Waiting For Company

Note: As may happen quite frequently this is the second of two posts put up today, the other post "Learning to let go" was written the day before this one. If getting the chronology right matters to you, read that one first. But it doesn't really matter. B

Sort of a fun day today, George Michael get back today so I have been sorting the boat out. Over the last while I had moved my possessions around the place liberally. Books sat on the table, Lucy on a seat, a pile of dirty dishes by the sink and paper was scattered everywhere. Now I am the veritable paragon of cleanliness. My stuff is all in its home neatly in my cabin, even Lucy is in her bag snugly fitted next to the hull. The washing up is done, the surfaces cleaned, the floor swept and moped. I have brushed and washed the decks, wiped dirty marks away and piled any loose things neatly.

Last night the gas ran out as I was cooking dinner, of course. Luckily everything was pretty much cooked, I just had very al dente pasta. Today I successfully negotiated my way to a new gas canister, and made restocked all the boat supplies I had used up in the last few days. I have also managed to fit in writing a new tune on the guitar with a nice but very complex altering bass line that requires the use of my thumb on the bottom strings of the fret board; got all the way to the four hundred and seventh page of War and Peace and contact juggled for an hour with an orange (almost as good as the proper ball but with the advantage of being soft and floating).

I am expecting George Michael in the next hour or so, it’s a little odd I had kind of got used to being by myself. Ok so yes, I am going so crazy I have named my guitar and given her a personality (she is a lovable but cheeky little minx who has a habit of being rude though no-one could ever hold it against her). Yes, I caught myself proclaiming to the skies last night about scales of morality and when something should be placed on said scale. And yes, have read two books in a day each as well as reading a third of Tolstoy. But I was enjoying being slightly mad, now I’ll have to be all chatty and witty and the effort will be just too much.

Oh I almost forgot, I haven’t been wholly alone. A lovely English couple are on the boat next door, so I’ve had some nice chat with them over the last few days. Last night me and Lucy gave a concert to a boat full on slightly crazed Germans who spoke about as much English as I do German. They invited me onto their boat, gave me a beer, I played for twenty minutes. They applauded and laughed in a very Teutonic way, one of them ever had a daft moustache and would not have looked out of place in lederhosen. I left fairly quickly scared by their beaming smiles and odd questions (You are alone on the boat? You like salami? You staying here alone? Why do you play guitar? Is anyone else with you?). As I stood on the gangplank (yep they really had a gangplank) to get ashore they applauded again, I turned round, bowed, smiled and promptly fell into the dock.

Much laughter ensued. Lucy was safe though don’t worry I threw her at the Germans as I fell. Fifteen minute later I had showered and changed and was sat feeling quite daft rewarding myself with a whisky and a gentle bit of blues.

Learning To Let Go

It’s not actually very easy doing this, I mean getting up and walking away from your life. Just over a week ago I was in Edinburgh, I had friends and… actually I didn’t have a whole lot else anymore, I had lost or throw away everything else. I did however have a life that I maybe could have enjoyed. In those dark moments however, at four in the morning as you walk home from a party, or the middle of the day when you catch yourself alone and bored I’d know that it wasn’t right.

Last summer I met a lady, I say lady because that’s what she was, I should be clear about this. She was in her fifties and a school teacher, had that sort of vaguely comforting primary teacher attitude. We sailed together one pleasant afternoon. At some point I complained about something, people living without thinking or without effort. Her remark, though very casual and unimportant has stuck with me, she said
“They live without integrity, you have to live with integrity”

So I guess that is why I’m here. I could have stayed in Edinburgh and lived fairly happily, I could have smiled and danced and sung and chatted and done all the things I love to do there. But at the calm moments, I would have known that this wasn’t right, that life, for me at least, had no integrity. I am yet to discover if sailing offers something different, or if the distractions are just changed. It certainly allows more time to think. I have played guitar; written in my journal, and online; read books; listened to music and just sat and stared at the world far more than I ever would at home. Here in those dark moments of self reflection I am vulnerable to homesickness, rather than a guilty feeling of inadequacy.

But it is hard to let go, hard to stop thinking of my friends, and of my life. Every time I remember why I’m here, what I’m doing this for I am blindsided by a desire to sit in a pub talking, or to sit in the meadows getting stoned, or to climb Arthur’s Seat in the fog.

Today I walked along the coast, heading south away from the hotels and the tourists. North of the marina there is one great long beach, and were it not for all the developments it would be a brilliant beach, white sands and warm seas, as it is it provides few charms. So I headed south, over a long rocky coastline, It was evidence of this islands volcanic formation. Bubble filled rock and strange shapes formed an almost lunar landscape. I scrambled along the cliff at times walking, at times wading, sometimes climbing and once swimming through the surf to get round a particularly tricky point.

The sea had been whipped up by last night’s storm and the constant strong force five winds. Swimming aside I was soon soaked with spray, my hands scuffed and my knees bleeding. It was so much fun. When I was a kid I invented a sport I mentally called rock hopping, essentially it involved running a high speed along rocky beaches. It never had many rules, you just had to get to somewhere. Today I sort of relived rock hopping, only slowed down considerably. There is something enormously gratifying in trusting in the strength of your limbs to get round a lump of rock. Hanging recklessly over spray dashed rocks where the only way you can make it that bit further is to haul yourself up is a sure fire way to remind yourself that you are young and strong.

After my childlike play I sat on a bench and wrote in my journal, and watched the spray and the sky. For the first time since I left home I felt content, I felt at peace. It felt like at that moment I was doing the right thing.

I know this is a brilliant trip, a brilliant adventure and I have no excuse for complaining. It’s all made a bit worse by this time I have alone, two more days before I have any company. And maybe three or four till I finally get some sailing. On the other hand this time is letting me gradually sort my head out. It’s giving me time to think. And I am, slowly but surely, learning to let go

Lucy joins Blue Sky

I've not been sleeping very well since i joined blue sky. Each night i lie awake for hours listening to the sounds of Club Nautic de Arenal. So last night i had drifted off thanks to leonard Cohen and a bit of Massive Attack. When i was rudely awaken by a huge crash of lightening right above my head, the collossal roll of thunder deafened me and the rain pulled me out of my bunk to close every hatch on the boat. Them all being left open to allow the languid mediterranean air to move in any direction it so desired.

I sat in the companionway and watched the rain plummet, glowing through the many lights of the marina. The sky filled with glowing halos of water and the decks ran like rivers. Ten minutes later it was over leaving me to try and get back to sleep.

I deserved my sleep last night, yesterday had been a successful day. After my now usual morning set up of swim, shower, breakfast with reading i wanted into Arenal in search of buses. Arenal is not a pretty place, a seaside resort town, the only purpose of which is to house tourists, get tourists to the beach and get money of said tourists. The entire shore front is lined with big eight or ten story hotels, each room with its own balcony making it look like a bomb has ripped of the front wall exposing everyones living rooms to the world. On street level each of these hotels houses a horde of tacky shops, selling such diverse things as towels, lilos, beach balls and occasionally cheap plastic toys made in batchs of a trillion in Singapore. Needless to say, Arenal did not appeal, however having heard that Palma itself was worth a trip i wanted a bus to take me the six miles into the main city of Mallorca.

After a small amount of confusion i found a bus, and half an hour later alighted onto a large busy steet that while not particularily bad, was not exactly pretty. A huge department store rose on one side and was flanked b office blocks and shopping malls. Relying on my sense of direction i headed of in the direction i thought the sea, and the old town might be. Sure enough five minutes walking i was lost in a maze of narrow alleys, barely wide enough for a small car and with buildings so tall you could only see a small strip of sky this maze forms the heart of Palma. I wandered happily for some time, heading in what i thought was probably south. Many of the buildings had balconies built out from them, though not like in Arenal, frequently they looked home made and as if they would fall down any second. Washing lines strung across the steet, potted plants cascaded down in riots of reds and green. I passed beneath two men talking across the street from balcony to balcony, this aerial conversation as far as i could gather involved a girl and problems, they usually do...

I awarded myself a moment of smugness when my choice of direction paid off and i found myself at the sea. Even better than that, the cathedral that i had glimpsed on the way in and had lost in the maze of alleys was just on my left hand side. I wandered along the front, trying to use what meager shade there was to stay out of the sun. The steps up the Cathedral are surrounded by sculptures, reminiscent of traditional portrait type statues, only shattered or wrong in some way. Men sat tall and pround on horse, oblivious to their lack of heads. Others stood nobly over the defeated form of an angel. Someone, of course, sat playing nice spanish guitar for the tourists, smiling and nodding at those who gave him money. A man, painted to resemble a statue had given him self a break, he stood smoking and texting.

However i had failed to realise one important detail, on Saturday everything closes at one o'clock. It was already two in the afternoon, the curse of leisurely morning struck. The Catherdral was closed, the big, free museum opposite was closed, the gallery nearby yep closed. Even the tourist information was closed. I bought lunch and sat and pondered my predicament. All was not lost, Palma is as already mentioned very pretty even if you cant go in anywhere. For a few hours i wandered, partly aimlessly, party on the hunt for a shop that would sell me a guitar. I drifted through alleys barely wide enough for myself, and into big open squares surrounded by collonades and beautiful buildings. I dodged tourists and sauntered down long steets with only a mangy dog as the other occupant.

After a time i found an open tourist information office and the pleasant lady despite being slightly confused by my question directed me to a location where i could find a guitar. Five minutes and i was stood outside the self same department store i had got off the bus infront of. Smiling at this i wandered in. Now it is important to note i dont like department stores, they scare and confuse me. Hundereds of smiling people and floor upon floor of needless rubbish. But i wanted to play guitar so i conquered this fear. However, department stores, it seems, are all alike, imagine which ever one you went into last, this is the same. After three floors of mind numbing musak and consumerism i found a music department and after an impromtue concert for a five year old and his much amused father i bought a nice but cheap steel strung guitar for €90. I was a happy bunny.

Back on the boat and hour later i opened a beer, sat in the sunshine and played my new guitar. She has that sharp metallic sound that you find in cheaper steels, but the action is good and she'll play a nice blues. Another beer and i had christened her Lucy.

Beginnings

It is an in auspicious place to start such adventures, but Mallorca is nice
enough. Though to be fair i havnt really seen any of it yet. My first
morning on board, I woke late and wandered up to the pool for a morning
swim. Feeling very out of breath i make it back to the boat for breakfast
and coffee, and to take advantage of Michaels lap top and the free wifi.

George Michael have gone back the UK this morning to meet up with family and
friends so i am left in charge of the good ship Blue Sky. So let us begin
this adventureous tale with a description of my first command.

Blue Sky is a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 49. Bought new just over 18 months ago.
Made of fibreglass she is what is commonly refered to as a 'plastic' boat.
Moving from stern (back) to bow (front) we come across first the boarding
ladder/steps. At the moment, being stern on to to the harbour this is the
entry point for the boat, later it will be how we climb onboard post swim.
Next we have the steering position, two wheels mean that even with the boat
well heeled it is always possible to be with on the windward side. Both
wheels have their own set of instruments, telling information such as
windspeed, course over the ground, tidal flow and water temperature. Above
the steering position is the new arch. A stupidly strong stainless steel
arch carrying solar panels, wind vane, satellite phone and navtex (worldwide
weather information system). The energy generation up there is mostly enough
to keep all electronics working without running th engine for extra power.
Further forward we have the cockpit proper, about two meters wide, and more
or less square. A large folding table sits in the middle of this for al
fresco dining, a canvas cover keeps the sun off the occupants.

The companionway (the stairs into the cabin) is set between two sets of
winches and jammers controlling the majority of the ropes on board. It is
not normally necessary to leave the cockpit whilst sailing as everything is
brought back to this point. Further forward a sprayhood keeps, well, spray
away during more lively sails. Beyond that we have lots of deck, hatches for
falling down, a really big mast, ropes. Anchor well with windlass and
eventually the genoa (front sail). Infact beyond that is the dolphin seat. A
small seat built into metal frame work at the front of the boat which hangs
right out over the water. A particularily good place to sit and watch the
dolphins play in the bow wave... or so i'm told

Down below starting aft and working forward again we start with two cabins.
The port (left) side one is mine, though i havnt unpack properly yet so its
still messy, i have put a few photos up so it sort of feels like my own. My
cabin leads staight into the saloon, as well as having its own door into the
aft heads (toilet). The saloon is spacious and pleasant, the galley
(kitchen) runs down the port side whilst the other side is the nav station
and the dining area. Forward fo that is George Michaels cabin, the largest
with its own heads. Space is used as well as possible, every floorboard and
bit of wall comes away to reveal storage spaces, which pleasingly all seem
to be filled with beer and wine.

So that is my ship, i'm sure i have missed details but i'll talk about them
if and when they come up. I'm going to go and unpack now.

Y'all email.

Last Line From Scotland

This is my last day in Scotland for some time. I am flying to Palma tomorrow to meet with George and Michael (hereafter George Michael) and sail to the caribbean with them. Its really excting and really terrifying.

I had a rather ace farewell week in Edinburgh, thanks to all my friends who let me sleep on their sofas and to everyone else who just made the effort to come see me. I was going to write eloquently about what it was like to leave. And the fear of the unknown. But i dont think there is much point. My next post shall be from Palma (if i get my act together enough to write one), and from then on i shall try and work on writing properly. On explaining myself and the world around me. .

Now i just want to say thanks and bye.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.