Our dingui was stolen
We met, on the streets of Diego Suarez, a cargo Chilean captain, and we started to chat. Excited about our story, he invited us to dinner on his boat. We left the dinghy tied up to the small dock made for that purpose, and we went to visit our new friend. With great pleasure he showed us the ship's command center (the bridge), the cabins, the machines and explained to us how the boat works. At around 8pm we left, apologizing, telling him that we did not want to leave the dinghy and the boat alone for a long time. When we arrived at the small dock, the dinghy was not there. Only a part of the moors cut.
We looked for it for a while, in the shores, in the neighberhood, but could not find it- The captain told us that he had an old kayak that was getting water in, that he planned to throw it away but if it could be useful to us until we found a solution, he would give it to us. And so we returned to the boat, getting on one by one on the kayak that could not hold more than two people at a time, and emptying it between each trip since otherwise it would sink.
The dinghy is of utmost importance for us. We almost never stop in ports, we live at anchor and our only way to go to land, to bring food, is the dinghy. However, I didn't feel angry. My son told me in the morning that maybe the thieves would regret it and bring him back. “Put yourself in their place, Mae,” I answered. “They have nothing, many children here can't even go to school, they lack everything, and they see us arrive with this boat”, and they think we are rich / “but it's not like that!” protested my son, who well knows that, by prioritizing adventure and love in our lives, we live with a tight economy. “It's not like that but they don't know it,” I replied. “And even so, we are very lucky, we, you know. We have to see it as a donation, a little forced, but look, what they took we give it to them. It's like the wealth distribution, the sharing of what we have. This country and these people are giving us a lot, we give the dinghy to them”
The dinghy had not appeared. That's how it was, that's how it would be. Everything has a balance in life, we learned a long time ago to let go. We wish our Little Crab (that was the dimghy’s name) a very good second life in that wonderful country. And we decided to get familiar with the old kayak that was brought on board.
Diego Suarez's departure was spectacular and entering into Emerald sea were just as impressive. The sea pushed us and the entrance was narrow between reefs. The color of the sea changed drastically. If the islets stopped some of the amplitude of the waves, they did not reach offer a completely calm anchorage. We planned to be there two or three days, but we consulted the forecast, the strong southeast wind predicted for two days had come ahead and we decided to continue heading .
strong wind in the Esmeralda sea
Nature, pure magic
We anchored on some small islands, where we decided to take a walk in the morning. Diego and Oiuna left in the kayak,very recently baptized “Calamar”, while with Mae we were walking. The island was virgin. Its charm was indescribable. Its rocks, its stones, the predatory birds chirping warning signal, the corals untouched. It was low tide, and we bathed in a hot pool full of corals and multicolored fish, we found beautiful fossils and snails. We left to walk around a couple of hours, but the four of us returned to Tortuga when it was already sunset.
It was a sunset in which the sky exploded in warm and intense colors. We raised anchor with the thermal principle. It was a moonless night and the ship formed two bright and silver trails on its sides. The wind was regular. Nothing announced the first gust of 20 knots under the intensely starry sky. We adjusted the sails as quickly as possible. The sea had already been transformed competing with the sky with its breakers that formed luminous lines as far as we could see. From time to time a wave passed over us.
In the early morning we were already entering an area with less wind. In the distance, birds and fishes and the back of a shark whale. Nature offers us moments of pure magic, I always surprise and marvel at it, and it is with a deep gratitude towards life itself, which I admire, aware that being able to feel and witness it is a valuable gift. A dinghy can be stolen from us. We can lose an object at sea, the wind can carry a piece of clothing. But what the moments leave us lived, it is an immeasurable treasure that no one can take away from us.
Meeting the people of the sea
Sailors do not usually venture south of Madagascar before crossing the Mozambique Channel. The reasons are several, the first is that the distance to cross is longer in the south, the other is that on the Mozambique side the current carries, and the prevailing winds also, when in Madagascar there are contrary currents and a south wind that enters regularly. But we do not have satellite on board and on the Madagascar side we could always get closer to the coast to have a signal with our SIM card, which would allow us to see the weather forecast regularly and that is essential in that area of the world. So we headed south, with its brown sea waters, river fresh water mixed with sea and the sun that sometimes dawned with Amazonian tones, giving the mornings a delta environment . Its long white coasts, bordered with green, its yellow rivers and its mangroves that advanced over the sea, the pink flamingos that flew over, and the brown waters that entered into de ocean and were mysteriously delimited with a blue stripe.
To protect ourselves from a strong southerly arrival we decided to enter a channel, despite the risk it entailed. There was no other protection nearby. We arrived at low tide, so we anchored in front of the beach in the waters that vibrated with life everywhere: schooners with three sails, small boats with square sails, wooden canoes.
So many activities on the beach. People unloading boats and playing soccer. We talked to some fishermen who passed near Tortuga. They all told us to enter the canal between 3 to five PM and pointed towards what at that time in the morning was an immense sand bank where collectors walked slowly with their heads towards the ground. Again we studied the route on the charts, it did not seem to exist. After two o'clock we saw some fishing boats anchoring in front of what must have been the entrance to the canal. Nothing denoted it. We also went to anchor next to them. Then there were waves between 1.5 and 2 meters and we waited, determined to be the last to pass. The wind was increasing, it was not yet south, but it was a southwest whose power betrayed the south that was hidden behind. The first boat launched at three o’clock. The tide had only been rising for an hour
On its bow a man was carrying a long wooden pole and was probing the bottom. They seemed to be trapped in the brown waters for a time that seemed like an eternity and they seemed to be shaken by the rising tide and the waves that came in the stern. Finally the boat free itself from the sand bank and continued on its way. We were convinced that we would wait for the tide to rise further. Around 4 o'clock another boat was launched. It advanced but we also saw it run aground, marking the place where it was not necessary to pass. One of the men had to get out and we could see that the water only reached their waist. They stayed there, trapped between the breakers, until the tide rose more and they could continue their route. The last boat finally started around five o'clock. It made a perfect route, and it passed without problems under our attentive gaze. It was our turn. It was already blowing 25 knots and there were two meters of waves, we raised the anchor, teaming up with Mae who showed me with grace and making jokes where to lead the boat while Diego was pulling the chain inside the anchor chest. We were already trying to follow the invisible track of the last ship, dancing among the waves, when the magnificent schooners approached, coming from the open sea, with all their sails set, and the wind in stern, magnificent with its two masts, and its bowsprit, its three inflated sails, its wooden hulls. They came fast and we gave them way to let the entire caravan pass –
The four boats approached towards land and we closed the caravan. It was simply extraordinary to see them, to follow the sun that played in their sails, the useless nautical chart, the waves and the chaotic breakers foaming everywhere. Sublime, extraordinary. We went to the lowest point at one meter, we saw them enter the narrow channel that, according to the satellite image, was blocked by a sand bank. Cautiously, we entered the channel, with the mangroves close to the starboard side. We dropped the anchors and tied Tortuga to the mangroves in three points. It stayed firm and still as if it were in port, and we decided to open our bottle of wine to celebrate such an absolutely splendid and adrenaline.filled navigation. Several schooners were moored near Tortuga. The smiling and happy men looked at me strangely, I looked at them in admiration/ Yes, I had an absolute admiration at those men of the sea. Without motor, without GPS, without forecast, without winch, with their broken sails, wooden booms, they are the true sailors. And I felt infinitely privileged to be able to spend a few days alongside their ship, sharing everyday life.
They are Vezos, which in their language means “nomads of the sea”. They live as a family on their boats, going from here to there. We see them make a fire in the morning, on the bow, and they cook with charcoals. At night they sleep on the deck, wrapped in sheets, alone or with their couple. And in the silence of the channel, from time to time, laughter arose.
One of the captains, Loloe, took us to the shore in his canoe, so that we could go for a walk, or to the market. On the shores, men and women in the shade of the sails, painting their hulls, repairing their boats. An old man approached us and told us, "they have youth, before I had it too", "It's the same for everyone," Diego answered, and the three of us laughed at that obvious equality between humans
our neighboor for some days
The tide was low and the women with basins or baskets on their heads walked along those expanses of wet sand that a few hours before were under water and that we had sailed past. A man carried on his head a basin with enormous fish that was overflowing with it. Everything vibrated in those people of the sea, as if they had come out of it, and were part of their family, with its myths, its tides, its traps and its secrets.
We went inland, to walk among baobabs. The clay and straw houses, a man who was returning from six kilometers of walking among the dry grasses and the giant trees had gone to harvest a bag of sweet potatoes, he was happy with the harvest . The landscape was dazzling, the people were smiling, but that dry land seems to me more threatening and more merciless than the sea.
My daughter must have sensed the poverty that could be found in those places. Back on the boat, she asked me: how could it be that these people, who have lost so much, can still smile and laugh like they do?
Leaving that channel also involved a lot of adrenaline. Our neighbors left a few hours earlier. With the tide rising but still very low . We prepared at the same time and said goodbye to them. The slow schooners caravan pushed by sticks set off in silence of the morning punctuated by the joys of the sailors. Before the tide was completely high, we started the engine. We passed in front of the lively little port, and then, standing at the helm, I faced the panorama: breakers to port, to starboard, in the bow, large, jumping waves. Dozens of colorful pirogues among the waves. And beyond, Loloe and his friends' boat, on the other side of the breakers, moving away sublimely towards the open sea. If they had passed, we would also pass. And I focused on that idea. The large sails in the distance gave me the courage to continue sailing between breakers and to face the wave head on. In moments like those my mind is very clear and I feel calm, despite the adrenaline, or maybe because of that. It is not a rational thought, just a "we can do it, we are going to do it" in which I put all my energy and my will.
I left fascinated by those encounters. Absolutely admiring of those people. And more humble than before. A few days later my admiration grew even more, if that was possible. Needing shelter from a South, we took refuge in the evening behind a small island, very small, a dozen miles from the coast. What was my surprise when I then discovered that the island had boats, and people on it. So many. However there were no houses, nor buildings. A canoe approached, with four men on board, they had a bucket full of huge lobsters that they offered us for very little money. And some hats –
Out of curiosity, we decided to go ashore in their canoe. Then a surreal panorama opened before me. Entire families, children, women, men, lived on that long, narrow beach that was the island. They built their kitchens with coral, to protect to the fire of the wind, and they slept in the open sky. With just a couple of tools, they built their boats, with wooden nails, they assembled their masts, they dried their fish and their octopuses. They worked with music and songs.
They lived there, made oneself with the elements that surrounded them, made oneself with the sand and the wind, one with the sea. They had almost nothing, apart from their immense wisdom on how to survive in those areas. And I wish them that immense wealth, that knowledge will never be lost.
some of them came on board to use tools to fix things
The adventure continues
We made our exit in a town made with two streets. There was no immigration so they didn't stamp our passports. The maritime police told us that sailboats never passed there. On the beach some children were playing with a miniature boat built by them. Even in the toy you could see the skill that the little ones had with wood, and with the wind. In the early morning, the inhabitants of that little town would go out fishing, laughing and singing, with their sails or their paddles. And we, grateful for everything of this country, its people and its sea gave us, we raised the anchor to cross the Mozambique channel –-
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