From RIchard Bay to Cap Town

On a rainy and windy early morning, I heated water and went out to the deck. Enjoying that gray light, the fir trees bent by the wind, the cold rain on my face and the water steam from hot “maté”. Enjoying that autumn weather after so much time in the tropics. The gusts made in the sea the water fly over the water and I went for a walk. It was blowing a lot, it was raining more, in me an immense desire to see the sea, open and rough, but the bay of Richard Bay is so sheltered that the beaches and the lighthouses on the open sea are far away. How strong in me, that desire to see the sea. I didn't return to the boat until I was pretty cold. I wanted to get into the boat and be grateful for its shelter and warmth, while the rain continued on deck, remembering the sound of the rain on the tent on the mountain. The light was gray, the day invited to stay at home. Being able to see beauty in moments like those, so simple, it is a gift. To be able to thank them, to be able to enjoy them, to surrender to that present of the noise of the rain, of the light, of that suspended time.

meanwhile outside is raining, inside we do  home schooling                                                   Mael at the tiller, leaving Richard Bay to East London

Then we begin our journey to Cape Town. That sea is legendary – And the weather “windows” are short. We wait for a week to go and we knew we had to stop in East London. We left the port of Richard Bay in the morning, with enthusiasm, with laughter, full of everything that gave us the stillness of those rainy days, and full of desire to continue forward. In that leg, the sea was a friend, with a magnificent wind, the currents that lead to Tortuga, surfing the waves to almost 12 knots. I felt that it was a game, one of those with laughter and wonder, with tickles in the belly and joy. We managed to reach East London before the south west was installed, which came with storms and a strong force.

entering East London

We spend a few quiet days in East London despite the angry west wind that was felt--. The sailors around talk about the wind and the sea, there were hot showers, and despite the storm, the place was safe. On the third day, we left the new year night barbecue very early. We didn't know if we will sail the next day or not. No sailboat leaves. A captain argued to us that it was still out there the storm we avoided. The forecast was not clear, it seems that there will be 45 knot storm from the south, with much more rain, and the change of wind at the end of the day. We had already experienced that a change of wind could mean staying in a sea shaken by waves and without any wind. We looked at the forecast again and again. If we didn't leave in the early morning, we knew that we will not reach Cape Town in one go. We would have to stop in Puerto Elisabeth, Mossel Bay or Simon Town, let the West pass and wait for a new east. The desire to get to Cape Town was almost a necessity. The little ones asked to settle in and have workshops. The boat needed a lot of repairs. We had to work. If we won’t arrive with that window, it  won’t be two days later but a good week or even more . Knowing that Dario, a sailor friend, was waiting for us, the warmth of friendship, motivated us too. We sigh. There was no way. The weather forecast was bad. We fall asleep, exhausted, resigned, determined not to force our luck. That teaching that the sea imposes us is difficult for me. Learning to change plans, to postpone, giving up, and watching his movements that are stronger than my will.

con el frío que trajo el sur oeste, toda la familia busca calor en el carré 

At 4:30, Diego gets up, and his comings and goings in the boat wake me up too. A fine drizzle is falling, there is no wind. We look at the forecast again. It seems that the east has moved ahead, that it will blow soon, that it is actually blowing a little, that the waves are more southeast than south. We could not resist the temptation of that change. It was not very reasonable. We are not. Half an hour later, in the silent dawn of East London, we lift anchor.

The departure was spectacular. The waves broke over the lighthouse. The city seemed to float in the mist, the beach dissolved in thick mist, and the waves from the bow were big and impressive. Two sharks approached us, but we missed to see their bodies enough to identify them. Under the rain and at the helm we tried to face the waves They were always bigger. I had to move the boat away from the shore a few miles. Some waves reached 4 meters and deflected a little to Tortuga. Others left the bow under the water. I couldn't stop feeling something like fear every time a wave came up. But I was calm, focused, impressed and full of adrenaline. At only 3 miles from shore we changed course, placing the waves in our port side.

Diego grabbed the helm so I could rest a little. And there, observing the situation, an anguish invaded me. There was no wind. Nothing. And the waves were rushing to die against the coast. So we were totally dependent on the engine. That sensation, that idea, deeply disgusted me. Relying on the engine for the safety of the ship was too random. “Diego,” I said, “If the engine stops now, we're going to the coast, right?” Diego confirmed my suspicion. I stayed watching the sea, some waves obviously exceeded 4 meters, and sometimes they changed their cadence and followed 4 or 5 in a few seconds, making them shorter and even more aggressive. And then, the engine alarm went on. I looked at the screen: a battery was drawn, and nothing else. I told Diego. He looked at me, without understanding. I repeated "the engine has an alarm, and it's not a joke". Diego left the helm to me. I felt a cold liquid expand in my belly while I concentrated on the waves. With the manual in hand, Diego reappeared through the hatch. “The batteries dropped to 10v. and in the manual it says that you have to turn off the engine” . “You don't turn off” I answered firmly, confidently. “To turn off is to go to the coast” – Diego was agree with me. We doubt. Return to the port? It was only 5 miles. With the waves against us, and the current, it could be five hours. If we made it. “Let's hold on” I propose to Diego. “The wind would have to pick up, at any moment”. We go down at low engine revolutions. Diego started to look at the engine to see if he could understand what was happening. In vain. The alarm state lasted 20 minutes, endless, and suddenly the alarm stopped. Everything returned to “normal”. We did not understand what had happened.

A few hours later the wind rose, we set sails. We checked the condition of the alternator. It works. We did not dare to check the service batteries, which meant a maneuver in a very rough sea. We did not know if the batteries were dead, so we didn't know if the engine would start again if we turned it off. We decided to leave the engine running in neutral until we arrive to land. We thought that when we turn it off we won't be able to turn it back on, most likely because the batteries had broken.

They were 4 days to Cape Town. A few strange days because in addition to the difficulty of the sea, we did not know what state our batteries were in and the reason for the previous incident, ​​“If it happens once it can happen again” is one of the mottos of the sailors. I think the most worrying thing was knowing that we couldn't really count on the forecast. That it could rise much more or on the contrary fall completely. We were going towards the Cape of Good Hope with the days counted . Darío, a sailor friend who had already arrived at Cape Town a few weeks before, had been sending us some places to hide in if we did not arrive and Des, a retired sailor who helps sailors from a distance, kept recommending that we should enter to port. We already knew that we would not be able to avoid the last miles with a north wind. "if we don't make it, we'll turn behind the wind and half turn" we decide.

The first day the Ocean was terrifying, without wind and with so many waves . Then a lot of wind arose, and it was a cross sea. The sea was strong and chaotic. It awakened joy and exhausted the senses. On the third day the wind fell. Totally. It was not planned . On the radio they kept saying that there was a lot of wind. The reality was different. No wind, no waves . The ocean was a worrying space, sunk in fog, forgotten about the wind, like an enchanted lake. And then it became magnificent. Strong and downwind, regular. A party. And that's how we passed Cape Aghulas, excited to pass that legendary cape with just a little bit of genoa, and the waves behind. The Ocean has so many faces. I greets and thanks and love all these faces of the Ocean. Yes, all of them, so different from each other that it is difficult to think that it is the same sea. They are united by their strength, their magnificence, their eternity.

we passed Cap Aghula, happy and excited

It is with the wind in our stern and goosewinged that we passed the Cape of Good Hope. We were both too excited to sleep. Sitting on the starboard side, we observed the shadow of the hill drawn over the halo of light of the city at the distance. Half-moon accompanied and two large dolphins, which passed again and again under the hull, and splashed the sea with fluorescent plankton. Everything was calm. It was a magical moment. It was cold. With a few words we evoke places we have passed since we entered the red sea, a year ago. With a few other words we mention the places we would perhaps go, on the other side of the Atlantic. And then we returned to the silence filled with the present, so vivid, palpable and volatile. It smelled like oysters and wet rocks.

There I see us, my lifelong companion, and I, sitting next to each other, frozen exhausted and absolutely happy, looking at the shadow of the legendary cape, embracing each other with our silence, with our few words, completely communing in that moment, out of time . There I see us and I think that everything, absolutely everything, the disagreements and the sorrows that we may have had, are nothing next to the happiness of being together, that night, passing the Cape of Good Hope in our little sail that pushes the wind and also the dreams, the craziest fantasies, the most unbreakable will. I see us and I see two very brave dreamers, two idealists, in love with love and life, who believe in utopias, who believe in ideas and in dreams, and I know that that is our strength and our treasure.

We do not choose ease. We do not choose comfort. We do not choose security. But I would take this path again, I would embark again on this crazy adventure that we began with the insolence of our youth, almost 20 years ago now. I feel that we have not let the youth go. Of course the years mark furrows on our faces and our skin, of course also that those years teach us and grow us and change us profoundly. But the desire to dream and believe and launch ourselves into the unknown with that appetite for life. That poetry that prevails in our gaze when we consider the world and when we make decisions, that capacity to marvel over and over again in the face of life, that impulsive and little premeditated state, that seriousness with which we consider the importance of our integrity, that way of living risking everything and giving ourselves completely. I feel that all of this is the youth of our souls, which remain loyal to their ideals. I hope these words inspire you who read me, because it does not matter what path you choose, whatever it may be. There is nothing more beautiful than living life very fully and in coherence with what one thinks and what one feels. It is not easy to be coherent. But it is worth all the gold in the world.

en la madrugada bruma intensa y viento norte

On the other side of the cape, we felt a slight breeze against us, and the waves were still strong. Would we arrive before the north sets in? In the sea you are never sure of anything. We shelter for a while under some blankets in the saloon, "You sleep, I can't," Diego tells me. “I can't either, let's just stay like that", I answer. We stay attentive to everyone the noises, we get a little warmer.

A short time later it dawned, although barely, so dense was the mist that surrounded us. And then the north wind settled in, with its waves and its force. And we had to make a tack. We sailed towards the northwest, moving away from the arrival point that was only 13 miles away on a straight line. The progress was slow and the angle was very open, but Tortuga was progressing. The wind continued to intensify and we did not know how much time we had to reach the port. When we tacked again the mist lift, it allows us to discover an absolutely extraordinary mountain landscape. Some seals were swimming near Tortuga and a sea lion was doing the plank. Oiuna woke up for her 10th birthday, and blew out the candles not so far from Hout Bay Harbour. The concern of the early morning had left room for immense joy.

arriving at Hout Bay, Cap Town

In these days of intense navigation, these two Oceans have been terrifying, worrying, sublime, powerful and beautiful. They have awakened strong and contradictory emotions in us. And breaking the chains of fear, feeling the delicious aroma of freedom, the taste of laughter that comes from the insolence of doing what one wants despite everything, that strength that one feels deep inside when breaking one's own chains, for me it is feel alive. I felt deeply grateful to all the elements that allowed us to get here, absolutely exhausted and completely happy. I was also grateful to all the sailors we met along the way, who accompanied us, taught us, gave us encouragement and wise advice

It took me days to land. I looked towards the sea with a mixture of fascination and chills. I knew I would return, there, and that was perhaps the most mysterious thing. There, everything changes so quickly, everything changes in seconds, and everything is so much stronger than me. Nature lives and vibrates, and surrendering to it and feeling its embrace changes something inside. I arrived in Cape Town more humble than ever. My respect for the sea only grows. Like my attraction and my admiration. I feel that part of me no longer belongs to the earth but to that oceanic space where time is different and where life beats to the rhythm of the wind and currents. It is indescribable, the sensation of arriving from something so immense, something that only those who come from there knows and who, inevitably, will return there.