Cape Horn–Cape of Good Hope. A Quarter of the Way

Cape Horn–Cape of Good Hope. A quarter of the way. Do you believe in miracles? How dreams come true, and what comes with them. .. .. .. Damn, this is unbelievable. So much so that I can’t believe it! .. .. .. I zoom in on the chart in the navigation program. On my lap is the novel In Search of the Castaways, the most important book not only of my life anymore. The line of the Strait of Magellan fills out with details of channels and fjords. Here the Duncan rounds that very Cape Brunswick, opposite which Lady Mary entered the Strait of Magellan from the Magdalena Channel. I read Jules Verne, geographer and writer: Through the trees they caught glimpses of the Chilean flag and a church steeple. ... Nastya, where did they catch those glimpses? And there’s nothing here about Punta Arenas, even though the city was founded back in 1848? That must have been Punta Arenas. Yes, yes, of course.. .. .. Farther on, it talks about Port Famine; it lies in the narrow part of the Strait of Magellan, farther east than the point where we entered it. . . . . . .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . I see myself as a twelve-year-old girl. The pencil leaves only a long groove in the laminated map, but I draw a line from Cape Horn to the Cape of Good Hope via the Tristan da Cunha archipelago, which also lies on the 37th parallel. Could I possibly have imagined then that, three decades later, the stem of our own yacht would draw just such a line across the ocean’s troubled brow? It was as fantastically unbelievable as, say, studying at Hogwarts. . . . . . . .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . Without noticing, I begin humming Isaac Dunayevsky’s wildly beloved Overture from the film In Search of the Castaways. Tu-tu-tuturu.. .. .. Nastya immediately plays it on the laptop. Our young sailor starts singing along in the same funny way she does in our film series about the 37th parallel and phantom islands.. .. Mum, seriously, how did you get all of us hooked on this film! Nastya, I honestly don’t know. I didn’t mean to, really. .. .. .. I can’t say that my whole life was a vow of a faithful rendezvous with you.. .., that is, with her—with the dream. There were years when neither Jules nor Verne even crossed my mind. As a young woman, I even felt awkward telling outsiders about what filled my soul with magic. Big girls come down to earth, study economics and work in offices.. . . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Damn, this is unbelievable. So much so that I can’t believe it! .. .. The route we are sailing now was impossible not only in my childhood. Even after we had set off around the world, our route was as far removed from the 37th parallel as the Decembrists were from the people. The childhood dream still lived in a parallel world, and only occasionally would the captain jokingly lob in a provocation: What if we dash over to Cape Horn via the 37th parallel and Maria Theresa Island? Only a 5,000-mile detour, a month or two at sea.. .. Nooo, what are you talking about, we’re not ready. .. .. Because normal people sail through warm latitudes, where there’s more land, fewer storms and tropical paradises. And we’re going to head off alone with the children, far from any shipping lanes? It’s frightening, dangerous, and there’ll be no one to lend a hand. . . . . . . . .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . I compare the electronic chart of the Strait of Magellan with Jules Verne’s text and drown in the sheer impossibility of what is happening. Actually, I’m trying to find the lines about Tristan da Cunha. We should be near the archipelago in just half a month. And as I look at the chart, I realise ever more keenly that most of our round-the-world route via the three Great Capes will coincide with the line I drew on the wall of my childhood bedroom thirty years ago. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . If you ask whether you should pursue your dream, my answer is YES. Is it easy? No. The barrel of honey that is romantic aspiration is awash with the tar of side effects. Today there are two: weather and social. There’s the everyday practical one too; it’s always there in the background—the impossibility of having a proper wash, sleeping, eating, playing, working, talking to friends, and so on. Well, you’ve probably already read about the storm. More often than storms, there are rough seas and headwinds, as there are now. There is no romance here whatsoever. Just nausea and a listlessly foul mood. All day yesterday, all four crew members read while half-reclining on the watchkeeper’s settee in the wheelhouse. You’re well enough to stare blankly at a book, but not to write in a notebook or on a laptop. And you tell yourself you just have to grit your teeth and endure it. First for half a month, and then for as long again. . . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . The wind comes in gusts, with four-metre waves on the bow. Sixteen to twenty-seven knots, close-hauled—the worst possible point of sail for the vestibular system. And then the social aspect hits harder too: the children are bored. Ladunya has made herself an imaginary friend out of a balloon. She drew a funny face, hair and a bow on it, and named her Katka Mumrikova. The previous version was Lenka, Katka’s sister. Our young sailor is teaching Katka Mumrikova to dance and jump, while Nastya calls both of them, Katka and Lenka, by a single name: KaLenka. Well, as long as it isn’t rolling too badly, it’s fun. .. .. .. Nastya received a letter from her best friend. I’m supposed to be keeping in touch now and at least calling her every day, but I can’t even send a message. .. .. My sunshine, how can I help you? .. .. Nastya is almost in tears.. .. .. I don’t know. I can’t even wash my hair; in this stupid jumper I feel like an old granny. And anyway.. .. everything is so monotonous here! .. .. Well, go and wash quickly, then put on a different jumper. We start the engine and the watermaker. While our sailor is in the shower, we make tea and put on an interesting documentary called Cold, so we can watch and discuss it together. Sweetheart, would you like to fly home from Cape Town? No, I want all of us to finish the circumnavigation together. .. .. Well then, let’s endure it a little longer. And we do, all together. .. .. .. And we have high hopes for Cape Town—not only for repairs, but also for meeting the Russian community, having get-togethers and celebrations together, and visiting the Consulate and the school at the Embassy. May it all work out. Warm greetings to you, dear Russian-speaking South Africans—we’re on our way to you!. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. We have covered a quarter of the distance from Cape Horn to the Cape of Good Hope. The ocean is flecked with whitecaps. Since morning, an enormous flock of small birds has been following us, its ranks periodically interspersed with petrels and albatrosses. There must be a shoal of fish swimming beneath us, also bound for Tristan da Cunha. Looks like we’ll fly all the way there with an escort. .. .. .. Want some fresh fish, Marinochka? No, we’d better finish off the herring first, I say, and go to reef the mainsail. It’s blowing up again. . . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. From the bottom of our seafaring hearts, thank you for supporting the expedition’s ship’s fund through Paypal.Me/TravelyFamily! This time we received an unidentified notification that a payment had arrived. We’ll be able to thank the sender personally once we reach land, have internet access and uncover the name of the wonderful person who sent it. Thank you so much, our dear friend! . . . . . .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . You can once again follow the expedition in real time on our website under the Route tab, where our Iridium track is displayed. The same map, with the track and details, is available at bit.ly/iridium360. . . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. This report was transmitted by satellite link, which is why the text has neither paragraph indents nor punctuation marks such as colons, quotation marks, ellipses and dashes. All of that gets lost somewhere along the ocean–satellite–website route. Thank you for your understanding and patience, dear readers! We hug you from the very heart of the Roaring Forties, at 45 degrees south latitude. Leave us comments, friends. They’re a wonderful morale boost. Wishing you a warm autumn!