Not in a materialistic way, but: what kind of life is the one where you cruise through with no worries, regrets, or habitual thoughts of “that’s too expensive, I can’t do it”? – A regular person’s life.
This weekend I realized that that lifestyle is pretty damn cool, comfy and easy to get used to. So, lucky those who relate to it, or live it, not me. The yachting world is packed with this sort of lifestyle.
I can’t handle uncertainty even though it gives life that extra spice (false, I still manage with it). I don’t think I regret anything I have done so far, but that is only because “I am a lucky guy”, as a Gumballer (participant in the Gumball3000 rally) says on his fun packed drive from San Francisco to Miami when he picks up two Hooter Girls that want to finish the race with him, probably in exchange for something not all of us can snap our fingers and get… Let’s keep the obvious aside.
It’s all about spinning your head thinking. I’m back into it, after many months of zip.
Hasta luego.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Who invited me to suffer like this?
I’m not talking about a party, get-together, or anything as fun as that. I’m talking about the recent adventurous job I signed onto until mid October.
It involves transporting a race boat from regatta to regatta around Spain’s coast, Portugal and all the way to the volcanic Canary Island of Lanzarote. And well, here is how I get to call it suffering.
The job consists of basically sailing and motoring the boat to the next destination where a regatta is going to be held. Only another guy and myself are on board the 42 footer, and trust me when I tell you that it gets small.
We pack a massive cooler with food, fruit and drinks for about 5 days, and hope that the melted ice doesn’t make its way where it’s not to, and that no salt water gets in as well. If it does, well tough shit.
When at sea, as long as the sun is out, times are good, generally. Now, when the sun sets, apart from it being a hypnotizing, beautiful sight, it’s when you get ready to feel the worst elements being thrown at you at the same time. Here come the showering and swallowing waves, the boat slams after hiking a 2-meter crest and reaches its trough, and you almost lose your teeth from the bang. The wind keeps blowing wet gusts onto your already wet suit. Your hair is drenched and the ice water trickles down your neck into your lukewarm chest and back giving you more and stronger shivers. You’re hands clenched to the safety cables, so strong that they’re now numb and stiff and useless. The same goes for your feet:. After only 30 minutes of this, you miss home. The best part is that you’re on 3-hour shifts with your partner, and they must be respected, except for imminent life-threatening situations, mechanical problems or other mishaps one cannot handle on his own.
The shift is over and you head down the humid and noticeably warmer cabin to tap your partner on the back. It’s time to try and fight for some sleep. What a struggle! It’s almost more frustrating when it’s your turn to sleep, than when you’re on a shift. The wet clothing is hanging from an improvised line not getting dry and dripping on your mattress. The mattress is already damp, and now your dry underclothes are absorbing that humidity. The cold comes again along with the shivers…Oh, hell! As the boat slams with the waves, you get thrown off your bed. At this stage the bed is not called a bed, but a “fu**ing piece of shit wet cushion”. On top of all this fun you’re pissed off. You (well, I) want to actually sink the piece of shit vessel and get rescued because of extreme desperation to see land, a shower, a toilet and a hotel bed. I would never sink a boat purposely, just for the record (at least I think I wouldn’t).
When your bladder tells you it’s time to go, you gotta go, and you really want to go in your pants because the warmth would do you good. But no, you first have to make your way to the stern of the boat (don’t slip or trip), clasp the backstay with one hand and unzip, and search around for your family jewels (remember it is very cold in the Atlantic). When you find them and manage to invite them into the cold breeze, relax just enough to pee, but literally hang on for your life. The boat does not stop for toilet visits.
After a brief description of on-board experiences here, I assume and understand that this wouldn’t be many peoples’ cup of tea, but it would of some others. I just know that I ain’t doing this shit again, even though you get a quick episode of amnesia once you reach port. I only think and write this, but I know I will be doing this more often in better, safer conditions because at the end of the run when you look back at it you think: “that was damn cool”.
Have a laugh. This one’s on me…
It involves transporting a race boat from regatta to regatta around Spain’s coast, Portugal and all the way to the volcanic Canary Island of Lanzarote. And well, here is how I get to call it suffering.The job consists of basically sailing and motoring the boat to the next destination where a regatta is going to be held. Only another guy and myself are on board the 42 footer, and trust me when I tell you that it gets small.
We pack a massive cooler with food, fruit and drinks for about 5 days, and hope that the melted ice doesn’t make its way where it’s not to, and that no salt water gets in as well. If it does, well tough shit.
When at sea, as long as the sun is out, times are good, generally. Now, when the sun sets, apart from it being a hypnotizing, beautiful sight, it’s when you get ready to feel the worst elements being thrown at you at the same time. Here come the showering and swallowing waves, the boat slams after hiking a 2-meter crest and reaches its trough, and you almost lose your teeth from the bang. The wind keeps blowing wet gusts onto your already wet suit. Your hair is drenched and the ice water trickles down your neck into your lukewarm chest and back giving you more and stronger shivers. You’re hands clenched to the safety cables, so strong that they’re now numb and stiff and useless. The same goes for your feet:. After only 30 minutes of this, you miss home. The best part is that you’re on 3-hour shifts with your partner, and they must be respected, except for imminent life-threatening situations, mechanical problems or other mishaps one cannot handle on his own.
The shift is over and you head down the humid and noticeably warmer cabin to tap your partner on the back. It’s time to try and fight for some sleep. What a struggle! It’s almost more frustrating when it’s your turn to sleep, than when you’re on a shift. The wet clothing is hanging from an improvised line not getting dry and dripping on your mattress. The mattress is already damp, and now your dry underclothes are absorbing that humidity. The cold comes again along with the shivers…Oh, hell! As the boat slams with the waves, you get thrown off your bed. At this stage the bed is not called a bed, but a “fu**ing piece of shit wet cushion”. On top of all this fun you’re pissed off. You (well, I) want to actually sink the piece of shit vessel and get rescued because of extreme desperation to see land, a shower, a toilet and a hotel bed. I would never sink a boat purposely, just for the record (at least I think I wouldn’t).
When your bladder tells you it’s time to go, you gotta go, and you really want to go in your pants because the warmth would do you good. But no, you first have to make your way to the stern of the boat (don’t slip or trip), clasp the backstay with one hand and unzip, and search around for your family jewels (remember it is very cold in the Atlantic). When you find them and manage to invite them into the cold breeze, relax just enough to pee, but literally hang on for your life. The boat does not stop for toilet visits.
After a brief description of on-board experiences here, I assume and understand that this wouldn’t be many peoples’ cup of tea, but it would of some others. I just know that I ain’t doing this shit again, even though you get a quick episode of amnesia once you reach port. I only think and write this, but I know I will be doing this more often in better, safer conditions because at the end of the run when you look back at it you think: “that was damn cool”.
Have a laugh. This one’s on me…
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