maybe I should just go South right now, hop around the bottom of Africa and start a mining conglomerate in Perth? But no!

After consulting the book I’ve been so excited about, I’ve unfortunately come to the conclusion, that I’m too late to go through the Panama canal when I reach the Caribbean and start my Pacific Adventures. Not that I could actually afford to transit the canal anyway, but lets forget finances for a minute… I refuse to let cyclones or transit costs ruin my day, so with that in mind: I’m sailing past the Statue of Liberty instead. Hot on the tail of my fellow Contessa aficionados in BIKA, I’m going north, back into latitudes that don’t make me so incredibly lazy. If I’m not in 39N/S+ degrees of latitude, “siesta” means 9am to 5pm, with sleep on either side. My landing point in the Caribbean will be ‘high up’, in St Martin. I hear there might be opportunities for work there, where I hope to get a job for six weeks or so, while I wait for spring to warm things up. After re-stocking the kitty with Pirate treasure, it’s non-stop to New York City, where I’ll pan-handle on 5th Avenue for funds, as the next part of this trip takes us overland (unless my Northwest Passage sponsor shows up!). Overland to San Francisco, so I can sail under the Golden Gate bridge, to Hawaii and then on through the Pacific ocean; waypoint Melbourne, Australia. My Mum told me the interior of my boat looked like a Caravan (she doesn’t yet know how taboo that comment is!!), and so Constellation will actually live up to her interior, becoming an Airstream for ten days, as she hurtles across America, taking part in the greatest road trip of all time. View my projected route below, and click on the image for a pretty display - This version assumes I take the Canadian route which I’ll talk more about below:

(Wow, I have a long way to go…) But why New York? Well, why not? I could doddle around the Caribbean for awhile, or I could take affirmative latitude action, and add a roadtrip to my voyage while I’m at it. I have friends and family in New York, and a wedding in Vancouver in August, not to mention more family on the West coast in Oregon. Everything points north, what can I say? Ultimately, whether I stay in the Caribbean or go North, makes little difference to the overall scope of this trip - Both ways, I can’t start the Pacific until later in the year. I have no idea how this circus will be funded, but I left Amsterdam with six raisins and a bottle of drinking water filled from the Markemeer, so one can only hope my angels will follow me across the Atlantic and beyond.

So the logistics of this change of plan, will mean I need to leave St Martin in May, bound for New York City. It could become easier to take my boat overland through Canada, spending some time in Vancouver working, and as such, I have made my Canadian work permit application. Thank you America for making your immigration system so difficult to understand, I can’t even muster the energy to try and decode it. Are there any beautiful and inquisitively intelligent American women that want to get hitched in Nantucket, whaler style? In exchange for your American citizenship, you get Australian. If you have dual citizenship with… Japan, China or Canada, I’ll even throw in EU citizenship for you. Your proposal doesn’t have to be particularly romantic - If you like walks on the beach and pre-nups (no, you can’t have 50% of Constellation), that’s good enough for me!

Clearly the goal of today is just to leave Las Palmas, but right now I’m simply waiting. You’re probably wondering about what I actually need to do for my passage… In a nutshell, I need to stock fifty days of food and water, finish purchasing some items on my spares list (windvane rope, spare impeller etc etc), buy my charts, look at a five day forecast and get the heck out to sea. I’ve been hocking my charts and pilots online so I can actually afford to buy the information I need for the other side, and this week I might be able to afford a North Atlantic chart, Caribbean Almanac and projected landfall charts (I asked a local kid to draw me a map of the Caribbean, but he just looked at me funnily and sped off on his noisy scooter). I really wanted to follow the route of Christopher Columbus, but after quite a bit of research (involving an actual visit to his house, here in Las Palmas!), his route isn’t actually that great (I think his GPS must have fallen between the cushions of his couch, next to the Playstation controller), and is under a lot of dispute anyway. It’s a shame though, I was going to call my crossing ‘One degree away from the discovery of the New World’. Well, I thought it was an amusing idea…

Anyway, back to drawing squiggly lines on my globe, and calling them “possible sailing routes for 2008″.

This post was carefully crafted at sea level, nick.