In motion

The two of us have been on the move for 34 hours now. The absolute low point for me right now. Yesterday, 19 August at 4.00 a.m., the mobile phone alarm clock rang, waking Martin in particular from a deep sleep. We wanted to make the most of the wind that the "Windguru" app was showing on the forecast to sail as much as possible on the long leg towards Barcelona. It's pitch dark, the moon hasn't risen yet and after a strong coffee and some muesli, we weigh anchor.

After the beautiful fireworks display in Toulon, we couldn't continue straight away as storms were forecast for the long haul. We used the two days to tidy up, carry out minor repairs and practise getting the dingy off the boat and back on again. A dingy is a small inflatable boat, usually with a small outboard motor, that takes us from an anchor bay to the mainland, so it's pretty important 😊. We also said goodbye to Enno, Martin's son, who sailed with us for a day before driving the VW bus that took us to Cogolin back to Berlin. It is always emotional to say goodbye to children.

On Sunday we sailed for 4 hours about two bays further to Cassis, a ray jumped out of the water for me, beautiful coastline. We were delighted to have a visit from Anja and Fred in the evening. They started their sailing trip to the Caribbean with their three children from this bay almost exactly 6 years ago. The family was a great help to us during the preparations, not only for making the awnings, but also for the mental support. That was great for me in particular. Anja once said that nobody can pretend on a trip like this, it always reveals a person's whole character. I also realise what the boat, the sea and the dynamics are doing to me. At half past eleven at night, Martin paddles the dingy back from the beach, the outboard motor has broken down. Great! Yet another construction site that was unforeseeable, just like irregularities with the solar system etc. Martin had ordered all these repairs, we're only now testing them and discovering defects, but the boatyard is a long way away, so we can't just bring it back. We Berliners say "Fusch", unfortunately at pretty hefty prices, so it's no wonder that we spend the night with angry thoughts.

The wind is not there as predicted, so we start the engine. Many larger freighters are on their way to and from Marseille harbour. I do my first shift, Martin takes another nap. The big ships instil me with a lot of respect, as they travel fast and are suddenly huge in front of you. I'm pleased about the information technology on board. Each of these large ships has what is known as an AIS on board, and I can see them on my plotter, which is built into the dashboard. Click on it and I get all kinds of information about longitude, latitude, destination, I'm only interested in whether our distance is safe. The wind comes up again, a little at first, then stronger, it gets wavy, we're rocking around quite a bit. Waves from the side. Cooking with such a rocking boat is also challenging. Today we have a tin of ravioli with fresh salad. I first have to get used to the rocking. The great news: none of us got seasick.

Today Martin sees dolphins jumping in the water. I look out over the water, there's no land in sight. What a wonderful feeling, the sun is slanting on the horizon, its golden rays reflected in the water. I am grateful for our ancestors who perfected sailing, grateful for the boat builders who make it possible for people like me, who don't come from a seafaring family, to learn to sail. Grateful to Martin for daring to make this sailing trip possible for me.

Night falls and we agree on 2-hour shifts so that everyone can get some sleep. My shift starts at 10.00 pm. There's not much going on, I practise interpreting light signs, try to keep myself awake with an audio book and sing my heart out. Then it's Martin's turn. As an old sea dog, he naturally sets sail as soon as the wind conditions allow. This is followed by a lot of noise from setting the sails, the winch. I'm annoyed because I can't categorise all these noises - is everything normal or does Martin need help? I can't calm down until an hour later, after I've clarified with Martin that I don't know the processes on a sailing boat like this. The squeaking and whipping of the sails scares me. Martin lets me sleep longer. Towards morning, the wind gets rougher again, I'm pretty exhausted, as soon as I'm awake, there's always something to do: clear the lines, haul out or haul in the genoa, there's always something to do. It's also often noisy. I feel a bit helpless, especially when I'm steering alone at night, I still don't know when to set sail. The lack of sleep is getting to me. Sailing takes up a lot of space, when the wind does what it wants, I have the feeling that the boat, the waves and the wind have us under control and not the other way round. At 12.00 we only have a thin toast with coffee in us, so I dare to cook in the rather rough wind. It has to be something savoury, pasta! Noodles make us happy! And it has to be substantial, with tuna, sweetcorn, sheep's cheese and a piece of Eberswalder green. Irena gave me a bunch of herbs at my farewell party in Spechthausen, which I dried and the rosemary is now going into my pot 😊. Yummy, that's good for you. Also, drink a lot, which I unfortunately tend to forget.

We can see the Barcelona skyline, it's grey and starting to drizzle, the wind is super erratic, sometimes strong, then just a gentle breeze, sails down, sails up, genoa in, genoa out. Martin instructs a jibe, I quickly put on my new sailing gloves. The jibe goes wrong, the sheets rip out of my hands, I can't hold the pressure. "Let go" yells Martin. Suddenly there's a hellish noise, the sheets are wrapped around each other, the genoa flickers, the wind makes a racket. My hands hurt, I don't want any more! "It's not too bad! It can all be solved!" says Martin, crawls onto the deck and untangles the tangled ropes. I look stupidly out of the washing. Sailing isn't child's play after all and it's a real pain in the arse, despite the good food.

I go into the "saloon", which is what they call the large room on a sailing yacht that is now our home, sit down at the computer and write. It calms my nerves and reminds me that I've already had feelings of happiness during these 34 hours. My finger blister is already gone. Martin is singing a song outside, he's in his element. I'm still looking for mine, but I'm certainly very much alive.

In two hours we will hopefully have reached a suitable anchorage, then we will have sailed for 38 hours without interruption.