"Seven Colours Blue": Berlin sailors on their Caribbean adventure - now on a book tour
YACHT-Redaktion
· 25.01.2024
- 25/26 January: boot Düsseldorf/ Sailing Centre stage
- 30 Jan: Zurich
- 1.2: Kaprun
- 4.2: Villach
- 9 Feb: Osterburg
- 10 Feb: Berlin
- 16 Feb: Kiel
- 23 Feb: Eutin
- 25 Feb: Hamburg
- 28 Feb: Berlin
- 7 March: Osterholz-Scharmbeck
- 30 April: Ginsheim
All times and venues can be found at radiopelicano.com
The reggae beats thump out of the huge loudspeakers of the shared taxi, the driver likes the groove. He casually turns up the volume a little more. We and the walls of the taxi vibrate. The mothers of African descent on the bench in front of us don't mind, on the contrary: "Hey sugar, you like da music? Welcome to Trinidad", they drown out the music.
We have arrived in the Caribbean and the locals are friendly towards us. At the weekly market, the vendors greet us with "Darling", "Sweetheart" or "Sugar", and we are often approached on the street and given a lift in the car.
One day, the Indian-born Vishnu stands in front of our boat. It's Divali, the Indian festival of lights. He is holding a huge box of Indian delicacies in his hands. Homemade pakoras, chicken curry, fried rice, salad, spicy sauces and beer make their way to us on the boat. "If you visit our country, you have to enjoy it!" he says and disappears so quickly that we barely have time to say thank you.
"Liming", the Caribbean way of life
We like the relaxed way people interact with each other; in contrast to busy Europe, idleness is a virtue in the Caribbean. The people of Trinidad and Tobago have their own word for this: "liming", which means "enjoying the sweetness of doing nothing". For us, however, liming will have to wait a while, as we are in one of the busiest places on the small island state.
Chaguaramas Bay on the north-western tip of Trinidad is the centre of yachting in the Caribbean. Trinidad is safe from hurricanes in the south of the Antilles, so yachts gather here during the tropical storm season. Many use the time to carry out repairs in one of the many marinas and shipyards - a civilisation shock for us after the tranquil anchorages of the last few months.
Hundreds of yachts surround us, the dinghies whizz back and forth, radio calls rattle over the radio, people are sanding, brushing and talking shop. But that's exactly why we're here - our "Inti" needs maintenance. The rust is blossoming and the formerly white hull is adorned with a tiger pattern of rust streaks.
As soon as we arrive in the Caribbean, the mighty crane at Coral Cove Marina lifts us ashore. Instead of the turquoise blue Caribbean Sea, we are surrounded by mud and sanding dust. Screeching sanding machines replace singing tropical birds and chirping crickets. The scorched smell of welding anodes and acrid paint vapours hangs in the air.
A challenge: life on board during the refit
At home in Germany, the shipyard time was accompanied by anticipation. Spring and the next sailing season were just around the corner!
However, things are different when you have to live on board during the shipyard period. Boats require regular maintenance, the salty air and the sun's rays attack paintwork and fabrics, and the forces of nature are a constant strain on the material. Houses and flats also need to be renovated, but a boat is completely decoupled from its surroundings. It's like hanging the house on a crane and placing it in a workshop. Water pipes, power cables and access points are only provisionally connected to the workshop. The boat is jacked up on its keel on land, and a high ladder has to be climbed to get in and out. Neither the toilet nor the kitchen sink work. Inside, life begins among tools, paint cans and unfinished building sites.
Then there's the incredible heat and humidity of the tropics. Evening after evening, we are amazed to realise that although we have each drunk four to five litres of water, we haven't even been to the toilet all day. It's as if the water immediately evaporates through our skin. There is always a pleasant breeze at the anchorage, but here the air is still.
Cockroaches and mosquitoes now also come on board more easily, including the tiger mosquito. This striped species of mosquito transmits tropical diseases such as dengue fever and chikungunya.
Chikungunya has also broken out at the shipyard, a disease in which all the joints suddenly ache. It is called "the disease of the bent man". In the morning radio round, more and more sailors ask for help. Our friend Alex has also caught it. The strong young man can no longer even manage to open the screw cap of a bottle, the joint pain in his fingers is too severe. Fortunately, we are spared.
Numerous sailors meet in Chaguaramas for necessary work
Despite everything, we make good progress. Morning after morning, we get out of our bunks at sunrise and work until the heat becomes unbearable. The marina has a small pool where the midday heat is bearable. When the temperatures cool down in the afternoon, we continue working, hammering the rust off the steel, applying coats of paint and varnishing wooden parts. We want to get back into the water quickly, away from this hell of dust, heat, paint vapours and vermin.
The good thing about our shipyard time is that we are not alone. On the contrary, sailors from all over the world meet in Chaguaramas and face the same challenges as we do. Every few days, we light the large barbecue in the marina and eat together in the cool evening air. A cool beer or a deep sip of Caribbean rum helps to counteract the stresses and strains of the day.
If the barbecue stays cold, there is a happy hour in one of the many bars in Chaguaramas. This is where the most diverse people and biographies come together, united by a common theme despite their differences: They discuss boat problems together and there is always someone who can help or give good advice.
We not only learn how to sew sails and solve new technical problems, but also a lot about the destinations in the Caribbean. Some of our new friends have been living here for years and know their way around - so we can gather lots of valuable tips for the rest of our trip.
After a month, our "Inti" shines in new splendour and we are full of energy. The Caribbean can come! Now the "Inti" is rocking in the turquoise blue water and we are indulging in liming. Slowly the scratches and wounds heal and the last bits of paint, Sikaflex and antifouling peel off our skin.
Pirate danger in the Caribbean
As if Trinidad didn't want to let us go, it was pouring with rain. But we finally wanted to get out of Chaguaramas and sailed off anyway. Jonathan grimly dug out his well-stowed oilskins and fought the "Inti" through the rain and the nasty cross seas of the Galleon Passage. Completely soaked, we were shaken to the core.
Nevertheless, we were delighted to finally be able to sail again and shouted one cheer after another in defiance of the nasty weather. At one point, however, our euphoria was interrupted by a fright. A motorboat with two martial-looking powerhouses appeared next to us. "Pirates!", it flashed through our minds. This area is notorious for this.
While Claudia preferred to hide in the boat and Jonathan kept an eye out for the machete, the two of them kindly asked for directions to Tobago - they had simply got lost in the miserable weather.
The Passat drives the "Inti" forward
We have now arrived in Tobago and Caribbean life. In front of us are palm-fringed beaches, behind them mountains with dense tropical forests where waterfalls invite you to swim. In the air is the sound of reggae and steel drums, occasionally interrupted by the scent of cannabis from the many Rastafarians.
Life goes at a relaxed pace, stress is a foreign word in the Caribbean. The trade wind has also returned, blowing continuously from the north-east to the east. The fresh wind blows the heat away and carries us from bay to bay. It whistles its song in the shrouds, accompanied by the hissing of the wind generator, which reliably supplies us with energy. At regular intervals, the "Inti" is caught by a gust and rumbles, tugging at the anchor chain while the waves drum softly against her belly.
This wind, which is typical of the Caribbean, was used by the old sailors who brought their sad slave cargo to the islands and filled the ships' bellies with spices, cocoa and rum.
Sad history, enchanting nature
The islands in the Caribbean are lined up like a string of pearls. Their names bear witness to their chequered history: "Pirate's Bay" or "Bloody Bay", English, French, Spanish or Dutch names.
Whether Grenada, the Grenadines, St Vincent, St Lucia or Martinique, the small island states have many battles and attacks behind them. The colonial powers, traders and pirates fought over the archipelago of the West Indies, the Lesser Antilles or, as they are best known, the "islands above the wind".
The sad history of these islands contrasts with the beauty of nature. Tobago fascinates us and never lets us go.
We slowly sail northwards along the bays, and with every stop it becomes more paradisiacal. It rains often, but we don't care. According to the locals, there is no rain in the Caribbean, they call it "liquid sun".
At night, thousands of fireflies glow in the trees on the shore. It looks as if the starry sky merges seamlessly into the jungle. It smells of tropical rain and exotic plants. We discover beaches that are almost kitschy in their beauty.
Waterfalls, hummingbirds and parrots
This must be where the motifs for the panoramic wallpapers that were popular in the 80s were taken. Some are lonely, others are lined with small fishing villages where we are warmly welcomed.
In one of these villages, we take a hike into the rainforest. Soon a waterfall pours into a natural pool in front of us. We're quickly out of our clothes and screeching through the cool water. The salt crust comes off our skin and our bodies enjoy a massage under the cascading masses of water.
We are not the only ones who are happy to be able to take a long freshwater bath. On the way back, a boy comes towards us with shower gel and a towel; the waterfall is the shower of the local football club.
Just behind the football pitch, the path leads down to the river. The path is lined with cocoa trees. Hummingbirds buzz through the air and green parrots squawk above us.
Rich fish buffet
In the evening, we put our fishing rod in the water; red snapper and other tasty fish like to bite. And even if there's nothing on the hook, that's no problem, as the fishermen sell their fresh catch in the village.
The small fishing boats bring tuna, wahoo, golden dorado or even the occasional small shark. Then the scales and fins fly!
The fish is cleaned, gutted and chopped into handy fillets. The buyers wait around for their plastic bags to be filled. If there are no fish, they simply wait for the next fishing boat. There is joking and chatting, and we are happy to join in.
We have rarely eaten fish this fresh before. It is so delicious that we usually eat it raw as ceviche - a speciality from South America with lots of lime juice, onions, coriander and chilli. In the morning, we grab our diving goggles and fins and swarm around our boat. Every now and then a turtle comes by.
Sailors and fishermen form a community
We are also socially involved. In the bay of Charlotteville, we are surrounded by many friends that we have already met in many places on our journey so far. We barbecued on the beach, played boules, laughed a lot and spun yarns. Every evening there is something going on ashore or on one of the boats.
All around, everything goes its relaxed Caribbean course. Jonathan helps a fisherman pull his boat ashore or repairs the little boys' home-made, tangled kites.
We enjoy a beer with the fishermen. We are surprised to realise that one of them lived in Berlin for a while. He raves about German bread rolls and beer, but he wouldn't swap life in the Caribbean for the hustle and bustle of a big German city. "I don't have much here, but I don't miss anything." A broad grin exposes the gap between his teeth as he enthuses about his home country. We have also settled in to Tobago and find it hard to imagine returning to hectic Berlin. "We may not be country bumpkins, but we've definitely become sea bumpkins," we realise with a laugh.
The northern Caribbean awaits
Slowly we move on, the northern Caribbean countries beckon! At this point, we don't yet realise that Tobago will remain our Caribbean treasure, our little paradise on the edge of the Antilles arch. We quickly realise that the island is off the typical sailing route. With every island we sail further north, it becomes more touristy. Overcrowded anchorages and bawling charter crews spending a week in a drunken stupor on a rented yacht await us.
The locals are more interested in doing good business than making our acquaintance. In many bays, we are met by a crowd of busy traders, the boat boys.
The island states line up one after the other and demand hefty entry fees from us. Yachting is an important economic sector in the Caribbean. Despite everything, we also find exceptions, discover beautiful places and open-minded people, but realise that the negative side of tourism has reached the Caribbean.
Christmas is peak season in the Caribbean
Maybe it's also because Christmas is coming up, the peak season in the Caribbean. Christmas feels unusual in the Caribbean. Just like at home, the houses are decorated with colourful lights and sometimes there is even a Christmas tree or Father Christmas. But this guy with a big beard and full winter costume just doesn't fit in with the tropical heat.
And what is a sleigh with reindeer doing in a country that has never seen snow? A kind of globalisation that makes us smile.
Christmas in the Caribbean is expressed above all through music. How could it be any different in the countries that invented steel drums, soca and reggae?
Christmas carols blast out of the sound systems and mega car stereos. Caribbean Christmas carols are a far cry from the usual jingling bells and contemplative singing. The lyrics are often familiar, but the steel drums warble above them, and underneath are massive soca and reggae beats.
The songs, twisted with every imaginable sound effect, sparkle with joie de vivre. The loudest sound system comes from the rum shack on the corner where the fishermen enjoy a nightcap with the other locals. Here, people bob their heads and sing along. We think of a Berlin kiosk, in front of which the professional drinkers happily swing a beer with the punks, the kebab vendor, the dressed-up hipster and the young family from Prenzlauer Berg and roar "Oh du fröhliche". Again we have to smile.
Parang music wipes away all sins
Christmas is the time for parang music. "C'mon put your sneakers on and dance!", a market woman invites us to one of these concerts. Singing parang is like making a confession. Anyone can say that they have stolen or cheated on their partner. The parang wipes away the sins.
The concert is a big event, there is a lot to confess. The parang plays on the stage, and underneath it people are happily sinning anew. The beer is flowing, the chicken drumsticks are being turned over on the grill, the smell of grass and rum fills the air.
We let ourselves drift in this cheerful atmosphere. The reggae DJs take over the stage programme and the beats thump until the early hours of the morning. It's the fourth Advent and we're dancing our flip-flops off.
The roast pork came with skin and bristles
Despite everything, we want to retain a little of our tradition. As Christmas Eve approaches, we set off to do some shopping for the Christmas feast. Before we reach the island village, we notice vendors on the side of the road handling huge rags of meat. Saturday is meat day, when the pigs are slaughtered and sold directly.
The owner of the slaughtered pig stands in front of a pile of meat with a knife. We shyly ask for a chop and earn quizzical looks.
A piece of meat, bristles, skin and all, goes into a plastic bag shortly afterwards. Which piece of pork could it be, we ask ourselves. But the roast pork tastes fantastically fresh and tender. In true style, Claudia has cooked red cabbage to go with it, and we were also able to find a bottle of wine.
New Year's Eve in the Caribbean
On New Year's Eve, we head to Mayreau Island because we have learnt that friends are anchored there. We make a fire on a small beach and grill the meat of the giant clam Lambi. As is typical of these sailors' gatherings, everyone contributes something - drinks, salads or a dessert.
These "pot luck" parties work very simply: there is no need for a lot of organising and there is rarely any embarrassment that everyone is preparing the same thing. It's an exuberant celebration.
In addition to our friends, there is also a couple who have been travelling by boat for 20 years. They have seen the whole world and have often run out of money, but they have still managed to keep going. They proudly tell us how they have managed to get by for several years on just 200 US dollars a month. They had to do without many things, he has hardly any teeth left in his mouth, but they radiate a deep sense of satisfaction.
The Caribbean's saviours of life show that you can do it without money
We ask ourselves how far we will get. Hour after hour, we think about the people who are just entering the new year. We are a French family, a Dutch woman, an Englishman, an Italian, a Mexican, a German and a German with a Chilean family. We welcome the new year in all these time zones. Sometimes there is a cake with sparklers, sometimes a bottle of champagne, sometimes a Chilean wine, and when the clock strikes twelve in Mexico, the Mexican woman jumps up with her Italian boyfriend and runs down the beach with a rucksack - a tradition from her native Yucatán.
A marvellous evening on the beach comes to an end, we lie in the warm sand and look up at the stars. A year and a half on board is behind us, a new year ahead of us. "Can you imagine going back to our old life?"
The answer doesn't need to be said, we look at each other and know. So many interesting things lie behind us, so many new things ahead of us. Our money is limited, but we will manage somehow. The many life artists we have met have shown us how. We look to the future with confidence, not realising that the year that has begun today will be a tough test for us.
"Seven colours of blue"
The chapter to be read here, "Arrival in the Caribbean", is from the recently published book "Seven Colours of Blue" by Claudia Clawien and Jonathan Buttmann about their increasingly long time-out on board the 35-foot yacht "Inti", which took them from Berlin to the South Seas.
