Entering the Forties! Somewhere, They’re Roasting the Christmas Goose

Entering the forties! Somewhere, they’re roasting the Christmas goose. Today is Christmas Eve throughout the Catholic world. A couple of billion people are roasting geese, lighting candles and giving presents. We have been sailing exclusively into Catholic lands for so long that even to us Orthodox Christians, this day feels special. I wrote 14 long letters in a foreign language this morning, with hardly any repetition in their contents—a three-hour English lesson. If all the recipients start replying en masse, I’ll end up speaking English better than my native tongue. Even Neptune decided to make us happy; he must be Catholic too. The morning calm gave way to a light following wind, the gift of a swell became low and long, and for the first time in several days the sun shone for more than two hours at a stretch. The wind is northerly and warm, so we had a bathing-and-laundry day. The bright sunshine dried the washing and the condensation on the windows and walls. Lady Mary has finally hung all the New Year’s tinsel and garlands in every corner, and for now there is enough battery power to keep the saloon and wheelhouse blinking in colour. ... Soon we’ll finish drawing our festive wall newspaper; in five years our yacht has never seen anything more beautiful. It has penguins and a snowman, Father Frost and the Snow Maiden, a pair of ballerinas, and Christmas trees with baubles. In short, beauty is a fearsome force. Except that, for want of any free vertical surfaces, we’ll have to stick the wall newspaper to the ceiling. Why not? Reading and studying it will also help prevent cervical osteochondrosis. Something cosy-smelling is wafting from the galley. Once we reach the mainland, I’ll make a whole section of yacht recipes. If I don’t forget ). We’ve already built up such a stock of stone soups, bean lasagnes and other souped-up dishes that they’re finger-licking good. For instance, we had some beans, half a head of cabbage that urgently needed saving, some dubious-tasting vegetarian pseudo-meat from a tin, and the remains of three sauces. For dinner, this became a dish à la stewed beans with cabbage, and for lunch the next day we turned it into lasagne. You lay the sheets of pasta dry, straight into the baking tray, with the bean-and-cabbage mixture and the remains of the sauces between them. Rinse out the jars with a little water and pour it over all the sheets. Add long-life processed cheese and spices, then bung it in the oven. Finger-licking lasagne. The main thing in it isn’t the meat, or even the vegetables, but the pasta and sauce. It bakes and cooks through beautifully. There’s no need to boil the pasta separately. ... Well, there you go—I wanted a separate section, but started writing it here instead. Let’s talk about the sea. ... The ocean is emptier than ever. For the fourth week running, there have been no dolphins, no whales and no ships. A petrel will flash above the waves, and now and then an albatross will emerge from the fog, only to disappear back into it. After the Austral Islands, we began seeing strange little jellyfish resembling Portuguese men-of-war, only small and blue. They look like the ring from a Chinese baby’s dummy sticking out of the water. Only after seeing about a dozen of these dummies did we realise they weren’t plastic rubbish but some wondrous kind of jellyfish. So now, besides the rare birds, we have these rare creatures too. And fogs like living cotton wool. One moment there is sky, and then—whoosh—smoke starts billowing, like when the Hare in Nu, Pogodi!, dressed as Alla Pugacheva, sang the song about an iceberg. That was exactly what today’s fog was like. Mesmerising. ... Every day there is something to repair. Yesterday, despite appearing perfectly sound, the block on the mainsheet traveller suddenly flew apart. Thank God we happened to be becalmed. Otherwise, where would we have caught the boom if it had been stormy? The captain spent a long time tinkering in the cockpit, improving the fittings. Now, if the block is torn out again, it will take the traveller with it, if not a chunk of the deck. ... We’re heading into the Roaring Forties! That certainly sounds mighty impressive. Even a little nerve-racking. I don’t think the ocean will start roaring the very instant we enter them, but just in case, we ought to secure everything loosened during the calm all over again. On the eve of the holidays, our young sailor started cleaning the forecabin. She found mould on the wall in a far corner and summoned the sanitary service—in the form of Mum—to evacuate the biological material. In the same corner she also found a forgotten baby doll and a pile of knitted clothes for it. In short, Lada is busy with maternal cares today. Nastya is calm and even cheerful, frying fritters and writing a beautiful diary, and right now she is calling us to the evening film screening. Today’s programme for the youngsters is The Musketeers Twenty Years Later. ... You know what I’ve noticed? I’ve got the children hooked on the books and films of my own childhood. That’s probably no bad thing. After all, we read the right books when we were children. As for me, at night, between the diaries of Bellingshausen and Litau, I’ve been reading Timeless, one of the sailor’s favourite contemporary books. Since we’ve started talking about reading, I’ll finish with another literary recommendation. Nastya’s absolute favourite since she was 13. Must read, folks. Excellent, worthwhile Russian literature for young people and adults: Nina Sorotokina’s four books about the naval cadets, beginning with Three from the Navigation School. Gripping and vividly written, with timeless values, subtle humour and the history of our native country as it really was. The author spent years buried in the archives. This may be almost the only case in which the film was released before the novel on which it was based. Perhaps that is why Nina Sorotokina is not as famous as she deserves to be? ... On that cheerful note, here are Lady Mary’s current coordinates. Hooray! Here it is, latitude forty. 40S and 133W. Our best readers and friends in the world, thank you for your warm words and wonderful comments! Receiving mail is the most eagerly awaited time of our day. Hugs to you all. Wishing you a festive New Year’s mood and good books! Until next time!