The Philosophy of the Ocean. Day 41 Since the Strait of Magellan. “I’m going for an evening stroll,” the captain said, putting on his lifejacket and hat. Buy me an ice cream! No, I’m going for beer. Then get me a pale unfiltered one. And I want ice cream! Chocolate! Me too! And some chicken! the sailor and the young sailor chimed in. Needless to say, the captain returned from the deck without beer or ice cream. It was evening; everything was closed. . .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
The low flew off east, an anticyclone dragged itself in, and during the night the wind died away. We spent half the night pointing towards North America, and at dawn the captain retired to the deck, where he has already spent an hour amusing himself by fine-tuning the sails. He tightens one thing, eases another by 20 cm, and watches what happens. Then he adjusts them again. As a result, instead of sitting there pointing northwest, we are now moving south at a speed of one and a half to 2 knots. But the cap is still on deck, so let’s see—perhaps he’ll bring Lady Mary back on course. He’s our magician. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
Ladunka is asleep under the table, Nastya is in the aft cabin, and I slept on watch today. The alarm went off every 2 hours, with bouts of wakefulness in between.. .., some vessel passed us bound for Cape Town.. .. and that was how the night went. Unlike during the first 35 days of the voyage, cargo ships now regularly pass us once or twice a day. You can feel that we have just over a thousand miles left to the port at the junction of worlds. If the wind hadn’t died in the night, we would already have broken the thousand-mile mark. A three-digit number on the display generally inspires more optimism than an endless four-digit one. Cape Town is 1,021 miles away as the crow flies—that is 1,890 km. If they don’t switch the wind back on, we’ll spend the whole day bobbing around at this mark. . .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
Yesterday some dolphins dropped by, about 20 of them. They frolicked beside us for an hour or so, then disappeared into the blue distance. It was more cheerful with them around, but lately they appear only very rarely.. .. . From the surface, the ocean seems completely empty, and it is impossible to peer into its depths. .. . It’s interesting: I’ve been listening to myself for 6 years now, and I always come to the conclusion that the sea is nicer to love.. . from the shore. Especially if that shore is rocky, but green and rugged. Oh, how beautiful it all sounds! But out in the open ocean, especially in bad weather, the sea is harder to love. Sometimes you cannot even see that it is alive. You don’t think about its energy; you feel only its power and leaden indifference. .. .. You know, for 30 years it seemed to me that the sea and I were one soul, that I could feel it and breathe with it. Of course, during all those 30 years I saw the sea once every three years at best. Well, except for the last seven winters in Asia, of course. There, the sea became such a familiar, beautiful companion—bright blue or dreary grey. The palms and the coconuts fallen into the water echoed the sea’s moods. The foam of the surf was what made my heart beat faster on stormy days. And the radiant beauty licking the gigantic boulders of Koh Samui between Chaweng and Lamai is my most azure dream made real. There were still few people there back then. When we arrive now, I’m afraid we won’t recognise our beloved island. Over the past 15 years, it seems to have become like Phuket. The main thing is that it hasn’t become like Pattaya. . .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
Anyway. About the ocean. When we began living on the yacht, crossing the Mediterranean in winter, I was horrified to find that I had cooled towards the sea, at least in that youthful, romantic and pleasant sense. Because foaming surf meant that we would set out shortly and get seasick. A calm surface meant that the journey would take at least one day longer, and the seasickness would last longer too. And the boom gybing, the grinding, the slapping of sails and the other sounds in a gale frightened rather than enchanted me. Before, it had seemed that when I finally went to sea, a miracle would happen, a rite of initiation. Because who else should be initiated if not me—a girl with the sea in her name who, as soon as she learned to read, dragged into her den everything that had the sea or sails in its title, pictures or contents? .. .. But the miracle did not happen. It was as though the sea did not accept the adult me, and so it frightened me. Savage seasickness reduced all my expectations to zero. . .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
People say: conquered the sea, conquered the summit. They do say that, don’t they? The media especially love doing it. .. What a stupid word when applied to the elements. It’s a good thing neither the sea nor the mountains can hear it. Otherwise, boy, would they teach us a lesson. It is like a fly crawling over an elephant and thinking, “You’re mine! I’ve conquered you!” And the elephant couldn’t care less about the little bug. Just as the ocean couldn’t care less about me, you or anyone else. That realisation burned away all my youthful romanticism during that first stormy winter. .. .. The sea is alive, but it is alive unto itself. And no matter how much we like to think otherwise, we are its guests. Modern forecasts and navigation equipment, sturdy vessels and the steel ba—pardon me, nerves—of captains make it possible to cross vast expanses. But the ocean admits only the dead into its depths. And it is still just as beautiful, especially from the shore, when you are on solid ground, smelling the grass and hearing the roar of the surf, and besides the waves you can see other nature—living, close and comforting. But the sea without shores is not the most comforting of places, especially in the Roaring and Furious Latitudes. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
Enough drama—let me talk about everyday life. This is quite a sobering post today. Over the years of living aboard a yacht, freshwater has become more desirable. For the most mundane, practical reason: you do not need a shower afterwards. You have a swim, and you are immediately fresh and free. But after the sea, you have to wash. Because you live in this, rather than having come here on holiday. Because if you do not rinse the salt off your body and clothes, you’ll soon have a wardrobe full of damp, grubby rags. .. And that is how my love boat with the sea ran aground on everyday life. . .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
But that is all down to our ungrateful human nature. When there is a great deal of something in your life, you stop getting excited as you did on your first date. It is simply that my passionate affair with the sea ended, and from the moment I stepped aboard Lady Mary, we began living together. Complete with domestic drudgery and, at times, mutual dissatisfaction with each other. I miss the passion that has gone, just as you miss it when a passionate romance enters the stage of adjustment or mutual cooling-off. If I had fallen out of love with the ocean, I would not be here. It is just like a romance. And since I am here, putting up with all its antics just as it puts up with mine, offering up its mighty back, then this is not about falling out of love. We have simply entered the next phase of our relationship. And if that relationship were broken off, it would hurt. You would howl and pine for the fiery, mirror-like sunsets and the fresh breeze, and the masts swaying in the constellation Libra. And for the heartfelt or witty conversations Andryukha and I have in the cockpit, and.. .. By the way, that sublime love of the stars out in the open ocean is something you can never be cured of. If you have spent even a single hour lying on deck, gazing into that vast, shimmering world, struggling to comprehend its infinity. .. .. . .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
Back to the matter at hand. A dead calm. Breakfast. Sandwiches. According to the optimistic forecast, about 10 days until we set foot on land. According to the pessimistic one, 20. We, who are in love with the sea, live in anticipation of land.. .. .. We gobble up all the tasty things in a flash before the children wake up. Shhh. .. just don’t tell them! Then we’ll make contact with outer space—perhaps your comments have come through.. .. Or letters. Then we’ll sit down to lessons and reports, scripts and reading. We’ll do some exercises too, or we’ll forget how to walk altogether. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
Hugs. And may your guiding star be sure to lead you to your dream! Thank you for being there for us, for following us, worrying about us and supporting us. We value every one of you, friends. And we miss many of you very much. . .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
We thank our shore support team for contributing to the expedition, including through Paypal.Me/TravelyFamily and Yasobe.ru/na/TravelyFamily! Friends, you help us spread our wings. Thank you for lending us your shoulder and motivating us to take action! .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .
You can follow the progress of the First Russian Three Great Capes Round-the-World Expedition with Children on our website under the Route tab, where the track from IRIDIUM is plotted. The same map, with the track and weather, is available at bit.ly/. You can also see us on marinetraffic.com, MMSI 273334590.