Down to the Deep South, The first 28 days.

A journey, after all, neither begins in the instant we set out, nor ends when we have reached our doorstep once again. It starts much earlier and is really never over, because the film of memory continues running on inside of us long after we have come to a physical standstill. Indeed, there exist something like a contagion of travel, and the disease is essentially incurable.

Ryszard Kapuscinski 2007

Travels with Herodotus

Above is a quote that I have copied from the official voyage log (which is excellent) produced by the two guides who were part of Europa’s crew. So, bearing this quote in mind and considering that I seem to have been suffering from the incurable disease since my teenage years, this is an effort to reflect on the impressions I take away with me from the latest remission. The first part of my current visitation of the terminal travel bug ended with leaving the Bark Europa in Chile after 28 days sharing the experience with a motely group made up of ‘voyage crew’ and the ‘professional crew’. Having previously introduced you to the ship and the places we visited this is now an attempt to reflect on my fears, expectations, experiences and conclusions.

This trip had been booked long in advance, indeed well before I actually took retirement from paid work. So, tied up with the trepidation of travelling into the unknow of sailing on tall ships into the lowest latitudes of the southern oceans (roaring 40’s, furious 50’s and ultimately screaming 60’s), there was the leap into the unknow final chapter of my life. As it was some time since I had undertaken any form of major trip I’ve had to reaquiant myself with all of the activities required prior to travel. One of the bigger challenges being to find insurance cover for a not so young traveller doing something that’s not quite the norm. But there were also all the run of the mill issues like, what to pack, how to travel to/from start and end points, payment methods in various locations, language challenges etc etc.

Along with these practical consideration there were the subtle mind games that your own psyche plays with you. Can I really do this, am I physically up to it, can I cope being cooped up with a bunch of strangers for 28 days, can I really survive sharing a small cabin with up to 4 others, how’s it going to be not being able to talk to MJ in a regular basis, will I be too hot / too cold, what if I get sick, am I really recovered from recent health challenges etc? Coupled with that there was the whole other level of phycological challenges associated with retirement, I’m no longer a productive member of society, I’ve lost the status / position in society that the job title gave me, I’m becoming a ‘has been’, can I really afford this, what does the future hold etc?

With a bit of time and effort all of the practical challenges were overcome (except, of course, in reality I took far more kit than I really needed).

So what of the mind games, firstly addressing the whole mental challenge of being retired. Well, honestly, this really has not been a major problem. Sure there have been occasions when agents have contacted be with the ‘our client’s are screaming out for people with your profile’ line and, just occasionally, the opportunity looks interesting and I might think maybe one more contract, would nice to be a responsible person again. But then I remind myself that life can be short and that there is no defined end game so I need to make the play when I still can. After close to 50 years in paid work it’s now time to spend some of the ill-gotten gains and live every day as a bonus which should be used to the fullest advantage.

Now, the first month of travelling. After British Airways’ best attempts to spoil the whole experience at the outset I picked up my connection in Buenos Aires and arrived in Montevideo in good time to join Europa. So first stressful step concluded and other than BA’s representative at Heathrow getting a full pram load of toys in their face, no heads ripped off yet 🙂

Were allowed to drop bags off on Europa in the morning but had to kill the day until 18.00 before boarding and then we sat alongside until the next morning. When all you want to do is get on with it this is rather frustrating but at least it’s a little bit of time to meet other members of voyage crew and to start forming some opinions.

However, firstly a bit about the professional crew, first impressions when dropping of bags, bright, young and cheerful. Later, on formally joining the ship in the evening, this initial impression was reinforced. Apart from the captain, first mate and senior guide they all seemed dreadfully young (policeman syndrome?) and predominately female. The mate was a bit older (mid 30’s+) and the captain (Klaas) a wizened old sea dog who could well have been a buccaneer in an earlier incarnation. The chief guide, Jordi, was a Catalan of indeterminate age. By qualification a marine biologist but seemingly in possession of an encyclopaedic knowledge of marine and terrestrial life forms, sailing, guiding, world travel and rock climbing all of which he seems to have a real passion for. As the trip progressed the initial good impressions were only to be reinforced. The crew proved generally (some more experienced than others) to be highly competent, dedicated, professional, tolerant and invariably cheerful despite having to repeatedly explain how things should be done to members of the voyage crew who did not listen and/or knew better.

The Voyage Crew, my compatriots and fellows in crime. Throughout my life I have been a firm believer in first impressions and, from the very first meetings on the dockside and the first evening after boarding, it was very obvious that there might be one or two individuals that would challenge my tolerance levels and yes, I accept that on occasion my tolerance threshold can be rather low. The group were quite diverse ranging in age from late 20’s early 30’s up to their 70’s and a male / female split of approx. 75% to 25%. Mostly they seemed to be yacht sailors who wanted to experience tall ship sailing or those who had sailed tall ships previously and had been bitten by the bug. A common theme was a thirst for an elevated sense of adventure that this type of trip invoked. There were exception’s, myself, as someone with very limited exposure to sailing but some seafaring experience, a couple of guys who were there more for the marine/terrestrial nature / shore excursions but who did, to a greater or lesser degree, pitch in and help with the sailing, a couple wannabe passenger and one rather narcissistic individual who appeared to be primarily interested in how they could achieve the maximum personal gain from the experience. One thing for which I was thankful was that, of a total feasible complement of 46 voyage crew, we were only 26 up to The Falklands and 27 thereafter. Another God send being my cabin mates, two middle aged Michaels who were coincidently both Swiss (maybe not a nation you would associate with sailing) and a younger Dutch guy, Pier. All three proved to be very acceptable company. The Michaels had both sailed on tall ships before and Pier was a yachtsman so I was definitely the least experienced in the room.

As the trip progressed it became obvious to me that the only way that I was going to be able to complete the trip on equitable terms with certain individuals was to make the effort to avoid them as much as possible and, when this was not possible, to draw on all of my tolerance reserves and thereby maintain a level of civility. Although I am not necessarily proud of the intolerance that I thereby exhibited I believe it preferable to outright hostility and, when sharing my thoughts with others towards the end of the trip, I was relieved to find that my views were far from a minority.

Not surprisingly in a group of this size there were many personality traits exhibited and, as is my norm, I felt happiest when around those who appeared to be very comfortable in their own skins and just got on with it with out making any fuss. This trait was particularly appreciated when it came to the sailing of the vessel. We were all allocated to a watch and whilst that watch was on duty we were expected to lend a hand with the sailing. Also, if off watch but on deck it was appreciated if you were to lend a hand. As I’ve said earlier, within the voyage crew there was a range of ability and different levels of enthusiasm for the sailing meaning that some knew what they were doing or picked it up quickly and quietly got on with it. There were those who weren’t overly enthused by the prospect of hauling on lines and consequently tended to keep out of the way which, as there were normally more than enough willing hands for the task, wasn’t necessarily an issue. And then, finally, there was the group who thought that they knew what they were doing, exhibited a reluctance to listen to the advice given by the professional crew and in reality were frequently more of a hindrance than a help to the smooth sailing of the ship.

All of the above probably sounds rather negative so let’s try to add a positive spin. As I hope I’ve hinted at above, I got on fine with the vast majority of my fellow voyagers and those who listened to what was required and just quietly got on with things definitely earned my respect and admiration irrespective of their skill levels. Equally I consider myself supremely blessed as I never suffered for malade de le mer but I truly admired the spirt of those, who despite feeling rotten, tried their best to ignore this handicap and just get on with what was needed. Despite a certain degree of trepidation at working out on the yard arms (climbing the masts was easy but moving out onto the yards was achieved purely through will power and bloody mindedness) I managed to overcome my fears and decidedly wobbly legs and achieve a limited degree of comfort. The first time I worked at unfurling sails was for the Royal (one from the top) which is not only high up but also a pretty slim yard where the height of the footropes means that the yard sat at my hip level rather than stomach level (at this height you can more easily wrap yourself around the yard) making it feel very precarious. A lesson I took from this was that it would be better to start on the mains or topsails where the yards are more substantial and easier to work on. One of the youngest least experienced members of the permanent crew, Natalie, has my undying gratitude for the encouragement and advice she gave that allowed me to take these first tentative steps towards being, at least, of a little use up aloft.

Another positive was the real buzz experienced when we were under maximum sail (for prevailing conditions) running well through heavy seas. This was ‘real sailing’ where you get to appreciate the sympathetic attitude of a sailing vessel to the prevailing seas when compared to a vessel that is motoring. It was unfortunate that, due to the prevailing conditions and the necessity of meeting a schedule, the number of times that we experienced ‘real sailing’ were limited. As much as I loved the wild nature of The Falklands and their wild life I could not help but sympathise with those amongst us who felt that we could have spent less time around the islands and more time sailing i.e. using the wind more on a zig-zag course rather than using the motor to butt through the seas on a more direct course onto the wind to satisfy schedule demands.

Another positive I take from this was the whole Falkland Island experience. I had joined on a tall ship sailing experience and given little consideration to visiting the islands or indeed, what the islands were like. Probably, like many of my generation, my impressions of The Falklands largely revolves around warfare and yomps through a bleak unforgiving environment. What I experienced dispelled this impression. Granted we were there during the summer so saw them at their best but the locals, who were very open, welcoming and friendly, assured me that they are not too bleak even in the depths of winter. The landscapes were very reminiscent of the highland areas of England, Scotland and Wales which immediately recommended it to me although some might still consider it inhospitable. What may have been one of the endearing features that added tremendously to its appeal were the small working settlements on the various islands. These have been established over many generations and invariably nestle in hollows in the land adjacent to a natural water source and sheltered from the worse of the elements by belts of conifers and gorse (both introduced aliens). They are very welcoming (as are their inhabitants) and homely. I could imagine that I would not be to adverse to life in such a place. Added bonus, not to many people 🙂 This beautiful environment is complemented by the rich variety of flora and fauna, that with little natural fear of man, is very approachable. Although the opportunities were rare it was good from time to time to be able to stop, shut out all else and connect with the wonderful gift that wild places are.

So, to sum up what have I learnt from the experience. Well firstly, despite the feeling of becoming less patient, less forgiving and less tolerant of people as I grow older I can still make a reasonable fist of managing when forced into close proximity with a mixed group of people for an extended periods. I still have the physical capability and drive to take on new challenges and thrive through them. The dream of sailing a tall ship has been fulfilled and it fully lived up to expectation especially when we were sailing well through reasonably rough seas. That I am still very much of the opinion that you live and learn and that you can learn from anyone no matter their cultural background, age, or sex. And finally, as James, one of my fellow voyagers responded when I observed the life is good, it sure beats the alternative.

Have to admit after 28 days of help and mentoring from the fantastic crew members there was a bit of a lump in the throat on saying goodbye.

Would I do it again, if time and opportunity allowed almost certainly yes – might need more tolerance pills though 🙂