Setting Sail

Although I didn’t keep a journal of my week-long trip at sea, I thought I’d write a little summary of it, both for posterity, and also maybe to give an idea to anyone who might be curious about trying their luck on a sailboat for seven days. My companions were six other adventurers plus the Captain, our chartered journey was from Barcelona to Menorca (with a short stop-over in Mallorca), split into two days of sailing across the Mediterranean sea, and another four sailing around the beautiful island, before heading back.

I have to be honest: the first part of the trip was rough. I’d taken day-trips on sailboats before, which had given me a completely misplaced confidence in my sea-readiness. Unsurprisingly, spending a day on a boat moored in a deserted cove an hour away from the marina did not quite compare to a seven-day adventure across the Mediterranean Sea. Unsurprisingly, then, I was shaken to the core when I discovered that, despite it being the height of summer, it gets cold when the sun has set and you’re surrounded by ocean, and the wind that is filling the sails is also scurrying up your shorts and down your t-shirt. I had brought no jumpers, no trousers that came past my knees, and I soon found myself shivering.

Another surprise was seasickness. On our way from Barcelona to Menorca, we came across fairly rough seas, and I, naturally, had assumed I was impervious to getting sea-sick because of my extensive experience on those day-trips on a boat, in a cove, an hour away from the marina. Six hours into the journey the wind picked up, and the waves grew, and after an agonising half an hour where I was trying to ignore the growing nausea in my stomach, I found myself crouched at the back of the boat with a case of mild hypothermia, throwing up. Once the Captain was sure my stomach had nothing left in it, he ushered me indoors, encouraged me to use the spare fleece blankets he’d left in my room, and I passed out in a haze of exhaustion, bottle of water clutched against my chest as if my life depended on it.

There. That’s the worst it ever got, and I promise anybody who is thinking about taking a trip like mine this situation was utterly and completely avoidable. Bring warm clothes, take an anti-seasick pill at regular intervals, and you’re set. When I woke up the next morning, we had arrived at Mallorca. I slunk sheepishly up to deck, and realised I was alone - nobody else was awake yet. I looked around - we’d dropped our anchor at a little cove, and it took me under five minutes to run back to my cabin, get into my bikini, and dive into the clear, wonderful, healing waters of the Mediterranean. Never have I felt better. I floated on the glistening water, blue skies above, as the sun rose higher, and with it, the rest of the boat crew.

From this day forth, the journey was perfection. One of our companions has sea-sick medication to spare, and never again did I feel even a whisper of nausea - not when we got caught in the mother of all storms on the way back to Barcelona, and the little sailboat was taking on waves that seemed twice its size.

We saw dolphins, swam in crystal clear waters, spent the day on empty beaches, and had the most perfect meals with nothing but nature all around us. We woke up with the sunrise, and drank wine as the sun set beside us. I sat at the helm of the boat and breathed in the ocean air, stared at an infinitely blue horizon and forgot about cities, and the people in them. I felt at peace, and free, and suddenly it seemed so obvious what was important, and what wasn’t.

It was a trip I’d like to do again, some day, surrounded by friends, with warm clothes and sea-sickness pills, and an endless, undiscovered ocean.