Well, I think I’ve posted enough about the Atlantic - It’s time to move on!

Arriving in Barbados after Europe was a culture shock - I did very little research on the country, (other than how to sail to here), so everything was a suprise; when traveling, I always think it’s best to have zero expectations, so you can never be disappointed! Upon docking in Port St Charles, I had to see Customs, Health and Immigration. This was all a big deal in comparison to Europe, where if you are an EU citizen it’s quite literally plain sailing (except for Portugal, who like paperwork…). Everyone was incredibly friendly, and I guess that set the tone for the rest of my stay. The Immigration department insisted I drink plenty of Rum, meet a local girl and party hard. He said you only live once.

In Port St Charles, they have a small marina with private berths, and a few ‘visitor’ berths. Of course, they really only want visitors who sail enormous yachts (ie. greater than 100feet). Naturally, Constellation didn’t fit that criteria, but fortunately she fit the ‘Oh my God, you sailed the Atlantic in THAT?’ criteria, so I guess you get a little bit of respect, for insanity rather than the size of your wallet. The dockmaster was however fairly adamant that ’small boats stay in Bridgetown’ (which is secret code for: Please leave, your size is hurting the look of the superyachts!). So, it was a gentle sail down to Bridgetown, where I anchored out the front of the yacht club.

To travel throughout Barbados, there are several choices. If you have money, you can take a taxi. If not, there is the public bus system and the private bus system. The public system run ordinary blue buses, but the private buses are slightly smaller and yellow, or there are the mini buses, called ‘ZR’s’. If the slowness of my voyage had been less than thrilling, the private buses made up for it. To describe a typical journey: As the private buses work on commission, they race each other for customers. On one bus, they purposely blocked traffic so a competing bus couldn’t overtake! Sporting Magnaflow exhaust systems, graffitied dash boards, the drivers wearing racing gloves and spoilers, these guys get you places, quick. The stereo system blurts out banging hip hop, the school kids sing pitch perfect to the lyrics, and the grandmas nod their heads, syncopated. The radio station they play is also interesting, the DJ insisting on singing over the top of the current track, and dimming the song to exclaim ‘yo yo, let’s party till luncheon’ or something similar - I’m just imagining a station in Melbourne with one of our horrible breakfast radio DJ’s singing over the top of Hotel California… An awful thought. The smartly dressed school boys (their uniform obviously still around since British rule) wear insignias reading ‘Fear God, Think Clean, Aim High’. As you can imagine, I alighted for the beach bar with WIFI, thinking with cleanliness, but fearing rain over other things of a higher nature… Besides, I don’t think God ever intended us to fear much of anything, but it was a complex argument to pose to the kid sitting next to me, while the reggae was turned up so loud.

Upon first impressions of the Caribbean, it really does seem everyone is quite simply, cool - I’ve been transported back to being the dorky kid at school… Even the old men have an aura of coolness I could only aspire to. I guess here I’m the dorky white guy, and that in itself is interesting. With the majority of ‘native’ Barbadians coming from a lineage of sugar cane slaves (of African lineage), it’s a new feeling being well in the minority after Europe. The last time I felt like I was being looked at as a curiosity, was an accidental tour of some less than intelligent places to be walking in Bronx during 2004. The difference is, everyone here is immensely friendly and open. It’s difficult to get used to people saying hello to you on the street, and not wanting anything. Coming from a culture where you don’t get anything for free, the ‘Bajans’ are on the whole lovely and friendly people. Just yesterday while I was out ‘exploring’ the countryside near the Airport, I had ran out of change - A man at the bus stop insisted he give me the exact coinage for the fair (they don’t accept anything other than the correct money). Not to mention Martin who I had been conversing with via email who provided a lot of pilotage info for my arrival, and handed me some money before departing on his own Atlantic voyage, exclaiming ‘a donation for your trip’ - Thank you kindly Martin.

After marveling at the colour and warmth of the water (this took a few days…) I proceeded onto the more bureaucratic aspects of my stay here, namely my requirement for a US visa. I visited the embassy, and was told to fill out a form online… I did that, and went back the following day, spending two hours waiting in various lines and sitting in offices waiting for my number to be called. Eventually number 62 was called up, and I had the opportunity to talk to a real person, at which point I was told I needed proof of employment, and a bank statement showing I had sufficient funds to enter the country! As you can imagine, I’ve been sailing since August of 2007, and employment is not really my forte. Neither is sufficient money. With the help of a former employer, I procured a letter and a bank statement, which magically did the trick… I also needed to provide a form because I’m male, and between the age of 16 and 45, which has something to do with terrorism. I had to list all the countries I’d visited in a tiny box within the last ten years; a list extending off the side of the page… Eventually I soldiered back to the embassy with all my paperwork, and arrived at 0730, exiting at at lunchtime, with my visa approved, being sent on to St Lucia early next week. Great day! Next time I decide to sail into Fort Knox, I think I’ll better prepare my entry - For example, getting this visa months before, ie. when I was meandering through Europe or getting myself stuck in various places for lack of cash.

After my embassy delights, I had to extricate a Sonim XP1 mobile phone that was generously donated by Sonim Technologies, from customs at the Airport. After providing a commercial invoice stating a demo value, the cheeky people at customs opened the package, and Googled the phone online, and took the duty value from the most expensive retail value they could find! The duty was calculated at 20%, even though the package stated ‘yacht in transit’… Personally, I think it was illegal of them to charge me duty, but I couldn’t find specific documentation to say I was essentially ’stateless’ and exempt - I tried the ‘I don’t have to pay duty on retail items, why should I pay it on items posted to me as gifts’? They didn’t get it. Thankfully Sonim fronted the duty bill, which is most appreciated - Thank you to Angela at Sonim Tech in San Mateo for the phone, and also for all the assistance in actually getting my hands on it! Having destroyed one phone in the North Sea, I think the XP1 is better built for the task of sailing and being constantly dropped!

My second real gripe with Barbados, and something that kind of tainted the nice stay I was having here, was being told I had to pay $50 to leave the country, when I went to get my paperwork stamped at customs. No one ever told me of this charge, and it certainly isn’t documented anywhere (there is one place it mentions a $25 charge if you’re over 5 tons). I spent a lot of time petitioning the clearance fee, spending four and a half hours at the customs office. I know, $50 doesn’t sound like much, and I’ve paid much more for marinas in Europe, but nowadays I just can’t afford it, and that money could be a week or two of food… Even though this all really annoyed me, the customs guys made me coffee, and even fed me cake! So, what can I say… The people are fantastic, but rules maybe not so much, especially for small-time sailors. Barbados is a convenient place to stop if you need a US visa, but due to the clearance fee (and this is really only applicable to poor small cruisers), and general cost of things in Barbados, I would have to recommend that people continue on the 70nm to St Lucia. This is a disappointing recommendation, but the Barbados government don’t really seem interested in small cruisers entering their country, and I guess that’s what’s going to eventuate: Already I’ve met several people who’ve said fewer and fewer people are arriving via private vessels (except the super elite).

So today, I head off to St Lucia! I’ll leave at night to sail in the cool of the moon, and arrive with plenty of daylight as I sail into Rodney Bay. Below are a few photos (a hard reset on my screen-less digital camera brought it back to life!)

Sunset, Carslile Bay, Bridgetown, Barbados

Luckily ‘Constellation‘ has a good ‘Constatution’…

Constellation, at anchor in Bridgetown

Carslile Bay, Bridgetown, Barbados

More photos at the usual place.

-moby nick!

Thank you very much to Rafael of Tenerife, for phoning me numerous times, SMS’ing, calling Madrid and Las Palmas, as well as dealing with difficult postal and customs employees who claimed they knew nothing - All just to help some Australian he’s never met! Thank you also toPedro #1 and Pirata Paul for walking all over the city with me, working as my private translator; I can’t wait until I can get an automatic translation implant.

Today, I climbed deep into the mountains to find the secret Canarian Customs bunker, containing my long lost solar panels. Hidden like a Norwegian NATO base, I found it, my spirits peaked and the Caribbean glimmered on the horizon. I was escorted by security into a large building, to a small desk in the corner. I showed my DHL receipt and begged the staff to find my parcel amongst the brown cardboard boxes. The Customs staff tried to charge me Canarian Tax, but thankfully my marina receipt and Australian passport was enough to convince them I was genuinly ‘In Transit’, and they handed the enormous box over with ease. I was nearing breaking point, as I started asking friends where I could launch tactical weapons from Constellations bow, in a strike against Spanish Post. I tried everything to calm my nerves, from drinking rum (a present from one of the marina staff), to excessive walking, swimming and yoga breathing. I can stop all that now, and concentrate on doing a lot more of the following:

(thanks again to Daniel & Eva or Ornette.de for the great photos! More here.)

I have some stories about sailing for 40 hours under reefed main and storm jib from the south of Tenerife back to Gran Canaria, working on my tan in a holiday resort, and tales of real Vikings, but as of today, I have a lot of work to do, and no time for story telling! I will try to leave on Monday, weather pending: If you are a weather expert, and have any special thoughts on a Monday departure, please leave a comment or contact me. I have not had a chance to look at the pressure charts, but I’ll begin to over the following days. As for my planned route change, I have contacted the Bermudan embassy, who will not issue me a new Visa. So, I’m off to Barbados, where there is an embassy capable of issuing new Visas. It’s a race against the clock!

Thank you again to Andre of Intertoys for providing the sponsorship of these Solar panels. Thank you also to Eckhard of Soltronik in Hamburg
for helping out with the price and postage. If you’re interested in panels, he’s your man - Very helpful, English speaking, and prompt. The failure for the solar panels to arrive was in no way his fault, but I would suggest never having expensive items posted to the Canary islands, as they are not a ‘normal EU country’ like mainland Spain.

nick!

P.S Thanks to all those who wished me happy birthday! I guess 27 isn’t so bad… I feel pretty much the same as last week, when I was 26 - Maybe my joints are a little stiffer, and my posture bent forward a bit more, but what can I say.

Firstly, a very special thank you to Richard & Carole from the UK, who generously donated a sextant, chronometer, almanac and celestial navigation book for Constellation and I. I met Richard & Carole while they were on holiday Gran Canaria, where they also took me out for lunch and gave me a bag of provisions. With this additional navigation equipment, I will finally be able to learn how to navigate like a real mariner, and greatly further my marine education! Thank you so much for your kind and thoughtful generosity. Thank you also to Wim from Holland (the Dutch shine again!), Joel from Australia, Charles from Ireland and Pedro #2 (again!!!) for sending through some cash to keep me going. As you’ll see below, it’s becoming a dire situation down here, and this show of generosity helps so much, both practically and also as a show of support.

This waiting is really getting me down… A lot of people are emailing and asking ‘when are you leaving’ or ‘why haven’t you left yet’, and while I know people are just curious, I’m feeling the pressure from this website and the public nature of the entire project bearing down on me. I’m doing my best guys, you’ll know when I leave, and I’m doing everything I can. I thought a lot about why I’m feeling this way, and frankly, the Atlantic is one of the major pinnacles of this journey, and it’s like I’m sitting at the bottom of Mt Everest as winter approaches, waiting to make my ascent, and it’s the only thing I can think about. I’m mentally paralysed by the coming challenge.

To try and alleviate this state of mind, I decided to see some of the other islands, and also visit Pedro #1 who landed in Tenerife last week, looking for work and sun. I left Las Palmas at 2pm anticipating an overnight sail, wanting to arrive at the anchorage during daylight. The sail was more or less textbook, and while I suffered a little seasickness, I did ok, nibbling ginger in the cockpit with the stereo turned on full. The stretch of water between Gran Canaria and Tenerife must create a funnel effect, as the conditions increased during the night, with several waves crashing into the cockpit. It was nothing dangerous, but I wasn’t really anticipating it. For a brief and somewhat scary second, you hear a cresting wave approaching the stern, while you hope it’s not too big, only able to see the white of the wave tops at night, as it dumps into the boat. In fantastic tradition, ‘Windy the Windpilot’ kept a perfect course as Constellation skidded around under Genoa, the boat rolling in typical stern wind motion. We made it to the anchorage with no problems, where I tried to get a few hours sleep after keeping watch all night. Pedro arrived later in the day, and I rowed into shore for the pickup, swimming back to the boat with ‘Bob the leaky duck’ overloaded with luggage:

As you can probably guess, the solar panels seem to be eternally stuck in Madrid, and I don’t know what to do… I received an email from a new friend (Rafael) in Santa Cruz yesterday, offering to help with contacts at DHL, which is really my last hope. Because of this entire postage disaster, I am now pushing it to arrive in the Carribbean outside of hurricane season. As you know, my initial plan was to arrive in St Maarten, and work for a couple of months before heading north to resume my New York City ambitions, however this plan is now essentially useless - I would arrive in St Maarten in May, and have to leave a week or so later. My money is running so low, I have now genuinly had to consider whether this Atlantic crossing is even viable. I’ve spent many hours walking and considering my situation, but quite simply I’ve come so far, I cannot possibly throw the towel in. I really only have just enough money to provision the boat, and with this all in mind, I have redirected my course to straight to Bermuda. This is a somewhat unusual course to take, however it is entirely possible, dipping into the tradewinds as if I were heading to the Antilles, and then steering directly up into Bermuda without stopping. This course change buys me a little extra time before I have to leave the Canaries, and is also en route to where I need to go (NYC).

For this plan to work, I must now wait another two or three weeks in order to correctly time my arrival in Bermuda with the seasons. This strategy also enables me to give my solar panels a bit more time to arrive - However, if they fail to show up in the next few weeks, I will be forced to leave without them, as it seems rather pointless to abandon my crossing over their disappearance. Possibly a friend in Gran Canaria could pick them up in 12 months time, when the lazy and slow bureaucrats in Madrid finally decide to look into that box sitting in the corner with all the dust on it… And then forward the package on to the USA. At this stage, I am anticipating an early April departure.

Last but not least, I turn 27 on Friday, which doesn’t help at all…! Every year is closer to the inevitable, and I had dearly hoped to spend my birthday in the middle of the ocean, or in the Caribbean, sitting on the beach, drinking rum with crushed lime and sugar in celebration of great distances…

And speaking of birthdays, Happy Birhtday Mum! I hope you had a nice day, and I’m so sorry to have missed yet another March 12.

nick.

So, what on earth have I been waiting for? Or is it all a big farce, so I don’t have to cross the Atlantic? Actually, no. I’ve been patiently (rather, impatiently!) waiting on two solar panels (yes, two!) and a regulator to arrive from Hamburg, courtesy of the very generous Andre, from ‘AJ van der Weiden thodn Intertoys De Symfonie‘, in Nieuw Vennep, Netherlands. Yes, truly, a Dutch toy store is helping me out! We discussed the options, and while a boatload of toys would have definitely kept me occupied on my crossing, what I really needed was some way to generate energy (other than with the engine) to keep things running on my long passage. Remember, I have an enormous home entertainment system, including Playstation, Desktop PC and 82inch plasma TV onboard - ‘August the mighty Yanmar’ simply couldn’t keep up with it all… But seriously, generosity out of nowhere astounds yet again. While I am actually waiting for the panels to arrive (for some reason they’re still in Madrid…), you can see it’s all been for a good reason, and I’m very humbled for the generous assistance from Andre, who approached me and has been very fun to deal with. For the boat sticker, we decided to make something a little different. Remember, the tag-line of the website is ‘Bigoceans, Tiny Boat’? - So we made a modified version:

If you’re in Holland, be sure to stop by and say hello to Andre in his store, and don’t forget to say hi from me! Thanks Andre.

I also had the opportunity to to put an Autosystems sticker on the hull, which was long overdue - Their support has been instrumental from the very beginning of my trip, and still continues today - Thank you so much!

Other than hanging off of the side of my boat trying to put decals on in strong winds (not recommended), my days have been passing rather quickly. I’ve been swimming a lot, and spending time with ‘Pirata Paul’ and friends (Sabrina in the middle, Hector on the right)

Paul has been at the core of making sure I don’t die of starvation, regularly inviting me over for breakfast and dinner. If he’s not being called Pirata (Pirate) Paul, he is otherwise known as ‘Master Chef’, and always manages to produce a veritable feast of home cooked food. Our conversations have also morphed into a very strange combination of languages. Beceause Paul is half German, and therefore speaks the language, we mix everything up to converse. So, with my limited German, and the (very) few Spanish words I know, we converse in a rather curious manner, where a sentence may be linguistically confused in three different languages. As an example, “I would like the boat in the corner” may become “Ich möchte (German) the (English) barco (Spanish) in the (English) ecke (German)”. I’m often the let-down in languages, and of course that sentence is actually broken in every language, but we still manage to communicate by all means necessary! Thanks Captain Paul!

Several days ago I met The American again. Remember him, the guy with the cargo ship which is used as a private vessel? Well, he invited me for dinner, and of course, I jumped at the invitation - Not only because it meant home cooked food, but because I knew it was going to be a night with many a stories to remember.

To begin with, I got the grand tour of his cargo ship. Inside was what one would consider a ‘normal’ kitchen. It was full of standard appliances - Microwave, fridges, freezers, gas oven and cooktop, including a large sink, bench and pantry. Coming from a boat where I can’t stand up, the kitchen alone was worth a visit… The captains room was of course… Just like a normal room, but instead of seeing trees when you woke up, you see a great expanse of ocean, or in this case (being in a commercial harbour) enormous tankers and ferries, only metres away. Down below in the engine room, was a 400 horsepower Detroit Diesel, large battery bank and hydraulic system to run the crane, all in a space larger than my entire ship. Inside the forepeak of the vessel, lay a full workshop, with plasma cutters, welding equipment, air compressors, workbenches and a three phase diesel generator. As you moved forward on the port side, there was an entrance into the cavernous cargo hold. As you descend the railed stairs, the enormous hold opens up, full of boxes and shelves, with what must have been a years supply of food. It actually looked like a mini-market, with rows and rows of tinned cans, and 20 litre containers of sugar and flour. At the very rear of the cargo hold, lay a Ford Fiesta, which is craned out on suitable occasions. Next to the Fiesta was a Ducati motorcycle, and a four wheel motorbike, surrounded by ten brand new washing machines, five sewing machines, boxes of boots, TV’s and other assorted appliances. It was phenomenal, and I was mostly speechless.

Basically, The American is a rogue trader. There is apparently a limited supply of whitegoods to the Cape Verde islands, and he takes advantage of the situation by importing these items on his own, which in turn funds the operation of his ship (the fuel alone costs 200euros/day). Wherever he is, if he sees a bargain, he’ll buy everything in bulk, with the possibility of selling it sometime in the future. While taking all this in, the water was on the boil in the kitchen, and we moved back up the maze of ladders, where he prepared bolognese sauce from scratch, and told me of his adventures.

As we finished the dinner, he had some ‘things’ he wanted to show me. After a brief minute, The American returned with an enormous stainless steel machete, and what looked like a black pistol. Excuse my French, but holy shit, for a brief second, I wondered if I was going into the huge deep freezer directly behind me. He took the machete out of the sheathe, handing it to me while commenting on the quality of the stainless blade. I was as you can imagine, somewhat taken aback; I’d just helped this guy feed dough through a hand-cranked pasta machine, and now there was a machete and a pistol on the table. After looking at the machete and agreeing it was nice stainless (actually, I have no idea what constitutes nice stainless… But I wasn’t exactly going to argue), he handed me the pistol. Now, I’ve shot .45 and 9mm handguns in a shooting gallery before, and this black pistol had the markings of a Beretta and was well built and heavy in the hand. The weight of a weapon is always what strikes you first, and this thing had all the hallmarks of a real gun. I was relieved to find out, after requesting to see the ammunition, that it was a ‘Luftpistol’, made in Germany to exact Beretta specifications and dimensions. In essence, it was an air powered BB gun. Relieved that I would live another day, his next ‘thing’ was a book of photos, which I thought would be a much calmer show-and-tell, full of photos of his former sailboats and dogs.

As the picture of his Dobermans on the next page showed up, he grabbed my upper arm with great strength, to which I nearly fell off the chair. Unsure of what on earth he was doing, he began explaining how a Doberman bites. As I relaxed my shoulder, he grabbed it again, scaring the crap out of me. Apparently, this second demonstration was to show that Dobermans were smart, and after biting the first time, wait until the victim relaxes before continuing their assault. Thankfully the Doberman experiment ended rather quickly, as I redirected the conversation to a pretty picture of a boat in his photo album.

Still with the pistol on the table, and the photos finished, he turned around and showed me a scar the shape of a small circle on his neck. “What do you think that is?” He asked… I said it looked like a bullet hole, which is exactly what it turned out to be. An attempt to rob The American in Bolivia, had resulted in him being without a doubt, the luckiest man alive. A headshot had smashed through his teeth, and continued on through the back of his neck, missing both his jaw and anything vital.

In normal circumstances, I would have thought he was pulling my leg. But there is no doubt in my mind, that The American was truly shot in the head by Bolivian muggers, and is by all rights the most insane individual I’ve ever had the pleasure (fear) of meeting.

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.

Firstly, thanks a lot to Ben from Amsterdam for the donation! Also thanks to my long lost Aunt, who seriously sent me an email with some paypal funds that started with ´you probably don´t remember me, but I´m your Aunt!´. Well, Laurel, don´t you worry, I remember!

The last post on my Lisbon to Canaries trip was written while at sea, and didn’t truly encompass the final leg into port, so here is a little more information on my arrival.

I was so anxious in the final day of sailing to get into port, I couldn’t busy myself with anything other than writing a post for the website, or fidgeting with the sheets in the cockpit, anxiously wondering if the objects in the horizon were actually becoming bigger or not. The wind had swung around to the south, and ‘August the mighty Yanmar’ was on duty to get home, Constellation having crawled to a halt, with me just wanting to tie up and go to sleep as soon as possible. It seemed to take forever to round Isleta, and when I finally arrived, I became absolutely disorientated, with huge tankers and pilot ships steaming in and out at three in the morning. It’s a really simple entry, but I was just so tired, lights blinking everywhere, and a myriad ships to steer clear of, I couldn’t quite work it all out. I contemplated just setting the ‘Windy the Windpilot’ back on duty and sailing back offshore until daybreak, but I just couldn’t do it. After ten days, land was just there… I could see it. Tenerife was on the horizon, with ferry’s chugging past my stern, so I decided to just do the night entry and get it over and done with. Eventually I was so frustrated, I put Constellation in donut mode (lock the tiller to port, engine in tick-over so you simply circle going nowhere) and went down below to sort things out navigationally. I programmed a two-leg route and just followed it into harbour, which all became clear after about ten minutes. I tied up to the visitor pontoon, and felt distinctly depressed. I have no idea what I expected to feel or experience, but it was like running an ultra marathon with nothing at the finishing line, except a dusty old cactus and a hand painted sign saying ‘Caribbean, 3000 miles to go’.

I disembarked onto dry land for the first time in ten days, and felt land sick. I swayed a little and walked around to check the marina out. For some reason I just saw really big yachts, and felt even more depressed. I instantly thought ‘oh, it’s that kind of marina’. So I went back to the boat and curled up to sleep. At 9am on the dot, there was a tapping on my cabin roof, with some stern looking harbour master telling me to register and pay at the office. I just wanted to throw a wash board at the guy and go back to sea; after all that tension over ten days to get here, it all just really sucked. I can’t think of a more eloquent way to describe it. I registered and signed about five hundred forms with alternating signatures, just to be annoying. At least the Spanish are a notch down from the Portuguese when it comes to paperwork, but still, really, I’m an EU boat with an EU passport. Who cares? Just let me in already, borders are so last century.

I got my pontoon, and moored bow-to. The mooring here is stern-to, but as I’ve said before, I never back into places with the steering gear on rear end. Luckily some friendly people on the pontoon helped me dock, as ’slime line’ mooring can be difficult singlehanded. There is a technique for it, but there must have been 20kts of wind blowing from the stern, which wasn’t assisting me in any way whatsoever. After getting safely tied up, I looked around to see what the vibe was. For the first time on my trip, I was surrounded by what seemed like permanent liveaboards. Clearly Constellation and I had been pidgeon-holed into the gypsy stereotype, and I was set among my brethren. I guess it beats being moored up next to the 120ft multi-million dollar ketch from Guernsey…

Below is a really short film (requires latest Flash player if you just see a blank space) with just some quick clips of my Canary trip. It has music playing to it, so if you’re in an office, turn the speakers down… Your boss doesn’t appreciate you watching clips about sailing. You might get crazy ideas! The conditions were not all as placid as they are shown in the clip, but one hardly runs for the camera when other things must be tended to.

The day of my arrival coincided with Jack arriving. What timing! I had been calling home on the satellite phone to pass on the message that I was going to be at least a day late, however on on the 9th day I was making such good progress I changed my ETA to ‘early on the 26th’. It was nice to have a friend around after such a long period alone, having only my engine and windvane to talk to since Lisbon. Jack was really great, feeding me delicious food, and even renting a car to explore the island with, which was amazing. I rarely get to go inland, and I also rarely get to drive. Therefore I was able to get two years of non-driving crammed into two days. I believe Jack will continue to walk around with his hands held in front, in a motion that may suggest ‘I am just resting my hands on the dash, I don’t really think they will assist my survival in an accident at this speed, but it makes me feel safe’.

For those that haven’t been to the Canary Islands, all I can say is: Wow. I arrived here with no expectations (the best way to be; you’re always impressed), and was just utterly amazed by the landscape. It was almost too incredible to appreciate. The weather here is perfect too, around 24degrees during the day, and 19degrees during the night. At long last, after all my complaining, I have finally hit the warm latitudes… The water is a nice temperature too, and if you ever come here, go direct to Agaete, it’s amazing.

I wanted to film a Western with Jack in the mountains, but alas time didn’t permit, and both of us had forgotten our guns and horses back at the boat anyway. I was constantly looking for props for the film (tumbleweeds etc), and our only piece of costume was a garishly coloured ‘Havana Club’ cowboy hat we found on a park bench the day before, clearly forgotten after a long Saturday night at the Carnival (I forgot to say, it’s festive season here!). We both felt the film could win awards, however in the end, we decided to go swimming at the beach instead.

Jack left for Berlin today, and I managed to drive back unassisted from the Airport without having an accident… Remember, I’m from Australia, so I was driving on the wrong side of the road. I feel a little bit hollow after the tense time at sea, having someone around for the past five days, and now this, just a quiet existence in the marina again. I have a reasonable amount of work to finish off before I leave, however I am tentatively looking at departing for the Caribbean on the 10th of February. I have some significant route changes planned (no, they don’t involve Cape Horn!), but there is no use talking about them until I make some decisions… I will have absolutely run out of money again once I hit the other side of the Atlantic, so that will be the third time I´ve gone broke since I began my trip. First it was in Amsterdam, then La Coruna, and soon the Caribbean - Third time lucky! So, in the next few days, I’ll write another update about all about the excitement that surrounds my preparations for 30+ days in a bathtub on the high seas, on a dollar a day!

nick