Splat - the sound of myself falling flat on my face.
OH MY GOD.
I started to correspond by
e-mail with John, my captain-of-the-year, in December and, more recently, spent
hours skyping with him. He is an old sea-salt, has done numerous
circumnavigations, sailed across the Pacific 7 times, weathered many a storm
but avoided even more. What could go wrong?
I flew 10 hours from Toronto
to Santiago and then took a 14 hour bus ride further south. I am, not quite,
but almost, half way round the world.
I get to Puerto Montt as
darkness falls and John is there to meet me at the bus stop. We take the local
bus along the coast to where his boat is moored and dingy out to it.
WHAT HAVE I DONE.
First evening. At first
glance this boat makes HS’s look like a luxury liner. I am horrified. The
inside is smaller and dirtier and smellier, more cramped and disgusting than I
could have imagined. The stove doesn’t work. The head doesn’t work. The fridge
doesn’t work. The radio doesn’t work. John has been here for almost a year
looking for crew to sail with him, as this is not the type of boat you can sail
on your own, and nothing is ready to go. The floor isn’t level. Every surface
is covered with rugs and mats and I am sure they are all dirty. AKKK. I didn’t
think that I was a clean freak. I can’t imagine what the morrow will bring. I
dread to see what the outside of the boat is like. How do I get myself into
these situations? (Oh yes, I answer random ads on the internet! Ah. Well. Maybe
I have finally learnt that this is not a good thing to do.) I consider girding my loins, taking a deep
breath and holding it for six weeks, accepting that both I and everything I own
will be filthy, and finding a really really good shower when all is over. I
don’t know. If I could walk off tonight I would. But to try and manoeuver
myself and my gear back into the zodiac and back to land, and, then, where
would I go? It is dark out. I decide to sleep tonight here and suss the
situation tomorrow. It does not look good. It does not look good at all.
Next
morning. The inside of the boat is a disaster.
It is SO
packed with stuff that there is no room to breath. Think the TV show ‘Horders’
and then add stuff. ‘My’ closet has in it everything from snowshoes to
snowmobile suits, but no room, my bed is covered in boxes and boxes of tools
and bags and bags of sails. His quarter berth is a minuscule mole hole, a
tunnel burrowed among a gazillion things. The whole boat is FULL - 17 sails and
2000 books and stuff and more stuff and more stuff with no room to walk or sit
or, did I mention, breath. I crawl out my hatch to survey the outside of the
boat and, if possible, it is worse. The cockpit is FULL - car wheels and fuel
containers and god only knows what, literally filled about three or four feet
high all held down with bungee cords but not a single square inch of available
space anywhere. I can't imagine how it would even be possible to sail on this
boat, let alone enjoy the experience.
OH MY GOD.
“I’m not staying,” I tell John, “it won’t work for me.” He looks
crestfallen. He tries to convince me into doing a trial weekend, you know, as
soon as he has the engine and the radio working again but I remain firm. “No,”
I say, “Sorry, but no.”
So I say goodbye, make him take me to land, and check into a hostel for
three nights but I don't have a plan. It seems to make sense to stay here
for a while having traveled so far, but, I was planning on sailing for six
weeks so... I don’t have a clue what to do. I am, obviously, clueless. I
will need a few days to settle and see what's what. I think I might buy a
back pack, ditch things I can leave behind like the six extra pairs of shorts
Ben told me not to bring and send stuff home that I can't like the pants I
borrowed from my mother, and hitch hike either south or north. But first I will
find a map and a guide book and spend at least a day here reading. Who knows. I
feel very deflated. I don’t think I will ever set out to go
sailing with an unknown captain again. In fact I may never sail again at all.
WHAT WILL I DO.
I think I'll start with a nap.
