Gone with the wind?

Only 200 miles to Cape Town, sailing with a consistent 9 knots, so the
bets are high on us reaching the end of this leg by late tomorrow…
It felt like the whole race has gone by in an instant, and although I'm
looking forward to the finish line from a racing perspective, I can't
help to regret it's coming to an end.
And, having said that, it sounds like the best time to have a look back
at the race, its ups and downs…

Top things I will be missing dearly:
- Sailing, especially helming during a sun rise or sun set, or
moon rise or set. Even more so if we're sailing through big swells, the
feeling is surely elevating
- Waking up and getting on deck to face the infinite horizon lying
in all directions. Being greeted with a bright pallet of colors or an
impressive night crowded with stars. Admiring the sea and the sky for
their inspiring, simple, yet changing and comprehensive beauty. Having
the time to concentrate on and appreciate this amazing universe, without
the distractions of the city-life
- Sheer single mindedness and simplicity in boat life.
Concentration on sailing, and nothing else really
- Deciding upon a sail change, and running it. The physical
challenge in carrying, hanking, dropping, flipping, bagging the huge
sails, running all the lines, trimming to the new setting. All followed
by the meditating moments of relaxation, when there's not a sound of a
thought, just the amazing feeling of charm for the sails and the nature
all around; it's a moment of admiration of and total submission to
nature.
- Helming, especially through 20 knots plus and high seas. The
responsibility alone of keeping the boat and crew safe, yet meeting the
course and speed expectations is demanding. This topped with the
physical effort and absolute concentration required to make it happen is
a perfect challenge. Helming, even under easier conditions, the feeling
of making miles in the middle of the Atlantic while driving a 68 foot
racer is blinding. I will be missing it most dearly
- Climbing up the spinnaker pole for a spinnaker drop / change.
God, that's amazing. Climbing via the rope that holds the pole down,
then sitting on the pole about 4-5meters above and about 3 meters away
from deck promises the view of the sea running directly beneath my foot,
and a nice bird-eye view of the boat. Accompanied by a brief adrenalin
rush as the boat's movement and the pull of the spinnaker is felt even
more strongly up there. I don't know what's so chanting for me about
heights, but I always get a rewarding feeling when I climb up somewhere
on deck. (I apparently belong to a different specie: climbers. The ones
who would envy the person wearing a harness, and would be happy to be
hoisted up in any weather. There are a few on board, spread across the
three watches to ensure all are happy)
- The foredeck experience, running the lines to go while being
splashed by waves at a rocking pulpit is another experience I will miss
dearly
- Listening to the movement of the boat and the waves hitting the
hull when I lie down in my bunk for a sleep. Feeling the sea flow right
by me is soothing, and the sound is like a lullaby.
- The occasional interactions with wild-life. The sea-birds which
kept us in company particularly in leg 2, the dolphins which would come
around for a play at times, the huge impressive whales showing off their
massiveness.
- The crew chats, and how the different personalities came
together to form a great team. Definitely have gained friendships of a
life time, and will be missing these newly made relations.
- Living on so few items, having as few things as a monk, amazing
how much access items we feel we're in need of in our daily lives.

Things I will be thankful for coming back to:
- Leaving the "favela" smells behind. Good lord, that's a heavy,
unpleasant one
- Not wearing layers over layers, and definitely not being
bothered about the foul weather gear. It's sooo hard to get into and get
out of with all the water protections seals and no zipper at the front.
Very heavy and bulky. I wonder if it's just a foul-gear for the trouble
it gives. Definitely will not be missing feeling like an astronaut at
each watch. The other thing I will not miss about the gear will be the
safety line. We clip on almost always, and get tangled very frequently
when it's stuck to a rope, particularly annoying when trying to carry a
sail forward. I thought so much about dogs suffering their collor and
line on this trip…
- Taking a proper shower. Even on daily basis! What a bless?
Haven't taken one since 18 days now, I know, disgusting, but feels less
so when no one does. We have gone back to our baby days: we take a
baby-wipe shower to avoid infections and skin breakdown.
- Proper toilets, with a proper toilet flush, one which you don't
have to pump 40 times to deplete the contents, and which does not block
every so often. One that does not move, and risk to throw you out of the
cabin in inadequate manner.
- A big, soft, stable bed, with clean fresh linings, in which I
can take a 6 hour undisturbed sleep.
- Healthy, quality food. We're literally hallucinating about good
food: a cheese plate starter with white wine, a thick medium-rare steak
with grilled vegetables and fresh salad as side dishes accompanied with
a strong red wine, fruit salad served with a orange juice&liquor syrup
and topped with ice-cream, an intense dessert: preferably a chocolate
soufflé served with double cream, powder sugar and a few strawberries to
go with it. Give a brief break to enjoy a digestive port wine.
Gooooodddddd
- A good long walk, or a run is even better. It would be a
pleasure to use some leg muscles for a purpose other than balancing.

And the best moments to remember:
- Two moments at the helm: the one at 30-40 knots breeze with 4-5m
waves and swells in Leg2, and helming through a heavy squall in Leg1.
Woooooo
- Doing the rig check in the middle of the ocean in Leg1. It was
an impressive view, and so pleasant to be so high up, while it was as
hard to hold on
- Two special moments up at the pole: the first time we peeled the
spinnaker in Leg1 (basically deploy a spinnaker when the first one is
still on, and drop the primary one afterwards; requires to go up the
pole with the new spinnaker's clew, the new halyard, and run a exchange
the setting from one spinnaker to the other). Also, going up there at
night when we were screaming 12-14 knots and through big swells. I
really was holding there for my dear life in Leg2…
- The night in Leg2, when we had a clear sky glimmering with
stars and a bright moon, one of the few. We watched the moon set in
amazing dark orange colors, the changing color of the sky from darkness
first to navy blue, dissolving at every moment into lighter blues at
dawn. And then watched the sun rise, in pinks and oranges, splashing its
rays through the few clouds. All in one watch. It was heavenly
- Setting out from Hull, saluting the cheering 100 thousand
spectators. Then the silent race starts from La Rochell in the lead of
Joshua, and the Rio start where we sailed at the shores of Sugar Loaf
and Copacabana Beach. Sailing head to head against the rest of the
fleet, and leaving the land behind. They were all so pleasant moments…
- Dropping a yankee double-handed at 25 knots wind. It was
dreadfully hard, yet I felt pretty proud of it once I was through it.
- The few times when Dolphins came in to play with the boat. They
give me a sense on intense happiness and excitement. Such playful,
clever, agile, lean and beautiful creatures. Amazing…
- When the bread we made on our final motherwatch, under very
challenging circumstances turned out to be absolutely amazing. I offered
a walnut-raisin one, while Davide cooked one with herbs. Both were
strictly favoured by the crew, nice:)
- The first meal I ate after I got over flu & sea-sickness in
Leg1.

So much so for the recap. Overall, it was an impressive experience,
challenging physically and at times mentally or socially, yet very very
rewarding. Improved dramatically in terms of sailing, and discovered a
new source of patience and acceptance within me against situations one
cannot change. And overall, I have raced sailing across two oceans! I
know it may not be everyone's cup of tea, but if you feel any excitement
within yourself about it, I would strongly recommend you to get up and
give it a go…

Sailing the very last bits now.
Will keep you posted about the end of the race as well, so keep an eye
on me for another day or two:)

Sailing under alternating weather conditions, and only a few days off from Cape Town

Some news from the past few days: we have been having a some nice
sailing, really. The sea state has settled just a bit, we now have more
regular ocean swells of 1-2meters, which are more managable for keeping
a steady course. The wind has been a bit tricky: changing both direction
and speed, challenging us for major sail changes through the days.
Therefore, the past few days have been physically pretty challenging:
change from white sails to spinnikar, and back, then drop them all, reef
the main in, then out. Trim, trim, trim...

The weather conditions have been as deviating as the wind state as well,
from a sunny warmish day to a freezing cold, rainy and dark night.
ie: we had a freezing cold watch from 3 to 6 am this morning. Pretty
damp with rain drizzels now and then. Wind was gusting from 20 knots to
30 knots and back, knocking the boat to a sharp tilt. Had to get the
yankee down and put two reefs in. Helming was a challenge on its own:
surf the swells and fight against the gusts while personally fighting
against the icy cold (yes, I had my fair share of it). Having two woolen
base layers, thick mid layers and foulies on still could not keep the
cold out, I had to creep into my sleeping bag and launch some warm
patches to heat up my hands and feet as soon as the shift was over,
cold was so draining... Then 12 pm shift greeted us with a sunny day,
blue sky with patches of clouds looking like scattered cotton pieces, a
nice steady breeze coming from behind. Spinniker up once again, and
layers significantly reduced...

Were now just a few days off from Cape Town, bets are that we'll be
there on late Saturday, if all goes well. Unfortuntaely, after the
several patches of still & foul weather we fell into, we're not
competing for the top ranks this time. Looks like we'll be finishing
9th. We're not allowing this to reflect into our sailing though, still
pushing hard to get the most out of the wind we have, and prove that
when weather permits, we're a great sailing team.

While everyone on board, especially the leggers, share mixed feelings
about arriving to Cape Town: we want to finish as fast as we can in a
racing perspective, however feel regretful that it's coming to an end.
Well, alike all good things I assume...

So much so for the day... Will catch up on a bit of sleep now, before my
night shift
Keep an eye on me...

18.9

18.9: the speed in knots I have reached while surfing down a significant
wave in a pitch dark night under 35 knots wind.
With the end of my mother-watch (which felt like a prison while there
was such strong winds and sea up on deck), I was back on deck last night
to enjoy the crumpets of the storm being past us. The night was as dark
as emptiness, even the horizon line could not be distinguished. Pretty
damp, with showers of rain or waves washing us every now and aganin.
The wind still strong, mostly around 30-35 knots, gusting upto 45
knots occassionally. The waves had reached their maximum strength after
two days of heavy wind, huge ocean swells. The swell would push to
turn the boat downwind as it approached the aft, job of helm is to keep
to keep the boat straight so the boat can climb on the wave, and surf it
down the wave as it speeds on its way beneath the boat. The bow of the
boat would heal down as we climbed on a wave, and the boat would speed
up up up as we climbed down it. Awsome, awsome, awsome sailing

The winds have unfortunately died down a bit, to 20-25 knots. We have
a blue sky again. The sea is still pretty rough, though with the swells
left behind the storm. I did a bit of more helming in the morning
(16.5knots was my top speed for the morning, ehehehe), and we had a gybe
without breaking anything (it was a bit of a challenge as the waves were
spinning the boat in every direction). So all is good...

We're a few days away from Cape Town now. Coming closer to the end of my
story for this race... Himmmm, will be missing so many things about this
experience... But until then,I will keep posting news as they happen

Keep an eye on me:)

The long awaited weather arrived, with a pinch of salt on my side

News of the three days...
The previous two days were torturous, we were left with absolutely no
wind as we fell behind the low pressure system, sitting in the middle of
South Atlantic in misery, while the rest of the fleet was screaming
miles over miles... Situation not recommended. It requires a rich stock
of patience, and has a lot to keep a stiff upper lip about.
That misery finally came to an end today very early morning: we were the
first boat to get into another depression system coming from south-west.
Finally, for the first time, we happened to make more milage than the
rest of the fleet for a schedule period. Not enough to put us back into
the game, but provides a source of motivation.
The weather and sea state has proven South Atlantic its' worth: 3-5m of
waves, approaching from port aft, in low frequencies, still breaking on
the boat, wind continuously blowing around 30 knots, gusting to 35,
occassionally upto 50knots. 2 reefs in (basically, making the main sail
much smaller), smaller head sails hoisted, still we're only able to
steer marginally among being pushed to an accidental gybe by a strong
wave, or being overpowered and broached by a strong gust. The helm is a
struggle, there's a tiny interval of comfortable helming (about five
degrees), from which a wave or a gust steers the boat away, requiring
great effort to maintain the boat's stability. ABSOLUTELY GREAT
STUFF...In the mean time, we're made wet by waves, made wet by the rain,
really challenging.
Yet, I had to take all this with a pinch of salt: I could only enjoy it
for only 3 hours, before my Motherwatch Torturous Prison time started
AGAIN... This one, has been a mental, emotional and physical challenge:
having helmed for just enough to introduce myself to the pleasure and
being deprived of it immediately feels like a punishment already. This,
without considering the status at the galley; which is far from being
civilised: the boat heals from 50-60 degress onto one side to to
30degress to the other in every 5 minutes, crushes into waves, and
trying cooking and washing up physically hurts (I have a serious bruise
at my back now, as well as two burns: one on the hand the other on the
leg from a tray flying over and a tea spilling). The Equator Baptising
of pasting food over us (which we passed) has caught up with me today at
the galley. Half of my shorts is covered in hot chocolate (a half full
glass simply landed over me at a tilt), a quarter with canned tomatoes
(half of a a newly opened can spilled all through the galley), socks
soaked in chilly oil souce (lucky about that one, the jar had an
artistic jump from the storage basket and attacked the galley. Missed me
by a cm, and landed and crushed by me), shirt soaked in milk and tea.
Through this race, anything that happened had an adventure about it. I
had not felt grumpy, until today: today I gave in... Knowing what I'm
missing up on deck, and being imprisoned to a painful and very
unpleasant job in the mean time has been one thing I could not be
positive about.
Looking at it from the bright side: we did cook one of the best dinners
on board, rice with a delicious tuna sauce, panatony served with a
special cinnamon sauce, 4 loafs of bread: two with herbs, 2 with
wallnuts and raisins.
Nevertheless, I have never been into cooking, but after this traumatic
experience, I think I might just as well live in a house without a
kitchen. Can cook if I need to, but WON'T cook.
Sooooooo looking forward to being on deck again, and helming...
That's the news from the past days
Keep an eye on me:)

Lonely Planet

Here we are, across the Atlantic one more time, and almost half way
through it...

The days on land left far behind, we're once again back into the rithim
of the sea. Sleeping patterns adjusted to the watches, eating habits
multiplied in carbohydrate intake and calories (and still merely enough,
God, hunger creeps in so quickly here. It's feels like the continuous
motion digests and consumes all that we put in), walking in small
cautious clumsy steps, concentration singlemindedly on sailing,
positions, wind forecast. Once again we're appreciating the huge horizon
lying all around us.

Yet, this run is a totally different experience than the Leg before.

The regular trade wind runs of North Atlantic are far behind now.
Instead, the southern sections of South Atlantic is challenging us with
alternating winds in between high pressure systems and depressions
creeping in them. We can be exposed to all sorts of winds from the
lightest down-winds to strong blazes up-wind in 12 hours time. We're all
fully alert for any single change in the wind speed or direction. This
also naturally implies that hoisting a sail and sailing with it for
several days is long gone as well. We usually have at least one sail
change per watch if not more, making it physically more challenging.
Even more so, when the rougher sea state we're exposed to is considered.
The ocean swells are definetly larger, the waves have a tendency to get
more irregular due to changes in the wind direction, and as we spend
more time going up-wind, we have to head bang into these waves, rather
than pleasantly surf on them. The name of the game has shifted from
concentrating on squeezing the best out of mostly steady and expected
conditions, to managing rougher seas and winds.

The wind and sea state are not the only changes, of course. These are
accomponied by the change in weather: sunny days was a given which we
took for granted in the last leg, whereas it's a pleasant surprise which
we enjoy in this leg. Much alike British weather. Grey sky, usually not
even decorated with different shapes of clouds. Watching the Sun and
Moon rise and set with a wide pallet of amazing colors, feeling blessed
under a sky so full of stars that it's almost bright are good memories.
We have grey sky, grey-blue sea. Together with the sun, shorts and
t-shirts are another thing we have left behind. The hot days, when we
were trying to survive the heat and keep cool are no longer. This leg is
about maintaining the body temperature. The preparation for taking over
a watch has gone longer, as we need to put on layers of clothing: base
layers, mid layers, foulies. Once we're ready to go (especially during
night watches), we usually feel like astronouts (full empathy and
appreciation for them, for managing to put that huge kit on, and still
be able to move in it).

Well... Southern Atlantic also makes itself noticed with a sense on
loneliness. At North Atlantic, we would be on watch for ships, and every
now and again, we surely would have at least one, if not a few. We would
see some sea-life around. Whereas South Atlantic reveals a sense of a
lost-world. We watch for a ship in the anticipation of seeing one,
finally; it has been days on end that we have not come across any. We're
surely missing the dolphins, whales and even the kamikaze flying fish
(which were in the habit of haunting us during night watches). There
were only two times we saw whales, and Dolphins only once. We are simply
thankful to the sea-birds for their company though. Without them, this
world would have been absolutely deserted to our eyes. (Havign said
that, we wish we had brought a book on sea-birds. None of us know their
species, and sincerely wonder about them now)

So, here we go... Half way through the South Atlantic, having totally
different stories to tell versus the previous leg.

Keep an eye on me:)

Great News: Favela smells are back

Yes, Favela Smells are back; indicating that the hatch is closed, and
for very good reasons.
WE FINALLY HAVE WIND!
Thank you very much for all the wishes of good luck, prayers, chants and
all; they surely did work!
We're over the wind-hole we had been suffering in the previous days,
which trashed our ranking and brought us to the end of the fleet. Wind
finally started building in two days ago, with many shifts as well. We
had a strong up-wind run yesterday, with 20 knots of breeze. It kept
building and shifting, yielding to a spinnaker hoist at 5am this morning
under 25 knots of breeze. Aaaaaahhhh, sooo gooooood to be making speed
again!
Spirits are high, as we are no longer disheartened to see that we're
falling further and further behind at each position report. On the
contrary, we're now making a few miles better milage than some of the
fleet for the first time in quite a few days. We're still last, 250
miles behind the leading boat, but aware that there are yet 2000 miles
to go, and a few wind-shifts which may work in favour of any boat… So,
we're waiting to see, keeping high hopes for the days to come, and
sailing as best as we can.
Which I'm proud to say, we're doing very well indeed. We're currently
running a 3 watch system, which means we're on for 3 hours, off for 3
hours, and on stand-bye for another 3 hours. This requires a higher
concentration and effort on deck during watch, as there are only 5 to
run the boat at a time, and helps us to get a bit more rest to recover
from this concentration. Running evolutions (major change in sail
settings, like dropping a sail and hoisting a new one) with so few
people on deck is physically pretty demanding, and yet very satisfying.
The most recent one we had was this morning, we carried the heavy weight
spinnaker up on deck, ran the lines, dropped the staysail, set the pole,
hoisted the spinny, dropped the yankee, packed. I was at foredeck
(great! Requires lots of effort, running the lines, moving all the sails
around, carrying the pole. Definitely soaked with a few waves). And I
have to say, I was proud of bringing the huge yankee (~140m2) down
double-handed, gave myself and the mate at the pulpit a pat on the
shoulder.

And on the social side of the story, this watch system gives us a better
chance to have a brief chat with people across watches when we're
below-deck.

Other news from the past days: It was once again my shift to do the
Motherwatch, starting from the afternoon of the previous day, until
yesterday afternoon. The previous day was absolutely good fun, when we
were sailing down-wind, the boat was balanced, and life below-deck was
"civilized". We were three (one mother from each watch), and prepared a
boat specialty dine in much amusement: portugees style beef stew with
vegetables, rice, baked potatoes with bachemel sauce, and wet panacota
cake served with custard… A feast for the boat. However, I cannot claim
yesterday to be as pleasant, try mothering while bouncing over waves,
and heeling by 45 degrees, tough work, and definitely gives quite a few
bruises.
The 1.5m2 galley (kitchen), feels like a tilt machine, with the mothers
bouncing from its walls and corners. For moving around and about while
getting things done, you have to play the "twister" game against the
other mothers: move your right leg over the left leg of Davide extended
across galley and fixed at the edge of a locker for balance, to the edge
of another locker, hold the rail with your right arm, while missing
Carol's who holds onto the same rail for her dear life, done? Yes. Left
had carries the cattle. Move your left leg quickly over Davide's left
leg, and land on the floor right across the locker you're balancing on.
Do Not Hit Davide with the cattle while doing so. Everyone still alive?
Yes. Balance yourself at the edge of the sink (bruising the hips at
every bouce), pump water into the cattle with your left leg. Done? So
far… Reverse all for carrying the cattle back. Done? Yes? Well done…
Evaluation of the putting-cattle-to-boil project: 7 minutes, 200
kalories, 2 bruises. So far, we're on the 9th day of the race, had 4
upwind days, 2 of which coincided to my Motherwatch, talk about luck?

Final news of the past days: wild-life… We have 3 different types of sea
birds accompanying us on the journey. I did wish I knew better about
their species… Definitely not the Albatros yet. Also, we had three whale
incidences: we saw a few travelling and showing off their huge fins,
tails and bodies in a mile distance from us. Then had two, which just
rolled their huge backs on the water a few feet away from the boat… It's
impossible not to be amazed… We have been deprived of the beautiful
colors of the sun & moon rise & set, as well as the night skies full of
stars by the very cloudy and misty weather, but the wild-life is making
up for the loss?

So, that's the news from the past few days…
Keep an eye on me, and wish us good luck for improving our ranking.

Some prayers please

We've been stuck in this little wind hole corridor for the past day,
sucking us back to the last position on the rankings in a day. Unlike
the initial forecast, the boats north and south of us seem to benefit
from heavier breeze, and here we are, lingering, crawling over smooth
seas and 3 knots of breeze if we're lucky. Unfortunately, 3 knots does
not help much for moving 35 tons by a visible speed. Seeing the other
boats are making way on us on each 6 hour report, and being stuck in the
same position still, spending watch over watch trying to squeeze a few
knots out of mini gusts and without much progress is torturous...

All followers of this blog, some support would be much appreciated at
this point of time.
We do need all your positive energy, thoughts, best wishes, prayers,
chants, super natural powers, use of "the force" and/or any other means
of connection with nature over seas, for bringing us just a touch of
breeze PLEASE...

I tried chanting on deck, using a bucket as a drum, well... That worked
for a while and brought 0.7 knots of breeze for 5 minutes. (I was
rightfully silenced by the team thereafter) So please do not
underestimate the power of your prayers...

Hoping to deliver more good and exciting news soon.
Keep an eye on me:)